If I Loved You. Leigh Riker
help, either. Right next door, behind a lock he couldn’t access, their answering machine announced their voice mail was full.
Many of those messages were probably from him. He hung up one last time. Molly was home and in the kitchen before he could get out of her way.
“It’s freezing out again.” She bustled around the kitchen, taking off her coat, shaking out her wind-whipped hair. “Where’s Laila?”
“Still napping. I hope. I’ll see in a minute.” He closed his phone, determined to clear the air. “Molly, I didn’t mean to crash on you like that yesterday. Thanks,” he said, “for giving us a room last night. And feeding Laila for me. You’ve been more than generous, considering...” Then he couldn’t find the words he really needed to say.
“What?”
“Well, you know. For one thing...” He looked past her toward the dining room, the front door. “My running off like that years ago—as if I couldn’t get away fast enough.”
“You did appear to be in a hurry.” She attempted a smile, but it didn’t come. “Of course, watching a hometown girl walk down the aisle in a long white dress can’t be as exciting as trying to save the world.”
Brig felt as if she’d punched him in the stomach. Her tone was blithe—deliberately so?—but she made him sound petty. He deserved that, too.
Molly pushed up her sleeves and started to fix dinner. His gaze tracked her movements as she took hamburger from the fridge, a package of buns from the bread box. She flipped on a burner, formed patties from the meat, slapped them into a skillet. Who knew a woman’s efficiency in the kitchen could be a turn-on?
“Well,” she said, just as he had, “now we’ve gotten that off our chests...”
“Have we? Molly. I didn’t want to leave you then. I just wanted—”
“To leave,” she finished for him. “No, let’s not go there. That’s all water under the bridge,” she said, “and we’re not kids, Brig. Eight years is way too long for me to hold a grudge. But last night, I admit, I was a little—a lot—shocked to see you.”
“And Laila, certainly.”
“And Laila,” she agreed. “I doubt Pop’s very keen on having you here, but—”
“No, he’s not. He already warned me not to make another mistake.”
She quirked an eyebrow, then opened the pantry door. Brig studied her slim figure and the way she fit her jeans, but with Thomas’s words in mind, he knew he had no business ogling Molly.
“Your dad’s a hard case,” he said to distract himself. “Kind of like my dad. So I’m used to that. When I was a kid and my father was still on active duty, he could be a real force to contend with.” He paused. “But then, so was I.”
“No wonder Pop and Joe are friends as well as neighbors.”
“Yeah, and a good thing Dad’s mellowed over the years.”
Have you? But Molly didn’t pose the question.
Brig looked down at the cell phone in his hand. “Sorry to still be sticking around. I’ve tried all day to reach my parents.” He could have kicked himself. “This is my own fault. The last time I spoke to them, I told them not to phone me again. Communications are never the best over there, and I was busy making arrangements to bring Laila to the States. I said my next call would be to let them know when we’d arrive.”
“So your coming back wasn’t a surprise.”
“No, but too bad I couldn’t give them a firm date. I don’t know who else to call now,” he said. “Another locksmith just told me he can’t open the door to a house that isn’t mine. No surprise there.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah, I knew better than to ask. It was a desperate move on my part.” Another one, he thought, and stood. He could have picked the old lock—one of his many warrior skills—but the new dead bolt was a more difficult obstacle. So was the alarm system, assuming his father had remembered to set it.
Molly emerged from the pantry. “I wish I could think of someone...”
“Don’t worry. As soon as Laila wakes from her nap, I’ll phone for a cab and we’ll be out of your hair.” And Thomas’s. He flipped open the phone again. “I’m sure we can get a hotel room for tonight. My folks are bound to turn up soon.”
That sounded pathetic even to Brig, and deepened his frown.
“And miss seeing them when they pull in the drive?” Molly hesitated a bit too long, then said, as if she’d surprised herself, “I’ve forgotten my manners. You have the perfect vantage point from here to see when they get home.”
The warm air in the cozy kitchen carried the aroma of seared beef, and Brig’s mouth watered. Or was it the sight of Molly’s green eyes dark with concern?
She’d always been pretty, but at thirty she had an inner beauty to match. Too bad he’d blown his chance with her long ago.
Not even hearing what she’d said, he carried on with his line of thought. “In the meantime, who knows where my parents are?” he said. “Or with whom? Most of the landline numbers for their friends have gone to new phone company customers because Mom and Dad’s gang have all moved to Florida or Arizona. The couple I remember best,” he went on, “is living in Mexico. If my folks went to visit one of their old friends, I wouldn’t know where to even start a search. As for any new people...”
He looked hopefully at Molly, who only shook her head.
“I really don’t know who might be in their circle now. Your parents are more social than Pop. Since he retired, he sticks close to home. He golfs occasionally with your dad, but that’s all.”
“Well, my folks are for sure not in town. No activity I can think of would keep them away this long.”
“You didn’t call them from...wherever on the way home?” Molly asked.
Brig shook his head. “When I finally got a military flight out, it was either jump on the plane with Laila while we had the chance or miss out and have to wait until whenever the next hop came.” He paused. “I called home from Frankfurt, from my home base on the East Coast and then from JFK, even from here in Cincy. But I had to leave messages....” He trailed off. “The folks must have already gone. And then Laila was being a handful with the time change.”
“I’m sure you did the best you could,” Molly said.
Not exactly, Brig thought. He was always hard on himself—partly because he was the son and only child of a military family with strict discipline and even stricter expectations.
He knew his best wasn’t always good enough. To prove it, he said, “Doesn’t take most people I’ve seen twenty minutes to change a diaper. That was false bravado you saw last night.”
“Practice,” Molly murmured. “That’s all you need.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And about fifty books on child care.”
She was rinsing potatoes at the sink, chopping them, then dropping the pieces into a pot of water. For whipped potatoes? Another of his favorites. He hadn’t had them in months.
She pointed a paring knife at the backyard. “There’s a library out in the center—my day care business behind the house. You’re welcome to borrow any of those books, or all of them.”
Which was another of his problems. Time to read—time to do anything. Brig’s gut tightened. His emergency leave couldn’t last forever. He needed to find his parents and get Laila into their temporary care before he had to take off again for parts unknown. Once he got that call, time would be off the table. He sure couldn’t take Laila back with him into the danger that had ended her parents’ lives.
He