The attorney sent him a steady look. "Your athletic footwear business is very successful. You employ over three hundred people in San Francisco and throughout the country. You mingle with sports celebrities on a frequent basis. You are considered to be a very eligible bachelor, although you aren't known for long-term romantic relationships. You don't appear to smoke or do drugs, and you run several miles a day, probably to balance the enormous amount of junk food you put into your system."
"Very good. Did you find out what brand of toothpaste I use?"
"I didn't consider it necessary."
"You only considered it necessary to invade my privacy."
"For the child's sake, yes. Let me give you the bottom line, Mr. Carrigan. In the eyes of the law, unless proven otherwise, you are Jessica's father and thereby required to support her. Now, if you wish to put her up for adoption, I must tell you that twelve-year-old girls are not very adoptable. Jessica will more than likely end up in the foster care system until she's eighteen. Then she'll be on her own. Of course, she may run away before then. She's not unfamiliar with life on the street. She and her mother were homeless most of this past year."
Homeless? Melanie with the beautiful brown eyes and the big dreams had ended up living on the streets with her baby? He felt a sudden thrust of guilt. But Melanie had made her choice. She'd picked a life without him.
"I'm not her father," he said one last time, knowing even as he said the words that it was futile to protest. "I'll take a DNA test to prove that."
"DNA tests take time, but that's certainly your prerogative. In the meantime, you may wish to pursue Eddie Saunders. If he is in fact Jessica's father, perhaps he'll want her. In fact, I can recommend an excellent private investigator."
"I'll bet."
"Until then Jessica needs a home."
He thought for a long moment. Once again, Melanie wanted him to care for her baby until the real father showed up.
How could he do that again?
How could he not?
"Fine. I'll take Jessie, until we find her real father." It would be okay. He'd get Gloria to come more often, and his grandfather would be there, too, he thought dismally, suddenly realizing how crowded his simple life had become.
"Good." Mr. Monroe opened the door to his office. "Jessie? Mr. Carrigan has agreed to take care of you."
Jessie shrugged. "Whatever." She got up from the chair and sauntered over to Alex. "Can I have five bucks?"
"Why?"
"So, I can buy a lighter."
He plucked the cigarette out of her hand. "I live in a nonsmoking apartment."
"Oh, shit."
"And non-swearing."
"Where do you live? A fucking church?"
He stared at her defiant face in amazement. "Did your mother let you talk like that?"
"All the time."
"Okay, well off you go," Mr. Monroe said, ushering them out of his office before Alex could change his mind. "I'll have my investigator call you, Mr. Carrigan."
"You better," he grumbled as he walked out of the office with Jessie. The hall was empty. He pushed the elevator button and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Jessie did the same, her expression of disinterest as deliberate as his own.
"If you're not cool, I'll just leave," Jessie said, her gaze fixed on the wall.
"And go where?"
"Wherever. I don't need you. I don't need anybody."
Her words rang through to his heart. They were his words, and he'd said them over and over again, growing up in his own shattered family.
"Why don't we just try to get along, Jessie? It will make it easier on all of us. By the way, where are your things?"
She pointed to her worn backpack, still avoiding his eyes. "Right here."
"Is that it?"
"I travel light."
He had liked to travel light, too. Only, now he was acquiring baggage by the minute.
The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside, riding down to the first floor in silence. They crossed through the lobby, and Alex opened the front door for Jessie. A gust of wind blew her hair up in an arch, and Alex was suddenly blinded by a swirl of dust.
"It sure is windy," Jessie proclaimed.
"It sure is," he muttered.
And the winds will curse your life until you return to where it began...
Chapter Two
"My grandson wants to lock me up in a home for the crazy." Julian Carrigan rested his elbows on the small round table in front of him, the long, worn sleeves of his coat creeping up over his plump forearms. He stared down at his cafe mocha as if he were searching for an answer in the dark chocolate.
"Are you sure?" Faith Christopher walked around the bakery counter and slid into the chair across from him. It was almost closing time at Faith's Fancies, a small French bakery/cafe in downtown San Francisco, and Faith was ready for a break.
"I'm sure," Julian replied, casting a wistful glance around the cafe, which was now devoid of customers. "I'll miss this place."
Faith smiled as he looked around the room. She'd worked hard to make the bakery cozy and inviting with dark wood paneling, warm orange-red curtains and inviting photographs of pastries on the walls. There were bud vases with fresh flowers on each of the four small tables and a complimentary rack of magazines and newspapers in the corner. She invited people to linger, to relax, to enjoy. And this old man had done just that, yesterday afternoon and today. She'd wondered if he was going to be a regular customer, now she wasn't so sure.
The one thing she was sure about is that the elderly man was in dire need of a friend, not to mention an iron. His suit had obviously once been an expensive purchase, but it was now old and worn, as wrinkled as the faded white shirt he wore underneath.
Julian stared at her through weary blue eyes. His white hair stood up in short, straight tufts on his head. His face was lined, his hands aged, his shoulders slumped. He seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his back.
"My grandson says he doesn't have room for me, but he lives in one of those fancy apartments up on the hill. It's got three bedrooms." Julian took a sip of his coffee and shook his head. "It's all gone bad, you know. My whole life, one thing after another."
"There must have been some good times in your life," Faith ventured.
"There were some -- a long time ago. Before the curse."
"The curse?" She couldn't help but sit forward in her seat. Although she considered herself firmly grounded in reality, she was intrigued by the idea of magic.
"I was cursed more than fifty years ago to live without love. Not just me but everyone in my family. I didn't believe in the curse at first. But it came true. I wish I could set things right. Sometimes I think it might be worth trying, but I couldn't do it alone."
"What about your grandson?"
The old man snorted. "It would be a cold day in hell before he'd help me."
"Other family?"
"No. My son is a bigger SOB than my grandson. Guess they take after me." He paused. "My friends are all dead. I soon will be, too, I suppose."
"Don't say that." Faith was touched by the deep sadness in his eyes. She understood loneliness. She'd been alone since the beginning, abandoned in a church pew with nothing but a worn blanket and a St. Christopher's medal around her neck. From foster home to foster home, the loneliness had only grown, not because people didn't care about her, but because she didn't belong to anyone, to anyplace. She had no blood ties in the world, at least none that she knew about.
It wasn't until she'd met Gary Porter that she'd finally felt as if she belonged to someone. Her stomach twisted into a knot of sadness. Gary had left her too, not willingly, but he was gone all the same, her friend, her lover, her protector.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." Julian's gaze was concerned as it settled on her face.
Faith forced a smile and pushed the memories of her doomed love affair to the back of her mind where they belonged. "You didn't."
"Th
en why aren't you smiling anymore?"
"I'm angry with your grandson."
"Alex?" Julian raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know him."
"He sounds like a monster."
"Most women love him. He's very dashing."
"Dashing, huh?"
"Handsome, attractive, a -- a hunk as they say nowadays."
Faith laughed. "He must take after his grandfather."
"Perhaps in my day," he said with a touch of arrogance that Faith sensed had once been a bigger part of his personality. "I've been married five times, you know."
"Five? Wow. And where are all your ex-wives?"
"I don't know." He shrugged. "I didn't treat them all that well, I'm afraid. I did so many things wrong, Miss Faith. May I call you that?"
"Of course. We all make mistakes."
"I made more than my share. And now my grandson is paying."
Faith wrinkled her nose in confusion. "I don't understand. I thought you said he was putting you in a home. It sounds like you're the one who's paying."
"I'm the one who brought the curse upon the family. The old Indian warned me about what would happen. The winds will curse your life until you return to where it began..." Julian looked out the window. "It's windy today."
"It's always windy in late March," Faith said, trying to lighten the dark mood that had settled over his features. "One of my foster moms used to say that the wind was just God's way of doing some spring cleaning."
Julian's somber expression didn't change with her whimsical explanation. "The wind brings with it disaster, change, evil. The monster roars... and the monster kills."
She shivered in spite of the fact that the bakery was quite warm. Despite her foster mom's reassuring explanation, the wind had always scared her, too. Faith had grown up in Southern California where the Santa Ana winds would blow up unexpectedly, lighting the nearby hillsides on fire. One of her foster homes had been on just such a hillside.
She had vivid memories of the day the fire had come down the hill into the backyard. Her foster father had stood on the roof, hosing down the shingles. Her foster mother had hustled her and the other children into a van just minutes before the fire breached the back fence. They'd lost everything. Faith had moved on to a new home, a new family, but she'd never forgotten the hot smothering smell of the fire on the wind. Evil? Yes, she could believe it came with the wind.
"If only I could make it right." Julian drew her attention back to the conversation at hand. "Then I could die with peace in my heart, knowing that my family would no longer be cursed."
"Maybe I could help," Faith said impulsively. "What would you have to do to get rid of this curse?"
Julian hesitated. He looked around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear them, then he dropped his voice down to a whisper. "Find Suzannah."
"Who is Suzannah?" Faith asked in the same hushed voice.
"The love of my life."
"One of your wives?"
He shook his head. "No."
Faith waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't say another word. Finally she asked, "When did you last see her?"
"Fifty-six years ago."
Faith's jaw dropped open. "That's a long time. She might be..."
"Yes, I know. But I can't get rid of the curse unless I find her. She has something that I need. Do you think you could help me?"
She hesitated. She saw her assistant and almost mother-in-law, Nancy Porter, watching her from behind the counter. Nancy had a worried expression on her round face, and Faith could tell from the set of her jaw that she didn't particularly like Julian Carrigan. But then, Nancy had become very protective of Faith since Gary's death two years earlier. In many ways, Nancy had taken over Faith's life where Gary had left off.
After her oldest son's death, Nancy had volunteered to help in the bakery that Faith and Gary had started together. Nancy had also insisted that even though Gary had died before their wedding, Faith was still a part of the Porter family, and as a member of their family, she would receive all of their love and all of their attention.
Sometimes too much attention, but Faith would never tell Nancy that. Faith owed everything she had to Gary and his family. She wouldn't have had the bakery or her apartment or the family dinners without the Porters -- Nancy and her husband, Chuck, and their younger son, Ben, and their daughter, Kim.
"It's too much to ask," Julian said abruptly, patting her hand. "Please forgive me. You're a young woman with a life of your own, a business to tend. I don't know what I was thinking. It's just that this damn curse has not only destroyed me but also my son, and now, I fear, my grandson as well. It will never end unless I make it right."
"I want to help you. But some things cannot be changed. I learned that a long time ago."
"Faith?" Nancy called to her from behind the counter. "May I speak to you for a moment? In the back?"
"You go on," Julian said. "I've already taken up too much of your time."
"I'll be back in a minute."
Faith got up and went into the kitchen. Since her assistant baker, Leslie, left by noon each day, Faith and Nancy were alone. Nancy leaned against the large, marble-topped table set in the center of the kitchen, her arms crossed in front of her chest. A small woman, barely five foot two, Nancy had blond hair, hazel eyes, and a rosy- cheeked complexion. Her round arms were made for hugging, and she usually had a ready smile, unless, of course, she was worried about one of her kids or Faith -- which appeared to be the case at this moment.
"You shouldn't be offering to help that man, Faith. He's a stranger."
"He's a lonely old man." Faith picked up a mixing bowl and carried it over to the sink to be washed. She wasn't sure she liked the fact that Nancy had taken it upon herself to listen to their conversation.
"He could be a con artist. He was here yesterday, too."
"Because he has no one to talk to. He told me his grandson is putting him in a home. I feel sorry for him." Faith took a sponge and wiped down a splash of chocolate on the counter by the sink. She didn't want to snap at Nancy, even though her questions were progressively more irritating. Sometimes Nancy acted as if Faith didn't have a smart thought in her head.
"You're such a soft touch, Faith, and so impulsive."
Faith silently counted to ten. "The only thing he's tried to con me out of is a chocolate eclair." She rinsed the sponge in water and set it on the edge of the sink.
"So far. He's trying to get your confidence. That's why they call it a con game." Nancy walked over to the sink. "When you least suspect it, he'll steal something from you. I saw a case just like this on one of those talk shows."
Faith smiled and patted Nancy on the shoulder. "Steal what? We don't keep enough cash on site to make anyone happy. And I can always make more pastry."
"He might try to talk you into investing in something."
"I promise you I won't give him any money."
"I hope not. Anyway, I wanted to ask you if you're coming to dinner tonight. Ben will be there. He told me you two went sailing last weekend."
"Yes. We had a lot of fun."
"You and Ben get along so well."
"He's a wonderful guy." Faith's smile tightened somewhat as she remembered their good-bye. After two years of solid friendship, Ben had kissed her good night. For a second she'd thought she was kissing Gary. Maybe that was why she'd responded. But she should have told Ben right then that she wasn't interested in being anything more than friends. Although she had to admit it had been a nice kiss, comforting, caring, warm, and she'd missed being with a man.
"Faith?"
She started, feeling a rush of color warm her face. "What?"
"I don't think Gary would mind."
"Mind what?" Good heavens. Had Ben told his mother about their kiss?
Nancy shook her head. "Nothing. I shouldn't have said anything. You are coming for dinner, right? It's Friday night."
Faith nodded. Friday night dinner and Sunday morning brunch at the Porter
s' were a tradition, and she knew she couldn't disappoint Nancy by saying no. Besides, Ben had called earlier and asked her to come, and she'd already promised. "I'm looking forward to it."
"Good. I'll go then, as soon as I send that man on his way." Nancy headed back to the front of the bakery.
Faith followed her, determined not to let Nancy hurt the old man's feelings. But Faith didn't have a chance to say a word to Nancy, because when they entered the front room, Julian was arguing with another man.
"What's going on?" Faith asked sharply.
The younger man turned to her with blazing blue eyes. Faith took a step back out of self-defense. His blue eyes were exactly the same as Julian's. His face had the same square shape, the same stubborn jaw, but where Julian's hair was white, this man's hair was dark and thick, his skin tan and unlined, his build strong and intimidating.
Dashing, she thought, remembering Julian's description. Or at least he would be if he were smiling, if his stance weren't filled with aggression, if he didn't look like he wanted to hit someone.
"Who are you?" the man asked.
"Faith Christopher. I own this bakery."
"Faith, do you want me to call the police?" Nancy asked, hovering by the phone on the counter.
"I don't think that will be necessary. Will it?" she asked the man. Faith might have been a soft touch, but she hadn't lived in six different foster homes without learning how to stare down an intimidating glare.
"No. My grandfather and I are leaving."
"So you're the obnoxious grandson."
Julian laughed, then coughed to cover it up.
Alex turned to the old man. "What did you tell her?"
Julian shrugged. "You're not interested in anything I have to say. Why start now?"
"Because obviously you've been telling this woman a pack of lies."
"Judging by your behavior just now, I doubt that," Faith said, supremely irritated by the way Alex treated his grandfather. If she'd had a grandfather, she would have treated him with respect and love and patience for his years.
"We're leaving." Alex put his hand on Julian's arm.
"Ow," Julian said with a dramatic wince. "Please, please don't hurt me."
The Sweetest Thing Page 2
