“Think how much you’ll have saved by then.”
Molly smiled. “Fine. You won’t take the money.”
“Nope.” Tasha shook her head and reached for the orange chicken. “I will, however, take this.”
While they ate, Tasha’s gaze slid to one side and landed on the latest postcard she’d received from “Mimi”—in reality Helen Simmons, another of Mimi’s loyal customers. The glossy photo of the Champs-Elysées only served to remind Tasha of the narrow ledge she was clinging to.
They couldn’t pull this subterfuge off forever. Ms. Walker wouldn’t believe the traveling excuse much longer. Thankfully, the day-to-day insanity of trying to battle bureaucratic red tape, not to mention the hundred or so cases assigned to her, Ms. Walker didn’t have a lot of time to devote to one hard-to-reach foster mother.
The minute that changed, though, the game would be over.
* * *
Huddled in that Cadillac, safe from the cold and rain and basking in the heat blasting from the vents on the dashboard, Tasha took stock of her savior. An old hippie with a do-gooder personality. Well, she wouldn’t be staying with the old woman long. The rain pounded at the car, slamming tiny wet fists against the roof and the hood, bouncing off the street in front of them, illuminated by the headlights until they looked like fistfuls of diamonds tossed to earth in a rage.
“You look hungry,” Mimi said. “We’ll stop for a good hot supper and that’ll make you feel better.”
Tasha just stared at her. Where Tasha came from, people didn’t do something for nothing. There was always a catch attached to favors. “What do you want from me, lady?” she asked.
Mimi smiled and shook her head. “All I want is a little conversation,” she said. “It’s a little lonely, driving by yourself.”
“Most people just turn on the radio,” Tasha said.
Mimi laughed and the sound rolled out around Tasha, carrying as much warmth as the heated air pouring from the vents. “Ah, but I’m not like most people, now am I?”
“Right. You can let me off anywhere,” Tasha said, glancing at the older woman in the driver’s seat.
“In the rain?” Mimi said with a shake of her head. “I don’t think so.”
Tasha sighed. God, that car heater felt good. Every bone in her body almost felt liquid with the delicious sensation of warm air defrosting the ice inside her. But even if she dried out completely, she’d only have to go back out into the cold, wet night. Best to get it over with. “Look, lady, it was nice of you to get me away from those guys, but…”
“What?” Mimi asked with a grin. “You have a train to catch? Some appointment?”
“What’s it to you, anyway?” Tasha asked.
“I don’t know,” Mimi said thoughtfully. “Let’s just say I’ve taken a liking to you.”
“Swell.” Just what she needed. A crazy old hippie as her new best friend.
“Do you believe in fate?”
There wasn’t much Tasha believed in. Especially fate. If she did, then she’d have to believe that she somehow deserved being beaten to shit for no good reason. Bad luck she could accept. Getting screwed was something she was used to. But fate? “No.”
“Well, I do believe. You know, in fate, the gods, karma, whatever you want to call it.” Mimi signaled a left turn and steered the boat of a car down yet another dark street, glittering in patches where unbroken street lamps tried to dispel the gloom. “And I believe there’s a reason I was on that street tonight.”
“Yeah. You were lost.”
“I never get lost. I have an excellent sense of direction.”
“You were lost tonight.”
“Exactly my point. There was a reason for me to be there,” Mimi said, then glanced at Tasha in the soft glow of the dashboard lights. “And a reason you were there, too.”
“I should probably tell you,” Tasha said, “if you’re taking me off to enlist me in your Church of Take the Suckers to the Cleaner’s, I don’t have anything for you to take.”
Mimi chuckled and shook her head. “Don’t worry about that, honey. I told you, there was a reason for us to meet.”
Heat seeped more firmly into Tasha’s bones and she felt her eyelids drooping. She was so comfortable. So warm. So dry. And the quiet music drifting from the car radio sort of lulled her into a half-sleep. “So what’s the reason?” she mumbled.
“I don’t know yet,” Mimi said quietly, and took another glance at the old-before-her-time girl beside her. The poor child was already asleep. “Rest, honey,” Mimi said. “We’ll discover the reason for finding each other sooner or later.”
Tasha woke up with a start, sitting straight up in bed and staring into the darkness of her room. Heart pounding, eyes filled with tears, she swore she could almost smell Mimi’s perfume, that wonderful mix of flowers and oranges.
That long-ago night, Tasha had slept all the way to Santa Barbara. When she awakened, Mimi had stopped at a diner, and over the first hot meal Tasha’d had since her last bowl of soup at the mission, Mimi had offered her the world.
Outside, rain hammered at the old house, plinking against the windowpane and tapping on the roof. Probably the reason for her dream. The rain. It always made her remember that one lucky night when her life had finally taken a good turn.
Tossing the quilt back, she swung her legs off the bed and climbed out. She walked across the room toward the window where a weird half-light came spilling through into the shadows. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. Rain pelted at her, trying to get in. Trying to force its way back into her life. To make her that cold, lonely, frightened girl again.
But she wouldn’t go back.
No matter what happened, she’d had Mimi in her life. And now she had Jonas. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t a kid.
And these days when she got scared, she fought back.
* * *
Nick hit the stairs first thing in the morning. Wearing jeans and a sweat shirt, he took a left at the base of the staircase and headed through the kitchen. Ignoring the clanging coming from beneath the sink, he stepped over Michaela’s outstretched legs and headed for the back door.
After the storm, the air was clear and crisp and cold. He paused long enough to take a moment to enjoy the view from his new back porch. A semicircle of trees surrounded the small lake that lay at the bottom of a shallow slope just behind his house. Birds skittered across the surface of the still water, no doubt fishing for breakfast. A family of ducks paddled through the reeds waving delicately in the wind, and from a distance, despite the slam of hammers against wood, he heard the muted roar of the ocean.
He should go fishing. He hadn’t been fishing in … hell. Years. He wondered if Jonas had ever been fishing, and the instant that thought wandered through his brain, Nick realized just how involved he was getting with the kid. Christ. Scowling out at the lake, he asked himself when the hell he’d lost direction. He was supposed to have had this straightened out by now. Instead, he was getting in deeper and deeper.
With a flutter of wings, a big male duck dropped from the sky to settle gracefully on the water’s surface, not far from the little family grouping.
Father duck? Nick wondered. If so, he was showing up sort of late in the ducklings’ lives. They were already half-grown. Hmm. A metaphor? No, he decided. It was way too early to be thinking about duck metaphors for his own screwed-up life.
He forgot about the stupid ducks and took another big gulp of air, drawing the damp and cold deep within him. A beautiful morning. And one he’d probably enjoy a lot more if he hadn’t been up all night chasing leaks in the roof. Of course, he wouldn’t have gotten much sleep anyway—not with thoughts of Tasha sliding through his mind all night. She was there. In his brain. In his blood. And he didn’t know how to get her out—or even if he wanted to.
“Jo!” he shouted, taking the back steps down to the wet, muddy grass.
“Yeah?” She leaned over the edge of the roof, her long dark brown ponytail hanging over one shoulder to s
wing in the wind.
“I thought you were supposed to be putting the new roof on yesterday.” Nick backed up, his tennis shoes slid in the mud, and he fought to maintain balance.
“Got half of it done, then the storm blew in, and…” She shrugged.
“I know about the damn storm.” Nick didn’t even bother to try to charm her. The Marconis had known him long enough to be immune. “I was the one up all night emptying pots that were catching the leaks.”
“Hey,” she said, clearly offended. “Nick, this place is a wreck and I’m working as fast as I can. You think you can do better, you’re welcome to crawl on up here and give me a hand.”
“Fine,” he muttered. Never argue with a woman, he reminded himself. Especially one holding a hammer. He reached up to shove both hands through his hair and just managed to keep from yanking it out of his head. “You gonna finish it today?”
She sniffed and pulled back from the edge. “If people leave me alone and it doesn’t rain … maybe.”
Nick stared at the spot where she used to be and told himself, “Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant. Piss off the woman who’s fixing your roof.”
“Jesus, you’re a lot of fun in the morning, aren’t you?”
Nick turned to look at Samantha as she walked up carrying a can of paint. She had a splotch of white across her nose, testifying to the fresh paint on the porch railing. Nick’s gaze dropped to his palms. Sure enough. Twin streaks of white paint. Which meant, he thought with a tired sigh, white paint in his hair, too.
“Rough night,” he said as Sam checked out his hair and stifled a laugh.
“Poor baby.” There wasn’t an ounce of sympathy in her tone. “You could probably use some coffee, huh?”
“God, yes.”
“Good. Bring us some when you go to Stevie’s, okay?”
She walked past him like he wasn’t there, and Nick was left alone in the muddy grass, wondering just when it was he’d lost complete control of his life.
* * *
“Any more news from Ms. Walker?” Edna Garret squinted into the mirror as she tried to meet Tasha’s gaze and failed.
Tasha smiled anyway. Edna couldn’t see two feet in front of her without her Coke-bottle-thick glasses. At eighty, the woman had outlived four husbands and was currently on the lookout for number five. She was also one of the loyal “sending postcards from Mimi” crowd, so Tasha would always love her.
“Nothing lately,” she said, and lightly dragged a fine-tooth comb over the back of Edna’s thin hair. It was a lovely shade of pinkish gray and had been permed within an inch of its life. Each tight curl clung to Edna’s scalp as if terrified it would fall off and join the rest of her missing hair. Grabbing up a can of hair spray, Tasha shot a fine aerosol stream at the woman’s head. “But I don’t know how long we can keep up the pretense.”
Edna reached back and patted Tasha’s hand. “As long as we have to, honey.”
“Damn straight.” Molly grinned as she looked up from the washbowl in the back of the room. “Don’t worry. It’s working, Tash.”
“What’s working?”
Every woman in the place swiveled her head toward the open doorway. Tasha’s breath staggered from her lungs. Nick Candellano stood there, framed in the open doorway, his wide shoulders nearly brushing the jambs on either side of him. He wore a long-sleeved blood-red dress shirt, open at the throat, and a pair of black slacks with a crease so sharp it looked lethal. Her gaze dropped to his feet. No tassel loafers. Lifting her gaze again, she stared into his eyes and felt something inside her quake a bit.
“What’re you doing here?”
He shrugged and stepped into the beauty salon. He looked way too big to be taking up room in the small pink shop. Holding a to-go cup in one hand and a large dark green box in the other, he said, “On my way to work. Wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
“I’m busy,” she said, and wished to heaven she was just starting Edna’s hairdo rather than finishing it.
“Five minutes.” He held the box up. “I brought a bribe.”
“What kind of bribe?” Edna’s nose twitched. “Smells almost as good as he looks.”
Tasha just stared at the older woman. Then her gaze shifted to encompass the other women in the place and she noted with an inward sigh that every last one of them was eyeing Nick like he was the last candy bar in town.
“It is good,” he said with a smile meant to disarm the most wary of women. Walking toward Tasha, he held her gaze with his as he handed the box to the old woman. “Stopped by my sister-in-law’s store for coffee, so I picked up some of her goodies, too.”
“I like a handsome man who brings presents.” Edna opened the box and cooed. “Girls, would you take a whiff of these?”
The two older women in the waiting area sprang out of their chairs and clustered around Edna. Even Molly left Sarah Hastings dripping wet in the sink and came over for a look.
Nick stared into Tasha’s eyes as he said, “Stevie’s known for her biscotti, and her muffins are legendary.” He shrugged. “I brought both.”
“Oh God,” Molly said around a crunching mouthful. She waved a chocolate-dipped biscotti in the air like a tiny baton. “She makes these? From scratch?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Tash, you gotta try one of these,” Molly urged, dipping her hand back into the box to come up with another one.
“Later,” Tasha said tightly. Inhaling sharply, she nodded at Nick and said, “Five minutes.”
Leaving the women to fight over the baked goods like starving hounds on a banquet, Tasha led the way into her office. Once inside, she waited for Nick to follow her, then closed the door behind him. Leaning back against it, she looked up at him.
“What is it?”
“Well, that’s friendly.”
“You want friendly?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Step back out into the shop. Those baked goods just bought you a whole bunch of friends.”
Some guard dogs they were, she thought. Waltz a good-looking man past them and they drooled. Dangle a little chocolate in front of them and they all caved in. Even Molly.
Nick pushed one hand through his hair, turned away from her, then just as quickly spun back around to face her. “I was thinking. If it’s okay with you, I thought I’d pick Jonas up from school today.”
She stiffened. “Why?”
“Because we need to talk, him and me.” Shaking his head, Nick threw his hands high, then let them slap against his sides.
“Father-to-son?” she asked.
He winced. “Something like that.”
“No,” she said flatly, staring at the man who had the power to end her family. Since waking up from that dream the night before, she’d been doing a lot of thinking. And the only thing she knew for sure was that she had to protect Jonas. She was all he had. She would protect him from the state’s foster care system, where children were lost under layers of red tape and piles of papers—and she would protect him from this man. The man who might be the father Jonas wanted so badly. “It’s not ‘something like that,’ Nick. It either is or isn’t. You are his father or you’re not. You remember his mother or you don’t.”
“I don’t, okay?” The words were torn from him and she could see he didn’t like the sound of them any more than she did. He wasn’t saying he didn’t know her. Only that he didn’t remember her. There was a difference. She wanted him to say that there was no chance he was the boy’s father. But it looked as though neither of them was going to get what they wanted—at least not today.
He looked like he wanted—needed—to pace. But there was nowhere to go. No place to move to. Between the small desk and the one chair, the room was pretty much used up. So rather than move, he took a long, deep breath, then blew it out in one frustrated rush. “Look. This isn’t easy for me. I don’t know anything about being a father. Never wanted to learn. The idea of becoming a father never occurred to me.”
“That’s what this is abo
ut, isn’t it?” she asked, coming away from the door to face him. Fury licked at her soul, chewed at her heart. Leaning toward him, she tilted her head back to make sure she was glaring right into his dark brown eyes. “It’s not easy. That’s what’s bugging you. The great Nick Candellano is used to easy. Well, welcome to the real world, pal.”
“Easy?” He laughed shortly. “Listen, red. I’ve been working my ass off my whole life. Running, lifting weights, training. Working through heat that’d suck the air out of your lungs and through cold so deep the water in the sidelines jug had ice skimmed across the top of it.”
He leaned in at her until they were nose-to-nose. Neither one of them was willing to give an inch.
Tasha opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could laugh in his arrogant face.
“I’ve worked through broken bones and muscles so sore they were screaming.” He loomed over her, matching her, glare for glare. “And then in one miserable second, it was all over. One fucking tackle that went the wrong way and my knee was blown. I’m done. Finished. At thirty-fucking-three, I’m through. Everything I worked for my whole damn life is gone forever. So don’t talk to me about easy, lady.”
“You delusional…” Tasha surrendered to the temper inside and let it boil to the surface. Planting both hands on his chest, she shoved him as hard as she could and had the satisfaction of pushing him until the backs of his thighs pressed against her desk.
“That’s your idea of a rough life?” she countered hotly. “Playing a game? Hearing the applause? Cashing a single paycheck that’s probably more than most people will earn in a lifetime?” She snorted a choked-off laugh that scraped her throat and brought tears to her eyes. “Well, poor you. Poor Nick Candellano. Getting your picture taken all the time must have been hell on you. What a nightmare.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice and he actually winced, but she kept going, on a roll now and unable, and unwilling, to stop. “Your knee got wrecked. Poor you. You can’t play in a game anymore. My heart bleeds.”
“I don’t need this crap from you,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Why not?” she asked. “Hitting a nerve, am I? A little too close to home? So you were injured. Your knee got hurt. How about having the local thug beat the crap out of you because he wants the few bucks you made cleaning out some old lady’s garage? How about not being able to afford to go to the hospital? How about that, Mr. Ballplayer?”
Loving You Page 13
