The Christmas Vigil Page 7

  Josie was twenty-eight and Chanel had already turned twenty-five. Both of them were more than old enough to be looking for a life partner. Unfortunately, neither of them seemed interested. She swallowed a quiet sigh.

  “Who owns the vehicles out in the drive?” Josie asked, glancing over her shoulder toward the parked cars.

  “Your brothers arrived a little earlier. They’ve flown in from Canberra and Sydney and hired a couple of rental cars at the airport.”

  “They’re here?” Chanel asked, her voice lifting. “All of them?”

  “Yes. Riley had to go home to Watervale, but the others are inside.”

  “I can’t remember the last time we were all together,” Josie added quietly. “It must have been…” She frowned and followed her mother into the entryway.

  “I was thinking the same thing a little while ago. I think it was at Rosie and Daisy’s christening.”

  Josie nodded. “Yes, Mom, you’re right. I can’t believe it’s been that long. We all need to make more of an effort to get together. We shouldn’t wait until something like this…” Her voice faded away.

  Marguerite stopped and turned to face her. “You’re right, sweetheart. We shouldn’t. Now, let’s try and forget what’s brought us all together and simply enjoy the moment for what it is. Dad wouldn’t want us upset over him.”

  Chanel came up beside Josie, her expression serious. Tears glinted in her eyes. “How is he, Mom? Has there been any change?”

  Marguerite brought the girls up to date on her way into the living room. There was an immediate chorus of subdued greetings and loving hugs and kisses as the siblings caught up with one another. They’d always been close and it warmed her heart to know that even a serious family emergency couldn’t weaken the bond of love between them. She hoped, a little desperately, that it would remain that way.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Riley

  Watervale, New South Wales

  After spending half the night talking things over with Kate and then the other half tossing and turning, Riley awoke to a blinding headache and the sound of the twins fighting. He groaned and buried his head under the pillow, but neither the headache nor the fighting abated.

  He heard Kate in the shower and groaned again, knowing it was up to him to referee yet another disagreement between his girls. What was it with them, anyway? They were twins, for Christ’s sake. They were supposed to read each other like a sixth sense, not fight over every minor detail. He and Clayton had been thick as thieves when they were children and they weren’t even identical. What was with his daughters that made them so different?

  With a deep breath, he threw on his boxers and a T-shirt and went out into the living room. He spied Daisy at the kitchen table with butter smeared all over her face; Rosie was pointing at her sister and laughing uproariously.

  “Girls, what do you think you’re doing? It’s barely seven in the morning. And Daisy, how did you manage to get that out of the fridge?”

  Daisy offered him an angelic smile and turned to point at Rosie. Riley suppressed a groan. He should have known. His oldest daughter was always the one up to mischief. She reminded him so much of himself some days, it was downright scary.

  Kate strode into the room, looking as fresh and beautiful as always. Riley didn’t know how she managed it. Not only did she have twins not long out of diapers, she also had a busy art gallery to run. He often shook his head at his wife in amazement. Nothing seemed to faze her and she always had time for everyone, even him. He still couldn’t believe he’d found her.

  Drawing her close, he kissed her on the mouth and held her, relishing the feel of her soft body against his. She relaxed against him for a moment and then gently pulled away.

  “Rosie, what have I told you about getting into the fridge? Your sister’s going to have to have a bath before breakfast.” Kate tut tutted and lifted Daisy into her arms, careful to hold her away from her dress to avoid getting soiled by the butter. Rosie looked completely unapologetic and offered nothing more than a sheepish smile by way of response. Even Riley had to grin.

  The little minx. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was going to be a whole truckload of trouble for some poor guy one day. Not that Riley wanted her to grow up. Just the thought of his daughters kissing boys and doing all the things he did as a teenager nearly caused him to break out in hives. He shuddered to think how he was going to cope and was thankful it was still a long way off. Perhaps he’d get used to the idea in another decade or three.

  The night before, he’d called the station in Watervale and arranged for his second-in-charge to take over for the next few days, until he knew what was happening with his father. Detective Sergeant Chase Barrington was a loyal and trustworthy officer who Riley could rely on to keep things in shape until he got back.

  With a quiet sigh, he went into the kitchen and sorted out breakfast for the girls: cereal with milk and yoghurt for Rosie and toast with butter and jelly for Daisy. It was the same every morning. The girls were nothing, if not predictable. For Kate, he boiled two eggs and tossed a couple of extra pieces of bread in the toaster. She walked back in with a twin on each hip, just as he was serving.

  Daisy, freshly washed and clothed, grinned and reached up to him with chubby arms and a wide, toothy smile. His heart melted. He took her from Kate’s arms and threw the little girl up into the air, chuckling when she screamed and giggled in delight.

  “Me, too! Me, too!” Rosie pleaded, squirming out of her mother’s arms. Riley lowered Daisy to the floor and reached for her twin. After tossing her three times and with her still begging for more, Riley shook his head and stood her on the floor.

  “No more. Daddy’s got to go. Grandad Munro’s a little sick, remember? Daddy has to visit him in hospital.”

  “Can we come?” Daisy asked.

  “No, honey. Not yet, anyway. He’s in the hospital in Grafton and I’ll probably be gone most of the day. You both need to go to preschool and learn how to be good little girls.”

  “But, Daddy, we already are good little girls,” Rosie protested, a tiny frown creasing her forehead.

  Riley laughed and ruffled her hair, as straight and blond as her mother’s. Daisy’s was slightly darker and curled a little at the ends, but apart from the difference in hair color, most people couldn’t tell them apart. He knelt down until he was at eye level with the pair of them.

  “You’re right, of course. You are good little girls. Except when you’re painting your sister in butter,” he mock-frowned at Rosie before turning his gaze on her twin. “With you encouraging her all the way.”

  The little girls laughed and giggled and looked from him to their mother and back. His heart filled with love for his family. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for them.

  He stood with a quiet sigh and moved over to his wife. She was dipping her toast into her egg and a little yolk had dripped onto her chin. He swiped at it tenderly with his finger and then licked it off. She followed the movement with her eyes and he noticed the way they zeroed in on his mouth.

  Desire surged through him and centered in his groin, despite the headache that still persisted. He glanced at the clock on the wall of the kitchen and cursed softly under his breath. He wanted to be at the hospital when visiting hours started. It meant he had to leave now. Swallowing another sigh, he pressed a kiss to Kate’s cheek and bid her farewell.

  “Drive safely,” she called on his way out of the room, “and say hello to your dad.”

  * * *

  Riley stared at the hospital and willed himself to walk the short distance inside. He didn’t know what was keeping him immobile; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been there the day before.

  With an impatient shake of his head, he climbed out of his SUV and headed toward the front entrance. Kate had encouraged him to give his father the benefit of the doubt and to keep an open mind. She was right. Prima facie, things didn’t look good, but Riley was prepared to hear his dad out before he made a decision on
his guilt. He only hoped his father would have the opportunity to speak.

  After riding the elevator to the third floor, he made his way down the corridor and came to a halt outside the closed double doors which led to the ICU. He half-expected his brothers to be there—or at least Clayton. His twin had told him yesterday he’d catch the next available flight. But the waiting area outside the ICU was empty. Riley drew in a deep breath before pressing the buzzer to request admittance.

  The nurse who answered, agreed to let him in and a moment later, the doors swung inward. Riley followed the same route he’d taken the day before and in quick time, was once again at his father’s bedside. Another nurse materialized and offered him a quiet greeting.

  “He’s had a restful night and everything’s remained stable,” she informed him. “The doctor was in to check on him only a little while ago. The bleeding has stopped, which is a good sign and the hole in the artery has begun to repair itself. Once the swelling goes down, the doctor’s very hopeful your father will regain consciousness.”

  Riley breathed a sigh of relief and drew a chair up to the bed. His father remained just as silent and motionless as he had been the day before. The machines did their beeping and their pumping and their breathing, working hard to keep him alive.

  Reaching for his father’s hand, Riley clasped it tightly for a moment. “Hi, Dad. It’s Riley.”

  There was no response. Slowly, he released it and with it, his tension and anger faded. What was the use in maintaining a rage against a man who couldn’t fight back?

  Kate was right. He needed to wait until his father was awake again and well enough to answer the questions that continued to burn in Riley’s brain. He refused to contemplate what he might do if the facts he’d deliberately decided to push to one side turned out to be true…

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Clayton

  Grafton Base Hospital

  Clayton strode along the ground floor of the hospital and headed toward the elevators. Anger and fear simmered inside him. He barely noticed the Christmas tree in one corner of the foyer or the bright decorations on the windows. It was a little after ten and the girl manning the information desk in the lobby had assured him visiting hours had commenced.

  “Would you hold up for a second, Clay? I’m sure another few minutes is hardly going to make a difference,” Brandon complained from behind him, almost jogging to keep up.

  Clay flicked a glance over his shoulder, but didn’t break stride. “I need to see him. I need to talk to him. I need to know why he did it.”

  Brandon slowed and fell further behind. Clayton glanced back again and was annoyed to find his brother had come to a halt.

  “For Christ’s sake, would you hurry up, Brandon? What the hell are you doing?” he growled.

  Brandon looked at him. “Clay, whether you break speed records getting there isn’t going to make any difference at the moment. From all accounts, Dad’s still in a coma.”

  The anger that had been lying dormant in Clay’s gut stirred to life at his brother’s words and then ignited when Brandon shot him a look full of pity and slowly shook his head.

  “Let it go, Clay, before it eats you up inside. We don’t know what the hell happened in that hotel room, or what was about to happen. We owe it to Dad to let him explain.”

  In three long strides, Clayton closed the distance between them. It was all he could do not to seize his brother by the shirt and shake him. Couldn’t he see? Brandon was a cop, like the rest of them. It was clear to anyone who bothered to read the police report what had happened—or had been supposed to happen—if his father’s aneurysm hadn’t burst. Saved by a ruptured blood vessel. Whoopee do.

  Clayton clenched his fists and breathed hard in an effort to get his temper back under control. Brandon eyeballed him, almost daring him to hit him. He was every bit as tall as Clay and probably even a little more fit. His brother looked like he still worked out every day.

  “Who says we owe him anything?” Clay hissed.

  Brandon stared at him. “Think for a moment, for Christ’s sake. According to the investigating officer, no one else entered the room. Do you know what I’m saying? The mystery woman, whoever she was, didn’t show. We don’t even know if she exists. Everything we’ve been told is circumstantial.”

  Brandon drew in a deep breath and sighed, forcing a more even tone. “You were raised with the same principles as I was, Clay. Innocent until proven guilty, remember? It’s a tenet of our legal system we fight to uphold and one we’re rightly proud of. Surely, it’s the least Dad deserves? He’s given his life to that very system, as have the rest of us.”

  Clayton’s gaze narrowed. “When did you speak with Joel Parker?”

  Brandon held his gaze. “Riley called me about an hour ago. He was on his way here from Watervale. He spoke to Joel this morning.”

  The hard expression in Clayton’s eyes didn’t falter. “Why didn’t Riley call me?”

  Brandon shrugged. Clay fumed, disappointed that his twin had rung Brandon instead of him. Brandon eyed him in silence and then cursed softly under his breath.

  “You go on ahead, Clay,” he muttered. “Go and see Dad. Do what you need to do. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “How are you getting back to Mom’s?”

  Brandon shrugged. “I’ll work something out.”

  “Aren’t you coming up to see him?”

  “Of course, but you can go in first. Mom said they’ve been restricting his visitors.” Brandon returned Clay’s hard stare. “You need to see him more than I do.”

  Clay stared at him a moment longer and then spun on his heel and continued toward the elevators. He unclenched his fists and forced air deep into his lungs in an effort to calm himself down. It wasn’t like he could storm into the ICU and demand answers from a man in a coma. He’d be thrown right out on his ear. Besides, it wouldn’t do his father any good to upset him. For all of his anger and feelings of betrayal, Clay didn’t want to harm his father’s chances of recovery.

  The elevator dinged when it reached the floor and the doors slid open with a swish. Clay went to leave and almost collided with Riley who’d been about to step inside.

  “Clay! You’re here. It’s good to see you.” Riley gave him a brief hug. “When did you get in?”

  Clayton forced a half-hearted smile of acknowledgement that felt more like a grimace. “Last night. I flew to Sydney and then hopped a plane up here with Tom and Declan and Brandon. But I assume you already got all that from Brandon.”

  Riley’s gaze narrowed at his brother’s truculent tone. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? Why are you so god-damned prickly? We’re all suffering here. You’re not the only one. This is about Dad, not you.”

  Clay lowered his gaze and fought off the stab of guilt. He was behaving badly. Riley was right. This wasn’t about him. The fact that his twin had shared information with one of his brothers before he shared it with him shouldn’t have hurt like it did.

  Clay didn’t realize how fragile he was, perhaps because of the ongoing battle between Ellie and Olivia. It had worn him down and shortened his temper without him being consciously aware of it. Something had to be done about it. He just didn’t know what. What he did know was that now wasn’t the time to deal with it.

  He sighed heavily and offered Riley an apology. “I’m sorry, Riles. I’m being a prick. We’re all worried about Dad and trying to come to terms with what was discovered in that hotel room… I’m struggling, mate. I really am.”

  Riley’s lips tightened, but he nodded in understanding. “I take it you haven’t seen him yet?”

  “No. We came straight here from the airport last night, but they told us visiting hours were over.”

  “Yeah, they’re keeping a pretty tight rein on his visitors at the moment. They don’t want to tire him out.”

  “He’s still unconscious?”

  “Yeah, but apparently he’s responding to external stimuli. If he’s reacting, the
n he might be listening and comprehending, even if it doesn’t seem like it.” Riley shrugged. “They want him to put his energies into getting better.”

  “That’s got to be a good sign, though?”

  “Yeah, I think so. The nurse told me he’d had a good night.”

  “You must have left home early this morning? It’s the best part of two hours from Watervale.”

  “Yeah, I left just before eight. I-I wanted to see him again.”

  Clayton nodded grimly. “So do I.”

  Riley searched Clay’s face, his expression somber. “Go easy on him, Clay. We don’t know anything for sure. And we don’t want to slow his progress by upsetting him.”

  Clayton averted his gaze. “Yeah.” It was all he could manage.

  * * *

  Clay stared at the pasty, old man who lay sick and defenseless in the steel-framed hospital bed and tried to reconcile what he saw with the man he remembered. He hadn’t been home for a while, but surely, this couldn’t be his father? Where was the loud, robust, larger-than-life man he’d known and loved all his life? It couldn’t be the frail and motionless person with his head covered in bandages lying in the bed in front of him.

  Scrunching his eyes up tight, he took a moment before opening them, as if somehow he could change the appearance of the man before him. He pulled up the single chair that stood by his father’s bed and accepted the realization that Duncan Munro was ill—gravely ill, from the look of the tubes and machines and other medical paraphernalia that crowded the small space around him.

  He’d wanted to rant and rave about the injustice of his father’s actions; he’d wanted to demand to know why; he’d wanted to bleat and bellow and shout out his anger, but he couldn’t do any of those things to the feeble, old man in the bed. It looked like even a harsh whisper might do him in.