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Four dozen croissant sandwiches, a cold meat platter, ten pounds of cheese and fifteen boxes of crackers. Yesterday, when she and the guys had been ordering food, she'd been sure they were overdoing it with the quantities. Now, looking out over the people crowding the dining room, living room, and even spilling into the kitchen, Erica hoped they wouldn't run out.
She had no idea her father had collected so many friends. Or any friends. He certainly hadn't had any while she was living here. For that matter, she hadn't had any friends while living here. Even at a young age, she'd sensed her family situation was different from those of her classmates. She hadn't wanted to invite anyone over where they might see the ugly truth of her life.
"Such a great guy." A man about her father's age was pumping her hand. "Always there to help out if it was needed, you know?"
"Oh. Yes. Of course." Who was this man talking about? Once he let go of her, Erica watched the fellow wander toward the laden dining room table. Her father a great guy? Always there to help out? This referred to a different father than the one she'd known. The one she'd known was a tyrant who never lifted a finger except to raise a beer can to his lips.
He changed. So Clint claimed.
"Erica?"
Erica turned to see an older woman regarding her with a pondering expression. She looked vaguely familiar.
"Yes?" Erica put on a wan smile and prepared, once again, to fake it. Pretend she was the normal daughter of a normal man. Doing so felt unpleasantly familiar. It was how she'd spent the entirety of her teenage years.
Using a cane, the older woman came closer, smiling. "You don't remember me, do you? I suppose it's been a while. I'm Mrs. Myers. You used to mow my lawn."
The memory swept back to Erica in a painful rush. Ninth grade and the steep decline in the family's income while her father'd been in prison. She'd mowed lawns, picked up groceries, babysat—whatever she could find so she wouldn't have to ask her mother for lunch money. If she hadn't already understood why her mother put up with her father, she'd figured it out that year when it became so hard to pay the bills.
She'd also learned that if you threw a chair at someone in a bar fight, you ought to make sure you weren't throwing it at a city councilman. What might have resulted in a six-month suspended sentence became a year in prison.
Mrs. Myers took one of Erica's hands in both of hers. Her pale blue eyes were kind. "A real go-getter, you were. I'm so sorry to hear about your father."
"Thank you. It's been...a transition." It was a struggle to come up with the right words, something that wasn't a complete lie. The truth was her feelings were still in the chaos started at the hospital, an unpleasant mixture of fear, relief, and a guilt-inducing anger.
"He was a wonderful man," Mrs. Myers went on, releasing Erica's hand. "So kind and considerate. Last spring he helped me plant a whole row of orchids."
"Yes...I suppose he was like that." Erica felt exhausted by all the contradictory information and emotions. Her father had helped someone garden?
"Mrs. Myers." The voice belonged to Brennan. He strolled up from somewhere behind Erica. "It's good to see you up and about again."
The older woman turned to Brennan with a wide smile. "You remembered about my hip operation?"
"I know I haven't been seeing you in your garden every morning."
Erica felt herself relax as the two began discussing Mrs. Myers's garden and her lengthy medical recuperation.
Thank God Brennan had come to the reception and then decided to stay. He took up the slack created by Erica's complete ignorance of the man everyone was mourning—and the fact that Clint had not yet shown up. Her father's neighbor was like a rock, solid and steady. Erica found herself glad for his presence even if she still wasn't sure he liked her very much.
As Mrs. Myers limped off with her cane, Brennan turned back to Erica. The friendly smile he'd donned for the other woman sobered. "How are you doing?" he asked in a low voice.
He actually appeared to care. In fact, when he looked at Erica the way he was doing now, she couldn't help feeling that he understood.
Something inside her hungered for that understanding even as another, more powerful, part of her couldn't trust that it was real.
She forced a small smile. "I think I'll survive. Clint still hasn't come?"
His expression flickered. "I know he wants to be here, but his current situation..."
They were relatively alone among the crowd, nobody paying attention to their conversation, so it seemed okay to ask. "What is his current situation? He told me he's separated from Judy, so what's going on?"
"She shows up where she knows he'll be, makes scenes. He runs away in order to avoid it. I'm sure that's why he hasn't come to the house. He doesn't want her following him here and creating some big drama."
Clint running away from a problem instead of standing to confront it—sounded typical, unfortunately. He was a peacemaker, not a warrior. Still...
"He shouldn't do that," Erica murmured half to herself. How was Clint supposed to take on Liam's guardianship with this type of problem going on in his life?
Her vague plans to drive home tomorrow began to lose more of what little focus they'd ever owned. Perhaps she ought to reschedule that Wednesday client. Give herself—and Clint—an additional week to figure things out.
It would mean eating more into her savings, but what else was new? Every time Erica thought she was getting ahead and might have enough to rent her own gym, poof! Some emergency swept it all away.
"Clint's way of dealing with it certainly isn't ideal," Brennan carefully agreed. He threw a gaze around the room. "I haven't seen Liam in a while, either."
"Oh, I told him he could go up to his room. It all seemed to be getting too much for him."
Brennan's gaze returned to Erica, approval clear in his expression. "Good idea."
She was so out of sorts, so weak, that his approval felt like a warm fire on a blustery day. She tried reminding herself it wasn't any kind of overall approval or even particularly personal, but it still felt awfully good.
"Thank you," she heard herself blurt out. Her face immediately warmed. "I mean, for being here. I—I really couldn't do this by myself."
His gaze immediately dropped.
Uh-oh. Had she gone too far, embarrassed him? Or, worse yet, made him fear she was going to start clinging? Erica knew she was ham-handed when it came to interpersonal dealings. Give her a tight quad muscle or a recovering ankle fracture, and she knew exactly what to do. A simple thank you? She was sure to blow it.
He raised his eyes again slowly. The expression in them was very soft. Not angry or embarrassed. "I'm glad to be able to help."
She felt a surge of liking for the man. When they'd first met, she'd imagined he was judging her. Maybe he still was judging.
But right now he was showing understanding and compassion. And right now she needed that.
So she forgave herself in advance for maybe being stupid about the guy. Who knew what he was really like?
She smiled at him.
After a brief hesitation, he smiled back.