by Amy Knupp
“After that, I kind of stalked him online. Found a bunch of mentions of him in old articles about his high school sports teams. Later as a paramedic, first in Houston, then here. Kind of crazy, I guess.”
“No.”
“I built him up in my head as having the ideal life.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“I know that,” Gemma said. “But I’d like to give his way a try.” She sneezed and took a tissue out of a pocket in the hoodie she wore over Gumby boxers. “He might have a mean bark but I’m betting he’s okay when you get past that.”
“You could be right.” Faith, Mercedes’s firefighter friend who worked with Scott, had said as much when Mercedes had questioned her. “Are you sure you want to deal with the bluster, though?”
She nodded. “I need a place to live.” She stated it as simply a fact, emotions aside. “You don’t have to go with me. I’ve got this,” Gemma said.
“I’m not letting you go by yourself.”
Gemma tilted her head in surprise, stared at her as if waiting for her to rescind the offer, and that’s when it really hit home how used to being alone Gemma was…how she expected to fight her battles on her own.
No more. She was seventeen and, though she seemed several years older, not quite a legal adult. Everyone else had left her to her own devices. That wasn’t okay with Mercedes.
“I don’t know that he’d be my first choice for a roommate, but if that’s what you want, we’ll convince him to let you move in.”
Gemma let that soak in, bit her lip against a grateful smile and lowered her gaze to the ground. After a few seconds, she looked back at Mercedes. “You know, I debated for over an hour whether to walk into the shelter yesterday or not. It’s not really my way. But you are one pretty cool chick, Mercedes.”
Mercedes squeezed Gemma’s arm and tried to ignore the jitters the thought of going back to Scott’s elicited. Yes, he was an intimidating guy, but that wasn’t it. Not entirely.
There was something about him that…got to her. In spite of his efforts to scare everyone away, or maybe because of them, something about him intrigued her, beyond her general tendency to get involved when someone seemed troubled, as he most definitely did. It must have something to do with those eyes.
At this point in her life, when her first responsibility—very willingly on Mercedes’s part—was to her dependent grandmother, she couldn’t afford to be intrigued or sidetracked by any man’s eyes or troubled soul or anything else.
But this wasn’t about her, Mercedes reminded herself. And if taking care of Gemma meant facing Scott Pataki again, she’d do it. No problem whatsoever.
CHAPTER FOUR
SCOTT KNEW WHO WAS AT the door before he answered it. And yet he opened it anyway. “You get an A+ for persistence.”
“We brought lunch.” Mercedes held out a large paper sack that smelled of Mexican food and said Ruiz’s on the side.
Food wasn’t going to sway him. He was about to tell them that, when Mercedes pushed past him into the living room.
“Mind if we invade your kitchen?” She was too cheerful as she stood distractingly close.
“Yes. I do.” The kitchen wasn’t fit for any visitor, let alone this woman who probably groomed her kitchen as well as she groomed herself. Say whatever else you wanted to about her, but she did make herself pretty and smelled nice, to boot. Like…springtime. He couldn’t say what that meant, exactly, except the scent took him back to a time when life was easier. Lighter. He scowled at the thought.
“Here’s fine, then.” Mercedes shared a conspiratorial look with the teenager and helped herself to the couch and coffee table.
She must have found her stubborn, pushy mojo overnight. Wasn’t he lucky?
She’d dressed casually today, wearing short jean shorts and a white tank with the women’s shelter logo on it instead of the preppy tailored clothes she’d had on yesterday. She was average height with nicer-than-average curves he couldn’t help noticing. Her dark wavy hair was everywhere, though she’d tried to control it by pulling the front parts back with a clip. Her calculating smile at Gemma highlighted prominent cheekbones and drew his attention to her glossy lips.
If she wasn’t so bent on steamrolling him about being this girl’s knight in shining armor, he might have given thought to getting to know her on a more personal level. Short-term, of course.
“We got a baker’s dozen plus chips and salsa. There’s plenty for you,” she said.
“I’m not hungry,” he lied. “But don’t let that stop you.”
They missed the sarcasm completely…or didn’t care that they weren’t welcome. Gemma, lacking the awful eye makeup today, curled up on the near end of the couch, tucking her feet under her, and Mercedes bent over the bag to unpack it, giving him a shot of cleavage she hadn’t been sporting the day before. When she straightened, she caught him getting an eyeful. She quickly darted her glance away, looking slightly disconcerted. Nervous.
“I’m starving.” Gemma tossed a piece of fish that had fallen out of her tortilla into her mouth. “So.” She leaned forward, chewing then licking sauce off her finger. “About your spare bedroom…”
“I never said I have a spare bedroom.”
“Do you?” Gemma asked.
He had to admit a little admiration for her guts and directness. He leaned against the wall, realizing these two had every intention of drawing things out. “Yes.”
“I can give you two hundred dollars if you let me stay here till you leave. Plus, I’ll clean. You’re going to need that before you move out.” She shot a concerned look around her as she raised her food to take another bite.
“Where’d you get two hundred dollars?” he asked.
“I brought it with me.”
“And yet you took my money for a bus ticket?”
“I gave it back.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “I thought Mercedes had come to your rescue.”
Mercedes became absorbed in dipping a chip in salsa.
“That’s not going to work out,” Gemma said.
“She’s allergic to my cats,” Mercedes said as if she felt guilty. “Poor girl ended up sleeping outside on one of the loungers for half the night.”
“I’ve slept in much worse places, trust me.” Gemma brushed her shoulder-length hair behind her ear, a dangly bracelet jingling with the movement.
Both women watched him expectantly. He could feel their gazes burning into him.
What was his hang-up, really? What did he care who slept in the other room, as long as they didn’t bug him? The rent money couldn’t hurt. And yet…this wasn’t someone off the streets with no ties to him.
“You’re a minor,” he said stubbornly.
“Technicality. I’ll be eighteen soon. The first of August. I’m going to be a mom, Scott. I can take care of myself.”
Scott pushed himself off the wall in disbelief. “Are you planning to keep this baby?”
Gemma returned his stare with a stubborn one of her own. “I am. Yes.”
“Gemma needs a place to stay temporarily,” Mercedes said in a rush, as if she sensed he was about to voice what a stupid idea keeping a baby was for a seventeen-year-old. “While she looks for a job and gets her future figured out. The baby is a few months down the road. You’ll be long gone.”
“I’m not a babysitter. For a baby or a teenager.”
“We’re not asking you to be.” Mercedes had stopped eating after one taco. “She’s been on her own for years for all intents. Gemma doesn’t need you to take care of her.”
Something about the way Mercedes looked at him said they expected too much of him. Hell, expecting anything of him was too much. They had no clue how just being in the same room with this girl, this part of his dad’s other family, ripped him up inside.
Scott took a long look at Gemma, defiantly ignoring Mercedes’s stare. He was still boggled by how similar Gemma’s eyes were to his father’s. The narrowness, the oval shape.
The light hazel color. He dropped his gaze to her nose and lips. The nose was nothing like his father’s—delicate and thin where his overwhelmed his face. And the lips…her upper one was fuller than the lower and had a distinctive bow to it. Not a single hint of Dale in her mouth—and Scott found himself fixated on that fact. Wondering for the first time about the woman who had lured his dad away from his happy family. Were these that woman’s lips, her nose? Was it the dip at the top of her mouth that had caught his father’s attention?
Scott stormed into the kitchen without a word. He leaned over the dirty dish-filled sink, arms propped on the counter, and worked to get the anger under control. Damn, he hated feeling like this. Seemed as if he spent more time worked up than not anymore.
It took him several seconds to focus on breathing evenly before he realized he wasn’t alone. He straightened quickly and turned the faucet on without a glance at the doorway, then retrieved the last clean glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. When he’d downed the full glass, he set it on the counter and finally looked.
Mercedes, of course.
* * *
MERCEDES HAD FROZEN as soon as she’d reached the kitchen and seen Scott leaning on the sink looking…vulnerable. Not so tough. She didn’t want to sympathize with him for any reason, but that glimpse of a different side of him had caught her off guard.
“Where are my manners?” Scott said sarcastically. “I forgot to offer you a drink.”
She eyed the bottle of whiskey he’d left, uncapped, on the counter. It was more than half gone and she wondered just how long it’d taken him to work through that much hard liquor.
“I had water in mind,” he said, “but I can pour you a shot or even a full glass if you want.”
She opened her mouth to respond then stopped, reminding herself he was going out of his way to irritate her. Any trace of sympathy she’d experienced not two minutes ago was long gone. “I’m fine but Gemma needs to drink a lot.”
“Thought you said she doesn’t need anyone to take care of her.”
The anger underlining his words was subtle but very much there. Something had set him off in the living room. She had no idea what. It certainly wasn’t going to deter her.
“She’s got a lot on her mind, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Don’t we all.” He walked over to the refrigerator and took out a mini can of vegetable juice. He tossed it to Mercedes and she managed to catch it with both hands. “Give her that. You’ve decided I’m the scum of the earth, haven’t you?”
“You’ve worked hard to make me believe that,” she said, walking closer to him. “I’m not sure I understand why.”
“Here’s what you don’t understand. The reason I’m not lining up to be best friends or even roomies with that girl in there…” He braced one hand on the counter and narrowed his eyes. Eyes full of something more than just anger. “I have a problem with the fact that my dad fathered her while he was married, theoretically happily, to my mother. I can’t so much as look at her without all…that coming back.”
He turned away, seeming to regret revealing that little bit.
“I’m sorry, Scott,” she said gently as she tried to imagine what that discovery must have done to him. “How old were you when you found out?”
“Does it matter?” he snapped.
“I guess not,” she conceded. “It’d pretty much suck at any age.”
He met her gaze again, sizing up her sincerity. “It’s ancient history.”
She studied him closely, realizing there was more to him than his gruff, irritable surface. Layers more. “Maybe not so ancient to you?” she asked.
In response, he reached around her and scooted the whiskey bottle closer. He stiffened when she touched his forearm.
“Gemma’s a victim just as much as you are, you know. She had no control over…anything. Your dad hurt her, too. She hasn’t heard from him in four years.”
His jaw tightened as he considered that. Seconds passed. A minute and more. She was about to turn and leave him alone when he moved. He held out his hand and nodded toward the veggie juice. Mercedes handed it back to him, expecting him to blow up and yell at them to leave.
Scott stared blankly at the can for a few moments, then walked past her into the living room.
Curious, Mercedes leaned against the doorjamb between the two rooms and watched. Scott sat next to Gemma, who was still shoveling food into her mouth as if unsure when she’d get to eat again, and handed the juice to her.
“Thanks, I think,” Gemma said, sounding surprised. She took the can and read the label. “Is this stuff really drinkable?”
“It’s healthy for the baby.”
Looking unsure, she popped the top open. Smelled it, frowned and took a sip. She didn’t bother to hide a shudder, making Mercedes stifle a grin. “That crap is vile.”
“Maybe it’s not for everyone,” Scott said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “Cleaning this place is a big task.”
Gemma watched him, the look on her face mirroring Mercedes’s curiosity.
“I’ve seen worse,” Gemma said carefully.
“You’ve got a month,” Scott said, not looking at his half sister. “Keep the place clean for me and hold on to your money.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
The teen played it cool, but Mercedes could see her eyes spark with relief.
A full month. They could work with that. Gemma could get a job, start searching for a more permanent place to stay and begin figuring out how to provide for her baby.
“I’m not agreeing to be your babysitter or your friend,” Scott said, scowling to offset Gemma’s instant relief. “I’m not home much.”
“Fine.”
He addressed Mercedes. “I work twenty-four-hour shifts. She’ll be alone a lot.”
“I’ll be around to help her.” Mercedes pushed off the doorjamb and walked to the coffee table. “I’m not going to desert her.”
“You stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours,” Scott said, turning back to Gemma.
“Where’s my room?”
He leaned back, defeated in his quest to scare her away. “The room on the right of the hall.”
Gemma tried to keep her poise as she passed Mercedes.
As soon as Gemma was gone, Mercedes lowered herself to the edge of the couch beside Scott, keeping a good distance between them. “Thank you,” she said, fiddling with a silver band on her little finger. “I take back all the nasty thoughts I had about you.”
Scott opened his mouth to say something but stopped and looked sideways at her in surprise. Then he actually smiled.
The guy had killer dimples.
Mercedes had a thing for dimples.
Luckily, his grin slipped away before she could blink and he said, “I’m going to regret this.”
It wasn’t hard to remember why dimples weren’t everything.
* * *
IMMEDIATELY AFTER Gemma and her guard dog Mercedes left, Scott’s regret set in.
Agreeing to let the teenager move in was a dumb decision. Asinine. Just thinking about it—about her, her relationship to him, her insistence on meeting him in the first place—had him vibrating with anger.
He had only a couple hours left before they showed up to move Gemma in officially. He headed toward the shower, pulling his shirt off on the way. He had to get out of here, be gone when they arrived. Stay gone for as long as possible. Gone was going to become his new motto. For thirty-five more days.
Why the hell had he caved?
Because the woman with the long, alluring hair had worn him down with the line about Gemma being a victim just like him. He hadn’t realized his dad had left Gemma’s family, too. That’d taken him by surprise, but still. One weak moment.
Gemma had some screwed-up idea that they could be friends. She hadn’t said so, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind.
Wasn’t going to happen.
Letting her move in was h
is good deed of the day. Hell, the year. He was behind a few. That was all it was, though. He wasn’t getting friendly with anyone. Wasn’t going to make any ties. The job on the ship was the best thing that’d happened in a long time. He’d been a lone wolf for ten years and didn’t want or need any entanglements hanging over him when he left.
When he was done showering, he threw on jeans and a T-shirt and stalked through the apartment, to the kitchen. Still agitated. Antsy.
The bottle of whiskey on the counter beckoned to him. Promised sweet oblivion.
He succumbed to the call without hesitation, feeling like the oldest twenty-eight-year-old on the face of the planet. Twenty-eight going on forty. Looked it, too.
Time to get gone, he reminded himself. But not without his good friend oblivion. He picked up the bottle and headed out of the apartment.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT’D BEEN ALL MERCEDES could do to wait until nine o’clock this morning to check on Gemma at Scott’s apartment. She fully suspected the girl could handle herself okay, but that didn’t alleviate the guilt Mercedes felt for leaving her to the wolf.
To avoid making Gemma think Mercedes didn’t trust her, she planned to treat the teenager to breakfast.
She climbed the steps outside Scott’s apartment, again registering the clamor of various neighbors and hoping Gemma had been able to get some peaceful rest. As she was about to knock on the door, she noticed it was mostly shut but not latched all the way. She tapped lightly to prevent it from popping open.
When no one answered, it occurred to her that Gemma might still be asleep. And who knew where Scott was. Maybe he worked today. She knocked again, a little harder, causing the door to inch closer to opening.
Mercedes’s chest tightened as her imagination took flight and projected all kinds of bad scenarios. She checked the doorknob—maybe it was locked and whoever had closed it had merely failed to notice they hadn’t pushed it far enough.
It wasn’t locked. Anyone could walk in. She shuddered with the realization and eased the door open a few inches.
