“Niall didn’t want to care about my kids.” Rowan waited until Lia looked at her, startled. “They didn’t have a very good childhood, you know.”
“I’m not…” Oh, boy, was this awkward. “I think you’ve misunderstood our relationship. Conall and I aren’t… Well, anything, really. He’s staying at my house because of his job.” She couldn’t tell if Rowan understood what she was saying. “I suspect he asked us to come today so he could lose himself in the crowd, so to speak.’
Jane had joined them, and now both women laughed. “We guessed,” Jane said. “But he doesn’t treat you like a casual acquaintance, either. Or—” her head turned toward the horseshoe pit “—the kids.”
“I think,” Lia said softly, “he sees himself in the boys.”
They wanted to know Walker and Brendan’s history, which she shared. She was grateful when they continued to ask questions about fostering children instead of quizzing her about Conall.
The men wandered over eventually, and conversation became general. Lia found herself laughing often, her cheeks flushed with pleasure at the company…and with her awareness of the man who once again sat close enough to touch when either of them shifted on the bench. Despite her enjoyment, Lia became aware of a deep ache of what she finally, disconcerted, decided was envy.
She had always wanted a family like this. She loved her parents, of course, but she would have given almost anything for siblings. Being an only child was lonely, especially given the lack of extended family nearby.
Mama had sisters and brothers in Mexico, of course, and they had children, Lia’s cousins. She remembered them distantly from the year she and Mama had lived down there, when Lia was five. As an adult she had visited their village in Chiapas, but she was a visitor, with her paler skin and odd-colored eyes and American ways more of a curiosity than really family. She’d had the awful feeling that their friendliness had more to do with their hope that she’d help some of the young adults come to the United States than to any closer feelings.
This was the kind of family she wanted. Laughter, affection, people who would love your children if anything ever happened to you. She could tell that much of the relaxed atmosphere came from the two women, and she wished she knew more about them. Had they grown up taking this for granted?
But she couldn’t exactly ask them.
The ache stayed, and some of it was for Conall who, on the surface, was comfortable sipping a beer, laughing at his brothers’ stories, telling a few of his own, but who was really faking it, Lia suspected. She intercepted a couple of keen glances that made her wonder if Niall and Duncan suspected, too. Jane kept an eye on her husband as if worried about him, and that made Lia wonder if he was faking it, too.
The more she became aware of the undercurrents, the more she realized her envy might be misplaced. Maybe nothing was as it appeared.
Except she didn’t believe that. The way Niall touched his wife occasionally, as if he needed to reassure himself that she was there and his; the way Duncan’s hard mouth softened for Jane, his gentle hands on small, redheaded Fiona. Undercurrents there might be, but there was love here, too.
The ache intensified at the fear she might never find this. Maybe she’d never be anything but a temporary mother.
You made your choices, she reminded herself. She should be glad to know there were families like this, given the awful backgrounds so many of her kids came from. If she could give them even a glimpse of what it could be like, hope to hold on to while their own families worked out their problems or they waited for adoptive parents, then she was doing something worthwhile. She didn’t usually waste time and heartache being greedy and wishing for everything. Maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t come today.
But no. She was no good at resisting when someone needed her, and today Conall had, if only temporarily.
Story of her life.
* * *
WELL, THAT WAS DONE, Conall thought. The need to relieve Henderson had been a good excuse for an early departure. He couldn’t help noticing how hastily Lia had agreed to head home. Maybe she was worried about Julia and Arturo, or maybe she was bored out of her skull, he didn’t know. Sorrel had slipped quietly out of the yard with them and into her seat in the Suburban, but the boys couldn’t make such an easy getaway. Desmond wouldn’t let them. He followed, chattering and wishing Walker could play soccer, too, cuz there was a spring league, you know, and he was starting swimming lessons pretty soon, too, when school let out. Swim lessons were fun. Maybe Lia would bring Walker and Brendan, too. Did they know how to swim?