“Is it worth it?”
“Yeah.”
~*~
Bea made an orange rum cake with royal icing and she unveiled it just after dark with the caveat that “Charlie” was to be invited over for cake and Irish coffees, or there would be no Thanksgiving dessert. Walsh, silent and grave, had sent a text message, and Emmie had bitten her lip to keep from laughing.
So that was how Fox became a part of their small circle in front of the fireplace at Briar Hall, devouring orange rum cake and listening to Bea talk about all her Christmas plans. “It’s Thanksgiving, Mum,” Walsh said, which she ignored.
Emmie returned from refilling her coffee to find a lull in the chatter. Tongue loose with Irish cream, and dying to know besides, she settled onto the couch beside Walsh and said, “So I have to know. What’s the family feud business, boys?” She looked at her husband and Fox in turn.
“Oh my,” Bea said with a suppressed giggle. “King, I do adore your wife, you know.”
“Yeah, she’s adorable,” Walsh deadpanned, and Emmie laughed.
“I’m curious,” she insisted. “As an only child, it’s hard to imagine being all stiff and weird with a brother, if I had one. I would cherish him,” she said, loftily, and that finally got the best of Shane, who snorted into his coffee cup.
“He never told you the story?” Fox asked, eyes alight with interest, firelight dancing across his face and making him look distinctly foxy. “Shame, brother, keeping secrets from your wife.”
Walsh sent him a flat look. “No,brother. I didn’t tell her how you’re a wanker who steals people’s bikes and wrecks them.”
Emmie forced herself not to laugh again. “He wrecked your bike?”
“Goodness, he was so upset,” Bea said. “The crash made the news! It was all over the telly, and King wouldn’t even go see Charlie in hospital.”
“Heartbroke, I was,” Fox said, looking like Walsh did when he was suppressing a smile. “My own flesh and blood wouldn’t even forgive me.”
“It made the local news,” Walsh corrected, darkly. “For two minutes. ‘Local idiots wrecks perfectly good bike into a fish and chips stand.’ He broke his arm.” He snorted. “In hospitalmy ass.”
“King!” Bea said.
“She was beautiful,” Walsh continued. “A Triumph. An ’87 Bonneville. In white.” He turned wistful, shaking his head. “I told that one to keep his grubby mitts off it, and what did he do, the second I wasn’t looking?”
“I’d never been on a Bonneville and I wanted to try it,” Fox said.
“You don’t sit on another man’s bike,” Walsh and Shane said in perfect unison.
“Not unless he invites you,” Walsh said. “Which I didn’t.”
“Just like you don’t sleep with another man’s girlfriend,” Shane said, face hardening.
“Shane, mate,” Fox said, “you have to know Julie was just playing you. You’re better off without that bint anyway.”
“Okay!” Emmie said, loudly. “Obviously, I shouldn’t have started us down that road.” This was a good lesson in poking her nose into brother dynamics. “I’ll just say ‘my bad’ and we can get back to Thanksgiving, okay?”
It was tense a moment, two…
Walsh’s arm went around her and the negative energy dissipated at once.
“More cake, anyone?” Bea asked, rising.
Emmie dropped her head onto her husband’s shoulder. “Over a bike,” she murmured, smiling.
“See what you married into?” Walsh asked, and she knew he was teasing.
“Siblings,” she answered, smiling.
December
