From Father to Son. Janice Johnson Kay
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been a huge consolation for them.
Rowan was proud of her smile. “I wasn’t looking for time on my own. Desmond needs friends his age. A new one is welcome.” She picked up the phone and stood. “Would you like a glass of lemonade? Why don’t we sit out here so we don’t wake Anna.”
“I thought you told me she’d given up her naps,” Donna said. “Are you sure you want her to sleep? Won’t she fight bedtime tonight?”
“Some days she doesn’t nap, but she’s still in transition. I figure if she falls asleep on her own, she needs the rest.” Rowan kept the smile fixed on her face. “Lemonade?”
“I suppose.” Glenn snorted. He was eyeing the broken run-off pipe for the roof gutters. “Your grandmother didn’t keep this place up, did she?”
Couldn’t he pretend to be a little excited for her? Rowan didn’t let herself sigh. No; Glenn took pride in being blunt. He’d made no secret of his opinion of her moving out on her own with two young children when she had the option of being taken care of.
They’d both become more critical since Drew died. Rowan had been reasonably sure they never quite approved of her. The first thing Donna had ever said to her was, “What kind of name is Rowan?”
Drew had insisted that Rowan was being too sensitive when she told him she didn’t think his parents liked her. “That’s just Mom and Dad,” he said, sounding resigned.
Rowan had clung to the fact that they did adore their grandchildren. And they had been generous in taking her and the kids in after Rowan realized she would have to sell the house to cover the debts Drew had left. They’d refused her offer to pay rent and rarely even let her buy groceries, which had allowed her to put some money away. How could she not be grateful, even if some days they’d made it hard? If only they’d respected her right to parent her own children the way she thought best, she wouldn’t have felt so desperate to get away from them. Even so, Rowan had been ashamed of the fervor with which she’d seized the chance to move out.
Perhaps, she thought now, if she’d involved Donna in the redecorating plans that would have appeased her.
But rebellion immediately sparked in her. Was it so bad to want to make the house totally hers and Anna’s and Desmond’s?
Was it so bad to wish she could she could restrict their contact with the kids to an occasional outing and too many packages under the tree on Christmas morning?
Rowan didn’t know whether to hope that Anna would sleep for a long time and they would give up and go away, or that she’d wake up and give them a grandchild fix. She had a gift for softening them both. Rowan worried more about Des, who they seemed determined to correct and mold, chide and stifle. More than Anna, he was slated as the replacement for their son. In the last year, he’d gone from being happy to see Grandma and Grandpa to shutting down and getting quiet in their presence. It infuriated her that her confident, bright, happy kid had to feel that way. Even if she’d loved living with Donna and Glenn, she’d have moved out at the first opportunity for Desmond’s sake.
“Why don’t I come in and help pour that lemonade?” Donna said. “And I can take a peek to see what you’ve done to the house. I’ll be quiet, but you know dear Anna wouldn’t want to miss our visit!”
How could she say no, even though her mother-in-law didn’t know how to keep her voice low? Even though it meant hearing again that Donna didn’t understand how Rowan could possibly want to live in a place that was so dark and dingy. Why, it wasn’t fair to the children, when they’d had such a nice room at Grandma and Grandpa’s.
If only Drew and she hadn’t both grown up in Stimson. If only Gran had left her a house somewhere else, far, far away.
Minneapolis, she thought wistfully. Florida. Anywhere at all but here.
CHAPTER THREE
NIALL GROANED AND PULLED his pillow over his head. It muffled the far-off wails, but didn’t entirely mute them.
What the hell was wrong with that little girl, and why wasn’t her mother fixing her? The kid had been squalling for half an hour or more, and it was three o’clock in the morning. She’d probably awakened the entire neighborhood. He knew exactly when she’d started, because her first screams had inserted themselves neatly into his recurring nightmare about the toddler with the dandelion puff of hair soaked with blood.
Okay, he hadn’t minded that she’d woken him up. If only she hadn’t kept crying and crying and crying.
He should get up and close the window. He could turn a fan on instead. Bonus: it would provide white noise to block those pitiful sobs.
With another groan, he cast aside the pillow, got up and pulled on the pair of jeans he’d discarded on a chair. Not bothering with a light, he chose a T-shirt by touch, then fumbled his way from the bedroom. Outside, he saw that several lights were on in the main house. Good to know. At least Mom wasn’t such a heavy sleeper she’d been ignoring the poor kid.
He rapped lightly on Rowan’s back door, bewildered by why he was doing so. What could he do?
Through the glass inset, he saw her approach, her expression wary until she snapped on the outside light and recognized him. Anna clung to her like a monkey, legs wrapped around her mother’s waist, arms probably choking her.
As Rowan opened the door, Anna’s sobs quieted to hiccuping breaths as she turned a wet, hectically flushed face to Niall.
“I’m so sorry.” Rowan looked distraught. “I should have made up my mind sooner what to do, before she woke you up.”
Anna’s face crumpled. “What’s wrong?” Niall said hastily.
“She has an ear infection. I’ll have to get Desmond up…”
“He’s sleeping?” he asked in disbelief.
She made a face. “Trying. We need to go to Emergency.”
“You’d better get dressed.” He was having to raise his voice to be heard above the renewed sobs.
“Yes.” She looked hopeful. “I don’t suppose you’d hold her?”
Oh, man. Why hadn’t he stayed in bed?
He’d been trying not to notice that she wore only a T-shirt that reached midthigh. It had a cartoon character on the front, faded by frequent washings. The thin cotton knit fabric clung to her body. Her daughter’s legs, clamped around her, had pulled the hem up almost high enough for him to see whether she wore panties beneath it or not. The speculation was enough for his body to harden despite the squalling kid.
“Uh…sure. If she’ll come to me.” He hesitated, cursing the common decency that had gotten him out of bed and over here in the first place. “Do you want me to stay with Desmond? Or…” He looked at the hysterical little girl. Despite deep reluctance, he said, “Maybe I should come with you. Drive, so you can concentrate on Anna.”
“Do you mean that?” Rowan’s eyes welled with tears.
Hell. Now she was crying, too.
“Of course I do. If it would help.” He found himself holding out his arms and hoping the little girl would go into them, even though normally he would consider that a fate worse than death. “Go on. Get dressed.”
With an especially piercing sob, Anna catapulted herself at Niall. She latched on tight, buried her face against his neck and cried. The rhythmic sobs reminded him unpleasantly of a siren he longed to turn off. Rowan gave him one fraught look, then fled.
Feeling way out of his depth, he bounced the girl a little. “Hey, hey. I know you hurt. We’ll get you all better before you know it. Come on, honey.” He began to walk. He’d heard new fathers talk about walking the baby endlessly. Maybe it would work here, too. “Crying doesn’t help. I think it’s making you feel worse.”