What Mattered Most

by Linda Winfree

  “Elana.” He smiled, but his eyes, the same golden shade as her own, remained cold. Her stomach clenched. Why did looking at him always send her back to that desperate, insecure girl she’d been? “You’re looking well.”

  Was he on drugs? Her face remained drawn with huge dark bags beneath her eyes, and she was sure her hair exposed her lovely new bald spot, complete with Frankenstein stitches. Even John wasn’t deceitful enough to say she looked good right now. “Thank you. Would you like to come in?”

  He stepped into the house, his sharp gaze darting around the foyer. Eyeing his custom suit and Italian shoes, she wished she’d bothered to get dressed. Almost twelve o’clock, and she still wore pajamas. The impulse to please him, to impress him, angered her. She indicated the living room with a curt gesture. “Please, sit down.”

  Adjusting the razor-sharp pleat on his trousers, he took John’s leather chair and darted a glance at the bassinet. Well, that explained a lot. An icy lump dropped into her stomach. Of course he wasn’t here for her.

  She returned to the couch, wishing Caitlin hadn’t gone back to Virginia. Caitlin’s icy disdain always matched up better against Lucas Falconetti’s glacial emotions than Lanie’s spitfire temper. She picked at a stray thread on the hem of her pajama pants. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

  Not three weeks after she’d almost died, anyway. At least she had to give John credit for hanging out at the hospital during those first few days.

  Her father’s easy shrug reminded her of Caitlin’s. “I had a meeting in Houston. An hour or so more didn’t seem too far.”

  John’s bare feet thudded on the stairs, forestalling the need for her reply. “Lanie, who was at the door?”

  He appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and she saw him through her father’s eyes—mussed dark hair, a shadow of stubble on his jaw, oft-washed Springsteen T-shirt, faded jeans with a hole in one pocket. A working-class Irish cop who knocked up the disappointing daughter and didn’t even bother to marry her.

  John paused, and she could see him measuring her father as well. “John,” she said, rising to her feet, “this is my father, Lucas Falconetti. John O’Reilly.”

  Her father stood, and the two men exchanged a brief handshake. Her legs trembling, Lanie sat again and tucked her feet under her. John joined her on the couch, and Lanie resisted the urge to move closer to him.

  Silence settled over the room. Lanie had never figured out the right things to say to the man who wished she’d never existed. During her teen years, she’d perfected the art of saying the wrong thing or refusing to speak at all. The familiar rebellious urge to stretch the silence sprang to life.

  Lucas crossed one ankle over his knee. “You’re feeling better, Elana?”

  Her fingernails cut into her palms. “I’m fine.”

  “Good, good.” Her father nodded. “Sheila has been good enough to keep me updated on your condition.”

  She supposed being able to say that made him feel better. From the corner of her eye, Lanie saw John’s hands clench on his knees. She shrugged. “You know Sheila. She likes to be helpful.”

  He nodded again, adjusting the cuff link at his left wrist. “She says the baby is healthy as well.”

  Maybe he reserved the famous subtlety for his business dealings. Aware of John’s increasing tension, Lanie eyed her father. “Yes.”

  “Does he have a name yet?” The first hint of real emotion flickered over Lucas’s face. Pride, Lanie thought. Resentful anger licked at her stomach.

  She tilted up her chin. “Brannigan McCall O’Reilly.”

  “I see.” Distaste curled Lucas’s full lower lip. The use of her mother’s maiden name hit home, she thought. What had he expected? Lucas Giovanni Falconetti II? For the first time, she was glad the baby bore John’s surname.

  “But we call him Sonny Buck.” A grin tugged at her mouth.

  Lucas’s mouth thinned. “I see you share your mother’s fondness for common nicknames.”

  Lanie narrowed her eyes at him, her temper sparking. “I always thought nicknames were a Falconetti tradition as well. When was the last time anyone referred to Vince as Vincenzo or Tony as Anthony?”

  “The boy deserves a name he can be proud of,” Lucas snapped.

  “Like yours?”

  “He has one.” John’s simultaneous words were quiet, cold, deadly. Palpable anger emanated from his tense body.

  With a deliberate gesture, Lucas straightened his tie. “I wouldn’t have been disappointed to have my first grandson named for me. I’m also more than willing to offer assistance while you get back on your feet, so to speak.”

  Suspicion nudged at Lanie. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Assistance?”

  “With your physical limitations, the demands of a newborn must be overwhelming. Carol and I would be more than happy to look after him during your recuperation.”

  They could kiss her sweet ass, too. Lanie bit back the words. Her baby in Carol’s clutches? Her stepmother made Caitlin at her coldest seem like tropical St. Tropez. She gritted her teeth. “John’s here to help me. We’re getting along fine, even with my limitations.”

  Irritation tightened Lucas’s face. “Elana, I can give him the best of everything—schools, opportunities, connections.”

  He still didn’t see. He thought money and all it provided was enough. When she spoke, her voice shook. “He has everything he needs right here.”

  Her father’s cold gaze flickered to John. “What kind of life can the two of you offer him? You couldn’t even be bothered to make him legitimate.”

  Hands clenched, John was on his feet before Lanie sensed him moving. “You need to leave.”

  Lucas didn’t move, a slight smile playing over his mouth. “This is my daughter’s house. I don’t believe you have the right to ask me to do anything.”

  John took a step forward, and Lanie scrambled to her feet. A hand on John’s arm, she glared at her father. “Well, your daughter is telling you to get the hell out. And don’t bother to come back.”

  He rose, cold anger glinting in his eyes. “You’ll regret this, Elana.”

  She laughed, feeling free of him for the first time ever. “Oh, sure I will. What are you going to do, shut me out of your life?”

  “Do not think you’ll be able to come to me for help later.”

  “I won’t. I don’t need you.” One hand still on John’s taut arm, she pointed to the foyer with the other. “You remember the way out, right?”

  With one last glare, he strode from the room, and moments later, the door clapped shut. Lanie darted a glance at Sonny Buck, but he slept on. Under her fingers, anger vibrated through John’s muscles. The same anger tightened his voice. “Is he always like that?”

  Her shaky laugh matched her suddenly weak legs. She clutched his arm for support. “Usually, he’s worse. You should have heard him when I told him I was becoming a cop and not going for a law degree.”

  “My God, what a bastard.” John jerked a hand through his tousled hair and smiled down at her. “You’re incredible, did you know that?”

  The affection glowing in his navy gaze set her nerves jangling. She dropped her hand from his arm, her fingertips still tingling from the contact. “He may be a bastard, but my mother loved him. God, did he make her pay for that. I don’t think he ever forgave me, either.”

  “Lanie, what are you talking about?”

  The surge of adrenaline faded. She moved closer to the bassinet, sadness clutching at her heart. In his sleep, Sonny Buck’s mouth moved in a suckling motion. She closed her eyes. “He was right, you know.”

  “What do you—”

  “He deserves better than us.” The yawning void of her childhood opened before her. She shuddered at the thought of her baby enduring that.

  “God, Lanie, don’t. Money isn’t everything. You know that.”

  “I’m not talking about money.” She sighed and opened her eyes, staring out at the glassy Gulf. With a shrug, she turn
ed to face him. “He deserved to come into something better than us. He deserved a real family.”

  “It’s not too late. We could make it better.” The naked pleading in his eyes made her stomach jump. “Lanie, I—”

  “No.” She shook her head, sadness curling around her heart. How could anything be salvaged from nothing? “I’m tired, and my head is killing me. I’m going to lie down for a while.”

  He didn’t reply, and she walked away. At the foot of the stairs, she turned and looked back. “John?”

  When he didn’t turn, she sighed. “For what it’s worth, you’re already a better father than he ever was.”

  A quiet, dismal air hung over the dinner table. Lanie picked at her food, pushing a green bean around her plate with her fork. Two months remained of John’s leave. She darted a look at him. “When are you going to start looking for a new place?”

  His head jerked up, and the look he shot her bordered on a glare. “I don’t know. Soon.”

  She stabbed a tine through the hapless vegetable. “I just know rentals can be tough to find sometimes. It might take a while.”

  “Tomorrow soon enough for you?” He lifted his glass in her direction.

  Sadness flowed through her. “John, I’m not trying to—”

  The doorbell pealed, cutting off her words. John pushed away from the table and tossed his napkin by his plate. “Can’t wait to see who that is.”

  Her appetite gone, Lanie laid her fork across her plate. She covered her face with her hands. They weren’t going to be able to do this. All they succeeded in doing was hurting each other.

  “Hey, gorgeous, how are you feeling?” A familiar male voice brought her head up. Casey McInvale, another detective from John’s precinct, grinned at her. She liked Casey, always had. He and his girlfriend had often joined her and John for Saturday morning tennis games.

  “I’m fine. How about you?” She rose as he came around the table to give her a swift hug. He pulled back, concern glinting in his brown eyes. “And how’s Lisa?”

  “She’s good. She wants to come see you, but didn’t want to wear you out with visitors just yet. She’s dying to see the baby.”

  Lanie smiled, the expression feeling tight and fake. “Tell her to come. I’d love to see her.”

  His grin widened. “I’ll do that.”

  Indicating the folders he held, Lanie stepped away. “Well, I know you didn’t come just to see me. I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “I was just dropping these off,” Casey explained. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at John. “John-boy’s got to be in court in a couple of weeks on the Vansant case. The DA wanted Beth to testify, but says he can settle for O’Reilly.”

  At the mention of Beth’s name, Lanie darted a glance at John’s face. She wondered how much of the whole sordid mess his colleagues knew. He met her gaze, his expression unreadable. Casey turned. “Have you heard from her? The guys have asked about her.”

  John shrugged, his gaze not leaving Lanie’s. “She’s settled in with her aunt in El Paso. Nicole’s having some trouble getting adjusted to school. That’s about it.”

  Everything inside Lanie shut down, and she averted her gaze. Why was she surprised he’d been in contact with Beth? Hell, nothing should surprise her anymore where he was concerned. The rest of Casey and John’s conversation went over her head, lost in the buzzing of her jumbled thoughts.

  The warmth of Casey’s quick embrace jerked her to awareness. “Take care,” he said. “I’ll tell Lisa to call before she comes.”

  While John walked his colleague to the door, she stood frozen, anger and hurt and betrayal rolling through her. Oh, yeah, it wasn’t too late. They could make things better. Deceitful rat. How stupid was she? She’d let his relationship with the baby blind her, let him begin worming his way under her defenses again.

  “Lanie.” The quiet firmness of his voice raised her anger to fury. “Stop it. It’s not like it sounds.”

  “Really?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “How does it sound, John?”

  “We’ve talked twice. Both times it was because of work, straightening out open and pending cases.”

  She stacked their plates and took them into the kitchen. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, remember? I don’t care what you do.”

  He followed. “Damn it, would you stop? It was two phone calls that didn’t mean anything.”

  A small, derisive snort escaped her. “Yeah, kind of like us having sex.”

  A hand on her shoulder, he pulled her around to face him. He lowered his head. “You think that? You think making love to you didn’t mean anything to me?”

  “I think I was an easy lay, a substitute for what you really wanted, and you got caught by a bad condom.” She dropped the words between them with deadly precision and watched him flinch. “Are you going to try to make me think differently?”

  “Maybe at first it was like that. But not later.”

  Her harsh laugh exploded between them. “And when did you figure that out? While you were asking for her when you woke up?”

  “No,” he snapped, his fingers a cruel clamp on her arms. “When I had to face the fact that you might die and I saw what I stood to lose.”

  She pushed down on the bend of his elbows, breaking his hold. Her fingers rubbed the aching skin where his fingers had been. “That’s the thing, O’Reilly. You can’t lose what you never really had. We didn’t have anything but sex and lust.”

  “Is that all you felt for me?” Quiet resignation lingered in his voice.

  “Yes,” she lied. His face paled, but her urge for self-preservation was strong. Having her father in her home had only underscored how close she came to treading her mother’s path.

  “I don’t believe you.” The words emerged on a raw whisper.

  “Well, that makes us even.” Her trembling hands clenched into fists, she walked away, leaving him standing in the kitchen, alone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Silence reigned in the house. Lanie lay in bed, watching the early morning sunlight play off the waves. None of them had slept much the night before. Although exhausted from wrestling with her emotions, Lanie found sleep elusive, and she heard John every time he got up with a fussy Sonny Buck. An hour before, she’d heard the rustle of sheets as he went back to bed after settling the baby.

  Hope wanted to spring eternal, but she insisted on squashing it. It whispered to her, telling her to remember the intensity in his voice when he’d talked about being afraid she’d die. It curled up in her, warming her, wanting her to see what the future would hold if she’d give him another chance.

  Reality said something different. Joined with anger and self-preservation, it cynically insisted that he couldn’t be trusted. Whenever hope dared to speak, reality laughed and told her to remember the desperation in his voice when he asked for Beth, not her.

  After a sleepless night, Lanie had dry, gritty eyes and the desire to be devoid of emotions. She wanted nothing—to feel nothing, to have a vast Arctic tundra where her heart lay.

  Her stomach rumbled, and she pushed away the covers. Physical needs she could handle. Coffee, a pain reliever for her aching head, and food. Barefoot, she padded down the hall, unable to resist a quick glance into the nursery. John slept on his side, back to the door.

  The polished wood floor was cool under her feet, and the aroma of coffee filled the downstairs. A cup and spoon sat in the kitchen sink beside one of Sonny Buck’s empty bottles. Lanie pulled down another mug. The morning paper lay in sections on the breakfast bar, and sipping her coffee, she climbed onto a stool.

  The folded classified rested on top. When she reached to push them aside, her hand stilled. Slashing red circles surrounded several ads for house and apartment rentals. The tiny newsprint blurred, and she blinked. What was wrong with her? She wanted him to move out.

  Footsteps on the stairs kicked her pulse up a notch. John strolled into the kitchen and poured a fresh cup of coffee. He didn’t speak,
but leaned around her to pick up the discarded classifieds. The faded scent of his soap, mingled with baby powder, invaded her senses. He dropped bread in the toaster and opened the newspaper with a snap.

  Silence and tension hovered in the room until Lanie couldn’t stand it any longer. “John, I—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Lanie.” The toast popped up, and she watched the play of muscles in his arms as he buttered it. “I’m looking for another place like you wanted, all right?”

  She wrapped her hands around her mug. “I think it’s for the best.”

  “Yeah.” He slid the toast in front of her and dropped two more slices of bread in the toaster. “We need to make arrangements for custody and visitation.”

  Her stomach dropped. She’d dreaded this conversation. “You know I wouldn’t ever keep him from you. He needs you.”

  He finally looked at her, and the dead expression in his navy gaze startled her. “Right now, I think he’s better off with me.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” she whispered. Suddenly, she was thirteen again, listening to her father’s cold voice telling her mother she was unfit. “No.”

  “I said right now. Not forever. I spent half the night thinking about this, Lanie. You can’t take care of him—”

  “Oh my God! You sound just like my father.” Anger washed through her in a wave, followed by guilt. God, even he saw what she lacked as a mother. “I can care for him. I may have to hire someone—”

  “I’m not having him shoved on strangers who don’t give a damn about him.” John’s jaw clenched in a stubborn line.

  Her harsh laugh exploded in the small room. “Listen to you. Three weeks ago, you didn’t give a damn about him.”

  “At least I give a damn now, which is more than you can say,” he snapped.

  The words hung between them, and she stared at him, her heart thudding. “What?”

  His face pale, he shook his head. Mug in hand, he made to walk out of the kitchen. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”