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Authors: LISA CHILDS
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sighed. “Most of all, I need to know that you’re all right. It’s not like you to do this, to back out when you’ve given your word.”
Brenna had suspected for some time that Molly really didn’t want to be a doctor. For God’s sake, she’d passed out in the delivery room when Abby had given birth to Lara. She’d claimed it was because she hadn’t gotten enough sleep, but Brenna had wondered. Yet Molly had continued with med school, refusing to back out on the promise she’d made her father on his deathbed—that she’d become a doctor to save people just as she’d wished she could have saved him.
“Molly, you can talk to me, you know, about anything. We’ve been friends since preschool. Remember that first day? That bully pulled your pigtail, and I pushed him down and sat on him. When Eric came to Cloverville in second grade you didn’t need me to fight your battles anymore. But I still will. Just give me the word if I need to push someone down and sit on them.” She laughed. “Because I can hurt them a helluva lot more now.”
Her words shuddered out with the hint of a sob. “Most of all, I need to tell you what happened today. I…I…I can’t tell you over the phone. Please, Molly, come home.” She dropped the cordless back onto the charger and flopped against the pillows again. But she wouldn’t sleep. She didn’t want to because she already knew what she’d dream about. Josh’s kiss.
Josh leaned against the doorjamb, every muscle rigid as he fought the desire to turn around and knock on Brenna’s door. It had taken all his willpower to walk past. He shouldn’t have even come up here, but he had to check on his boys. Often when they fell asleep as they had—in the coatroom of the American Legion Hall—they woke in the middle of the night, thirsty or hungry, and wide-eyed and ready to play. He didn’t want them playing in the Kelly museum of antiques without supervision. Hell, he shouldn’t have been playing without supervision, either.
He ran his thumb across his lower lip, tasting traces of frosting and Brenna. TJ thrashed about on the full-size bed he shared with Buzz, swinging his arm across his brother’s face. Josh grimaced as bone connected with nose cartilage.
“Hey!” Buzz groaned, kicking at his brother.
TJ jabbed with his fists. Buzz head-butted his twin.
They were awake now.
“Hey, settle down,” Josh whispered, sitting down on the bed next to Buzz. Springs creaked beneath his weight, the brass frame weak with age. That fragility—and the boys’ restlessness—was why he preferred the lumpy foldout bed to sharing this one with his sons. And with him in the parlor, Brenna wasn’t quite so temptingly close.
“You two have to go back to sleep,” he said, and he wedged his body between them, depressing the mattress so that a twin rolled against each of his sides. He wrapped his arms around the boys, holding them close. And his heart expanded, as it always did, barely able to contain his all-encompassing love for his children.
“I’m not tired,” TJ insisted.
“Me, neither,” Buzz agreed, his eyes bleary as he blinked his heavy lids. “I can’t sleep with him. He hogs the bed.”
“ You hog,” TJ argued.
“You can sleep in your old beds tomorrow,” Josh promised, his neck aching as he crooked it away from the headboard.
“You’re gonna unpack ’em here?” TJ asked.
“Yeah,” Buzz said, his bottom lip forming his trademark pout, “’cause you packed up all our stuff.”
“Even most of our toys,” TJ accused with the faint belligerence that usually preceded a temper tantrum.
“We sold our house,” Josh reminded them. Although it hadn’t been much of a house, with its two small bedrooms and postage-stamp-size yard. But that had been all he could afford while he was working off the student loans for tuition not covered by scholarships.
“And we bought a new house,” TJ remembered.
“Shh,” Buzz said. “We can’t tell Uncle
Brenna had suspected for some time that Molly really didn’t want to be a doctor. For God’s sake, she’d passed out in the delivery room when Abby had given birth to Lara. She’d claimed it was because she hadn’t gotten enough sleep, but Brenna had wondered. Yet Molly had continued with med school, refusing to back out on the promise she’d made her father on his deathbed—that she’d become a doctor to save people just as she’d wished she could have saved him.
“Molly, you can talk to me, you know, about anything. We’ve been friends since preschool. Remember that first day? That bully pulled your pigtail, and I pushed him down and sat on him. When Eric came to Cloverville in second grade you didn’t need me to fight your battles anymore. But I still will. Just give me the word if I need to push someone down and sit on them.” She laughed. “Because I can hurt them a helluva lot more now.”
Her words shuddered out with the hint of a sob. “Most of all, I need to tell you what happened today. I…I…I can’t tell you over the phone. Please, Molly, come home.” She dropped the cordless back onto the charger and flopped against the pillows again. But she wouldn’t sleep. She didn’t want to because she already knew what she’d dream about. Josh’s kiss.
Josh leaned against the doorjamb, every muscle rigid as he fought the desire to turn around and knock on Brenna’s door. It had taken all his willpower to walk past. He shouldn’t have even come up here, but he had to check on his boys. Often when they fell asleep as they had—in the coatroom of the American Legion Hall—they woke in the middle of the night, thirsty or hungry, and wide-eyed and ready to play. He didn’t want them playing in the Kelly museum of antiques without supervision. Hell, he shouldn’t have been playing without supervision, either.
He ran his thumb across his lower lip, tasting traces of frosting and Brenna. TJ thrashed about on the full-size bed he shared with Buzz, swinging his arm across his brother’s face. Josh grimaced as bone connected with nose cartilage.
“Hey!” Buzz groaned, kicking at his brother.
TJ jabbed with his fists. Buzz head-butted his twin.
They were awake now.
“Hey, settle down,” Josh whispered, sitting down on the bed next to Buzz. Springs creaked beneath his weight, the brass frame weak with age. That fragility—and the boys’ restlessness—was why he preferred the lumpy foldout bed to sharing this one with his sons. And with him in the parlor, Brenna wasn’t quite so temptingly close.
“You two have to go back to sleep,” he said, and he wedged his body between them, depressing the mattress so that a twin rolled against each of his sides. He wrapped his arms around the boys, holding them close. And his heart expanded, as it always did, barely able to contain his all-encompassing love for his children.
“I’m not tired,” TJ insisted.
“Me, neither,” Buzz agreed, his eyes bleary as he blinked his heavy lids. “I can’t sleep with him. He hogs the bed.”
“ You hog,” TJ argued.
“You can sleep in your old beds tomorrow,” Josh promised, his neck aching as he crooked it away from the headboard.
“You’re gonna unpack ’em here?” TJ asked.
“Yeah,” Buzz said, his bottom lip forming his trademark pout, “’cause you packed up all our stuff.”
“Even most of our toys,” TJ accused with the faint belligerence that usually preceded a temper tantrum.
“We sold our house,” Josh reminded them. Although it hadn’t been much of a house, with its two small bedrooms and postage-stamp-size yard. But that had been all he could afford while he was working off the student loans for tuition not covered by scholarships.
“And we bought a new house,” TJ remembered.
“Shh,” Buzz said. “We can’t tell Uncle
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