He had an ominous feeling lurking in the shadows of his thoughts but he refused to add to Skye’s burden at this point. They’d figure out the details later.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SKYE SETTLED INTO THE FINE leather interior of the American made muscle car and allowed a smile to follow. Nico was strapped into the back and the top was up because it was still raining cats and dogs but even so the ride was enough to make her temporarily forget the crisis that had sent her running. She couldn’t remember the last time she got out of the city and she was almost giddy with excitement.
“Am I impressing you yet?” Christian asked, with a grin that was just this side of adorable. “Because that’s why a guy gets a car like this. To get chicks.” He waggled his eyebrows and laughter bubbled up from inside her.
“It’s not bad. Beats walking that’s for sure,” she said offhandedly, giggling when he appeared wounded. “I’m kidding. It’s a great car and you know it. Somehow I’m not surprised, though. From what I know of you, you like nice things and there’s no way you’d drive a busted up junker.”
“You’re right about that. I can’t run a business like that. You got to spend a little money to make money as they say. Presentation goes a long way in making an impression.”
His blithe statement reminded her too much of Belleni and put an annoying damper on her enthusiasm but she didn’t want Christian to see so she agreed with a smile. “You’re right,” she said as they pulled onto the freeway. “So tell me about Bridgeport.”
“Well, it’s about a four-hour drive so it’s no hop skip and a jump but with good traffic flow it should be a decent trip. I was born in Richmond but when I was eleven, I moved in with Mama Jo where my brothers Thomas and Owen were already living.”
Of course she had to ask the next question. “What happened to your biological parents, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I don’t mind the asking but I might not want to tell you and lose that air of mystery I wear so well.” He winked and she grinned but she sensed behind the jokes pulsed a raw wound that he would do just about anything to protect. “Ah, so I found myself in the foster care system after my mom died and my dad was killed in prison.”
“Your father was killed in prison? Oh, my God, that’s awful.”
“Yeah, got shanked or something like that while he was serving time for aggravated assault. Before you shed a tear for the guy let me tell you he wasn’t up for Father of the Year before that. He was a mean drunk and from what my mom said, he drank more than he worked. He split before I turned one, so him checking out wasn’t a big tragedy. But losing my mom was hard.”
“What happened?” she asked, drawn by his story. Her own childhood had been fairly stereotypical of a Bible Belt upbringing. She’d gone to church every Sunday with her family, got good grades and focused on her dance. For all intents and purposes, she’d been a very good girl, which made it that much more impossible for her to turn to her parents when she should’ve. The shame of the past five years would be more than she could bear if she knew her parents shared that burden.
At her query about his mother, Christian frowned and that painful darkness she’d sensed earlier flashed in his expression. He recovered well and shrugged it off as if that part of the story wasn’t as interesting. “It’s not something I like to talk about,” he admitted. “She tried real hard to be a good mom but she didn’t always succeed. I gotta give her props for trying, though.”
“Was she abusive?” she ventured, almost afraid to know the answer. Her imagination conjured an image of a very young Christian scared and crying and it made her flinch.
“She never hit me,” he answered with a quirk of his mouth, which she recognized as his attempt at deflecting.
“There are many types of abuse,” she said quietly, of this she was intimately aware. “Emotional, psychological…even neglect is a kind of abuse.”
“Yeah.” He focused on the road, but she had the feeling he was seeing something else, perhaps reliving a scene from his past. She wondered what she would find if she were able to take a peek. He shook off with a sigh whatever had caused him to slip into silence and said, “Well, you know some people aren’t emotionally equipped to be good parents, no matter how hard they try.”
“Still, I’m sure you loved your mom and it must’ve been tough losing her so young…”
His expression remained the same, loose and relaxed, but Skye saw sadness creep into his gaze. She itched to reach out to him, to touch him somehow, to communicate to him that she wished he’d had a better start in life, but then he grinned and shrugged, saying, “That’s the hand that I was dealt. I try not to dwell on it. Besides, she did the best she could and that’s all you can ask for.”
Skye nodded but her thoughts strayed to Nico. It was her hope that he never found out what she did for a living when he was younger, but secrets had their own way of making themselves known and she worried how he’d take it. Would he hate her? Would he look at her in disgust? Skye’s heart spasmed with pain at the thought of Nico rejecting her for the mistakes of her past. She swallowed and returned her attention to Christian. His side profile was like a Calvin Klein model’s with his angular jaw and dark burn of stubble. He looked rakish yet soft and ready to cuddle at a moment’s notice. She sighed and wondered if she’d lost her mind agreeing to this trip. Her head was certainly not screwed on straight enough to think clearly. “Tell me about your brothers,” she suggested, glancing back and seeing that Nico had already fallen asleep.
Christian shifted in his seat and changed lanes before answering. “That’s easy. Thomas is a federal agent and he’s always been the one to follow every rule. He’s not exactly a people person but once he lets you in, he’s the most generous man you’ll ever meet. He’s also good to have at your back in a fight because he’s fiercely loyal and doesn’t let anyone push his family around. He’s a real good guy. I’d say I’m probably the closest to Thomas simply because Owen moved to California to operate his logging company. I don’t get to see him as often but Owen is what we called the diplomat. He was always trying to smooth over the edges we created. But he’s no pushover. He’s solid as those trees he’s harvesting. I mean, the man is, well, he’s great, too. I dunno, I guess I can’t say enough good things about them. I love them both and would do anything for them.”
Her eyes misted at the open sentiment. How amazing to have such a bond with someone who shared no blood. She had a sister back in Iowa but they’d never been close. Maybe that’d been her fault. She’d been so focused on training for her dance career that she never had time for the little sister in the background. Then when it came time to leave, she realized her sister had grown up without her and they were strangers to one another. So many bad choices. If she could do it over again, she hoped she would’ve reached out to her sister more. But who knows.
“So why New York?” she asked. “Why not Richmond or Charleston? Somewhere closer to home?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think I could go back to Richmond. There are too many memories there and most weren’t good. Charleston just didn’t have the vibe I was looking for. New York is all about class, art and sophistication. I like that. I love the culture, the opportunity and the people. You get it all.” He cast a quick look her way. “And what about you? You came to New York to dance but where’d you come from before that? And why didn’t you return?”
She forced a laugh. “Because Iowa had never been a good fit for me. I stuck out like a sore thumb. I’d wanted more than my town could give me and, I guess, like you, the vibe seemed better in the city.”
Part of that was true. In the beginning, she’d been seduced by the wealth and privilege that came with being on Belleni’s arm. By the time she’d been sucked into the escort business she’d been unable to get out. Oh, she would’ve run back to Iowa if she’d had the chance. Well, maybe not Iowa, per se, but somewhere far from New York. She was sick of it all. And she wanted Nico to live in a house with a yard, not an apart
ment.
“Isn’t it unusual that your foster mother adopted all three of you?” she asked.
“Very,” he answered. “But Mama Jo said she knew when we walked through her doors that she’d found her true reason for fostering. It was to find us.”
“That’s so sweet,” she murmured, already liking this Mama Jo character if she was as nice as Christian said she was. “Imagine if the world had more people like your Mama Jo.”
“I know,” he said, sobering. “She’s one in a million. And she’s a fabulous cook. Wait until she makes her corn bread. It’s out of this world. When we were kids we used to fight over who got to eat the last piece. It got so bad that she started making us our own loaves.”
“That’s bad,” Skye agreed, laughing. “You couldn’t just agree to let one or the other have the last piece?”
“Nope. That was serious business and she didn’t make it often so it was a real treat when she did.”
“My mom used to make sweet potato pie. You could smell it baking throughout the whole house. It was my dad’s favorite.” She paused, allowing a wash of memories to rush over her. Tears pricked her eyes. She’d give anything to enjoy a slice of that pie again. She looked away so that Christian didn’t see the shine in her eyes and lifted her finger to rub out the moisture. “I never did learn how to bake or cook. With my dance regime and the strict weight requirements, I never saw the need to learn. It’s not like I could eat any of it anyway. I mostly snacked on raw vegetables and some fruit. But every now and again I’d let myself have a bite of something off-limits.”
“Like your mom’s sweet potato pie?” he asked with a grin.
“Yeah,” she mused sadly, letting her head drop back on the headrest. “Like sweet potato pie.”
CHRISTIAN PULLED INTO Bridgeport just as the last few rays of sunshine disappeared into the chilly evening. Coming home was always a mixed bag. He loved it—the teasing smell of hickory smoke lingering in the air on summer days from family barbecues, the verdant green canopy of hemlock and elm that set a young boy’s imagination on fire as he chased his brothers through the dense old growth—but there was sadness behind all those good times, too, and it was difficult to embrace one without the other.
The first time he walked through Mama Jo’s house he’d been a boy locked inside himself, exhausted from fighting a system that was bigger, badder and stronger than one eleven-year-old kid. He’d been through a succession of foster homes and when he’d come to the little house stationed at the end of a country road, he hadn’t held high hopes. He’d worn his grief like a shield but he hadn’t expected to be loved, instead of pitied; accepted, instead of just tolerated.
He’d never brought anyone home before. It felt good to bring Skye. She was hurting and there was no one better to heal whatever was broken inside of you than Mama Jo.
“We’re here,” he said softly, rubbing her arm to wake her. “And you’re a terrible navigator. You fell asleep for most of the trip,” he teased, eliciting a small smile.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just conked out.” She twisted to wake Nico. “Wake up, baby. We’re here.”
“Oh, and I think your phone rang while you were asleep,” he offered, and she rustled in her purse until she found her cell. She noted the missed call and who it was from. “Anyone important?” he asked.
“Nope.” Her smile seemed false but she didn’t elaborate. Then she turned the phone off completely. Probably whoever was threatening to take Nico trying to track her down, he thought darkly. When they got back to the city he planned to have words with that guy. They weren’t living in the dark ages, he couldn’t treat women that way.
Nico rubbed at his eyes and yawned, his dark hair mussed and standing on end. Oh, God, Mama Jo would love him. Speaking of…the door flew open and the impossibly short form of Mama Jo appeared in the doorway as the porch light clicked on. “There she is,” he murmured, smiling. He bounded from the car and rushed the steps to gather her in an effusive hug. Her bones felt frail in his grasp but she chuckled and accepted his hug as if he weren’t in fact crushing her. “Mama Jo, are you getting taller?” he asked once he’d set her down. “I swear you’re taller than the last time I saw you.”
“Oh, go on with you, you know I ain’t no taller but I ain’t no shorter neither so I figure that’s better than something.” She reached up to push away a lock of hair from his eyes, her expression warm. “Your hair’s too long. You look like one of those hippies. Don’t they have barbers over in that fancy New York City? Maybe Old Clark can give you a trim while you visit.” She didn’t wait for him to answer just moved past him and gestured to the car. “Where’s your manners, boy? You gonna let your friends sit in the car till it snows? Come on, bring ’em in out of the cold. Catching your death ain’t no way to show a person some hospitality.”
“You betcha, Mama,” he said, waving Skye and Nico over. “I’ll get our stuff in a minute. Come on and meet my favorite girl.”
Skye picked up Nico and made her way gingerly through the yard and joined him as they went inside.
A wall of memories assailed him as they always did, clamoring for attention as one piled on another. In his mind, he saw Thomas tearing around the corner with Owen in hot pursuit as they bounded for the open door, headed for the lake on a sultry summer day. They packed nothing but their fishing poles, each bragging that they were going to bring home something for Mama Jo to cook up but they rarely did. Mama Jo had never complained, just chuckled at their tales of how “the biggest fish you ever saw” always seemed to get away.
Fact was, the only one who liked fish was Owen. But they all liked the idea of being Mama Jo’s special boy who brought home dinner.
Mama Jo gave Skye a once-over before gathering an astonished Skye into a short hug. “There’s only family here,” Mama Jo declared, moving to Nico who was regarding her with open curiosity but no fear. “And who is this handsome young man?”
“I’m Nico,” he answered for himself, reaching up to finger a tight gray curl on Mama’s head. “Your hair is funny,” he said and Skye’s eyes widened at his blunt statement.
“Nico, honey, we mustn’t be rude. We’re guests in Mrs….”
“No Mrs., just Mama Jo. Never had a husband worth talking about so never thought I should have to lug around his name for all eternity. And don’t worry about getting after the boy. Children tell it like it is. I do have funny hair but there’s nowhere that says funny means ugly so there’s no harm done. Now—” she reached out to Nico who slipped his hand into her small brown one “—let’s see what we can find in the kitchen to eat.” She glanced at Christian with a knowing expression as she said, “And I think I might have some corn bread somewhere around here though Lord knows I ought to make you work for it seeing as you haven’t been home in a dog’s age.”
Christian laughed. “Don’t go easy on me now, Mama.”
“Don’t you worry, I won’t,” she promised as she went to the cupboard and started taking down plates and handing them to him. “But I just happened to have a few things simmering so get yourself washed up and sit at the table so we can have a proper visit.”
Skye looked to Christian with a worried expression as she said, “Please don’t go through all this trouble. We can just pick something up, some fast food or something.”
She might as well have said, “We’ll just cram a cow pie in our mouths,” for the look of horror on Mama Jo’s face. “Honey, you’ve got a growing boy here, you can’t be feeding him that junk and expect him to grow up to be a strong, strapping man. Trust me, I know something about the feeding of boys. I’ve raised my share of them, ending with this knuckle-head and he’s turned out just right, wouldn’t you say?”
Skye stammered, clearly worried she’d just offended Mama Jo as she said, “Oh, of course, ma’am. I just don’t want to put you out. I’m sure you weren’t expecting two extra visitors tonight. And well, Nico is a very picky eater. He hardly eats anything I put in front of him,” she finishe
d, distressed.
But Mama Jo just chuckled and drew Nico into the kitchen. “How about you two get cleaned up and Nico can help me in the kitchen. Ain’t no boy who can resist what I got cooking tonight,” she assured.
“I don’t like broccoli,” Nico warned just as Christian slipped his hand into Skye’s and pulled her away from the kitchen. Like Mama Jo said, she knew a thing or two about raising boys…and their picky palates.
“Are you sure…” Skye said, trailing behind Christian as he led her to the back rooms where his old bedroom used to be. He kept her hand in his and then when he’d gotten her into the small room he’d once shared with Thomas, he closed the door with his foot and pulled her close. As hard as he tried to distract himself, he’d been thinking of this moment since the second he let her go at the warehouse. Her hands slid up his chest, scorching the skin where they touched, and she glanced up at him through a fall of dark lashes. “What are you doing?” she asked in a husky whisper. “Mama Jo is going to know…”
Christian grinned, mischief and mayhem in his tone as one brow lifted playfully. “What? I’m just showing you my childhood bedroom, where I grew up, did my homework and dreamed about beautiful girls. That’s not breaking any rules, now is it? However,” he added as he brushed a kiss across her awaiting lips and shivered at the contact, “this might earn me a stern reprimand.”
“You don’t want to do this,” she reminded him, her chest rising and falling in short, quick movements as she gazed at him. “Things might’ve been different if I wasn’t in the situation I’m in but they’re not.”
“I know,” he said tightly, cursing himself for letting his hormones get the best of him. “I just felt like I needed to do it…that you needed me to do it, too. Was I wrong?”
She stared up at him for a long moment and when she finally answered, he almost heard tears in her voice. “No. You weren’t wrong.”
A Chance in the Night Page 13
