The Prodigal Valentine. Karen Templeton

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      But for damn sure he’d always known exactly what he’d left behind.

      His mother smiled and said in English, “Considering how much you moved around inside me before you were born, this is not a surprise.” Then her smile dimmed. “But now I think that restlessness has taken a new form, yes? Something tells me you are not here because of Tony, or your father, but for you.”

      A second or two of warring gazes followed, during which Ben braced himself for the inevitable, “So what have you really been doing all this time?”

      Except the question didn’t come. Not then, at least. Instead, his mother stood once more, startling the dogs. She took his empty mug, looking down at it for a moment before saying, “Whatever your reason for coming back, it’s good to have you home—”

      “Ben!”

      At the sound of his father’s voice, Ben swiveled toward the door leading to the garage, where Luis Vargas, his thick, dark hair now heavily webbed with silver, was attempting to haul in a state-of-the-art set of golf clubs without taking out assorted wriggling, excited dogs. Ben quickly stood, tossing his “napkin” into the garbage can under the sink as his father dropped the clubs and extended his arms. A heartbeat later, the slightly shorter man had hauled Ben against his chest in an unabashedly emotional hug.

      “I didn’t expect you for another couple of hours, otherwise I would’ve stayed home!” The strong, builder’s hands clamped around Ben’s arms, Luis held him back, moisture glistening in dark brown eyes. Slightly crooked teeth flashed underneath a bristly mustache. “You look good. Doesn’t he look good, Juanita? Dios,” he said, shaking Ben and grinning, “I’ve waited so long for this moment! Did you eat? Juanita, did you feed the kid?”

      “Yes, Pop,” Ben said, chuckling. “She fed me.”

      His father let go, tucking his hands into his pockets, shaking his head and grinning. A potbelly peeked through the opening of his down vest, stretching the plaid shirt farther than it probably should. “I see you, and now I’m thinking, finally, everything’s back the way it should be, eh?” He slapped Ben’s arm, then pulled him into another hug while his mother fussed a few feet away about how he shouldn’t do that, the boy had just eaten, for heaven’s sake.

      Now the house shuddered slightly as the front door opened, followed by “For God’s sake, woman! I’m okay, I don’t need your help!”

      Ben stiffened. Damn. Would another hour or two to prepare have been too much to ask?

      Apparently not, he thought as, in a cloud of cold that briefly soothed Ben’s heated face, his brother and sister-in-law, along with their two kids, straggled into the kitchen.

      “Look, Tony!” Luis swung one arm around Ben’s shoulders, crushing him to his side. “Your brother’s finally come home! Isn’t that great?”

      His brother’s answering glare immediately confirmed that nothing had changed on that front, either.

      Chapter Two

      “So…” Tony banged his crutches up against one wall and collapsed into the nearest kitchen chair, stretching out his casted foot in front of him and glowering. Shorter and stockier than Ben, Tony resembled their father more than ever these days. A neat beard outlined his full jaw, obliterating the baby face Tony had detested all through high school. “You made it.”

      His mother was too busy fussing over the kids to notice the vinegar in her oldest son’s voice, but Ben definitely caught his sister-in-law’s irritated frown.

      “Don’t start, Tony,” she said softly, and his brother turned his glower on her.

      “Yeah, I made it,” Ben said, taking the coward’s way out by turning his attention to his niece and nephew. A sliver of regret pierced his gut: Although his mother had e-mailed photos of the kids to him, he’d never seen them in person before this. His chest tightened at the energy pulsing from lanky, ten-year-old Jacob, at little Matilda’s shy, holey half-smile from behind her mother’s broad hips.

      “Come here, you,” Anita said, shucking her Broncos jacket and holding out her arms, her fitted, scoop-necked sweater brazenly accentuating her curves. Ben couldn’t remember Mercy’s next youngest sister as ever having a hard angle anywhere on her body, even when they’d been kids. A biological hand Anita had not only accepted with grace, but played to full advantage. Her embrace was brief and hard and obviously sincere. “Welcome home,” she whispered before letting him go.

      “You haven’t changed a bit,” Ben said, grinning. “Still as much of a knockout as ever.”

      Her laugh did little to mask either her flush of pleasure or the slight narrowing of her thick-lashed, coffee brown eyes as she gave him the once-over. Masses of warm brown curls trembled on either side of her full cheeks. “And you’re still full of it! Anyway…little Miss Peek-a-Boo behind me is Matilda, we call her Mattie. And this is Jacob. Jake. Kids, meet your Uncle Ben.”

      Since Mattie was still hanging back, Ben extended his hand to Jake, gratified to see the wariness begin to retreat in his nephew’s dark eyes. “I hear you play baseball.”

      A look of surprise preceded a huge grin. “Since third grade, yeah. Short stop. Do you?”

      “After a fashion. Enough to play catch, if you want.”

      “Sweet! Dad’s like, always too tired and stuff.”

      “That’s crap, Jake,” Tony said, and Anita shot him a look that would have felled a lesser man.

      “And when’s the last time you played with him, huh?”

      “For God’s sake, ’Nita, my leg’s broken!”

      “I meant, before that—”

      “Are you the same Uncle Ben that makes the rice?”

      In response to his niece’s perfectly timed distraction, Ben turned to smile into a pair of wide, chocolate M&M eyes. Twin ponytails framed a heart-shaped face, the ends feathered over a fancy purple sweater with a big collar, as the little girl’s delicate arms squashed a much-loved, stuffed something to her chest. Ben was instantly smitten. “No, honey, I’m afraid not.”

      “Oh.” Mattie hugged the whatever-it-was more tightly. The ponytails swished when she tilted her head, her soft little brows drawn together. Curiosity—and a deep, unquestioning trust that makes a man take stock of his soul—flared in her eyes. “Papi talks about you all the time,” she said with a quick grin for her grandfather. “He says you usta play with Aunt Rosie and Livvy a lot when you were little.”

      “I sure did.” Ben nodded toward the thing in her arms. “Who’s your friend?”

      “Sammy. He’s a cat. I want a real kitty, but Mama says I can’t have one until I’m six. Which is only a few weeks away, you know,” she said to Anita, who rolled her eyes.

      “You must take after your mom,” he said, with a wink at Anita, “’cause you’re very pretty.”

      “Yeah, that’s what everybody says,” Mattie said with a very serious nod as her mother snorted in the background. “I’m in kindergarten, СКАЧАТЬ