His Real Father (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Salonen, Debra

  Lisa moved her leg so it covered the body part under discussion. “We’re not done talking yet.”

  He rolled his neck. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Can we finish talking over breakfast? I’m starved. Must have been all that exercise you put me through last night.”

  “Avoidance behaviors…” she said, shaking her head.

  He laughed. “Okay. Okay. The fact is I never really fit in in Hollywood. I’m a small-town guy who loves making movies about people. Real people.”

  “Can you make a living at that?”

  “I don’t know, but the industry has changed. Anybody who wants to do what I do can buy a desktop editing program for seven hundred dollars and set up shop. There are boutique editing houses all over the country. If you’re good at what you do, people will find you.”

  And Joe was good at what he did. She knew that. She’d seen all his movies, even though she’d lied about not seeing the last one.

  If he was serious about moving back to Worthington, that meant they might have a chance to build a real relationship. Maybe even one her son could come to understand and appreciate.

  She gave in to temptation and ran her tongue over the soft, flat tip of his nipple. “Last night was really lovely. I wish you’d come home sooner.”

  “I doubt if you would have liked me very much. For a while there, I was really full of myself. Shallow, egotistical.”

  Like Patrick, Lisa thought with sudden clarity.

  Patrick’s death had created a vacuum that Joe had, in a way, stepped in to fill. He’d picked a fight with his father, treated Lisa with uncharacteristic disdain and turned his back on his family. All behaviors more befitting Patrick’s personality than Joe’s.

  “If Mom had called me and said she was going to sell Joe’s Place, I probably would have swept into town like a conquering hero and sold it to the highest bidder without thinking twice about your situation or Brandon’s.”

  “You’d have done that? Sold the place then left without finding out what any of us wanted?”

  He nodded, his expression sad. “Oh, I might have asked, but in the end I’d have done whatever was expedient and had the best result on the bottom line. I know that makes me look like some kind of caricature of a bad guy…”

  “Snidely Whiplash.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Lisa ran her index finger over the wrinkle in his brow. “Remember the summer you worked at the dinner theater in Jamestown? One night you filled in for the villain.”

  “That’s right,” he snickered softly. “The melodrama. People threw popcorn at me.”

  “The more prepared brought peanuts.”

  His eyes opened wide when the meaning behind her words sunk in. “You and Patrick.”

  She tried to look innocent, but her grin must have given her away. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled, so he was on top. “I could have been blinded,” he growled, going for her exposed throat.

  She let out a muffled scream then in a falsetto said, “Why, Snidely, what a big gun you have.”

  AN HOUR OR SO LATER, Joe stumbled into the kitchen in search of coffee. Normally, he’d make tea, but considering their lack of sleep, they might both benefit from a jolt of caffeine.

  Lisa was perched on a chrome-and-red-leather stool. She was dressed in baggy denim overalls and a yellow top. He detoured to give her a long, satisfying kiss. “I missed you in the shower.”

  “Yeah, well, I remember what happened last night when we took a shower together. We ran out of hot water we were in there so long.”

  He couldn’t deny that. Just one night in Lisa’s arms and he was acting like a lovesick teen. “Is there more of that coffee somewhere?” he asked, trying to regain some dignity.

  Before she could answer, the phone beside her rang. “The carafe is by the toaster,” she said, picking up the phone. “Cups in the cupboard above it.”

  “Hello?”

  Thinking the caller might be Brandon, Joe watched her face as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line. “Uh, no. Brandon’s still with Maureen. How’s everything going with you? Did you have a good flight?”

  Her mother.

  The flush on Lisa’s cheeks intensified. Apparently, Constance had overheard Lisa talking to someone and wanted to know who was present with her daughter so early in the morning. Joe was curious how Lisa planned to handle this—and any future public questioning.

  “Well, not that it’s any of your business,” Lisa said testily, “but it’s Joe.”

  Joe was both surprised and relieved.

  “No. Yes. Mother,” Lisa said sharply. “I don’t know.”

  Lisa looked at Joe and rolled her eyes. He wanted to kiss her. Instead, he poured himself a cup of coffee then walked to the sliding glass door and looked out. He could hear Lisa’s one-sided conversation, but instead of listening, his mind was racing.

  He’d just spent the night with Lisa. He’d made her breathless and excited. And, damn it, a part of him still felt guilty.

  “Good grief,” Lisa said, hanging up the phone. “She has a lot of nerve asking me questions about my personal life. Oh, well, at least she likes Jerry’s family and they like her. We can be thankful for small miracles, right?”

  Joe tried to smile, but he knew he’d missed the mark when Lisa slid off her stool and walked to where he was standing. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  Lisa looked at him for several seconds, then she held out her hand. “Come on. We’re going to my special place.”

  He knew where she meant, but something in her tone made him nervous. “Why?”

  “We’re going to work on your schemas.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  She opened the door. “Of course, you don’t. It means you finally have to be honest with yourself. And your brother.”

  Joe took a sip of coffee and scalded the roof of his mouth. “I can’t. I’m injured.”

  She gave him a stern look that probably made teenage boys quake in their boots. Joe gave in. He remembered her mentioning something about this psychological theory. His family never put much stock in such things, but in the name of research, Joe had participated in several group sessions that dealt with grief. He thought they’d helped. Not enough, but some.

  A few minutes later, he and Lisa were seated on the shaded patio. He was resting in the chaise, his ankles crossed. Lisa sat on the bench just across from him.

  “Don’t look so skeptical. We’re just going to talk,” she said. “We each did the whole guided-imagery thing in psychology class, and I felt it helped me deal with my feelings about my father, but since I’m not a professional, we won’t try anything elaborate. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She sat forward, the way he’d been sitting yesterday. “Have you ever heard of schemas?”

  “Not till you mentioned it.”

  “Well, basically, they’re coping behaviors. As a kid, we learn that if we do A, we can avoid the unpleasant results of B.”

  “Huh?”

  “For me, I never wanted to rock the boat where my relationship with a man was concerned because if I did, he might leave.”

  Joe let out his breath. “Your father.”

  “Exactly. And Patrick.”

  Joe sank back against the cushion. Of course. She’d taken all sorts of crap from his brother but remained loyal. The few times they’d broken up had been Patrick’s doing, not because Lisa was the one to walk away.

  “Wow. That’s pretty insightful,” he said.

  She made a wry sound. “Yeah, well, knowing what drives you is only part of the therapy. You still have to confront the person behind your schemas.”

  “What if that person is dead?”

  “Sit back. Close your eyes. And I’ll show you.”

  “I don’t know, Lisa. Communing with the spirits isn’t my idea of a good time.”

  “This isn’t a seance, Joe. It’s just a way of looking a
t your life and drawing some understanding of why you do what you do.”

  He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cushion but that didn’t mean he was relaxed.

  “Now, picture your brother. Any age. Just how you remember him best.”

  Joe felt his heart rate increase. He swallowed hard then tried to do as she asked.

  He recalled some old film footage he’d run across a few days earlier. Patrick at a track meet in Snelling. Sixth grade. Before Lisa. Joe had been chosen as an alternate in case someone got hurt. He’d been sitting around, totally bored until another kid’s mother had let him use her video camera.

  “You and Patrick were polar opposites,” Lisa said. “I know that sounds like a cliché, but it’s true. You are water. Deep, cool, connected to the earth. Patrick was energy. Bright, fast, dangerous at times.”

  At the track meet that day, Patrick had beaten nearly every competitor. Afterward, he’d mugged for the camera, boasting about how good he was. He’d also told everyone that the reason Joe hadn’t run was that he knew he’d get beaten. “He’s a loser,” Patrick had said.

  Joe’s throat went dry and he couldn’t swallow.

  “You can see him pretty clearly, can’t you?” Lisa asked.

  He nodded.

  “Then, tell him how you feel.”

  Tell him I felt embarrassed when he belittled me in front of my friends? And stupid when I cheated to give him a better grade? Or that I wanted to beat the shit out of him when he kissed you in front of me?

  Joe opened his eyes. He could feel the sweat collecting under his arms. “This is crazy. I don’t want—”

  She cut him off by putting her hand on his forearm. “I know it seems like a waste of time, but we’re almost done.”

  “What else is there? I told him he was a rotten excuse for a brother. I wasn’t perfect, either. Big deal.”

  “You have to hear him say whatever it is that you always wanted him to say.”

  He shook his head. “That’s too creepy for me.” He started to get up, but Lisa smiled that all-knowing smile of hers. The one he hated, and loved.

  “Okay. Take off. I’ll see you later.”

  He hesitated. He knew Lisa, and he knew she’d never let him live this down if he didn’t at least pretend to cooperate.

  “Fine.” He sat back and crossed his arms and ankles. He took a deep breath and let it out, then tried to refocus on the image of Patrick.

  What do I need Patrick to say?

  The one thing he never would have said if he were alive, of course. A shiver passed through Joe’s body and suddenly Patrick was there, sporting the cocky grin that had gotten him in so much trouble in his life.

  I was a pretty crappy brother to you, Joe, but I always loved you. You knew that, right?

  Joe felt Lisa’s hands grip his. “You have to give yourself permission to believe what he’s telling you, Joe, because Patrick’s actions were the product of certain schemas, too. It’s what he did to protect himself.”

  Joe squeezed his eyes tight. He wasn’t going to cry in front of Lisa, but a second later he heard a small sob and felt her arms around his neck. And when her face pressed against his, he wasn’t sure whose tears belonged to whom.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “WE’RE AMAZING,” Lisa said, stepping into the main hallway so she could survey her and Joe’s efforts. The doors to the side-by-side restrooms both stood open. The walls of the men’s side, which Joe had painted, were sage green. The walls of the ladies’ room were persimmon. “Maybe I should have majored in interior design.”

  Joe held up his paint-splattered hands and eyed them with obvious distaste. “I wouldn’t go that far, but not bad for an afternoon’s effort by a couple of amateurs.”

  “Who are you calling an amateur?” she asked, threatening him with her brush, which was still wet with shiny orange-colored paint.

  “Just a slip of the tongue,” he said with a suggestive leer.

  Their playful banter, although separated by a common wall, had made the hours fly by. They’d kept up a running dialogue, discussing everything from politics to movies to Lisa’s need to psychoanalyze people. Lisa realized with a painful tug that she loved Joe’s mind, almost as much as she loved his body. Which, she decided, she might still have time to enjoy one more time before her son and Maureen returned.

  Although she’d awoken with every intention of returning their relationship to a non-physical plane, something had happened when she’d pushed him into a little introspection. The moment had pulsed with intensity and had possibly provided the emotional healing she’d hoped for. She wasn’t sure exactly what Joe had experienced, but she felt closer to him, and that closeness was intoxicating.

  “Let’s clean up.”

  Without waiting to see if he followed, she picked up her bucket, roller and pan and started for the rear door of Joe’s Place. They’d set up a hose and temporary workbench in the small exterior courtyard everyone called the beer garden.

  “Eventually, I’d like to do a little stenciling around the top of the wall,” she called out as she walked. “Like the ivy in my bedroom. That turned out nice, don’t you think?”

  “Huh?”

  She looked over her shoulder. Joe was a few steps behind, but his focus seemed fixed on her derriere. Lisa shook her head. What could he possibly find attractive about a female butt in sloppy overalls? Then it hit her that she’d been lusting after his body all afternoon, too, and he was dressed in a funky set of what Brandon would have called “dog shit brown” coveralls that Martin had left hanging in the office.

  “We’re pathetic,” she muttered, shaking her head.

  “I beg your pardon,” Joe said, reaching past her to hold the door open so she didn’t smear paint on the knotty-pine paneled walls. The billiards room had originally served as a storage facility until Joe’s father had bought a pool table.

  The exterior door served as the building’s emergency exit and was equipped with a push bar required by the fire marshal. This quick escape feature meant the door remained unlocked to people inside the building, but if it closed behind you, you had to either go around to a different entrance or bang loudly enough to be heard by someone inside to open it. Or, you wedged something in place to keep it ajar, which is what Lisa did with a leftover chunk of two-by-four.

  Once outside, she took a deep breath of clean, fresh air before explaining what she meant. “Don’t play innocent. We’ve been exchanging lustful glances all day. This, after a night of almost nonstop sex. I know what my excuse is—I’m making up for lost time, but you can’t say that. You and Paulette were a hot item for five years, right?”

  He turned on the water spigot then joined her by the storm drain so their messy splatters didn’t hit the building. “A slight exaggeration,” he said. She could tell he wasn’t comfortable talking about the subject. “And we spent most of our last year together fighting.”

  “Which can lead to passionate making up, I’m told,” Lisa added. “Jen’s marriage has been an emotional roller coaster. She calls her three kids ‘makeup’ babies.”

  Joe chuckled. “I’ve never heard that expression before. But in my case, any de-escalation of tension between Paulette and me only came about after several weeks of mutual sulking.”

  Lisa tried to look sympathetic, but Joe’s bemused expression told her she hadn’t been successful.

  “If you want to fight, I’m game,” he said, a coy look in his eye.

  Lisa swished her brush back and forth under the spray of the nozzle that Joe was directing downward. “What would we fight about? We share the same taste in movies and books, although you really don’t know what you’re missing until you give fantasy a try.” Lisa had been surprised that Joe had never read anything in the genre.

  He snickered. “I promised to read one, even though I have to warn you, vampires aren’t my thing.”

  She focused on removing every speck of orange paint from the bristles of her brush. In college, care of
tools had been an important part of each project’s grade. And considering the price of a good brush… She lost track of the thought when she glanced up to find Joe grinning.

  “What?”

  “I was just wondering what you thought of wet T-shirt contests.”

  Lisa didn’t like where this was leading. “I think they’re messy and demeaning to women. Not the kind of thing I want to promote at the bar. Why?”

  “Because I like them.” His dimple appeared. “And I have the hose.”

  He turned the nozzle on her, catching her full on the chest.

  Lisa tried to jump back, but her heavy boots made her clumsy. She landed on her butt on the wet concrete. Sputtering in shock, she could barely talk. “You big jerk. I ought to…”

  Joe was laughing so hard he had one hand—the hose hand—resting on his knee while he used the back of his wrist to wipe the tears from his eyes. Lisa felt a surge of adrenaline. Her bucket, which was filled to the brim with coral-colored water, sat at her feet. She scrambled to her knees and picked it up. One well-directed heave sent a peach tsunami straight at Joe.

  “Oh, crap,” he coughed. “You fight dirty.”

  “You started it.”

  Lisa stood up, plucking the wet fabric away from her bare skin. Her overalls felt like soaked cardboard. She looked at Joe who was facing her. The hose still gurgled in his hand, but Lisa could tell by his expression he was done playing.

  Two adults giving in to old needs. Constance had stated her blessing on the phone that morning. Lisa hoped Maureen and Brandon would be equally accepting—if she and Joe decided to go public with their feelings. In the meantime, they still had a couple of hours before Joe’s mother and Lisa’s son were due back.

  “Toss the brushes in the bucket and put some water on them to soak. We can finish cleaning up later.”

  The glimmer of lust in Joe’s eyes told her he had the same idea. “We need to get out of these wet clothes, right?”

  “Absolutely. Might get chilled. Huge health risk.” She opened the door and Joe quickly followed.

  Once they were both inside the darkened interior—the billiard room hadn’t qualified for a skylight because of the ornate light fixture above the table—it took Lisa several seconds for her eyes to adjust. The cooler interior air made gooseflesh appear on her bare arms.