Hunks, Hammers, and Happily Ever Afters (37 page)

He wanted her in his life; in Cilla’s life, but he wasn’t so selfish that he was going to push her into doing something she didn’t feel she could do. He’d said as much as he could when it came to convincing her it was worth exploring the feelings they had for each other. To do anything more wasn’t fair to her. She’d done him the courtesy of listening to him.

Whether she’d heard him was another question.

Which was why, for the past two days, he’d found every excuse not to go to the pub. Cilla wasn’t happy about it by any means. She missed her trees and she missed Regan. She missed getting to go in the kitchen and see the cooks cooking and the servers serving. She missed helping to take orders and even push the buttons on the cash register. He was getting a day by day play by play as to exactly what Cilla was missing.  The trouble was Brodie missed it too. But that wasn’t all he missed.

He missed Regan.

“Hey, Ink Man!”  Brodie caught the flash of red hair crossing the street as he headed back to MARKED with take-out from J & J Markets.  Finn Murphy jogged across the street, his usual grin stretching his wide mouth. “You got time to squeeze me in today?”

“If you don’t mind waiting until after lunch.”  Brodie hefted the bag, glancing over Finn’s shoulder toward the pub. “I’ve got those final designs we talked about.”

“Regan’s not tethered to me,” Finn said with a raised brow as he followed Brodie’s gaze. “She’s over at Lancaster Park helping set up the tents for the festival tomorrow.  Want me to go and haul her over here so the two of you can work whatever this is out?”

“There’s nothing to work out.” Brodie gestured for Finn to follow him into the studio. “We understand each other.” For whatever reason, Regan wasn’t willing to even try to make a place in her life for him and Cilla.  It was like trying to blast his way through a cement wall, but he couldn’t live on the hope Regan would change her mind; not when he had Cilla’s feelings to worry about.  “Maura, mark Finn as in and waiting will you?”  He said as he pushed into the studio. “Toshi, here’s the eggplant parmesan you asked for.”

“Heaven, thy name is J & J,” Toshi said as he inhaled deeply.  “No offense,” he added when Finn straightened.

“Truth?”  Finn winked at his sister. “Where do you think we go for take-out?”

“I like their lasagna,” Maura admitted with a wistful smile on her face.  “And the homemade ciabatta.”

“Like stepping into Italy that place is,” Finn agreed. “Maura, I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning. You get word about Des calling a family meeting tonight?”

“Someone stuck a Post-It on my forehead this morning,” Maura muttered and rubbed a finger across her brow. “Don’t suppose that was you?”

“Seamus. He thought it would get your attention.”

“Big brothers have a unique sense of humor,” she told Toshi and Brodie. “And yes, I’ll be there. It’s how I love spending a Friday night. Is Cilla coming in this afternoon, Brodie?”

Brodie unloaded the cardboard containers and handed them out, sectioning off a section of his own manicotti for Finn. “Her day camp is helping set up for the festival. Not sure how much help Cilla’s going to be, however. I’d put my money on her being banished to the playground.”

“She does wield a mighty cast,” Maura said and Brodie was once again impressed with the progress the teen had made. All had been forgiven on Cilla’s part and she and Maura had become, well, he thought friends was the appropriate term.  Cilla had taken to following Maura around the studio imitating anything she did.  “We’ve got everything ready to go for tomorrow stacked up by the back door,” she said. “Regan said she put MARKED’s tent near the baseball field, so we should have enough power for the printer and laptop. Not doing permanent tattoos will probably work in our favor as we can send them here for Toshi to deal with.”

“We’re designing custom temporary tattoos for people,” Brodie told a confused looking Finn.  “Like a test run in case they aren’t sure they’re for them. Or if kids want to try them.  They’ll come off with baby oil or wear off after two weeks. I’ll need you at the park by eight tomorrow,” he told Maura.

“I know.” She waved her phone in the air. “I already set my alarm. I’ll hitch a ride with Regan.”

“Great,” Brodie lied and headed in to the back room. “I’m getting a water. Anyone want anything?”

“We’re good,” Toshi said and toasted Brodie with his soda bottle. “Go wallow in solitude.”

“I’m not wallowing,” Brodie muttered. Deep down, he knew Toshi was right but the only thing he could do was sit back and wait.

If only waiting wasn’t so damned hard.

CHAPTER TEN

How, Regan wondered, after twenty-eight years, she could forget to wear sun block when she knew she’d be spending all day in the sun, was beyond her. With a double dose of Celtic heritage, she could sunburn in a snowstorm and the California sun was definitely not snow encased. She chalked up her forgetfulness to a lack of sleep and stressing over the final details for the
Spring in to Summer
festival and struggled with the oversized floppy hat on her head to keep her face from being burned to a crisp.

The number of businesses participating in the early summer fundraiser was impressive and included not only a mini-version of Pages Unlimited, but Ella was going to be offering a selection of take-away bouquets and start-up planter kits for budding gardeners.  Cassidy had arranged the power situation and had even hooked up a loud-speaker system for the occasional door prizes and drawings for attendees. Murphy’s Pub was sponsoring one of the drinks and snack station and Regan had conveniently made sure to be side by side with J & J Market’s triple wide set up that would include sandwiches, salads and authentic Italian ices. 

Cars buzzed by, some slowing down to see the progress of the festival preparations and one gold sedan in particular got honked at when the older occupants seemed mesmerized by the crowd of helpful volunteers.

“All the pop up canopies are up!” Fallon raced over to where Regan stood with her clipboard, overseeing the festival’s installation in Lancaster Park, a familiar dark-haired little girl with a neon blue cast bringing up the rear. 

Regan’s heart clenched in her chest. She’d purposely tried to avoid Cilla ever since she’d arrived with her fellow day-campers.  Not that she hadn’t been keeping an eagle eye on Cilla, who was buzzing around the nearly fifty pop-up canopies with the fierce determination of a pollinating bumble bee. “They’re working on the signs now. Here.” Fallon shoved a dripping bottle of water in to Regan’s hands. “What’s next?”

“Thanks, kiddo.”  Regan took a long drink as her stomach growled. Not only had she forgotten sun block, she’d also forgotten to eat. At the rate she was going, she’d be lucky to ingest something by sundown. “You’ve been a big help today. Both of you,” she added as Cilla turned bright, excited eyes her way.

“It’s been so much fun! How many brothers and sisters do you have?” Cilla asked.

“There are seven of us all together,” Regan said.

“Seven?”  Cilla’s eyes went doll-eye wide. “You are so lucky! You always have someone to play with.”

“That I do,” Regan said.

“Is that why you don’t want to play with my daddy anymore?”

Regan sputtered and covered her nose to stop from spraying her sister and Cilla with water. “W-what?”

Cilla shrugged. “You don’t like him anymore. I can tell.”

“That’s not true,” Regan said, but to a five-year-old, she supposed that’s what Regan’s change of heart looked like.

“Grown-ups are weird, Cilla.”  Fallon came up behind her, wrapped her arms around Cilla’s waist and twirled her around. “Your daddy and Regan like each other, they just don’t know how to admit it.”

“You like my daddy?”  Cilla squealed and held out her arms.

“Fallon, you aren’t helping. ”

“I kind of am.” Fallon grinned and dragged Cilla away. “Come on, Cilla. Miss Banning said you could go to the playground now that the tents are up. We’re too little to help with anything else. I’ll go with you.”

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Regan called as Cilla ran after Fallon toward the playground where a cavalcade of kids were already scrambling over the wood and plastic structures. Instead of getting to play, however, she wound her way down the wide aisles toward the Murphy’s tent and came face to face with Theresa Juliano.  “How are things going?”

Theresa turned critical yet kind eyes on her and for an instant, Regan thought of her mother; not that the short, compact brunette resembled Noreen in any way, but there was a similarity in their countenance and their aversion to anything other than straight-forwardness. “We’ll be ready,” Theresa stated in her typical de-facto tone. “You’ve organized a good team, Regan. This is going to be a great success.”

“As long as people show up,” Regan countered. She wouldn’t be convinced until she couldn’t see through the crowds tomorrow. 

“They’ll show.” Theresa planted firm hands on her round hips and smiled. “We’ve been advertising for weeks. Besides, I know for a fact Morgan and Sheila have been getting the word out. When the Tremaynes speak, this town listens.”

“How are Morgan’s wedding plans coming?”

“Stalled.” Theresa huffed. “That soon-to-be daughter-in-law of mine has yet to pick a date. But I’m going to fix that this week. Just as soon as all this is done.”  She made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

“Are you?”  Regan bit the inside her cheek. If there was one certainty in Lantano Valley it was that Theresa Juliano was a force to be reckoned with. She might wield a mighty wooden spoon, but there were few people in town with bigger hearts. Unless it was Morgan Tremayne. Regan could only imagine what family get-togethers were going to be like once the two families united. 

Before Theresa could respond, Regan changed subjects. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to co-chair next year’s festival with me. I know your schedule is probably pretty tight—”

“I would be happy to.”  Theresa patted her arm. “You’re a good girl, Regan. You’ve done an excellent job your first year. Together, next year? We can make it even bigger. Bah! You and I will make a great team. And you know what? I bet Sheila Tremayne might have some suggestions as well. You want her on board?”

Regan blinked. “I would love that.” Sheila ran one of the most successful event-planning businesses in southern California. Or she had until recently when she’d taken a more active role in her family’s charity.  These days she only took on special events like Alcina Oliver’s birthday party. “Do you really think—”

“Leave Sheila to me.”  Theresa chuckled.  “Those girls don’t say no to me.”

“Does anyone?”  Regan asked with more than a touch of skepticism on her face.

Theresa narrowed her eyes. “I like you. Are you dating anyone? I don’t see a ring.” She pointed at Regan’s hand. "You should be seeing someone. I have sons."

“Um—” Was it possible her face could feel any hotter?

“Ah. Of course.”  Theresa slapped a hand against her thigh. “You have an um. The search continues. Now that Gage is getting married, I need to focus on my other boys. Hey now.” She shielded her eyes and moved to the other side of the tables she and her employees were setting up. “What’s all that?”

Regan had attributed the cries coming from the playground to enthusiastic and overenthusiastic kids, but now that she and the people around her looked over, there was a desperation and sense of fright flooding the park. Regan’s heart thudded against her ribcage. She ripped off her hat, threw her clipboard down as she raced toward the playground. “Something’s wrong,” she cried over her shoulder. “Fallon? Cilla!”  She heard footsteps pounding behind her as she searched the throng of children, but didn’t see her sister—or Cilla—anywhere.

“Aiden?”  Regan leapt into the sand and caught the familiar-looking mocha-skinned boy and bent down, trying to ignore the terror on his face. “Where’re Cilla and Fallon?”

“There was a man and a woman. They were looking for Cilla.” He pointed into the trees toward the path to the parking lot.  “She said she knew them and she went to say hi, but then they took her away. Fallon went after them.”

“What’s going on?” Theresa demanded as Regan grabbed her phone and tossed it to her. “Call Brodie Crawford. He’s in my contacts. Tell him someone’s taken Cilla.”

She didn’t have to make sure Theresa was dialing, not when she heard the woman whip out orders for one of the other adults to call 9-1-1.  Regan couldn’t remember running so fast in her life.  Going from stationary to running a five minute mile left her entire body burning like she’d been set on fire.  Her feet hammered against the pavement, arms pumping as her hair flew in her face.  “Stop!”  She screamed when she caught sight of Fallon’s blonde hair, but couldn’t see Cilla. “Fallon! Cilla!”

Aiden had been right. It was a man and a woman, older, and not as quick as she’d feared. They attempted to drag Cilla off the ground, but she was kicking and screaming.  Fallon grabbed hold of the man’s shirt and tried to get him to stop, but he spun around, shoved her off, and sent her sprawling face first on the pavement.

“No! Grandpa, Grandma, no!” Cilla twisted herself this way and that as Regan gained ground.  She skidded to a stop beside Fallon, bending down to grab her sister and haul her up, the sight of her scraped and bleeding face setting alight a rage that enflamed her entire body.

“Are you okay?”  She cupped Fallon’s tear-stained cheek.

“Y-yes. I couldn’t stop them.  Regan—”

She glanced behind her, saw Theresa and at least another ten adults heading their way. “You stay with Theresa, understand? You do what she says.”

“Okay.” Fallon nodded.

“Good girl.”  Regan was running again, trying not to focus on the fact she heard a car door slam. She pushed harder, feet flying as she scanned the parking lot in front of her.  Cilla screamed again and male cursing erupted to the right.  Regan turned and nearly plowed into the gold sedan. 

Cilla was caught between them, the old man having locked his hand around Cilla’s broken arm.  Tears streamed down Cilla’s face. “Grandpa, let me go! Regan, make them stop!”

“It’s okay, baby.” Regan took a step toward them, memorizing every feature of the couple’s desperate faces. She didn’t give a damn who these people were—grandparents or perverts. They weren’t leaving with Cilla.