Without a Trace (27 page)

“Why wait?” With a laugh, Maddy hooked an arm through Trace’s. “She’s upstairs making herself more beautiful.”

“Nothing changes,” Trace commented.

“Not much. Come on. Gillian, you, too. Chantel will want to meet you.”

“Maybe I should—”

“Don’t be silly.” Abby cut off her protest and took her hand. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime moment.”

“Dylan and I will … check on Quinn,” Reed said.

“Thanks.” Maddy threw him a smile as she climbed the stairs.

“I wonder how Pop’s going to react,” Dylan murmured.

“That’s something I don’t want to miss. Come on, boys, let’s see how the bridegroom is holding up.”

With her usual flair for the dramatic, Maddy rapped on Chantel’s door.

“I don’t want to see anyone unless they have a bottle of champagne.”

“This is better.” Maddy opened the door and stuck her head inside. “Abby and I brought you a wedding present.”

“At the moment, I’d prefer the champagne. I’m a nervous wreck.”

“This’ll take your mind off it.” With a flourish, Maddy pushed the door wide.

Chantel sat at her dressing table in a long white robe, her crown of pale blond hair done up in intricate coils. She saw Trace in the mirror and turned very slowly.

“Well, well,” she said in her dark, alluring voice. “Look what the cat dragged in.” She rose to look at him.

She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Perhaps more. And was undoubtedly every bit as hard a nut to crack. “You look pretty good, kid.”

“I know.” She tilted her head. “You don’t look too bad. A little rough around the edges, maybe.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Nice house.”

“We like it.” Then she let out a long breath. “Bastard. There goes my makeup.” He met her halfway and swung her in one long circle. “I’m so glad you’re here, and I hate you for making me cry so I’ll look like a hag for my wedding.”

“A hag?” He drew her away. “Fat chance.”

“Trace.” She brushed the hair from his forehead. “We always knew the day would come, but you couldn’t have picked a better one. God, don’t you even have a handkerchief?”

“Maddy took it.”

“Figures.” She used the heel of her hand.

“This is Gillian.” Maddy all but shoved her into the room.

“Oh?” Always cautious, Chantel lifted a brow. “How do you do?”

“I don’t want to disturb you.” Chantel’s brow lifted a little higher at the accent, and a smile came into her eyes. “I think I should go down or—”

“She’s with Trace,” Abby put in.

“Is she really?” In the way of triplets, the sisters communicated the rest. “Well, isn’t that nice? Excellent taste, Trace.” She took both of Gillian’s hands. “Sorry I can’t say as much for yours, but champagne is definitely in order.”

“I’ll get it.”

“For heaven’s sake, Maddy, I’ll have one of the servants bring it. You can’t go traipsing up and down the stairs in your condition. Take everyone into the sitting room down the hall. Quinn’s barred from this wing, so I’m not risking any bad luck. I’ll be there as soon as I fix my face again.” She put a hand on Trace’s arm. “Stay, please.”

“Sure.” He shot a look at Gillian, but she was already being washed away in the wave of his sisters.

“We missed you,” she said when they were alone. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, why?”

With her hands in his, Chantel sat with him on the bed. “I guess I always figured you’d come home in absolute triumph or absolute destitution.”

He had to laugh. “Sorry, it’s neither.”

“I won’t ask what you’ve been doing, but I have to ask if you’re staying.”

“I don’t know.” He thought of Gillian. “I wish I did.”

“All right. You’re here today. I hate to be sloppy, but I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

“You start crying again, you will look like a hag.”

“I know. You always were a pain in the—”

“Chantel, Reed said you needed me. I’ve been trying to keep your father from fighting with the—” Molly paused halfway into the room.

He’d thought he’d prepared himself to see her again. She looked older but not old. Changed but somehow
constant. She’d scolded him and comforted him, walloped him and soothed him. Whatever was needed. He felt twelve years old as he stood and looked at her.

“Mom.”

She didn’t want to burst into tears. That would be a foolish thing before she’d said so much as a word. With the strength that had gotten her through years on the road, she took a deep breath. “Let me look at you.” He was thin, but he always had been. Like his father. So like his father. “It’s good to have you back.” She took the next step and folded him in her arms. “Oh, Tracey, how good it is to have you back.”

She smelled the same. She seemed smaller now, more delicate, but she smelled the same. He buried his face in her hair and let himself feel. “I missed you. Mom, I’m sorry.”

“No regrets.” She said it almost fiercely as she held on. “There’s to be no regrets. And no questions.” She drew away to smile at him. “At least not now. I’m going to dance with my son at my daughter’s wedding.” She held out a hand for Chantel. Some prayers
were
answered.

“Molly! In the name of all that’s holy, where did you run off to? Those so-called musicians don’t know a single Irish tune.”

Molly felt Trace stiffen. “Don’t repeat mistakes,” she said with a sternness he remembered well.

“What’s the matter with that girl, hiring a bunch of idiots? Molly, where the devil are you?”

He bounced into the room the way he bounced through life. Sure of himself and on the edge of a dance. It was rare for Frank O’Hurley’s feet to falter, but they did when he saw his son.

“I have to see about champagne,” Chantel said quickly. “Mom, there’s someone I want you to meet. Come let me introduce you.”

Molly stopped at the door and looked into her husband’s eyes. “I’ve loved you all my life,” she said quietly. “And will no matter what foolish thing you do. Don’t disappoint me, Frank.”

Frank cleared his throat as the door shut behind him. A man shouldn’t feel awkward with his own son. But he couldn’t help it. “We didn’t know you were coming.”

“I didn’t know myself.”

“Still footloose and fancy-free, are you, Trace?”

His spine stiffened. “So it seems.”

“That’s what you always wanted.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but the words came out before he could stop them.

“You never knew what I wanted.” Damn, why did it have to be a repeat performance? “You never wanted to know. What you wanted was for me to be you, and I couldn’t be.”

“That’s not true. I never wanted you to be anyone but yourself.”

“As long as it fit your standards.” Trace started to walk out, but then he remembered what Gillian had said. He had to make peace, or at least try. He stopped, still feet away from his father, and dragged a hand through his hair. “I can’t apologize, I won’t apologize for being who I am or for doing anything I’ve done. But I am sorry I’ve disappointed you.”

“Wait a minute.” Frank held up a hand. A moment before he’d been afraid he would lose Trace again, and he hadn’t been sure he would be able to get him back. He’d had years to regret. “Who said I was disappointed? I never said I was disappointed. What I was, was angry and hurt, but you never disappointed me. I won’t have you saying it.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You had your say once, twelve years ago. Now I’ll have mine.” His chin was jutted out. He, too, wore a tux, but on him it looked like a stage costume. Trace would have bet his last nickel there were taps on the bottoms of his father’s shoes. He hoped there were.

“All right, but before you do, I want you to know I didn’t come to spoil Chantel’s wedding. If we can’t do anything else, I’d like to call a truce for one day.”

The calm strength surprised Frank. His boy had grown up. Pride and regret pulled him in opposite directions. “It’s not a war I want with you, Tracey. It never was.” Frank pushed a hand through his hair in a gesture that surprised Trace because it mirrored one of his own habits “I—I needed you.” He stumbled on the words, then cleared his throat. “You were my first, and I needed you to be proud of me, to look up to me like I
had all the answers. And when you wanted to find your own, I didn’t want to listen. Knowing I was a failure to you—”

“No.” Appalled, Trace took the first step forward. “You never were; you couldn’t be.”

“You sent your mother money.”

“Because I wasn’t around to give anything else.”

The old wound remained, gnawing. “I never gave you—any of you—the things I promised.”

“We never needed things, Pop.”

But Frank shook his head. “A man’s meant to provide for his family, to pass some legacy on to his son. God knows I never gave your mother half of what she deserved. The promises were too big. When you left, saying what you said, I had to be bitter. Because if I stopped being bitter, I couldn’t have stood knowing I wasn’t the father you wanted, or being without you.”

“You’ve always been the father I wanted. I didn’t think …” Trace let out a long breath, but it didn’t steady his voice. “I didn’t think you wanted me back.”

“There’s not a day that’s gone by I haven’t wanted you back, but I didn’t know how to tell you. Hell, didn’t know where you were most of the time. I drove you away, Tracey, I know that. Now you’ve come back a man, and I’ve lost all those years.”

“There are plenty more. For both of us.”

Frank put his hands on his son’s broad shoulders. “When you leave, I don’t want it to be in anger. And I want you to know that just by looking at you here, I’m proud of what you’ve made yourself.”

“I love you, Pop.” For the first time in twelve years, he embraced his father. “I want to stay.” He closed his eyes because the words brought such tremendous relief. “I need you. I need all of you. It’s taken me too long to figure that out.” He drew away. “I want my father back.”

“Ah, Tracey, I’ve missed having you.” Frank reached for his own handkerchief and blew smartly. “Damn girl ought to keep a bottle in here.”

“We’ll find one. Pop.” Trace looked into his father’s damp blue eyes. “I’ve always been proud of you. What
you gave me was the best. I just had to see what I could do with it on my own.”

“This time, my boy, we kill the fatted calf.” He put his arm around Trace’s shoulder. “And we’ll have that drink, you and me. When this hoopla of your sister’s is over, I might even risk your mother’s temper and get a little drunk. A man’s entitled to celebrate when he’s given a son.”

“I’m buying.”

Frank’s damp eyes sparkled. “That’s my boy. Made a bundle, did you? And you saw all those places you wanted to see?”

“More than I wanted to see,” Trace said and smiled. “I even sang for my supper a time or two.”

“Of course you did.” Fresh pride burst through him. “You’re an O’Hurley, aren’t you?” He gave Trace a slap on the back. “Always had a better voice than you had feet, but that’s no matter. I expect you’ve got stories to tell.” He winked as they started out. “Start with the women.”

That hadn’t changed, either. Though he hadn’t expected it, it made him glad. “It might take a while.”

“We’ve got time.” He had his son back. “Plenty of it.”

They were halfway down the stairs when Trace saw another tuxedoed figure. “I’ll check it out,” the man said into a phone with his back to the stairs.

“Quinn, my boy.” Frank’s call could have brought down the roof. “I want you to meet my son, Trace.”

Quinn turned. He and Trace stared at each other. The shock of recognition came, but it didn’t show. “Nice to meet you.” Quinn held out a hand. “I’m sure Chantel’s thrilled you’re here.”

“It’s interesting meeting all my in-laws in one fell swoop.”

“We need a drink,” Frank announced. “Guests’ll be trooping in before we know it.” And he was going to show off his family. All his family.

“Pour me a double.” Trace patted his father’s shoulder. “I’ll be right with you.”

“We’ll make it a quick one for now. I still have to straighten out those musicians.”

“Small world,” Quinn commented when they were alone.

Trace shook his head, studying the man who had once, in his early days with the ISS, been his partner. “It’s
been a while.”

“Afghanistan was what—eight, ten years ago?”

“That’s the ballpark. So you’re going to marry Chantel.”

“Come hell or high water.”

“Does she know what you do?”

“I don’t do it anymore.” Quinn pulled out his cigarettes and offered one. “I’ve got my own security business. You?”

“Recently retired.” Trace pulled out matches. “I’ll be damned.”

“You know, I’m amazed I didn’t put it together, O’Hurley.”

“We weren’t using names in that operation, not real ones.”

“Yeah, but the thing is, you look more like her than either of her sisters.”

Trace blew out a long stream of smoke and laughed. “If you don’t want to sleep on the couch for the next six months, I wouldn’t mention that to her.”

*   *   *

The O’Hurleys overwhelmed her. Gillian had never met anyone like them. She found herself sitting with the family as Chantel was married in the warm California winter under a white silk canopy while some five hundred guests looked on. There was champagne by the bucket, flowers by the truckload and tears enough to swim in.

For hours she was caught up in the whirlwind they created until, head spinning, she sought out a quiet spot to let it all settle. She wasn’t sure it was quite proper for her to slip into the parlor, but the music was muted here. And she could put her feet up.

“Sneaking out?”

With a gasp, she pressed a hand to her heart. “You scared the life out of me.” She relaxed again as Trace came to sit beside her. “You shouldn’t creep up behind a person.”

“I’ve been doing it for years.” He stretched his own legs out. “Feet hurt?” he asked as he looked at her discarded shoes.

“I feel like I’ve danced my toes off. Doesn’t your father ever slow down?”

“Not that I’ve ever noticed.” God, it was good to be back.

Gillian snuggled back against the pillows. “He likes me.”

“Of course he does. You’re Irish. Then there’s the fact that you can do a fairly adequate jig.”