Good Neighbors (Book 1 of the Home Again Series), Page 2

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  Brennan didn't like to make snap judgments about people, but as he watched Erica turn toward his front door as though to lead Liam out—without actually giving the kid time to fetch his things—he didn't think it was any longer a snap judgment to dislike the woman.

  Her whole attitude was stiff and standoffish. She appeared to want to make a point that Brennan was an outsider and unneeded. True, Brennan was a stranger to her, but why was that? Because she'd deliberately absented herself from her father and the rest of her family for the last ten years. Otherwise, she'd know how close Brennan was to Richard Carmichael and to his two sons, Liam and Clint.

  Brennan was so close that he'd promised Richard he'd see to Liam's welfare. Brennan intended to do just that. Even if he'd suggested Erica take Liam home, that didn't mean Brennan was bowing out of the situation, not until he could make sure this would work out to Liam's advantage.

  "All right, then, Liam. Let's go get your things from upstairs," Brennan declared.

  Erica stopped her compact, athletic body and whirled, her mouth open.

  Brennan turned away from her before she could think of some reason she needed to whisk Liam away without his clothes and his school supplies.

  "Ah, I didn't have time to clean up or anything," Liam blurted, hurrying up the stairs first.

  "Don't worry about it," Brennan gently told him, following up the wine-colored stair runner. "Nobody's grading you on neatness this week."

  "Yeah, but—" After he reached the top of the stairs, Liam rushed down the hall toward the guest bedroom where he'd been staying for the past week. "There's neatness and then there's really-big-mess," he called back on his way.

  Chuckling, Brennan slowed down to give Liam time to do whatever he thought he had to before they saw the bedroom. He could hear Erica deciding to follow. Without looking, he could sense her wariness and resentment.

  She was not what Brennan had imagined based on the small amount of information Richard had given him regarding his second-born, the daughter. She was small for the track star her father claimed she'd been, though she wasn't tiny. She was slender and pretty, with a boyish cut to her light brown hair. Brennan had not imagined pretty.

  Once in the spare bedroom, Brennan found Liam standing in the middle of the space and looking around at what was not, in fact, that big of a mess. As was the case so often recently, he appeared completely lost.

  "Where's that duffel bag we used before?" Brennan asked. "Oh, here." He bent to snag the old canvas bag from under the bed. "I'll throw your clothes in while you get your computer stuff together."

  Liam's gaze went to the laptop and assorted electronic boxes of indeterminate employment that were sitting on the desk. "Okay." Once given direction, he was able to get moving, closing the laptop and unplugging wires.

  If Erica hadn't shown up, Brennan would have let the kid simply keep everything where it was...forever. Over the four years he'd known the family, Brennan had come to consider Liam a younger brother of his own. Richard was like a second father.

  "Is the stuff in the drawers yours, too?" Erica asked, moving toward the bureau.

  "What? Oh, yeah." Liam was under the desk, unplugging equipment from the wall socket.

  "Here." Erica lifted a pile of shirts and brought it to the duffel bag Brennan held.

  Her nearness gave him a hit of her feminine presence and the wealth of physical energy lying just under her surface. She did have a certain animal appeal. A lot of it. Brennan leaned away from her in order to grab a sweater from the bed.

  It probably wasn't fair that her physical appeal increased his negative opinion of her.

  Once Liam's clothes had been thrown into the duffel bag, and between Liam and Erica, they'd collected all his electronics and his school backpack, the three of them tramped down the stairs, out the door, and across the two driveways over to the Carmichael residence.

  A few lights were on in the house, set on a timer by Brennan to make it look like the place wasn't deserted. But to Brennan it looked that way anyhow. This time Richard was not coming back.

  "My keys," Liam muttered, swinging his backpack onto the porch. "Where'd I put my keys?" He opened four zippers before he found them.

  Despite the emotional chaos of his father's illness, Liam had gotten straight A's on his fall report card two months ago. The simple things in life, however, seemed to overwhelm him.

  After a certain amount of fumbling, Liam got the key in the lock and opened the door. "There," he breathed in obvious relief. Grabbing his backpack, he went in eagerly.

  Brennan was set to follow Erica, who was holding the miscellaneous electronic boxes, but she abruptly stopped on the other side of the threshold. Brennan saw her look around her, her body language showing shock.

  He didn't think there was anything particularly shocking about the checkerboard wallpaper, the polished brass wall sconce, or the Indian rug over the parquet wood floor—but he had a sudden insight regarding the source of her astonishment. During the time Brennan had known Richard, the older man had taken pride in his house and yard, spending hours trimming the lawn, fixing the handcrafted fence, or putting up new light fixtures.

  He'd probably not been much of a handyman during the years he'd spent drunker than a skunk, when Erica had lived here.

  "Let's put all this stuff in my room upstairs," Liam told Erica. "Then you can choose whichever of the other rooms you want. They're all clean—the maid was here a week ago."

  "Okay." Erica was staring at the fancy chandelier that hung over the front stair.

  A dollop of sympathy dropped into Brennan's negative judgment. From what Richard had admitted to him, Brennan knew Erica's childhood had not been easy. Far from it. She no doubt had good reason to own a prickly personality. She probably had some cause to behave with ill nature under the current circumstances.

  Perhaps some of his irritation with her was actually directed toward himself, he realized. She made him look at his own past with eyes he'd rather not use.

  With a slow shake of her head, Erica moved again, starting up the stairs.

  In Liam's bedroom, Brennan lowered the duffel bag onto the bed.

  Liam was already reconnecting his computer equipment.

  "What about your things?" Brennan asked Erica, who was now staring at the braided rug covering Liam's bedroom floor.

  "Hm?" She blinked and looked up.

  "Can I help you unload your things from your car?"

  "Oh, no. That's okay, I can—" She abruptly stopped, perhaps catching the expression Brennan wore. Correctly, she read he would consider it ridiculous pride on her part to spurn such a benign offer. Straightening, she said, "Sure. The car's parked right out front. I'll go open it up."

  She was perceptive. Brennan was glad of that as he followed her back down the stairs. He wasn't quite as pleased with the additional hit of male interest he felt as he watched her descend the stairs, her movements spare and controlled. Probably the balance of his irritation with her came from her attractiveness. He didn't want to feel attracted.

  At the curb sat a gently aged mini-SUV. She clicked the locks open and reached into the back for a smallish suitcase.

  Their eyes met as she handed it to him. The size of the suitcase said she didn't plan to stay long.

  Her chin lifted in a defensive gesture.

  The gesture made Brennan feel slightly guilty. Who was he to judge or dislike her? He could understand why she'd never come back home. He could even understand why she'd only packed for a short visit, just long enough to bid her father the briefest possible goodbye.

  Clearing his throat, he took her suitcase. "I doubt there's any food in the house. I'm happy to run you and Liam to the market."

  "Thank you, but I remember where the grocery store is. Anyway, I'll probably simply get takeout tonight."

  The brush-off was clear. I don't need you. But then, as he was turning away, he felt a touch on his arm.

  A small shock went through him,
as though he'd connected with a wool blanket on a dry day. Disguising the odd sensation, he turned back to give her a questioning look.

  She quickly retracted her hand. In the light from the front porch, Brennan could see her prickly mask go transparent. Beneath it her fear and vulnerability showed through. She bit her lower lip. "I don't know if you could tell me— But do you think we should go to the hospital right away? I have no idea...how bad things are."

  Something melted in his chest. Maybe this was the real woman, a person who admitted she had feelings and cared. "I think you have time. Liam and I were there earlier, before I brought him home for a break and to get some homework done. Matters seemed fairly stable. I think you can settle in and have dinner first."

  "Oh, okay. Thanks." She released her hold on her lower lip and frowned. "So, you really are friends with my father?"

  Her obvious disbelief swept away his moment of softness. She acted as though Richard could not possibly have friends. Surely she was aware that her father hadn't touched a drink in twelve years. Surely she could guess he might be a decent human being when alcohol wasn't drowning his brain. As a matter of fact, meeting Richard was what had decided Brennan to make a go of becoming branch manager at Livestrength Sports equipment, who'd encouraged him to buy the branch and create his own brand, Diehard, two years ago. Richard had helped Brennan restart his life and succeed.

  "We're good friends," he now told Erica and heard the huskiness in his voice. Tilting his head, he added very deliberately, "He isn't the same person you knew."

  Her nostrils flared. "You think I don't know what he's like when he's sober?" She sounded bitter. "But I also know what it's like when he falls off the wagon. And I don't ever want to be around again when that happens."

  Twelve years of sobriety, treated like a fluke. All the upstanding, decent things Richard had done during that time— Brennan was unable to contain his irritation. "Don't worry. You're unlikely to see that happen."

  Clearly brought up short, she stared at him with widened eyes.

  He felt as though he'd kicked her. Pointing out her father's imminent death had been a low blow. It probably hadn't even been warranted. Richard himself had never blamed either of his two oldest children for writing him off.

  But Brennan couldn't seem to avoid taking it personally when she castigated her father.

  "Here, I'll take the suitcase." She easily wrested it from his grasp. Walking swiftly, she left him behind and stalked toward the house.

  Feeling a mixture of anger and embarrassment, Brennan trailed her toward the house. The woman was entitled to her feelings; he hadn't needed to try throwing guilt into the mix. Also, she had a superior claim for authority over Liam. For purely pragmatic purposes, he should have played his cards better.

  She pushed open the unlocked door. Brennan was sure she intended to go inside and then close it in his face. That would not be ideal. He wasn't yet sure Liam was okay with this new situation.

  Just as Erica was about to enter the house, the telephone inside rang.

  She turned, and her eyes hit Brennan's.

  "Hello?"

  They both heard Liam answer the phone. They both waited, silent, until the boy came to the front door with the kitchen handset to his ear.

  Liam's face was pale. "It's the hospital. They think we should come now."