Page 7 of If She Only Knew (The Cahills 1)

“It is.”

Nick took one last swallow from his beer, crushed the can in his fist and tossed the crumpled empty into the back of his truck. Marla’s image slipped on illicit wings into his mind again. Alex wasn’t exaggerating. Marla Amhurst Cahill was a gorgeous woman. Seductive. Naughty. Sexy as hell. With silky skin that was hot beneath a man’s fingers and a come-hither smile that put Marilyn Monroe to shame. She had a way of getting into a man’s blood and lingering. For years. Maybe forever.

Nick turned sharply. “Cut to the chase, Alex. Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because you’re family. My only brother—”

“Bullshit.”

“I thought you’d want to know.”

“There’s more to it.” Nick was certain of it. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have driven all this way and taken six damned weeks to do it.”

Alex nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth pulled into a thoughtful frown. “She’s . . . she can’t talk, her jaw’s wired shut and she hasn’t woken, but she has moaned and tried to say a few words.” He took in a deep, bracing breath. “The only one we understood was ‘Nicholas.’ ”

“Give me a break.” The breeze slapped Nick’s face and he was angry.

“She needs you.”

“She’s never needed anyone.”

“We thought—”

“We?”

“Mother and I and well, we ran it past the doctors, too. We thought you might break through to her.”

“You and Mother,” Nick growled. “Hell.”

“It’s worth a try.”

Nick glanced to the waterfront where vessels clustered near the docks looked dismal, small sailboats with skeletal masts stretching upward like dozens of bony fingers in stiff supplication to an unheeding heaven. The thought of seeing Marla again stuck in his craw.

And burrowed deep in his mind.

Alex tossed his cigarette onto the gravel, where it sizzled and smoldered near an ancient Buick’s balding tire. “There’s something else.”

“More?” Here it comes, Nick thought uneasily, and felt as if he’d been duped into allowing the family noose to slip over his head.

“I need a favor.”

“Another one? Besides visiting Marla?”

“That’s not a favor. That’s obligation.”

Nick shrugged. Wasn’t about to argue. “Shoot.”

“It’s the business . . . what with the accident, I’m having trouble concentrating, spending all of my time at the hospital with Marla. When I’m not there, I have to deal with the kids.”

“Kids? Plural?” Nick repeated.

“Oh, maybe you didn’t know. Marla had a baby a few days before the accident. In fact, it happened the day she was released from the hospital.” Alex paused, reached into his coat pocket for a handkerchief and mopped his face. “The baby’s fine, thank God. Little James is doing as well as can be expected without his mother.” Alex’s voice held a touch of pride and something else . . . trepidation? What was that all about?

Nick scratched the stubble covering his chin, the tip of a finger sliding over his scar, a war wound that he’d received at the age of eleven, compliments of Alex, and he sensed that there was a lot more to this story—stark omissions over which his brother had so easily slid. “The baby wasn’t with her?”

“No, thank God. Now he’s home, with a nanny. As for Cissy, she’s a teenager now and oh, well, you know how they are. She’s pretty wrapped up in herself these days.” Alex added quickly, “She’s upset that her mother’s still in the hospital, of course, worried, but . . .” He shrugged, and an expression of calm acceptance shrouded his patrician features. “Sometimes I think she’s more concerned over whether she’ll be asked to the winter dance than whether her mother will survive. It’s all an act, I know. Cissy’s worried in her own way, but it’s the same way she’s always dealt with Marla.”

“This just gets better and better,” Nick muttered.

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