by Lisa Jackson
They stared into each other’s eyes as if they were high-school sweethearts about to embark upon a new adventure instead of two older people who had kept up a clandestine love affair for years; a man and woman who had brought an illegitimate daughter into the world and let another man claim that child as his own. Katie had grown up thinking Hal Kinkaid was her father. Neither her mother nor her biological father had discouraged the lie—until a few months ago.
John was an adulterer, a cheat and a liar. Brynnie was a loose woman who had married a string of men before finally claiming the love of her life as her husband. There had been lies, neglect, dishonor and betrayal; but tonight, under a kind, pearlescent moon, with romantic music filling the air and champagne flowing from a silver fountain, Brynnie and John looked for all the world like a couple in love.
Like they belonged together.
Tiffany’s heart tore. She would never be a part of her father’s life. It had been his choice when she was a child, it was hers as an adult. Her throat was hot, her eyes burned a little as she turned to J.D. “I don’t see Stephen.”
“Neither do I, but I’m going to start asking some questions. Why don’t you walk around, see if there is anyone here he might hang out with?”
“Okay,” she said and started working her way through the crowd. She smiled at people she met, managed a few words to those she knew, but her eyes were forever moving, hunting, seeking a glimpse of her child. She paused beneath the branches of a large locust tree in the backyard and silently prayed that Stephen was all right.
“The bride has requested a snowball dance,” the bandleader said over the microphone before the melody of “The Blue Danube” filled the air. Tiffany was vaguely aware of John and Brynnie dancing as she wended her way through the guests gathered around the dance floor. She saw several boys she recognized but didn’t know their names, and when she questioned one lanky, pimply-faced kid, he said he hadn’t seen Stephen since the end of the regular school year. This is a wild-goose chase. He isn’t here! Dear God, where is he?
“Switch,” the bandleader instructed, and Brynnie and John broke up to pull two unsuspecting people on to the floor. Brynnie nabbed her eldest son, Jarrod, who eased his mother around the parquet as if he’d done it all his life, while John took hold of Bliss’s hand and led her to the middle of the temporary dance floor. Tiffany, though she fought the urge, couldn’t help but watch her father and half sister, smiling, laughing, gliding easily in front of the crowd. To her absolute horror, she experienced a little nudge of envy.
Don’t do this, she warned herself as she edged closer to the dancers.
Bliss looked as though she belonged on the dance floor. She was in perfect step, smiling and laughing, tossing back her head, her cheeks tinged a deep pink, her eyes glimmering as she danced with her father.
As if they’ve done it a hundred times before.
They probably had. Not that it mattered. Tiffany didn’t care. The past was long gone, and right now, her only purpose was to find Stephen. That was why she was here. Nervously she scanned the crowd. Oh, this was getting her nowhere.
“Switch.”
She barely heard the bandleader’s command as she started toward the back door of the house. There was a chance, though slim, that Stephen, if he had come here, was inside.
“Dance with me.” Strong fingers surrounded her arm.
Oh, no.
Her heart sank as she whirled around and faced the man who had sired her. Reflexively, she jerked her arm away. She was about to tell John Cawthorne to leave her alone, just as he had for most of her life, when she realized that over fifty pairs of curious eyes were trained her way. This was her chance. If ever she wanted to pay him back, to mortify him for all those years of neglect, she could simply stomp away and show her utter disdain for a selfish son of a bitch who’d never so much as sent her a birthday gift or a card at Christmas. She could not only personally belittle him but publicly embarrass him at his own wedding reception. If she had the guts.
“I—I—”
“Come on, Tiffany. You’re here. Let’s get to know each other.” His hint of a smile belied the inner torment she saw in his eyes.
“But—” She blushed and bit back all the angry words that wanted to leap to her tongue. What satisfaction would she get out of ruining his day or his bride’s party? “Okay,” she finally acquiesced. “Why not?”
Brynnie was already dancing with one of her twin sons, Nathan or Trevor McBaine, Tiffany didn’t know which. Jarrod had found Patty Lafferty, Mason’s willowy sister, and Bliss was molded to her fiancé. Stiffly Tiffany took the floor, feeling self-conscious and out of place. Unlike Bliss, she hadn’t been trained in dance, but she’d grown up with music, through all the years her mother had taught piano. Rose Nesbitt would die, would absolutely have a heart attack, if she suspected that Tiffany was turning coat and waltzing with the enemy.
“I’m glad you came,” John said as he maneuvered her past Bliss and Mason. “I really didn’t expect you to.”
“It—it wasn’t planned.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He grinned down at her, and she felt like a heel, not that she had any right to her ridiculous emotions. She couldn’t forget how he’d ignored her growing up, neglected her for over thirty lonely years.
“I came because I’m looking for Stephen.”
“He didn’t come with you?”
She shook her head, stepped on his toe and wished the damned song would end. “He’s missing. Been gone a couple of hours. J.D. thought he might have come here.”
She felt her father tense, his muscles stiffen, his hand tighten around hers. “But I saw him earlier.”
“Here?”
“Yes.” He looked instantly confused. “I mean, I think I did. It was either here or at the wedding. I know because I recognized him and spoke with him. I asked about you, but he was evasive.”
There was no way to avoid the truth, no reason for Tiffany to lie. “He, uh, attended behind my back. Lied about it. Said he was going swimming with a friend.”
“I see,” her father said, and a wounded look crossed his eyes. “Well, I guess I can’t blame you for how you feel.” He sighed audibly, and his shoulders slumped a little. “What is it they say, ‘Time heals all wounds’?”
“Or wounds all heels,” she said automatically, then wished she could call the words back when she noticed his lips flattening over his teeth.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here, Tiffany, no matter what the reason. Don’t worry about Stephen. He’s here somewhere, I’m sure of it. Enjoy the reception.”
“Switch,” the bandleader called out just as the tempo of the music changed. Her father released her. She turned and walked quickly off the dance floor just as she recognized the first strains of “And I Love Her,” an old Beatles tune.
She ran smack-dab into J.D. “Found him,” he said, cocking his head in the direction of the stables. A few boys had gathered in the shadows, perched on the fence rail like birds on a telephone wire. “Stephen’s over there,” he said, and when Tiffany started to bolt toward the group, J.D. held her hand. “Let him be, Tiff. I already talked to him and gave him the lecture of his life about scaring you the way he did. He knows you’re going to tear into him, so wait a few minutes. Let what I said sink into his brain and allow him to sweat about what you’ll do to him. Then you can go for it.”
Her knees went weak with relief. “I’m just glad he’s okay.”
“But he did lie and sneak around.”
“I know. I’ll deal with it. Believe me.”
“Later.” J.D. manacled her wrist in his strong fingers and pulled her back to the dance floor. “Right now, let’s indulge ourselves.”
She shook her head vehemently. “I think I disgraced myself enough for one night.”
“Not yet,” he said, propelling her to a space on the rapidly shrinking floor. “There are hours and hours yet for you to really make a fool of yourself.”
&nbs
p; She giggled despite herself. “Flatterer.” With a smile, she added, “Hey, don’t I get a say in this? Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be looking for a new partner?”
“You found him,” he replied and his expression was so intense that her breath got lost somewhere in her lungs. For a heartbeat the sounds of the reception faded, the lights and music blurred, and she fought against the feeling that they were alone and intimate. He tugged on her hand, pulled her tightly into his embrace and sighed against her hair. “Isn’t this better?”
“Much,” she admitted, though she didn’t want to think about the consequences of pressing her body to his, of swaying to the music in the evening-dark night. Other couples danced around them. John had found his youngest daughter, and Katie, in peach silk, was beaming up at him as she danced. Brynnie had, presumably, chosen the second of her twins to dance with, though Tiffany wasn’t sure. For all she knew, Brynnie could have been dancing with the same brother. Mason and Bliss had found new partners, but their gazes sought each other continuously.
For a few wonderful minutes, Tiffany closed her eyes, rested her head against J.D.’s chest and lost herself in the feel of his body, so long and lean and possessive. The scent of his aftershave filled her nostrils, and she heard the beating of his heart, comforting and steady.
Why was it that being in his arms felt so right when she knew deep in her heart it was wrong? Why did his touch thrill her as no one else’s had? There had been men who had tried to date her when she’d moved to Bittersweet. A widowed rancher with a hundred-acre spread bordering Cougar Creek and three half-grown daughters had shown interest, and a divorced insurance adjuster who lived in Medford had called a few times. She hadn’t responded to either. She’d been grieving, trying to get over the guilt surrounding the accident that had taken Philip’s life, while attempting to keep her small family intact. She hadn’t had time for a relationship of any kind; but with J.D., her silly heart wanted to make an exception. The touch of his splayed fingers against the small of her back was erotic, even through her blouse; the sensation of his breath fanning her hair made her tingle.
What was wrong with her? This was J.D. Santini, for crying out loud. Her brother-in-law. A man she was no more sure of than sand shifting beneath her feet.
“Okay, let’s switch again,” the bandleader said, and reluctantly J.D. released her.
“You go ahead and dance,” she said, slipping away from him and breaking off the magic that she felt existed between them, “but I’m going to have a talk with my son.” She couldn’t be swayed by the seduction of the night, nor let her mind wander into the dangerous territory of thinking J.D. was anything but her brother-in-law.
But he wasn’t about to be left behind. He caught up with her as she rounded the house and wended her way through the parked cars toward the barn. Four boys sat on the top rail of the fence, and the smell of cigarette smoke burned in the air.
Stephen was at one end of the group, and he watched her approach with openly suspicious eyes.
“We need to go home and talk,” she said without making any small talk or allowing her son time for introductions.
“Why?”
She motioned toward the other boys. “You want to go into it here? In front of your friends?”
In the paddock a horse snorted loudly, then plodded away. The boy sitting next to Stephen on the rail, a kid Tiffany didn’t recognize, slid farther along the fence, putting some distance between his body and Stephen’s, as if in so doing he would avoid some of the fallout from her wrath.
Stephen wasn’t going to be cowed in front of his friends. His eyebrows drew together, and he glared at his mother as if she were the problem. “I came here because I wanted to,” he said boldly. “You wouldn’t bring me.”
“So you lied.”
“You’re the one who always says family’s so important”
Stephen’s eyes flashed with challenge, and in that slice of a second, Tiffany witnessed the man he would become.
“You’re changing the subject”
“John Cawthorne’s my grandpa.”
“He’s a stranger.”
“And he’ll always be one if we don’t get to know him.”
Where did all this logic come from? And why did he care about a grandfather who for years had pretended he didn’t exist? Fuming, she tried to understand her son, who, until the past year, had tried to please her. Now, it seemed, he drew strength from, even enjoyed, defying her.
“It’s time to go home, Stephen. Whatever it is you wanted to accomplish by breaking the rules, it’s over. Come on.”
He hesitated, and Tiffany nearly stepped forward, grabbed him by his rebellious thirteen-year-old arm and yanked him off the fence, but just as she found the inner strength not to give in to the impulse, J.D.’s fingers tightened over her wrist, restraining her from further humiliating her son in front of his newfound friends.
Grudgingly Stephen hopped to the ground and started striding toward the lane where the Jeep was parked.
“Tiffany!” Katie, holding her skirt in one hand, was waving frantically as she weaved in and out of the haphazardly parked cars. “You’re not leaving already, are you?”
“I think it’s time.”
“But we never even got to talk—Oh, hi,” she said to Stephen. “I’m Josh’s mom, but you know that, don’t you?” She turned her thousand-watt smile on J.D. “Don’t tell me, you’re Philip’s brother.”
“J.D. Santini.” He extended his hand, and Katie shook it in both of hers.
“Glad to meet you. But, please, don’t leave yet. The party’s just beginning. I’m just thrilled that you decided to show up. I know it means a lot to John and to my mom. They have this wild notion that we can all become one of those big blended-patchwork kind of families.”
Tiffany hazarded a glance at her son. Was that what he wanted? A large family, complete with aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents? How could she blame him? Hadn’t she, at his age, longed for the very same thing? “Maybe, in time, it’ll all work out,” she offered and didn’t add, But I wouldn’t hold my breath.
“Sure.” Katie seemed convinced. “It won’t be easy, but, hey—” She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it work? We’re all adults—well, most of us,” she added, winking at Stephen. “I’m looking for Josh right now. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”
“He was, uh, playing in the hayloft with some of the younger kids,” Stephen said, obviously uncomfortable, as if he’d broken some code of honor by telling a parent where to find her son.
Katie rolled her eyes. “He’s probably ruined his new slacks and jacket. I just bought them for this deal, and I was hoping that he wouldn’t grow out of the blazer before he wore it again—say, for Bliss’s wedding—but now it’s probably ruined. Oh, well, such is the life of a single mother.”
Tiffany thawed a little. Katie’s warmth and enthusiasm were downright infectious. Besides, she and Katie had so much in common. Not only were they John Cawthorne’s illegitimate daughters, but they were both struggling as single parents and working women.
“We really do have to go,” Tiffany said. It wasn’t a lie. Mrs. Ellingsworth had been pressed into duty to watch Christina, and Tiffany wanted to take Stephen home and set down the rules.
“Then call me for lunch someday,” Katie replied.
“I will.” Tiffany didn’t know if she was ready to embrace this ready-made family, but one lunch wouldn’t matter. As Katie headed for the barn, Tiffany asked Stephen, “Didn’t you bring your skateboard?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll get it.” He jogged over to a shiny Dodge pickup, reached into the back and withdrew his wheels. “I, uh, got a ride out here from the wedding,” he explained when he rejoined them.
“You went to the ceremony?”
“Uh-huh.” He lifted a shoulder.
“Who gave you a lift out here?” She bristled, as she didn’t recognize the truck. She hoped he wasn’t foolish enough to ride with strangers.
�
��Trevor McBaine.”
One of Katie’s twin brothers. Part of the extended family. Perfect, she thought with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“He’s got a kickin’ truck.”
“That he has,” Tiffany said tightly. She didn’t know whether to throttle her son or hug him close and beg him not to pull any more stunts like this.
They climbed into J.D.’s Jeep and didn’t say a word all the way home. J.D. stared through the windshield as he drove, and Tiffany, rather than blast her boy, fiddled with the controls for the radio until she found a station that was clear.
The atmosphere inside the Jeep was tense, and the ride, only twenty minutes long, seemed to take forever. Before the truck had stopped completely in the driveway, Stephen had unbuckled his seat belt and was out the door and across the lawn. He slammed up the back steps, and Tiffany told herself to give him time to cool off. But she couldn’t. She was too angry herself.
J.D. cut the engine. Tiffany unclasped her seat belt and reached for the handle of her door, but J.D. caught hold of her shoulder, restraining her. “Give him time to think things over before you rip into him.”
“I think he needs to know what he put me through.”
“I know,” J.D. said with an exaggerated patience that made Tiffany’s blood boil. “I don’t have a doubt that you want to tell him exactly how you feel, but wait until you’ve both had time to think about it.”
Irritated, she retorted, “Is this the voice of experience talking?”
“It is.”
“Oh, right,” she said. “Since when did you become a parent?”
His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed. “I was talking from the kid’s point of view—a troubled kid. I’ve been there.”
“Forgive me for thinking like a mother, okay? But I think it’s more important to be a parent than a friend.” She jerked her arm away from him. “If I remember correctly you were the one who pointed out that I was having trouble with my son.”
