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Good God, Devin thought, he really loved them. All of them.
He wandered over the grass, stopping here and there to chat or listen to a complaint or a snippet of news. With his hands tucked in his back pockets he watched solemnly with old Mr. Wineburger as horseshoes were tossed and clanged against the pole.
He was debating different techniques of horseshoe pitching when Emma came up quietly and held out her arms. He picked her up, settled her on his hip while Wineburger wheezed out opinions. But Devin’s mind had begun to wander.
Little Emma smelled like sunshine and was as tiny as a fairy. But she was nearly seven now, he recalled with a jolt. Soon she wouldn’t want to be picked up and held. She would, like the young girls he saw over at the edge of the field, be flirting with young boys, want to be left alone to experiment with being female.
He sighed and gave her a quick squeeze.
“How come you’re sad?” she wanted to know.
“I’m not. I’m just thinking that you’re growing up on me. How about a snow cone?”
“Okay. A purple one.”
“A purple one,” he agreed, and set her down. Hands linked, they walked toward the machine manned by the American Legion. He bought two, then settled down with her on the grass to watch the softball match.
“Come on, Dev!” From his position at second, Rafe shouted to his brother. “Batter up!”
“I’m not moving. I’ve got me a pretty girl here,” he shouted back.
“Mama says I’m pretty, too.”
He smiled at Emma, ruffled her hair. “That’s because you are.”
“Mama’s pretty.”
“She sure is.”
Emma cuddled closer, knowing his arm would come around her, just the way she liked it. “She hardly ever cries anymore.” In her innocence, she licked at the snow cone and didn’t notice the way Devin’s arm went taut. “She used to cry all the time, at nighttime. But now she doesn’t.”
“That’s good” was all Devin could manage.
“And we got to have Ed the kitten, and a brand-new house, and nobody yells and breaks things or hits Mama now. Connor gets to play baseball and write stories, and I can have Lucy come right to my room to play. I’ve got pretty curtains, too, with puppies on them. And new shoes.”
She wiggled her pink sneakers for Devin’s benefit.
“They’re very nice.”
“It’s ’cause you made him go away, the bad man. Connor said you arrested him and sent him to jail and now he can’t hit Mama and make her cry.” She looked up at him, her mouth circled with sticky purple, her eyes wide and clear. “I love you.”
“Oh, Emma…” Undone, he lowered his brow to her soft golden curls. “I love you, too. You’re my best girl.”
“I know.” She puckered her purple lips and planted a sticky kiss on his cheek. “I’m going to get Lucy now. She’s my very best friend.” She got to her feet, smiled her mother’s soft smile. “Thank you for the snow cone.”
“You’re welcome.”
He watched her dance off, pretty as a pixie, then rubbed his hands over his face. It was hard enough being in love with the mother. What the hell was he going to do with this need for the child?
Was he going to have to settle—always—for protecting, for watching over, for being the dependable friend, the favored honorary uncle?
He was getting damn sick of it, of holding in, of holding back.
This time, when Rafe called out, Devin got to his feet. Yeah, he thought, he’d batter up, all right. God knew he needed to hit something.
There was something intrinsically satisfying about smacking a little white ball with a slim wooden bat. It was the connection, the way the power of it sang up the arms. It was the sound, the solid crack, the whoosh of air, the rising cheers as the ball lifted.
He was feeling human by the time he rounded third and headed for home. More than human, since it turned out to be Shane guarding the plate. His lips peeled back in a feral grin matching his brother’s as he went into a hard, bruising headfirst slide.
