step. She laughed, a girlish sound that made Ann smile. "Put me down, hooligan." He obeyed, his wide smile matching hers. She examined her son with maternal eyes, finally reaching up to pat his cheek.
"We don't see you often enough, Flynn. Your father thought you might call this week."
"Because of Mark's birthday?" His smile twisted. "I celebrated in my own way."
"I know but your father was a bit upset."
"So what else is new? Mom, I want you to meet Ann Perry, my neighbor, and this is Becky Sinclair. I told you about her on the phone. Ann, Becky, this is Louise McCallister, my mother."
The smile Louise turned on Ann and Becky was warm and full of welcome. "I'm so pleased to meet both of you. We're having a late lunch today so you'll have time to rest a bit after the drive from L.A. You must have been crowded in that little sports car. Why didn't you drive the Mercedes, Flynn?"
"Becky preferred the Ferrari, Mom."
"Actually, it wasn't very crowded at all, Mrs. McCallister. Becky doesn't take up much room."
"Call me Louise. Come in and meet my husband."
Ann followed her hostess up the steps, aware of Flynn following behind with Becky. Becky seemed a bit awestruck by the elegant house, and her hand clung to Flynn's. The interior of the house was as polished as the exterior. Dark mahogany floors and creamy wallpaper created a rich background for the beautiful antiques that filled the hallway.
Ann's father was a wealthy man and she'd grown up around money. But there was something different here, some indefinable essence. The McCallister home smelled of old money—lots of it. The walls seemed permeated with quiet elegance. Some of the antiques were one of a kind pieces—all of them were exquisite.
Despite the decor, it wasn't difficult to imagine Flynn and his brother growing up here. Beneath the rich beauty, the big house felt like a home. A place where two growing boys could have laughed and played without restrictions.
Louise led the way across the hall and into the study where her husband awaited them. The man who stood to greet them was not at all what Ann had expected. She hadn't given much conscious thought to what Flymfs father would be like, but she'd had a vague image of an older version of Flynn—tall, lean, with elegantly masculine grace.
She hadn't expected a stocky man a few inches short of six feet. His features were blunt, his eyes a clear, sharp gray rather than electric blue. The only resemblance she could see was the thick black hair, now heavily streaked with gray.
His handshake was firm, his look direct, lacking the lazy charm that made his son so fascinating and so exasperating.
"Thank you for allowing me to come, Mr. McCallister."
"I don't blame you for not trusting Flynn with the child. My son isn't known for his sense of responsibility.' Ann blinked, wondering if she'd misunderstood him, wondering what she was supposed to say in reply if she hadn't.
"Heilo, Dad. Nice to know that some things never change. It's great to see you again, too." There was an edge to Flynn's voice. "Ann, this is my father."
David McCallister nodded to his son, his eyes cool. "Flynn. I thought you might call this week."
"So Mom told me. You know how 1 always hate to do the expected. Besides, we would have quarreled and that seems like a hell of a way to honor Mark's birthday." His tone closed the subject and there was an uncomfortable silence in the room.
It was Louise who broke it, her expression determinedly cheerful. "Becky, I think the cook was making some cookies this morning. Why don't I take you to the kitchen. I don't think one or two cookies is likely to spoil your lunch."
Becky pressed tighter to Flynn's leg, her eyes wide and uncertain. "I'd like to stay with Mr. Flynn, please."
Flynn sank down to her level, meeting her eyes. "It's okay, honey. Go ahead and go with my mom. I promise I won't disappear without you. We have some things we need to talk about. Grown-up things."
"Are you going to talk
"We don't see you often enough, Flynn. Your father thought you might call this week."
"Because of Mark's birthday?" His smile twisted. "I celebrated in my own way."
"I know but your father was a bit upset."
"So what else is new? Mom, I want you to meet Ann Perry, my neighbor, and this is Becky Sinclair. I told you about her on the phone. Ann, Becky, this is Louise McCallister, my mother."
The smile Louise turned on Ann and Becky was warm and full of welcome. "I'm so pleased to meet both of you. We're having a late lunch today so you'll have time to rest a bit after the drive from L.A. You must have been crowded in that little sports car. Why didn't you drive the Mercedes, Flynn?"
"Becky preferred the Ferrari, Mom."
"Actually, it wasn't very crowded at all, Mrs. McCallister. Becky doesn't take up much room."
"Call me Louise. Come in and meet my husband."
Ann followed her hostess up the steps, aware of Flynn following behind with Becky. Becky seemed a bit awestruck by the elegant house, and her hand clung to Flynn's. The interior of the house was as polished as the exterior. Dark mahogany floors and creamy wallpaper created a rich background for the beautiful antiques that filled the hallway.
Ann's father was a wealthy man and she'd grown up around money. But there was something different here, some indefinable essence. The McCallister home smelled of old money—lots of it. The walls seemed permeated with quiet elegance. Some of the antiques were one of a kind pieces—all of them were exquisite.
Despite the decor, it wasn't difficult to imagine Flynn and his brother growing up here. Beneath the rich beauty, the big house felt like a home. A place where two growing boys could have laughed and played without restrictions.
Louise led the way across the hall and into the study where her husband awaited them. The man who stood to greet them was not at all what Ann had expected. She hadn't given much conscious thought to what Flymfs father would be like, but she'd had a vague image of an older version of Flynn—tall, lean, with elegantly masculine grace.
She hadn't expected a stocky man a few inches short of six feet. His features were blunt, his eyes a clear, sharp gray rather than electric blue. The only resemblance she could see was the thick black hair, now heavily streaked with gray.
His handshake was firm, his look direct, lacking the lazy charm that made his son so fascinating and so exasperating.
"Thank you for allowing me to come, Mr. McCallister."
"I don't blame you for not trusting Flynn with the child. My son isn't known for his sense of responsibility.' Ann blinked, wondering if she'd misunderstood him, wondering what she was supposed to say in reply if she hadn't.
"Heilo, Dad. Nice to know that some things never change. It's great to see you again, too." There was an edge to Flynn's voice. "Ann, this is my father."
David McCallister nodded to his son, his eyes cool. "Flynn. I thought you might call this week."
"So Mom told me. You know how 1 always hate to do the expected. Besides, we would have quarreled and that seems like a hell of a way to honor Mark's birthday." His tone closed the subject and there was an uncomfortable silence in the room.
It was Louise who broke it, her expression determinedly cheerful. "Becky, I think the cook was making some cookies this morning. Why don't I take you to the kitchen. I don't think one or two cookies is likely to spoil your lunch."
Becky pressed tighter to Flynn's leg, her eyes wide and uncertain. "I'd like to stay with Mr. Flynn, please."
Flynn sank down to her level, meeting her eyes. "It's okay, honey. Go ahead and go with my mom. I promise I won't disappear without you. We have some things we need to talk about. Grown-up things."
"Are you going to talk
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