Michael's Father (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Melinda Curtis

  “No. Mommy wore shorts.”

  Blake’s eyes darted to Cori. She’d worn that skimpy sweater, too, taunting him with glimpses of that glorious bare skin. Anger colored his words. “Your mom shouldn’t be wearing shorts in February.”

  “We can’t all be perfect,” Cori replied lightly, as if he hadn’t just attacked her verbally.

  “She wore shorts at Christmas,” Michael said defensively. “Even Santa wears shorts. I’ve seen him.”

  Blake rolled his eyes. He supposed in sunny Southern California, Santa did make appearances in shorts. “It’s hard to fight that kind of logic, except to say it’s wrong.”

  Michael regarded him silently for a moment, his little face scrunched into a frown. “That wasn’t very nice,” he said. “You should say sorry.”

  Had he gone too far? The rain continued to drum around them while Blake’s conscience wrestled with his hurt. Cori looked out at the river, leaving Blake to deal with his comments and his sensitive son.

  “Sorry.” The apology sounded as reluctant as it felt. Yet, Blake was humbled by his son’s sense of what was right and his courage to speak up for his beliefs.

  Michael’s hand settled into Cori’s. His vote was cast. “Can I finds worms, Mommy?”

  “Find,” Blake corrected before Cori could.

  Michael kept his eyes on Cori. “Can I?”

  “Let’s look for a good patch.” Cori stood and scanned the area through the downpour, presumably for a good worm-hunting ground. Her gaze kept coming back to a patch of wild grass beyond the oak’s branches.

  “You hunt for worms?” Blake asked.

  Michael nodded solemnly.

  My son is a geek. Blake sighed. Could things be any worse?

  “Over here.” Cori led Michael out from under the oak’s protective umbrella with a crinkle of plastic.

  Already soft, the dark brown soil sucked at their feet as they walked, making a light whoosh with each step they took. Michael giggled, drawing a smile from Cori. Blake was definitely the odd man out.

  “He’s getting wet,” Blake observed sourly from underneath the tree.

  “Just his shoes,” Cori called back cheerfully, setting Blake’s teeth on edge.

  Didn’t she know that responsible parents didn’t let their kids get wet?

  The two circled the patch of grass, peering through sheets of rain, while Blake waited underneath the tree. Wind ruffled Cori’s hood back and rain landed on her face. She yanked the plastic forward, then leaned down to do the same to Michael’s hood.

  The boy waved her hand away. “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know. It’s certainly wet enough.”

  Michael squatted for a closer look. Michael’s slicker was so long that it protected his bottom from the backs of his heels.

  Still, Blake felt compelled to watch out for him. “Careful of the mud on your shoes.”

  Neither Michael nor Cori dignified that comment with a response, further increasing Blake’s feeling of separation. A return to the pair.

  Cori leaned over the grass, parting it with her fingers. “It’s a rare treat to be searching for worms in the open. Usually, we rush out to save the ones that crawl from the lawn sprinklers onto the sidewalk, don’t we.” Cori ran her fingers over the grass again.

  “No worms?” Michael asked.

  “Maybe it’s raining too hard, Peanut.”

  “I’ll wait.” His knees dropped forward onto the grass, still protected by his long slicker.

  Blake believed the boy was willing to wait out the downpour. And it looked like Cori didn’t care. What parent encouraged her child to hang out in the rain?

  “Unbelievable.” Blake grabbed a stick off the damp ground and launched out from under the tree. He wasn’t going to let his son stand out in the pouring rain all day waiting for worms.

  As if on cue, the rain came down vehemently. Almost immediately, Blake’s shirt and jeans were plastered to his body. His frustration burst into anger when he noticed Cori trying not to smile.

  “You need a jacket.” Raising his voice to be heard over the downpour, Michael stood and looked up at him.

  Blake poked around the grass with his stick, wet material clinging to his every crease. “One worm? That’s all we have to find?”

  “Okay,” Michael said, watching Blake with interest.

  It didn’t take long.

  “Here.” Blake bent the grass down on either side so that Michael could see it. The worm was a prime specimen, nearly five inches long, very fat and obviously upset at being exposed. It squirmed and twisted, trying to dodge the fat, cold raindrops that hammered its body.

  “You did good,” Michael said. “He’s a beauty.”

  Blake’s anger cranked down a notch at his son’s praise.

  “Now can we get out of the rain?” Blake looked up at Cori with an icy stare. Water ran down the sides of his face. Water seeped through his baseball cap. They, on the other hand, were dry. Instead of conveying the derision he expected, Cori smiled at him as if he’d done something wonderful.

  “Can’t we find more?” Michael asked.

  “No.” Blake tried, because of Michael’s praise and Cori’s smile, to keep his tone even. “You’re wet. It’s cold. You’ll get sick if we stay any longer.”

  “Goodie! Let’s stay.” Michael clapped wet hands. “We stay home when I’m sick. And I wanna go home.” The kid chucked off his hood and tilted his face to the heavens.

  “Not acceptable.” Blake straightened abruptly at his son’s desire to leave, startling the other two enough that they stumbled back. Where did that kid come up with his ideas? “Come on. I’ll give you a lift to the house.”

  “But I’m not done,” Michael protested.

  “Yes. You are.”

  Michael turned to Cori, pleading his case. “Mommy?”

  She sighed, and Blake could tell by the way she looked at him that she hated to admit he was right. “It’s raining too hard. Even the worms are hiding.” She took Michael’s hand.

  Blake spun away, soggy and anxious to escape the deluge.

  Behind him, Michael began to whine. A glance over his shoulder revealed the boy trying to twist his hand out of Cori’s grasp.

  After a few seconds, Blake took a step back toward them, intending to make his son behave.

  “Don’t,” Cori warned softly.

  Blake’s foul mood deepened, but he turned his back on them, assuming they’d follow. If she was willing to live with Michael’s tantrums, that was her problem. Forget the terrible twos. From what Blake had witnessed, Michael was in the frightening fours.

  BLAKE DROVE BACK to the main house to the backdrop of whining child. It made him appreciate Jen’s silences all the more.

  Cori did nothing about the kid’s gripes. She sat next to the window and ignored them both, either from anger or the patience of a saint, Blake didn’t know which.

  As they approached the house, Michael was down to an exhausted mantra: “Not fair, not fair.”

  Blake parked and led them into the kitchen. “Slickers off. Shoes to me. Let’s go.”

  Cori opened her mouth to protest, but Blake shook his head. “Both of you. Now.”

  “Why does he want my shoes, Mommy?” Michael gaped at Blake.

  “They’re muddy,” Blake answered before Cori could. “As soon as you take them off, you go upstairs and take a bath.”

  “I took a bath already.”

  Jen had never argued with Blake when she was four. Blake turned on Cori. “Don’t you use any discipline on him?”

  Cori wouldn’t look at Blake, much less answer. He could sense her disapproval, possibly as easily as she seemed to sense his. Cori shed her slicker, peeling it up over her head. Drops fell onto her T-shirt, dotting her breasts. She knelt to take off her shoes. Blake did the same rather than stand like an idiot and watch her. Wet denim constricted unpleasantly against his skin. He couldn’t wait to go home and change.

  Seeing that both adults we
re taking off their shoes, Michael stopped arguing and began fumbling with his own. He stood and stomped his feet. “I can’t get them off.”

  With a sigh, Blake moved in front of the boy. He tossed up his hands when he saw the kid’s shoes. “Tie shoes?” They were double-knotted. Wet double knots.

  “All the big kids have them,” Michael said, puffing out his lower lip.

  “Until you can tie and untie them yourself, you should only have Velcro shoes.” Blake didn’t know what Cori was thinking to have bought the boy tie shoes.

  “Thanks for cleaning up.” Cori’s tennis shoes landed with a soggy splat next to Blake’s knee. “I’m going upstairs. Michael, you come right up when you’re done.”

  Blake’s fingers tugged on the blasted knots. He was wet and tired. Now he was alone with the kid and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

  “I only found one worm,” Michael said.

  Irritated. That’s how Blake felt. “One worm looks just like the rest in the rain.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.” Michael crossed his arms over his skinny chest.

  With effort, Blake remained silent.

  “My mom tells people what to do. You’re not the boss of me.”

  Blake attacked the knots with renewed vigor.

  SALVATORE MESSINA NOTICED Corinne peek into Sophia’s bedroom. He sat in a chair next to the bed. Sophia slumbered peacefully, still lost in the past.

  “How is she?” Corinne whispered.

  “She’s not back yet.”

  Corinne paused, seemed to blink back tears. “I need to speak with you.”

  Hope taunted Salvatore. Was she going to apologize for her behavior all those years ago and open the door for him to do the same? He’d missed having Corinne by his side. He could use her business acumen.

  “Outside,” she added, snatching hope away with her serious tone.

  Salvatore scowled at her. He wasn’t about to let her see him struggle to stand, but his granddaughter wasn’t budging. After several strained seconds, he said, “Give me a minute.”

  Corinne withdrew to the hallway.

  Salvatore lumbered out of the bedroom and pulled the door shut behind him. He met his granddaughter’s gaze expectantly.

  She didn’t waste any time. “I need you to find John Sinclair.”

  The request took Salvatore by such surprise that he harrumphed before he could halt the reaction. The pain in his hip and his heart were making it hard to control his emotions lately, he rationalized.

  “Feeling the need to search out your roots?”

  She tried to scowl at him, but Corinne had never been good at hiding her emotions. She was upset. Near tears. “Mama wants to see him.” She swallowed. “Before.”

  Her words hit him harder than he would have liked. He needed to talk with the doctor about his medication, because it obviously wasn’t working. The pain hit him with dizzying speed. The need to curl up, give in, was almost overwhelming. And he couldn’t do that. Not now. Not ever.

  He drew himself up, ignoring the sharp pain in his hip and the ache in his heart.

  “This family doesn’t need John Sinclair.” He’d bought off his daughter’s mistake more than twenty years ago. He wasn’t about to open the door to that swindler again. Sometimes he looked at Corinne’s blond wavy hair and saw too much of John Sinclair for his liking.

  “But Mama does,” she said.

  Silence dropped between them.

  If Sophia came out of it, he’d have to speak with her, remind her why she didn’t need John Sinclair in her life. Perhaps even tell her a little about the kinds of things John Sinclair had done with the money he’d bought him off with.

  “We’ll make a deal.”

  Salvatore laughed. Even to him, it sounded hollow. “You don’t have anything I want.” He wanted his daughter to outlive him. He wanted his winery to go on forever.

  “I’ll tell you who Michael’s father is.”

  Salvatore peered at Corinne more closely. Things were getting interesting. In fact, if he thought about it, this was good. Finally, he’d be able to make the cowardly bastard pay and set things right with Corinne.

  “Yes?” he encouraged.

  But Corinne only shook her head. “You produce John Sinclair, help Mama make peace with him, and I’ll complete Michael’s birth certificate.”

  “How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”

  “You know I will.”

  And looking into her brown, tear-filled eyes, he did.

  WITH EFFORT, Salvatore returned to Sophia’s bedside, lowering himself into the chair with most of his weight supported by his arms. If Sophia’s mind returned, he had to find a way to broach the subject of John Sinclair. He wasn’t about to let that charlatan into their lives again. There might just be a way to convince Sophia she didn’t need to see him and finally achieve justice for his granddaughter.

  “You should be taking your medication.”

  The words surprised him, coming as they did from Sophia. She’d come back to him. He wanted to weep with joy. But he didn’t. He frowned, instead.

  “What medication?” Salvatore thought he’d been successful in hiding his weakness from Sophia. The last thing he wanted was for her to worry about him.

  “I don’t have enough time, Papa, to play games.” She paused, struggling for breath. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.” But he wouldn’t meet her drawn, dark eyes.

  “Mama always said you were stubborn.”

  A lump formed in his throat at the thought of Anna and Sophia both alive, laughing and talking about him.

  “She said you needed strong people to love you.”

  He looked at his hands, scarred from hard work and spotted with sun damage, not knowing what to say. It was true that Salvatore had no patience for mama’s boys or whiners.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been strong enough, Papa.”

  His head shot up and Salvatore met her gentle brown gaze. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “I can’t help you anymore.” Her voice sounded small, like a young girl’s. “Mama told me how important the winery was to you.”

  “I built it all for her.”

  “All she cared about was your love.”

  Salvatore scowled, refusing to acknowledge that he might have disappointed his beloved Anna. “All this is for her.”

  “You could have been a ditchdigger and she would have been happy.”

  “Not true.” He denied the notion hotly, fighting the old insecurities. “Her family thought I was worthless.”

  “She didn’t.”

  “Respect and reputation are important.”

  “Not as important as love.” She sighed. “Love brings everything you need.” Her voice slowed. “Richer or poorer. Better or worse.”

  Salvatore knew she was thinking of John Sinclair, of the vows Salvatore had forced John to take because Sophia was pregnant and foolishly in love with him. By mutual silent agreement, they never talked about that part of their past.

  “You don’t need him.”

  “I want to make my peace, that’s all. We have no future together.” Sophia paused, her eyes tearing up. “Can’t you do this one last thing for me, Papa?”

  “No.” The gruff word barely escaped him. He wanted so much to please his daughter. He’d give her anything. Anything but John Sinclair.

  “JENNIFER?”

  Jen’s heart clenched at the sound of a boy’s voice on the other end of the line. She hadn’t wanted to answer the telephone, except that Blake was out and she knew he’d go ballistic if she didn’t answer and it was him. She never wanted to go to Healdsburg Junior High School again. She could hang up now, claim it was a wrong number, or succumb to curiosity and more degradation. Curiosity won out.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Skyler.”

  Dread filled Jen’s spirit.

  “Jen?”

  “I’m here.” Bring on the humili
ation, she thought, closing her eyes. Heaven knows, she deserved it.

  “You know what happened yesterday?”

  “Yeah.” How could she forget? Her first kiss had been publicly humiliating.

  “I think you got caught in a fight between Dev and Ronnie.”

  The situation just kept getting better and better. So, Devon had used Jen for more than an after-school grope. He wanted to get back at Ronnie for something, and Jen was gullible and conveniently available. What did you say to that? Paint a big L on Jen’s forehead for loser?

  “Jen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  Jen rolled her eyes to the ceiling and blinked to keep the tears at bay. “How could that possibly be?”

  “Well, when people talk about it, you’re gonna look like you came between them. You know?”

  “Oh.” Now, that was cool. Jen wrapped herself around the thought that she was a home wrecker. Not bad for a girl still in her training bra. If it were true. “Skyler?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Now it was his turn to be silent. If Skyler was putting one over on her, Jen would kill him.

  “There’s one of those craft shows out at the square tomorrow. Are you going?”

  “Doubtful. I’m, like, grounded until I’m twenty. Besides, why would I want to go to one of those?” They were so uncool, with all the tourists and everything.

  “My mom runs a booth and I have to help her. I was just wondering if I’d see you.”

  This was one of those X-Files moments where you couldn’t believe what was happening to you. In the past twenty-four hours, one of the most popular boys in school had tried to feel her up and now another was either looking for the same thing or actually liked her.

  Jen recalled how Skyler had stuck up for her at the library and then shielded her from Ronnie yesterday. Could it be?

  Naw.

  “You aren’t asking me there because you think I’m easy, are you? Because if you are, well, you just better not.” As threats went, it was pretty lame, but it seemed to work.

  “No, no, no. I…”