wandered—maybe even gotten lost for a bit. That could have been why he’d thought he saw his father rocking onthe porch. The conversation? Wishful thinking, he decided. That was all.
“Remember how Dad used to bring his fiddle out here? Hot summer nights he’d sit where you’re sitting and play for hours. He had such big hands.”
“He could sure make that fiddle sing.”
“You picked it up pretty well.”
Ethan shrugged, puffed lazily on his cigar. “Some.”
“You ought to take it. He’d have wanted you to have it.”
Ethan shifted his quiet eyes, locked them on Cam’s. Neither spoke for a moment, nor had to. “I guess I will, but not right yet. I’m not ready.”
“Yeah.” Cam blew out smoke again.
“You still got the guitar they gave you that Christmas?”
“I left it here. Didn’t want it banging around with me.” Cam looked at his fingers, flexed them as though he were about to lay them on the strings. “Guess I haven’t played in more than a year.”
“Maybe we should try Seth on some instrument. Mom used to swear playing a tune pumped out the aggression.” He turned his head as the dogs began to bark and race around the side of the house. “Expecting somebody?”
“Phillip.”
Ethan’s brows lifted. “Thought he wasn’t coming down till Friday.”
“Let’s just call this a family emergency.” Cam tapped out the stub of the cigar before he rose. “I hope to Christ he brought some decent food and none of that fancy pea pod crap he likes to eat.”
Phillip strode into the kitchen balancing a large bag on top of a jumbo bucket of chicken and shooting out waves of irritation. He dumped the food on the table, skimmed a hand through his hair, and scowled at his brothers.
“I’m here,” he snapped as they came through the back door. “What’s the damn problem?”
“We’re hungry,” Cam said easily, and peeling the top from the bucket, he grabbed a drumstick. “You got dirton your ‘I’m an executive’ pants there, Phil.”
“Goddamn it.” Furious now, Phillip brushed impatiently at the pawprints on his slacks. “When are you going to teach that idiot dog not to jump on people?”
“You cart around fried chicken, dog’s going to see if he can get a piece. Makes him smart if you ask me.” Unoffended, Ethan went to a cupboard for plates.
“You get fries?” Cam poked in the bag, snagged one. “Cold. Somebody better nuke these. If I do it they’ll blow up or disintegrate.”
“I’ll do it. Get something to dish up that cole slaw.”
Phillip took a breath, then one more. The drive down from Baltimore was long, and the traffic had been ugly. “When you two girls have finished playing house, maybe you’ll tell me why I broke a date with a very hot-looking CPA—the third date by the way, which was dinner at her place with the definite possibility of sex afterward—and instead just spent a couple hours in miserable traffic to deliver a fucking bucket of chicken to a couple of boobs.”
“First off, I’m tired of cooking.” Cam heaped cole slaw on his plate and took a biscuit. “And even more tired of tossing out what I’ve cooked because even the pup—who drinks out of the toilet with regularity—won’t touch it. But that’s only the surface.”
He took another hefty bite of chicken as he walked to the doorway and shouted for Seth. “The kid needs to be here. We’re all in this.”
“Fine. Great.” Phillip dropped into a chair, tugged at his tie.
“No use sulking because your accountant isn’t going to be running your figures tonight, pal.” Ethan offered him a friendly smile and a plate.
“Tax season’s heating up.” With a sigh, Phillip scooped out slaw. “I’ll be lucky to get a warm look from her until after April fifteenth. And I was so close.”
“None of us is likely to be getting much action for the next little while.” Cam jerked a head as Seth’s feetpounded down the stairs. “The patter of little feet plays hell
“Remember how Dad used to bring his fiddle out here? Hot summer nights he’d sit where you’re sitting and play for hours. He had such big hands.”
“He could sure make that fiddle sing.”
“You picked it up pretty well.”
Ethan shrugged, puffed lazily on his cigar. “Some.”
“You ought to take it. He’d have wanted you to have it.”
Ethan shifted his quiet eyes, locked them on Cam’s. Neither spoke for a moment, nor had to. “I guess I will, but not right yet. I’m not ready.”
“Yeah.” Cam blew out smoke again.
“You still got the guitar they gave you that Christmas?”
“I left it here. Didn’t want it banging around with me.” Cam looked at his fingers, flexed them as though he were about to lay them on the strings. “Guess I haven’t played in more than a year.”
“Maybe we should try Seth on some instrument. Mom used to swear playing a tune pumped out the aggression.” He turned his head as the dogs began to bark and race around the side of the house. “Expecting somebody?”
“Phillip.”
Ethan’s brows lifted. “Thought he wasn’t coming down till Friday.”
“Let’s just call this a family emergency.” Cam tapped out the stub of the cigar before he rose. “I hope to Christ he brought some decent food and none of that fancy pea pod crap he likes to eat.”
Phillip strode into the kitchen balancing a large bag on top of a jumbo bucket of chicken and shooting out waves of irritation. He dumped the food on the table, skimmed a hand through his hair, and scowled at his brothers.
“I’m here,” he snapped as they came through the back door. “What’s the damn problem?”
“We’re hungry,” Cam said easily, and peeling the top from the bucket, he grabbed a drumstick. “You got dirton your ‘I’m an executive’ pants there, Phil.”
“Goddamn it.” Furious now, Phillip brushed impatiently at the pawprints on his slacks. “When are you going to teach that idiot dog not to jump on people?”
“You cart around fried chicken, dog’s going to see if he can get a piece. Makes him smart if you ask me.” Unoffended, Ethan went to a cupboard for plates.
“You get fries?” Cam poked in the bag, snagged one. “Cold. Somebody better nuke these. If I do it they’ll blow up or disintegrate.”
“I’ll do it. Get something to dish up that cole slaw.”
Phillip took a breath, then one more. The drive down from Baltimore was long, and the traffic had been ugly. “When you two girls have finished playing house, maybe you’ll tell me why I broke a date with a very hot-looking CPA—the third date by the way, which was dinner at her place with the definite possibility of sex afterward—and instead just spent a couple hours in miserable traffic to deliver a fucking bucket of chicken to a couple of boobs.”
“First off, I’m tired of cooking.” Cam heaped cole slaw on his plate and took a biscuit. “And even more tired of tossing out what I’ve cooked because even the pup—who drinks out of the toilet with regularity—won’t touch it. But that’s only the surface.”
He took another hefty bite of chicken as he walked to the doorway and shouted for Seth. “The kid needs to be here. We’re all in this.”
“Fine. Great.” Phillip dropped into a chair, tugged at his tie.
“No use sulking because your accountant isn’t going to be running your figures tonight, pal.” Ethan offered him a friendly smile and a plate.
“Tax season’s heating up.” With a sigh, Phillip scooped out slaw. “I’ll be lucky to get a warm look from her until after April fifteenth. And I was so close.”
“None of us is likely to be getting much action for the next little while.” Cam jerked a head as Seth’s feetpounded down the stairs. “The patter of little feet plays hell
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