Chapter 4
Liam was in a bad mood.
He climbed out of the cab of his pickup truck and into the snow-filled air, slamming the door behind him. He should be halfway to Boston right now to bid on a job, but his father had phoned and told him to come over right away.
It was important, he said.
Important to Chip Wheaton could mean he had another run-in with the sheriff, and it had come to blows like last time.
Or it could mean he was sitting in a corner of his bedroom, terrified that if he walked out into the kitchen where his keys were, he'd climb in the car and go buy a beer or three bottles of whiskey.
Liam strode up the walkway of the tired old duplex, wondering what level of hell awaited him beyond the front door. Chip had been sober for almost three years, but Liam was weary from trying to keep it that way. Most days, Liam worked harder at keeping Chip sober than Chip did.
When Liam got out of jail, the townspeople who once found him so pleasant at the Super Duper were now afraid to have him stand next to them in line. No one would hire him in sales, despite his experience, but he had strong hands and an able body that no one could take away.
His mother died from pancreatic cancer just two weeks before his release from prison. A grieving Liam used his share of her meager life insurance policy to start his own landscaping business, caring for the lawns of Largo's most prestigious citizens while they locked their doors and huddled inside.
He stepped up to the right-hand unit and rapped soundly on the door, before letting himself in.
Meghan was sitting on the couch.
Holy shit.
Liam strode toward her purposefully and she stood, raising her hands defensively. Anger warred with grief and longing as he stared at her.
Here was the woman who had ruled his thoughts, stolen away his heart, his love, and his child. His nostrils flared as his breathing came in quick pants and his eyes scanned the apartment for Fiona.
Meghan looked panicked.
She should be scared. I'm going to kill her.
Blood surged into his loins, his body remembering this love, even as his mind fought the sensations. “Where's Fiona?” he said, barely recognizing his voice for the emotion it held.
She raised her chin. “She's not here.”
He turned and threw his fist into the wall beside him, seeing Meghan jump as he released the energy that was surging through his body, breaking through the drywall. “Where is she?” he yelled.
“Someplace safe.”
He rounded on her, coming to stand just inches from her body, his own responding with a desperate plea that he pushed away with his mind. “How dare you imply she's not safe with me? I'm her father, damn it. You know I would never hurt her.”
“You're also a convicted felon.”
He smiled, a dark light in his eye. “Well hell, that must mean I'm guilty.” He walked several feet away, then back toward her like a lion. “I want to see my daughter, Meghan. You can't keep her from me.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
She was so close he could smell her familiar scent, and it was doing things to him he didn't want done. His very soul thrilled at her presence even as he hated her more than he had ever hated another human being.
His hand reached up to her face of its own accord, touching her cheek and raising her chin until her eyes found his own. “How could you do it, Meghan? Huh? How could you take her away from me like that?” He felt her chin quiver beneath his fingers. “Didn't you know what it would do to me?”
She pulled away from him. “You lied to me. Coming here instead of working, setting fires, Liam.” Her eyes pulled at him. “I was afraid of you. I was afraid for Fiona.”
He stepped too close to her, pushing the limit of what she would allow. His muscled chest brushed against her breasts, his breath grazed her lips. “Are you afraid of me now, Meghan?”
Her eyes were dilated, her lids just a touch too heavy. He knew that look, had seen it hundreds of times on his wife’s face, and it sure as hell wasn't fear.
“I was scared of who you had become,” she whispered.
He stepped away from her.
If she really had been afraid of him, he was glad he hadn’t been around to see it. Liam had seen fear on many faces in his years, first as a good-for-nothing Wheaton, unworthy of simply courtesy or love, then as an arsonist, a convict, a criminal.
But he had never seen that look on his Meghan's face, the only person who ever mattered, the woman who had seen inside his very soul and found him worthy.
“If you're so scared of me, why the hell are you here?”
She looked at the doorway to the kitchen. “I came to talk to your parents.”
He shrugged. “Mom’s dead. But I get it—you didn’t come to see me.” He saw her cringe at his careless words. He cracked his knuckles to keep from putting another hole in the wall, took a deep breath. “Why did you want to see my parents?”
She swallowed, her eyes anguished and her chin puckered. “Fiona's sick, Liam.”
He scowled, concern rising up within him. “What's wrong with her?”
“She has Leukemia. She needs a bone marrow transplant. I came back to Largo to find her a donor.”
Meghan walked to the front window, looking at the overcast winter's day from Chip Wheaton’s dark living room. She had underestimated Liam’s pain. She didn't consider herself to be a cruel person, but seeing him like this, she understood the hatred she felt emanating from him like heat from the sun.
She was a coward, keeping her back to him now. She didn't want to share in his grief, didn't want to feel responsible for it.
“I'll give her my marrow,” he said, his voice wavering.
“There's only a one in two hundred chance that you’ll be a match. I already tried.”
“Before you came back here, of course.”
“Yes.”
“My God. You weren't even going to tell me, were you?” He closed the distance between them, grabbing her by the shoulder and turning her around. “If you’d been a match, you wouldn’t have come back here at all.”
She shook her head, her pulse racing from his nearness. She looked at his tortured face and wanted to cry, too.
No, Meghan, don't feel bad. He's the one who lied to you. He's the one who broke the law, who snuck away to destroy other people's property, who sought vengeance on those who had belittled him.
A chill ran up her spine, remembering the fear that had made her pack up their little girl and run away. The Liam she loved was just one side of his personality, a figment of her imagination.
If that Wheaton boy is there, you ignore him. Not a word.
She should have listened to her mother.
“Your family has as similar chance of matching Fiona as you do. Your sister and brothers, cousins. It’s still not likely.”
“Who would be a good match, then?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “A full sibling would be her best chance. A one-in-four possibility of a full match.” She felt her cheeks heat at the suggestion, and was grateful when he ignored it.
“What about your family?” he asked, his lips forming a tight line as he realized. “Of course. You tried them already, and they didn't match.”
She nodded, taking a step back from him. “You have a bigger family, and we both have Irish roots. There might be someone.”
“We'll try. I’ll ask everyone in my family to be tested. On one condition.”
She'd been expecting it, waiting for it. It was the price of poker, and Meghan had come to play.
“You let me see Fiona.”
She nodded.
“And not just for a minute. You bring her here, and you let me be a part of her life again, Meghan. Forever.”
If he was going to be part of Fiona's life forever, then he would be part of hers, as well. She shook her head. “We live far away, Liam, it's not feasible...”
He closed the distance between them, speaking with an eerie calmness. “I could have you arrested for kidnapping, Meghan. I can take her away from you in a heartbeat.”
She raised her chin. “You're a felon.”
“What do you think kidnapping is? A misdemeanor?”
An eye for an eye.
Meghan was frozen in place, her eyes screaming into his. Could he really take Fiona? Legally? She had come back here to save her daughter's life, but it could cost her the very daughter she was trying to save.
When she spoke, her voice was small and plaintive.
“Liam, please...” she begged, leaning toward him as tears suddenly threatened.
She saw the slightest softening in his eyes, a kindness, a caring she hadn't seen there since he walked through the door.
His hand touched her face again, feather-light, and he leaned toward her.
Her body remembered him, and her back arched in anticipation of his kiss, his lips finding hers and taking her swiftly. She wanted it. She wanted it so badly.
She had been so alone.
Not one single date in the eight years without him, no desire for a man besides this one.
His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her to him, and she reveled in the feel of his body pressed to hers.
She knew his touch and his desire better than her own, moaning in his arms, his name escaping her lips on a rush of air.
He pulled away from her, abruptly letting her go and taking a step back. He swiped the back of his hands across his lips as if trying to clean her off his lips.
“Go get my daughter, Meghan. Once I see her, you can test anyone you like.” He turned on his heel and walked out the door, getting into his truck and driving away.
“Pass me the garlic,” said Becky, holding her hand open for the bulb that Meghan handed her.
The women were making their grandmother’s lasagna, a recipe they had each been taught some ten years apart. It was a family tradition, though the old Irish woman’s cuisine could hardly be called authentic Italian.
“Do you remember how Grandma used to fall asleep half-way through a sentence?” asked Meghan. “You’d turn around, and she’d be snoring with her head on her chest. That used to creep me out.”
Becky elbowed her in the arm. “Remember how she used to fart and blame it on the dog?”
“That was her?”
“Oh, hell yes, that was her.”