the road to her eventually finding a mate who was right for her, who could give her what she needed.
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When the waitress brought him a third double, Butch held up his forefinger to keep her by his side. He downed the glass while she waited, gave it to her, and she went back to the bartender.
As she returned with number four, that scrawny blond Euro-trasher with his trio of thick-necked bodyguard types started waving for her attention from two tables over.
Christ, seemed like every damn night the kid was in this place. Or maybe it was just a little of the idiot went a long way.
"Hey!" the kid called out. "We need service over here. Get the lead out."
"I'll be right over," the waitress said.
"Now," the ass snapped. "Not later."
"I won't be gone long," she murmured to Butch.
As she went over to the punk, Butch watched as she got majorly harassed. Goddamned bigmouthed show-offs, all of them. And they weren't going to improve as the night went on.
Then again, neither was Butch.
"You look a little aggressive there, Butch O'Neal."
He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, the female with the man's hair and the man's body was still in front of him.
"We going to have trouble with you tonight, Butch O'Neal?"
He wished she'd stop saying his name. "Nah, I'm good."
Her eyes flashed with an erotic light. "Oh, I know that. But let's get real. You going to be a problem tonight?"
"No."
She stared at him long and hard. Then smiled a little. "Well... I'll be watching you. So keep that in mind."
Chapter Twenty-five
Joyce O'Neal Rafferty met her husband at the door with the baby on her hip and a glare on her face. As Mike stood on the cold side of the welcome mat, he was clearly tired after pulling double shifts on the T, but she couldn't have cared less. "I got a telephone call today from my brother. Butch. You told him about the baptism, didn't you."
Her husband kissed Sean, but didn't try it with her. "Come on, honey-"
"This is not your business!"
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Mike shut the door. "Why do you all hate him so much?"
"I am not going there with you."
As she wheeled away, he said, "He didn't kill your sister, Jo. He was twelve. What could he have done?"
She shifted her son in her arms and didn't turn around. "This is not about Janie. Butch turned his back on the family years ago. His choice, got nothing to do with what happened."
"Maybe all of you turned your back on him."
She glared over her shoulder. "Why are you defending him?"
"He was my friend. Before I met and married you, he was my friend."
"Some friend. When was the last time you heard from him?"
"Doesn't matter. He was good to me when I knew him."
"You are such a bleeding heart." She headed for the stairs. "I'm going to feed Sean. I left you some dinner in the fridge."
Joyce marched up to the second floor, and when she hit the top landing, she glared at the crucifix that hung on the wall. Turning away from the cross, she went into Sean's room and sat down in the rocker by his crib.
Baring her breast, she brought her son up and he latched on, his hand squeezing the flesh that was next to his face. As he fed, his little body was warm and pudgy with health, his lashes down on his rosy cheeks.
Joyce took a number of deep breaths.
Crap. Now she felt bad for yelling. And for forsaking the Savior's cross. She said a Hail Mary and then tried to calm herself by counting Sean's perfect toes.
God... if anything happened to him, she would die, her heart would literally never beat the same way again.
How had her mother done it? How had she lived through the loss of a child?
And Odell had lost two, hadn't she. First Janie. Then Butch. Thank God the woman's mind was going soft. The relief from bad memories must be a blessing.
Joyce stroked Sean's fine dark hair and realized that her mother had never even gotten to say good-bye to Janie. The body had been too ruined to fix up for an open casket, and Eddie O'Neal, as the father, had done the ID at the morgue.
God, on that horrible fall afternoon, if only Butch had followed through and run into the house and told a grown-up that Janie had just left... maybe they could have saved