The other man held up his phone as evidence. “But you know what it’s like when you find a woman you’d do anything for.”
He sure as hell did, and the fact that some stranger was echoing his thoughts? Gramma Finnie would say, “God can speak to you through anyone, lad.”
“Well, she knows your offer was legitimate,” Declan said, taking a few steps into the street and closer to the car, curious about this rich, generous man who might waltz into the life Declan could have had. “But I wouldn’t bother her tonight or, really, until she’s ready, which could be a while.” Especially if she gets…pregnant.
“Oh, yeah, sure. Do not disturb. Got it, man. Thanks.” He reached to turn on the ignition as if to underscore how he wasn’t planning to disturb anyone. “I’m Jim, by the way. And you?”
“Declan Mahoney.” He walked closer to the car and extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Jim.”
He hesitated a second, then reached his right hand out, giving Declan a glimpse of a tattooed forearm. “I do not want to overstep my bounds,” the man said. “But if it’s ever possible to see the inside, I’d love to. I mean, I totally understand her situation and all, but when she’s ready, maybe she’d feel more comfortable letting a stranger in if you’re in the house, too. I could bring my fiancée.”
And then he’d up his offer to three million, and Declan’s stupid little fantasies would get buried in cash. Not to mention that without the house, would Evie have any reason to stay here so they could get from where they were now to where they were destined to be?
“Or not,” the man added quickly, obviously sensing hesitation.
Declan had zero right to try to stop this potential sale. It wasn’t his house. It wasn’t even Evie’s, for crying out loud. “No, no. I’ll ask her. She has your number, right?”
“Yeah, but you should have it, too.” He reached toward the glove box, and out of habit and training, Declan followed his right hand with his gaze. It landed on black ink in the distinct shape of a bell on his forearm, the tattoo detailed enough to have been done by a real artist. “Here you go.”
He handed Declan a cream-colored card with raised black letters. “Thanks, Jim. I’ll, uh, put in a word for you.”
“That’s great, Declan.” He nodded and slid the gearshift into drive. “And sorry to bother you.”
“No, it’s fine. Take your pictures.” He stepped away and glanced at the card as he crossed the street. James Bell, Consultant. Bell…like the tattoo.
Declan tucked it into his pocket, and when he did, his fingers brushed another card. He pulled that one out and slid into the driver’s seat of his truck, looking at the business card in one hand and his decades-old promise in the other.
“Sorry, Jimbo.” He tossed the business card into the cupholder, where it would be trashed next time he washed the truck.
But he unfolded the index card with reverence, slowly rereading every word.
Friend, lover, husband…and father to our
“Children,” he finished, trying to remember why he didn’t complete that sentence when he was writing out his promise. Didn’t matter. They both knew how it should end.
Then he glanced up at the house, seeing the lights on upstairs, imagining Evie chatting with her grandfather. “I promised you, E. I promised you.”
Suddenly, he understood why his world had been all wrong for twenty years. He’d made a promise, and it was time to keep it.
Chapter Twenty
“Look at him, E.” Declan kept slowing down as they walked with Judah to the physical therapy room, marveling over the change in the dog. “He’s different. Am I imagining it? I know he’s sore and moving slow, but doesn’t he seem different to you?”
“Definitely, but it’s not that unusual.” Evie had seen the transformation of thousands of animals after surgery.
“See that spark in his eye?” Declan asked.
Evie glanced up at Declan, seeing the spark in his eyes. “The chronic pain is gone,” she said, taking his hand. “He instinctively knows that stiffness he feels is temporary.”
“Wow.” Declan stopped as they reached the door to the physical therapy room, pulling her closer by their joined hands to add, “You’re magic, you know that?”
She laughed. “I’m a trained professional,” she told him. “No different than when you put out a fire. It’s what you do.”
He studied her for a moment, then guided Judah into the room that was empty except for a tech working with a small cat on a ramp across the room. “I kind of feel the same as he does.”
“You do?”
“Like the chronic pain got fixed.” He held her gaze, his own so full of meaning she could practically read his thoughts.
“And that stiffness?” she joked.
He winked. “Pretty sure you can fix that, too.”
She laughed as they walked in, her own step lighter than it had been in a long, long time. Was it possible? Had that discussion about a baby somehow surgically removed the cause of all their pain for twenty years? The thing that had made them both want to howl in pain like Judah?
Watching Declan drop to the floor and get in Judah’s face, teasing and talking gently to the dog, she started to believe it.
“Hey, bud,” he whispered to the dog.
Judah responded by leaning forward to swipe that humongous tongue along Declan’s cheek, making them both laugh.
“He’s thanking you,” she told him.
“I didn’t do it,” Declan said to Judah. “It was all her. That one.” He pointed to Evie. “The gorgeous one who changes lives with a knife.”
“Actually, a drill.”
“Even sexier.”
The compliment sent a zing through Evie, who slid into a guest chair, kind of itching to pull out her phone and take a picture of Declan and Judah face-to-face on the floor. Suddenly, Judah got down on his belly and lifted his gaze up to Declan, swatting his paw on the ground.
“He’s telling you he wants to play.”
“Oh,
