Blood Brothers

wouldn’t do, and swallowed, to nod wordlessly instead. He swiped a sleeve quickly across his bloody lip.

Freddie started to gather him close, but the boy squirmed away. “M’all right, Mum!”

“He is,” Gabe agreed.

Freddie whirled on him. “Like you’d care! What were you trying to do? Kill him?”

“Kill him? He was riding a sheep, that’s all. Bustin’ mutton.”

“Busting his head, more like!” Her hands were trembling. She made fists of them quickly, then opened them again, shook them out. She glared at him, her normally rosy complexion ash white. Then taking a deep shuddering breath, she turned to Charlie. “That’s enough. No more sheep.”

“But-”

“Come along. We’re going home. Now.”

“He wasn’t hurt,” Gabe intervened. “Not much, anyway,” he added, determined to be perfectly honest. “And it isn’t as if he’s the only kid to ever bust a mutton. Other kids do it. An’ he wanted to ride one.”

“It doesn’t matter what he wanted! I’m his mother! I say what he does. Not him! Not you!” She had Charlie on his feet now and was steering him toward her car.

Gabe kept pace. “You’ve got to let him try things, Fred. You can’t keep him wrapped up in cotton wool his whole life!”

“I can do whatever I want! I’m his mother. You’re…you’re…a cowboy! Here today. Gone tomorrow. Passing through!” Her eyes were flashing, her hair was wild, her breasts were heaving beneath her jacket. She was beautiful and tempting.

And right.

He was passing through.

He had no say. Charlie wasn’t his. He had no rights.

Not unless she gave them to him.

Fat chance.

“Fine,” he said after a long moment. He shrugged with all the nonchalance he could muster. He reached down and snagged his hat off the ground. “Have it your way, Fred. Teach your children that risks are bad, that it’s always better to play it safe.”

He set it on his head, then gave the brim a tug. “I wouldn’t. If they were mine, they’d learn to be cowboys-in the best sense of the word.”

There was apparently nothing in the bill of sale of the Buckworthy Gazette that prevented Percy from quitting, which was exactly what he did when Gabe promoted Beatrice to office manager on his last day at work.

“Me?” Beatrice said, astonished.

“Her?” Percy gasped, appalled.

“That’s right,” Gabe said to both of them. “That way I’m sure the paper will be in good hands.”

And he wanted it in good hands. The Gazette was the one thing he had done right, the one thing he was happy about.

The only thing that mattered, he told himself. It was why he had come, after all.

Freddie had been…Freddie had been a distraction. Beautiful. Lively. Tempting. Fun.

Annoying. Irritating. Downright infuriating.

It was a damn good thing he was going home.

He knew Freddie felt the same way.

For the rest of the week, they steered clear of each other.

She fixed his dinner, but she declined any help with the washing up. She sat in the room and read while he told the children stories, but she never joined in. She didn’t come and sit in the parlor with him after the children were in bed, either. She never let herself be alone with him.

Because she was chicken.

Well, fine. If that’s the way she wanted it, it didn’t matter to him.

They barely spoke all week. He thought they might not speak at all, that he might just get in his car and drive off and she’d never say a word.

But when he came in from work his last afternoon, she handed him a stack of clean folded laundry and said in proper landlady-ish tones, “I think that’s everything then.”

Everything.

All that had passed between them in these few weeks-all the joy, all the laughter, all the smiles, the looks, the touches, the kiss-had all come down to nothing more than a stack of laundry.

He looked at her. She was already on her way back to the kitchen.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

He carried the clean clothes back to his room and began packing his bag. He moved slowly, deliberately. He’d put off packing so he could visit with the kids while he did it. He’d expected them to be waiting for him when he got home this afternoon. But the house had been empty except for Freddie.

“Where are they?” he’d asked when he came in.

She’d shrugged vaguely. “They went off to play somewhere.” Her tone had been dismissive, almost airy.

Gabe knew she was glad, grateful they weren’t hovering over him, stretching things out, asking for one last story. It proved how little he mattered to them. He could see the satisfaction in her eyes.

He’d nodded, certain then that they’d be back before he left.

But it took him ten minutes to pack. Now he was done.

He stripped the bed, tossed the sheets in the wash, folded the duvet, packed, then repacked his bag. He couldn’t wait much longer.

He had told his grandfather he’d be there late tonight so he needed to get moving. Reluctantly he zipped the duffel and picked up his jacket, then headed for the door. Turning, he took one last look back at the room, memorizing it.

Why? he asked himself savagely. So you can drag out the memory and think about it when you’re back home where you belong? So you can remember all those nights in that lonely bed? So you can recall hopes dashed and dreams thwarted? So you can miss Freddie and the kids?

“Oh yeah. Good idea,” he mocked himself.

He didn’t need this. He didn’t need them. Not any of them. Not Freddie who had wanted him and insisted she didn’t. Not her children who clamored to be cowboys, but who, the minute he said he was leaving, vanished, not caring a whit.

He shoved his arms into his jacket, then grabbed the duffel and headed down the stairs. Freddie was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes at the sink. From the stiffness of her shoulders, he knew she’d been listening for him…waiting.

“I’m going now,” he said brusquely. “Tell the kids I said goodbye.”

“Yes.” She turned, blinked, swallowed, smiled. Her smile looked just a little strained.

Gabe felt a small measure of satisfaction. He smiled back, a polite, distant smile-the sort you gave the innkeeper who’d made your stay pleasant. He headed out the door. “Watch out