A Family Kind of Gal

by Lisa Jackson

  “That might be overreacting a tad,” Bliss said.

  “I know what I saw.”

  “It’s Tiffany’s business.” Bliss sighed and smiled at her older sister. “When Katie gets an idea in her head—”

  “This isn’t an idea. This is gut instinct.”

  “Fine. Whatever you want to call it,” Bliss said with infinite patience. “But I’ve learned you’ve kind of got a one-track mind.”

  “A reporter is nothing if not dogged.”

  “Some people might think of it as stubborn or mule-headed.” Bliss winked at Tiffany and Katie rolled her eyes as she fanned herself with one hand.

  “For the first time I get why sisters complain about each other.” Katie swept her bangs out of her eyes. “And I thought brothers were bad.”

  “I just think you should give Tiffany some breathing space.”

  “It’s all right,” Tiffany said, even though she felt decidedly uncomfortable. “My feelings for J.D.... Well, they’re complicated.”

  “That’s always what people say when they don’t want to admit they’re in love.”

  Love? In love? Was it so obvious? “Is that the voice of experience talking?” Tiffany asked, and Katie nodded

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ve got kids,” Tiffany said, opening up more than she expected. “It’s not so easy getting…involved again.”

  “Tell me about it.” Katie laughed.

  “How do they feel about their uncle?” Bliss asked.

  “Christina adores J.D. Since he’s moved in she’s always chattering on and on about him. She’s experienced some bad dreams since Philip’s death, but they’ve just about stopped.” Tiffany ignored the rest of her lunch—a chicken salad—and leaned back in her chair. “I’m taking Christina to the park this evening. The local theater is putting on a kids’ play, and she wants J.D. to go with us.”

  “Is he?”

  Tiffany shook her head. She hadn’t even asked him. “This is a mother-daughter bonding thing,” she said.

  “It sounds wonderful,” Bliss said, and for the first time Tiffany realized that the woman she’d always thought of as “the princess” wanted children.

  “And Stephen?” Katie ventured. “How does he feel about J.D.?”

  “Good question.” Tiffany didn’t understand why she felt she could confide in these two women who, though her half sisters, were still strangers to her. But, for the first time in her life, she didn’t overanalyze the situation. It felt good to talk things over. “He’s...he’s more difficult. He did see J.D. as a threat at first. You know, he thought, after the accident and Philip’s death, that he had to be the man of the house, but then, he’s still a kid.” She lifted her shoulders. “As I said, it’s complicated.”

  “Look, there’s something I want to ask each of you,” Bliss said and nervously took a gulp of her iced tea. “I know this is odd, considering all that’s happened, but I want you to think about it anyway. You both know that Mason and I are getting married. It’s going to be a small wedding down here, and I thought it would be nice if the two of you would stand up for me.”

  Oh, God. Tiffany didn’t know what to say. Yes, she felt closer to these two women than she’d expected, but she wasn’t convinced that it would last. One confidence shared over lunch wasn’t a commitment of friendship or sisterhood. Or was it?

  “Well, sure.” Katie’s eyes sparkled at the thought. “Why not?”

  A thousand reasons why not! Tiffany looked away. “I...I don’t know.”

  “I don’t need an answer immediately,” Bliss said. “And I understand why you might have reservations. As I said before, you need your own space, but I would love it if you would do this for me.”

  “Don’t you have friends who would want to be in your wedding?”

  “I suppose. But now I’ve got two sisters. Well, half sisters. And even though I’m not crazy about what Dad did and I hate to think of how my mother must have felt, I think it’s time to move on, not dwell on the past, and look to the future. I always wanted sisters...or brothers, for that matter…and now that I know about you two, well, it only seemed right.”

  “John didn’t put you up to this?” Tiffany asked, still not trusting the man who had sired her.

  “He doesn’t even know about it. Neither does Mason. This is all my decision.”

  “Well, count me in.” Katie finished her drink in one long swallow.

  Tiffany felt cornered. If she didn’t agree, she’d appear headstrong and one-sided, when the truth was she didn’t know how she felt about her half sisters. Some of her anger had dissipated over the past few weeks. But, on the other hand, if she jumped on this bandwagon she might not be able to jump off, and she didn’t want to appear weak. “I’ll think about it,” she said, but then remembered her own wedding day—how she would have loved to have sisters in attendance, or even a father to give her away.

  “Do. Just let me know in a couple of weeks.”

  “I will,” Tiffany promised. Could she do it? Accept this olive branch that Bliss was offering?

  “Good.”

  “It’ll be a blast!” Katie predicted.

  The waitress came with the check, and before the others picked it up, Bliss snagged the bill. “This one’s on Dad.”

  “What?” Tiffany’s head snapped up.

  “He insisted.”

  “No way. I can pay my share,” Tiffany said. She wasn’t about to take any charity from John Cawthorne. No way. No how.

  “Fine with me.” Katie tossed her napkin on to the table. “I’ve got to run anyway.”

  “But—”

  “Let him pick up the damned tab,” Katie said as she slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “The way I figure it, it’s the least he can do.”

  Bliss nodded. “You don’t have to love him, Tiffany. You don’t even have to like him. But let him buy you lunch.”

  “Fine.” Tiffany wasn’t sure she liked the idea, but she had more important things to worry about. J.D. and Stephen were at the top of the list.

  * * *

  At the small table in his room, J.D. reread for the thousandth time the deed and the note his brother had signed. The contract was ironclad. Aside from a few thousand dollars’ equity, Santini Brothers owned this apartment house lock, stock and barrel. And unless Carlo could be convinced to sell the place, Tiffany couldn’t do anything about it.

  So much for her independence.

  So what are you going to do about it? he asked himself and felt remorse tear at his soul. He’d made love to her. His brother’s wife. True, Philip was dead, Tiffany was a free woman, and yet J.D. didn’t feel right about what had happened.

  Yeah, but you planned her seduction. You took her and the bottle of wine to the Zalinski place for the express purpose of making love to her.

  His jaw tightened, and he saw his reflection in the window. Alone in the house, his bags packed, he had time to think, time for recriminations, time to realize that, like it or not, he was in love with his brother’s widow. “Hell,” he ground out and reached for the telephone. The room was hot. Stuffy. The heat of late afternoon setting in after a long day. He punched out a number he knew by heart, waited until his father had answered and said, “Hi. It’s me, Dad”

  “Jay. How’s it going?”

  “I want out.” No reason to beat around the bush.

  His father’s silence was condemning. “You’re kidding.”

  “No joke.”

  “You’ve hardly been in the job six months.”

  “I know, but it’s not working.”

  “Why?”

  “A dozen reasons. I should never have taken the job in the first place.” He waited a second and softened his voice. “I’m not Philip, Dad.”

  “You’re telling me.” Was there a hint of disgust in the old man’s voice? J.D. really didn’t care. He couldn’t be a part of Santini Brothers as long as his father insisted on pulling everyone’s strings.

  “Listen, Dad,
I’m driving to Portland tomorrow. I’m selling my stock, my boat, my bike and my condo. And I’m paying off Philip’s debts to the company.”

  “But why—”

  “Tiffany needs this place. Her kids need it. I want her to own it free and clear.”

  “I’m not trying to push my grandkids out of a home,” Carlo said. “I just want them closer.”

  “Forget it. This is their home. Now, I’m paying off the debt, and you’re accepting it, or we’re going to court.”

  “Always the lawyer.”

  “Always.” J.D. wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Of course I do, Dad.”

  “She’s got her claws into you.”

  “Big-time.”

  Carlo sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on down there, son, but if that woman’s turned your head around—”

  “What? You’ll what?” J.D. demanded. “Find a way to tie her up financially even more than she is? Strap her so that she’ll be forced to move closer to you and Mom?”

  “Would it be so bad?”

  “Yeah, Dad, I think it would. She’s her own woman. Independent and tough. She’s dealing with her own problems and seeming to get by without any of our interference. The least you could do—we could do—is have a little faith.”

  “But—”

  “Draw up the necessary papers. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodbye.” J.D. clicked off and half expected his father to call back and the phone to jangle insistently. Thankfully it didn’t. J.D. opened the window a crack to let in the evening breeze that was turning the leaves of the tree next to the house. Along with a breath of cool air came the sound of voices, young voices, drifting up from somewhere near the carriage house.

  “I mean it, Santini, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, you’re dead meat.”

  J.D. looked into the yard and saw Stephen and another boy, one who looked a little older than he, standing on the asphalt beneath the new basketball hoop.

  “I’m not sayin’ nothing to no one.”

  “You’d better not. We had a deal.”

  “I know, Miles.”

  So the scruffy-looking kid with the two-toned blond hair and bad complexion was the infamous Miles Dean. He didn’t look all that intimidating; in fact, truth to tell, he seemed more frightened than tough.

  “Yeah, well, you already screwed up once.”

  “It...it was an accident.”

  “You were hiding the keys from me, you little freak. If you woulda given ’em to me like you said you would, then the cops wouldn’t have found ’em.”

  “If you wouldn’t have started hitting me, the cops never would have come.”

  Miles’s eyes slitted, and he took a step toward Stephen. “Just don’t do it again. Stick to the story. You know what’ll happen if you mess up again.”

  J.D. had heard enough. He was on his feet, hopped over his duffel bag that was packed near the door, and was down the two flights of stairs in an instant. He flung himself out the back door and across the lawn before the two boys knew what was happening. At the sight of him, Miles started walking away.

  “Not so fast,” J.D. said, reaching the older boy and taking hold of his arm.

  “Let go of me.”

  “Not yet.” J.D. wasn’t going to be intimidated.

  “Leave him alone,” Stephen ordered, his eyes wide.

  “Not just yet.” But J.D. abandoned his grip and placed both hands on his hips. “I overheard part of your conversation.”

  There was stunned silence. Mosquitoes whined around them as the heat of the day began to recede.

  “You shouldn’t threaten people,” J.D. said.

  “Crap!” Miles muttered.

  “Now why don’t you tell me what’s going on? What do you know about Isaac Wells’s disappearance?”

  “I don’t know nothin’,” Miles spat out.

  “No? Then why all the scare tactics while you tried to intimidate Stephen here?” He hooked a thumb at his nephew, who was as pale as death and sweating like he’d just run a marathon.

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” Miles sneered.

  “No? Then let’s find out. We’ll go down to the police station together. Call your mother, see what she has to say.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Just watch me.”

  “No, don’t!” Stephen insisted.

  “Why not?”

  “Because—because—” Stephen looked to Miles for support, and in that instant, Miles jerked his arm free and ran. Like a fox being chased by hounds, he vaulted the fence and took off through the neighboring yards. J.D. had half a notion to run after him, but decided the kid wouldn’t get far on foot.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Stephen said. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Of course it does,” J.D. countered, turning to face his nephew. “Because you’re involved.”

  “So?”

  J.D. eyed the boy. “I care.”

  Stephen snorted. “You’re not my dad.”

  Needle-sharp pain seared J.D.’s brain.

  “Just because Chrissie thinks you’re hot stuff, doesn’t mean I have to.” Stephen was on a roll, and all his fears came tumbling out. “I’ve seen you and Mom, you know. Seen you together, and Christina’s just a little kid. What does she know, huh? She was messed up when Dad died, started having all those nightmares and now...now, just ’cause you’re here, that seems to be over, but they’ll come back. Just as soon as you leave.” His eyes flashed a blue challenge, and J.D. inwardly cringed. The kid might be right. Christina had seemed to attach to him, and if he left—no, when he left, which was going to be tomorrow morning—the little girl would be disappointed.

  Or devastated. Maybe worse than she was when you arrived down here, Santini. Boy, have you made a mess of things. The worst part of it was that, he, too, would feel the pain of separation; he’d started to think not only of Christina as his little girl, but of Stephen as his son.

  “I’m your uncle, Stephen. I care.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true.”

  Stephen’s jaw worked. He stood his ground, his fists clenched, his nostrils flared, more bravado than conviction straightening his spine.

  “Now, why don’t you tell me about Isaac Wells.”

  “Nothin’ to tell.”

  J.D. caught his arm. “Just start at the beginning. And this time, no lies.”

  “Let go of me!” Stephen said, immediately defensive.

  J.D. released his grip. “I just don’t want you to run off like your friend.”

  “Miles Dean isn’t my friend.”

  That was one for the good guys.

  “That’s a start. Tell me about Isaac Wells and his car keys.”

  “I can’t.” Stephen shook his head, and his skin turned the color of chalk.

  “Sure you can.”

  “Oh, gosh,” Stephen said, chewing on his lower lip anxiously. “You—you don’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Stephen blinked rapidly. “Miles will kill me.”

  “He’s not going to kill anyone.”

  “You don’t know him. Or…or his dad.”

  “Ray Dean?” J.D.’s ears pricked up. “What about him?”

  “He’s back in town and he’s…mean.”

  “Either talk to me or to the police.” J.D. felt sorry for the kid. Obviously he was in big trouble, wedged between the proverbial rock and a hard place, but J.D. couldn’t help him if he didn’t know the truth.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Stephen hesitated. He rubbed one elbow with his other hand and nearly jumped out of his skin when Charcoal galloped out from under the porch. “Oh, God.”

  “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

  Stephen looked over his shoulder, and his eyes were wide with fear. “You don’t understand. If I say anything to you, or to the police…t
hey’ll hurt Mom and Chrissie.”

  J.D. saw red. “Who?” he demanded. “Who’ll hurt them?”

  “No one.” The poor kid’s voice cracked on the lie as he tried to backtrack, but J.D. grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

  “Listen to me, Stephen. No matter what you’re involved in, no matter what happened, I’m going to help you. You got that?” When the boy didn’t answer but just looked at the ground, J.D. shook him again. “You got that?”

  “Yeah.” Stephen nodded.

  “Okay. So what’s going on? Who’s threatening to hurt your mother and sister?”

  Stephen swallowed hard. His lips were chalk-white. “It’s Miles,” he said. “Miles and his dad.”

  “So Ray’s involved.”

  “No…yes... Oh, man...” Stephen shoved his hair from his eyes. “He’s…he’s been in jail before and he…he’s the one who wanted Mr. Wells’s keys.”

  “Why?” he asked, turning the information over in his head.

  Stephen shook his head. “I dunno. He heard I stole the keys once and drove one of the cars. Miles told him, and then Miles dared me to do it again and bring him the car and keys, but I didn’t. I messed up, stole the keys but didn’t get the car and…and... Well…I decided I couldn’t be a part of whatever it was, so I didn’t turn over the keys. I thought I’d get rid of ’em, but then Mr. Wells disappeared and...”

  “And what?” J.D. demanded. The kid couldn’t clam up on him now.

  “I…I just hid ’em. Miles got real mad. Beat me up. Told me he and his dad were going to hurt Mom and Chrissie if I didn’t give ’em the keys, and then the police came and…and I got in big trouble.”

  J.D. held Stephen at arm’s length and looked him straight in the eye. He felt a connection with this boy, his brother’s son, who was so much like him. “Well, Stephen,” he said, his jaw rock-hard, “I think it’s time to get you out.”

  * * *

  Carrying a sleeping Christina, Tiffany tried to open the back door, but it was locked.

  “What in the world?” she wondered, balancing her daughter as she fumbled in her purse, fishing for her keys. Stephen should have been home hours ago, and J.D. was normally around at this time in the evening. She glanced around the driveway and noticed that his Jeep wasn’t in its usual spot.