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She finished dressing quickly, as he advised, wondering at the Mackay family that John seemed to have made friends with so quickly.
He hadn’t been a man that made friends easily before. She had seen when she met Rowdy that John was close to these people, though.
His sister, Candace, said that John had found his roots. That he had finally found a place where he felt he belonged. Sierra wanted to see that place. She wanted to meet those people.
Moving down the staircase moments later, she could hear the murmur of conversation, the sweet, melodic gurgle of infants. Not just one, she saw as she stepped into the kitchen area and looked into the living space, but four. Four approximately twelve-month-old toddlers with thick, thick black hair and varying shades of devilish green eyes. And all four turned to stare at her, just as their protective mothers and fathers did.
What a very interesting group. The women were so diverse at first glance, ranging in height, hair color, as well as expression. Of the four men, only one didn’t have black hair, but he looked just as hard, just as arrogant, as the other three.
“Sierra. ” John’s voice held an odd tone, one she had never heard when he spoke her name before. “Come, meet my friends. ”
The introductions were made easily as John placed his hand firmly at her lower back and led her into the thick of the group to the empty recliner that faced the sectional couch where Chaya, Kelly, and Christa Mackay sat with Janey Jansen. Janey was a Mackay before she married Somerset’s Chief of Police, Alex Jansen, the man who stood beside his wife’s seat, his gray eyes watching Sierra curiously as the Mackay cousins watched her with varying degrees of curiosity and, strangely, acceptance.
It was the tiniest of the four babes who drew her attention, though. Barely walking, her spring green dress flaring around her fragile body, she toddled over and offered Sierra a bite of a baby biscuit that she held in her hand.
The biscuit was well gnawed, gooey at the tip, and the smile the little girl aimed up at her stole her heart.
“Do you have goodies, sweetheart?” Sierra whispered as she leaned close, her arms crossed on her knees as the little girl chortled up at her. “I bet it tastes very good. ”
It was offered again, this time more solemnly.
With a grin, Sierra leaned close, pretended to take a bite, then grabbed a quick little kiss from a chubby cheek.
And the child was well satisfied. She laughed, held on to Sierra’s knee, and turned back to her mother as though she had just undertaken a miraculous feat and jabbered a string of unintelligible words with lots of “ma-ma” mixed in.
“And that little charmer is Janey and Alex’s, Erin Jansen. She’s the baby of the family. Behind her is Natches and Chaya’s daughter, Bliss. ” Bliss looked back at her solemnly, as though she were considering every nuance of the moment before she went back to the toy she was playing with. “In the yellow dress is Dawg and Christa’s little tomboy, Laken. ” The baby playing with the little toy truck. Sierra couldn’t help but grin. “And the lazy one over there sleeping is Rowdy and Kelly’s, Annette. ” Rosy cheeks, black hair, and a perfect little baby face, Annette was snoozing through all the commotion from a padded spot at her mother’s feet. “And here’s Faisal and Timothy Cranston. Faisal is Natches and Chaya’s adopted son, and Timothy is the pest no one can seem to get rid of. ”
Sierra smiled back at the young man of Middle Eastern heritage, who looked perhaps twenty-three or -four years old, but it was Timothy Cranston that held her gaze the longest.
He looked rumpled, his thinning hair mussed, his brown eyes somber and intense yet shaded with a hint of mockery. He was older, she guessed late forties, and the lines at his mouth, forehead, and lips bespoke a man who had known far too much grief.
“Mr. Cranston, it’s nice to meet you. ” He reminded her of her father.
Timothy’s head tipped to the side as a small smile played about his lips. Stepping carefully over babies, diaper bags, and toys, he offered his hand.
The handshake was gentle, his gaze respectful.
“John’s mentioned you a time or two,” he stated. “He didn’t tell us how pretty you are. ”
Erin jabbered again in excitement before Sierra could reply, her arms reaching up as her animated little face creased into one huge smile.
“And there’s my girl. ” Cranston’s voice softened, became filled with emotion as he picked the little girl up off her feet and cuddled her against his chest. “Unca Timmy missed you, sweetie. ”
Unca Timmy?
Sierra looked around and saw the looks the others were giving him.
“You’d have to know Cranston to understand,” John chuckled. “You’ll figure it out. ”
She rather doubted it, but she let the memories soak in rather than fighting them. The women were a friendly bunch, talking easily about far more than babies. The conversations shifted until she found herself locked into a lively political debate as she noticed John and the others slipping out to the deck then up the outside staircase.
“Ignore them,” Kelly, her blue eyes shimmering with laughter, advised her. “They always escape when we all get together. ”
“Unless there’s food involved. ” Chaya rolled her expressive, dark gray eyes as Christa laughed over the comment.
“John says he’s known you most of your life,” Chaya commented. “He’s told us your favorite food, favorite drink, favorite movie, and how you came by those bruises. Tell me, Ms. Lucas, are you using our John for safety then running out on him, or do you have something more permanent in mind?”
Sierra blinked back at her. The woman looked like an interrogator now rather than a mother, a friend, or a wife.
