What she didn't know, however, was that if she wanted the upper hand, she'd have to fight him for it. So he scarfed down several spoonsful of chili before answering. "My boss asked me to take on another project at the last minute. I couldn't turn it down."
"Why?"
What she also didn't know was that Joe'd always had a thing for women who didn't make a man turn cartwheels trying to figure out what was going on in their heads. For some weird reason, the more direct the woman, the more turned on he got. Which, in this case, was one of those good-news, bad-news things.
"Because I need the extra cash, for one thing," he said. "And because I need to prove to Wes—my boss—that I'm the right person to take over for him when he takes semiretirement next year."
Taylor turned her glower on his empty tea glass, like she was trying to figure out how to be a good hostess without giving him any ideas about women serving men. Then she got up, apparently deciding the solution was to plop the pitcher in front of him so he could refill his glass any time he wanted.
"But how on earth are you going to handle two projects in two different places?"
"I have no idea. But I'll manage." He picked up a cracker and dunked it in his chili. "I have to."
"You don't sound all that happy about it."
Happy? When had he last thought of his life in those terms? The muscles in his upper back mildly protested when he shrugged. "Just being realistic, is all."
She snorted. "Honestly—what is it with men and their need to prove themselves? No matter what the cost?"
His gaze fixed on his food, Joe stilled and then lifted his eyes to hers. "I'm not sure how being responsible is the same as proving myself. Besides, seems to me men don't exactly have the market cornered on ambition."
A second passed before she pushed out a breath. "You're right," she said, and he thought, point to him. "It's just that…I don't know. Men get this whole protective thing going and…"
"And what?"
"And they can't see that they're accomplishing exactly the opposite of what they think they are."
Joe leaned back in his chair, brows drawn, arms folded across his chest. "You think there's something wrong with a man wanting to provide for his family?"
"No, of course not. Except…" He was startled to see her eyes soften with tears. "Except when he neglects his family in the process."
He thought of all the things he could ask, wanted to ask. Wouldn't ask. Not now, at any rate. Probably not ever, if he were smart. Because asking questions might get him answers, but it could also get him involved. And getting involved, now, with her—with anyone—wasn't in the cards.
So he did what any sane man who didn't want involvement would do—he turned the tables on her. Not rudely, or meanly, but with the conviction of somebody who didn't need some female making him question his own motives, for crying out loud.
"You know," he said quietly, "you're cute and all, but you've got a real problem with judging folks when you don't know them worth squat."
She flinched a little, then recouped. "I'm not judging you. I'm just familiar with the signs."
"Of what?"
Another breath. "My father was a workaholic, Joe. So was my ex-husband. And it sucks."
The words were brittle, as if years of acid had eaten away at them. And they arrowed straight from her heart to his.
"Your father…"
"…Literally worked himself to death. When I was eleven."
"I'm sorry," Joe said softly. "But I'm not a workaholic, Taylor."
For several seconds, their gazes tangled like a pair of kids scrapping over a toy, until Taylor got up from the table and walked over to the kitchen window, her hands stuffed in her back pockets. "How many hours a week do you work? And that includes work you bring home."
His eyes narrowed. "It's the sex thing, isn't it?"
She whirled around. "What?"
"You don't know what to do about this attraction between us, so you're picking a fight with me."
"I'm not picking a fight with you. And this has nothing to do with…that. I just asked you a simple question. How many hours a week do you work?"
"And how is this any of your business—?"
"Sixty? Seventy?"
Joe's jaw tightened. "Somewhere in there, yeah."
She turned, brows arched. "And you don't think you're a workaholic?"
"No, I think I'm somebody who can't stand the thought of letting people down who depend on me."
"And what the hell do you think you did when you didn't pick Seth up on time tonight?"
Though spoken barely above a whisper, her words exploded around him like buckshot. And Joe wasn't real partial to picking buckshot out of his butt. Man, if this was what she was like when she wasn't picking a fight, he'd sure hate to be around her when she was.
"I didn't have a choice, Taylor. You know that."
"There's always a choice! And right now, that kid needs you! Not what your paycheck can buy him!"
And what he didn't need was this woman in his face about this, a fact the chili was only too vigorously corroborating. Direct was one thing; deranged was something else entirely. Except Joe was as ornery as she was. He'd never in his life walked away from a challenge, and he wasn't about to start now. Even if he didn't have a clue in hell what this one was even about. His manhood, maybe. His honor, definitely. But there was more going on here than a simple disagreement about lifestyle choice.
"Maybe I do have a choice. In theory. Doesn't always pan out that way in practice, though."
"You're saying it's not about the money?"
"Hell, yes, it's about the money. You think I'd put Seth through this if it wasn't about the money?"
That seemed to take the wind out of her sails for a moment. But only for a moment.
"Then what?"
Joe silently uttered a word he didn't think Taylor would appreciate. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Baby-sitting and chili, that's all this was supposed to be about, not a hot-and-heavy game of sexual dodgeball followed by his having to defend himself about stuff that had nothing to do with her. The last thing he wanted was to talk about his personal life, but God only knew what conclusions she'd come to on her own if he didn't. Why he should care one way or the other what she thought about him, he had no idea. That he did was no small source of worry, but it was a worry he'd have to deal with later. Because right now, his choice was to bare his own soul, at least to a certain extent, or pry hers open. That, however, was an even less palatable option than door number one, since the tiny glimpse he'd already gotten into that soul had nearly undone him. A longer, deeper look could be disastrous. And Joe had all the disasters he could handle right now, thank you very much.
"Seth's not my only responsibility," he said with as little expression as he could manage. "Because, when my father walked out of my life and my mother's, fifteen years ago, he also left behind a three-week-old baby girl with Down syndrome. My sister Kristen."
Chapter 5
Instantly, Taylor's high horse not only threw her, but took off for parts unknown. "Oh, Joe—"
He put up a hand to stop her. "Kristen's only moderately retarded, but my mother realized she couldn't go back to work and still give my sister the kind of attention she needed, so she had to take an unpaid leave of absence from her teaching job. My going to work was the only way we'd've made it."
Taylor frowned. "But you couldn't have been more than, what, eighteen?"
"Seventeen. My last year of high school."
"Don't tell me you quit?"
The horror in her voice coaxed a smile from his lips. "Mom would've had five fits if I'd tried. But I had to work. We got some help from the state for Kristen's care, but it wasn't enough. So, since construction paid a helluva lot better than fast food, I worked as a framer during the day and finished up high school at night. Oh, for God's sake…don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"I don't want your sympathy, Taylor. I did what I ha
d to do, that's all."
Lord, how many times had she heard those words, or variations on that theme? "And you still are, I take it?"
"Yeah. I am. Kristen's had the best care and training available, Mom made sure of that, but she's never going to be able to live completely on her own or earn a living wage. And she's got a heart condition that needs constant monitoring. Even though Mom was able to go back to teaching once Kristen started school, you know what teachers' salaries are like. And anyway, she's not going to be able to work forever. A good chunk of my earnings goes into a trust fund for Kristen. For later."
When their gazes locked this time, it wasn't about sex. Taylor carted his empty bowl to the sink, wondering how admiration and aggravation could be so closely linked. But the question was, what was she aggravated about? Joe's dadblasted insistence on shouldering so much responsibility, or her own dadblasted weakness for men with such broad shoulders?
"What are you thinking?" he asked as she smacked up the faucet to wash the bowl.
"Why does it matter what I think?" she said over the running water.
"I don't know. It just does. So humor me."
The water groaned off, then she twisted around, her arms linked over her middle. "I think…" She blew out a sigh. "I think I owe you an apology, for one thing. For giving you grief when I didn't have all the facts." She hesitated, then said, "But when I taught in Houston, I'd see kids who'd have every gadget on the market, the best clothes, every privilege imaginable, but there'd be something in their eyes, this…enormous, gaping void, that just ripped me to pieces. Nine times out of ten, I'd eventually find out their parents weren't in the picture as much as the kids needed them to be. It kills me to see a kid being neglected. Especially when the parent has no idea that's what he's doing."
"Like…your father?" he said softly.
She smiled. "I guess I'm a little hypersensitive about the issue."
Was it her imagination, or did his eyes narrow? "S' okay," he said. "I understand."
"I imagine you do," she said, and their gazes brushed up against each other, just for a moment. Just long enough, apparently, for him to decide it was high time he got out of there.
"Well," he said, rising, "we've all got to get up pretty early, so we'd better get going."
She walked him through the living room her older sister Erika had pronounced spartan the one time she'd come to visit and out onto the porch, the screen door slamming behind them. Seth lay on his stomach in the grass underneath the mulberry tree, talking to Oakley, who frankly didn't appear all that captivated with the conversation.
"Time to go," Joe shouted across the yard.
The kid scrambled to his feet. "C'n I use the bathroom first?"
"We'll be back at the Double Arrow in two minutes, can't you hold it?"
"Nuh-uh."
"Go on, then." After the kid trooped back inside, Joe turned to Taylor. "Well. Thanks again. I really appreciate it."
"Any time. No, I mean that," she said when he snorted. Oakley had dragged himself up onto the porch and flopped down at her feet with a groan. One echoed silently inside her as her heart shoved her right smack in the line of fire, all the while her head was yelling, Have you lost your mind? But apparently there were certain aspects of a person's makeup that could not be altered, no matter how desperately you might want to. No matter how fervently Taylor might have wanted to be a practical person, in the end her heart always made her decisions for her. "I'm happy to take Seth after day camp, if you need an emergency baby-sitter."
Joe had the most honest, direct gaze of any man she'd ever known, which wasn't helping matters any. Especially when a bemused smile touched his lips. "Even though…" He pointed between the two of them.
She laughed, even as she felt herself coloring again. "Like you said, this is about Seth. And I think we're both adult enough to control ourselves."
Only he gave her this look that said, Speak for yourself, and she thought, Oh, boy. What he said, however, was, "Fine, I might just take you up on that. But only if I can pay you for your time—"
"Don't be ridiculous, that's not why I offered—"
"I know it's not. But I insist."
She let out a little huff and started down the porch steps. "Make a contribution to the church maintenance fund, then. We desperately need a new heating and cooling system."
"Okay, I'll do that."
When they got to the Blazer, she asked if he got to see his mom and sister very often. The question seemed to surprise him, making her wonder if he wasn't used to being asked. And his reply seemed hesitant, at first—no, not as much as he'd like, since his work kept him away so much. Then he went on to say that was one of the reasons he wanted his promotion, so he'd be able to stick around Tulsa more, and her common sense tapped her on the shoulder and said, Remember this for future reference, sweetheart.
Except then it was as if her question had let light into a room where the curtains were usually kept drawn, because he started talking about his family. "They're tough as nails, both of them," he said, then laughed. "There was one time, when Kristen was maybe three, we were in the grocery store. Mom had placed an apple in my sister's hand, saying the word, 'Apple, apple' over and over. Some idiot woman stands there, staring at them for I don't know how long, then finally says, 'You do know you're wasting your time, don't you?'"
"Ouch," Taylor said, even as she wondered, as she often did, why some people seemed to think they were exempt from exercising common courtesy.
"Ouch is right. Especially after Mom singed her ears about how at least Kristen had an excuse for her condition…what was hers?"
Taylor laughed, her smile reflecting his as something told her he probably didn't share his personal life with many people, a realization that left her feeling both profoundly flattered and more than a little nervous. "Sounds like a woman after my own heart." She paused, then gently asked, "Has Seth met them yet?"
He shook his head. "Mom took Kristen away for several weeks to visit our grandparents in Kansas. They'll be back in August. Hopefully by then…Seth will be ready. To meet his sister, I mean."
She thought perhaps there might be one or two other worries surrounding his siblings' meeting each other he wasn't addressing. But the screen door slammed again as Seth came back outside, so that was that.
Joe prodded the little boy to say "Thank you," although he apparently didn't need prodding to swiftly hug Taylor around the waist, a gesture which took her breath, emotionally and physically. The brothers got into the car; Joe argued with Seth about getting his seat belt on, then leaned out the open window and said, "By the way…what color's that dress?"
She frowned, clueless. "What dress?"
"The one you bought you said you had no place to wear."
"Oh." The breeze picked up, sending the ends of her hair into her eyes. "Royal blue," she said, brushing them away. "Like the sky, right before the sun sets—"
"I know what color royal blue is."
A smile twitched around her mouth. "Why'd you want to know?"
"No special reason," he said, gunning the Blazer's engine to life. "Just wondered." Then he drove off, and Taylor and Oakley stood there, watching the dust cloud kicked up by the tires until it blended into the early evening haze hugging the road. The sun was beginning to think seriously about setting, that robin was up in the trees somewhere, singing his lullaby, and Taylor went back inside and straight to the kitchen, where she scarfed down three pieces of chocolate before she could talk herself out of it.
Then, thoroughly annoyed with herself, she walked back out into the living room.
To see Seth's lunch box sitting right smack in the middle of the coffee table.
* * *
Seth leaned as far over in Joe's car as the seat belt would let him, his head half hanging out of the open window. He liked the way the wind tickled his face as they drove, the whooshing sound it made in his ears….
He thought maybe Joe was saying something, so he pulled his head back
inside. "What?"
"I asked if you liked staying with Taylor."
"Oh." He shrugged. "It was okay, I guess."
"Well, I suppose that's something. So you'd be okay with going home with her from time to time when I'm late?"
Seth felt like somebody was squeezing his insides, but he didn't let on. Instead, he just nodded.
"How're you doing otherwise? You settling in a little bit better at camp?"
"Yeah, maybe. Um, I don't much feel like talking right now, okay?"
Joe glanced over, then looked back out the windshield. "Sure, I understand," he said, but he had that look on his face that said he didn't understand at all. His I-wish-I-knew-how-to-make-it-better face.
But he couldn't. Nobody could. Seth knew Joe wanted him to talk about how he felt, but the feelings hadn't turned themselves into words yet.
Seth stuck his head back out the window, letting his eyes go unfocused, the landscape blur into a big streak as they sped along. It was funny, the way grown-ups would ask if you were okay when what they really meant was, were you mad at them? And heck, yeah, Seth had been mad, when Taylor first said Joe wouldn't be able to pick him up on time, because Joe'd promised he wouldn't be late. It wasn't fair, how a grown-up could tell a kid it was wrong to make a promise you couldn't keep, then go and break their own all the time.
Except Joe was actually pretty cool, for one thing. And Seth had liked staying with Taylor, for a lot of reasons. Her house wasn't full of all kinds of stuff you couldn't touch, the way his grandmother's had been, and it smelled nice, not like those stinky sprays his mother used to use to cover up his father's cigarettes and beer and stuff before Dad moved out. And Taylor was funny, and she smiled like she was really happy to have him around, not like she felt sorry for him. Or like his mother did, a weird, kinda flat smile that always made Seth hurt inside.
Everybody's Hero Page 6
