She’d slept nearly two hours, she realized, and found the idea of her dozing on the couch while Zack puttered in the kitchen both embarrassing and touching. “You didn’t have to hang around.”

“You know, your throat would feel better sooner if you didn’t talk so much. Go in and sit down.”

Since the scent of the soup was making her mouth water, she obliged him. After tugging the curtains open, she sat at the little gateleg table by the window. With some disgust, she shrugged out of her stained jacket and tossed it aside. As soon as she’d indulged herself with some of Rio’s soup, she would shower and change.

Obviously Zack had found his way around her kitchen, Rachel mused as he came in carrying bowls and mugs on a tray.

“Thanks.” She saw his gaze light briefly on the jacket, heat, then flatten.

“I pawed through some of your records while you were out.” It pleased him that he could speak casually when he wanted to break something. Someone. “Mind if I put one on?”

“No, go ahead.”

Watching the steam, she stirred her soup while he put an old B.B. King album on her stereo. “And they said we had nothing in common.”

Relieved that he wasn’t going to bring the incident up, she smiled. “I stole it from Mikhail. He has very eclectic taste in music.” Once Zack was seated across from her, she spooned up soup and swallowed gingerly. Sighed. It soothed her fevered throat the way a mother soothes a fretful child. “Wonderful. What’s in it?”

“I never ask. Rio never tells.”

With a murmur of acknowledgment, she continued to eat. “I’ll have to figure out how to bribe him. My mother would love the recipe for this.” She switched to tea. After the first sip, her eyes opened wide.

“You didn’t have honey,” Zack said mildly. “But you had brandy.”

She took another, more cautious sip. “It ought to dull the nerve endings.”

“That’s the idea.” Reaching across the table, he took her hand. “Feel any better?”

“Lots. I really am sorry you had your Sunday wrecked.”

“Don’t make me tell you to shut up again.”

She only smiled. “I’m starting to think you’re not such a bad guy, Muldoon.”

“Maybe I should have brought you soup before.”

“The soup helped.” She spooned up some more. “But not making me feel like an idiot when I was crying all over you did the trick.”

“You had pretty good cause. Being tough’s not always the answer.”

“It usually works.” She sipped more of the brandy-laced tea. “I didn’t want to let go in front of Alex. He worries enough.” Her lips curved. “You know how it is to have a younger sibling who refuses to see things the way you do.”

“You mean so you’d like to rap their head against the wall? Yeah, I know.”

“Well, whether Alex likes to believe it or not, I can handle my own life. Nick will, too, when the time comes.”

“He’s not like that creep today,” Zack said softly. “He never could be.”

“Of course not.” Concerned, she pushed her bowl aside. This time she took his hand. “You mustn’t even think like that. Listen to me. For two years I’ve seen them come in and go out. Some are twisted beyond redemption, like Lomez. Others are desperate and confused, either battered by the streets or part of the streets. Working with them, it gets to the point that if you don’t burn out or just scab over, you learn to recognize the nuances. Nick’s been hurt, and his self-esteem is next to zero. He turned to a gang because he needed to be part of something, anything. Now he has you. No matter how much he might try to shake you loose, he wants you. He needs you.”

“Maybe. If he ever starts to trust me, he might be able to turn a corner.” He hadn’t realized how much it was weighing on him. “He won’t talk to me about my father, about what it was like when I was gone.”

“He will, when he’s ready.”

“The old man wasn’t so bad, Rachel. He’d never have made father of the year, but—hell.” He let out a breath in disgust. “He was a hard-nosed, hard-drinking Irish son of a bitch who should never have given up the sea. He ran our lives like we were green crewmen on a sinking ship. All shouts and bluster and the back of his hand. We never agreed on a damn thing.”

“Families often don’t.”

“He never got over my mother. He was in the South Pacific when she died.”

Which meant Zack would have been alone. A child, alone. Her fingers tightened on his.

“He came back, mad as hell. He was going to make a man out of me. Then Nadine and Nick came along, and I was old enough to go my own way. You could say I abandoned ship. So he tried to make a man—his kind of man—out of Nick.”

“You’re beating yourself up again over something you can’t change. And couldn’t have changed.”

“I guess I keep remembering how it was that first year I came back. The old man was so fragile. He couldn’t remember things, kept wandering out and getting lost. Damn it, I knew Nick was running wild, but I didn’t have my legs under me. Having to put the old man in a home, watching him die there, trying to keep the bar going. Nick got lost in the shuffle.”

“You found him again.”

He started to speak again, then sat back with a sigh. “Hell of a time to be dumping this on you.”

“It’s all right. I want to help.”

“You’ve already helped. Do you want more soup?”

Subject closed, Rachel realized. She could press, or she could give him room. One favor deserved another, she decided, and smiled. “No, thanks. It really did the job.”

He wanted to say more, a whole lot more. He wanted to hold her again, and feel her head resting on his shoulder. He wanted to sit and watch her sleep on the couch again. And if he did any one of those things, he wouldn’t make it to the door.

“I’ll clear it up and get out of your hair. I imagine you’d like some time alone.”

She frowned after him as he walked into the kitchen. She had wanted time alone, hadn’t she? So why was she trying to think of ways to stall him, keep him from walking out the door.

“Hey, look.” She pushed away from the table to wander in after him. He was already pouring the remaining soup in a container. “It’s still early. We might be able to salvage some of the day.”