A Family Man

by Mindy Neff

  “Mother, for once I wish you’d think about me. Just me. Not the Alexanders, and not the town, and not yourself or the horrible position you think I’ve put you in. I’m your daughter. That should count for something.” Like unconditional love. The kind of love and acceptance Chase claimed he got from his adoptive father.

  “There’s no call to shout at me, Josephine. I’m merely saying—”

  “I know what you’re saying, Mother.” Be a good girl, Josie. Don’t make waves, Josie. Hold your head up, Josie, so folks won’t have any call to think you’re not good enough. For an insane moment, she wanted to thumb her nose at the whole stinking town and damn the consequences.

  Josie sighed and rubbed her temple where a headache was threatening. “Listen, Mother, I’ve got to run. I’ll talk to you later.” Without waiting for a reply, she replaced the receiver very carefully, then dumped her cold coffee down the sink and poured a fresh cup.

  Chase shifted his own coffee cup back and forth across the table, watching the rigid set of Josie’s shoulders and her controlled movements.

  “There ought to be a school for parents,” he said quietly. “To teach them how not to make mistakes.”

  When she turned, her tight smile spoke of sadness and resignation. “Mama and I seem to clash sometimes.”

  He nodded, keeping silent, figuring she’d tell him about it in her own time. God knows they could use a diversion. They seemed to be at an impasse in their own relationship.

  She sat down at the table and rubbed at her temples.

  “I notice you call her mama when you talk about her, yet you address her more formally as Mother when you talk to her.”

  She looked up and frowned. “I didn’t realize I did that. I suppose I want so badly for there to be warmth between us. In my mind, I guess I pretend it’s there, but when I come face-to-face with her, the stark reality hits me and I revert to formality.” She ran her fingertip around the rim of the mug. “Don’t get me wrong. In her own way, she does love me.”

  “But she’s jealous of you.”

  “No.” Her dark lashes swept down, then rose slowly. “Yes,” she admitted quietly. “Mama sometimes wants what others have.”

  “And what do you have that she wants?”

  “Bobby’s last name.”

  Chase felt his hair line shift in surprise. “Your mother had a thing for Bobby?”

  “No. For Leroy.”

  Good God, did the man leave no woman untouched? “Does your daddy know about this?”

  “Yes. He’s the one who told me.”

  Chase whistled.

  “When I told my folks that Bobby and I were getting married, Mother threw a hissy fit. She said there was no way things would work out because in the eyes of the Alexanders we were just white trash. Daddy works for Leroy at the factory in town and Mother sews for Miz Inez. She said Leroy wouldn’t stand for his only son marrying a servant’s kid and that if by some miracle the marriage did go through, that the whole town would be taking bets on how long it would last. She said I ought to know my place, and that when the town started whispering about me trying to be somebody that I’m not I’d bail out.”

  “Sugar, I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think I like your mother.”

  He saw the weary lift of her shoulders, the spark of reluctant amusement in her eyes. “J.T. adores her.”

  “And that recommends her?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Okay. I’ll reserve judgment.”

  “She’s not all bad, Chase. I figured out a long time ago that my mother has a way of projecting her own insecurities and inadequacies onto other people.”

  “But you buy into it sometimes.”

  “Sometimes,” she admitted. “She is right about certain things, though. Folks in a small town have a real long memory if you happen to step out of line and break their code of what’s deemed respectable.”

  Lindsey Wakefield was a prime example, Chase thought. He’d heard the gossip, yet Josie had defended the woman at the Fourth of July dance when he’d commented on Bubba’s choice for a dance partner. At the time, it’d seemed she’d been double dog daring him to form any bad impressions of the other woman. Lindsey was a looker and she flaunted convention.

  Chase had learned long ago to ignore the taunts of society. He suspected that Josie wasn’t quite so hardened. He didn’t want to be the cause of her being the subject of gossip, but what was a guy supposed to do? Josie and J.T. were his family. He’d lost her once—admittedly at a time when she hadn’t been his to hold. But now things were different. If he lost her now, he had a very real feeling that his life would cease to have any purpose.

  Based on this new insight into her past, Chase realized he was up against some pretty heavy odds. He now understood her determination to prove herself worthy, or good enough for the Alexander name.

  But could he wait in the shadows forever? He’d spent the first seven years of his life on the outside looking in, wanting acceptance and love and a legitimate name.

  That damned Alexander name, as it turned out.

  He thought he’d gotten past his childhood hurts, but in a sense, history seemed destined to repeat itself. Remembering the mean taunts of children about his lack of a daddy, the ugly labels folks had pinned on his mama, made Chase’s gut twist.

  What was he supposed to do?

  He could hear J.T. out on the porch, jabbering to his newly acquired fish. “Losing the town’s respect would destroy you, wouldn’t it?”

  Josie shook her head. “It’s not me that I worry about. It’s what it would do to J.T. To his life.”

  “Do you want me to discourage him from calling me daddy?”

  He’d do that for her, she realized. At the expense of his own emotions. She reached over and took his hand. Lord, she didn’t want to hurt this man. But she had to do what was right. Right for her son. Oh, God, if only she could be absolutely certain just what that was.

  Tears backed up in her throat, making her voice husky. “Yes.”

  She saw him blanch at the single, stark word, saw the muscle in his jaw work furiously, saw the pain of rejection darken his deep blue eyes. “I’m so sorry if that hurts you, but I need time to sort things out. Right now…I—I just need some time, Chase.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Chase stood outside of Dottie’s boutique, amazed at the crowd gathered inside. He’d known Josie was holding a lingerie sale. The scandalously decadent creations he’d seen her cart out of the house that morning had sent his thoughts into overdrive.

  The sun beat against his back, causing his shirt to cling to his spine. He didn’t intend to go in. He figured lingerie sales were for women only. Besides, she’d told him she needed time. He didn’t like admitting just how much that had hurt.

  Instinctively he wanted to push—push for the right to hold her at night, to be her champion when the narrow-minded constraints of small-town life closed in. And for the right to tuck his son in at night, to play ball with him, pick him up from day care, carry him on his shoulders in broad daylight right down the middle of the sidewalk on Main Street. Take him for ice cream and picnics and movies. To the toy store. Hell, even to the hardware store. To pick up the slack as any father should do when the mother of their child got bogged down with deadlines and overwork, or just needed a few blessed moments of peace all to herself.

  And unless they came to some sort of compromise, he might never have those rights.

  Still, he was drawn to that boutique window by a power that was more than he could control. The power of imagination…and that damn red camisole with the sewn-in, push-up demibra he’d seen laid out on Josie’s bed that morning. He’d like nothing better than to peel that summer white blazer off her slim shoulders, ease open the zipper of her straight skirt…

  “Might as well step on in here where it’s cool.” Bud Temple, looking official and at ease in his short-sleeve sheriff uniform, held the door open. And Chase felt like a damned Peeping Tom.

&
nbsp; If the sun wasn’t enough to make him burn, his thoughts were. Unable to resist the lure of air-conditioning—and Josie Alexander—Chase stepped inside. The place smelled of peppermints and lilacs, a combination that didn’t quite fit in view of the women waving around bras and panties and silk robes. Sandalwood and musk seemed more appropriate. The entire boutique fairly throbbed with sensuality.

  “You here to keep the peace?” he asked the sheriff. To his surprise, there were almost as many men in the shop as there were women.

  “Naw. Josie does a good job of that all by herself. Actually, I’m here to supervise my wife. Left to her own devices, she’d spend this month’s paycheck and next month’s to boot.”

  Chase could tell that wasn’t the case. If the look on Bud Temple’s face was any indication, he’d buy his wife the moon if she should mention an interest. “Seems like a worthwhile investment to me,” Chase said absently. The sight of Josie, looking sexy as hell in demure white and bold red, holding court to half the town was having a typical effect on his body.

  “You got that right. Since Josie started makin’ this frilly underwear, Louisiana farmers aren’t just spending their money on hay and seed. Got a mess of babies being born to prove it.”

  Chase felt the corner of his mouth kick up. There were more than a few men looking out of place and hot under the collar as their wives held scanty unmentionables against the front of their bodies. Henry Potts in particular—though he was several years past the stage of procreation, Chase assumed—was blatantly undressing Miz Dottie Alexander with his eyes.

  Enjoying the impromptu entertainment, Chase caught a glimpse of J.T. ducking between a row of dresses. Without breaking stride, Josie steered him in another direction while still appearing to give her audience her full attention.

  An amazing woman, Chase thought. All that Southern charm and polish. Tough as nails on the outside, a marshmallow on the inside.

  “If you’ve got a sweetheart or sister or mama with a birthday comin’ up, this is the guaranteed, number one place to shop,” Bud commented. True to his profession, he didn’t miss the direction of Chase’s gaze.

  “Actually, I was just passing by and saw all the commotion.”

  “Lying to a peace officer is frowned on in these parts,” Bud drawled.

  Chase saw masculine understanding and a spark of amusement in Bud Temple’s expression. He couldn’t come up with an appropriate response, so he merely shrugged. He’d like to think Josie was his sweetheart, but sweethearts went in for things like courting and hand-holding. Just his luck, to be irrevocably hung up on a lady and she wasn’t having any of it…at least not in public.

  God, he wanted things to be different. He watched her move, the graceful arch of her hand as she gestured to a robe, the shiny tips of her nails as she slipped spaghetti straps off a padded hanger, the glossy sheen of her full lips as she spoke to each and every person who approached her.

  Seduction. Pure and simple seduction. The customers didn’t stand a chance in hell of keeping a hold on their wallets.

  “She’s good at this.”

  “Lingerie?” Bud asked.

  “That, too. But I meant her way with people.”

  “Josie’s always been good with people. I don’t think there’s a mean bone in her body. Ask any person in this room and they’ll probably have a ready list of all the unselfish, caring things Josie’s done for them. And that list would be pretty long because she’s grown up with most of these folks.”

  She’d earned that respect and admiration, Chase realized. He could see it in the easy way conversation flowed, and in the approval and good-natured teasing that went back and forth between Josie and her friends. J.T., who was gamboling underfoot like a mischievous puppy, also garnered a lion’s share of attention and accolades. With each comment or compliment, Josie beamed with pride.

  To lose that acceptance would devastate her.

  Seeing her like this, surrounded by small-town friends and family, made Chase understand why she was so tormented over letting the truth be known. He didn’t like it, but he understood it.

  “So, what are you going to do about it?”

  Chase’s head whipped around at Bud’s question. He frowned, treading carefully. “About what?”

  “Man, any fool can see you’re crazy about that gal.”

  “Are you asking my intentions?”

  “By rights, that’s her daddy’s job…but I reckon I am.”

  Chase blew out a pent-up breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. “My intentions are honorable, but the lady’s not cooperating.”

  Bud grinned. “You look like a persuasive enough fellow.”

  Chase cocked a brow and relaxed his tense shoulders. “Got any advice?”

  “No, but I imagine my wife’s got plenty.”

  Just then, a short, blond whirlwind came rushing up.

  “Bud, I swear, are you hauling folks in off the streets?” Mary Alice Temple gave her husband’s chest a quick pat, then slipped under his arm with a smoothness that spoke of many years together. “Hi, Chase. Nice to see you again. Are you here to buy something?”

  “Well…” He was definitely on unsteady ground here.

  “Mary Alice,” Bud warned.

  “Hush up, darling. I’m trying to make a sale.” She patted his shirtfront again, this time in what was clearly a caress. Bud swallowed visibly and Chase nearly laughed out loud.

  “Well, Chase, are you buying?” Mary Alice asked again.

  “I’m not sure who I’d be buying for,” Chase hedged. Until Josie gave him an all clear, he wouldn’t put her in an awkward position by flaunting their relationship openly.

  “For Josie, of course.”

  “There you go, sweetheart,” Bud complained. “Butting in again.”

  Mary Alice ignored her husband and kept her attention fixed on Chase.

  “She makes this stuff herself,” Chase remarked. And God how he loved to see her in it.

  “Hey, she can’t keep everything she designs. She wouldn’t make any money that way. And I happen to know she’s partial to that emerald green nightie over there.”

  Chase was kind of partial to that particular garment too, but he didn’t want to be the cause of speculation. Somehow, Mary Alice saw right through him to his dilemma.

  “I don’t know if Josie’s told you much about me, but she and I go clear back to the cradle. What Bud and I know or hear, never, ever goes any farther.”

  Chase studied both Mary Alice and Bud. They were fiercely protective of Josie and utterly sincere. “How much?”

  “Thirty-five bucks, but I can get you a discount since you know the designer.”

  “Everybody here knows the designer.” Chase reached for his wallet and pulled out several bills. “Don’t bother with the discount. But if you can be discreet when you wrap it up, I’d be obliged.”

  “No problem.” Mary Alice plucked the money from his hand. “Discretion is my middle name.”

  Bud choked on a shout of laughter. “Woman, I think I better get you home. You’re definitely out of control.”

  Mary Alice just grinned and whirled away leaving Bud to watch his wife’s retreating form with a soft, indulgent look. “God, I’m a lucky bastard,” he murmured.

  Chase felt a jolt of envy so strong it nearly buckled his knees. Would he ever have the occasion or the right to say that about himself and Josie?

  As he waited for Mary Alice to slip back with his purchase, he kept his attention divided between Josie and J.T. In typical little boy fashion, J.T. was playing peekaboo with the dresses hanging on a rack. With an attention span that lasted about two seconds, J.T. suddenly changed course, miscalculated and tripped over the metal foot of the clothes rack. His head came down with a resounding crack against a square of floor tile.

  Reacting instinctively, Chase was across the room and had the little boy scooped in his arms almost before the first frightened wail pierced the air.

  “You’re okay, sport,” he
soothed. He felt his heart racing as fast as the baby’s. Being a parent was hell on the nerves, he decided. “Got to learn to pick up your feet when you’re charging headfirst like that. Suppose you broke Aunt Dottie’s floor?”

  At the absurd question, J.T. immediately hushed and raised his head to peer at the floor, his little mind seeming to consider the possibility. Josie had rushed to their side, as had quite a few of the customers. When J.T. noticed the crowd, he once again buried his face in Chase’s neck.

  “Are you okay, baby? Let Mama see,” Josie crooned, her hand getting tangled up with Chase’s as they both rubbed at J.T.’s back. It was all Chase could do not to link his fingers with Josie’s and pull her into the circle of his arms. The scent of her perfume teased him, making him ache to drag her out the door, away from prying eyes. He longed to mold her body to his, to watch the motherly panic vanish from her eyes as he replaced it with hot anticipation.

  He knew the instant she became aware of his thoughts. Her hand stilled against his. Their gazes collided, held, then hers skittered away. But he’d seen the yearning in her eyes, the emotion. Like Bud had said just a few short minutes ago, any fool who cared to look could see that there wasn’t anything remotely ordinary between them.

  Satisfied that J.T. was unharmed, he passed the boy to Josie. It was a simple gesture that somehow made him feel empty. They had a son together, but that wasn’t all that was between them. At least not in private. There was friendship and passion. It wasn’t enough, Chase realized. He needed more—the bond, the commitment.

  And he knew she just couldn’t give him that.

  They were still kneeling on the floor, J.T. between them. He almost reached out to touch the porcelain skin of her cheek, smooth the worry lines from her brow. Instead, he reached for his son’s chin.

  “Let’s see that noggin, kid. You gonna live?”

  J.T. nodded and Josie smoothed his hair back so they could both inspect the red mark on his small forehead.

  “Mama will kiss it and make it all better.” She pressed her lips to his head, her lipstick painting a visual stamp over the wound.