by Joleen James
The sad look had left her eyes, and that pleased him.
"Go faster," John urged from the back seat.
"John," Clea reprimanded. "Don't encourage him."
"Oh, come on. Don't pretend you don't like it, Clea," Nick chided. "I know you do. I can remember one time when…"
"Nick." Clea cut him off. "I don't think John needs to hear any of our stories."
"Aw, come on, Mom." John grabbed the back of Clea's seat with his hand, scooting forward as far as he could while still remaining in his seat belt. "Tell me, Dad."
"A bunch of us used to race," Nick said. "Out on Deer Road. Deer Road got its name from the deer that crossed the road at all hours of the day and night. That made racing there really dangerous. You never knew when a deer would run in front of your car. If that happened, it could mean sudden death."
"Oh, Nick." Clea groaned. "I don't think John needs to hear this story."
He remembered one night on Deer Road vividly. He had raced Danny Bloomfield and won. The victory had been especially sweet because Danny seemed to get a twisted pleasure from harassing him. Their rivalry had started long before Clea's family had moved to Port Bliss. After that race he'd driven Clea down to the beach and they'd made out in The Boss until the windows were covered in steam. They'd nearly made love that night, and probably would have if Danny and Robert hadn't driven up beside them, drunk as skunks, their car full of girls.
The Bloomfield brothers had given Nick a hard time the entire summer, following him, challenging him to races, making trouble for him. He'd understood why Robert hadn't liked him, but he'd never understood Danny's hatred, a hatred that ultimately had cost him his life.
"What happened?" John asked.
"I raced The Boss and won," Nick said.
"Cool."
"The best part was I managed to avoid a deer and still win the race."
Clea turned to look at John over her shoulder. "It wasn't cool. It was dangerous. Nick could have been killed. And if I ever catch you doing something so foolish, you'll be grounded for life and won't be driving until you're thirty."
Nick laughed. "I'm afraid I have to agree with your mother on that, John. What I did was stupid and reckless. I hope you'll have more sense than I did."
"Let's change the subject," Clea said. "The Boss looks great, Nick. I'd love to photograph the car for you, inside and out."
"Really?" Her offer surprised and delighted him. "I was going to ask you if you'd do that for me." He smiled. "I want to keep a portfolio of every car the Lombard brothers restore."
"I'd love to take the photos," she said. "You do nice work, Nick."
"Billy did most of the work on The Boss. The Mustang's in mint condition from the 302 under the hood to the AM/8-track player in the dash." He pushed the tape in and Aerosmith's Sweet Emotion filled the air.
The song took Nick back to the night John had been conceived. They'd parked at Lookout Point above the lake, making love in The Boss. The night had started out with so much promise, but had ended in tragedy.
"It's a beautiful car." Clea's fingers caressed the leather seat. "I'll bet it's worth a lot of money."
"Yeah, I guess it is." He reached over and gave Clea's hand a squeeze.
"Can we go faster, Dad?" John asked.
"Oh, no. Like father, like son." Clea glanced at Nick, a warning look in her eyes. She let go of Nick's hand. "Nick Lombard, don't you dare. Your son is in the car. And put both hands back on the steering wheel."
"Hang on." Nick laughed as he pressed the accelerator to the floor.
The car shot forward. Clea clutched the seat. But just as quickly, he slowed the Mustang. Clea tossed him a scathing look.
"I'm just showing the boy what the car can do, Princess."
"Why do you call Mom 'Princess'?" John asked.
"Because that's what she is to me," Nick said. "A beautiful princess. And when she went out on a date with me, I felt like the luckiest man alive."
"Yuck," John said with disgust.
Nick smiled and reached for Clea's hand. In that second a flash of pain filled her eyes. Something had happened today. Had she finally broken her engagement? He longed to ask her, but couldn't in front of John. For now the questions would burn inside him until they were alone.
* * *
By the time Clea got dinner on the table she'd pulled herself together. She felt better about ending the engagement. She had Nick to thank for her change of heart. He'd been wonderful today. Spending time with Nick and John had been the perfect antidote for her sadness. Nick had given her a glimpse of her future, and she'd needed that today.
Clea fed John a quick meal of macaroni and cheese and salad. When he finished, she helped him with his homework, then drew him a bath. The sounds of water sloshing calmed her nerves. She had to tell John about the broken engagement, tonight, before he heard it from someone else.
The gurgle of draining water met her ears. A few minutes later, John came out of the bathroom, dressed in his pajamas.
"Can I play video games?" He plopped down next to her on the sofa.
"In a minute. I have something I want to tell you."
"What?"
He leaned back against the cushions. His fresh scrubbed face tugged at her heartstrings. She didn't want to cause him more pain, but didn't know how to avoid it.
"It's about Robert."
John sat up, his eyes instantly guarded.
"I'm not going to marry him. I'm sorry, honey." Clea braced herself for the worst.
"I knew it!" John jumped up, but he didn't run. His hands knotted into fists at his sides.
"Honey." She reached for him, but he backed away.
"Are you going to marry Dad?" he asked.
She hadn't expected that question. She had no idea what answer he wanted to hear or what the answer to that question was. "I'm not going to marry anyone right now. I think you and I need some time to adjust."
"Are we still going to New York?" John asked.
"Yes. It's a great opportunity for us."
"I don't want to go." John ran to his bedroom, slamming the door.
Clea followed. He lay face down on his bed. "John." She sat down beside him, rubbing his back. "I know this is confusing for you. It's confusing for me, too. I love Robert, but I'm not in love with him the way two adults should be if they're going to get married. It's not fair to marry someone when you don't love them with your whole heart and soul."
"Do you love Dad?"
"That's what I need to find out," Clea told him honestly. "But no matter what happens between me and Nick, your father loves you. He will always be in our lives."
"Will he come to New York with us?"
"He can't. He has certain rules he has to follow under the terms of his parole."
"Then I don't want to go." He buried his face more deeply into the pillow.
Clea's hand stilled on John's back. Did John want to be with Nick? If so, could she really take him away? She had no idea what to do next. "Let me think about things, John. I think we can find a way to work things out with Nick. Does that make you feel better?"
He sniffed.
"Come on. Get up. I'll play video games with you."
"You will?" He sat up, wiping the tears away.
Her heart broke for him. "We've had a rough day. Playing games won't make everything all right, but I think we both need a distraction, don't you?"
He nodded. Clea reached for his hand, pulling him from the bed. "Come on, I'll race you to the sofa."
* * *
Nick walked into the garage. He'd gone home after he'd dropped Clea and John off and had some dinner. Restless, he'd decided to come back to the garage and work for a while. Even now he couldn't forget the haunted look in Clea's eyes when he'd picked her up this afternoon. The time they'd spent together today had been bittersweet. He felt certain she'd ended things with Boomer, and while that pleased him, he didn't like to see her hurting. He longed for the chance to pull her into his arms and tell her
everything would be all right, but he sensed Clea wouldn't have accepted his comfort. She needed time, but how much?
"Hey, Nick." Billy sat on the bench outside Mullin's office, a can of soda in his hand. His coveralls were streaked with grease.
"Hey, yourself," Nick replied. "I didn't think you'd still be here."
"Where have you been?" Billy asked. "I missed you earlier."
"I took my son and Clea for a ride in The Boss."
Billy frowned.
"You got a problem with that?" Nick asked, wondering at Billy's change in mood.
"You know I want you to have John in your life, but why Clea? The woman is trouble on great legs. You don't need her, Nick. Can't it just be the Lombard brothers?"
"Are you serious?" He'd never given Billy's feelings for Clea any thought at all. To discover that Billy didn't want her around was a shock. "You want to explain yourself?"
"She got between us before, and look what happened," Billy said. "You lost your focus. After you met Clea you didn't have much time for me. I needed you, Nick."
Shock washed through him. "I went to prison for you," Nick said. "What did you want me to do?"
"I don't know." Billy stood up, pacing over to the Bel Air. "She's not one of us."
"Why does it have to be us and them?"
"That's just the way it is."
"Bullshit." Betrayal washed through Nick. He'd expected this kind of comment from Vivian Rose and the Bloomfields, but not from his own brother. "Don't you think I'm good enough for Clea?"
"I don't think she's good enough for you," Billy said. "She's a spoiled rich girl. If you keep chasing after her you're going to get us run right out of this town."
Nick grabbed his brother by the front of his shirt. "That's enough. I love her. I want her in my life. I'm not afraid of the people in this town."
Billy jerked away. "Then you're a fool, Nick. The lake people are rich and they're mean."
"What happened to you, Billy?" Nick asked, suddenly afraid he really didn't know his brother at all.
"I killed a man." His eyes closed in anguish. "I can't forget. Every day I replay the moment I hit him. Every day you spent in prison ate at me until I didn't want to live. I should have been in prison. Me. Not you. For ten years my life has been about you. Every choice I made I made with you in mind. I don't know where you leave off and I begin. Hell, I'm not even sure I want to stay in this town."
"Then go," Nick said in a whisper. "Go. You don't have to stay for me."
"I owe you, don't you see?" Tears filled his brother's eyes. "I have to stay for you."
"No, you don't. You don't owe me anything. I made the decision to go to prison for you. I didn't give you a choice. I'm sorry, man." Nick walked to Billy. "I'm so sorry." He embraced his brother. Billy hugged him back, a hug born of desperation and heartache. He might have kept Billy out of prison, but his brother had been living in a prison of his own making; Nick had just been too blind to see it until now.
"Don't stay in Port Bliss for me, Billy. Only stay if you want to. Live your life."
"It's not over for me." Billy pulled away to look at Nick. "It will never be over for me." He walked from the garage his head down, his shoulders slumped.
Nick hoped Billy was wrong. He couldn't bear to think he'd screwed up both their lives by going to prison.
Would he ever do the right thing?
Yes, he had to. Prison had forced him to focus on the things that were truly important to him. He knew what he had to do. He glanced over at The Boss. Without stopping to think he went into the office and booted up Mullin's computer. He connected to the Internet and typed in the web address for a well-known classic car sales website.
If Billy Lombard wanted freedom, Nick would give it to him.
Chapter Sixteen
Nick knocked on Clea's door at seven sharp.
The past twenty-four hours were catching up with him, leaving him drained and tired. After Billy's revelations last night, Nick had done nothing but think about his brother's feelings. He'd had no idea Billy didn't like Clea. He couldn't help but think he'd failed his brother. A profound sadness had stayed with Nick all day.
Then, when John had shown up at the garage this afternoon, he'd given Nick a note from Clea, asking him to come by around seven. Nick's mood had instantly improved. He hoped Clea had broken her engagement to Boomer and was ready to tell him about it.
After spending time with Clea and John yesterday Nick knew he wanted more days like that. He just had to find a way to get around Clea's internship. Giving the internship up wasn't an option. Clea had to go. Talent like hers shouldn't be squandered. Yet, he couldn't follow her to New York. His business had just begun to take off. He didn't want to give up, especially after Mr. Mullin had made the offer to sell him the garage. Instead, he wanted to work harder. He wanted to provide for Clea and for John.
He knocked again.
The door whipped open. "Hi, Nick."
Clea's hair was wet, as if she'd just come from the shower. Loose, the tresses flowed past her shoulders to settle on the swell of her breasts. A soft pink sweater hugged her curves to her waist, where gray woolen pants took over, running down the length of her legs. Her feet were bare, showing him her brightly painted red toenails. Red. The sight of those bare toes sent a straight shot of lust to his gut.
"I'm sorry. I'm running late." She smiled, showing him her perfect white teeth. "I haven't had time to dry my hair. Come in." She pulled the door open wider and he went inside.
The smell of cinnamon lingered in the air, yet the kitchen was neat and tidy, leaving him to guess she'd eaten earlier.
"Where's John?" He tossed his jacket on the dining room chair.
"He's staying overnight at Toby's." Clea ran a hand over her hair. "Let me go and dry my hair and throw on some makeup. I'll be right back."
"Don't," Nick said, still trying to digest the news that they were alone, and she had invited him over. He reached out and touched her hair. "You don't need makeup. You're beautiful just the way you are. And I like your hair curly, the way it was in school. Don't straighten it. Leave it."
She didn't move. "I haven't worn my hair curly for years." Her tongue came out to wet her lips, upping his desire he for her.
"What am I doing here, Clea?" he asked. "Because this is looking like an invitation to something more than conversation."
She spun away from him, giving him a great view of her back and her bottom, round and inviting inside her form-fitting pants.
"I broke the engagement." She turned. Clear green eyes stared at him, honest and wide. "I couldn't marry him. I thought I wanted to. Robert is safe, steady. But I just couldn't go through with it."
"I knew it." Her admission filled him with a rush of happiness, yet he knew what breaking the engagement had cost her.
"I didn't say anything yesterday, because I wanted to tell John first. I told him last night."
"How did he take the news? Is he okay?" John had seemed fine at the garage this afternoon, but the kid was good at holding his emotions in.
"I've explained things to him, but he has questions, most of them about us and where we go from here."
"Where do we go?" he asked, afraid to hope.
"I don't know, Nick, but I owe you an apology."
"For what?"
"Where do I start?" She gave him a weak smile. "For the other night when I came to your place. You were right. I did go there hoping you'd try and seduce me. I realize now I was looking for an excuse to end things with Boomer. I was wrong to put you in the middle of my problems. I'm ashamed of my behavior."
"Forget it." He didn't want her apology. He understood about the other night, understood the driving need to find answers in her arms, just as she had looked for answers in his.
"I don't know what happens next," she said. "But I asked you over tonight to share something with you." She pointed to the window.
An easel stood near the window. "What's this?" He walked over to the picture re
sting there. His heart skipped a beat when he realized it was a framed photograph of John and himself in The Boss. Clea had managed to capture them perfectly, from their smiles to the smooth paint job on the car. "This is wonderful."
"It's a gift, for you." She went to the hall closet and opened the door, removing what looked like several photo albums, as well as a couple of large leather-bound portfolios. "There's more."
Curious, Nick helped her. She placed the albums and portfolios on the floor.
"Sit down." She dropped to the carpet and opened one of the portfolios, turning the cover aside.
Nick went down on his knees. It was a picture of John as a baby. Unable to help himself, he reached out, tracing the line of the infant's cheek. God, he was beautiful with a head of dark hair. Although the photo was done taken in black and white, Clea had colored the eyes a startling blue. Nick glanced up at her, but couldn't find any words to describe what he felt.
"I took this when he was just three weeks old," she said. "He had the softest skin, and I wanted to capture that. I wasn't as good with lighting then as I am now, but every time I look at this I remember how soft he felt, how good he smelled. I colored the eyes in later, because I couldn't get over the shade of blue. He has your eyes Nick."
"He's beautiful," Nick said, his chest tight with emotion.
She turned the page. "This is John at about eight months. He's crawling, and getting into absolutely everything. As you can see, he's chubbier."
John had grown bigger. Clea had captured him in mid-crawl. A priceless moment, a moment he wished he'd been a part of.
"Let's see, what's next? I took so many pictures, it's hard to remember." She turned the page, revealing a portrait of Clea, John nursing at her breast. Dressed in white, she looked like an angel. Her hair curled wildly over her shoulders, one lock captured in John's chubby fist. This was the Clea Nick remembered. The wild hair, the younger face. John stared up at her. Nick could see the love in John's eyes, and in Clea's eyes as she returned the baby's stare.
"I used a tripod and a timer for this shot. I've always liked this one," she said wistfully. "John would die of embarrassment now if he were to see it. I nursed him until he was about eighteen months old." She smiled. "I loved holding him close, his cheek against my breast. The connection between us was strongest when he nursed. I fell so in love with him during those precious moments. There's nothing like it, Nick."