Turn My World Upside Down: Jo's Story

by Maureen Child

  “I bring food, Josefina, now you eat,” Nana said, reaching into the wicker picnic basket she’d insisted on bringing along to Jack’s baseball game.

  The field behind St. Joseph’s elementary school hadn’t changed much since the days Jo and her sisters had gone there. The grass was still more brown than green and the chain-link backstop had enough holes in it to be practically worthless. But it had never really mattered what it looked like. The important thing about a baseball field was how it felt.

  Like summer.

  “Josefina, you no eat, you no stay strong.” Nana’s lips thinned into a stubborn slash and her dark brown eyes narrowed. A cold wind rushed past them, but Nana’s sausage curls were sprayed solid enough to withstand a hurricane. The hem of her black dress fluttered around her bony legs and the scent of White Shoulders took Jo right back to her childhood.

  “Not really hungry, Nana,” Jo answered, ignoring Nana’s exasperated sigh as she shifted her gaze to the little boy in the dugout. If she wasn’t still a little pissy at God, she might think of whispering a quick prayer that the kid did well.

  Geez.

  How did parents do this?

  How did they let their kids go out and take the chance of failure? Of disappointment.

  And when did she get so invested in a little boy she hadn’t known existed a year ago?

  Her own stomach was in knots.

  A feeling apparently not shared by the rest of her family.

  “I’ll take a sandwich, Nana,” Lucas said, leaning over to stretch out a hand across Jo. “Gotta eat quick and get back to Mike. It’s killing her that she can’t be here, and when she’s upset, she eats.” He shrugged. “Kitchen’s probably empty by now.”

  Happy, Nana reached into the basket for wax-paper-wrapped food. “You wanna sausage? Or maybe peppers and cheese? Or fresh salami and provolone?”

  With the lid of the basket up, mouthwatering scents poured out into the fresh air and had everyone in the bleachers leaning in close.

  Lucas inhaled deeply and sighed, “I’ll take sausage, Nana, thanks.”

  “Make mine peppers,” Jeff said, making the old woman smile like a kid at Christmas.

  “And you, Samantha,” Nana said, pulling another sandwich made on thick Italian bread out of the basket. “You no eat enough. Think of your bambino. Mangia.”

  “No, thanks, Nana,” she said tightly. “I’ll just sit here and groan quietly.”

  Nana muttered something in Italian, then turned around and invited the rest of the bleachers to dig into the bottomless basket of food. Eagerly, they leaped at her. Most people bought hot dogs at a ball game. Or at the most, they brought cookies and a thermos or something. Not Nana. She’d packed enough food for a week’s stay. Plus she had jugs of Kool-Aid for the kids and iced tea for the adults.

  Nana’d never met a crowd she didn’t want to force-feed. As she dug into the bottomless basket again and again, Jo watched, amazed. Cannoli, lined up like sugar-dusted tin soldiers in a Tupperware container, were snatched up as fast as Nana unloaded them. There was cheese and bread, homemade chocolate chip cookies, and even a tray of cold veggies and spinach dip.

  Baseball fans forgot about the game and got down to some serious scarfing.

  “God,” Sam whimpered, “did she have to use so much garlic in the spinach dip?”

  “Whining?” Jo asked, pushing her knee gently into Sam’s back.

  “Not whining,” she said, with a quick look over her shoulder. “Just saying.”

  “Right.” It had been four days since their little chat, and to give her sister her due, Sam had really made an effort to cut back on all the complaining.

  “Josefina,” Nana said, huffing a little under her breath, “you no eat enough. You have some antipasto.” She pulled out another Tupperware container the size of Delaware and snapped open the lid to release the mingled scent of garlic, basil, and just a touch of rosemary. Olive oil lay drizzled across broccoli tops, cauliflower, snap peas, and green and red bell peppers, cut into crunchy rounds.

  Sam moaned and scooted down another row in the bleachers.

  “Honey?” Jeff called. “You okay?”

  Sam waved, Jo chuckled and dipped one hand into the tub for a piece of seasoned cauliflower. God knew if she didn’t eat something, Nana would never give up.

  “Is no enough.” Nana clucked her tongue and passed the Tupperware down to Jeff and Lucas, who dug in like they were contestants on Survivor.

  “I’m not hungry,” Jo reminded her, dutifully chewing the vegetable.

  “Is not good for you. This diet alla time. You are too skinny. One day,” Nana foretold, wagging one finger at the sky as if calling down the heavens, “you will blow away, pfft!”

  “I’m not skinny, and I’m not on a diet,” Jo argued, but her heart wasn’t in it. Instead, she had her gaze focused on the field where nine little boys were hustling out in their tattered jeans and worn sneakers to take their positions.

  The sun glinted off a camera lens and she had to prop one hand over her eyes to see Jack, running out to right field. Her heart sputtered a little as she worried about him being able to play. This meant so much to him, and she knew if he screwed up, he’d be desolate. God, why was it easier to fail yourself than it was to watch someone you cared about do it?

  “Josefina, your young man issa here.”

  “Huh?” She turned to look at Nana. “What?”

  “There. Such a nicea boy.”

  Cash Hunter. Nicea boy? Not really. Nicea-looking boy, er, man? Oh yeah.

  Lucas snorted and Jo stiffened, scowling at him ferociously. Instantly, he sobered up, and she had to admit that Mike was doing a hell of a job training him.

  “New man, Jo?” Jeff asked, nudging her ribs with his elbow.

  “Watch it, Weasel Dog,” she muttered, gaze locked on Cash as he ambled toward the bleachers.

  “Dog? Who issa dog?” Nana asked, her voice hitting a note designed to split eardrums.

  “Ah crap,” Jeff muttered.

  “Nana, can I have a cookie?” Emma crawled across her father, then Jo, to reach the promised land of Nana’s lap.

  “Pretty girls get two,” Nana said, delving back into the basket that Jo was beginning to think of as just a little magical.

  “Hi, Cash,” Sam called out, and Jo thought about throwing a piece of cauliflower at the back of her sister’s head. “Come on over.”

  Jo shifted her gaze to Tall, Dark, and Devastating. He strolled toward the bleachers like a man with all the time in the world. He was a walking testament to testosterone. Seriously. Black hair, ruffled by the wind. Black T-shirt, faded jeans, and those cowboy boots that looked as scuffed as if he’d been out on the range for decades.

  Damned if Jo’s heart didn’t pound a little harder.

  He stopped at the bottom of the bleachers and grinned up at her. Even from a distance, that smile was a hell of a weapon. And brother, he knew how to use it.

  It had been four days since she’d seen him. And four even longer nights. God, it was a wonder she could maneuver at all during the day with the way dreams of Cash kept her waking up in a state of hunger so bad she shook with it.

  “Come,” Nana called, waving one hand while she kept the other arm wrapped firmly around Emma. “Come, eat.”

  “Nana,” Jo said tightly, “maybe Cash doesn’t want to—”

  “Sure he does.” Cash interrupted her and stepped up onto the bleachers, stalking up until he was seated right behind Jo.

  Nana batted Jo’s arm with her bony fingers and said, “Is good he wants to spend time with the famiglia. Josefina, get your young man something to eat.”

  Cash grinned at her again, clearly enjoying the whole show. But then, so were her brothers-in-law. And now that she felt the first flutters of irritation sputtering to life inside her, it was hard to remember waking up hungry for him in the middle of the night.

  When the first pitch was thrown, the crowd concentrated on the game. Jo took the
opportunity to half turn around and whisper, “What’re you doing here?”

  Cash shrugged and peeked inside the magic basket. At Nana’s benevolent nod, he snatched up a wax-paper-wrapped sandwich and opened it. “Promised Jack I’d come.”

  “He didn’t tell me he invited you.”

  “Any reason why he should have to?”

  “No,” she admitted, but she damn sure wished Jack had given her some warning. A hard smack of a bat on a ball had her head whipping around. She followed the hard-hit ball into left center field and let out a sigh of relief that Jack hadn’t been responsible for fielding it.

  Then turning back to Cash, she said, “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  His features tightened before he made a deliberate effort to relax them. “Been busy.”

  Why that should make her mad, she didn’t know. But he’d been avoiding her and she didn’t like it. Sure, she hadn’t much liked it when every time she turned around, she’d practically tripped over him, either. But damn it, she was supposed to be the one doing the avoiding.

  He was the one who was supposed to do the flirting, play the little games he was so damn good at. The man was a maestro of seduction. Why the hell wasn’t he trying to seduce her?

  What? Was there something wrong with her? She wasn’t good enough?

  Frowning, she clapped hard as the second baseman fielded an easy base hit and threw the runner out at first.

  She shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat and actually felt Cash sitting behind her. His knees brushed against her back and she fought the rush of something hot and steady pumping through her. She wouldn’t look back. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of speaking first. Not again, anyway. For God’s sake, was she hideous? Had she all of a sudden become grotesque?

  He wasn’t interested, huh?

  Well, fine.

  Neither was she.

  Her body tingled in direct contrast to her thoughts. Damn it. Of course she was interested. What? Was she dead? And now that she thought about it, she was pretty sure even a dead woman would sit up and take notice of Cash Hunter, the bastard.

  Another batter stepped up to the plate, caught the first pitch and hit it high and right. Jo stood up slowly, her gaze locked on that ball as if, just by concentrating, she could guide the damn thing safely to Jack’s mitt.

  She sucked in a breath and held it.

  Cash’s hand came down on her shoulder.

  Heat rushed through her.

  Jack ran back, back.

  Around her, she heard the collective intake of breath and knew her family was concentrating as hard as she was.

  The ball fell from its sky-high arc and plummeted like a bullet toward earth. Jack ran, his usual clumsiness gone in the excitement of the moment. He held out both hands for the ball, still running, running, and then suddenly, slam.

  The ball hit his glove, and his free hand trapped it within, just as she and Cash had shown him. He’d made the third out with no trouble at all. Jo hooted and shouted, jumping up and down on the narrow wood plank, high-fiving her brothers-in-law, and then planting a quick hard kiss on Nana’s papery cheek. Adrenaline kicking, pulse pounding, she turned around to look at Cash and read the same rush she was feeling flashing in his eyes.

  She wasn’t sure how it happened.

  Did she go up on her toes?

  Did he bend down to her?

  Did it matter?

  One minute she was breathing, the next, his mouth was locked on hers and air was a secondary consideration. Her head spun, her blood raced, and as if from a distance, she heard the cheers from the rest of the crowd. In the celebration of the moment, he pulled her hard against him, and took her mouth like Grant took Richmond. Like Mike took a shoe sale. Like . . . hell, who cared?

  Then he let her go abruptly, as if she were on fire or something and, hey, maybe she was. Her head was buzzing and she swayed unsteadily for a long second or two. Then she blinked hard, shook her head to clear her vision, and wobbily turned to watch her little brother.

  Holding the ball high, Jack raced in from the field triumphant, and Jo would have sworn she could read by the light shining in his eyes. Applause burst out around them like fireworks on the Fourth and Jack’s grin was as wide as the sky as his team filed into the dugout to take their turn at bat.

  Still revved, lips still humming, Jo turned around to look up at him, and his gaze locked with hers with a powerful slam of something hot and steamy and overpowering.

  “He did it,” she said, after swallowing a knot of something unexpected lodged in her throat.

  “Never doubted it,” Cash said tightly, jamming both hands into his jeans pockets as if to keep himself from touching her again.

  That’s fine. He didn’t need to touch her again. She’d already gotten her bright idea. “I think we should talk.”

  His eyes narrowed and she felt him take an emotional step back. “After the game.”

  Jo inhaled sharply, deeply, then nodded. She’d waited this long. She could wait eight more innings. “After the game.”

  Cash tried to slip out after the game.

  Get away clean before Josefina could arrange for the little talk she wanted. But there was no getting away. Not while Jack wanted to recount every play, every victory. Not while the rest of the Marconis closed around him, drawing him into the center of their lives, their world. Making him a part of the celebration as he’d never been before.

  He glanced from one to the other of them and wondered if any of them had ever stopped to realize just what they had in each other. Probably not. People who grew up with love, with family, rarely appreciated it. It was just . . . there. Like air.

  But for a man too much alone, it was impossible to turn away from it.

  Even when he knew he should.

  Since his father’s unexpected visit, Cash had purposely kept his distance from Jo. He’d felt too . . . raw. Too close to the edge of a precipice he’d stepped away from years ago. He’d hidden out in the workshop. Buried himself in the work that had always been his salvation. Hell, he’d even avoided the kid. But he couldn’t bring himself to break his promise to attend the boy’s first game.

  Now he’d kissed Josefina and the hole he’d been digging for himself had gotten a hell of a lot deeper. He couldn’t afford to care. Couldn’t indulge himself in affection that would only lead to disaster.

  “Come, come,” Nana announced, her high, thin voice cutting through the rush of conversation. “We go home now. Issa time for supper.” She laid one gnarled hand on Jack’s shoulder, then shot a look at Cash. Her wide brown eyes shone at him. “You come witha Josefina. We have gnocchi.”

  Tempting. “Thanks, but—”

  Nana had already turned around, marching steadily toward the parking lot. “You havea supper with the famiglia. Issa good.”

  With shrugs and smiles, the rest of the Marconis fell into step behind the matriarch, leaving Jo and Cash alone on the empty field.

  “Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to come,” she said, before he could find an excuse to blow off the invitation. “Nana’s just used to giving orders.”

  “You take after her, then?”

  Jo’s lips twitched. “Strong women run in my family.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “I’ve been noticing a couple things, too,” she said, and glanced around as if to assure herself that they really were alone on the deserted playing field. When she looked back at him, she said, “For instance, I noticed that you’re a pretty good kisser.”

  One eyebrow lifted and he knew he should head her off at the pass before she said any more. It’d be better for both of them if they just forgot all about that one little slip. Right. He still had the taste of her in his mouth and a sharp jab of hunger reminded him that they were all alone and one more kiss wouldn’t be such a big deal.

  “And?” he asked.

  “And,” she said, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her neatly pressed jeans. “I don’t actuall
y hate you.”

  “I’m touched,” he said wryly, and had the satisfaction of seeing her grimace.

  “Anyway,” she continued a heartbeat later, “like I said, that kiss was pretty good, so I was thinking that we should probably just have sex and get it over with.”

  He blinked at her. Damned if she didn’t always find a way to surprise him. She stood there with that ponytail swinging, staring up at him through clear, sharp blue eyes, and invited him into her bed like another woman would say “Let’s go shopping.”

  Everything in him yearned to grab her. Pull her close and devour her mouth again. To sink into the heat of her. Feel her legs wrap around him, drawing him deep.

  And a second later, those images splintered and he snatched at reality.

  “No.”

  “We could meet at your place and—what?”

  “I said no, thanks,” he repeated, though it cost him. Sleeping with her would be the easy thing to do. And maybe, in the long run, the safest. If they spent the night together, Jo would leave. He’d lose her. Lose the time they spent together. Lose hearing her laugh or snarl or bitch. Lose seeing her on job sites. Lose even the dream of her.

  And he wasn’t ready for that loss just yet.

  “Why the hell not?” she demanded, jerking her hands from her pockets to slam them onto her hips. “You want me. I know you do. You kissed me.”

  From the parking lot came the muted roars of engines firing up, cars pulling away. In the distance, the ocean rushed to shore, sending a rhythmic heartbeat of sound reverberating through Chandler.

  “Didn’t say I didn’t want you,” he said tightly.

  “Well, then, what’s the big deal?” She threw her hands wide and let them slap to her sides again.

  “If we have sex, you’ll leave,” he said flatly. Though it cost him some to admit the truth, he gave it to her. “I’m not ready for you to go.”

  Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Taking a half-step back, she stared at him in stupefied shock. “Are you kidding me?”

  He shrugged off her anger. “You know what happens to the women I sleep with, Jo. Hell, you gave me enough shit about it last year.”