Charlie smiled faintly, then leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “I think I understand.”
“I so hoped you would.”
“Ayuh, I really do. So here’s what I want you to do. Are you followin’ me?”
Yes. Charlie McGuinness was ready to give in—thank God this difficulty was over. The old man would ask for a boatload of money, of course—these kinds of things were always about money in the end. Richard was sure they could find a mutually agreeable settlement. And if Charlie wanted to spend time with Christina, or even take her to visit Evelyn in prison, that might be workable as well. Richard was no scrooge. He nodded enthusiastically. “I’m listening, Charlie.”
“Good. So what I want is for you to take all that worry you have for ‘the child,’ all those protective feelings, and the concern for her safety and comfort and happiness, and then multiply it a million times over and add love and family. Then, you might have a hint of how I feel about Christina Ginnifer McGuinness, you ass!”
Richard’s mouth hung open. He took his foot off the step and backed away.
Charlie wasn’t finished. “You know, before Amanda died she made her sister swear that if anything should ever happen to her you were not to come within a hundred miles of Chrissy. My girl was smart. Ayuh, it might look like you have a right to be in her life somehow, some way, because you’re her biological father, but you know what, Wahlman?” Charlie pushed himself to a stand on the porch. “You don’t deserve her. You aren’t a good enough man to be a father to her. Do you realize that you’ve twisted this around to make it all about you? Well, by God it’s not! It’s about a little girl who has just lost her mother! How can you be such a selfish bastard that you can’t even see that?”
It took a full ten seconds for Richard to find his voice. In all the years he’d been debating on the House floor, no one—not even the most outrageously wrongheaded and belligerent elected official—had left him speechless the way this farmer just had.
“Now get off my property.”
Richard rebounded. “You’re making a mistake, Charlie. It’s my decision how much time—if any—Christina gets to spend with you. You forgot that.”
McGuinness turned his back to Richard and headed for the door.
“The FBI is going to find them very soon. We’ve got several solid leads. It’s probably only a matter of hours at this point.” No response. Richard loathed this stubborn rube. “You will regret this little display of physical violence.”
“Doubt it.” Charlie reached for the screen-door handle. “That was the most satisfying thing I’ve done in years.”
* * *
Clancy’s head was inside the hall linen closet, and he found himself regretting that he wasn’t more domestically inclined. So far, he’d located one bottom sheet of unknown size, two mismatched pillowcases, and a partially chewed-up dog blanket. He would have to figure something out, fast.
He pulled his head from the deep shelves and heard splashing sounds echoing from the bathroom, followed by a high-pitched giggle. It was the little girl, and she sounded happy. The hum of Evie’s lower, gentler voice could be heard as well, though the words were indistinct. Clancy stood in the hallway, mesmerized by the beautiful sound. It had been three years since he’d heard a female voice or felt embraced by female energy in this house. Barbie’s unpleasant tone of voice and vibe had been the last. No, he hadn’t been exactly celibate since then—there were weekends in Boston and an occasional blind date in Nantucket or the Vineyard—but no woman had set foot in this house in the three years since his divorce except for his mother and sister. Even his damn dogs were male. At that moment, Clancy realized he’d missed it, the sense of being balanced out, and maybe even smoothed down, by the softness a female brought to a space.