And Then Came You

by Maureen Child

They hadn’t even had sex in weeks.

  Christ. When had he stopped noticing that he was living like a damn monk?

  And why hadn’t he paid closer attention to the fact that he didn’t mind not having sex more often? Cynthia was a beautiful, intelligent woman—but she wasn’t the one woman in the world he wanted with every breath.

  So what in God’s name was he doing marrying her?

  “Calling Jeff. Yoo-hoo!”

  Sam slapped his arm when shouting at him had no effect, and Jeff jerked awake as if he’d been yanked out of a warm bed and tossed into an ice-cold swimming pool.

  “What?”

  “What what?”

  He shook his head. “What’d you say?”

  “Which time?”

  “Huh?”

  “Great.” Sam nodded and gave him a mocking smile. “Terrific. We’re talking about custody of our daughter and you’re off in la-la land.” Shaking her head, she turned away. “Let me know when you get back.”

  “I’m back now.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  Probably not.

  Crap.

  He had so many damn ideas racing through his mind, he probably looked as if his head were exploding.

  Which it was, so good for him.

  There were a lot of decisions to make. Some of them sooner than others.

  But right now, there was Sam.

  Jeff reached for her, slapping one hand down onto her shoulder and stopping her in her tracks. She slipped out from beneath his hold, but didn’t try to keep moving.

  Small victory.

  “I don’t know what to do about making you trust me.”

  “You can’t make someone trust you, Jeff.”

  “I know.” He did know that. Didn’t make it any easier to deal with, but he knew it.

  “And I won’t sign the divorce papers until we work out the custody thing.”

  “I know that, too.” His fingers tightened on her shoulder and he swore he could feel her blood rushing through her body. “I’m willing to talk about sharing custody.”

  “What?”

  She actually swayed on her feet.

  Couldn’t blame her. He felt a little stunned himself. All he’d been worried about was losing Emma. Losing that one connection to his child. But by sharing Emma with her mother, he’d be keeping his daughter, not losing her. The only sure way to lose his child at this stage of things would be to deny her access to her mother. Then Emma might come to hate him. And he wouldn’t be able to blame her for it, either.

  “You heard me.”

  “I don’t think so.” She folded her arms across her chest and jutted one hip out. “Rewind and hit play again.”

  He snorted. Damn, he’d missed her. “Fine. I’m willing to share custody of Emma. Plain enough.”

  She reached up to check his forehead with the backs of her fingers. “No fever.”

  There would be, if she touched him again.

  “You’re a funny woman, Sam.”

  “Not feeling the joke.”

  “Not joking.”

  “You’re not, are you?” she asked, staring into his eyes as if looking for the pothole he wanted her to step into.

  No, she didn’t trust him.

  And damned if that didn’t hit him hard.

  “No, I’m not joking about the custody thing,” he said, since she seemed to need to hear it. “So are you interested or not?”

  “Hell, yes. You don’t have to say it again,” she said, smiling. Then she stopped. Frowned. “Well, I guess you did. But you know what I mean.”

  “I’m beginning to think so.”

  “And that means . . .”

  He took her arm in a firm grip. “I’ll let you know when I figure it all out.”

  “That’ll be a party.”

  She tried to pull free, but he only tightened his grip.

  “Hello? Where am I being dragged to?”

  He looked at her and so was able to see the shock stamp itself on her features when he said, “To your lawyer. We’ll just work this part out now.”

  She sputtered, but didn’t speak.

  As she stumbled along in his wake, Jeff smiled. Inwardly of course—he wasn’t stupid enough to let her see his grin. But damned if it wasn’t rewarding to know that he’d made Sam Marconi speechless.

  Mike sat on the hood of her truck, crossed her feet at the ankles and leaned back against the windshield, folding her arms behind her head for a makeshift pillow.

  Felt good to be away from the site for a while.

  She’d picked up the new copper pipes for the second kitchen in Santa Cruz, but then she’d detoured before heading back to Grace’s. Hell, even a Marconi needed a break from the hammers and saws every now and again.

  And out here, she found the peace she always did.

  A stand of trees encircled her. Just to the right was the eastern shore of the lake, where reeds dipped and swayed with the rippling water as if dancing to a tune only they could hear. At the northern edge of the lake, almost a half mile from where she sat, Nick Candellano’s house hugged the shore. There was another house on the western side, but it was tucked behind the trees enough that all she ever really caught was a glimpse of sunlight glancing off windowpanes.

  To her left—okay, far left—was the ocean, clean on the other side of Chandler. But even here, back in the trees, the sound of the waves reached her. Still, it was so soft, it was more a murmuring hush, like a soothing lullaby sung to a cranky baby.

  The sun had to work hard to punch through the canopy of trees, so the dappled shade kept the temperature a good fifteen degrees cooler than anywhere else in town. A whisper of wind caressed her and she closed her eyes, the better to enjoy her spot.

  No one else ever came here.

  At least, Mike had never run into anyone.

  And she came here as often as she could. She’d found this little piece of seclusion when she was a kid and had desperately needed a place all to herself. Scowling as memories rushed forward, pushing the present to the back of her mind, Mike remembered those quiet, moonlit nights when she was sixteen and finding out that parents didn’t live forever.

  Opening her eyes again, she stared up at the slivers of blue visible only when the leaves of the trees shifted with the wind.

  “Mama.”

  God, just saying that word out loud brought comfort and pain and joy and misery and too many other emotions to try to put a name to. But her mother had really been on her mind a lot lately.

  Not completely true, she thought. Thoughts of Mama were never really far away. But in the last week or so, they’d been so thick she could hardly think of anything else.

  Had to be Emma’s presence. Having the girl back in their lives was great. But at the same time, having her here was stirring up the memories of nine years ago. Making everything so close. So . . . hard to ignore.

  “Not that I want to ignore you or anything, Mama,” Mike said, accustomed to having one-sided conversations with her mother while she was here. “But thinking about you and about what an ass I was when you were so sick just makes me feel bad all over again.”

  Such language.

  Mike smiled to herself, imagining Mama’s response.

  You were a child, Mike. You shouldn’t be so angry at the girl you were.

  “Hard not to be,” she said.

  “Is this a private conversation or can anybody join in?”

  Mike shot straight up on the still-warm hood of her truck and looked around the clearing. What the hell? “Who’s here?”

  “I am.”

  “Yeah?” she asked, swinging her head around in the direction of the distinctly rough, male voice. “And who’re you?”

  He stepped out of the treeline and Mike’s scowl deepened. Tall and scruffy-looking, he had dark brown hair that hung just past his collar. He swung his head to the right and his hair swished out of the way only to slide back down over his forehead. Probably would
have blinded him if he hadn’t been wearing glasses. His features were sharp, as if carved by a hasty but talented sculptor. His jeans were threadbare at the knee and the hiking boots he wore were so beat-up, they made Mike’s look brand-new. His black T-shirt was rumpled, as if he’d slept in it.

  He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans as he strolled—there was no other word for it—into the clearing. He walked right through the wild flowers growing in a scattershot of color amid the meadow grass and headed for the truck. And her.

  “If you don’t want to be eavesdropped on, you shouldn’t talk so loud.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” she said, sliding off the end of the hood to stand on her own two feet. The better to do some serious kicking—or make a run for it, whichever came first. “But that doesn’t answer the whole ‘Who’re you’ question.”

  “Lucas Gallagher.”

  “And why’re you here?”

  “That’s two questions,” he pointed out, still walking toward her with the air of a man who never hurried.

  “There’s a limit on questions?”

  “We’ll trade. Who’re you?”

  “Mike Marconi.”

  His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Never knew a woman named Mike.”

  “You still don’t,” she pointed out, inching closer to the door handle of her truck. He didn’t look dangerous, but then, most criminals didn’t walk around with signs proclaiming Danger around their necks.

  “Don’t be so skittish,” he advised and came to a stop about ten feet from her.

  “Who’s skittish?” She stopped, too, embarrassed to be caught trying to bolt. “And what kind of stupid word is that?”

  “More questions.” He shook his head, swinging his hair back from his face again. “Interesting woman.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Now go away.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re on private property,” he said and turned his back on her to walk toward the lake. “Go away.”

  Something bubbled to life inside her. She was pretty sure it was the urge to throw something. “What do you mean, private property?”

  “So many questions.” He shot her an amused look over his shoulder. “Look it up.”

  “Just wait a damn minute,” she shouted as he moved farther away. Only a second or two ago, she’d been thinking about getting the hell out of there. Now that he’d told her to, she wasn’t in such a damn rush.

  “Good-bye, Mike Marconi.” He didn’t look back, but he lifted one hand as if already waving her on her way.

  She’d been dismissed.

  Mike blinked, then looked around as if searching for someone she could say “Did you see that?” to. But she was alone and getting more so the farther he walked.

  She thought about chasing him down and getting some answers out of him. But there was a cleaner way of doing that. She’d just head back to the job site and talk to Grace. As far as she knew, this land still belonged to the Van Horn family. And she made it her business to know, since she’d been saving every dime for years in the hope of one day having enough to buy it outright from Grace.

  No way would this place have been sold without her knowing about it.

  “Lucas Gallagher,” she muttered, yanking the truck door open and wincing as the rusted metal screamed in protest. She climbed inside, turned the key, and cursed viciously, fluently, until the grumbling engine sputtered, coughed, and finally caught. “I’m not finished with you, yet.”

  Staring through the bug-splattered windshield, she watched the man as he wandered aimlessly around the edge of the lake. Maybe he’d trip and fall, hit his head on a rock and drown in the shallows.

  “Nah,” she whispered. “I’m just not that lucky.”

  Throwing the truck into reverse, she spun her wheels in the mud for a few interesting minutes, then backed up far enough to change gears. As she turned the truck around and headed for the road back to the highway, she checked her rearview mirror.

  But he was already gone.

  “Mommy says there’s gonna be fireworks and rides and cotton candy and I can hold my own sparklers and write my name in the sky with ’em and everything,” Emma said, words tumbling out of her mouth, one after the other, so close together they were almost impossible to separate. “And we get to have a picnic and see Mommy’s friend Carla and her dog Abbey and Abbey’s puppies maybe and maybe I could even get one and she said I could keep it here, ’cause I have my own room and everything and Isabel doesn’t have a dog.”

  Jeff laughed as his daughter tried to bring him up to date on her life in five minutes or less. He’d only been gone two days and it felt like a hell of a lot longer. How the hell would he ever be able to stand being separated from her?

  Just thinking about his condo back in the city and how quiet it would be without Emma running through the rooms, her shoes clacking on the bare wood floors, made him want to cringe. But he’d have to learn to deal with it, wouldn’t he?

  Glancing at Sam, he thought she looked more relaxed than she had since this whole thing started. And why shouldn’t she? They’d already met with her lawyer and agreed to custody terms—at least temporarily—until they could work out a permanent solution.

  It had been, he told himself as he listened with half an ear to Emma, more to give Sam peace of mind than anything else. Now she knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t try to keep her from her daughter. Now, she at least knew that he was willing to work on the custody issue.

  And maybe that would give them enough time to work out whatever the hell else was between them.

  Dammit, he could still taste her.

  All afternoon, she’d lingered on his lips, his tongue. He had her scent buried deep within him and couldn’t seem to draw a breath without dragging her even deeper inside.

  He wanted her.

  Bad.

  “Daddy, you’re not listening.”

  He came up out of his thoughts like a deep-sea diver breaching the surface of the water and blinking stupidly at the sunlight. “What?”

  “To me,” Emma said, leaning in and capturing his face between her small palms. “You’re not listening to me.”

  “Sorry, baby. What’d you say?”

  She sighed. A deep, eloquent, dramatic sigh that women apparently were born knowing how to deliver. “I want you to see my room.”

  “Oh. Okay, show me.” He stood up and took her hand. Then he shot a quick look at Sam, sitting curled up at the end of the red chenille sofa. “Maybe your mommy should come, too.”

  She gave him a wary smile. Not trusting yet, but not as openly hostile as she was a few days ago. That was something, wasn’t it?

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “No, Mommy, you have to come, too.” Emma grabbed Sam’s hand as she scooted out from between the sofa and the magazine-littered coffee table.

  Sam’s features softened and Jeff knew she wouldn’t refuse Emma anything. He grinned as she got up and walked beside him. “Just the three of us,” he murmured.

  “And Cynthia makes four,” Sam shot back.

  Jeff winced a little. He kept forgetting about the fiancée he’d left in the city. And what did that say?

  Emma pulled them determinedly down the long hall. Jeff looked around as they passed and caught a fleeting glimpse of what had to be Sam’s room. Quilt-topped four-poster bed, flowers in a vase, postcards framed and hung on a wall. The second bedroom was empty save for a narrow bed, a chest of drawers, and a table with a globe-topped lamp on it. The bathroom was small and painted a deep sea green. Lighthouse prints hung on the walls and a white pedestal sink stood beneath an antique medicine cabinet and mirror.

  Then Emma stopped in front of a third door and dropped their hands as she stepped inside and did a twirling spin. “Isn’t it pretty, Daddy?”

  He walked into the room, too, turning more slowly than his daughter, so he could see everything. Sam had turned the room into a little girl’s fantasy. The walls were a summe
r-sky blue and one wall was covered with what looked like fluffy clouds. A canopied bed, with a Barbie bedspread. White wicker furniture and shelves filled with books and toys. There was even a tiny white wicker rocking chair in the corner, with a standing lamp alongside it, so Emma could curl up and read if she wanted to.

  He shifted his gaze to Sam. “You really did a nice job in here.”

  She shrugged and leaned against the doorjamb. “I wanted her to be happy.”

  “I think you managed that,” Jeff said as he walked toward her. Emma was talking a mile a minute, pulling out every book and holding it up for him to see. He smiled at her, but then turned back to Sam. “She loves it here.”

  Sam’s eyes filled quickly, and she looked as surprised by it as he was. Damn, he’d always hated it when she cried. A man never felt so clumsy and useless as he did when faced with a woman’s tears.

  “Don’t do that,” he said and heard the whisper of blind panic in his own voice.

  She laughed shortly and swiped her fingertips beneath her eyes. “It’s just a little leak.” She shifted a look at Emma, still happily pulling out book after book. “It just means something to me to hear you say that. That she loves being here.”

  “You’re surprised?” He lifted one hand to smooth his fingertips along her cheek. God, she was still such a mystery to him. Her moods shifted and changed with nearly every breath. She could go from hard to soft, furious to sentimental, in the blink of an eye.

  She’d touched something in him nine years ago and she was the only woman who ever had. Why should it even mildly surprise him to find that she could still reach him on levels he hadn’t known he possessed?

  “Sort of, I guess,” she admitted, then straightened up to face him. “I know she doesn’t have here what she has in the city and—”

  “It’s not about what she has,” Jeff interrupted. “But about who she has.” He tucked a strand of soft auburn hair behind her ear. “Now she has her father and her mother.”

  Sam sucked in air, then whooshed it out again. “Thanks. Not just for that,” she added, “but for the custody thing.”

  Jeff smiled as he watched her. “Was it painful?”

  “Thanking you, you mean?” She shrugged and her lips twitched just a little. “Only slightly. I’ll take an aspirin.”