by James, Sandy
Chapter 9
The dining room at Gypsy was dark, and Lucas assumed all the employees were gone. He eased his truck into the empty back lot a little after midnight. Joy had been quiet on the ride from the Fairgrounds, and he knew something weighed on her mind. Trying to start a conversation had been fruitless.
Parking the truck, Lucas walked around to open the door for Joy and then followed her to the restaurant. She let them in through the kitchen door.
A short, dark-haired woman standing just inside the kitchen immediately let out a small squeal and hurried to Joy. Joy let out a similar happy shriek and threw herself into the woman’s open arms.
Lucas felt a bit awkward as he shoved his hands into his pockets, waiting patiently by the door as he watched Joy with the woman he realized had to be her mother. Joy was a carbon copy. Both were short but perfectly shaped. Touches of gray kissed her mother’s hair, and her hips were wider, although not as wide as Joy had led him to believe.
“Hianyol, Jozsa,” the older woman practically shouted even though her daughter was still in her embrace.
“I missed you too, Mama.” Joy continued to hug her mother. When Joy finally pulled away, she brushed away a tear with the back of her hand. Then she inclined her head toward Lucas. “Mama, this is Lucas Mitchell.”
The woman reached out to shake Lucas’s hand with a strong, forceful grip that surprised him. It was slowly dawning on him that everything about Joy and her family was passionate, downright voracious. From the way they ate to the way they hugged. Their actions screamed a joy of life. The envy was paralyzing. He wanted to know that kind of joy. He wanted to be a part of Joy’s life. Even if she deserved better.
“I’m Illona Kovacs, Lucas.” The woman had the same warm, dark eyes as her daughter. Turning back to Joy, she began to rattle off an enormous string of words in what was obviously their native language. Lucas didn’t understand a word of what they said, but he enjoyed listening to their sing-song words as the women’s tongues seemed to roll and trill every syllable. Seeing how much Joy had missed her parents and how happy she was they were there, he wasn’t even concerned Joy and Illona weren’t including him in their conversation
“Jozsa!” The shout came from across the kitchen. “Come hug your papa!”
Joy’s face glowed with her bright smile as she squealed and ran into her father’s arms. Lucas watched them, suddenly feeling a bit uneasy. The man was short but very sturdy. His round belly indicated he ate with as much enthusiasm as Joy. Thick black hair was liberally peppered with streaks of gray. His round face seemed very friendly, very wise. At least until Joy’s father glanced up and locked gazes with Lucas.
For a moment, Lucas was afraid he’d seen sparks fly from the old man’s eyes. He immediately knew her father didn’t like him, and he was even more certain the man had already figured out exactly how Lucas felt about his daughter.
This gypsy stuff was creepy.
“Ki az az manusz, Jozsa?” the man asked his daughter as he inclined his head towards Lucas. Lucas knew what her father was asking, that he wanted to know who Lucas was, and he could easily hear the irritation in the man’s voice, see the narrowing of his eyes.
“Papa, this is Lucas Mitchell. Lucas, this is my father, Bela Kovacs.”
Lucas figured he would be the one to try to keep the peace. Not wanting to give Joy’s father any reason to dislike him, he took a few steps over to shake the man’s hand. Nothing could have prepared him for Bela’s heated reaction. Fisting his hands at his side, the old man turned back to his daughter and began to shout at her loudly in what Lucas assumed was Hungarian.
Illona came to stand between Bela and Joy, acting as a de facto referee. Lucas couldn’t understand what they were saying, but the body language was obvious enough for him to get the gist of the conversation. Bela wanted Lucas gone. Joy didn’t, and Illona wanted to make peace between them.
The only word Lucas recognized from the heated discussion was disturbing. Too many times the older man had repeated Joy’s name with another name. Tamas. Lucas felt his insides tighten.
It was probably time to give them some privacy. Deciding retreat was the best course of action for the time being, Lucas loudly cleared his throat to get their attention. “Maybe I should be going.”
“No!” Joy shouted. Then she turned back to her father and began to speak in rapid Hungarian again. Bela’s face flushed a deeper shade of red with each thing Joy said to him. When Bela opened his mouth to speak, Joy slapped her hand on the counter so hard that the old man actually jumped. “No, Papa. Enough.”
She turned on her heel, grabbed Lucas’s hand, and practically dragged him toward another door in the kitchen. Jerking it open, she pointed to the stairs. “Upstairs. We need to talk.”
Lucas obeyed.
* * * *
Joy opened the door that lead into her small apartment. The instant she entered, her four cats hurried to her and began to sing a chorus of meows. They weaved around her legs so closely, she couldn’t take another step. She fumbled for the switch to turn on the lights before she or Lucas stepped on one of them.
Lucas laughed and reached down to pick up the runty yellow tabby. Cradling it close to his chest, he stroked the animal which began to purr loudly in response.
“Sorry if they’re bothering you. They’re spoiled,” she said as she shut the door and picked up the calico.
“What are their names?”
“The one you’re holding is Kiscica. It means ‘kitten.’” She pet the fat calico in her arms. “This is Tigris.”
“Tiger, right?”
Joy nodded. “Very good. You’ll be speaking Hungarian in no time.” He winked at her. She smiled in return. “The fat one is Oroszlan. And the brown one is Maska. Lion and cat.”
Lucas laughed again, that deep baritone sound that always made Joy feel so warm. “Such original names. Only four? What do you do? Collect them?”
“What can I say?” she asked with a shrug. “I told you I love animals. Mama says animals know good people. That they come to me because they know I’ll take care of them.” She put the calico back on the floor and took the few steps necessary to go into her tiny kitchen. Reaching inside a lower cabinet, she pulled out a plastic container full of dry cat food.
Kiscica jumped out of Lucas’s arms. All four cats came to the bowls on the floor as she poured out their dinner. The moment one began to eat, another pushed him out of the way. The silly animals jockeyed for the best position the same way at every meal, and their constant movements reminded Joy of the musical chairs game she’d played as a child. Judging from her cats’ ever increasing girths, she never worried about any of them going hungry.
“I might take one for the barn, if you’re wanting to get rid of any. Of course, they look so pampered, I’m not sure they’d be good mousers.” Lucas chuckled, followed her into the kitchen, and leaned down to run a hand over one of the cat’s backs. Maska never even stopped eating.
As he glanced around her small apartment, Joy wondered what he’d think of her home. Nothing more than a kitchen, living room, bedroom, and tiny bathroom, it had been her residence since this incarnation of Gypsy began. She loved having a place of her own for the first time in her life, but having grown up with so many siblings, sometimes the apartment could be too quiet.
The walls were covered in her art, thumbtacks holding up half-finished sketches and charcoal doodlings. About to invite him to sit down, Joy’s heart leapt to her throat as she suddenly remembered the enormous collage pinned to the wall by her couch. The sketches she’d become so used to seeing that they had slipped her mind were boldly declaring her uninvited intrusion into Lucas’s world. Several of the drawings were of his house. Even worse, she had forgotten about all the portraits of him.
Joy’s muse had coaxed her into creating several studies of Lucas’s face. Most showed his features through a range of emotions. He couldn’t possibly know how often she thought of him, how often she worried about the demo
ns that seemed to be troubling his soul. But she didn’t have a clue as to how he would react to something as intimate as the drawings of his own face. What Lucas probably saw when he looked around her walls was the work of a stalker.
Why didn’t I think about the pictures before pushing him up the stairs?
Lucas’s eyebrows knit in what she interpreted to be irritation, and he took a few steps over to study the sketches. Joy bit her bottom lip and waited to see if he would explode like all of the men in her family did whenever they got angry. She knew he had every right to be upset, especially since he most likely thought he was in the presence of a psychopath.
With slow deliberation, he considered each of the drawings. After what Joy felt was far too long, he returned to her and just stared down into her eyes. She could feel the blush spread over her cheeks at his intense gaze as she thought the situation would have been better if he had simply blown up. She knew how to handle that reaction. The stoic silence, however, was deafening.
Unable to bear his intense stare any longer, she glanced away and started babbling. “I’m sorry. I just saw you there, and I...I had to draw you. It’s the house. No, it’s not the house. It’s...it’s you. I’m sorry, Lucas. Please...please don’t be mad. I’ll take them down.”
Joy hurried to the wall and began to grab at the colored thumbtacks that held the sketches there. She could feel the tears spilling down her cheeks and the sharp thumbtacks pushing into her palm as she squeezed them in her fist. She had ruined everything.
He would never want to be with her now. He’d never let her visit their house. Not that she could blame him. Sweet Jesus, what would she think if she stumbled across a wall full of pictures of her drawn by some man she’d only known a few weeks? Lucas probably thought he needed a restraining order.
She had pushed too hard too quickly. Damning the gypsy in her that figured she knew exactly what the future held, Joy wished for a minute that she was like everybody else.
But I am what I am. And she had driven Lucas away before she’d even had the chance to really get to know him, to get close enough to help. I’m so sorry, Szivem.
Joy clutched at another thumbtack before she felt the warm hand covering hers. Lucas had come to stand behind her and stilled her fingers before they could tear down another sketch.
“It’s all right, Jozsa.” His breath against her ear sent a wave of heat roiling through her. She was aware of how close he was and could feel the heat of his body against her back. With both arms around her, he held her closed fist in front of her and gently pried her fingers open. He took the thumbtacks from her palm before setting them on the end table.
Lucas held her by the shoulders for a moment, and Joy tried to stop the trembling of her limbs. As he turned her around to face him, she blinked back the tears that were still forming in her eyes. Ashamed, she dropped her gaze to stare at the floor. “I’m so sorry, Lucas.”
Lucas used his thumb to brush away a tear that was tracing a path down her cheek. “I knew you’d been at the house before. I saw the sketches at the art fair. It’s not that much of a surprise that you drew me, too.”
She sniffled and slowly raised her eyes to his. “You’re not mad?”
A lopsided smile crossed his lips as he shook his head. “No. I’m actually sort of...flattered.”
Joy sniffled again and tried to smile back. He brushed away another tear, his gentle touch soothing her fear. “I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that.”
“I suppose it’s some gypsy thing. Like the house.”
Joy wiped away a last tear with the back of her hand. “Yes. Yes, it is. Just like the house. I won’t come back again. I promise.”
“It’s all right. You can come back whenever you like.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
She sniffled again. Then her other problem floated into her mind. “I probably won’t. Not now. Not since Papa’s here.”
“What was he so angry about?” Lucas asked as he sat on her couch and patted the spot next to him. Obviously seeing his gesture as an invitation, Kiscica jumped up on the sofa to curl up in Lucas’s lap.
Joy sat down next to Lucas and reached out to stroke her cat. “Papa is angry at me.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. I know he’s angry at you. What I want to know is why.”
With a shrug, she stared at her lap, stalling for time to think. It was too soon for her to have this conversation with him. Joy wanted his heart first. She wanted to know he loved her before she told him...everything.
Lucas lifted his hand and placed it under her chin to gently coax her to turn back to face him. “You can tell me, Josza.”
“Papa doesn’t want me...with you. He thinks I should be with one of my own.”
Lucas looked confused, which she easily understood. No one knew much about real gypsies, only what the stereotypes portrayed.
“One of your own what?” he asked.
“A Romungro. Papa thinks I should stay with my own kind.” Unable to keep staring into those amber eyes that were tying her insides into tight knots, Joy turned her face away.
“I don’t understand.”
She didn’t want to explain the whole thing to him, so Joy kept her tongue still. It was one of the most difficult things she’d ever had to do. But if she started talking, she knew she would dump her problem directly into his lap. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. He had enough problems of his own. She would bear this burden alone.
“Joy? Why can’t you tell me?”
“I just can’t. Not...not yet. I will. Soon. I promise.”
Lucas seemed to consider matters for a moment before he nodded. “Would you like to come to the house tomorrow? I just started working on it, and I could use your artistic abilities.” He chuckled and stroked the cat again. “Plus your elbow grease. Help isn’t cheap. And I...I missed you coming out.”
Joy’s eyes found his again, and she smiled. He wasn’t angry. Evidently all men didn’t blow their tops when they didn’t get their way. Not like all the other men in her life, like all the men she’d ever known. A relieved sigh slipped from her lips. “I’d love to.”
Lucas picked the little yellow cat off his lap, put it on the floor, and then he turned to Joy. She gave him the kiss she knew he wanted. A kiss that was both comforting and intoxicating. Lucas growled his pleasure when Joy’s tongue slipped into his mouth. He wrapped one arm around her waist and dragged her closer as his other hand reached up to pull the tie from her ponytail. Once the string was free, Lucas buried his fingers in her hair.
Joy leaned into the kiss. The longer their mouths mated and their tongues dueled, the more she lost track of time and space. All she could think about was the heat roaring through her body. The man was literally setting her blood on fire, turning her insides into glowing embers. She finally broke away and panted to catch her breath, more than a little pleased to realize Lucas was breathing just as hard as she was. It was inevitable now. Lucas was hers.
Unless I do something stupid again like that collage.
“I better go,” he said. But he didn’t budge an inch.
“Yeah, you probably should,” Joy added, but she didn’t take her arms from around his neck.
“I really should be leaving.” Lucas reluctantly sat back and Joy slowly pulled out of his embrace. “Your father is probably waiting to deadbolt the door behind me.”
“I’ll always unlock it to let you back in.”
Lucas brushed a kiss on her lips. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll try to sneak away,” Joy promised. “I really need to talk to Papa.”
“You promise to tell me what’s bothering you?”
“In time. And you’ll tell me all your secrets too.”
His left hand immediately moved to cover his right forearm.
Joy realized it was a telling motion and wanted desperately to ask what had happened to cause the scars she’d seen, but she knew he wasn’t ready to share
what he was hiding any more than she was. “In time. We’ll trust each other in time,” she said, hoping to reassure him.
Lucas never gave her the promise she asked for, never even kissed her goodbye as he quickly left her apartment. She had seen people flee a burning building at a slower pace.
Joy felt a cold chill slowly work its way up her spine. Her gypsy heart seized in panic. She’d done it again—just like with the sketches. She’d pushed too hard too fast. The connection between her and Lucas seemed to have suddenly...evaporated. She couldn’t feel him inside any longer. She couldn’t sense him with her heart.
Joy ran to the window, pushed the curtain aside, and watched his red taillights fade into the dark. “Oh, Lucas. I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”
Chapter 10
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Joy muttered to no one.
After parking her car next to the enormous green barn sitting at the center of the Mitchell farm, Joy tried to work up her courage to seek out Samantha Mitchell. They had struck up a tentative friendship at the State Fair, but Joy was concerned perhaps she was overstepping her bounds where Lucas was concerned. Just because Joy’s heart told her this man was her mate didn’t mean Lucas, or any of his relatives for that matter, would accept her interest as readily. They would all probably think she was nothing more than a silly gypsy following some ridiculous hunch.
Lucas’s sullen demeanor when he’d left her apartment weighed heavily on Joy’s mind. What had she said? What had she done? What had sent him running? Her intuition could only tell her so much, and right now her gift was stymied. Lucas was hiding...something. Something tied to the scars on his arm. And she needed someone to guide her in the right direction so she didn’t inadvertently hurt him again.
The stakes were simply too high to fold. Joy took a deep, steadying breath, gathered her nerve, and got out of her car.
Samantha was brushing a horse in the middle of the barn’s aisle. She didn’t even appear surprised when she glanced up and locked eyes with Joy. Lucas had told Joy that Sam was a perceptive woman, and Joy wondered for a moment if she would find a gypsy in some branch of Sam’s family tree.
