“Nothing to say?” Colin offered Scarlett her opening, not taking his eyes from Sibyl.
“Not right now,” Scarlett answered, not taking her eyes from Colin.
Sunday he went to work in the morning and at noon he left to meet Sibyl and the Godwins on the seafront. When he arrived he found Bertie seated on a blanket in the grass with the remains of what appeared to be a vegetarian picnic. Mags was five feet away, talking animatedly to two women who both had babies in prams. Colin took in Mags, her red hair not faded but streaked with comely shafts of white, wearing a bright, gauzy concoction that looked delicate enough to disintegrate at a hint of wind.
After greeting Bertie, Colin asked, “Where are Sibyl and Scarlett?”
Bertie tilted his head across the green and Colin saw both sisters (Sibyl wearing a tight-fitting, faded, oft-worn Grateful Dead t-shirt and her daringly torn jeans, Scarlett wearing a pair of black capri pants and an emerald green fitted, scoop-necked t-shirt) playing Frisbee with five men.
Colin watched for precisely thirty-eight seconds (Bertie timed him). Then he saw one of the men semi-tackle Sibyl, wrapping his arms about her middle and whirling her away from the Frisbee she was trying to catch. Her deep laugh filled the air at what she thought was friendly frolicking and Colin knew was anything but.
Without hesitation, Colin prowled toward them and Sibyl caught sight of him.
“Colin!” she cried as she smiled and ran to him, skidding to a bare-footed halt inches away, her golden hair flying in an attractive mess about her shoulders. She touched him with a hand at his waist, hooking her thumb in a belt loop at the side of his jeans and leaned in to ask playfully, “Do you want to play Frisbee?” and she asked this as she pulled her heavy, gorgeous hair away from her face with her other hand.
“No,” he stated shortly.
Her face fell and he ignored it, dragged her against his body and kissed her hard on the lips.
When he lifted his head, she stared up at him, stupefied.
Then she breathed, “What was that for?”
Colin looked about the green at five crestfallen male faces and Scarlett’s knowing one and said, “Just making things clear.”
He dropped his arm, not waiting for her reply, turned and walked back to Bertie, settling down beside him on the grass, one leg stretched out, one knee bent, his wrist dangling on his knee.
Bertie was silent for a moment and then said thoughtfully, “Welcome to my nightmare.”
Colin’s eyes reluctantly left Sibyl, slid to her father and he asked, “I’m sorry?”
Bertie again indicated his two daughters playing what was now a far more lackadaisical game of Frisbee and Colin glanced that way. Regardless if the men took Colin’s possessive gesture in the spirit it was intended and backed off entirely, that didn’t mean the magnificent sight of Sibyl and Scarlett racing around after a Frisbee wasn’t the height of entertainment for most of the men on the seafront.
“I must say, Colin, I’m happy to have you around,” Bertie told him.
“Why’s that?” Colin enquired, giving Sibyl’s father his full attention.
“A problem shared is a problem halved, in my case, literally.”
At his comment, Colin threw his head back and laughed, as did Bertie.
When he’d controlled his hilarity, Colin told the older man with a hint of admiration, “I can’t imagine how you did it for all these years.”
“I’ve lost three inches and all my hair, so count yourself warned,” Bertie stated then asked, “Do you have a plan?”
“I’m taking it day by day,” Colin answered on a smile.
Bertie nodded with approval. “That’s a good plan.”
“What are you talking about?” Mags queried as she joined them.
“Nothing,” Bertie replied after he accepted a swift, but rather ardent, kiss from his wife.
“You were laughing,” Scarlett also sat with them and Colin looked up to see Sibyl drop to her knees beside him. She awarded him a flush-faced grin and then, to his deep satisfaction, she didn’t hesitate a moment before she settled on her back with her head on his outstretched thigh, her hair falling haphazardly all over his lap.
“You must allow us our private little joke,” Bertie murmured.
“About us girls? I don’t think so,” Scarlett parried.
“Enough Scarlett,” Bertie warned.
Sibyl shifted onto her side but didn’t lift her head.
“You were joking about us?” she asked her father.
“You joke about men all the time,” Bertie defended. Colin noted his tone was far less strict with his first born.
“That’s true, men, as a whole, are our private little joke,” Scarlett confirmed cynically.
“Scarlett! Be good.” It was Mags’s turn to chastise her daughter but it was clear she didn’t mean it and this was made clear by her blue eyes dancing wickedly.
Sibyl moved again to her back and caught Colin’s eye. “You aren’t my joke,” she assured him, her eyes dancing but not like her mother’s, her eyes weren’t wicked but warm and sweet.
“Colin isn’t anybody’s joke,” Scarlett declared, for the first time giving Colin an indication of her blessing and she collapsed on her side and popped a grape in her mouth.
“With practice, you’ll learn to ignore her,” Sibyl confided to him and froze her sister with a glance.
Colin leaned back on an elbow. He had Sibyl’s head on his leg, her hair spread across his lap, the sun was shining on them and she’d just indicated he’d be around long enough to learn to ignore her sister. He’d long since been ignoring Scarlett as well as the envious looks he was getting from most of the men in the vicinity, and had, for longer than he could remember, perfected the art of ignoring the looks from the women.
Colin couldn’t call up even a hint of irritation because at that precise moment, all was right in Colin Morgan’s world.
They went to Brightrose shortly after, Colin driving the lot of them and their picnic paraphernalia in the BMW as they’d walked to the seafront. While Mags cooked dinner, Bertie, Scarlett, Sibyl and Colin spent the rest of the afternoon playing Trivial Pursuit.
Colin lost, soundly. Bertie knew everything about everything. Scarlett, a neurologist, also had an amazing knowledge of entertainment and sport. Sibyl’s subjects were history, art and literature and geography. The whole game, Bran spent tucked in Sibyl’s lap while Mallory lay by Colin, his head, when he was given the option, resting on Colin’s feet.