When a Man Loves a Woman

by Kathryn Shay

  Amanda smiled reassuringly. “Yes, we’re just fine, Mrs. DiMarco. I was hoping to catch your son, so I offered Heather a ride home.”

  “He isn’t here.” Mrs. DiMarco glanced at her granddaughter. “Sweetheart, I have to go to the church supper tonight. I’m in charge,” she added proudly. Then, her forehead furrowed. “But you’ll have to come with me. Your papa called a few minutes ago to say he’d be late, and I don’t like to leave you here alone.” Mrs. DiMarco’s frown deepened. “It’s just that my arthritis is acting up today and I’m not sure about Jason’s wheelchair on the church steps.”

  “It’s okay, Nana. We’ll be fine here.”

  “I don’t know. This neighborhood isn’t like it used to be.” The older woman’s eyes darted to the clock on the wall. “Maybe I could go across the hall and see if Mrs. Castellana can come over for a while.”

  Amanda stepped forward. “I’d be glad to stay with them, Mrs. DiMarco. As I said, I want to talk to your son, anyway.”

  Peering closely at Amanda, Grace sighed. “I guess it would be all right. If it wasn’t my first time in charge...Maria Martino would just love to see this go bad and then tell everyone I couldn’t do a good job like she did last year.”

  Heather, who had stood by with her hands clenched and her shoulders stiff, obviously waiting for the adults to agree, visibly relaxed and smiled at her grandmother’s comments. “Go ahead, Nana. Dad will be glad we’re not alone.”

  After Nick’s mother left, Jason, outfitted in denims, a superhero sweatshirt and hightops, whizzed in from the bedroom. “Hi, sis,” he said cheerfully. “Hey, Ms. Carson.” His blue eyes shone with mischief. “I waited in the other room for you to convince Nana to go.”

  When Heather seemed to comprehend his obtuse comment, Amanda asked, “What do you mean?”

  The two children exchanged a look of mutual understanding, so deep, so poignant, that Amanda’s heart sank. How well she remembered having the same connection with her sister.

  Jason moved the wheelchair back a few inches, then forward again. He repeated the process as he talked. “Grandma worries about me the most,” Jason said matter-of-factly. “If I’d come into the room and reminded her again that I’m in this thing, she would have changed her mind about leaving. Heather and me, we know how to get around older people.” Again his eyes glittered and his smile was impish.

  “I’ll remember that,” Amanda drawled.

  Heather’s face suddenly sobered and she headed for the kitchen. “Okay. Now we have to finish our homework, set the table, fold the laundry and get the lunches ready for tomorrow.”

  Digging her heels into the rug, Amanda held her tongue.

  “Aw, sis, can’t we play one game before we do that? We’ve been cooped up in school all day.”

  Heather stopped her trek to the waiting chores and turned to them, her face a study in conflict. Amanda knew she was getting a glimpse at the kind of pressure Heather felt every day. Torn between her own teenage response to crash for a while and her father’s rules, the girl stood rigidly in the middle of the floor. Well, Amanda knew she could help with this.

  Shucking off her coat, she suggested an alternative. “How about if you set the table, Jason makes the lunches and I fold the laundry. Then we’ll all play a game of...”

  “Monopoly,” Jason interjected cheerfully.

  “Monopoly,” Amanda confirmed, “and then start homework.” She looked at Heather. “Would your dad really mind so much?”

  In the end, Heather succumbed to her instincts and agreed. Soon the three were ready to play. Jason had to be assisted out of the wheelchair, and Heather showed surprise when Amanda secured the break, held on to the sides and allowed Jason to ease to his knees and then his backside. He arranged the pillows Heather had put out for him for comfort.

  As they set up the board, and Amanda’s phone blaring music behind them, Jason’s face lit. “Did you hear about the duck who went to the drugstore?”

  Taking out the game pieces, Heather groaned but refrained from supplying the punch line. Amanda shook her head as she kicked off her pumps and sank to the floor, placing a bowl of popcorn within everyone’s reach.

  “He bought some lip balm and told the clerk, ‘Put it on my bill.’”

  Chuckling, Amanda settled into the rug. “Okay, smarty. Why did the tomato cross the garden?” When Jason’s brow knitted, she said, “To get a head of the lettuce.”

  The ten-year-old guffawed. Amanda quelled the tears that threatened. He was so like Lisa.

  That was how Nick DiMarco found them sixty minutes later. Amanda had just demanded rent for two hotels on Park Place, when she looked up to find Heather staring past her in panic. “Heather,” she teased. “It’s only five hundred dollars. Listen, I’ll lend you—”

  Then she realized more was wrong than an unlucky roll of the dice. She tracked the girl’s gaze to the door where Nick stood like an avenging angel. Or devil. Amanda bit her lip as she took in his taut stance and narrowed eyes. She also noticed the way his white T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, outlining every line of his torso. His hair was in disarray and his chiseled features stood out more clearly due to fatigue. He looked tired but so sexy that Amanda experienced an unfamiliar feminine rush of response. Hell, for a student’s dad?

  “What’s going on here?” Nick’s voice was low and somewhat impatient. Amanda guessed that Nick DiMarco didn’t like surprises, couldn’t afford to like them.

  Heather sat up straight and pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them with her arms. “I’m sorry, Daddy, we lost track of the time. We only planned to play—” Her voice broke off and tears welled in her eyes. She lowered her forehead to hide them.

  Jason jumped in. “No, Dad, it’s my fault. I begged everyone to play. I—”

  “Hey, you guys, when did I become such a monster that you have to stick up for each other?”

  When neither answered, just stared at him, he glanced around the room as if looking for some way to break the tension. Spying the popcorn, he automatically bent down, picked up the bowl and some of the kernels scattered over the rug. “I’ll be right back,” he said and headed for the kitchen.

  In the small room, Nick tromped to the sink and ducked his head under the faucet, trying to get rid of the dirt and his irritation—and feelings of inadequacy. Exhausted from four hours of construction work, after a morning spent studying for final exams, he could taste the grit in his mouth and smell the sweat that had covered him all afternoon.

  But it hadn’t masked the expensive and provocative perfume wafting from the woman who sat on the floor with his children. He pictured them as he wiped his dripping face with a dish towel. They’d made quite a sight and Nick’s heart sank when he realized how natural—and how rare—such a comfortable scene was in his home: his son, propped on pillows, leaning forward like a normal kid, intent on the game; his daughter—until she’d seen him—sprawled lazily on the rug like a typical teenager. He felt guilty for ending their blessed normalcy.

  It wasn’t just that, he concluded as he dried his hair and combed it back with his hands. He was annoyed because he’d thought about Amanda Carson today as he’d hoisted girders, and here she was in his house, as if he’d conjured her. Although the kids had specific tasks to do after school, he wasn’t upset with them for taking a needed break. Her presence was what got to him. Hearing a flurry of activity in the living room, he grabbed a can of soda from the refrigerator, popped it and took a slug before he returned to the scene of the “crime.”

  His heart fell to his stomach when he saw the trio lined up before him as if facing a firing squad.

  The counselor and his daughter flanked Jason, who bravely said, “Hey, Dad, why did the tomato cross the garden?”

  Nick saw Amanda bite her lip to keep from laughing. When he caught sight of the misery on Heather’s face, and the hope on Jason’s, he let the corners of his mouth turn up fractionally. “I don’t know, Jase, why?”

  With his compl
iance, all three visibly relaxed, and Nick’s heart plummeted further, realizing again how intimidated his own children felt. Lord, when had that started?

  After the punch line, Heather scrambled to pick up the game, while Jason tried to grab the pillows off the floor and Amanda sought her shoes. Nick intervened in the frantic motions.

  “I see the chores are done, but my guess is that the homework was saved until last.” When both children nodded, he smiled at them gently. “All right, now that you’ve relaxed, go do it before supper.”

  As they hurried past him, Nick grasped his daughter’s arm. “Heather, it’s okay. You’re entitled to some fun. I never meant for your afternoons to be so grim.”

  “I know, Dad. I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “Honey, you never disappoint me.” He gave her arm a tender squeeze.

  When they were settled in their bedrooms, Nick closed their doors for privacy. Looking at Amanda standing warily before him, he sighed. “I seem to keep making mistakes with Heather, don’t I?”

  “I think you’re trying really hard, but I do have some suggestions.”

  In a gesture of frustration, Nick ran a hand through his hair. “Is that why you’re here?”

  Amanda took a step back but held his gaze. She might look soft, he thought fleetingly, but there was steel underneath. “Yes, it is. Heather needs psychological help.”

  “She’s seeing you, isn’t she?”

  The woman faced him, her jaw set. “Heather needs more, Mr. DiMarco. After our session today, I drove her home so I could speak with you about it.”

  Nick jammed his hands into his jeans. “How much more?”

  “I want her to join a group of students I counsel. I think it will loosen her up a little, give her kids to identify with.” She bit her lip. “It’s a suicide prevention group.”

  “What?” Too late, he realized he’d raised his voice, and he hoped it wouldn’t draw Heather from her room. He grasped Amanda by the arm and pulled her into the kitchen for more privacy. When they reached it, he faced her squarely. “Are you telling me that my daughter wants to die?”

  Amanda stood up straight, though she didn’t nearly match his imposing height. “I’m telling you that from three ninety-minute sessions with your child, I’m concerned that she has so little self-esteem, such a bleak outlook on her future and such dissatisfaction with her present that she is dangerously depressed. Yes, I think she has suicidal tendencies. And ignoring this could have dire consequences.”

  Gulping for air, Nick stalled. “I can’t believe this. Not Heather, not my child. She’s only thirteen!”

  “I know the feeling.”

  Something in her tone made him study her. “Do you?”

  The color drained out of her face. “Yes. More than I want to.”

  Almost involuntarily, he reached out and grasped her shoulders. “Amanda—”

  “I can help your daughter, Nick. Please, give me a chance...Trust me.”

  It’s too much, Nick thought desperately. The worry. The guilt. The fear of the future. And now this. Could his little girl possibly be that unhappy? Could he trust this woman, who’d obviously buried deep inside her a kindred pain?

  As if to override his doubts, or to underscore them, she raised huge, vulnerable eyes to him. Suddenly, in the mist of his pain, he wanted comfort from her for himself. He wanted her to hold him…

  Holy, hell! What was he thinking at a time like this?

  His phone rang, breaking the spell, catapulting him back to reality. He fished it out of his pocket. “Yeah?” he said.

  “It’s Beth. Are you okay? Heather called…”

  “I know. Everything’s fine. “

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “You just caught me at a bad time. Can I call you back?”

  After he disconnected, he looked at the woman before him. And suddenly, he knew she felt the same draw to him as he did to her. “You’d better go, Amanda.”

  “Nick, I...I...you...”

  Caught off guard by her vulnerability, he raised his palm to halt her explanations. “Don’t say anything.” Turning from her, he exited the kitchen. He thought he felt her hand on his arm, but he kept going.

  “Nick, we need to talk more about Heather.”

  “No.” The word ripped from him as he reached the door.

  “Why?”

  Because I don’t trust myself around you. “Please, go.”

  “All right. I will. But even if you won’t let her attend the group, can she keep the private sessions?”

  Hands fisted at his sides, he turned to her. “I don’t know about either right now. I can’t think straight.”

  “Nick...”

  “Just...leave.” He enunciated each word, but his voice was raw and raspy with emotion.

  Hesitating for a moment, she looked around, grabbed her coat and fled without another word.

  After she’d gone, Nick sank onto the couch in the loneliness of his apartment, stunned. Okay, sure, he was attracted to a pretty woman. He didn’t have to act on it. He’d just forget about it. But, he couldn’t forget what she’d said about his daughter.

  Could it possibly be true?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NICK WAS KISSING Amanda, only they weren’t in his house. They were completely, dangerously alone, with no chance for interruption. Thank God, since he was so hard, Nick thought he’d burst. Easing the buttons open on his denim shirt, Amanda ran slender, supple fingers along his bare chest. He pulled her closer and tangled his hands in the thick hair he’d slowly taken from its chic coil. Just as he’d unwrapped her—like a gift from the gods—from the Victorian dress she’d worn earlier. Stepping back slightly so she was standing before him, he could see her lush curves outlined in a sheer, pale blue combination of bra and slip. The smell of expensive perfume filled his nostrils. It drove him wild and he reached for her...

  “Hey, Grandpa. What do you call the dumbest fish in a school?”

  Jason? What is he doing here? God, was I so hot to get at Amanda that I took her to my house?

  Nick heard his father’s groan, a put-on since the older man loved Jason’s corny puns. “I don’t know, Jay. What’s it called?”

  “Dinner.” The boy erupted into a giggle, enjoying his own jokes, as usual, more than anyone else.

  Several voices joined in, mocking his son and bringing Nick fully awake. He found he was sprawled on a recliner in a corner of his parents’ living room. The familiar smell of spaghetti sauce radiated from the kitchen.

  “Oh, Dad, we’re sorry we woke you.” Heather’s voice came from across the room where she was perched next to Beth on the sofa, leafing through a magazine his sister had brought her.

  Nick took a quick inventory, grateful that the paper he’d been reading before he dozed off was in his lap camouflaging the effects of his dream. “No, honey, it’s okay. I’ve got no business falling asleep in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. And don’t tell Grandma, any of you.” He scanned the room, taking in his son and his father playing checkers at a low corner table. “She’ll badger me about working too much.”

  “Hrmmph!” His father put in his two cents but didn’t remove his gaze from the board.

  “Well, if the shoe fits, bro,” Beth teased.

  “Careful, sis,” Nick warned with mock severity as he righted the almost-prone chair and ran a hand through his hair. “If you start on my life-style, I’ll feel free to casually mention to Ma that I’m worried about your biological clock ticking away. A whole thirty-one and not married, not even any prospects. I’m sure there’s some ‘nice Italian boy’ she has waiting in the wings that’s she’s just dying to spring on you.”

  Everyone laughed at the brother-sister routine, played out with warm affection. Nick himself gave Beth one of his rare, genuine smiles.

  His black jeans were still uncomfortable, but the repartee had cooled his ardor somewhat, and Nick rose from the recliner to get the remote to turn on the Jets game. He’d been
the quarterback for his high school football team and usually loved watching the pros play. But today he kept seeing Amanda Carson superimposed on the screen. She had stood before him as she had last Thursday…Hell, he banished the thought quickly. But another came, one that he’d kept at bay for four days.

  She thought his daughter was suicidal. He couldn’t take the notion in, banished it when it came to the surface. Thankfully, dinner was announced and Nick joined his family in the dining room, as he did every Sunday he could get free. Even when Suzanne had refused to go with him, he had taken the kids to his parents’ for spaghetti and socializing.

  As he sat down at the large oak table and pushed up the sleeves of his polo shirt, Beth asked, “Nicky, how’s the clerking going?”

  “Great. Joris is wooing me, and two other firms called last week.” At the thought, Nick felt anticipation swell in him like an athlete before a play-off.

  Beth whistled and gave him a thumbs-up sign. “Wow, big time.”

  “Very big. And exactly what I want.” He reached for the plate of meatballs and braciole.

  His father’s brows knit over his black eyes and his normally swarthy complexion flushed. Nick knew Ange DiMarco was proud of him, but also that the Italian laborer had strong objections to his son’s ambitions. They had argued vehemently over what Ange saw as Nick’s sacrifice of time and health just to climb the corporate ladder. They’d come to a tenuous truce, but Ange’s concern hadn’t changed.

  Sipping her beer and twirling her spaghetti, Beth casually changed the subject. “So, Heather, how’s school?”

  “Okay.” His daughter shifted uneasily. She tugged at the collar of her shirt and looked apprehensively at her aunt. Nick realized she was afraid Beth would mention the counseling in front of Heather’s grandparents.

  Beth winked, acknowledging the silent message. “Any good-lookin’ guys in your class this year?”

  Heather blushed and Nick groaned inwardly. His daughter was thirteen. She was noticing boys. What would he do when she wanted to date? The thought was too frightening to entertain.