Falling For Nick

by Joleen James

  "Maybe." Nick's stomach rumbled. The noon hour had long since passed. "What do you say we take a break and get something to eat?"

  "Sounds good." Billy tied off the garbage bag he held. "I'll take this down on the way."

  They left the apartment together and were on their way down the stairs when a man approached them.

  "Nick Lombard?" The man gave Nick an odd, knowing smile.

  "Who wants to know?" Nick asked, instantly wary. The man looked harmless enough in his polo shirt, tan pants, and suede jacket. He stood on the sidewalk at the bottom of the stairs, holding an envelope out to Nick.

  "If you are Nick Lombard this is for you."

  Nick reached the sidewalk. Cold February air stung his cheeks.

  The man thrust a big yellow envelope into Nick's hand.

  "Have a nice day," the man said, his smile widening.

  As far as Nick knew, Maude didn't have a will. Whatever awaited him in the envelope was sure to be bad news. For a moment he considered chucking it in the dumpster with the rest of the garbage.

  "Who do you think it's from?" Billy asked.

  "No clue."

  "You have to open it, Nick. It might have something to do with John."

  Against his better judgment, Nick tore the envelope open and pulled out two pages of folded paper. Quickly, he scanned the print. "Shit."

  "What's it say?" Billy asked, trying to read over Nick's shoulder."

  "It's a No Contact Order. I'm not to go within one hundred feet of Clea or my son."

  "Jesus, she's playing hard ball," Billy said, a note of sympathy in his voice.

  Nick nodded, too angry to speak. Was Clea across the street in The Coffee House, watching him, waiting? A sharp ache started in his gut. Clea hadn't even tried to talk to him; instead she'd taken steps to keep him away. Part of him could understand why, but a bigger part of him seethed with anger and he wanted to rise to the challenge she'd put before him. "I think I might have to take a rain check on lunch, Billy."

  "Whoa," Billy said. "I know that look. You're not thinking of going over there, are you?"

  "If Clea wants to play hardball, I'll play." Nick started forward, but had to stop and wait for traffic on the street to clear.

  Billy grabbed his arm. "Don't be stupid. Think about it.

  If you go over there, she'll have your ass thrown back in jail. Is that what you want? Do you want to lose your son before you even get the chance to know him?"

  "No." Nick glanced away, fighting to ignore the tightening in his chest.

  Billy squeezed his arm. "Clea's getting to you, just like she always has. Damn her. Think about things before you do something you'll regret."

  He'd always been quick to act on his temper, and his

  temper had always gotten him in trouble. Billy made sense. Maybe he should have listened to him ten years ago. If he had, he wouldn't have gone to prison. He'd know his son, be a part of his life. "You're right."

  "I know I'm right. Let's go and get some lunch. You need to think strategy, and I'm going to help you. If you want the chance to know your son, you need to play by the rules."

  "I don't want to mess up his life. I don't want to play games, Billy, not when it comes to John." Something sad pricked his heart as he said the words. Did his son want to know him? That question had kept him awake nights when he'd been locked up. Was John better off without a father? Nick didn't know the first thing about being a parent and would probably do a lousy job, but more than anything he wanted the chance to try, which was more than his own father ever did.

  Billy let go of his arm. "Maybe you need to tell Clea you don't want to make trouble so she can relax." He grinned. "In the meantime, the first thing you need to do is forget about that No Contact Order. Get your life back together and get an attorney."

  Nick frowned. "I can't afford an attorney, and I don't want to take any kind of legal action against Clea. What happened between us wasn't her fault."

  "Let me help you, Nick," Billy said, his tone insistent. "I know somebody. A guy I roomed with in college. He's a lawyer. We've stayed in touch. It's my fault you don't know your son. I want to help you this time."

  "No, thanks. I can make it on my own. I don't need or want an attorney."

  "Maybe." Billy gestured to Nick's car. The Boss was parked at the curb. Billy walked over to the Mustang and ran a hand over the glossy yellow paint. "You're back now. Give up the job in Bradley. Do what you love. Go to the garage and ask Mr. Mullin for your old job back. You're the best, Nick. Cars are your passion."

  Billy made sense. Nick had only just begun to explore old car restoration when he'd gone to prison. He'd loved the work, loved taking an old car and restoring it to its original state. While in prison he'd taken classes, earning his Automotive Service Excellence certification, with follow up courses in suspension, steering, and engine repair. The thought of working at the garage unleashed a raw excitement. Working for Mr. Mullin would bring him one step closer to his goal - owning a first class car restoration business.

  "Do you really think Mullin would hire me?" Nick asked, warming to the idea.

  Billy grinned. "Hell, I know he would. Not only does the old man love you like a son, you're the best mechanic around."

  Nick looked at his brother, really looked at him. Billy wasn't a scared sixteen-year-old kid anymore. He was a man. He no longer needed protecting.

  "Come on," Nick said, catching Billy's enthusiasm for the future. "Let's get some lunch. Besides, it's damned cold out here." Turning his back on The Coffee House, Nick started toward the café. He'd work on securing a job first, then he'd worry about Clea. Clea Rose had money, respectability, and social standing in the community. If he wanted to win her, he had to play by her rules, have something to offer her. He couldn't afford to make stupid mistakes, not this time.

  * * *

  "It's a great party, Clea."

  Clea smiled at her best friend, Mitzi. "Robert's mom has done a wonderful job, as usual." They stood in the living room of the Bloomfield's house. Other guests milled around them, glasses of sparkling champagne in their hands.

  Mitzi smiled. "I'm going to miss you when you're gone, kiddo."

  "I'll miss you too, Mitzi." Clea embraced her best friend and business partner. The tall brunette gave Clea a peck on her cheek.

  "It won't be the same here without you," Mitzi said. "I don't know how I'm going to get along without you at The Coffee House."

  "I'm not selling my interest," Clea reminded her. "You can reach me by phone whenever you need to. We'll still be partners. I'll just be in New York, that's all."

  A waiter passed with a tray of champagne and Mitzi snagged two fresh glasses, handing one crystal flute to Clea. "Here's to you getting everything your heart desires. You deserve it." She clinked her glass with Clea's.

  "Thank you, sweetie," Clea said, her throat thick with emotion.

  Mitzi sipped her champagne. "I've always adored this house."

  The lakeside home of Senator Bloomfield and his wife, Ellen, was the largest and most spectacular on Lake Bliss. In the late 1800s, the house had been a "gentlemen's retreat" housing ladies of ill repute. Robert's family had owned the house for over thirty years. They'd renovated the house, turning it into a showplace.

  Robert lived alone in the house year-round, but his parents still spent their summers with him. The senator and his wife were in residence now for the fast approaching wedding. The party tonight had a dual purpose, celebrating the Bloomfields' return to the lake and Clea winning the Graceland Mitchell Internship for the Arts.

  She had to admit that Robert's parents had done a fabulous job with the party. A jazz quartet played, filling the air with seductive music. The entire room sparkled with small white lights, as did the trees surrounding the pool outside. Earlier Robert had told her he wanted her to feel enchanted, like a princess. She frowned. Being called a princess always made her think of Nick.

  "Why the frown?" Mitzi smiled gently. "You're thinking
about Nick, right?"

  "You know me so well." Clea sighed. "I can't get him out of my mind. I know he's still in town, and I can't help but wonder why. It's like I'm afraid to exhale, to relax, because the moment I do all hell will break loose."

  "I'll bet Nick's furious about the No Contact Order. I would be if I were him," Mitzi said matter-of-factly. "What are you going to do? Nick was your first love. Do you still want to marry Robert?"

  "Of course I do," Clea said, her voice harsher than she intended. "You know things are finally going my way. I have so much to look forward to - the wedding, the move to New York, and the internship. For once, my personal life and my career are both on track. Nick isn't going to change anything. I've worked too long and too hard. All of my dreams are coming true." But Nick clouded her happiness. The year she'd spent with him seemed like a lifetime ago. She didn't want to relive those days, but as long as he stayed in town, she couldn't let the past die.

  Suddenly, Clea wanted to be alone, away from the press of the party guests, away from the probing questions that stirred up emotions she didn't want to remember. "Excuse me, Mitzi. I need to use the ladies room."

  She stepped around her friend and headed down the hall, but spotted her mother's neighbor, Mrs. Harrison. Not wanting to talk with the older woman, she did a U-turn and went back into the party, stopping in front of the window. Behind her the guests laughed. The smell of roasting meat filled the air. Outside, the lights twinkled and beckoned. She wanted to enjoy tonight, but her heart just wasn't in the party. All day long she'd been tormented by thoughts of Nick.

  For a moment today, she'd thought he might come into The Coffee House. She'd seen him on the sidewalk in front of the tavern. She'd watched as he'd been served the No Contact Order. He'd looked over, had even started to cross the street, but Billy had stopped him. And as much as she didn't want to admit it, she'd been disappointed. A part of her wanted to talk to Nick, but a bigger part of her told her she'd done the right thing.

  She couldn't trust him. He'd made her promises the night he'd taken her virginity, empty promises of love and commitment. He'd lied to her, shattering her faith in men, in love, and in living happily ever after. She didn't need the kind of crazy, consuming emotion she felt for Nick. She couldn't handle it, and she wouldn't put her son through that kind of heartache.

  Clea's insides churned, making her stomach burn. She needed to clear her head, get some fresh air. Taking her coat from the closet, she slipped out the back door. Overhead the stars winked at her. Cold air bit at her nose and exposed fingers, but the urge to be alone overpowered her need for heat.

  Between Clea and the water stood a large patio with a swimming pool in the center, followed by a half-acre of lawn. She made her way around the pool, coming to a stop when she spotted Senator Bloomfield. He sat on a concrete bench, and when he saw her, he stood. Always impeccably dressed, he wore a black suit, white shirt, and black tie; distinguished described him perfectly. His blond hair held streaks of gray at the temples, giving him even more character.

  "Hello, Senator." She walked toward him.

  "Clea, what are you doing out here in the cold?"

  His speech sounded a little slurred, and Clea noticed the drink in his hand. "I might ask the same of you."

  "I needed a breath of fresh air." He took a sip of his drink. "I hope you're enjoying the party."

  "Of course I am. It's lovely. Thank you so much for hosting."

  "You're most welcome." He looked out toward the lake. For a minute, neither of them spoke. When he faced her again, he gave her a small smile. "I'm afraid it's colder out here than I thought. I'm heading back inside."

  "I think I'll go on down to the lake." The senator seemed a bit sad, but she wasn't sure why. "I'll see you in awhile."

  With a wave of her hand, Clea left the patio. When she reached the dock she walked out to the end, taking a seat on the bench. The lake surrounded her on three sides, making her feel like she sat on an island, isolated and alone. She inhaled, taking fresh air into her lungs, wanting to clear her head.

  Silence filled her, the night void of the sounds of summer: the croak of a frog, the whir of crickets, the call of a lone duck. Instead, a layer of glittering frost coated the dock, bringing with it a numbing cold. She closed her eyes. In the distance, she could hear the low purr of an electric motor.

  There was a boat out there. Clea opened her eyes, scanning the dark lake. She could see the boat, a soft green light at its bow. It wasn't uncommon for people to row or take evening cruises on the water, no matter the season.

  She'd done it with Nick, more than once. The lake had been a favorite make-out spot for them.

  Clea crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her arms with her hands. They'd had a strange relationship from the beginning. She'd moved to Lake Bliss the summer before her senior year. Robert had lost no time in asking her out. They became boyfriend and girlfriend that first summer. In the fall Robert left to go back to the city. Clea started school in Bradley, and she'd met Nick.

  Right away, Nick had pursued her. Her "lake" friends had warned her about Nick, telling Clea he was the town bad boy. There had been a line of class distinction drawn between them from the beginning, a line they never should have crossed. Nick had seduced her with words, kisses, and promises, pushing all thoughts of the summer she'd spent with Robert from her mind.

  Clea watched the boat approach. When it was even with the dock, it stopped; Clea wondered if the occupants were just curious party watchers. Her hands tightened on her arms.

  Nick had liked to "borrow" a boat and cruise the lake, looking at the lit up houses from the outside. He'd always been on the outside looking in.

  Nick.

  Slowly, Clea rose from the bench. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. She could feel him, out there, watching her with those intense eyes of his.

  A slow heat started in the pit of her belly. She couldn't even see him, but she knew he was there. Lord help her, he still had a hold over her, the same raw power that had gotten her into trouble.

  Clea backed up, her shoes slipping on the icy dock. She had to get away from him, get away from what he made her feel. She had to think with her head and ignore the rush of raw desire pulsing through her. Turning, she ran back to the house, back to the man she was going to marry and the security he offered her.

  * * *

  Monday afternoon, Clea pushed open the door to the Port Bliss Café and went straight to the counter, taking a seat on a vacant red-leather barstool. The smell of meatloaf filled the air. Her stomach rumbled in response as she placed her camera bag on the counter. She'd hoped she'd have time to take a couple of pictures before returning to work. The cloudy day provided the perfect lighting for beach shots.

  "Hi, Betty," Clea said, greeting the waitress. "Robert's meeting me for lunch. We'll take two vegie sandwiches, on dark, with Swiss cheese." Betty Schuster had worked at the café for longer than Clea had been alive. For years she'd worn the same faded pink uniform, her tired platinum hair tortured into a tidy French twist.

  "Any chips with those?" Betty took a pencil from its resting place behind her right ear.

  "No, just the sandwiches, but how about a couple of colas?"

  "Okay," Betty said with a wink. "Coming right up."

  She left the counter and went into the kitchen. Clea swiveled on the stool to look and see who else was in the café. It was still early and most of the booths were empty, except for one near the back. From this angle she couldn't see who occupied it, but she could see a pair of legs encased in denim. The contrast of the denim legs against the red vinyl intrigued her. She removed her camera from the bag, and took the shot, the neat click of the shutter satisfying.

  Smiling, Clea returned her camera to the bag, wondering what was keeping Robert. Not seeing any sign of him, her thoughts went back to Saturday night, to the boat on the lake. Had it been Nick watching her, or had it been her imagination? She'd been unable to get Nick out of her mind all n
ight. She had to tell John about Nick's return soon, before someone else did, but finding the words was harder than she'd imagined.

  Every time she looked at her son her the words wouldn't come. John knew about Nick, about why he'd gone to prison, yet they never spoke of Nick. John had no idea Nick was out of prison. How did she tell him? What if Nick hurt John? Lately, John had become withdrawn, angry. He was having trouble in school and she wasn't sure why. Would meeting Nick make things worse? She didn't know.

  Bottom line, she feared John's reaction to Nick.

  Betty came out of the kitchen and set the sandwiches in front of her. "Here you go, honey. Enjoy."

  "Thanks, Betty." She smiled at the waitress, taking a napkin from the chrome holder on the bar. "I can't imagine what's keeping Robert. He was right behind me. I'm starved." Picking up half the sandwich, she took a bite.

  "Hey, Nick," Betty said.

  Clea swiveled around, her mouth full of bread. Nick stood behind her, his check in his hand. She glanced down at his denim-clad legs. He'd been in the booth.

  "I'll take that." Betty held her hand out for his check.

  Clea tried to chew, to swallow, but the sandwich lodged in her throat.

  "Hello, Clea," Nick said, his tone dry. "Who's violating the No Contact Order, you or me?"

  Clea swallowed. She didn't know what to say to him.

  "Here's your change, Nick." Betty dropped the coins into Nick's palm. "Have a good afternoon." To Clea she said, "I'll just go and get your drinks."

  The waitress disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving them alone.

  "See you around, Clea." Nick walked away. Just before he opened the door, he said, "No, I guess I won't be seeing you around, otherwise I might find myself back in jail."

  "Nick, wait," she said, her voice returning.

  He raised one dark brow. "For what? For the sheriff to come and arrest me for being within one hundred feet of you? Maybe you should give me a copy of your schedule so I can be sure to avoid you."

  Clea's stomach clenched. Anger had punctuated his words. "Robert and I thought it best that we all know where we stand."