than I am, but he can get more done with a bump on the head than I can with a bum ankle that’s supposed to be elevated all the time. Just don’t worry about it. Now I have to go. I have company. I’ll see you in the morning. But only for an hour,” he added, slowly enunciating each word for emphasis before he said goodbye.
The minute he hung up he turned his attention to Kira. “Sorry about that. That was the woman who usually helps me out around here with the babies and the housekeeping. Her mother herniated a disc in her back and she’s fretting about leaving me in the lurch. She knows I’m not good for much when I’m supposed to stay off the foot,” he said, pointing to his injured ankle.
Kira watched him stand and take a cane that was braced against the wall beside him.
Even leaning his weight on the cane he still stood at least six foot two and if Kira had thought his physique was impressive when he was sitting down, it was even more impressive when he was upright. There was definitely nothing boyish in that big, powerful tower of a man and it left Kira slightly dumbstruck.
Not that he seemed to notice as he continued. “So. Here you are. I could have sworn we said Thursday night between eight and nine to make sure the babies were asleep or I wouldn’t have returned Betty’s phone call.”
That brought Kira to her senses. “Who do you think I am?”
“The journalism student from the college who’s doing the article on Ad and me. Isn’t that who you are?”
That explained why he’d waved her in.
Kira shook her head. “I’m not from the college,” she said. “I’m Kira Wentworth. Marla’s sister.”
That sobered him instantly. In fact, it pulled his amazing face into a frown that put two vertical creases between his eyebrows.
“Oh.”
All the animation had drained from his voice and he didn’t say anything for so long that Kira felt inclined to fill the silence with the reason for her sudden appearance on his doorstep.
“The Denver newspaper ran a little article about you and the other man saving a family from their burning house. It was the first time I had any clue about where Marla might be since the two of you left thirteen years ago. I’m here looking for her.”
Cutty Grant closed his green eyes and Kira saw his jaw tense before he opened them again and sighed a sigh that sounded resigned but not happy.
He pointed toward the living room and said, “Let’s go in there and sit.”
Solemn. Kira knew whatever he was going to tell her couldn’t be good, and her grip on her purse turned white-knuckle as she did as he’d suggested and went into the living room that looked as if a cyclone had hit it.
“Please. Sit,” he repeated when she went on standing even then.
Kira conceded, passing up the littered sofa to remove a rag doll from the Bentley rocking chair that was at a forty-five-degree angle to the couch. She kept hold of the doll with her arms wrapped tightly around it, hugging it close as Cutty Grant joined her, sitting on the only clear spot on the sofa and raising his casted foot to a pillow on the coffee table in front of it.
For what seemed like an eternity he didn’t speak, though. Or even look at her. Instead he kept his eyes on the cane, balancing it across his legs like a bridge.
And in the silence it occurred to Kira that although she’d seen signs of infants and of Cutty himself, she hadn’t seen anything that would lead her to think her sister or her nephew were a part of the equation here. But she still hoped against hope that Cutty Grant was going to tell her he and Marla had divorced, that Marla had taken their son somewhere else, that he was a widower with two daughters because his second wife had died….
But the minute he said, “I’m sorry,” Kira knew better and her heart sank. There was just something so ominous in his voice.
“Marla and I had a little boy,” he told her then. “Your parents knew that so you must have, too.”
“I knew you’d had a boy, yes,” Kira confirmed tentatively, as if, if she hedged, it might not make the worst true.
“Then you probably knew he was autistic.”
That surprised her. “No, I didn’t know that. I only knew Marla had had a son because I overheard my mother telling my father when the baby was born. They never told me directly—she was so thoroughly disowned that I wasn’t even to mention her name—and after that I never heard them talk about her or the baby again.”
“There was an after that—” Disgust rang in his tone but he seemed to reconsider what he’d been about to say and changed course. “Anthony. We named him Anthony.”
It was unabashed pain that Kira heard in Cutty’s voice then. Pain that etched his handsome face.
“I’m really hoping this isn’t as bad as it seems,” she said when he let another long silence pass.
Cutty Grant took a deep breath and shook his head to let her know in advance that her hopes were to no avail. “Seventeen months ago, it was February but we were having springlike weather, so Marla took Anthony into the front yard to get some fresh air. I don’t really know why, but for some reason Anthony ran between two cars that were parked at the curb. There was a truck coming. Going faster than it should have been. The driver didn’t see Anthony. Or Marla running after him…”
It was difficult for Cutty to say what he was saying, and after another pause he finally finished. “The truck hit them both.”
Kira hadn’t been prepared to hear that. Intellectually she’d realized that it was possible it was her sister who had left Cutty Grant a widower, but she hadn’t really believed it was true.
“Marla is dead?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
“And Anthony?”
“He was killed instantly.”
Through the tears that sprang to her eyes, Kira saw moisture gathering in those of the man across from her, too. But still she couldn’t help the accusing tone when she said, “And you didn’t let us know?”
A flash of anger dried his eyes and when he answered her it was barely contained in his own voice. “Marla lived a few hours after the accident and one of the few things she said to me during the time she was conscious was that she didn’t want me to call her father. That she didn’t want him here. Even if she didn’t make it. I respected her wishes.” And it was clear that he’d had no desire himself to bring Tom Wentworth into the picture.
“But I would have wanted to know,” Kira said quietly as she lost the battle to hold back her own tears and they began to trail down her face.
Cutty Grant got up and limped out of the room, returning with a box of tissues that he held out for her.
Kira accepted one, thanking him perfunctorily and wiping her eyes as she struggled with the complex emotions running through her.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, setting the tissue box on the coffee table and sitting down once more. “If it’s any consolation, not seeing you again after we eloped was the one thing Marla regretted.”
It wasn’t much consolation. It didn’t take away all the years of missing Marla. Of wondering where she was. Of wishing she would call or write. Of longing to see her again, to be sisters again. It didn’t take away all the time since Kira had grown up and been out on her own when she’d wanted so badly to have Marla in her life and not had any way of knowing where she was.
“I tried to find her,” Kira said through her tears, not really understanding why it was suddenly important to her that he know. “My parents said they didn’t have any idea where she was—”
“That was a lie.”
Kira had suspected as much but she couldn’t force