The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1

by Nora Roberts

  “Right under the nose, Nate.” To illustrate, Luke tweaked Nate’s and made him giggle again. “Right before your eyes. Now, here, let’s try it. Can you print your name?”

  “Sure I can. N-A-T-E.” He took the pen and paper Luke offered, his face screwed in intense concentration. “I’m learning to write Nathaniel, too. Then Nouvelle, ’cause that’s my last name.”

  “Yeah.” A shadow passed over Luke’s eyes as he watched Nate struggle with the A. “I guess it is.” He waited until Nate had completed a very slanted E. “Okay. Now watch carefully.” Keeping his movements slow, Luke rolled the pen inside the paper and twisted both ends. “Now, pick a magic word.”

  “Umm—”

  “Nope, umm’s not good enough,” Luke said and sent Nate off in a fit of fresh giggles.

  “Boogers!” Nate decided, delighted to use a word he’d picked up from a sophisticated pal at preschool.

  “Disgusting, but it may work.” Luke tore the paper in two and had the pleasure of seeing Nate’s eyes widen.

  “It disappeared! The pen’s been disappeared.”

  “Absolutely.” Unable to resist the flourish, Luke held up his hands, turning them, back to front and back again. His son’s bug-eyed belief made him feel like a king. “Want to learn how to do it?”

  “Can I?”

  “You have to take the magician’s oath.”

  “I did that already,” Nate said, jaded. “When Mama showed me how to make the quarter go through the table.”

  “Does she teach you stuff about magic?” He was greedy for anything he could learn about his son’s thoughts, feelings, desires.

  “Sure. But you have to promise not to tell anybody, even your best friends, ’cause it’s secret.”

  “That’s right. Are you going to be a magician one day?”

  “Yeah.” Unable to keep still for long, Nate bounced his rump on the rug. “I’m going to be a magician, and a race-car driver and a policeman.”

  A cop, Luke thought, amused. Well, well, where did they go wrong? “All that, huh? Let’s see if you can learn this trick before you go win the Indianapolis 500 and chase bad guys.”

  He was pleased that Nate was interested rather than disappointed when he saw the workings of the trick. It seemed to Luke that he could all but hear the child’s mind working it through, exploring the possibilities.

  He had good hands, Luke thought as he posed them with his own. A quick mind. And a smile that broke his father’s heart.

  “This is neat.”

  “Amazing,” Luke said, solemn-eyed, and turned Nate’s smile into a grin.

  “Amazing neat.”

  He couldn’t help it. Luke leaned down to kiss the grin. “Try it again, slick. Let’s see if you can do this with distractions. Sometimes there are hecklers in the audience.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, people who yell things or talk too loud. Or . . . tickle you.”

  Nate gave a squeal of delight when Luke snatched him. After a short, furious battle, Luke let himself be pinned. He grunted with exaggerated bursts as Nate bounced on his stomach.

  “You’re too tough for me, kid. Uncle.”

  “Uncle who?”

  “Just uncle.” Chuckling, Luke ruffled Nate’s dark hair. “It means I give up.”

  “Can you show me another trick?”

  “Maybe. What’s it worth to you?”

  Nate bartered what always worked with his mother and scooted down to give Luke a smacking kiss on the mouth. Dazed by the easy affection, moved unbearably, Luke lifted an unsteady hand to Nate’s hair.

  “Do you want a hug to go with it?”

  “Sure.” Luke opened his arms and experienced the unspeakable pleasure of cradling his son. With his eyes closed, he rubbed his cheek to Nate’s. “You weigh a ton.”

  “I’m a walking appetite.” Nate leaned back to grin down at Luke. “Mama says so. I eat everything ’less it’s nailed down.”

  “Except lima beans,” Luke murmured, remembering.

  “Yuck. I wish I could make all the lima beans in the whole world disappear.”

  “We’ll work on it.”

  “I gotta pee,” Nate stated, with the carefree childhood habit of announcing bodily functions.

  “Don’t do it here, okay?”

  Nate giggled and held himself uninhibitedly to prolong the inevitable another moment. He liked being with Luke, liked the smell of him that was different from anyone else in his family. Though he’d never had to do without male influence or companionship, there was something different about this man. Maybe it was magic.

  “Do you have a penis?”

  Luke strangled back a laugh because the child was eyeing him owlishly. “I certainly do.”

  “Me too. Girls don’t. Mama neither.”

  Cautious, Luke tucked his tongue in his cheek. “I believe you’re right about that.”

  “I like having one, ’cause you can stand up to pee.”

  “It does have its advantages.”

  “I gotta go.” Nate scrambled up, dancing a bit. “You want to go ask LeClerc for some cookies?”

  From penises to cookies, Luke thought. Childhood was fascinating. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you.”

  Nate turned and spotted his mother, but his bladder was straining. “Hi. I gotta pee.”

  “Hi yourself. Go be my guest.”

  Nate trotted off, one hand on his crotch.

  “An interesting conversation,” Roxanne managed after she heard the powder room door slam.

  “Man talk.” Luke sat up, grinning. “He’s so—” He broke off when Roxanne pressed a hand to her mouth. “What is it?” Alarmed, he rose, trampling a plastic truck as he started toward her.

  “Nothing.” She wouldn’t be able to hold it off this time. Simply wouldn’t. “It’s nothing.” Turning, she bolted up the stairs.

  She would have locked herself in her room, but Luke was at the door before she could shove it to. Furious with herself, she whirled away and tossed open the French doors to her terrace.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.” The ache was so fierce, so complete she could only combat it with sharp words. “Go away, will you? I’m tired. I want to be alone.”

  “One of your tantrums, Rox?” His own feelings were brittle as he turned her to face him. Music drifted up from the Quarter, hot driving jazz. It seemed to fit the moment. “Seeing me with Nate get your back up?”

  “No. Yes.” She jerked away to drag her hands through her hair. Oh God, oh God, she was losing.

  The closer she came to the edge, the calmer Luke became.

  “I’m going to see him, Roxanne. I’m going to be a part of his life. I have to, and by Christ, I have a right to.”

  “Don’t talk to me about rights,” she threw back, humiliated by the catch in her voice.

  “He’s mine, too. However much you’d like to block that out, it’s a fact. I’m trying to understand why you won’t tell him I’m his father, I’m trying not to resent that, but I won’t stay away because you want to keep him to yourself.”

  “That’s not it. Damn it, that’s not it.” She rapped a fist against his chest. “Do you know how it makes me feel to see you together? To see the way you look at him?” Tears spilled over, but she fought back the sobs.

  “I’m sorry it hurts you,” Luke said stiffly. “And maybe I can’t blame you too much for wanting to punish me by not letting me be his father.”

  “I’m not trying to punish you.” Desperate to get it all out, she pressed her lips together. “Maybe I am, I’m not sure, and that’s the hardest part. Trying to know what to do, what’s right, what’s best, and then seeing you with him, knowing all that time that was lost. Yes, it hurts me to see you with him, but not the way you mean. It hurts the way it hurts to watch a sunrise, or to hear music. He holds his head the way you do.” She dashed furiously at tears. “He always did, and it broke my heart. He has yo
ur smile, and your eyes, and your hands. So much smaller, but yours. I used to look at them while he was sleeping, count his fingers and look at his hands. And I’d ache for you.”

  “Rox.” He’d thought, he’d hoped they had passed through the worst of this the night he’d told her everything. “I’m sorry.” He reached out, but she pivoted away.

  “I never cried over you. Not once in five years did I allow myself a tear for you. That was pride.” Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she rocked. “It helped me get through the worst of it. I didn’t cry when you came back. And when you told me what had happened, I hurt for you, and I tried to understand what you must have felt. But damn you. Damn you, you were wrong.” She spun back, clasping an arm around her middle to hold back the worst of the pressure. “You should have come home. You should have come to me and told me then. I would have gone with you. I’d have gone anywhere with you.”

  “I know.” He couldn’t touch her now, no matter how much he needed to. She seemed suddenly so fragile that to touch might be to break. He could only stand back and let the storm rage over both of them. “I knew it then, and I nearly did come back. I could have taken you away, away from your family, away from your father. It didn’t have to matter that he was ill, that I owed him, all of you, whatever good things I had. I might have risked the fact that Wyatt could have set the cops on me at any time so that they’d hunt me down as a murderer. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

  “I needed you.” Tears blinded her until she covered her face with her hands and let them come freely. “I needed you.”

  It hurt, oh, it hurt to let go almost as much as it had to hold back. Crying wracked the body, burned the throat, battered the heart. She lost herself in the violence of grief, going limp when his arms came around her, sobbing shamelessly when he lifted her to carry her to bed and cradle her.

  He could only hold her as five years of suppressed mourning flooded out. There were no words to comfort. He had known her nearly twenty years and could count on one hand the number of times she’d wept in front of him.

  And never like this, he thought, rocking her. Never like this.

  She couldn’t stop, was afraid she never would. She didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t feel Luke turn his head, shake it in silent denial as Lily looked in.

  Gradually, the wracking sobs turned to dry gasps, and the violent shudders softened to quivers. The hands fisted at his back relaxed.

  “I need to be alone,” she whispered through a throat dry as dust.

  “No. Not again. Never again, Roxanne.”

  She was too weak to argue. After one shaky sigh, she let her head rest against his shoulder. “I hate this.”

  “I know you do.” He pressed a kiss to her hot, aching temple. “Do you remember that time after you found out Sam had used you. You cried then, and I didn’t know quite how to handle it.”

  “You held me.” She sniffled. “Then you broke his nose.”

  “Yeah. I’ll do more this time.” Over her head his gaze sharpened like a blade. “That’s a promise.”

  She couldn’t think about that now. She felt drained and, oddly, free. “It was easier to give you my body than to give you this.” She let her swollen eyes close, soothed by the stroke of his hand over her hair. “I could tell myself it was lust, and if there was still love tangled up with it, I could still be in control. But I was afraid to let you be my friend again.” Steadier, she let out a long breath. “Let me get up, wash my face. Leave me alone for a while.”

  “Rox—”

  “No, please.” She eased back. It was a point of trust, deeper than any other she’d offered that she let him see the ravage the tears had caused. “There’s something I need to do. Take a walk, Callahan. Give me a half an hour.”

  She kissed him, softly, before he could think of an argument.

  “I’ll be back.”

  This time she smiled. “I’m counting on it.”

  He brought her flowers. He’d realized, a bit guiltily, that he hadn’t given Roxanne what Lily would consider a proper wooing either time around. The first time he’d been overwhelmed by her, the second he’d been too tense.

  It might have been a little late in the day for the hearts-and-flowers routine seeing as they were lovers, partners and shared a child, but as Max might have said, better late than too soon.

  He even went to the front door rather than wandering in through the kitchen. Like a suitor coming to call, he finger-combed his hair and rang the bell.

  “Callahan.” Roxanne opened the door with a baffled laugh. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Asking a beautiful woman out to dinner.” He offered the roses, then with a sweeping bow, produced a bouquet of paper flowers that bloomed from the secret pool beneath his shirt cuff.

  “Oh.” It threw her off—the charming smile, the formal greeting, the armful of fragrant rosebuds and the silly trick. The change in routine automatically triggered suspicion. “What are you up to?”

  “I told you. I’m asking you out on a date.”

  “You—” The laugh snorted out unladylike through her nose. “Right. In twenty years you’ve never asked me out on a date. What do you want?”

  It wasn’t easy to court a woman who was glaring at you out of red-rimmed and narrowed eyes. “To take you to dinner,” he said between his teeth. “Maybe for a drive afterward—somewhere we can park on the side of the road and neck.”

  “There a gas leak in your house, or what?”

  “Goddammit, Rox, will you come out with me?”

  “I can’t really. I have plans.” She did lower her head to draw in the scent of roses. Before she could fully appreciate them, she snapped her head back again. “You didn’t bring these to me because I cried, did you?”

  Jesus, she was a tough nut. “You’d think I never brought you flowers before.”

  “No, no, you did.” She held back a smile, though she was beginning to enjoy the picture emerging. “Twice. Once when you were two hours late for dinner—a dinner I’d gone to the trouble to cook.”

  “And you threw them at me.”

  “Of course. And the second time . . . Oh yes, that was when you’d broken the little porcelain box Lily had given me for Christmas. So, Callahan, what have you done this time?”

  “Nothing, unless it’s trying to be nice to an exasperating woman.”

  “Well, I’m not throwing them at you, am I?” She smiled then, and took his hand. “Come on in. We’re having dinner here.”

  “Rox, I want to be alone with you, not in a houseful of people.”

  “The houseful of people is out for the evening, and God help you, Callahan, I’m cooking.”

  “Oh.” The depth of his love was proven then and there as he summoned up a smile. “Terrific.”

  “Yeah, I bet. Let’s go into the parlor, I have something for you.”

  He nearly asked if it was a dose of bicarb, but restrained himself. “If you don’t want to go to the hassle of cooking, babe, we could send out.” He followed her into the parlor, saw the boy sitting on the edge of the couch. “Hey, slick.”

  “Hi.” Nate studied him for a long moment with a kind of absorbed intensity that made Luke want to squirm. “How come you don’t live here if you’re my daddy?”

  “I—” Rocked straight to the soul, Luke could only stare.

  “Mama said you had to go away for a long time ’cause a bad guy was after you. Did you shoot him dead?”

  “No.” He had to swallow, but couldn’t. Both his son and the woman he loved waited patiently. “I thought I might trick him instead. I don’t think I’d like shooting anybody.” Desperately out of his element, he looked at Roxanne. “Rox.” Though his eyes pleaded for help, she shook her head.

  “Sometimes stepping out cold’s the only way,” she murmured. “No rehearsal, Callahan. No script, no props.”

  “Okay.” On watery legs he walked to the couch and crouched down in front of his son. For a moment he was tossed back to his deb
ut performance in a stuffy carnival tent. Flop sweat pooled at the base of his spine. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, or for your mother, Nate.”

  Nate’s gaze faltered. His stomach had felt funny ever since his mother had sat him down and told him he had a daddy. He didn’t know if it was good funny—the way it felt after Mouse had swung him in circles, or bad, like when he’d eaten too much candy on Halloween.

  “Maybe you couldn’t help it,” Nate murmured, pulling at the threads in the hole worn into the knee of his jeans.

  “Whether I could or not, I’m still sorry. I don’t guess you need me much, you’re pretty grown up and all. We—ah—get along okay, don’t we?”

  “Sure.” Nate poked out his bottom lip. “I guess.”

  And he’d thought Roxanne was a tough nut, Luke mused. “We could be friends if that’s okay with you. You don’t have to think of me as your father.”

  Tears swam in Nate’s eyes when he looked up again. His lips quivered and ripped right through Luke’s heart. “Don’t you want me to?”

  “Yeah.” His throat ached. His heart healed. “Yeah, I do. A lot. I mean, hey, you’re short and ugly now, but I think you’ve got potential.”

  “What’s potential?”

  “Possibilities, Nathaniel.” Gently, Luke cupped his son’s face in his hands. “Lots and lots of possibilities.”

  “Potential,” Nate repeated, and in an echo of his mother’s childhood, savored the word. His smile spread sweetly. “Bobby’s father built him a tree house. A big one.”

  “Oh-oh.” Amazed and delighted, Luke glanced back to where Roxanne still stood, holding her flowers. “The kid catches on fast.”

  “It’s that sly Irish blood. A Nouvelle is much too proud to wheedle.”

  “Wheedle, hell, it’s a smart boy who knows when to press his advantage. Right, Nate?”

  “Right.” He shrieked with pleasure when Luke swung him up. Deciding to go for the gold, he leaned close to Luke’s ear and whispered, “Can you tell Mama I should have a dog? A really big dog?”