though. Once we’re finished, I can walk off and leave this for him to clean up. That’s the joy of being able to go back to my own place these days. Now, you help your son. He doesn’t quite have the knack for dying eggs, instead of his hands.”
“Help me, too, Uncle Connor,” Davy pleaded.
Henry, who was still adjusting to this boisterous new family of his, stood back, looking on shyly.
Connor plucked three boiled eggs from a basket on the table. “Come on, guys, let a master show you how it’s done. Each of you grab a crayon. We’ll draw on a design first, okay?”
The designs weren’t much, but it hardly mattered. Connor guided little Mick’s tiny fingers as they drew a barely recognizable duck. Davy drew something that looked like Santa, though turned upside down it could have been a bunny. It was impossible to tell and probably risky to ask.
Connor glanced over to check on his other nephew, Kevin’s adopted son. Henry printed his name with careful letters, then thoughtfully did two more eggs for Kevin and Shanna. It hurt Connor’s heart to see how hard the boy was trying to fit in with his new family. All the caution was his. Kevin and Shanna, who’d been Henry’s stepmother in a previous marriage, adored Henry. And Davy was thrilled to have a big brother.
Henry glanced hesitantly at Connor. “Do you think I should do one for my dad, too? I sent him and my grandpa and grandma a card already. Shanna helped me pick it out.”
“If you want to make an egg for your dad, we’ll find a way to get it to him,” Connor promised, trying to imagine how hard it must be to be separated from his biological family because his father’s alcoholism and failing liver had made it impossible for Henry to remain with him.
Henry’s little face immediately brightened. “Cool!”
In the meantime, Carrie and Caitlyn were drawing elaborate patterns with bright colors, then dipping the eggs into the brightest dyes.
“Ours are best!” Carrie announced, jumping up and down.
“It’s not a contest,” Gram chided.
“That’s right,” Connor told her. “The contest comes tomorrow, when we see who can find the most eggs in the yard.” He tickled his boastful niece. “And I guarantee you I’ll win.”
“You’re too big to play,” Caitlyn said, dodging his attempt to tickle her. “Only kids get to hunt for eggs.”
“Hey, I’m a kid,” Connor protested.
“Are not,” Carrie said, giggling.
“Oh, honey, I’m afraid your uncle Connor is just a big kid,” Gram said sorrowfully. “I haven’t seen a sign of maturity yet.”
“Hey,” he protested.
“I doubt you want me to explain all my reasons for feeling that way,” Gram said, her gaze steady.
Connor sighed. “No need.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Maybe I’ll get my boy here cleaned up and take him back to his mother,” he said.
“That sounds like a fine idea to me,” Gram said approvingly. “Be sure she’s going to join us for Easter dinner tomorrow after church.”
Connor nodded. Somehow the prospect of issuing that invitation to a simple family gathering and getting the hoped-for “yes” held more allure than all those endless bar crawls and dates he’d been on for the past few weeks.
And spending a carefree afternoon dying Easter eggs with his son, his nieces and his nephews was a thousand times better than dealing with the Clint Wilders of the world. Apparently, despite Heather’s oft-stated fears, he hadn’t gone so far over to the dark side yet that he couldn’t see that.
6
During Connor’s absence over the past few weeks, Heather had once again been able to establish a new rhythm for her life and put him out of her mind. Her days were occupied with the store, getting to know her regular customers, even making a few friends among them, and keeping her son out of mischief. Nights were harder, when the darkness settled around her and the brand-new bed she’d purchased felt too big, too empty.
Of course, there were reminders everywhere. For one thing, her son looked exactly like his daddy and his grand-daddy, but she’d gotten better and better at keeping the two separate in her head. Little Mick was her life now. Connor was her past. She just needed to keep reminding herself of that. She assured herself she was getting better at it every day.
Unfortunately, though, there was more she couldn’t control. Connor’s family tended to pop up everywhere she turned. It was both a blessing and a curse.
Still, with every day that passed, she felt herself growing stronger, her initially uncertain resolve deepening into real conviction that she was on the right path with her life. Everything was falling into place just as she’d hoped.
And yet, all it took to change her perspective was one quick, unexpected glimpse of Connor in the doorway of her shop, holding their exhausted son in his arms. Her resolve immediately turned to mush, and her traitorous heart skipped several beats.
Why did the man have to look so darn good, even with his thick hair mussed and his rumpled clothes apparently plucked from the back of his closet, most likely left over from high school? It was one thing for him to turn her head when he was clean-shaven and wearing Armani. It was quite another to have her heart catch when he’d taken zero care with his appearance. It was just one more reminder that it was the man and his charm, not anything else, that had captivated her.
She tried to hide her reaction by turning quickly to one of the students in her newly organized quilting class to answer a question. Bree’s sister-in-law, Connie, and Abby’s sister-in-law, Laila, had been two of the first to sign up for the class, and Heather sensed they were going to become friends well beyond the fact that they were part of the same huge extended O’Brien family. They’d lingered after class with a barrage of questions.
Connie seemed to sense Heather’s sudden distraction, turned and caught sight of Connor in the doorway.
“Well, well, look who’s here,” she taunted, then started laughing as Connor actually came inside. “Looks as if somebody got more Easter egg dye on himself than on the eggs.”
Heather followed the direction of her gaze and noted that Connor’s T-shirt did indeed look as if it had been tie-dyed by an amateur … or a pair of tiny hands. There was a streak of bright blue dye on his cheek, too. His hair, normally carefully groomed, stood up in spikes with the occasional wayward curl. Once more she noted that he looked charmingly rumpled and devastatingly sexy.
“Happy Easter, Connor,” Laila said, then grinned. “I wish somebody would tuck a man like you in my Easter basket tomorrow morning.”
Connie nudged her in the ribs. “Watch it! He’s taken.” She cast a warning look in Heather’s direction.
“Actually, he’s not,” Heather said mildly, taking her son from his arms.
“Hey, I never
