Family Matters (DiCarlo Brides book 4) (The DiCarlo Brides) (27 page)

“Thank you for staying so she’ll feel better,” Rosemary said when he pulled her down to sit beside him.

Harrison wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her back against his chest. “I didn’t do it just for her. I did it for me too.”

“You’re worried about us?” Rosemary asked with a bit of laughter.

“Yes.” He kept his irritation out of his voice, which left it flat and matter of fact.

“Come on, we’re at home,” she blew off the threat with her usual bravado.

“I know, but being at home hasn’t always meant you were safe, has it? Not here, and not before you came here.” He referenced her childhood, knowing it was a dirty tactic, but wanting her to take this seriously. “I feel better being with you, having you in my arms so I know you’re safe.”

Rosemary’s brow furrowed. “Are you upset about something—something besides the shooting, anyway?”

“Depends on how you look at it, I guess.”

“Then how I’m looking at it is that you’re upset about something and I want to know what the deal is. I’ve had a really crappy day and don’t need you to go all passive aggressive on me.”

That irritated him even more. “Okay, here it is straight out, then. I’m mad that you didn’t call me after you were shot at.”

Her brow furrowed. “Do you carry a gun? Because I thought Joel was the obvious choice.” She pulled away a little, but he wouldn’t let her get far.

“Yeah, he is the obvious choice. At first. But once you were safe you should have called to tell me what happened. Didn’t you think I’d want to know?”

She rolled her eyes and turned a little condescending. “So this is about you? You need to know every detail?” She glared at him.

He huffed a little, managing not to grit his teeth. “No, this is about me wanting to be there for
you
. Me wanting to be someone you know you can turn to when you’re upset or need someone’s shoulder to cry on.”

“I’m a big girl, Harrison. I don’t need your shoulder.”

“Right, because today wasn’t rough for you at all?” He stared her down, knowing she was bluffing.

She shunted her gaze away. “It wasn’t a picnic.”

He took a moment to breathe off his frustration, being mad at her wasn’t helping. Maybe lightening the conversation would. “Why do people say that about picnics anyway? They have ants and the grass ends up being wet half the time. There’s nowhere really flat to put your soda can and the wind blows away your paper plates.”

She smiled.

“Talk to me, honey.”

She swallowed hard and he watched the movement in her graceful neck. He reached out, running his finger down the pale column, loving the softness of her skin and the way she shivered in response to his touch. He hated the thought of her being scared or injured.

“It terrifies me to think that I could lose her.” Rosemary had one arm crossed protectively over her stomach and wadded a handful of her shirt in her fist. “I can’t stand the idea that she could get hurt because of me. It’s even worse knowing I can’t stop it because I don’t know why someone is doing this.” Tears leaked onto her cheeks and he wiped them away, gently rubbing his fingers over her skin.

“It’s not your fault,” he said, “and we’ll figure out who’s behind it.” If she would let him help.

She huffed a little and looked away.

“We will,” Harrison reiterated. “Has Joel failed us yet?”

She gave him a half smile. “Nope. But no one is that strong all of the time. He’s got to miss sometimes.”

“He won’t be working alone.”

She rested her head against his shoulder and he just held her while she silently cried. He felt useless, like he should be doing something to fix the problem, like she needed help and he wanted to be the one to give it, but he didn’t know what to do.

“I’m such a baby,” she said after a long while.

“No you’re not. You’ve probably had that coming for a long time.” He kissed her temple. “Feel any better?”

“I don’t know. They say crying helps, but now I just have a stuffy head and puffy, red eyes.” She chuckled a little and grabbed a tissue out of the box Sage kept stocked on the end table. “Why do you put up with me?” she asked.

He tipped her face up so he could look her in the eye, wishing he could make her really understand. “Because I love you.”

She sucked in a breath. “You keep saying that, but how can you know? You must be mistaken. It can’t be real. Not this fast.”

“It’s real,” he said, frustrated at her refusal to accept his feelings, even if she didn’t return them. “This, between us, it isn’t my imagination, and my love for you has grown for so long—it’s definitely real. Tell me it isn’t.”

Then he kissed her, sliding his hands up her neck and into her hair, gliding his mouth over hers, taking it slow and easy, even as part of him urged for hot and fast. He brushed his fingers down the column of her neck again, down her shoulders and arms, then threaded their fingers together, using only his mouth and soft, sweet kisses to show her what he really felt.

She had become his world in the first moment he saw her on that ship. She’d become part of him that day, though he’d fought against it. He’d dated and tried to find that moment of connection again, but he’d never felt it with anyone else. It had always been about her, even while they argued about stupid things at work.

Now he wanted to show her the other side of the man she’d been sparring with for more than six months so when she tried to intensify the kiss, he refused to give in, keeping it soft and loving, showing her what love was, with every slide of his fingers, every brush of lips. He needed her to understand that she made him feel complete, whole.

She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes a little out of focus. “What was that? I’ve never...”

“Been so loved?” he asked and brushed his mouth against hers again. “Let me show you.”

She turned and looked over her shoulder to Cleo’s room with the door opened a few inches, then back and nodded. “You have to sleep in Sage’s room, though. If she comes to my door during the night...”

It hadn’t been his intention, but he could work with that. “Deal.” He kissed her again, then stood and followed her to her room.

Cleo had pulled back into herself by morning and Rosemary watched her get ready for school, wondering if the previous day’s shooting had finally become real for her little girl. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Fine.” But Cleo didn’t look up from her bowl of cereal where even the marshmallows were starting to get mushy.

Rosemary touched her forehead, looking for a temperature, but it felt fine.

Cleo pushed the hand away, scowling. “I’m not sick. Why do you always think I’m sick?”

“You’re just not acting like yourself.” Rosemary moved to the sink, trying not to feel hurt by Cleo’s grouchiness. “I wanted to make sure you were feeling all right.”

“I’m fine.” Cleo looked over at her. “What did you guys talk about last night?”

“Not much,” Rosemary felt like all they did was go around in circles. “Harrison stayed in Sage’s room last night and Joel’s going to get back with the police today to see what they found out. Then we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

“Okay.” Cleo took another listless bite of her food.

Rosemary sat beside her daughter. “Are you worried because of what happened yesterday? Because we’re going to make sure you don’t get hurt, you know?” It was a bald-faced lie, she shouldn’t promise anything of the sort, but Rosemary didn’t know what else to do, and she’d give up anything to protect Cleo.

“How can you promise that? You don’t know! Something could happen as soon as we walk out of the house.” Her facade of listlessness lifted just long enough for her to yell at Rosemary, then she looked worried and returned to the quiet little girl Rosemary didn’t know at all.

Harrison came down the stairs just then, looking all freshly showered and shaved and way too well rested considering how late they’d been up the night before. “Hey, ladies, are you having an old fashioned family argument over breakfast?”

“We’re not arguing,” Cleo grumbled.

“Apparently we’re not arguing.” Rosemary shot him an exasperated look. “Cleo’s worried that we won’t be able to keep her safe. I can’t blame her, it was pretty scary yesterday.”

Harrison slid a hand onto Cleo’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “We’re going to find a solution and do everything we can to figure out who’s been trying to hurt your mom.”

“She’s not my mom,” Cleo said fiercely. “My mom is dead. She only brought me here because she had to.” She pushed away from the kitchen bar and rushed up the stairs.

Rosemary was horrified to hear her daughter say that. Had she said or done anything to make Cleo think she didn’t want her there? “Cleo, that’s not true.”

“Yes it is. Don’t worry. I won’t get in your way.” She went into her room.

“Cleo,” Rosemary called, disbelief filling her.

“I’m getting my backpack!” she called down the stairs, her voice filled with anger and tears.

Harrison slid an arm around Rosemary’s shoulder. “Try not to over-react. She’s upset and she has every right to be. All you can do is show her that you love her and we’ll find out who this is and put an end to it.”

Rosemary turned her face into his shoulder for just a moment, taking in his scent and enjoying the feel of his arms, remembering how it had been for them the previous night. Just the memory made her tremble. She’d never known a man’s arms could make her feel like that—special, cherished. Had she ever felt that way before? If so, she didn’t remember it. All of that layered on her distress about Cleo’s behavior. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Cleo came back down the stairs, wearing her coat and with her bulging backpack flung over one shoulder. “Let’s go. I want to go to school.”

Rosemary had her own things to deal with, so she didn’t fight—she’d have Cleo as a captive audience in the car, after all.

They went out to the garage to Harrison’s car and Rosemary held open the back door for Cleo to climb in.

“Why are we taking Harrison’s car?” Cleo asked when they were all seated.

“He offered to drive.”

“Is he going to pick me up after school?”

“No, I might have Jonquil bring me to pick you up.”

“Why not just take your own car?” Cleo crossed her arms over her chest, staring sullenly at Rosemary.

Rosemary looked at Harrison, feeling helpless to explain without scaring her daughter worse. He gave her an encouraging look. She sucked in a breath. She had promised not to lie, but how much did she want to say? “Last fall Sage’s car was tampered with at work. She was in an accident.”

“That’s when Jonquil got hurt, isn’t it?” Cleo asked.

“Yes. We decided it would be better if I didn’t drive for a few days. Just to be safe.”

“Mom and Dad and I were in an accident,” Cleo said, staring out the window.

“You were?” Rosemary hadn’t heard about that. “When?”

“About a week before... the bombing.” Her voice choked a little.

“What happened? Did someone hit you at an intersection?” Rosemary wished she’d known. Had this been bothering Cleo for a long time?

“No. We went to see Uncle Mike and when we came back something happened to the engine and Dad lost control. The car rolled. That’s why they have that new one.”

Rosemary remembered the shiny new Honda in the garage, still sporting the temporary plate printout in the back window. “That must have been really scary. Were you hurt?”

“No. But Mom had scratches on her face and got kinda bloody and we hurt the next day.”

“I bet you did. I’m so glad you were okay.” But wheels were starting to turn in her head. Jonquil’s suggestion that maybe this wasn’t about Rosemary, but somehow about Cleo was starting to gain traction—but it still didn’t explain why both of them seemed to be targets. She thought of the Honda again and remembered the accident in the garage. If that had been Cleo who set the avalanche of equipment off, she could have been killed by the flying Dutch oven or camping paraphernalia. Had she been the intended target all along?

The elementary school was ridiculously close to their house, apparently, because Harrison pulled up in front of the school before Rosemary could respond.

“Yeah, sure you’re glad I was fine,” Cleo said. “Because we all know I’ve made things so much easier for you.” She slammed the door behind her and ran toward the school.

Pain ricocheted through Rosemary. “What did I screw up?”

Harrison covered her hand and threaded their fingers together. “You don’t have to do anything for her to be upset. She’s been through a lot. Let’s see what the cops have to say and go from there. There’s always this afternoon to work things out with her.”

Rosemary decided not to argue—he was right, and that would give her time to mull over what Cleo had just told her about the accident. Could she know something about someone that would make her a target?