He released Vanity just in time because the sister launched herself at him, her sobs out of control. With a long-suffering sigh, Stack caught her to him.
He looked at Vanity over his sister’s head and said, “Vanity, this is my sister, Tabitha. Tabby, meet Vanity.”
Hysterical cries died as if someone clicked off a movie. Silence, a stiffening of shoulders, and a second later her head left Stack’s chest and instead jerked around to stab Vanity with ripe curiosity.
“You share similar features,” Vanity said as if she hadn’t just witnessed pure lunacy. “Though of course you’re far more feminine.”
Tabitha dropped back to her own feet. She swiped her cheeks, blindly sought a tissue from her pocket, blew her nose, and...beamed at Vanity.
Unsure what to make of that, Vanity tried a smile that didn’t quite appear.
Sly, Tabby cast a look at Stack, then back to Vanity. “Well, well, well. Things just got very interesting.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WALKING PNEUMONIA. NO WONDER his mother felt so bad. She hadn’t collapsed as Tabby had claimed, but she’d been coughing, lost her breath, stumbled and fell. She’d hit her head pretty hard, but luckily didn’t have a concussion.
Still, she’d gotten a few stitches, a lot of bruises and, according to the doctor, a bad attitude.
Sounded like his mom. She didn’t take well to illness or injury. Like a petite steamroller, she always plowed on.
Overall, she wasn’t badly hurt. But she would need a lot more rest, meds, and her head would no doubt ache for a while.
Since she had her eyes closed, Stack took a moment just to look at her. Thanks to her frequent salon visits, her hair was a little lighter than his and Tabby’s. She usually had it styled. Tonight dried blood left it stiffened, darker around one side of her face.
A few new smile lines—his dad’s description—showed around her eyes and mouth. In better circumstances, she’d probably have downplayed them with makeup. Being here like this, with the loss of dignity, would make her nuts. She always tried to make the best appearance.
Not that his dad had ever cared. Through good times and bad, sickness and health, he’d loved her openly. Just as his mother had loved his dad.
Memories wrought a sad smile as Stack recalled the way his dad had always chased his mom, the outrageous compliments, the risqué teasing. Every day, for as long as Stack could remember, his dad had made it clear that he desired her, that he wanted her. That she was it for him. Always.
Stack and Tabby had grown so used to it, it hadn’t embarrassed them. Much.
Always flustered his mom, though. She’d blush and smack at his dad and whisper for him to behave. But she’d also smile with love shining in her eyes.
There were times she’d been sick, times she’d been sad over the loss of a relative or friend, times she’d been stressed or worried, and his dad would pamper her into near insanity, to the point she could feel little except happiness.
They’d been deeply, demonstratively in love...until his dad died six years ago.
“I hope you’re not mentally making funeral arrangements, because I’m not gone yet.” Lynn Hannigan hadn’t bothered to open her eyes to make that outrageous statement. “Do I look too awful to get a kiss? After all, it’s been a while.”
“You never look awful.” Stack came in, carefully seated himself on the side of the bed, and took her hand.
When she gave him a one-eyed glare, he dutifully bent and kissed her cheek.
She closed that eye again. “Better. But if I’m not dying, why were you hanging over there, being all pensive and morbid?”
He huffed a small laugh. “Actually, I was thinking of Dad.”
“Oh, Lord. If the man was still alive, he’d be fretting over me, pampering me and—”
“Loving you.”
“Especially that.” Her eyes tightened.
Stack considered her pained expression. “Headache?”
“It’s like a herd of angry elephants are having a brawl.”
The sentiment made him smile despite his concern. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you more.”
“All you had to do was call. You know that.”
That same eye peeked open again. “And say what? That Tabby was the same, that Phil was still around, that nothing much had changed?”
He didn’t reply. Yeah, he’d made those stipulations, told them all that until they got their shit together—which namely involved kicking Phil to the curb—he wouldn’t be around to witness the lunacy.
He looked at Vanity over his sister’s head and said, “Vanity, this is my sister, Tabitha. Tabby, meet Vanity.”
Hysterical cries died as if someone clicked off a movie. Silence, a stiffening of shoulders, and a second later her head left Stack’s chest and instead jerked around to stab Vanity with ripe curiosity.
“You share similar features,” Vanity said as if she hadn’t just witnessed pure lunacy. “Though of course you’re far more feminine.”
Tabitha dropped back to her own feet. She swiped her cheeks, blindly sought a tissue from her pocket, blew her nose, and...beamed at Vanity.
Unsure what to make of that, Vanity tried a smile that didn’t quite appear.
Sly, Tabby cast a look at Stack, then back to Vanity. “Well, well, well. Things just got very interesting.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WALKING PNEUMONIA. NO WONDER his mother felt so bad. She hadn’t collapsed as Tabby had claimed, but she’d been coughing, lost her breath, stumbled and fell. She’d hit her head pretty hard, but luckily didn’t have a concussion.
Still, she’d gotten a few stitches, a lot of bruises and, according to the doctor, a bad attitude.
Sounded like his mom. She didn’t take well to illness or injury. Like a petite steamroller, she always plowed on.
Overall, she wasn’t badly hurt. But she would need a lot more rest, meds, and her head would no doubt ache for a while.
Since she had her eyes closed, Stack took a moment just to look at her. Thanks to her frequent salon visits, her hair was a little lighter than his and Tabby’s. She usually had it styled. Tonight dried blood left it stiffened, darker around one side of her face.
A few new smile lines—his dad’s description—showed around her eyes and mouth. In better circumstances, she’d probably have downplayed them with makeup. Being here like this, with the loss of dignity, would make her nuts. She always tried to make the best appearance.
Not that his dad had ever cared. Through good times and bad, sickness and health, he’d loved her openly. Just as his mother had loved his dad.
Memories wrought a sad smile as Stack recalled the way his dad had always chased his mom, the outrageous compliments, the risqué teasing. Every day, for as long as Stack could remember, his dad had made it clear that he desired her, that he wanted her. That she was it for him. Always.
Stack and Tabby had grown so used to it, it hadn’t embarrassed them. Much.
Always flustered his mom, though. She’d blush and smack at his dad and whisper for him to behave. But she’d also smile with love shining in her eyes.
There were times she’d been sick, times she’d been sad over the loss of a relative or friend, times she’d been stressed or worried, and his dad would pamper her into near insanity, to the point she could feel little except happiness.
They’d been deeply, demonstratively in love...until his dad died six years ago.
“I hope you’re not mentally making funeral arrangements, because I’m not gone yet.” Lynn Hannigan hadn’t bothered to open her eyes to make that outrageous statement. “Do I look too awful to get a kiss? After all, it’s been a while.”
“You never look awful.” Stack came in, carefully seated himself on the side of the bed, and took her hand.
When she gave him a one-eyed glare, he dutifully bent and kissed her cheek.
She closed that eye again. “Better. But if I’m not dying, why were you hanging over there, being all pensive and morbid?”
He huffed a small laugh. “Actually, I was thinking of Dad.”
“Oh, Lord. If the man was still alive, he’d be fretting over me, pampering me and—”
“Loving you.”
“Especially that.” Her eyes tightened.
Stack considered her pained expression. “Headache?”
“It’s like a herd of angry elephants are having a brawl.”
The sentiment made him smile despite his concern. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you more.”
“All you had to do was call. You know that.”
That same eye peeked open again. “And say what? That Tabby was the same, that Phil was still around, that nothing much had changed?”
He didn’t reply. Yeah, he’d made those stipulations, told them all that until they got their shit together—which namely involved kicking Phil to the curb—he wouldn’t be around to witness the lunacy.
