Loving You

by Maureen Child

  “Usually, yeah,” Nick admitted, and watched her meadow green eyes turn the color of pine trees in winter. There was passion there. Deep, rich passion, and he knew that if he didn’t have her soon, he was going to lose what was left of his mind. “But when it comes to you,” he said, amazed that he was willing to own up to this, “I don’t know jack. You mess me up, Tasha.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  “And I think I’m getting to you, too.” He grinned when she looked away from him. “And real soon we’re going to have to do something about that.”

  “Hey, Tasha!” Jonas shouted, and her head whipped around to find the boy in the crowd. When she did, a wide, genuine smile curved that fabulous mouth of hers and Nick had to force himself to keep from reaching for her again.

  “Hi, kiddo!” She opened her arms for a hug from one sweaty, dirty little football player. And after he’d greeted Tasha, the boy looked up at Nick.

  “Are you comin’ with us for pizza again?”

  “Nick’s busy—” Tasha said.

  “You bet,” Nick said at the same time.

  She frowned at him and Nick grinned. She could try to get rid of him, but he wasn’t going to give up and go away. It took a hell of a lot for a Candellano to run up the white flag of surrender. So he’d be around. Close enough that neither one of them would be able to relax. Oh, yeah. It was at least some comfort to know that he wasn’t alone in this twisted little hell of desire. If he was burning … she was, too.

  Together, they were gonna build a hell of a bonfire.

  * * *

  “Run fast, run far.”

  “What?” Nick held the phone to his ear with one hand and shoved his hair back from his eyes with the other. He blinked wildly, trying to focus on the alarm clock alongside his bed. The oversize red numbers stared back at him. Eight-oh-five. Good God. He cleared his throat and gripped the phone receiver in a stranglehold. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Carla, you idiot.”

  His sister’s voice registered at last and he pulled the phone away long enough to sneer at it before slapping the receiver back to his ear. “For Chrissakes, Carla. It’s eight in the morning. On a Sunday.” He rubbed one hand across bleary eyes. “Somebody better be dying.”

  Especially after the long, lonely night he’d spent. Sleep hadn’t come until four or five in the morning, and even then, dreams of Tasha had tormented him enough that he felt as though he hadn’t slept at all.

  His sister choked out a laugh that even across the phone lines sounded strained. “Oh, somebody’s dead meat all right. And that somebody’s you.”

  Nick rolled onto his back and stared up at the open beamed ceiling over his bed. Thank God the Marconis had managed to fix the roof; otherwise, he’d have awoken in a puddle after last night’s storm. Okay, he told himself, you’re not focusing. And it was always wiser to pay attention when his sister talked.

  “Carla, are you having a breakdown or something?”

  “Or something,” she muttered, so low he nearly missed it. Then an instant later, her voice cracked like a whip. “You’d better wake up fast and pull it together.”

  “What are you babbling about?”

  She took a long breath and sighed it out. “Mama.”

  Nick sat up straight, his sheet and blanket dropping from his chest to pool in his lap. “What’s wrong with her? Is she all right? Is she sick?”

  “Nope. Just pissed.”

  Relief swept through his bloodstream. Pissed he could deal with. Besides, she couldn’t be mad at him. He hadn’t done anything, for a change. Then smiling, he said, “Well, that can’t be good. Who’s she pissed at?”

  “You, mostly.”

  “Me?” Oh, man, it was way too early for this. A man needed coffee to deal with the Candellano women. “What the hell did I do? I wasn’t even awake until you called me.”

  “She knows.”

  Dread coiled in the pit of his stomach like a cobra poised to strike. Nick’s mouth went dry and every nerve in his body stood straight up. “Knows? Knows what exactly?”

  “About Jonas.”

  The cobra struck.

  Shit.

  “Damn it, Carla.…” He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and jumped to his feet. Stalking naked around the room, he waved one hand in the air as if he could reach through the phone, grab his sister, and shake her. “You said you wouldn’t tell her.”

  “I didn’t … exactly.”

  “What the hell happened?” Christ, this was all he needed. Mama coming after him with both barrels blazing. Didn’t he have enough to worry about?

  “I was at Stevie’s shop early this morning—”

  “It is early this morning—”

  “Earlier then.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “Jeez, Nick, keep up. I went over to help Stevie with the Sunday baking, since I was already up. Reese has a head cold and she kept me up half the night hacking up a lung and—”

  “Carla…” God, his sister’s conversations were like runaway trains, jumping tracks at every intersection.

  “Right.” She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Anyway, Stevie and I were talking about Jonas and—”

  Nick grabbed up his jeans from the floor and tugged them on with one hand. “And Stevie knew about Jonas … how?”

  “Well, dumbshit, Paul told her. After you told him yesterday.”

  Shit. He rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. Should have sworn Paul to secrecy. Then Nick realized that the whole marriage thing probably had a “no secrets” clause. “Fine. And…”

  “And…” Carla said, and he could hear her gritting her teeth. Great. She was mad? Then she started talking again and he listened up. “And … we didn’t see Mama come in the back door of the kitchen and I guess she was just standing there getting an earful while we talked about Jonas and you and what you’re doing and how Jackson said you should get a DNA test, which you really should do, but that you didn’t want to yet because of the media—and is that egotistical or what?”

  “Thanks for the commentary,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “What’d Mama do?”

  “You mean after the top of her head exploded and hit the ceiling?”

  His chin hit his chest. “Ah, shit.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Nick opened the bedroom door and headed downstairs. Caffeine. Now. Absently he noted how things had been changing in the house. Like the shoemaker’s elves, the Marconis seemed to do magic overnight. He was hardly home anymore, so when he was, he noticed the changes. A new mantel over the fireplace. The piles of crap gone from the middle of the floor. Glass French doors leading to the outside deck. He made a left at the foot of the stairs and walked into the kitchen, the new blue-and-white linoleum cold against his bare feet. The countertop was finished, the blue-flecked granite spotless—but for the coffeepot in a place of honor—and gleaming. The new sink and goosenecked faucet shone in the overhead light.

  Nice job, ladies.

  But all he really cared about at the moment was coffee. And heat. Damn, it was cold in here. He backed up into the hallway and tweaked the furnace. From somewhere deep within the house, the heat kicked on in full force, and Nick sent a silent thank-you to Mike Marconi, master of plumbing and heating. Or was that mistress?

  He shook his head while he walked back into the kitchen and hit the power button on the coffeemaker. Carla was still babbling, something about Italian curses and Mama planning an execution. He let her go and stared blindly out the back window at the lake while she rattled on in a stream of consciousness that would have been really impressive if he’d been more alert.

  “You are so not Mama’s favorite person today. All you are today is the son who’s been hiding a grandchild. And don’t you have anything to say?” she finally demanded, and then went quiet.

  The silence got his attention more than anything else.

  He shot a glare at the drip coffeemaker and mentally willed it to drip a li
ttle faster. Rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, he muttered, “What am I supposed to say?”

  “I don’t know … a prayer, maybe?”

  “Too late for prayers, if Mama’s on the warpath.”

  “I could send a priest over to give you Last Rites,” Carla offered cheerfully.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Nick, Mama said I should tell you that she wants Jonas at her house. Today.”

  Crap. Reaching into a cupboard, he grabbed down a cup and quickly pulled out the glass coffee carafe and replaced it with the coffee cup. He couldn’t afford to wait for a full pot. He’d take the jolt of caffeine in straight sludge.

  Sunday dinner at Mama’s.

  With Jonas.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  “Well,” Carla said, “it’s that or hit the road and keep on runnin’.”

  She was right, he thought. Mama, now that she knew about Jonas, wouldn’t quit until she’d met him and enveloped him with the kind of love only she was capable of. Would it make things tougher for Nick to settle this situation? Oh, yeah. Was there a way out—short of selling his house and moving to Peru?

  Not a chance.

  “Mama said to tell you she’s having a picnic at her house,” Carla was saying. “She wants everyone there today by one o’clock.”

  “A picnic?” He stared out the window again at the drifting wisps of fog clinging to the surface of the lake. Steel gray clouds hovered low overhead and the naked limbs of the trees added to the whole “dead of winter” atmosphere. “It’s gonna be sixty today and she’s having a picnic?”

  “She thought it would be easier on Jonas. Being outside, meeting his cousins—”

  “Oh, man.…” Nick grabbed the cup, shoved the coffeepot back into place, and took a long, hot swallow of the poisonous brew. The caffeine hit him like a hammer and he almost wished it hadn’t. This whole thing would be a lot easier to take if he could tell himself it was a dream.

  “Oh and, Nick,” Carla said, “if I were you … I wouldn’t be late.”

  * * *

  “You should have told me all of this before.” Angela Candellano fixed her son with a steely look.

  “I know.” Nick finished talking and sat back with a sigh. He’d managed to get the whole story out and he was still alive. A plus.

  “Just look at him,” Angela murmured with a shake of her head. Jonas looked so much like her own boys had when they were small, she felt a twinge in her heart as memories flooded her eyes and filled her soul. Oh, his features were a little more refined than Nick’s had been when he was a boy, but that Jonas was her grandson was never in doubt.

  Jonas sat across the yard from her, eating a barbecued hamburger and sharing his potato chips with Debbie, Stevie’s younger sister. Reese and Tina were sitting close by and Tina had given the boy her favorite dolly to hold. Already he was becoming one of them. As he no doubt should have been for years.

  “Ah, Nicky,” Angela said, and reached over to slap the back of her son’s head on principle. “Is good that you brought him to his family. Finally.”

  “Thanks, Mama,” Nick said, reaching up to rub the throbbing knot on the back of his skull.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she demanded suddenly, turning and fixing him with a glare that had been known to turn her children to stone. “Why do you keep him a secret? You’re ashamed?”

  “No,” he said, and shifted farther down the picnic bench. Out of reach. “Mama, I didn’t even know about Jonas myself until a couple of weeks ago.”

  Her lips flattened into one grim line that made him want to get up and run. God, what was it about parents, he wondered, that they could still hold such power over you even when you were grown?

  She clucked her tongue at him and Nick cringed. He’d rather have her shouting and taking a swing at him than have her staring at him in disappointment. He’d seen that particular look too often in his life.

  “It’s … complicated, Mama,” he said.

  “Not so complicated you couldn’t tell Jackson. And Paul. You should have told me.”

  “I would have.”

  “When?”

  “When everything’s settled, Mama,” he said, and glanced around the yard, desperately hoping that one of his brothers would stroll up and rescue him. No such luck. He was on his own.

  “What’s to settle? Look at him. So much like you.”

  Nick sighed. “Mama, it’s not that easy.”

  “I know, I know.” She threw her hands high, then let them land in her lap again. “You already told me. His foster mother is gone somewhere and … Tasha? Yes, Tasha doesn’t want Jonas upset. She’s a smart girl. No one wants him upset. We just want him to know his family.”

  Nick’s gaze drifted across Mama’s backyard. She’d had her picnic, winter or no winter. Even the weather couldn’t stop her when Angela Candellano had her mind set on something. Smoke from the barbecue twisted like gray silk in the wind off the ocean. Paul, Tony, and Jackson slapped at it with spatulas and laughed over beers. Chimineas, outside fireplaces, bristled with red-hot embers at either side of the yard, sending streams of warm air sliding across the grass. Stevie, Carla, and Beth were huddled around one of them, laughing and talking together while the kids sat apart, eating. Reese, Tina, and even Debbie seemed enthralled with Jonas, and to give the boy his due, Jonas fit right in with everyone.

  The kid had been excited at the idea of ending his shopping trip for Tasha’s birthday with lunch at Mama Candellano’s.

  Tasha.

  Nick wished she was there. With the family. Laughing with Carla, Stevie, and Beth. Playing with the kids. Teasing his brothers. Talking to Mama.

  Smiling at him.

  Nick scowled to himself. He’d never wanted to bring a woman home to Mama’s before. Hell, in his family, inviting a woman to dinner was tantamount to getting engaged. His mother would be buying a dress and calling the priest.

  Everything in him went on red alert and he practically leaped off the bench. “We’ve gotta go, Mama.”

  “So soon?” she said, and stood up, already walking toward Jonas for the ritual hug and long Italian goodbye. Italians didn’t just wave and leave. There were traditions to be upheld. If you wanted to leave at three o’clock, you had to start saying good-bye at two-thirty.

  There were kisses and hugs and plates of food to prepare so you wouldn’t starve on your drive home from a seven-course meal. There were stories to be told, promises for the next visit made, and memories of past visits to share.

  Since he was used to it, Nick took his time, strolling toward Paul and Tony. Mama would be busy for a while, fussing over Jonas and the other kids.

  “He lives!” Tony said as he approached and lifted a beer bottle in salute.

  “It was close,” Nick admitted, lifting a hand to touch the sore spot on his head.

  “Hey, no obvious bruising, I call that a win,” Paul told him with a laugh.

  “Sympathy from the family. It’s so touching.”

  “You want sympathy?” Tony said, chuckling. “You’re in the wrong family.”

  Nick grabbed Tony’s beer and took a long drink. “Duh. Christ. The KGB should know about Mama.”

  “She’s too tough for those guys,” Tony said, taking his beer back.

  “Amen,” Paul muttered, clearly delighted that Mama was mad at his twin this time, not him.

  “So,” Jackson asked, “have you decided what to do yet?”

  “Yeah,” Nick said, looking at his brother-in-law. “I think it’s time to do what you wanted to do in the first place.” It was past time, he thought, half-turning to look at Jonas, being enveloped in a Mama Candellano hug. The boy’s arms wrapped around her thick waist as she bent her head to kiss the top of his head.

  If Jonas was his son, he wanted the boy to know his family. If he wasn’t his son …

  “Good enough,” Jackson said. “I’ll call the kid’s lawyer. Set up the test.”


  “The kid has a lawyer?” Paul asked.

  Nick sighed and waved at Jackson. “You explain. I’m tired.”

  Tony laughed and slapped him on the back.

  “Tasha!” Jonas shouted. “You came!”

  Everything went eerily silent.

  Nick did a slow, careful turn as the hairs at the back of his neck stood straight up. When he met her gaze, Nick gave silent thanks that looks really couldn’t kill.

  CHAPTER 16

  Tasha couldn’t breathe.

  A cold, tight band wrapped around her heart and squeezed until she nearly winced from the pain. The icy wind slicing in off the ocean pushed at her with cold hands as if trying to keep her away from the tender family scene in front of her.

  Jonas.

  Her Jonas—surrounded by Nick’s relatives.

  Even as she stood there, watching, Jonas was being sucked deeper into the Candellano clan and being wedged further away from her. Pain, sharp and bright, tore at her and she blinked to keep sudden tears at bay. God, how could she hurt this much and still stand?

  Still breathe?

  When Jonas had called to tell her where he was, all she could think to do was drive to Chandler and claim him. To take him back home. To their home. And then she was planning on locking the doors. Maybe sealing the windows. Keeping the whole world—and especially Nick Candellano—out.

  No more Ms. Nice Guy.

  No more stolen kisses or dreams and visions of what might have been.

  Just reality.

  And the reality was that she had to keep Nick away at all costs.

  Okay, a small, rational voice in her mind insisted, maybe she was overreacting just a shade. But not by much. Nick had moved in, shifted their nice little world into outer space, and then, without even telling her, dropped Jonas into the middle of an all-American family situation.

  How could she possibly compete with that?

  She stared at the frozen tableau in the backyard. It was as if they were all statues, frozen by Tasha’s unexpected appearance. Then all at once, like a heart suddenly beginning to beat, everyone came to life at once. A golden retriever barked. Voices lifted. Jonas broke free of the older woman’s hug and started toward Tasha.