by Judy Duarte
Joe had a compulsion to tell the man to go to hell. But he didn’t. They had straightened things out eight years ago, when Kristin’s father had come looking for Joe at the foster home in which he’d lived.
The arrogant businessman had offered Joe five thousand dollars to stay away from Kristin.
“That’s more cash than you’ll earn in a year working part-time at the car wash,” her father had reminded him.
And it had been. That kind of money would have made working his way through school a lot easier, but Joe Davenport couldn’t be bought. And he wasn’t about to give up Kristin for anything or anyone. She’d been the best thing that had ever happened to him back then. And he’d loved her.
Much to the old man’s chagrin, Joe had refused the financial offer.
Reynolds had grown red in the face and bellowed out a threat to pull strings and make sure Joe ended up doing the time he should have spent when he’d burned down that neglected warehouse.
But the angry threat hadn’t made Joe flinch.
Sure, the thought of going to a juvenile detention facility had been a little unnerving, but the man’s temper hadn’t bothered Joe a bit.
Hell, he’d learned to stand tall during his own father’s drug-induced rages without caving in. And even as irate as Thomas Reynolds had been, he couldn’t hold a candle to Frank Davenport—not when it came to cursing, a red-eyed glare and a stone-cold fist.
But Kristin’s dad had used an unexpected weapon when he pelted Joe with the truth.
My daughter is an honor student and college-bound, but her grades have slacked and she’s ready to throw it all away.
Kristin had been one of the brightest girls in school. And she’d had the world at her fingertips. Joe hadn’t known she’d let her grades slip while they were dating. He’d struggled to work at the car wash in Bayside and maintain a decent GPA, since he had no other way to attend college and support himself.
My daughter never lied to me before, never snuck around behind my back. And now look at her.
Joe hadn’t known that Kristin had deceived her dad, nor had he known that she had to sneak out of the house in order to see him.
Do you want to drag her down to your old man’s level?
That was the last thing Joe had wanted to do. Hell, he’d been trying his best to break free of his old man’s sleazy shadow as it was.
My daughter deserves someone better than the son of a convicted drug dealer who won’t amount to anything. You don’t have a pot to pee in or a window to throw it out of.
And Thomas Reynolds had been right. Pretty Kristin had deserved more than what Joe could offer her.
Back then.
And maybe even now.
But Bobby was another story.
“I’m not sure if Kristin mentioned it,” Joe told Reynolds, “but your grandson was responsible for that fire in the lot near your house.”
The old man snorted. “I heard about it. And I suppose, under the circumstances, it makes you feel good to think Bobby set a fire. But it wasn’t deliberate. Not like a case of arson that burned down my warehouse and threatened an entire city block. Your teenage prank cost me nearly a hundred thousand dollars.”
That was a line of bull. The fire, although a huge mistake on Joe’s part, hadn’t been a prank. And the insurance company had paid the damages.
Of course, it had cost Thomas Reynolds plenty—if the nasty blemish on his reputation as a conscientious property owner and businessman counted.
Joe tensed his jaw and bit back the words he wanted to throw at Kristin’s father. If the hardened older man had gotten his way, Joe would have spent the bulk of his teen years in a juvenile work camp.
During the court hearing, Reynolds had referred to Joe with disdain, calling him, “That Davenport kid.”
How would the old man react when he learned that the grandson he’d bounced upon his knee and taught to play chess was a chip off the old Davenport block?
A rebellious sense of pleasure tickled at Joe’s lips, but he remembered the promise he’d made Kristin—an agreement he meant to keep, in spite of his rising temper. “I’m sorry for setting that fire and the trouble it caused you, Mr. Reynolds. But believe it or not, it wasn’t an attempt to burn down your building.”
As a desperate fourteen-year-old, Joe had made what he thought was a last-ditch effort to get his dad to quit dealing drugs and enter rehab. Harry and the attorney friend he’d asked to defend Joe had brought that up in court. But apparently, Thomas Reynolds hadn’t accepted the excuse.
“Humph. I imagine your old man wasn’t too pleased with the attention that damned fire rained down on him, either. How’s he doing these days?”
Joe knew what Reynolds was up to. He was reminding Joe of his low-life roots.
“My father’s dead,” Joe said, although he could have added that his old man died in a prison fight five years ago. But he kept that to himself. Kristin’s old man probably knew how Frank Davenport lost his sorry life; it was in the newspaper.
And if he didn’t?
Then Thomas Reynolds didn’t need any more ammo in his war with the Davenports.
“That’s a shame,” Reynolds said without any sign of emotion.
Joe shook off the older man’s false sentiment and fought the compulsion to defend himself against the charges one more time. To say that he was a firefighter, a homeowner and a contributing member of the community.
Hell, he could even point out that he’d received a commendation for bravery in the line of duty last year by risking his life when he entered a burning apartment and rescued a young mother and her newborn baby.
But what was the point?
When Thomas Reynolds looked at Joe Davenport, he only saw an angry delinquent, a teenager who’d caused him a great deal of embarrassment and trouble. A kid he was still trying to get back at.
Joe changed the subject. “I’ve talked to Bobby about the dangers of playing with fire.”
“No need to bother. I’ll take care of getting that message across to my grandson.” The old man cleared his throat. “I hope your chat with my daughter has nothing to do with trying to stir up an old teenage infatuation. She’s engaged and looking forward to a respectable marriage with a world-renowned doctor who can offer her a bright, trouble-free future. I’d hate to think you might try to put a damper on her happiness.”
“I wouldn’t think of it. Just tell Kristin I called.”
“Sure.” The cool, curt tone of the old man’s voice indicated he hadn’t really heard a word Joe said. Nor had his disdain eased in the past eight years. “What’s this regarding?”
Joe had half a notion to make a retort, to set Reynolds straight. But before he could open his mouth for any kind of response, a hacking cough sounded over the telephone line, making it hard for the old man to catch his breath.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m…” Reynolds wheezed, sputtered and coughed again. “I’m fine.”
Joe kept his mouth shut—hard as it was—and kept his promise to keep Kristin’s secret until Thomas Reynolds had bypass surgery.
“Please have Kristin call me,” Joe said. Then realizing the old man might conveniently forget to pass on the message, he added, “On second thought, I’ll just call back later.”
“No need for that. I’ll tell her.” Then Kristin’s old man hung up.
Joe held the receiver in his hand, long after the line disconnected.
Surprisingly enough, Kristin did return his call—about ten minutes later.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“We need to talk. About Bobby. And other things.”
“I know.” She paused momentarily.
“And we need to talk in person,” Joe added.
“You’re right. There are a few things I’d like to discuss, too.”
He wasn’t about to be put off any longer than necessary. “When? Today?”
Again, she paused. “Yes. I can come by your place now, if you’ll give me
time to put my groceries away.”
“You got it.” Joe hung up the phone, ready to tackle all kinds of things—like regular visits with his son. And a biological dad’s role in a child’s life. And having Kristin tell Dr. Know-It-All to back off when it came to dispensing unwelcome parental advice.
Then, when it was all said and done, they could discuss telling Thomas Reynolds he’d better get used to having a Davenport in his family.
Make that two, since Joe was determined to stay involved in his son’s life.
When Kristin returned from the bedroom, where she’d placed the call to Joe, her father looked up from his spot next to Bobby on the living room sofa. A cartoon movie entertained the child, but her father’s interest was obviously in the conversation she’d had with the fireman.
His gaze drifted to the purse she carried. “Where are you going?”
If she told him she was on her way to see Joe, she’d get an argument—one that could send the poor man’s blood pressure skyrocketing.
She hated to lie. Again. But what choice did she have?
That darn phone call from Joe had set off her dad and reddened his face. His blood pressure had probably reached the boiling point, in spite of the medication the doctor had prescribed to bring it down.
“I’ve decided to buy a new dress,” she said. “Something to surprise Dylan.”
Earlier that morning, her fiancé had driven back to Los Angeles to tape another session of the program he hoped would be a spin-off to his own talk show. And when he returned, if all went well, they planned to go out on the town.
“Do you need some money? Maybe a credit card?” Her dad was so generous, so thoughtful. So undeserving of her dishonesty.
Kristin smiled, trying to dislodge the guilt that nested in her chest and made it difficult to breathe, to speak. To perpetuate the lie. “I have plenty of money. But thanks for offering. Do you want me to pick out something for you? Maybe a new tie to go with that gray suit? If Dylan closes the deal on his own TV show, he’ll want to host a dinner party in celebration.”
Her father grinned, undoubtedly proud of her fiancé’s success. “Look for a tie with a bit of yellow in it.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open.” She kissed her son on the cheek. “Mrs. Davies said we’re having chocolate pudding for dessert.”
Her father humphed. “That’s not pudding. It’s brown gruel from that damned no-fat/no-taste cookbook she found at a garage sale.”
“Can I have ice cream instead?” Bobby asked. “I don’t think I’ll like the pudding, if Grandpa doesn’t.”
Her father chuckled. “You can have a hot fudge sundae, if you’ll let me have a bite.”
Her father loved to eat all the wrong foods. And she suspected he still smoked. He’d always enjoyed those expensive Cuban cigars. But it was difficult to argue with a man who’d been used to the finer things in life, a man who didn’t like to be told what to do.
“We’ll talk about dessert later,” Kristin said, as she turned and walked away.
But a cloud of guilt settled over her, as the lie followed her out the door, into the car and onto the city streets.
How she wanted to come clean, to tell her dad the truth. But his health was at stake. And even though she’d grown stronger and more independent than she’d been as a teen, she couldn’t possibly tell him about Joe now. If he suffered a heart attack before the doctors could perform the bypass surgery, she’d never forgive herself.
Thomas Reynolds might be a tough businessman and negotiator—she’d heard the rumors—but he was a loving father and grandfather. And she couldn’t even comprehend what life would be like without him.
Or how Bobby would take the news. He adored his grandpa.
She blew out a sigh, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She’d never understood her father’s inability to give Joe a chance. Nor had she understood the resentment he’d held.
Eight years ago, Joe had been a bright young man, with a fierce pride, stubborn determination and a tender heart he’d tried desperately to hide—traits that had caused Kristin to fall deeply in love with him.
Why hadn’t her father been able to see the same things in Joe that she and Harry Logan had seen?
“That Davenport kid will never amount to anything,” her father had told her many times, in spite of her arguments.
Kristin had always been her father’s pride and joy, and she’d never seen him so angry, so demanding. But his words had fallen on deaf, love-struck ears, and she continued to see Joe on the sly—a secret she kept from Joe because his sense of honor wouldn’t have allowed him to be a part of her deception.
One day, when Kristin had been feeling especially remorseful about her deceit, she’d tried to talk to her father again—to no avail.
“That Davenport kid only wants to score with you so he can get back at me for challenging that bleeding-heart cop and trying to keep a juvenile delinquent off the street.” Her father’s eyes had narrowed. “Maybe it’s time I had a talk with that boy.”
Kristin had quickly promised not to see Joe again, and her father had backed down—thank goodness—and agreed to let the subject drop.
But her promise had lasted only a week. And in spite of what it might do to her relationship with her father, she’d continued to date the young man she loved—at any cost.
One cool, crisp day during spring vacation, while Kristin was supposed to be shopping with a friend, she talked Joe into driving her out to the mountain cabin in Julian. There, she offered him her heart, as well as her virginity.
The day had been special, and the memory would stay in her heart forever. The candles she’d lit. The fire Joe had built in the hearth. The sweet love they’d made.
If she closed her eyes, she could still catch the musky scent of his cologne, still feel the heat of his kiss. Still hear the sound of their hearts beating.
Always an optimist, she’d believed her father would eventually see what she saw in Joe and accept him and their relationship, a union Kristin believed would last a lifetime.
Of course, she’d been wrong. Her father hadn’t changed his mind. And in fact, he’d been right. Joe hadn’t really loved her. And that was something she’d never quite gotten over.
But together, they’d conceived a child. A little boy who was more like Joe than she could have ever believed. And it was obvious that Joe cared about his son.
Kristin just hoped he wouldn’t try to force her hand, try to convince her to tell her father the truth.
Not now.
Not until she knew her dad’s health could take the jolt.
But deep inside, where her conscience feared to tread, Kristin wondered which would be the biggest blow to her father—the news that Joe Davenport had fathered Bobby, or learning of his daughter’s deceit.
Joe paced back and forth in the living room, waiting for Kristin to arrive. They had a lot to talk about, he supposed. But as long as he focused on Bobby, on what was best for their son, he didn’t expect her to fight him on liberal visitation and joint custody.
He probably ought to offer her something to drink when she got here. He had soda and beer in the fridge. And since Allison was due back in town today, he’d picked up a pack of wine coolers. The flight attendant liked those sweet, tropical drinks, but Joe couldn’t stomach them.
When a light rap sounded at his door, he answered, finding Kristin on the porch, the afternoon sunshine glistening on the gold strands in her hair. She’d dressed casually—for her—in a pair of black slacks and a white cotton blouse.
She smiled, almost shyly, and he had the urge to give her a hug, to tell her they’d work things out. But he kept his hands to himself. Just seeing her turned him inside out. And something told him that touching Kristin again might set off those old feelings. Which meant he sure as hell shouldn’t be gawking at her.
“Come on in,” he said, regrouping.
She entered the room, bringing in a soft, feathery scent of jasmine that hadn’t been
in his house before.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Yes. Do you have any wine?”
Joe didn’t keep the stuff on hand, not since he’d dated Suzanne, who’d favored merlot. “How about a wine cooler?”
“All right.” Kristin followed him into the kitchen, her scent taunting him, her presence unsettling him more than he cared to admit. And he wasn’t sure why.
He pulled out a beer for himself and set it on the counter, next to Allison’s watch. He hadn’t considered the flight attendant stopping by while Kristin was still here. Not that it mattered, he supposed, but it would be awkward having an old lover meet the new one.
And besides, he had enough to discuss with Kristin without tossing Allison into the mix.
After taking a glass from the cupboard and filling it with ice cubes, Joe popped the lid of the cooler and poured Kristin’s drink. As he turned to hand it to her, he noticed her studying the watch.
Should he comment, or let it pass?
She didn’t say a word, so he let it drop. After all, he’d never been one to discuss his relationships with anyone. And he sure didn’t intend to start now.
When Joe handed Kristin the glass, their fingers brushed against each other’s, setting off a shimmy of warmth in his blood and a jolt to that place in his heart where old memories were stored.
Had she felt anything? He doubted it, since she carried her drink into the living room, then sat primly on the sofa.
Her cheeks seemed flushed, though. A coincidence?
“I…uh…” She bit her bottom lip and looked at him as though she didn’t know what to say. “I have to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not comfortable with Bobby being around your…uh…neighbor.”
“Chloe?”
“He made a comment about her…cleavage.”
“Oh, yeah.” Joe chuckled and settled back into his seat.
Kristin sat up straight. Didn’t Joe find it inappropriate to have a discussion about women’s breasts with his son? “What’s so funny?”
