Now he had to accept that he hadn’t had a clue. Logically understanding the basic concept of bigotry and actually enduring it in action were two separate things.
For several minutes they walked in silence, Duncan trying to shake off the lingering feel of suspicious gazes, and Callie clearly worrying over the upcoming encounter with Boggs.
At last he sucked in a deep breath and glanced around the rose beds that were already in full bloom despite the fact that it was only April. Velvet petals from deep burgundy to purest white perfumed the air while a marble fountain sent water dancing in a sparkling display. There were beautifully carved benches and birdbaths, and along the edge of the gardens were low hedges so perfectly trimmed they didn’t seem real.
His lips twitched as he recalled his enthusiastic attempts to trim the hedges when he’d owned a house. They’d not only ended up as barren stumps, but he’d accidentally taken out a few of the neighbors’. Needless to say he hadn’t been invited to the block party.
One upside to living in a shitty apartment building ... no yard work.
“I didn’t realize it would be so beautiful,” he murmured, allowing his hand to brush hers as they walked along the flagstone path.
A strained smile curved her lips. “Mother Nature is always spectacular, but it doesn’t hurt to have a witch as a gardener.”
“True.” He studied her upturned face, his c**k twitching at the sight of her in the moonlight. She looked lovely. As always. But she didn’t belong in this garden. She wasn’t a hothouse rose. She was too rare, too exotic. Like a flower plucked from a distant, tropical island. “Were you happy growing up here?”
“I was.” Her smile lost its tension, pleasant memories replacing her looming fear. “Children who are brought to Valhalla are given to foster families, but everyone is involved in raising them. I had a dozen mothers fussing over me.”
“You never considered tracking down your birth parents?”
“They stopped being my parents when they dumped me in the trash,” she said with blunt dismissal. “I’ve never had any urge to know anything about them.”
He nodded. She had obviously been given all the love and protection she needed. Why would she want to know the bastards who’d tossed her away like garbage? “Fair enough.”
She tilted her head to the side. “What about your childhood?”
He instinctively slowed his pace as they neared a shadowed corner of the garden conveniently hidden by a trellis covered in climbing roses.
“Loud, messy.” He shot her a grin. “Occasionally painful.”
She came to a startled halt. “Painful?”
“I had two older brothers who threw me out our bedroom window, hog-tied me and left me in the back shed until my da found me. They also dared me to kiss my fourth-grade teacher, who promptly kicked me out of school for a week.”
She arched a brow, not a hint of sympathy to be found.
“Any sisters?”
“Three.”
“Older?”
“Yep.”
“That explains it.”
He pressed his lips together to hide his smile. He was about to be insulted. Amusement would only ruin her fun.
“Explains what?” he dutifully demanded.
“Your assumption that women should adore you.”
“Of course they should. I’m adorable.”
She snorted. “What you are is spoiled.”
He couldn’t deny the accusation. Along with being a true pain in his ass, his sisters had shamelessly indulged him.
“There might have been a little spoiling,” he agreed.
She reached to pluck a rose bloom from the trellis, her fingers caressing the peach petals.
“Does your family live in Kansas City?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. Damn, but the sight of those delicate fingers brushing over the flower made him hard. He wanted her hands on him. Stroking, exploring, maybe doing a little squeezing. “My ma would be devastated if any of her chicks flew too far from the nest.”
She smiled. “You were fortunate.”
“It didn’t always feel like it. A big family can smother a young man trying to spread his wings.” Nothing like two parents and five older siblings prying into his business. Privacy was more precious than gold when he was an oversexed, hormone-charged teenager. “Now I’ve learned to appreciate the O’Conner clan.” He paused, struck by a sudden inspiration. “Maybe I’ll take you to Sunday dinner.”
She blinked. Then blinked again. “Me?”
“Why not you?”
“I think that’s obvious.”
“Clearly it’s not.”
“Fine.” She tilted her chin to a defensive angle. “I doubt I would be welcome.”
Duncan sucked in a sharp breath. It was frighteningly easy to picture Callie in his childhood home. The O’Conners were loud and boisterous and rough around the edges, but they all possessed the same overriding urge to be protectors. One look at this fragile beauty with her jewel eyes and they’d be tripping over each other to play mother hen.
“You’re wrong. My ma is a remarkable woman. She would never turn anyone away from her table,” he assured her. Then he gave a short laugh as he thought of his da’s reaction to Callie Brown. “Of course, it might be dangerous.”
“Why? She might stick me with a carving knife?”
“Worse, she might start sizing you up for a wedding gown.”
More blinking. “You can’t be serious?”
“My ma is old school.” He shrugged. “She believes a man is incapable of happiness unless he’s under the rule of a wife.”
Her expression was wary, as if she feared he might be playing a cruel game. “I can’t imagine she would ever be desperate enough to think of me as a potential daughter-in-law.”
He reached to sweep his hand over her spiky hair, his touch gentle despite the violent anger that surged through him. Man, he wanted to punch every ignorant jackass who’d made this remarkable female feel she was anything but extraordinary.
Or maybe he’d just shoot them.
Yeah. Shooting them sounded much more satisfying.
“Why wouldn’t she want you?” he demanded. “You’re young, beautiful, and I presume you’re capable of producing the mandatory grandchildren?”
She licked her lips, sending another jolt of heat through his body. Okay. No more thinking of kids. Or how a man went about acquiring them.