Until There Was You (13 page)

Ah. Why not put the period medicine twelve rows away from the other period stuff? Clearly a woman was in charge of this store. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” She started off.

“Hey, is it my imagination, or is your mother trying to fix me up with your cousin?” he asked, not quite wanting her to go.

Her face turned pink, but she just shrugged and pursed those gorgeous lips of hers. “No clue.”

“Think she likes me?”

“Of course she does, Liam. It’s the law, isn’t it? Women must fall at your feet.”

He grinned. “You don’t seem to do that. Not when you’re sober, anyway.”

Her blush deepened. “Don’t worry, biker boy,” she said coolly. “You’re not my type.”

“No? You sure about that?” He raised an eyebrow and grinned, and her face went from bright pink to Harley-Davidson’s Fire Engine Red.

“Very.” She pushed her cart past him. “But you know, if you’re looking for love, there’s always the mirror.”

She was mad. “Hey, Cordelia. Sorry. Force of habit.”

“Whatever. Hope your daughter feels better. Bring her something chocolate.”

She didn’t look back, and Liam had to admit, it wasn’t his usual effect on women. Even women who hated him softened if he gave them a little dose of charm. Sounded cocky, but it was true. Hadn’t Maya Chu just been flirting with him at Rosebud’s? Liam had been fielding passes since he was fourteen years old. Marriage had slowed that down from a river to a stream, but now that he was a widower, women had been swarming like a cloud of mosquitoes. One woman, someone from the PTA, had slipped her phone number into his pocket at Emma’s
wake,
and six months later he’d been averaging four or five phone calls a day from a horde of concerned single women (and three married chicks as well) who wanted to let him know they were available if he wanted to talk, have dinner or get laid.

So even if Cordelia Osterhagen blushed when he was around, she was certainly one of the more subtle females he’d come across. The cousin, Greta or whoever, feeding him by hand…that was more what he was used to.

He went to the medicine aisle and found Nicole’s Midol, said a quick prayer that it would work, and swung by the chocolate aisle, adding a mega-size bar of Lindt milk chocolate. Couldn’t hurt.

At the checkout, there was Cordelia again. She didn’t look over at him.

“So, you have a salvage yard,” he said, holding the first box of girl stuff under the scanner.

“Yup.”

“You think you might have something Nicole would like for her room?”

She glanced over. “What did you have in mind?”

Liam shrugged. “I don’t know. Her room back home… Well, Emma had painted it with clouds and all, and Nic was saying the other day how bare it looks here. I didn’t really have anything in mind. Not really good at that stuff.”

“What does she like?”

Excellent question. Aside from Cookie Monster, he had no idea anymore. At Christmas, he’d bought her a Hello Kitty calendar, which earned him a lecture on how she wasn’t a baby anymore. Last week, she’d come home from the store with a pair of pajamas imprinted with Hello Kitty. “I don’t know. I just thought something a little different. Never mind. It’s fine.”

“I’ll look around,” Cordelia said. “I might have something.”

“Thanks.”

They finished scanning about the same time. Apparently, they were parked near each other, too; Liam’s dark blue Honda next to a battered red pickup.

As he approached, a pony-size black-and-white head appeared in the window of Cordelia’s truck. The dog, the biggest he’d ever seen, yawned then sniffed the air, maybe sensing his Egg Beaters were close by.

“That’s some dog,” Liam said.

“Shilo. He’s a Great Dane.”

“Can I pet him?”

“Do you mind if he rips your arm off?”

Liam blinked. “He bites?”

She smiled, just a little flash. “No. Go ahead.”

The only dog Liam had ever owned was way back when they still lived in Pennsylvania, when Liam was about five—a pit bull his father had trained to attack and which spent its life chained to a stake in the front yard. His dad had called the dog Idiot. Liam had been bitten twice by the dog, but it had still been his job to feed him, tiptoeing up to the dog, who’d always growled, even though supper was approaching.

A little warily, Liam held up his hand for the Great Dane to sniff. Shilo licked his hand once, then closed his eyes, and Liam smiled, then smoothed his hand over the dog’s warm, bony head. Clearly not in the same class as Idiot, though probably five times as big. The thing took up almost the entire front seat of the truck.

“He must outweigh you by forty pounds,” he commented. “How’d you train him?”

“I don’t know. The usual way, I guess.”

Maybe Nicole would like a dog. “Where’d you get him?”

“The pound. See you around, Liam.” With that, Cordelia got into the truck and floored it, tires screeching a little, as if she couldn’t wait to be away from him.

Not his usual effect at all. But fifteen minutes later, when Nicole had snatched the chocolate from him and kissed his cheek, telling him he was the best, Liam couldn’t help feeling grateful to that scratchy little Cordelia Osterhagen.

“O
H
!” K
ATE GRUNTED
as she sat down behind her desk. “My side is killing me. I’m ovulating, I think. That sucker must be huge.”

“Must we discuss?” Jon asked.

“Man up, weenie boy,” Kate said.

“You man up, Venus Williams,” Jon replied. “I’m a gay home-ec teacher. I never have to man up. I never
will
man up. As God is my witness, I’ll never man up again.”

Posey had finished a quote on taking down a barn in Chelmsford and dropped by the school to pick up Brianna for their afternoon together. Knowing both Kate and Jon had a late lunch, she’d crashed and was now happily eating half of Jon’s chicken salad sandwich (with grapes and walnuts on a croissant, plus oatmeal cookies for dessert). They ate in Kate’s office, just off the locker rooms, despite Jon’s complaints of the faint smell of sweat.

Kate leaned back in her chair, her head touching the poster of Mia Hamm’s moment of sports-bra glory. “So, James and I are thinking of taking a trip to Sedona this summer. Pilates, spa, deep meditation, the whole thing.”

“What every teenage boy dreams of,” Jon said. “Why not Outward Bound or a summer at sea?”

“What do you know about Outward Bound? Weren’t we just discussing what a sissy you were, Jon?” The bell rang. “Oops, time to go,” Kate said. She lurched upright in her chair. “Walk with me, you two. I have bus duty. Oh, and hey, Posey, we’re short on prom chaperones this year. You in?”

“No,” Posey said. “Though I loved the way you slipped that in. Nice work.”

“You should come!” Jon declared. “We can go together, because you know your brother would rather chew off his own arm, then reattach it.”

“At last, Henry and I have something in common,” Posey said. “No thanks, guys.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun,” Kate said.

“Gee, I wish I could, but I’ll be busy hacking my wrists that night.”

“It’s not
that
bad,” Kate said, locking her office door behind them.

“It’s so much fun!” Jon said. “I’m the most popular boy there. If I were eligible for prom king, I’d win every year.”

As if on cue, a pretty girl bounced over to them. “Mr. White, I totally wish you were straight. I have
such
a crush on you.”

“Take a number, sweetheart,” Jon said kindly. “Did you plan out your quilt design yet? It’s due on Tuesday.”

“Well, I need chaperones,” Kate continued. “So far I only have Jack Whalen signed up, and only because I’m blackmailing him.”

“What did he do?” Posey asked.

“He subscribes to
Cat Fancy
magazine,” Kate answered. “Imagine trying to be an authority figure when your students know you read
Cat Fancy.
”

“I read
Cat Fancy,
” Jon said.

“Of course you do.” Kate pushed open the door into the main wing of the school. The hallway was packed, lockers slamming, kids making out, insulting each other, giggling shrilly to show how fun and popular they were, or slinking along the wall, trying to be invisible.

Posey glanced down the hall, her eyes stopping on what looked like a golden couple—the girl was pretty and blonde, her face pink with pleasure as she smiled up at a good-looking boy, who was leaning against her locker. Had to be Nicole Murphy. She was the image of her mom.

A lump came to Posey’s throat. It was so strange to think of Emma Tate, that lovely, generous girl, as an adult, a mother, a wife. To picture her sick and weak…dying…when the last time Posey had seen her, she’d been perfect. In perfect health, perfect happiness, a perfect future spreading out in front of her. All that, gone, and her little girl left alone.

“That’s Nicole Murphy,” Kate confirmed. “Let me introduce you. It’ll be nice for her to meet someone who knew her mom.” Kate towed Posey over, leaving Jon behind to field another admirer. “Ms. Murphy! Hey, Mr. Talcott, how you doing?” Kate’s gym-teacher voice could be heard quite clearly. “Nicole, this is Posey Osterhagen. She was a friend of your mom’s.”

“Oh, hi,” the girl said, her smile slipping a little.

“Hi,” Posey answered, swallowing against the lump. “We weren’t really friends… Well, we sort of were. She was two years ahead of me. She was…she was really nice.”

“Thanks,” Nicole said, her voice quiet. “I have some of her teachers, and everyone always says that.”

“You look a lot like her,” Posey added. “She was beautiful.”

The girl smiled.

“Mr. Harris! Do you
mind?
” Kate bellowed. “Excuse me, kids. Gotta run. See you later, Posey.” Kate went off to quell whatever trouble was brewing.

The boy was staring at Nicole, eyes glassy with adoration. The girl gave Posey an awkward smile. Her exit cue. “Well, nice meeting you,” Posey said, then turned to leave and bounced right off a man’s chest. Liam Murphy’s chest, to be specific.

Oh, Elvis. He smelled
so
good…soap and that sharp smell of a garage, oil and metal, and beneath that, the smell of cloves, that pumpkin-pie smell. His hair was rumpled, and either he hadn’t shaved this morning or he was one of those guys who could grow a beard in a few hours. Lust tightened her insides, and the smarter part of her brain clucked in warning. She took a step away and shoved her hands into her jeans pockets.

“Nic, I’ve been waiting for ten minutes,” Liam rumbled.

“Sorry, Dad. Ms. Ellington introduced me to an old friend of Mommy’s.”

Mommy.
Poor thing.

Liam seemed to notice Posey for the first time. “Oh. Hey.” Prince Charming this guy was not. “Hi.”

He turned his attention back to the kids. “Who are you?” he demanded, looking rather fierce.

“Daddy, this is Tanner Talcott.” Nicole moved a little closer to the boy, who stuck out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Murphy. Nicole’s told me a lot about you.”

Liam stared at the hand for a long, withering moment, then looked back at the boy. “Let’s get this straight, pal,” he said in a dangerous voice. “I know what you’re like. I know what you’re thinking. I know you, kid. I
was
you. I know what you have in your pants, and it’s gonna stay there.”

“Dad, chill!” Nicole’s face was fiery red. “OMG, Tanner, see? I told you.”

Liam ignored his daughter. “You can hold her hand. Maybe, after a year or so, a kiss on the cheek. Are we clear?”

Wow. This was more fun than Posey had expected. She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

The two teenagers stared at Liam, then looked at each other. “See?” Nicole said. “Psychotic.”

“That’s right, honey,” Liam said, putting his arm around her. “She’s my only child, Tanner Talcott. My princess. My angel. Got it?”

“Totally, Mr. Murphy. So, Nicole, you wanna go to the movies sometime?”

“I’d love to. Text me.”

“No, don’t text her. Call me and ask my permission first. But I’ll save you some time. The answer is no.”

“Text me,” Nicole repeated in a grittier tone.

“Nice meeting you both,” Tanner said, nodding at Posey. At least someone was aware that she was still standing there. He hefted his backpack onto his shoulder, grinned at Nicole, then shambled down the hall.

“What a nice boy,” Posey said. Nicole beamed.

“Shut it, Cordelia,” Liam said.

“Really cute, too,” Posey added. “So, Liam, remember that thing you asked about?”

“No.” His eyes were stony.

“In the supermarket? Last week?”

“Oh. Right.”

“Are you guys gonna be around? I can bring it by later today.”

“What is it?” Nicole asked, looking up at her father.

His face softened. Then he glanced at Posey—of course, he didn’t know what it was. “It’s…it’s something for your room,” he said awkwardly.

“Really? Cool! Can you bring it over, Posey?”

“That would be Ms. Osterhagen to you,” Liam grumbled.

“You can call me Posey. Does five o’clock work? I have something to do first.”

“Cool. Do you know where we live?” Nicole asked.

Yes, I was sleeping it off in your guest room not that long ago, intoxicated and buck naked.
Posey glanced at Liam, hoping she wasn’t blushing. “Yup. See you later.” With that, she went off to find Brianna.

L
IAM’S AFTERNOON
was not going well.

First of all, Rick Balin had come by his shop. Again. He said he wanted a custom bike, but it seemed to Liam that he really wanted to relive his high-school years, one of those sad types who’d peaked at seventeen. Liam himself barely remembered high school outside of Emma. He suspected Rick had a drinking problem, as well as a heart attack lurking in the near future. Instead of making a decision on the three designs Liam had drawn up, Rick had spent an hour and a half reminiscing about the good old days, telling stories about people Liam barely remembered…Jessica something, Mitch something else. By the time he left, Liam had a pounding headache.

Then the Tates had called. Fourth time in two days, checking to see if Nicole was free for Easter break, because they’d like to take her to Paris. Paris! As if he’d let his only child fly across the Atlantic without him. The Tates had also asked if Nicole could stay overnight on Wednesday, which sounded harmless enough. But Liam knew from experience that if you gave the Tates an inch, they’d take not just a mile, but the Eastern Seaboard, too. This Wednesday would become every Wednesday. Louise would say, “But I thought you didn’t mind—it’s our tradition, after all.” And Louise could make a tradition in about thirty seconds, oh yeah. The Tates had come out for Christmas the year Nicole had been born, and it was tolerable enough. Liam just hadn’t realized it meant they’d be there for
every
holiday—Thanksgiving, Easter, Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, Labor Day, Halloween, Rosh Hashanah (no, they weren’t Jewish, but why pass up a chance, right?).

Liam had wanted Nicole to be closer to her grandparents. But he hadn’t realized that closer would never be close enough. His explanation that Wednesday wasn’t going to work had been met with an injured silence, a goodbye that was just tremulous enough to let Liam know that Louise was deeply wounded. And no one could do wounded like Louise.

And then there was That Boy. Tanner. Just thinking the name set Liam’s teeth on edge. That Boy had touched Nicole’s shoulder. Not cool. Not cool at all. They’d argued about it all the way home.

“Dad, you can’t just lock me in a convent!” Nicole had whined.

“Watch me,” he said.

“I’m almost sixteen! I should get to have a boyfriend!”

“Says who?”

“Dad!” There it was, that three-syllable screech. “I’m like a freak or something!”

“So what? At least you’re not pregnant.”

“You’re, like, ridiculous.” She stared out the window. “I
am
going to the movies, you know. You can’t lock me up.”

No, he couldn’t. Or, rather, locking up didn’t tend to work, as Liam well knew, since George Tate had threatened the same thing to Emma, and it had only given her more motivation to sneak out of the house and meet Liam and do all sorts of things that he didn’t want his daughter doing. Hypocritical? Absolutely. The essence of parenthood.

So now Nicole was sulking in her room, Bruce Springsteen blaring—another new artist she’d found. The Tates had called twice more since their earlier conversation and had emailed him an itemized list of why they should be able to take Nicole to France.

So now Liam sat at the kitchen table, dismantling a carburetor from a Harley, his movements a little too sharp to really do anything effective.

His doorbell buzzed. Super. Carol Antonelli probably wanted to discuss her hysterectomy. She’d offered to show him her scar on Monday, and Liam was giving serious thought to moving.

He stalked down the hall and jerked open the door. It wasn’t Carol. It was Cordelia Osterhagen, holding a large packing crate. He’d completely forgotten she was coming by. And there was Carol in her doorway, talking through the four inches allowed by her security chain, as if worried that Cordelia was about to kick in the door and set fire to the place. As if she could. For a second, Liam remembered how light she’d been when he carried her. The way her hair had brushed against his chin. That mouth of hers, looking so soft and—

“Liam!” Carol said. “Posey here has a package for you!”

“It’s true,” Cordelia said. “Though it’s actually for Nicole.”

“A sweet girl!” Carol sang. “Lovely! Such nice manners!”

“I just met her, but she seems great.” Cordelia turned to him and cocked an eyebrow. “Well, this is heavy. Liam. You gonna stand there like a fern, or can I bring it in?”

Great. More attitude. Just what he didn’t need. Liam opened the door and stood back.

“Posey, did I tell you I’m having dinner at the restaurant with your mother?” Carol said. “That Gretchen! Such a gift! Of course, I love Italian food, don’t get me wrong, I married Mario Antonelli, for heaven’s sake, but what Gretchen does with sour cream should be against the law! I used to watch her show every day.”

“You and dozens of others,” Cordelia muttered. Then, in a louder voice, “Have fun, Mrs. A. Tell my mom I said hi.”

She brushed past Liam, then set the box down. Cordelia wore a flannel shirt and brown Carhartt carpenter pants and looked more like Norm Abrams from
This Old House
than an actual female. Those boots could do serious damage. She might dress like a man, but there was that nice smell again. Oranges. He couldn’t imagine her using perfume. Maybe it was her shampoo or soap.

An unbidden image of Cordelia in the shower, water and suds streaming over her wet skin, leaped to mind.

She cleared her throat, and Liam, abruptly aware that he was staring at her, shifted his gaze. Okay, that was…odd. Sex thoughts about Cordelia Osterhagen. Well, chalk it up to garden variety horniness and a long drought, and think about something else.

He looked past her. The door wasn’t locked.