Loving You

by Maureen Child

  “I guess.” Jonas looked down at the small round Band-Aid on the inside of his left elbow. It was gross, watching the blood fill up that tube, and his stomach had gotten all swirly until the nurse told him to stop watching.

  But it was okay. It was worth it. ’Cause now everybody was gonna know that Nick was his dad for real. And then he could go and see Nana all the time if he wanted to. And Reese and Tina weren’t too bad, even if they were girls. But it would have been good to have a boy cousin.

  “Do I have any more cousins?” he asked suddenly, glancing up at Nick.

  “Not yet.” Then Nick paused, thought about it, and said, “Well, you’ve got a few in Omaha. One of ’em’s about your age.”

  “Cool. Where’s Omaha?”

  Nick just stared at him. “Don’t they teach you anything at school?”

  “You sound like Tasha.” Jonas laughed, then kicked a rock in his path. It went skittering across the parking lot until it slapped against the tire of a blue truck. Thinking of Tasha made him think of something else, and since he and Nick were all alone, it was probably a good time to talk about it. “How come you kissed Tasha?”

  “What?” Nick stopped beside the Corvette and looked down at him.

  Jonas shifted his gaze to the toe of his tennis shoe and watched while he scraped his shoe against the asphalt in a slow circle. “The other night? I saw you guys kissing, so how come you did it?”

  “Jonas…”

  “Are you gonna tell me I’ll understand when I’m bigger?”

  “I was thinking about it,” Nick admitted, smiling.

  “I know all about that stuff, you know.”

  “What stuff?”

  “You know, how babies come and everything.”

  “Jesus.”

  “And I kinda wanted to know if you and Tasha are gonna make a baby.”

  Nick cleared his throat and rubbed one hand over his face as if trying to make himself disappear. But that wasn’t going to help. Hell, he’d never expected to be having this conversation. But then, he’d never planned on being a father, either, had he?

  “Jonas, sometimes people kiss just because…” Help me out here, he pleaded silently for intervention from whoever happened to be listening. As he recalled, his own father had done a pretty good job in situations like this, so, Papa, if you’re listening … “Well,” he finally said lamely, “because it’s nice.”

  “Kissing girls?” The kid’s face screwed up like he’d just been given cough syrup.

  “Yeah.” Nick hid a smile and wondered how long it would take for Jonas to change his mind about the whole girl thing. Then he wondered if he’d be around to see it. And suddenly he really wanted to be.

  Tasha’s outburst from yesterday was still with him. He’d thought about it all night and into this morning. He hadn’t been able to forget the look in her eyes when she’d spilled her guts. He hadn’t been able to dodge the question she’d thrown at him. And if you’re not his father? You disappear?

  The truth was, he didn’t want to disappear from their lives. And he couldn’t imagine Jonas or Tasha disappearing from his.

  Jonas spoke up again and shattered Nick’s wayward thoughts. “Was kissing Tasha nice?”

  Memories flooded him. Hunger reared its demanding head and took a bite of him. “Very nice.”

  “Did she like kissing you, too?”

  He inhaled sharply, remembering the touch of her lips, the eager puff of her breath on his cheek, the press of her nipples against his chest. “Yeah, I think so.” Although, after yesterday, he couldn’t be sure she’d still enjoy kissing him.

  Yet he was eager to find out.

  “So, are you gonna make a baby?”

  Man, kids were a real killer. Nick squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and tried not to allow the image of Tasha pregnant with his child into his mind. But it came anyway and, surprisingly enough, didn’t terrify him. What’s up with that? He pushed the image aside. “Wasn’t planning on it, why?”

  Jonas shrugged and leaned against the Vette. “Just ’cause I was thinking if you guys made a baby, then we could all be together and I’d have a brother or something, too, besides a mom and a dad.”

  Aw, God. The hole Nick was in just kept getting deeper and deeper. Pretty soon, he’d probably have dug straight through the earth and he figured he’d wake up and be speaking Chinese.

  It couldn’t be any more confusing than his life was right now.

  “I mean,” the boy continued, not looking at Nick at all now, “I just thought you should know that I think it’s okay. I mean, you and Tasha kissing and stuff. At first it was kinda weird, but it’s okay now.”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Nick said, ruffling the kid’s hair. It really was too long, he thought idly, and wondered how he could convince him to cut it. And then questioned if he had the right to interfere. According to Tasha, he sure as hell didn’t. But according to his feelings, he did. Damn, this was a mess. Staring down at the boy who’d so invaded his life, he saw the promise of a future staring back at him.

  Granted, it wasn’t a future he’d planned on. But then, how many people actually planned and then got the future they outlined for themselves? Jonas’s big brown eyes were trusting and Tasha’s words flitted through his mind again. He’s too little to know how to protect himself from the disappointment. And why should he have to know? Nick asked himself. Shouldn’t it be the right of every kid to have a home and love and stability? Shouldn’t this boy, with his gentle heart and loving nature, be able to count on a few simple things? Like family? And a home?

  Nick sucked in a gulp of air and let it slide from his lungs on a sigh. “Get in the car, Jonas,” he said softly. “I’ll take you home.”

  “’Kay.” Jonas sprinted for the other side of the car. The kid did nothing slowly. He opened the door, climbed in, and slammed the door after him. Nick winced but didn’t bother to say anything. Kids and slamming sort of went hand in hand, as he remembered.

  God, Jonas was trying to set him up with Tasha. To keep them all together, Nick thought, and figured Mama would be proud. Nothing his mother liked better than a little matchmaking. She’d get a real charge out of knowing her possible grandson was taking up one of her favorite hobbies.

  Once they were buckled in, Nick fired up the engine and backed slowly out of the parking space. Traffic moved in concert—lurching forward, then stopping—as they left the lot. While Jonas fiddled with the radio, ending up with some god-awful rock station, Nick’s mind continued to work over everything he and Jonas had been talking about—until at last something occurred to him.

  “Jonas?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You were saying how you’d like you and me and Tasha to be together?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, I was just wondering—”

  “’Bout what?”

  “About Mimi,” Nick said, shooting a sidelong glance at the boy and noting the sudden closed, worried expression on his usually wide-open face. “She’s your foster mother, right?”

  Jonas’s gaze dropped to the floor of the front seat. He studied the toes of his shoes with a concentration that could only mean one thing. He didn’t want to answer that question.

  “Jonas,” Nick asked quietly as they came to a stop at a red light, “where’s Mimi?”

  Slowly, the boy lifted his head to look up at him. Tears shimmered in his dark brown eyes and his bottom lip quivered.

  Shit.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Ms. Flynn,” Evelyn Walker said sharply, “this has gone on long enough.”

  Well, that was plain enough.

  Tasha had managed to avoid this little confrontation for months. But she’d known all along that Social Services wouldn’t go away and they wouldn’t forget. If there was one thing the bureaucrats were good at, it was biding their time before snapping their red tape traps shut on the unwary.

  Well, Tasha was plenty wary. She’d had to be. But even she couldn’t pr
oduce Mimi, which was the only thing that would call off this particular bureaucrat.

  Tasha’s brain raced, considering, then discarding one idea after another. Bribery wouldn’t work. Even if she had enough money to try, Evelyn Walker would never go for it. The woman held “the Rules” close to her abundant breasts like her own personal Bible. Tasha could hire someone to pretend to be Mimi, but then, there had been only one Mimi Castle and no one else could come close to impersonating her. Besides which, Ms. Walker was a pain in the ass. She wasn’t stupid. She’d know a fake Mimi right away.

  So what was left?

  Playing the game. Making nice with the woman who held all the power in this meeting. Tasha had to try to stall long enough to give her time to come up with a new plan. One that had, say, some small chance of success? “I don’t know what you mean.”

  One gray eyebrow lifted in a dismissive arch. “Please don’t insult my intelligence,” Ms. Walker said tightly. She flicked at a nonexistent piece of dust, then frowned distastefully at the surface of the dining room table.

  Tasha bit down on her tongue to keep from saying something she’d undoubtedly regret. She’d already done enough of that yesterday, with Nick. Oh God. Everything she’d said to him had come back to her time and again during a long sleepless night. She still couldn’t believe she’d unloaded like that. To him of all people. For God’s sake, didn’t he have enough on his side? Had she had to point out all of the differences in their situations? Did she have to give him more to hold over her head?

  Reaching up, she rubbed the bridge of her nose and tried to push that confrontation to the back of her mind. No point in reliving it any longer. It was done. Over. Too late for regrets. Now she had a brand-new situation to worry over. And there was still time to save this one.

  “Honestly, Ms. Walker,” she said, and mentally crossed her fingers—as children did, to take the sting out of an outright lie—“I’m not trying to—”

  “You are trying,” Ms. Walker interrupted impatiently, “to stall. It won’t work.”

  Tasha poured the woman a cup of Mimi’s best tea and tried to smile. It wasn’t easy. These surprise visits always caught Tasha off-guard. As, no doubt, they were meant to.

  Heck, just hearing the distinctive putter and cough of Ms. Walker’s green Volkswagen in the driveway was enough to send cold chills racing along Tasha’s spine.

  Of course, today’s jolt of adrenaline carried an extra punch since she was already on edge. With Nick and Jonas off getting blood tests and the future hanging by a slender thread.

  “Mimi Castle has not responded to my inquiries in six months.”

  “Mimi’s still in Paris.” Tasha snatched at her only diversion. She set the flowered china pot down, picked up the latest postcard from Europe, and handed it over. “See?”

  Ms. Walker took the postcard, stared down at the photo of Sacré-Coeur, then handed it back. “Lovely. The fact remains … Ms. Castle continues to show a lack of interest. She should be available for meetings with Social Services, as well she knows.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Snapping her briefcase shut, Ms. Walker stood up, ignoring the steaming cup of tea. Meeting Tasha’s gaze, she added, “Ms. Castle either shows herself for an interview at my office in one month’s time—”

  “Or…” Tasha held her breath, since she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to draw another once that statement was finished.

  “Or,” Ms. Walker said, her gaze narrowing, “Jonas Baker’s living arrangements will have to be reconsidered.”

  “You mean you’ll take him away.”

  “Not I, Ms. Flynn,” the woman said, picking up her small black plastic handbag. “Social Services.”

  “It amounts to the same thing.”

  Lifting one hand to smooth steel gray hair that had been shellacked into complete submission, the woman admitted, “Why, yes. I suppose it does.”

  The earth shook beneath Tasha’s feet. Not a real earthquake, of course, just an emotional one that rocked the foundations of her life. Her stomach pitched. Her mind reeled and her heart felt as though it was being torn from her chest. There it was. Out in the open. The one thing she’d been dreading for months. The inevitable showdown.

  Tasha had one month before the world as she knew it ceased to exist.

  “I think we’ve concluded our business, Ms. Flynn,” Ms. Walker said, turning and heading for the front door.

  Tasha watched her go. One small, stiff woman in an ill-fitting black suit. How was it, she wondered, that a woman who cared so little about a child’s heart was the one person who had the power to break it?

  Fear crouched in Tasha’s belly like a rabid dog, sending out angry swipes of its paws. Pain stabbed at her. Panic gnawed on her. And she was forced to behave—for now—as if everything was all right. If she gave in to the urge to tell the truth, then plead and cry for mercy and understanding … all that would happen was that Ms. Walker would take Jonas today. She’d lose the last month she had.

  And she couldn’t do that.

  There were still thirty days.

  Anything could happen.

  She could still take Jonas and run.

  Before Ms. Walker reached the door, it flew open. Late-afternoon sunlight speared into the room, slanting across the floor. Jonas raced into the house, then skidded to a stop when he saw the enemy.

  “Jonas,” the woman said, inclining her head like queen to peasant.

  “Hello.” One word, squeezed reluctantly from a boy who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere but there.

  “I see Ms. Flynn has neglected to trim that hair of yours again.”

  He lifted his chin defiantly and swung his fall of hair back from eyes that glittered with revolution. “I like my hair like this.” That said, he sprinted for the stairs and ran as if a vampire were hot on his heels.

  “Of course.” She’d already dismissed the boy and continued her march toward the door.

  From outside, Tasha heard the throaty roar of the Corvette’s engine as Nick drove away. Deep within her, disappointment battled with relief. Though a part of her ached to see him again, despite the embarrassment of facing him after yesterday’s meltdown … a larger part of her was grateful that he hadn’t come inside. If he’d met Ms. Walker … if Jonas had introduced the man as his father …

  “One month, Ms. Flynn,” the woman said from the open doorway. “I’ll expect to see Mimi Castle at my office in one month.”

  The door closed after her and the quiet snick of the lock engaging had more of a sense of finality than a slam would have. Tasha sighed, folded her arms across her chest, then rubbed her upper arms briskly. It did nothing to dispel the chill within, but she hadn’t expected it to. She turned and shifted her gaze to the stairs and the second floor where Jonas sat in his bedroom.

  One month.

  Molly’s suggestion floated through her mind. Marry Nick and both of you have Jonas. For one brief moment, she actually considered the notion of seducing Nick. After all, she was very attracted to him, despite her best efforts to deny it. And he’d shown more than once that he was interested in her. She could probably do it. If she could get past the whole nervousness thing.

  Wouldn’t that be something? The world’s oldest living virgin seducing a player like Nick. Her stomach pitched again and slid into a wild spin that seemed to settle a heck of a lot lower than her stomach. Oh God. Even if her brain was confused about what to do, it seemed that her body had a plan of its own. She blew out a breath and headed for the dining room. There she sat down, picked up the last card from Paris, and stared at it. Say she did seduce him, what then? A good idea in theory, she thought.

  But sex didn’t mean love.

  Not to someone like Nick, anyway. And the reality was, Nick Candellano would never marry her. Not that she wanted him to, of course.

  God.

  All she wanted was for her family to be safe. Was that really so much to ask?

  * * *

  �
�Happy birthday, Tasha!” Jonas hit the light switch and Tasha sat straight up in bed, blinking wildly, trying to focus.

  Heart racing, she scooped her hair back from her face and looked at the little boy standing in the open doorway. The smile on his face was bright enough to read by. He held a glass of orange juice in one hand and a badly wrapped present in the other.

  “Happy birthday!” he shouted again, and Tasha thought she heard the window rattle in its frame.

  “Good morning,” she said, her voice creaky.

  He sprinted across the room. OJ sloshed over the rim of the glass, ran down across his hand, and splattered in fat orange drops onto the floor. Tasha didn’t care. Birthday traditions must be upheld. This one … possibly their last together, more than anything.

  He set the glass down on the bedside table, then shook the OJ from his hand before thrusting the gift at her. “Open it.”

  “Don’t I get a kiss first?”

  “Oh. Sure.” He leaned in, kissed her cheek, then climbed up onto the mattress beside her.

  Tasha scooted over a bit on the old double bed, but stayed close enough that she could feel the boy’s denim-covered knee pressed into her leg.

  “Come on, Tasha. Open it.” An impatient grin creased his face and she smiled back at him.

  “Okay, don’t rush me. This is big stuff, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. And I wrapped it myself this year,” he said proudly.

  She would have known that anyway, she thought. There was probably a whole roll of Scotch tape on the neon green paper dotted with smiling baseballs and footballs. The big red Christmas bow, complete with fake snow and plastic candy canes, had no doubt been snitched from the attic. Tasha’s smile softened as she looked at him. Reaching out, she cupped his face in her palm and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. “Thank you, honey.”

  “For what? You didn’t even open it yet.”

  “Thanks in advance then, okay?”

  “’Kay. Come on. Open it.”

  “Right. Enough mushy stuff.” She dug in, as she knew he would expect her to. No neatly unwrapped packages in Mimi Castle’s house. Here it was a free-for-all. Paper torn, ribbon scattered. Mimi used to say it just wasn’t a present if you weren’t excited to get into it.