Page 132 of This Heart Of Mine (Chicago Stars 5)

He didn’t understand that they weren’t the ones who were tearing her apart.

Lilly refused to look at the clock as she moved away from the window. The Calebows had finally managed to corner Kevin and Molly, but she couldn’t imagine that the confrontation had been productive. Her son and his wife didn’t seem to know what they wanted from their relationship, so she doubted they could explain it to her family.

Lilly had liked the Calebows immediately, and their presence these last five days had helped lift her heavy heart. They obviously loved Molly and, just as obviously, saw Kevin as a threat, but Lilly was beginning to suspect that Kevin was as big a danger to himself as he was to Molly.

Nine-thirty… She headed for the armchair in the corner where she’d left her quilting but picked up a magazine instead. She hadn’t been able to work on her quilt since Sunday, when Liam had issued his ultimatum. And now it was Thursday.

Come to my house on Thursday evening… If you don’t show up, I won’t come looking for you.

She tried to build up some resentment against him, but it didn’t work. She understood exactly why he’d done it, and she couldn’t blame him. They were both too old to play games.

9:34… She thought about Kevin taking over the bedroom downstairs. She liked falling asleep knowing they were under the same roof. When they passed each other in the hallways, they smiled and made small talk. At one time that would have been more than she could have hoped for. Now, it wasn’t enough.

9:35… She concentrated on flipping through her magazine, then gave up and paced the floor. What good were life lessons if you didn’t pay attention to them?

At ten-thirty, she forced herself to get undressed and put on her nightgown. She got into bed and stared at the pages of a book she’d been enjoying only a week earlier. Now she couldn’t remember anything about it. Liam, I miss you so … He was the most remarkable man she’d ever met, but Craig had been remarkable, too, and he’d made her miserable.

As she reached across the bed and turned off the light, her world had never seemed smaller or her bed lonelier.

Eddie Dillard was big, genial, and coarse, the kind of man who wore a gold chain, burped, scratched his crotch, carried a wad of bills held together with a big money clip, and said…

“You duh man, Kev. Isn’t he, Larry? Isn’t Kev here the man?”

Oh, yes, Larry agreed, Kev was definitely the man.

Dillard and his brother had shown up late that morning in a black SUV. Now they were sitting around the kitchen table eating salami sandwiches and belching beer w

hile Eddie gloated over the prospect of owning his own fishing camp and Larry gloated over the prospect of running it for him. To Molly’s dismay, they all seemed to regard it as a done deal.

This would be a place, Eddie said, where a man could put up his feet, relax, and get away from being “pussy-whipped by his wife.” This last was uttered with a wink, clearly signaling (one man to the other) that no woman pussy-whipped Eddie Dillard.

Molly wanted to throw up. Instead, she jammed a tiny bar of French-milled soap into one of the bird’s-nest baskets they used in the bathrooms to hold toiletries. She didn’t know whom she disliked more, Eddie or his revolting brother Larry, who planned to live upstairs in the house while he ran the fishing camp.

She glanced over at Kevin, who was leaning against the wall sipping from a longneck. He didn’t burp. When Eddie had arrived, Kevin had tried to get rid of her, but she wasn’t going anyplace.

“So, Larry,” Eddie said to his brother, “how much you figure it’ll cost to paint these frou-frou cottages?”

Molly dropped one of the tiny, frosted-glass shampoo bottles. “The cottages were just painted. And they’re beautiful.”

Eddie seemed to have forgotten she was there. Larry laughed and shook his head. “No offense, Maggie, but it’s gonna be a fishing camp, and guys don’t like fruit colors. We’ll just paint everything brown.”

Eddie pointed at Larry with his longneck. “We’re only painting the cottages in the middle, the ones around that whadyacallit?—that Common. I’m gonna tear down the rest of them. Too much upkeep.”

Molly’s heart stopped. Lilies of the Field wasn’t on the Common. Her pink, blue, and yellow nursery cottage would be torn down. She abandoned the toiletry baskets. “You can’t tear those cottages down! They’re historic! They’re—”

“The fishing’s real good around here,” Kevin cut in, shooting her a frown. “Large- and smallmouth bass, perch, bluegill. I heard a guy in town talk about a seven-pound pike he pulled out of the lake last week.”

Eddie patted his stomach and belched. “I can’t wait to get out on that boat.”

“This lake is too small for what you want,” Molly said desperately. “There’s a strict limit to how big an outboard motor you can use. You can’t even water-ski.”

Kevin shot her a pointed look. “I don’t think Eddie plans to cater to the water-skiing crowd.”

“Nah. Just fishermen. Roll out of bed in the morning, give everybody a coffee thermos, a bag of doughnuts, and some beer, then send ‘em out on the lake while the mist is still on the water. Come back after a coupla hours for brats and beer, take a nap, play some pool…”

“I think we should put the pool table out there.” Larry pointed toward the front of the house. “Along with a big-screen TV. Once we tear down all the walls between the rooms, everything will be together—the pool table, TV, the bar, and the bait shop.”

“Bait shop! You’re putting a bait shop in this house!”

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