Jo Goodman (58 page)

Colin followed close on his brother's heels. They went through the library quickly and to the door of the adjoining room. Decker yanked it open and found himself standing on the threshold of Berkeley's bedchamber. As he suspected, neither Berkeley nor her baby were in it.

But it wasn't empty.

From his bed, Grey Janeway looked up slowly as the door was flung open. He arched one eyebrow in Decker's direction. The stunned expression on Decker's face raised his own sly smile. "Hello, Captain Thorne," he said quietly. Grey's eyes lifted just past Decker's head to where his brother was peering into the room over his shoulder. "And the Earl of Rosefield. Welcome."

Neither of the men moved. Framed by the doorway, their features as still and cold as marble, it was clear they could not take in what they were seeing.

Grey pushed himself a little more upright and rested his back against the headboard. Beneath the cotton coverlet the splint that kept his left leg immobile from knee to ankle was visible by its boxy outline. He raised his right leg and rested one forearm casually across the kneecap. "Forgive me if I don't get up. It's a damn inconvenient thing, this injury. I do all right with the crutches now, but that's going to change. The doctor tells me I have another two weeks with this splint, and then I have learning to walk again to look forward to. I shouldn't be surprised if Rhea has mastered it before I do."

From behind the closed door to the adjoining dressing room there came a series of frantic whimpers and gentle reassurances. Finally there was silence. "Berkeley and Rhea," Grey said. Then he saw Colin and Decker glance in that direction. "Did you think she had gone?"

Decker hadn't yet found his voice, and Colin Thorne was unconcerned about Berkeley. Still, he could do no more himself than state the obvious. "You're not Anderson Shaw."

"No," Grey said, his grin deepening a fraction. "I'm not." He watched Colin's expression clear a little as the truth was borne home. "It doesn't appear my friend here is able to perform the introductions." Grey held out his hand. "Graham Denison," he said. "But I go by Grey Janeway now. I have for more than six years."

Colin slipped past his brother and reached for Grey's hand. The grip was firm, sure, and oddly familiar. "Your wife didn't tell us."

"Didn't she? That's odd. But then I don't know what's going on. Or not much of it. She marched through on her way to get Rhea and only told me that you and Decker were finally here and that there weren't brains or manners between the two of you. I gathered from that there was a problem."

"That would be understating it," Berkeley called in from the dressing room. "They've accused us of taking in Nat to hide behind, and they insist on calling me Mrs. Shaw. You'd better tell them how we lost the earring before they say we stole it. This reunion is not going at all as I thought it might!" Rhea wailed loudly as Berkeley's nipple was dislodged from her mouth. "Here, darling... Mama's sorry. It's not your fault."

Grey grinned and pointed to Colin and Decker. "She's saying it's yours."

Decker finally found his voice. He pushed away from the doorframe and came to stand beside the bed. "What the hell's going on, Graham? Did you pen the note I got a while back or not?"

"Grey. Not Graham," he corrected. "You'll have to get used to it. No one here except Berkeley knows I once had that name. All things considered, it's a name best left in the past."

"Jesus," Decker said softly. It was not his usual way to let things rattle him, or at least let it show. This was different. Everything about this meeting was too important. "I can't make heads or tails of this."

Grey chuckled. He carefully reached over to the bedside table and opened the drawer. After rooting around a moment he pulled out one of the coins Decker had given Nat. "What about heads or heads?" he asked, holding it up. "I suspected you were here when Nat showed this to me."

"Are you talking about that coin?" Berkeley called in. "You might have told me. I wouldn't have made a complete cake of myself if I had been expecting them."

It was Colin who responded. "You have nothing to apologize for, Mrs. Janeway. As you correctly noted, Decker and I don't have a brain between us."

"Or manners," Decker added.

When Berkeley didn't rejoin, Grey chuckled. "She's blushing." He pointed to the chairs by the fireplace. "Bring those over here and sit down. Were you offered something to drink? You'll have to serve yourself now, I'm afraid."

"Get the chairs, Colin," Decker said. "I'm feeling a need for that drink after all." He disappeared into the sitting room and returned shortly with a decanter of whiskey under his arm and the tumblers skillfully balanced between his hands. He set it all down and poured a drink three fingers deep for each of them.

Decker sat back in the armchair Colin had pulled to the bed. He stared at Graham... Grey, he reminded himself. There were not so many changes in the past six years. It was not so much that his friend had aged but that he had matured. There were fine lines at the corners of his mouth that deepened when he grinned, and his eyes, though their coloring had not changed, the flint-like hardness of them had. There was a slight softening of his features but not of his character. Resolve and purpose were still there, but there was a difference, too. In the past Decker would not have described Grey as either happy or content, now he seemed both. It was as if he had determined to risk happiness in exchange for the wry bitterness he used to embrace. This man was Graham Denison, and yet he wasn't.

Perhaps he had earned his new name and his new life.

Decker rolled the tumbler between his palms, warming the contents slightly. "So you're married now."

"Berkeley has my name," Grey said carefully. "We have a child together. And Nat, of course."

"What happened to Anderson?"

"Is that what you really want to know?" asked Grey. "We haven't laid eyes on each other for six years and you want to talk about Anderson Shaw?"

Decker chuckled shortly and pretended he didn't notice that Grey was holding something back. He shook his head slowly, looking Grey over from head to toe again. "My God," he said softly. "I can't believe we've found you."

"Berkeley found me."

"Yes, she did, didn't she?" It was almost too much to comprehend. "Where can you begin? I want to hear what's happened since you disappeared from the
Siren."

"That will take some time."

It was Colin who looked pointedly at Grey's splinted leg. "You don't appear to be going anywhere soon." He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. "As for me, I came halfway around the world to hear this story. I'm certainly not leaving without it."

Grey wondered if they could see that his eyes were no longer quite dry. He glanced quickly toward the dressing room as if he'd been distracted by a sound from there and swallowed with some difficulty. Berkeley's timing was impeccable. She opened the door, Rhea caught in the curve of one arm, and immediately sensed his distress. It required very little effort on her part to make Rhea the focal point and allow Grey a moment longer to compose himself.

"Would you like to hold her?" she asked Colin. He had come to his feet as soon as she entered the room. "She's a good baby. Rarely cries except when she's hungry; then she carries on as if she has three stomachs to fill."

Colin came around the foot of the bed and held out his arms. He was unprepared when the words were raised in his mind again:
They came for the baby first.

Rhea's dark sable hair was ruffled by her mother's affectionate touch. She had a round face and a quick, engaging smile. Her chubby limbs flailed at him, and she laughed at her play. Without effort or conscience, she charmed him, and it came to her as naturally as drawing a breath. It made Colin realize he was holding his. "Come here, Decker," he said quietly. "Look at her."

Decker moved to his brother's side, prepared to make amends with Berkeley by cooing over her baby. He said nothing, however. No words, however silly and meaningless, could make it past the hard aching lump in his throat.

Colin and Decker looked at each other first, and, without a word passing between them, they each turned to Grey. "She looks just like you," Colin said.

"Do you think so?" he asked. He tried to raise himself up to get a better look at his daughter's face. "Everyone here says she looks like Berkeley. Her hair's not the right color, of course, but that smile—"

"Is yours," Decker said. "The shape of her face... her hair... even her eyes."

"She
is
my daughter."

"Grey," Berkeley said gently. "I think they're trying to tell you something else."

"She's
you,"
Colin said. "Or she could be. My memory can't be playing me so false."

"The thing of it is,
Greydon,"
said Decker, "you should have been a girl. You were the prettiest baby. Mama and Papa both thought so. They remarked on it often enough."

Berkeley laughed as Grey flushed deeply. "I think you'll have to get used to your brother teasing you," she said. "I imagine he intends to do quite a lot of it during his stay." She reached for Rhea, but Colin shook his head and held the baby closer. He couldn't look away, and he couldn't release her. It could have been Greydon in his arms.

"No," he said. "Let me have her just a bit longer. You can't know what this—" He broke off before his voice broke. He bent his head and his face hovered about Rhea's. She stared up at him, her blue-gray eyes at once curious and trusting. When a single tear splashed her face she accepted it without a murmur.

Decker stared at the floor and blinked hard. Berkeley's own tears fell quite freely while her beatific smile never faltered. She went to Grey and took the hand he extended to her. She allowed herself to be pulled onto the bed beside him. His arm slipped around her shoulder and he gave her one corner of the coverlet to dry her eyes. Her watery smile deepened because he made no effort to do the same to his own.

The solemn silence was itself distracting to Rhea. She filled it with an abandoned little gurgle that was not meant to be ignored. Colin smiled as the vibration of the tiny bundle in his arms tickled him. Rhea squealed with delight and punctuated it with a hiccup. Decker chuckled at the abrupt quiet and surprise on her face. In turn that brought another peal of Rhea's infectious and bright baby laughter.

In the end they all succumbed. This time the tears had a different flavor.

Colin caught his breath first. He carried Rhea to her mother and passed her over before he picked up his glass and raised it toward his brothers. Grey and Decker extended their tumblers in a silent toast.

Berkeley touched the tip of her daughter's nose. "They're going to get pie-faced," she said. "All three of them. Your father and your uncles. And they'll be no closer to sorting things out by morning. Just see if I'm not right."

It more or less turned out that she was.

Epilogue

Berkeley slipped into bed beside her husband, careful not to jostle the splint that protected his leg. She laid her hand lightly on his naked chest. His skin was warm. Berkeley snuggled closer, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. She yawned hugely.

Grey chuckled.

"You're awake," she said, startled. "I vaguely recall your brothers sneaking out through the sitting room sometime ago. I tried to come back here, but I couldn't lift my head then."

"And not now either," Grey said, judging by the weight of it against him. "I think there are times that you're not at all sorry I'm virtually bedbound."

She raised herself up, kissed him on the mouth, and immediately resumed her position. "That's an awful thing to say. And why does your mouth taste like peppermint? I expected to be pie-faced myself just from kissing you good night."

"Colin gave me a handful of mints. He said you'd be appreciative."

Berkeley pressed another kiss against his skin. "He was right. Perhaps you have a smart brother after all. Did Decker give you anything?"

"As a matter of fact..." Grey eased Berkeley up so he could reach across to the bedside table. He felt around on the top until he had what he wanted. "These are for you. Hold out your hand."

Berkeley's first reaction was to obey blindly, but at the last moment she realized what he might be ready to drop into her hand. Her fingers folded convulsively, and the heirloom earrings glanced off her knuckles and fell harmlessly on the coverlet Moonlight turned the gold to silver and made the pearls appear translucent. "Oh, Grey," she said, touched and saddened at the same time. "I thought Decker would know I can never wear them."