III
Three weeks made a tremendous difference in the season. Spring was
springing, despite the cold, as Rachel left her house and turned up 26th
Street. She looked forward to the possibility of days without knife-sharp
winds. She also found, more and more, that she looked forward to dates
with Michael, a classmate.
Easily a decade her junior, Michael was the only other "non-traditional"
student in her Holocaust Studies class at NYU. He seemed genuinely
attracted to her, which was reassuring in a way she thought she'd outgrown.
Rachel had always been loathe to form close ties with someone who would
ultimately have to be trusted with Connor's secret; someone who would have
to understand. The rewards ? a normal life with a man who loved her;
children, even ? never seemed worth the risks. Rachel was content with her
choices, and Connor rarely spoke of it, now.
She had seen Connor at more revues, gallery openings and fundraisers than
she could ever remember him attending in three weeks time, and all for the
fun of bringing along his long-lost father. Emmett Nash was a little shy
of these events, but couldn't resist when Connor said he wanted to "show
him off."
The elder Nash had moved his single suitcase of belongings into Connor's
guest room. The arrangement seemed to be indefinite, as far as Rachel
could make out. Rachel began to see how difficult it would be to tell Nash
any version of the truth other than that he had found a son he'd never
known. The man was pathetically sentimental over Connor.
She smiled to herself as she trotted briskly along the crowded, anonymous
streets and remembered last week. Emmett had been helping out in the
store, when they had all paused for a lunch of Chinese take-out.
"Russell," Emmett began, "I want you to have something."
Connor raised his eyebrows in question, his mouth full of chopsticks and
suey.
Emmett put down his fork ? the chopsticks which Rachel and "Russell" were
so comfortable with were beyond his abilities ? and reached into his pants
pocket. He brought out an old wind-up watch, and handed it gently to
Connor.
Connor paused for the merest second, then put down his chopsticks and
accepted the watch. Rachel could see from where she sat that the watch was
no antique; merely old.
"Your mother gave me that watch before I went into the Army," Emmett
breathed. "It has our initials on the back."
Connor still held the watch in an outstretched arm; he hadn't taken it to
himself. He turned it over. On the back of the face someone had scratched
a heart. Inside the heart it said "To E.N. love K.K."
"I can't take this," Connor responded. "You should keep it. She loved
you."
Emmett affected an air of worldly-wise self-sacrifice. "She didn't live
for me to come back to. But she was your mother. You should have
something which came from her. This comes from both your parents." To
Rachel's dismay, Emmett's eyes filled with tears.
"Emmett," Connor replied, with a gentleness she had only heard him use on
children, "Some other time. You keep it for me, now."
"No, it's yours." Emmett stood proudly, and with two steps reached the
desk. He opened a drawer and put the watch in it.
Arms crossed, he sat back down.
Connor applied himself to his chop suey. "All right then," he muttered.
With a block to go before she reached the store, Rachel allowed herself the
grin she hadn't allowed then.
Rachel carefully revisited some old, old memories of her own. Before
Connor MacLeod had found and adopted her, she'd had a family. Her mother,
particularly, she remembered. How would she feel if she found someone who
said they were her brother or her mother? The thought strummed an old
melancholy note in her soul. No, Connor couldn't tell him. He *couldn't.*
And the Game mustn't touch the man, either.
She reached the store and entered, tinkling the bells. Connor called to
her as he came in from the office. "Rachel! Look who's here!"
Beside Connor stood a swarthy, dark-haired man with a tremendous build,
wearing expensive dark clothes. Connor had his arm around him.
"Duncan!" she greeted, delighted.
"Rachel." Duncan MacLeod came to her, a huge smile on his eternally
handsome face. Pleasure flooded Rachel at the sight of him. She was
prepared for one of the bear hugs she remembered from this immortal kinsman
of Connor's, but instead, Duncan stopped before her and grasped both her
hands.
"Rachel, you look more beautiful every time I see you."
Rachel went weak-kneed at the man's attentions as she had every time she'd
met him since she was a girl. His sheer masculine presence washed over her
in a great wave. This time, though, she felt a bittersweetness to the
compliment.
"Oh, Duncan, you're sweet to say so."
Duncan regarded her from arm's length.
"Rachel, is anything wrong?"
There was more than one answer to the question, but before she could reply,
Emmett Nash came out of the elevator. Rachel dropped her hands and looked
at the elder Nash, raising her eyebrows at Duncan. Duncan glanced at the
newcomer, and looked to Connor.
Connor came forward, looking uncomfortable.
"Russell, who's your friend?" Emmett asked.
Rachel tried not to smile. This should be interesting.
Connor cleared his throat. "Emmett, this is Duncan MacLeod, my cousin."
At Nash's startled look, Connor added, "My adopted cousin."
Now, Duncan looked intrigued.
"Duncan, this is Emmett Nash, my, uh, father. You know, my real father."
It was Duncan's turn to look startled, but he recovered gracefully.
"Nash? Mr. . . . Nash. So good to meet you."
Rachel really tried not to smile, while Emmett pumped Duncan's hand.
"It's so good to meet Russell's people. It's been an amazing experience
for both of us. Just amazing. Are you a cousin on his mother's or his
father's side?"
Rachel saw Connor roll his eyes.
"I'm . . . more distant than that. Russell, when were you going to tell me
about this?"
"Tonight, at dinner. We're all going to the Club. Except for Rachel. She
has a date." Connor sounded affronted.
Duncan turned a pleased smile on Rachel, and it was all she could do not to
blush like a schoolgirl.
"Who is he?" Duncan asked.
"She won't let me meet him," Connor groused. "She says I scare her dates
away."
"I'm sure you do."
IV
Connor would have to meet Michael, Rachel realized. Her friendship with
Michael was not going to die away, and, if anything, was growing quite
strong. Funny and sweet, and more well-read than anyone she could remember
knowing, he was comfortable company. She'd shared with him the story of
her childhood, and he'd listened with shining interest in his hazel eyes.
His questions betrayed no discomfort, no morbid curiosity, only a support
and understanding beyond what she'd expected from someone so distanced from
the personal experience of wars and loss. Did she love Michael? She asked
her heart. "No," it replied. Could she love him? "Yes," her heart
whispered. She would have to proceed with caution.
Perhaps, though, she considered, Michael's understanding wasn't so strange.
He worked, it so happened, for the Veteran's Administration.
Rachel had asked Michael to check Emmett Nash's story. She felt a little
guilty for using her friend this way, but she refused to feel guilty about
the precaution. Connor himself had taught her that suspicion was healthy.
Michael called her at the store the next day with discouraging news. He
could find no record of an Emmett Nash in a coma in a New York State VA
hospital. If he had been out of state, Michael needed to know which state,
or the search would take too long.
Emmett entered the office, his face grey and wet with sweat. He sank into
a chair.
Concerned, Rachel frowned. The man's health might be frail; she shouldn't
have given him heavy work.
"I've got those columns all in," he reported.
"Thank you," she answered. "Have something to drink. I'm afraid I've been
working you too hard."
"I'd love a drink."
Rachel left the desk to get him a glass of water. As she handed it to him,
she asked, "Emmett, where were you in the hospital?"
"Syracuse," he replied, accepting the glass.
Syracuse, the place of Russell Nash's birth. Definitely in New York.
Strange.
"You really look tired. Why don't you take a rest?"
Emmett brightened at her. "I want to show you something. Tell me if you
think Russell will like it." He left the room and returned with something
held behind his back. Smiling hopefully, he brought it out.
It was a green painted plaque, with the words "World's Best Son" written
in kaleidoscope colors. In the bottom left corner was a graphic of a
baseball and bat, and in the bottom right corner was ? Rachel couldn't
quite believe it ? a teddy bear. With a ribbon.
"Think he'll like it?"
Rachel couldn't afford to be speechless. She rallied. "Emmett, I'm sure
he's never gotten anything like this before." She raised her gaze to meet
his chocolate brown eyes, and lied earnestly. "He'll love it."
