“Nothing. She’s buying a house.”

“That’s great!”

“No, Colleen, it’s not.”

“Put the knife down, brother mine. Let’s pretend you’re a civilized person. Tell Rafe and me what’s wrong. Talk. Move your mouth while making sounds. Express your emotions. You can do it.”

He didn’t want to talk. Everything was wrong. It had taken a Herculean effort not to argue with Jessica last night and tell her it was incredibly dumb to buy a fixer-upper when he had a mint-condition, perfectly restored house that would fit not just him, her and Davey but their future children, as well. Nope. He was Mr. Understanding, which had him clenching his jaw so hard his teeth throbbed.

Then, after he’d dropped Jess back home, his mother had decided to come in the bar and force him out of the kitchen to talk about her wedding. And not just her wedding. Her honeymoon. She wanted Connor to know that just because she was menopausal didn’t mean that certain parts of her were dead. Why? Why? Why did she do this to him? Was he too old to file child-abuse charges?

Add to this, he ran into Gail the Tail when he stopped by the convenience store and had to make polite chitchat. Hi, how are you, congratulations, how’s Savannah, how are you feeling?

Now, Colleen was still sitting on his counter, and still pregnant—eight days past her due date, and his back was killing him with sympathy pains.

And Jessica didn’t want to live with him, which probably meant she had no plans to marry him and have his babies.

“Hail Mary,” Colleen whispered.

“Full of grace,” Rafe continued.

“Con?” His sister’s voice was weird. “I think my water just broke.”

He dropped his knife. “In my kitchen?”

“Oh, God,” she said, and her face changed.

“Okay, okay, it’s okay, Dog-Face, it’s okay.” Holy Mary, Mother of God, please don’t let him have to deliver his niece. He helped her off the counter, and sure enough, her tent-size dress was wet. “In my kitchen, Colleen,” he said, his voice cracking a little. “How dare you and all that. Can you stand? Are you okay? Don’t push. Should I get a basket or something? Oven mitts? Call Lucas, Rafe.”

“Shut up, or I’ll have the baby right here. Rafe, call Lucas!”

“On it,” Rafe said, his phone already to his ear. “Lucas, hi, handsome, it’s Rafe, get your ass here, she’s finally in labor.”

Colleen was gripping Connor’s arms hard. “You good? Still good?” he asked. “Want to sit? Should I move you? Wanna lie down? Should I call 911? Boil water? Collie?”

“I’ve always dreamed of delivering a baby,” Rafe mused.

“Shut up!” the twins snapped in unison. Then Colleen squeezed his arms even harder. Her eyes widened, and Connor could actually see the contraction roll through her. “Holy St. Romeo, this hurts,” she whispered. “That was enough. I don’t want any more contractions. I’m good without them.”

Connor’s back spasmed. “You’re okay. You’re fine! You’re really brave.”

“No, I’m not! I’m a baby, remember? I’m terrible with pain!”

“No, no, no. That’s a lie.” His shirt was already stuck to him with sweat. “You’re a champ. A hero. Uh...don’t have the baby here. Please. Wait for Lucas.” He glanced at Rafe. “Close the restaurant.”

“We’re not open yet.”

“Close it, anyway!” he snapped.

“I don’t want to have the baby here, Con.” Her voice was high and scared. “Please don’t let me have the baby here.”

“No! No, you will not have this baby in my kitchen.”

Her eyes met his, wide with shock. Another contraction clenched her in its fist, and her eyelids fluttered. A little whimper escaped from her mouth. Her knees buckled a little, and he held her up. “It’s okay, Collie,” he said. “You got this.”

It was so good to be a man.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“I know. But listen to me, Colleen,” he said firmly. “This is a great day. Your daughter will be born today.” His eyes stung abruptly. “And you’re gonna do great, sister mine.”

There was a screech of brakes outside the restaurant, and Lucas burst in, thank all the saints in heaven. Connor stepped aside, and Lucas took his wife in his arms. Said something low and reassuring, smiled at her and kissed her quickly. “Turn your backs, boys,” he said. “I’m gonna take a look.”

Connor obeyed, and fast. So did Rafe, who nonetheless held his phone over his shoulder for a picture. A dull, pounding ache rolled through Connor’s back.

His poor sister.

“Call 911,” Lucas said. “Mia, you don’t mess around. I can see the head.”

* * *

CONNOR’S NIECE WAS born half a block from O’Rourke’s. The ambulance had arrived in time to pack Colleen up, though she begged them not to touch her and practically bit Gerard when he got her onto the gurney. Ten yards down the street, the ambulance stopped.

Isabelle Grace Campbell was helped into the world by her father, as well as Jeremy Lyon, who would now drink for free for the rest of his life; Jer had heard the call over the scanner and raced in from his office; and Gerard Chartier, who admitted that he’d always wanted to see Colleen’s girl parts.

“You can come in now, Uncle Connor,” Lucas said, smiling broadly from the doorway of Colleen’s hospital room. “You okay?”

“Just much, much older than I was this morning,” he said. “Has my hair turned white yet?” He shook Lucas’s hand, then hugged him. “Congratulations, brother.”

Then he went inside and saw his sister holding a little pink burrito, and his eyes filled up with tears.

“Connor, meet your niece and goddaughter,” Colleen said, and her whole face was shining. “The most beautiful baby the world has ever seen.”

She was, too. A thatch of black hair, fat little cheeks, a tiny rosebud mouth. Her eyes were closed.

“Can I touch her?” he asked.

“You can hold her.” She handed the baby over to him, and before he could protest, his niece was in his arms. “Hey,” he breathed. The baby pursed her lips and opened her eyes, then, apparently unimpressed, closed them again.

His sister’s daughter. His niece. Another female to protect. And he would. She had tiny, perfect eyebrows and the cutest nose ever, and she was so tiny, it was just incredible.

Isabelle Grace. His little sweetheart.

“You did great, Colleen,” he said, and his voice was husky.

“It was an exciting twenty minutes,” she said, then laughed softly. “Oh, your face. I wish I’d had a camera. Lucas, we should’ve filmed Connor.”

“We were a little busy. Connor, can I have my daughter?” Lucas took the baby, kissed her head and stared down at her, enraptured.

Connor’s arms felt empty without her, his niece. Though he’d known it was a girl, the word filled his chest with a warm pressure. His twin sister’s baby. “You feeling okay, Coll?”

“Kind of like a superhero, actually. You want to hear how many stitches I have?”