Page 78 of When You Are Mine

Walsh thought of Kerris’s breath in his mouth, her small fingers stroking his neck urgently. He remembered the satiny roof of her mouth and the sensual dance of their tongues together. And he remembered their desperate communion as she’d pressed her forehead against his, confessing her fear for his life. He’d known that their hearts were connected by a silken thread he might not ever be able to sever.

Never had her? If only Jo knew.

“Yeah, it’s Cam’s party,” Jo said now, collecting the glasses they’d used to toast in the new year. “I’m rolling out.”

Neither Kristeene nor Unc asked if Walsh was going. He and his Uncle James had never had one conversation about Kerris, but his uncle would have to be comatose not to recognize the bitter shift in his friendship with Cam.

“Be safe.” Unc bent to kiss the top of his daughter’s head. “Call if you need a ride home. I don’t want you drinking and driving.”

“I’ll be fine, Dad.” Jo smiled against his chest. “Love you. Happy New Year.”

Unc smiled down at Jo indulgently, his face changing when he glanced past her to where Kristeene lay half asleep already. Walsh saw his uncle’s features tighten. She would take a part of him with her. Hell, she’d take a little of them all.

Jo and Uncle James made their way out of the suite and down the hall, calling their final good nights to Kristeene. Walsh went to gather the cup and saucer by his mother’s bed. He straightened, preparing to go when her hand reached out to him, keeping him there.

“Stay.” She licked dry lips and closed her eyes briefly before opening them again to look at him with a lifetime of intensity poured into that inch of time.

“Okay.” Walsh replaced the china on her bedside table and crawled up beside her as he had done so many times before, curving his arm around her shoulder. “You want company?”

“No, I want you.” Her smile, a paradox of sadness and contentment, squeezed Walsh’s heart. “I’m proud of you, son.”

“I don’t know if I deserve that.” Walsh pulled the down comforter higher up around her shoulders. “But thanks.”

“I want you to be happy.” His mother’s eyes rested on Walsh’s face. “Areyou happy?”

Walsh hesitated, not sure how much she knew about the situation with Cam and Kerris. He opted for answering her question with a seemingly unrelated question, a tactic that wouldn’t usually work. Maybe with his mother under the influence of morphine, he could get away with it.

“Do you believe in soul mates?” He reached for her hand.

She glanced up at him, her eyes still not letting him get away with anything.

“You know, your father likes to think you come from a long line of warriors,” she began, seemingly avoiding a direct answer as deftly as he had done. “That may be true, but you also come from a long line of romantics.”

He raised both brows, silently encouraging her to shed some light on the subject.

“Did I ever tell you about your great-great-great-great, oh hell, I can’t remember how many greats, but Great-Grandma Maddie?”

“Didn’t we use her recipes to start the first Walsh restaurant?”

“Her mother’s recipes actually,” Kristeene said. “Great-Grandma Maddie was an octoroon. Do you know what that is?”

Walsh combed his brain for the definition of the word, but didn’t think the answer he retrieved made any sense.

“Isn’t an octoroon someone who is an eighth black?” He glanced down at his hands. He might be tan most of the year, but he was definitely white.

“That’s right.” His mother smirked, obviously enjoying his confusion. “She probably looked almost as white as you or me, but an eighth is all it took for her to be a slave.”

“Great-Grandma Maddie was a slave?” Walsh couldn’t wrap his head around it, and wasn’t sure how that painful history connected with what his family had become.

“She was the master’s mistress, Walsh.” She tightened her lips around the ugly words. “Their children looked as white as we do.”

“So my great-great-great-great-grandfather was a slave owner?” The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I’m afraid so. This is the South. Trace our families back far enough, and you’re bound to find a few of those. But the story I want to tell you isn’t about them. Not about what happened with her and the master. It’s about what happened with her and Asher.”

“Asher?” Walsh was now completely lost. “Who was Asher?”

A wistful smile broke through the line pain had pulled her mouth into.

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