by Brenda Novak
Rubbing sweaty palms on her khaki capris, Lauren picked up the telephone and dialed the eleven-digit number that would connect her to The Ritz in London.
“Room 311,” she said when the hotel operator answered.
“One moment please.”
Lauren drummed her fingers on the desk while she waited, but it was only a moment before she heard her father’s voice.
“There you are. We’ve been worried about you. What’s going on? Why haven’t you tried to reach us?”
“I haven’t had a chance,” she said. “I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
Standing Harley up, spying on him, hiding Brandon—take your pick. “I’ve got a fund-raiser coming up. For the women’s shelter,” she hedged.
“Oh. Well? What’s happened with Harley?”
Straight to the point. Her father was so predictable. Rock-solid, confident, determined…authoritative, overbearing, closed-minded. “Nothing.”
“Did you talk to him?”
To distract herself from her nervousness, Lauren doodled on the telephone message pad, scribbling out the fifteen thousand dollar figure she’d originally offered Harley until it was completely obliterated. “He stopped by here, but I’d already sent Brandon to Kimberly’s for the night, so it wasn’t a problem.”
“What did he say?”
Lauren hesitated, then decided there wasn’t any point in hiding the truth. “He’s going to fight for custody.”
“That son of a bitch! Who does he think he is, appearing out of nowhere after all these years?”
Lauren winced at her father’s reaction, wondering why hearing him call Harley a son of a bitch bothered her.
“He’ll do no such thing!” her father was saying. “I’ve already placed a few calls. Vince, at my office, is going to follow up on this until I can get home. He’ll line up the best lawyers in the state. You don’t need to worry about any of this, Lauren. It might take some time, but—”
“Actually, I’m not so sure that drawing a hard line is the best thing for Brandon,” she said, interrupting before he could go too far down that road.
“What do you mean? We’re not going to sit back and let—”
“Brandon wants to meet his father,” she said.
“I don’t care what he wants. We’ve already talked about this. There isn’t any need to go into it again.”
Lauren took a deep breath and blurted out what she’d been dying to say for days. “Actually, I’m afraid there is. I think letting Harley see Brandon could be a good idea.”
Silence. Dead silence. She curled her fingers into her palms and waited for the explosion, the disappointment, maybe even a few accusations of disloyalty and betrayal. What her father said hit even lower.
“I thought you loved that boy.”
“I do love him! That’s why I want to give him the opportunity to meet his father. Harley doesn’t seem like such a bad guy, Dad. I’ve—”
“You’ve what?” her father broke in. “Gotten to know him in the past three or four days? How can you possibly assess his character in so short a time?”
“How can you be any more sure of his character than I am?” Lauren responded before she could stop herself. “How can you be so confident that you’re always right? That it’s fair to play God with other people’s lives? What if Harley’s just what Brandon needs? Brandon had a mother who chose crack over him, who purposely destroyed herself before his eyes. And he’s never had a father.”
“He’s had us. How could a child possibly need any more than we’ve given him?”
“We can’t replace his father,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve got the right to try.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely!”
He laughed, but it was a harsh, denigrating sound. “I can’t believe this. What is it about that bastard that turns my daughters’ minds to mush?”
Fresh anger surged through Lauren. Audra might’ve said some things in her journal that had made Lauren think more kindly of Harley than before. And he was an incredibly attractive man. But her decision to let him see Brandon had much more to do with her nephew than it did with Harley. “My mind isn’t mush just because I disagree with you, Dad. Maybe you’re the one who has a problem. Maybe you’re afraid of losing control of everyone around you.”
“Now you’re acting like Audra,” her father accused. “And I thought you were better than that.”
Better than that? Lauren hung up because it was the only thing she could do to stop the conversation from getting even worse, but she was shaking and crying and so angry she could scream. When was her father going to stop treating her with such condescension, as though his opinion mattered so much more than her own? When was he going to stop treating her like a child?
When she quit acting like one, she decided, and dialed the phone again.
“Hello?” Tank. Lauren took a deep breath, so she could speak, and asked for Harley.
“This Lauren?” Tank asked.
“Yes.”
“You and Kim aren’t after my color TV, are you?”
“What?”
He chuckled. “Nothing. Just a minute.”
She heard him say something in the background, then Harley came on the line.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“I know.”
He didn’t sound particularly happy to hear from her. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to speak while she still had the nerve to take a stand against her father. I have to trust myself now or I never will.
“You can see Brandon,” she said. “Come over tonight at six.”
Stunned silence. Then, skeptically, “Are you going to be there this time?”
“We’ll both be here.”
More silence, but finally, he asked, “What’s changed?”
I have. “Everything,” she said, “and I’m afraid it’ll never be the same again.”
LAUREN TOLD HERSELF she didn’t care what she looked like. She didn’t care whether or not Harley thought she was a good cook. She wasn’t trying to impress him. But she spent all afternoon making salmon steaks, new potatoes, asparagus pasta salad and stuffed mushrooms, and she changed outfits three times before settling on one.
Feminine pride, she told herself. Harley had considered her beneath his notice in high school. She wanted to make sure he realized she could hold her own now, that was all.
Brandon had called her from school two hours ago to see if he could go home with his and Scott’s other friend, Winston, and she’d let him to buy herself more time. It had saved her the half hour it would’ve taken to pick him up from school—and all the questions he would’ve asked when he saw her preparations. Which was good, because she wanted to have everything ready so she could focus completely on him when she told him the news. Only now that the edge was gone from her anger, and her nephew was supposed to be home any minute, she felt nervous and doubtful again, and wondered how he was going to react when he learned his father was coming to dinner.
The aroma of cooked mushrooms and the sausage she’d used to stuff them permeated the house. Elegant china and fresh flowers graced the table, and she was wearing a sleeveless summer sweater and wraparound skirt that made her appear more shapely than she was.
The house smelled and looked great, but with only a clock ticking in the background, it was too quiet. Lauren felt as though she was holding her breath, waiting, waiting, waiting. She needed music, something to distract her from her thoughts and calm her nerves. Especially since Brandon was late. If her nephew didn’t arrive soon, she wouldn’t have the time she wanted to discuss Harley with him.
She put on a Faith Hill CD and poured a glass of wine. He’ll be here any minute, she told herself, but time kept slipping away, and there was no sign of Brandon. Maybe he needed a ride. Although Mrs. Reynolds had agreed to drop him off, something could’ve happened. Lauren called to check, but after a few rings, the answering machine came on. She left a
message and hung up.
“They’re on their way,” she said aloud. “I’m sure they’re on their way. God, they’d better be on their way!” Keeping one eye on the clock, she sipped her wine and paced the floor and sipped her wine some more. Five-forty. Five-forty-five. Where was he? Harley was supposed to arrive in fifteen minutes.
She called Winston Reynolds’s house again, with no luck, then tried Scott’s.
“Scott wasn’t able to go to Winston’s today,” his mother told her. “He hasn’t cleaned his room for a week, so I made him come home.”
“Has he heard from Brandon?”
“Not since school. He hasn’t been out of his room. I won’t let him come out until it’s clean, so it might be a while.”
“Thanks,” she said and hung up to call Harley. She needed to put him off for a few minutes, needed to find Brandon and—
The roar of a motorcycle intruded on the music. He was here! He was here ten minutes early when she needed him to be ten or even twenty minutes late!
Lauren set her empty wineglass down and stood to the side of the window so she could watch Harley approach without being seen. He wasn’t wearing a suit today. He wasn’t carrying any presents. He was wearing the faded blue jeans that looked so good on him and a simple T-shirt. No frills. No fuss. No jacket. The temperature had soared into the lower nineties this afternoon, prolonging the unusual heat wave that made it much too hot for leather, even when riding a motorcycle.
He stood on the porch for a few seconds before ringing the bell and Lauren wondered what he was feeling. Was he as nervous as she was? She doubted it. Given the circumstances, he probably felt some apprehension, but he looked as cool and calm as a deep, still lake. On the other hand, he always looked cool and completely in control. That was part of his appeal.
The doorbell sounded, and Lauren took a shaky breath. So he was a little early. It wasn’t the end of the world, right? Brandon would be home soon, and then…and then she’d just have to see how the two of them got on. She wouldn’t have the chance to prepare her nephew for his surprise, but he’d already told her he wanted to meet his dad. Tonight he was going to get that wish—in spite of her father.
“Hello, come in,” she said, opening the door and stepping back to admit him.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, as though he felt like Daniel about to step into the lion’s den, but then he angled his shoulders to fit past her and stood in the living room, making the whole place feel smaller for his dominating presence.
“Where’s Brandon?” he asked, his eyes quickly scanning all points of entry.
“He’s a little late, but he’ll be home any minute.”
He nodded, his right hand fiddling with the keys to his bike, and Lauren realized he was nervous. The implacable Harley Nelson felt as uncomfortable as she did.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, trying to make small talk so they could both relax. “I’ve got dinner ready.”
“I ate before I came over.”
Great. Well, that was probably her fault. She hadn’t mentioned dinner, and he’d gone without the last time she’d invited him. Tonight he’d obviously prepared for the worst.
“Why don’t you sit down?”
He glanced at all the furniture cluttering the room—the Victorian settee and matching chairs, the marble-topped side tables her mother had had flown in from Italy, the mahogany secretary and rococo mirrors—and, if Lauren was reading him correctly, felt a measure of contempt at the excess. But he sat on an antique Chippendale chair and continued to jingle his keys.
“Can I get you a drink?” she asked. “A glass of wine or something stronger?”
“No, thanks.”
He wouldn’t even look at her. He wasn’t going to eat dinner. And Brandon wasn’t home. They certainly weren’t getting off to a very good start.
“Look, I know you’re angry with me about what happened at Tank’s apartment. And I’m sorry. I-I was just trying to solve the problem any way I could.”
“Don’t worry about it. You were just following in your father’s footsteps, right?”
Lauren knew that wasn’t a compliment. “Maybe. You took his money readily enough last time.”
He scowled, his anger showing now, but Lauren preferred this response to the tightly leashed disdain of before. “There wasn’t any point in not taking it,” he said. “No matter what I did, your father wasn’t going to let me be anything to Audra or our baby. He’d already decided I was nothing more than a bum, and without her support, I had nothing to work with.”
“My father wasn’t trying to hurt you or anyone else. He just wanted to ensure his daughter’s happiness.”
“From what I’m hearing, he did one hell of a job.”
“That’s not fair,” Lauren said. “We did what we could.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Lauren was on the verge of launching into a tirade about how difficult it had been to live with Audra and witness her steady decline, how helpless they’d all felt when they couldn’t save her. Harley had no right to condemn them, she thought. But then she remembered what he’d said when the shoe was on the other foot—You and your family have made judging me a national pastime—and knew, if they were ever going to get anywhere, attitudes had to change on both sides.
Taking the seat beside his, she placed a hand on his forearm, hoping he’d feel her sincerity through her touch. “I’m sorry I stood you up last time,” she said. “I’m sorry I tried to bribe you and, regardless of fault or blame, I’m sorry for what happened ten years ago. I love Brandon with all my heart. I want what’s best for him. I also love my parents and I want to protect them. Isn’t there some way we can work this out peaceably?”
His gaze settled on her hand, then shifted to her face. “You didn’t have anything to do with what happened ten years ago,” he said.
“But I’m the one who’s in the line of fire now. Will you work with me instead of against me, Harley?”
HER EYES WERE shockingly blue. Harley hadn’t wanted to notice—he didn’t want to find anything about Lauren Worthington attractive—but the beauty of her eyes was tough to ignore when she was staring up at him so beseechingly. She was sitting close enough that he could even catch her sweet, clean scent, and although he might not have paid much attention to her in high school, he was certainly aware of her now.
Don’t trust her. She’s just like her father, remember?
But she had a certain magnetism Quentin Worthington did not possess, and it had nothing to do with the canned sex-appeal so many men found appealing in a woman.
“I’m willing to let bygones be bygones,” he conceded, but he moved his arm so that she was no longer touching him. He was too anxious about seeing Brandon to maintain much of a defense against liking her right now, and he felt safer keeping his distance—a strange reaction, considering he’d never felt threatened by a woman before.
“I haven’t had a chance to warn Brandon that you’re coming,” she said in an apologetic tone. “He was supposed to be home forty-five minutes ago, and I’d planned to sit down with him and—”
The door flew open and Lauren’s words were lost as the boy Harley had watched at the school—his boy—came in yelling for Lauren. When he saw both of them in the living room, he froze, his backpack still slung over his shoulder, a wary expression clouding his face.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, as soon as he noticed Harley.
Harley’s stomach clenched with the worst kind of fear he’d ever known. Never had he felt more vulnerable than at this moment, when he was gazing at the child he’d dreamed about for so long. “I came to see you,” he admitted.
“How come?”
Harley stood, as did Lauren. She went to Brandon while he searched his son’s face, hoping for some sign that he might be accepted. Please, God, after ten years…. He’d told himself not to expect too much. His son had never had any contact with him. Brandon could resent him, hate him or be ambivalent. T
he boy had lived with the Worthingtons all his life, so it was too much to hope he’d be open-minded, wasn’t it? And yet Harley couldn’t help hoping with everything inside him.
“Brandon, do you know who this is?” Lauren asked, sounding slightly confused.
Brandon didn’t give away Harley’s visit to the school, although Harley could tell from his reaction that he’d seen him. “No.”
Lauren took him by the shoulders so that he’d have to meet her eyes. “This is your father, sweetheart,” she said. “He’s visiting from California.”
“My father?” he echoed weakly. And suddenly Harley regretted that he hadn’t worn his suit. Maybe Brandon was disappointed. Maybe Brandon wanted a father who dressed and behaved like all the other kids’ dads…
But then his son looked at him and smiled, and Harley’s knees went weak in relief.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LAUREN STOOD in the driveway next to Harley as Brandon sat on his motorcycle and pretended to drive it. They’d had dinner together, taken a tour of Brandon’s bedroom and played Nintendo for over an hour. They’d fed the spectacular tropical fish that filled the giant tank in the game room, talked about Brandon’s school, his favorite movies and his friends. Everything had gone much more smoothly than Harley had dared to expect. Even Lauren had been pleasant. More than pleasant. She’d been supportive and responsive. Only now it was time for him to leave. Already. It was nearly ten o’clock and Brandon had school in the morning.
