The Damaged Heroes Collection [Box Set #1: The Damaged Heroes Collection] (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream)

by James, Sandy

“Needs a coat of paint. Katie and I could help,” Seth offered.

  “That would be nice. I could use some elbow grease. We could have a cook out and slap some paint on the walls.”

  “What color?” Seth asked.

  “Red,” Joy answered before she could censor herself.

  Lucas smiled over at her and winked. “Red. The barn will be red.”

  Seth gave them a lopsided grin. “Sounds like you two are in tune with each other. I’m going to go grab the grain from the truck.” He marched out of the barn. Lucas and Joy followed.

  The two men each hefted a huge sack of grain from the bed of the pickup, hoisted it over their shoulders, and disappeared back into the barn. Joy waited by the truck as they completed a second trip. As they returned to grab a bale of green hay, she finally asked, “Just how much does he eat?”

  “Too much,” Seth answered as Lucas laughed. “This should keep him for a while.”

  She followed them into the barn where they dropped the hay bales in a room close to the stalls as she gave Jack some attention.

  “Nice storage in here. I really like this place,” Seth commented as he shut the door behind him. “I need to get going.” Stopping at the stall, Seth reached over the gate and gave the horse a last pat. “Thanks, Lucas. Keep an eye on him.”

  “Will do,” Lucas replied.

  Seth glanced back at Joy. “Nice to have met you. Hope to see you around the track. Lucas could use some company, and I could use someone cheering for me and not Brian.”

  Lucas narrowed his eyes and frowned at Seth. “Lay off, Seth.”

  Seth just chuckled in response. “Hey, it’s always nice to have a fan.”

  “Sorry,” Joy interrupted, “but I took those pictures down a long time ago.”

  Lucas smiled, and Joy walked over and slid her hand into his. He squeezed her fingers. Seth gave them a wave and got in his pickup as they went back into the house.

  Once inside, Joy released Lucas’s hand and grabbed her bag from the table. “I really need to be getting back. Are you still coming by the restaurant today to pick up Chelsea’s picture?”

  “About four?” he asked.

  “It should be ready by then. I have a friend finishing the frame for me.”

  Not entirely sure how to part, Joy searched his face for some hint of what he expected, what he wanted. He leaned against one of the avocado cabinets with his arms crossed over his chest, giving her very little indication of his thoughts. It was a bit disturbing how thoroughly his emotional mask blocked her from being able to see what he was feeling.

  Joy took a couple of steps toward him, but Lucas held up his hand to stop her. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Just don’t. Look, I’m sorry about grabbing you earlier and—”

  “You didn’t grab me,” Joy interrupted. She took another step, but he shook his head.

  “I can’t, Joy. There’s just...too much...baggage.”

  Joy sighed. The Fates weren’t going to make this a smooth road for her. But she always loved a challenge, and her stubborn nature would never permit defeat. Her mother had always told her that she was more obstinate than should ever be allowed by God.

  Before he could even react, Joy hurried to where he stood. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you later, Szivem.”

  Lucas rubbed his cheek as he watched her hurry out the door and wondered just how long he could resist her.

  Her words from their first meeting came back to him, echoing in his mind.

  I’ll always wait for you. As long as it takes.

  He suddenly realized that she sure wasn’t going to make it easy to shake her. For some strange reason, Lucas found comfort in that thought.

  Chapter 6

  Joy knew Tamas would be angry, but she couldn’t avoid a confrontation. She was late. Again. And he would never miss an opportunity to scold her. As if he had the right.

  Breezing in the kitchen door of Gypsy, Joy smiled as she heard the familiar voices of the two male cooks. They were in the midst of a good- natured argument over the proper amount of paprika in whatever was simmering in the big kettle on the stove. Breathing in the spicy aroma, she listened as the men squabbled in Hungarian. The smell was home to her. Tamas shouted at them from the storage room, and the cooks continued their discussion in hushed voices.

  Tamas narrowed his eyes at Joy when he strode into the kitchen. “This is getting really old, Jozsa. I can’t count on you for anything around here anymore.”

  She refused to let his foul mood spoil the pleasant lingering warmth left after spending time with Lucas. “I don’t have to be on duty until the restaurant opens.”

  “Yeah, but you know we always have stuff we need to do before then. You were supposed to hang the new frames and—”

  Holding up her hands in surrender, Joy nodded. “All right. All right. I forgot.”

  “You always forget,” he scolded. “You know your parents are coming next week to check on us. On me.”

  “I said I was sorry. And they’re not coming to check up on you.” She laughed at the entire notion, knowing the truth of the matter. “They always travel. They’re Romungro. They can’t help themselves. Saying they’re coming to see how one the restaurants is doing is just an excuse. Shoot, they’ll probably stay at Janos’s place one or two nights then they’ll find a reason to head back to one of the other restaurants. Or to Florida.”

  Tamas didn’t appear placated. “They’re going to expect this place to be running smoothly, and I can’t get an ounce of cooperation out of you or Janos.”

  Tired of hearing the man’s constant complaining, Joy simply said, “I’ll get started on the pictures.” She dropped her art bag on the stairs and walked over to the big package wrapped in plain brown paper that was leaning against the wall. Ripping off the covering, she flipped through the half-dozen wooden frames and found the picture of Chelsea Mitchell. She pulled it out of the stack and held it up. Wrapped up in judging her work, she didn’t know Tamas was looking over her shoulder until he started scolding her again. He actually clucked his tongue at her as if she was some child he needed to chastise.

  “That’s not what I wanted in the main dining room. What happened to the Hungarian landscapes?”

  Joy didn’t like the tone he used. “This isn’t for Gypsy. It’s for Luc...um...me. It’s for me,” she repeated, hoping that her stumble would go undetected.

  It didn’t.

  “Who’s Luke?” Tamas stood with his hands fisted on his hips, glaring at her.

  She wasn’t sure why it was any of his business, but she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t let the whole issue simply drop. “It’s not Luke. It’s Lucas. I met him at the art fair at the racetrack. This is his niece.” She nodded toward Chelsea’s portrait. “He had me paint her picture as a present for her mother.”

  “Well, put that silly thing up and get the other ones hung.”

  Joy took the portrait and leaned it against the wall next to her red bag, not bothering to respond to Tamas barking out orders like a damned drill sergeant.

  She opened a junk drawer in one of the kitchen’s cabinets and located a hammer and a container full of a variety of nails. After grabbing one of the pictures, she strode out of the kitchen and through the smaller private dining room into the main part of the restaurant.

  Janos was putting place settings on one of the big round tables. He smiled up at her. “Did the tyrant crack the whip?”

  Joy laughed, glanced over her shoulder, and then gave him a saucy smile. “Can’t you see the marks on my back?” She leaned the first of her pictures against the wall, put the hammer on one of the tables, and fished a nail out of the small plastic container. Holding the nail between her lips, she grabbed the hammer and turned to the empty wall.

  After eyeballing it for a few moments, Joy finally decided where the oil painting of a small vineyard set amongst some rolling hills would look best. Especially pro
ud of the work, she wanted it to be displayed in a way that showed it off. This wall was perfect. Just the right amount of light.

  She tried standing on tiptoe to reach where she wanted to pound the nail, but she just couldn’t make her arms stretch high enough. With an exasperated sigh, she grabbed one of the chairs and pulled it toward the wall, wondering if she was the shortest person in the entire Hoosier state.

  Janos had the bad manners to laugh at her when she hiked up her skirt and climbed up on the chair. “Having a little trouble there, Noverke? My poor, short little sister.”

  “I’m fine, big brother,” she said with a scoff as she began to pound a nail into the wall. Janos came across the room to pick up the frame and pass it up to her. “Is it straight?” she asked as he backed up a few steps to look at the painting.

  In his typical fashion whenever he contemplated her work, he put an index finger to his cheek and stared for a few moments. Then he smiled. “A little to the left.” Joy adjusted the frame. “Fine. You know, it’s really very good. One of your best.”

  “Thank you. See? You can be nice if you want to be.” She took his outstretched hand as he helped her down from her perch. “Thank you again.”

  “Did you apply to the art school?”

  “Shh,” Joy scolded, putting a finger to her lips as she glanced over her shoulder. “He’ll hear you.”

  Janos shot her an incredulous frown. “Who the hell cares? Tamas isn’t your boss, no matter what he seems to think. I’m getting really tired of being ordered around by a guy who’s a year younger than me.” He picked up the chair and put it back under the table.

  “But he is my boss. I just work here now. I don’t want to spend my whole life in this restaurant. If Tamas does,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, “well, more power to him.”

  “You never answered my question.”

  “Yes, I applied. And I got accepted.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “That’s great, Shortstuff! Have you asked Papa about tuition?”

  Joy shook her head, almost cringing at the thought. “I’m not going to be able to go to that school, Janos. You know there’s no way. Papa wouldn’t allow it. Besides, I’ve been saving most of the money I’ve made since I was sixteen. If I was really going to go, I’d just need to take out a few loans and...” She let the thought rest, knowing it wasn’t likely she’d ever really get to attend the academy. She had already phoned to tell the registrar to hold her enrollment until the second semester. “And stop calling me Shortstuff.”

  Her parents had no idea how frugal Joy had been with the money she’d squirreled away from working at each restaurant. Saving the proceeds from any sale of her art over the years, she was more than a little proud to have a nice-sized nest egg.

  Someday, I’ll go. Someday.

  “Sorry. Joy, this is your chance to get out of spending your whole life in Gypsy. It’s your chance to make art your career.”

  A frustrated sigh fell from her lips. “Yeah, as if that’s going to happen. You know exactly what Papa would say.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Janos replied. Puffing up his chest and speaking in a gruff voice imitating their father, he said, “They’re called starving artists for a reason.”

  With another sigh, Joy put the hammer back on the table and strolled around the room, thinking about where to put the next picture.

  “Well, I’m not going to rot here forever. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m going to enlist.”

  With a confused glance, Joy asked, “Enlist? Enlist where?”

  Janos came up behind her and gave her braid a small tug. “Silly girl. In the Army.”

  Joy didn’t feel any less confused. “In the Army? Why on earth would you want to be in the Army?”

  “Because it’ll get me out of here. That’s why. I want to see the world. Maybe it’s the Romungro in me—the need to roam. But I just can’t spend my life kissing people’s asses, trying to make them happy while throwing food at them.”

  “But why the Army?”

  “They foot the bill. I could go to Europe or Asia.”

  “Or Iraq or Afghanistan. Papa won’t like it, Janos,” Joy scolded, sure she didn’t like the idea, either.

  Janos tugged her braid again. “Good thing we won’t tell him until after I’m sworn in.”

  When Tamas came striding into the room, the conversation came to an abrupt halt. Joy continued to stare at her brother, hoping he would realize their chat was far from over. His mouth formed a crooked smile, and he gave her a small nod as they easily understood each other without a word passing between them.

  “When are you two going to grow up?” Tamas asked. “You sound like a couple of kindergarteners.”

  “Careful, Tamas. I could take this place away from you like that,” Janos said as he snapped his fingers.

  Joy was pleased to see Tamas’s olive skin pale.

  Janos smirked before letting the poor guy off the hook. “Not that I’d want to. Go on. Keep managing this place.” He smiled at Joy. “It sure makes our lives easier.”

  “Your father will be so disappointed in both of you,” Tamas said as he narrowed his eyes. “At least I’m trying to do as he asks. I respect my elders. I respect my culture.”

  Joy laughed at that absurd notion. “Sure you do. Did you forget I grew up with you? I remember when you begged us to call you Thomas so other people wouldn’t know you were a gypsy.”

  “I was a child,” Tamas insisted, his face growing flushed. “Now, I’m a man. I’ll marry you and make this place my life.”

  “Like she’s told you a million times, you hard-headed Romungro,” Janos scolded, “she’s not marrying you.”

  “Damn right.” Joy could tell from the agitated tone of Tamas’s voice that she should probably stop baiting him. Unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to keep herself from trying to get him to let the whole ridiculous notion of marriage drop once and for all. She had no intention of having a future with Tamas. None whatsoever. She might be strapped with Gypsy, but she wouldn’t be forced to take a man she didn’t love as her husband just to placate her parents. The love of her culture wasn’t enough to force her into a loveless union. “I remember when you told your parents that there was nothing Romungro about you—that you hated that life.”

  “I grew up. When my parents died, I grew up.”

  Joy felt awful at exposing those old wounds. Losing both of his parents to an act of arson had been devastating to Tamas, to the entire gypsy community. “I didn’t mean... I’m sorry, Tamas.”

  Tamas couldn’t seem to resist a dig of his own. “I remember when you used to tell me we’d get married one day. You told me you loved me.”

  “Well, as you said, I was a child. I was just saying what I thought my parents wanted to hear,” she explained with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “Your father is wise,” Tamas countered. “He knows we should be with our own kind. He gave me your hand.”

  Janos snorted a laugh. “Her hand?” He put his palm over his heart. “Oh, Jozsa. Papa gave Tamas your hand. God Almighty. How melodramatic can you get? He gave you her restaurant. Admit it, Tamas. You want Gypsy, not Joy.”

  Tamas fisted his hands at his side. Joy couldn’t remember seeing him so angry before. “That’s not true. I’ve always wanted her. I love Jozsa. I just run the restaurant to please her family.”

  Janos snorted his amusement again as he shook his head. “Bullshit. You love running this place. Who do you think you’re fooling with the ‘I love Jozsa’ act?”

  “Tamas, we don’t belong together,” Joy insisted. “Sweet Jesus, can’t we get past this? If you keep insisting, Papa will never let it drop. Take the silly restaurant. I don’t want it. Janos doesn’t want it. Papa will see how good you are at running this place. He’ll understand.”

  “You’d spit on all your father has done for you?” Tamas sneered. “You’re Romungro. You should honor your elders. You should honor your traditions
.”

  She could tell he was growing angrier by the moment. This wasn’t the kind of confrontation she wanted. But Tamas wouldn’t give up, and she was thoroughly sick of the whole ludicrous notion of marriage.

  Joy gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I can honor my traditions without marrying you.” The infuriated expression on his livid face told her she’d said the absolute wrong thing. Joy tried to smooth it over, but she knew she’d pricked his temper one too many times. She could only hope to contain the inevitable explosion. “I know Papa still thinks we belong together, but—”

  “You thought so too, Joy,” Tamas snidely interrupted. “At least enough to make love with me.”

  Before Joy could even be offended at the extraordinarily rude remark, Janos grabbed Tamas by the throat and slammed him against the wall. Joy’s painting fell to the floor. Janos snarled at Tamas, “You slept with my sister? You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!”

  Joy found enough of her scattered wits to fly to Janos and clutch his arm, trying to get him to free Tamas. “Janos, please! Let him go. You’re hurting him.”

  Janos didn’t release Tamas, but he did redirect some of his anger toward his sister. “You slept with him?”

  Tamas grabbed at the powerful hand that so easily held him pinned to the wall. His face was growing red and he gasped for air.

  “Please, Janos. Just let him go,” Joy begged. The look in her brother’s eyes terrified her.

  “Answer me!” Janos shouted at her.

  “Yes, I did. But it was years ago.” Joy realized it wasn’t the right response when Janos turned back to Tamas with murder in his eyes.

  “So you’re a child molester!” Janos yelled.

  Joy pulled at her brother’s arm that seemed to be made of steel. “Please, Janos. Please.”

  Janos gave Tamas one last, long stare and finally jerked his hand away from Tamas’s throat. Tamas fell to his knees, coughing and wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Well?” Janos demanded as he turned back to Joy.

  Joy glared first at Tamas and then at Janos. The two of them had no right to treat her life as if it wasn’t her own. “Janos, this is none of your business.”