Kansas City Christmas

✍ Scribed by Miller, Julie

• Book ID: 109187076
• Publisher: Harlequin
• Year: 2008
• Tongue: English
• Weight: 130 KB
• Series: Brotherhood of the Badge 4
• Category: Fiction
• ISBN-13: 9781426824432

✦ Synopsis

About the Author

Julie Miller is an award-winning author--with a National Readers Choice, a Daphne du Maurier and�a PRISM among other prizes.� She's been a finalist in several other venues, including the Golden Heart and Romantic Times Career Achievement Award.��Some of her 30+�books have appeared on the USA Today and Waldenbooks bestseller lists.� Find out�more at�www.juliemiller.org.

Excerpt. � Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

April

"� And I will sleep in peace until you come to me."

"I hope you find peace, Dad." Edward Kincaid turned away from the funeral service in the distance and limped back up the sloping hill of Mt. Washington Cemetery to his own hell. It wasn't the first time he'd been to a ceremony to bury a fellow cop. But it was the first time he'd shown up for one without wearing his own uniform or badge. And it was the first time he'd shown up to bury his own father. "I don't know how. But I hope you do."

Edward couldn't feel the cold rain seeping through his hair and running down his scalp. But he felt the chill of the April day down in his knitted bones. He could barely make out the lyrics of the song his youngest brother, Holden, was singing. But he felt the mournful melody deep in his soul.

His mother and brothers, colleagues from the KCPD and more family friends than he could count were gathered on the opposite side of the copse of evergreens and ash trees to his back. But here were the only two people he wanted to be with right now. With his cane sinking into the mud, he awkwardly knelt down in front of the pink marble gravestone and wiped the rain away from the words carved there.

Beloved Wife. Beloved Daughter.

Cara and Melinda Kincaid. He should be in the ground beside them. Instead of them.

Tears burned in his eyes, but he didn't shed them. He was all cried out months ago.

He heard the minister talking. He'd gotten this far. If he was going to do this thing, if he was going to face those mourners, he'd better get moving.

"I can't stay today, girls," he whispered. The thick, moist air swallowed up the gravelly rasp of his voice. "But I wanted� I wanted you to know that I'm sober today. I'm doing it for Dad. I wish I'd been strong enough to get my act together for you. I'm going to do right by him�by you, too. I threw out the bottles the night I got the call about�his murder. That's five days sober. I'm going to make it one more." One day at a time was what his AA sponsor kept telling him. One day was about all he had in him anymore. "I promise."

Melinda would have jumped up and thrown herself into his arms to congratulate him. Despite her young age and her disability, his daughter had always been intuitive about moods. She knew when her daddy needed a hug, when he needed to be left alone, and when he needed someone to cheer him on and make him smile.

Five days without a drink wasn't much for a man who'd been trying to numb his brain and heart since Christmas Eve, the first anniversary of their deaths. But Melinda's pure love would have made him feel as though five days was the entire world. Cara would have been a little more low-key about the whole thing, saying something that would keep him from getting a big head about his accomplishment. And later, she'd find a way to congratulate him privately, personally�and very thoroughly. His two girls would have inspired him to live better than he had been, try harder than he knew how, feel more than he'd ever thought possible.

If only his wife and daughter were still with him. He didn't want to be at the cemetery. He didn't want to accept another death�especially not this one. He didn't want to feel a damn thing.

But he owed his father a hell of a lot more than drinking himself stupid and not showing up for his funeral.

"I want you to look for Grandpa, angel." Leaning heavily on his cane, Edward pushed himself up to his feet. "Grandpa's coming to see you, he missed you so much. Give him a hug."

His canvas jacket was soaked and clinging to his shoulders before he could finally tear himself away from the memories and guilt. But once his mind was back in the present, Edward turned his ear toward the ceremony continuing just thirty yards or so behind him. Holden had finished his song, and KCPD's lady commissioner was speaking now, eulogizing his father. "Deputy Commissioner John Kincaid was the finest example of what being a Kansas City police officer is all about."

Edward nodded in silent agreement and cut through the trees to study the sea of umbrellas and listen to the remainder of the service. The world itself was weeping at the injustice of the day. John Kincaid had inspired him to join KCPD. He'd taught Edward how to be a cop, a man, and a father�teaching by example. Edward had already lost more than he could stand when his wife and daughter were murdered. How was he supposed to deal with his father being beaten and shot to death as well?

The world made no sense. What was the point of following the rules and fighting for justice and giving a damn when the bad guys still won?

Back when he'd been an active-duty investigator and undercover cop for KCPD, he'd dealt with violence and death nearly every day, but he'd been able to remain detached and focused enough to get his job done. But then he'd lost Cara and Melinda, and death had become an inescapable, personal, destructive demon. Now his father, a good man�the man he'd once aspired to be�had been murdered as well.

How many pieces of his soul did a man have in him to lose?

Commissioner Shauna Cartwright finished her eulogy, and the blue KCPD uniforms all bowed their heads for the minister's closing prayer. The twenty-one gun salute visibly jolted through his mother, Susan Kincaid, whom he could see sitting between two of his brothers�Atticus and Holden. His brothers wore their full dress KCPD uniforms with black mourning ribbons draped across the badges on their chests. He searched beyond the green awning to find his next eldest brother, Sawyer, standing hatless in the rain. He wore KCPD dress as well. Sawyer stood next to William Caldwell, one of their family's oldest friends. Bill was leaning in, offering some condolence or words of wisdom that Sawyer would hear but not take, especially if the words involved patience or let someone else handle this. Bill Caldwell was like an uncle to them� having been a fraternity brother of their father's and fishing buddy before any of John Kincaid's sons were even born.

Edward was looking at a family in stoic devastation. It wasn't a world that he'd ever wanted to welcome them to.

"What the� ?" Edward pulled his shoulders back and stood a little taller. "Don't do this, Atticus."

It was one thing to feel the emptiness and injustice of the day. It was another to have to put words to it and deal with anybody else's pain. But his brother had broken away from the gathering and was striding straight toward him.

Atticus's gray eyes matched his, as determined to have this conversation as Edward wished he could avoid it. Stubborn son of a gun. Atticus wasn't a man he could glare away. Not if the proffered hand was any indication.

"Don't tell me you don't recognize what this means, Edward. It's good to see you."

The idea of turning around and walking away remained a distinct possibility. But the idea of explaining his cowardice to Cara or Melinda, who rested only a few yards away, was even more untenable. So he reached out and shook Atticus's hand, grudgingly reconnecting with his family. Grief and anger and understanding passed between them. "Don't you dare try to hug me."

Atticus almost laughed at his grinch-like reply. But this wasn't a day for laughter. Instead, his younger brother turned and stood beside him, watching as friends and family dispersed, ducking under umbrellas and walking down the hill toward their cars.

They stood together, like the old days, back when John Kincaid's four sons had been invincible. Those days were long gone�for Edward, at least. The soft patter of the rain on the overhanging trees should have been a soothing sound. But Edward heard each plop against every branch like the ticking of a clock. Atticus didn't do anything without a purpose, and he seriously doubted that this reunion was just a "Hey�how are you doing?"moment.

"You should come say hi to Mom. She knows you're here, but it'd mean a lot to her if you made the effort to touch base." He should have suspected Atticus's mission before he spoke. "She's hurting. We all are."

Welcome to my hell.

But it was a sentiment he would never utter aloud to his grieving brother. Edward inhaled a deep breath and tried to say something appropriately sympathetic. "I'm sure Mom has invited people over to the house, but I can't do the small-talk thing. Just give her my love."

"Give it to her yourself. Let me get Sawyer and Holden on this. We'll keep everyone away and you can have a private moment with her before she leaves Mt. Washington."

"Atticus, I�" Grandma needs a hug, too. Edward ducked his head and turned away as his daughter's sweet voice tormented his conscience.

He could wallow in grief and anger all he wanted. But he'd never been able to say no to his little girl.

His mother needed him right now. His family needed him. Edward had nothing left to give, nothing left to say. But for Cara and Melinda�and for John Kincaid�he'd find the strength to at least go through the motions. He'd find the caring that had been gutted from him somewhere along the way.

"I'll meet you by her car in ten minutes."

"When I gave you boys literary names, I didn't think you'd take them to heart." Susan Kincaid, dedicated English teacher and loving wife and mother, patted Edward's knee as she scooted closer beside him in the rear seat of the funeral home's limousine, still parked on the road that twisted through Mt. Washington cemetery. "Edward Rochester Kincaid�just like Jane Eyre's Mr. Rochester�you've been burned so badly by the world that you feel your only comfort is to hide away from it. He didn't find peace until he was forced from his seclusion by Jane. He didn't understand how much he was loved and needed, either." Resting one hand on the folded American flag that sat in her lap, she reached over and laced her fingers together with Edward's. "These are hellish circumstances to force you from your seclusion. But I'm so glad you're here, son. It�soothes me."

Soothing? Edward was shaking inside his skin with raw emotion and the uncertainty about what...