by Lisa Jackson
“It was just an observation.”
“What do you care?” she asked and the question hung between them like ice crystals gathering in the cold night air.
“I wish I knew,” he said, holding her close. “I wish to God that I knew.”
Headlights flashed and Vic’s old half-ton pickup rolled into the driveway. Travis dropped his arms, and Ronni, embarrassed though she didn’t really understand why, stepped away from him. She thought she saw a movement inside the house, a flutter of a curtain, but it could have been a trick of light combining with her hyperactive imagination.
Amy flew out of the truck, while Vic, careful of a bad knee he’d injured hauling wood a few years back, was a little slower. While Ronni carried in the stand, the two men wrestled with the tree and finally managed to get it upright without its leaning much. Bryan, though clearly loathe to admit he was interested, hobbled out of his room to watch the endeavor.
Spying his son, Travis said, “Don’t we have some fishing wire around here—heavy-duty stuff like twenty-pound test? Why don’t you see if you can find it, Bryan?”
“I’ll help,” Amy piped in.
Bryan, an unfriendly scowl set on his features, took off in the direction of the kitchen with Amy scampering after him. Travis located a ladder in a closet under the stairs and by the time the ladder was snapped open, Amy was dashing back, a spool of clear plastic fishing line in one hand. “We found it,” she announced and Bryan hobbled back into the room.
Vic steadied the ladder while Travis drove nails into the wall and anchored the uppermost branches. Ronni helped Vic hold the tree steady and noticed the way Travis’s sweater stretched upward as he pounded, allowing a glimpse of his flat abdominal muscles above the waistband of his jeans. He jammed the hammer into a back pocket and the faded denim slid lower. Ronni’s stomach tightened and she bit her lip. Hard, lean muscles moved as he pulled the fishing line taut.
Realizing she was staring, she dragged her gaze away only to find Bryan’s suspicious eyes fixed on her.
“You got Nintendo?” Amy was asking, obviously fascinated with him.
He didn’t bother to answer even when she repeated the question.
“That should do it,” Vic said, testing the stability of the tree. “I think one of Ronni’s fool horses could come stampeding through here, hit the tree and the thing would still stand.”
“Oh, right,” Ronni said, grinning.
“Good.” Travis hopped to the floor
“I’d better be shoving off.” Vic eyed the tree and nodded to himself. “Shelly will be startin’ to worry.”
“Let me pay you for your trouble,” Travis offered and was rewarded by a sharp look from Shelly’s husband.
“It was part of the deal.”
“Then, how about a drink? Or a cup of coffee.”
“Another time, maybe, but now I’d better get home before the twins are in bed.” He squared his hat upon his head and Travis extended his hand.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I think we should be leaving, too,” Ronni interjected as she caught her daughter, still pestering Bryan as she tried to hide a yawn.
“Nooo!” Amy protested. “We gots to put the lights on the tree.”
“Not tonight, kiddo. It’s waaaay past your bedtime.” And Ronni didn’t want to spend any more time close to Travis. Not until she’d sorted out the jumble of emotions that being around him evoked.
“But we have to—”
“She could sleep in one of the guest rooms,” Travis offered, his eyes suddenly dark and serious, his voice soft as a caress. Ronni’s heart kicked into third gear.
“But I’m not tired!” Amy said.
“I think it would be better to get her home.” For her, for Bryan and especially for me, she added silently as she searched for her purse and jacket.
“So you’re abandoning us to this mess?”
“We’ll come back and help,” she said, finding her leather bag near the fireplace.
“We can handle it.” Bryan was still glaring at her as if she were the embodiment of all things evil. She didn’t have to ask why he’d suddenly turned on her; obviously, he had watched his father kissing her on the porch. No one else had been home and the curtains had moved. So Bryan had seen them embracing, which was difficult for any teenager, and Bryan was going through a rough enough time as it was. Between the move and his mother’s demands, the last thing he needed was his father to be distracted by another woman.
Travis didn’t seem to hear his son. “How about tomorrow evening?” he suggested. “And this time, Bryan and I will cook dinner.”
“Oh, brother,” Bryan said, rolling his eyes.
“Can we?” Amy, finally accepting the fact that her mother wasn’t about to budge on her decision to return home, jumped all over the suggestion.
Ronni hesitated for a second, but when her eyes found Travis’s again, she managed a smile. “Sure,” she replied. “Why not?”
There had to be a million reasons—a million good, sound reasons—but at that moment, staring into Travis’s eyes, Ronni couldn’t think of one.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“OH, JANICE, THEY’RE adorable,” Ronni said, stepping closer to the pen and eyeing seven wiggling puppies. Six weeks old with bright eyes, wagging tails and high-pitched yips, they scrambled over one another in an eager attempt to reach her. Some brown, others black, still others with gray-and-white markings on their fuzzy coats, they staggered on unsure legs across old newspapers that had been spread across the floor of the Petrocellis’ garage.
“We’re not really sure what they are exactly,” Janice admitted, running fingers through her spiky blond hair. As she moved her hand, her bracelets jangled, causing more excited yips. “I’m afraid they may have had more than one dad—that’s possible, you know.” A heater in the corner kept the shell of a room warm enough for the inhabitants of the huge pen. “Our Fangette, here,” she said, motioning to the tired-looking mother dog, “she’s part German shepherd, Lab and golden retriever, and a sweetheart, aren’t you, baby?”
She patted Fangette’s wide head and was rewarded with a sloppy pink tongue washing her palm. “She escaped once while she was in heat and this is the result. Seven of ’em, five males and two females. Near as I can tell, some of them look like they have some husky blood in them—see the ones with the curly tails and white markings—and the others could be anything. I don’t think Fangette was particularly discriminating—kind of like some women I’ve met.” She chuckled to herself.
“Well, she certainly ended up with some beguiling pups,” Ronni said.
“Her first and last litter, believe me. We’re going to get Fangette fixed pronto. It’s not easy finding homes for these little guys.”
Ronni petted all the eager, upturned faces, watching little curly tails whip with excitement. One brown puppy with black-tipped ears was the most playful of the bunch. She growled and lunged at her brothers and sister and the spark of devilment in her eyes touched Ronni. “This one,” she said, picking up the wiggling bundle of fur. “Will you keep her until Christmas Eve? She’ll be a surprise for my daughter.”
“Will do.” Janice seemed relieved to have found an owner. “Just hold her there a minute.” She walked to a cabinet, opened the cupboard door, and amidst the fertilizer, insect spray and camping equipment, found a bottle of red nail polish. “I’ll paint her toenail so that we don’t give her away to anyone else by mistake.”
The puppy licked the underside of Ronni’s chin.
“Hold her still.” Janice applied a dab of quick-drying polish and then blew on the tiny foot. “There ya go, darlin’,” she said to the pup, and reluctantly, Ronni placed the little dog back in the pen with her brothers and sister. “One down, six to go. If you hear of
anyone else interested in a puppy, please tell them about Fangette’s litter.”
“I will,” Ronni promised and cast one last look at the puppy who was happily chewing on one of her brothers’ ears. Smiling, she headed to the van. Amy would be in seventh heaven when she found the furry little pup under the tree on Christmas morning.
* * *
Travis had cut his teeth on tough negotiations. When he was expanding his business, buying out smaller corporations, dealing with union officials, talking to lawyers, accountants and sales representatives from all walks of life, he’d prided himself on his ability to usually, through minimal concessions, get his way.
But bargaining with Bryan was more difficult than anything he’d ever been through. Because his heart was involved. Because he cared. Because if he messed up with his son’s life, he would never get a second chance. And the kid seemed to sense it.
They sat on the floor of Bryan’s room amidst the clutter of compact discs, magazines, baseball cards and clothes, staring at each other as if they were mortal enemies. Travis leaned against the bed for support, Bryan sat cross-legged and was sorting through a stack of baseball cards that he hadn’t looked at in over two years.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Travis said, feeling manipulated by his own adolescent son. “You’re willing to give up this idea of moving to France if you can spend a weekend with Martin in Seattle?”
“That’s it.” Bryan’s defiant eyes met his father’s. Daring. Challenging.
“One weekend for the rest of your life.”
“Yeah.” He shoved the baseball cards aside.
“I don’t think so.”
“Fine.” Stretching out on the floor and leaning on one elbow, he said, “Then I’m going to live with Mom.”
“In a pig’s eye. You’d no sooner get over there and you’d be on the phone to come home. You tried living with your mother once before, remember?”
“That was different.”
“Yeah, she still lived in Seattle and you could see your friends anytime you wanted. You went to the old school, lived in our house. It still didn’t work out.”
“Thing’s have changed,” Bryan argued glumly.
“That’s right.” Travis drove the point home, even though it was bound to hurt a little. “Now your mother’s in a foreign country and you wouldn’t know anyone there. You’d be isolated in some American school, if you were lucky, and get to hobnob with the sons and daughters of diplomats and the like. You think life here is hard, just you wait.”
Bryan’s lips rolled over his teeth and he stared at the floor. Travis gambled. “But if it’s what you really want, if you think you’d be happier in Paris, then go. With my blessing. Just remember two things.”
“What?”
“First and foremost, I don’t want you to go. I want you to live with me.” He stared at his son long and hard. “I love you, Bryan, and even if it’s not a guy thing to say, I want you to know it.”
A growl of disbelief.
“Now the second thing, and it’s important, too.” He folded his arms over his chest. “If you decide to go to France, then you can’t come back until summer. You’ve got to learn to commit, sport, and if you want to live with Sylvia, then you can’t play this same game over there that you’re playing with me now. You can’t use me, or living with me, as a bargaining chip to get what you want from her, because even though your mother might buy into that kind of blackmail, I don’t.”
Bryan drew his finger in a circle on the faded carpet. “Then you’re a liar, right. If you really loved me—”
“I’d do exactly what I’m doing because it’s the best thing for you and that’s what matters.”
“Bull!”
“I guess you don’t understand, Bry. When you love someone, really care for them, you don’t use that love as a weapon, or a wedge, or a trump card. You don’t use it against them at all. It’s a gift.”
“Geez, Travis, listen to yourself! Talk about sounding hokey! All you need is a pulpit and you could open your own church.” His finger quit moving on the carpet. “You never were this way before.”
“I know.” Travis picked up a barbell and wrapped his fingers around the cool metal. “I’m trying to fix that.”
“If you ask me, you’re getting weird. What happened to you?”
“I looked in the mirror one day and didn’t like what I saw.” Travis lifted the weight over his head.
“Oh, sure. It didn’t have anything to do with Mom deciding to ‘find herself’ or whatever it is she thinks she’s doing.”
“It happened about the same time.”
Bryan chewed on his lower lip a second, then he raised his eyes and pinned his father in his troubled gaze. “You ever gonna get married again?”
“Me? No,” he said quickly. Then the image of Ronni’s upturned face, her lips parted, her brown eyes warm and inviting chased through his mind, and for the first time in years, he doubted himself. “At least I don’t have any immediate plans.”
“You’re sure?”
“Why?”
“No reason,” he said quickly, then added, “Me neither. I’m never getting married!”
“You’re a little young to be saying that.”
“Yeah, but girls are trouble.”
“I think that’s what makes them so damned fascinating.” He transferred the barbell to his other hand and started a series of repetitions.
“What about you and that Ronni?” Bryan asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
The muscles in the back of Travis’s neck tensed. “What about us?”
“She seems to like you a lot.”
“We’re friends.” Liar! It’s more than that. Much more. Even Bryan’s picked up on it. “I barely know her.”
“Her kid’s a pain.”
“Amy?”
“Yeah. Always askin’ questions and gettin’ into my stuff! Messin’ it up.”
“How can you tell?” Travis asked, eyeballing the clutter that was strewn everywhere. Bryan’s bedroom looked like a cyclone had stormed through, turned around, decided enough damage hadn’t been done and swept back the way it had come. But Travis wasn’t riding him about the mess. At least not yet. There were bigger, more important issues to deal with. Until his son was off crutches, in school, had made some new friends and felt more comfortable living in Cascadia, Travis had decided not to sweat the little things, such as a messy room.
“I can tell, okay? The kid was only here a few hours and most of the time stayed out of my way, but boy, when she was in here, she trashed the place. She bugs me.”
“She’s only four.”
“Well, she can be four someplace else.”
“Not tonight. They’re coming over. We’re cooking.”
“You and me? I thought that was just a joke.”
Travis rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then lifted his hand solemnly, as if he were about to take the most important oath of his life. “I swear on my honor. It’s the truth.”
With a sound of disgust, Bryan flopped onto the floor and stared at the ceiling. “Well, that’s great, Dad. Just…just great.”
“You don’t know the half of it. We’re going to barbecue.”
“What?” Bryan glanced to the window where snow was settling against the lower panes. “It’s freezing outside.”
“We’ve got pretty big porches.”
“But—but you barbecue for the Fourth of July or…what’s wrong with you?” Bryan stared at his father as if he’d completely lost his mind, and Travis couldn’t really blame him. The idea of a barbecue had just popped into his head.
“I don’t even think you can do it in the winter,” Bryan said. “It must be against the law or somethin’.”
“They cook outside up at the lo
dge on Mount Echo all the time.”
Bryan leveled his father a look that silently called him a lunatic, but he held his tongue.
“It’s going to be fun,” Travis assured him.
“Since when do you care about fun?”
Good question. For years he’d avoided any activity that wasn’t business-related, including seeking out a good time. He’d been single-minded and with only serious purposes in mind. “Since I decided that living inside a boardroom was a waste of time—mine and yours. So this is the start, and we’re going to do a lot of fun things in the future.”
“Like what?”
“Camping, trail riding, fly fishing, maybe even mountain climbing.” Travis set the weight down and climbed to his feet. “Now, I’d better go locate some charcoal and a grill in the middle of winter in Cascadia.”
“While you’re at it, you might try to find the rest of your brain,” Bryan said, but there was a twinkle in his eye that Travis hadn’t seen for weeks.
“Very funny. You coming?”
“I don’t know why,” Bryan grumbled, but grabbed his crutches, propped them against the bed and struggled to his feet. He followed his father to the hallway and as Travis checked to make sure he had his keys, his son asked, “Hey, Dad, what are the symptoms of a guy who’s going through a second childhood?”
* * *
“I don’t want to be a wise man,” Kurt announced, crossing his arms over his chest as Ronni, on her knees in the dining area of her house, tried to adjust the hem of his costume. “They’re dorks.”
“Stand still,” Shelly ordered around a mouth of pins. “And remember that the wise men were not dorks. They were very important kings. That’s right, isn’t it?” she asked Ronni. “Kings, right?”
“I think so.”
“Well, dressing in towels is dorky,” Kurt stated emphatically. The costume, cut from two old striped beach blankets, draped over his body and touched the floor.
“How about sheets?” Kent twirled, sending his shepherd outfit of muslin billowing. “That’s dorky, too.”
“They didn’t have malls back then, or big department stores,” Shelly said as she made a final tuck in one sleeve. “This will have to do.”
