She filled Jack’s dish, rolling her eyes at the greedy, proprietary noises he tended to make while he ate. “I guess you can take the cat out of the alley, but you can’t take the alley out of the cat.”
The alcohol she’d downed intensified the ache that had begun to throb behind her eyes, so she snagged some ibuprofen and dropped into one of the chairs from her bistro set. Maybe after they’d kicked in, the mountain of dishes in the old cast iron sink wouldn’t seem so daunting.
Ava tended to let things go little by little throughout the week, until they reached a saturation point that resulted in a weekend cleaning blitz. Unfortunately, today was D-Day.
As the kitchen was ground zero for the worst of the disaster and she wasn’t feeling particularly motivated, she decided to start in her bedroom and work her way back around.
She made a pass at the bathroom, scrubbing the old claw foot tub but turning a blind eye to the floor’s less than sparkling grout. Dustbunnies were chased from under her cherished brass bed. The sheets probably needed to be laundered, but she wasn’t feeling ambitious enough to mess with her temperamental washing machine.
When she pulled out the furniture polish to hit her mission style coffee table, the unexpected rush of tears had the dust cloth dropping from her hand.
“To hell with it.” She dropped onto the sofa, admired the simple lines of the Spanish antique. It had been in her family for generations, coming to Ava through her mother.
She missed her mother so much.
And worse, so much worse, was not knowing what had happened to her.
Unwilling, unable to think about either of her parents right now, Ava swiped angrily at her cheeks. Then plumped the pillows on the sofa, cursing loudly when she saw the claw marks.
“I’m reconsidering my position on de-clawing you,” she called toward the kitchen in frustration.
Full dark had fallen by the time she made it to the dishes.
The pan she’d used to cook paella for Lou Ellen sat beneath coffee mugs, cereal bowls, and various assorted utensils. A wine glass perched dangerously on top.
Her single greatest wish was for a dishwasher.
But as all of the profits from her practice were being funneled right back into the business, such luxuries would have to wait.
Resigned, Ava started scrubbing with a vengeance.
Vengeance, she considered, was what her uncle’s life was all about. Vengeance against those who crossed him. Vengeance against life for the miserable childhood he’d been dealt. The oldest son of a day laborer who’d died too early, and died too hard, Carlos sold his way out of abject poverty one chemical high at a time. He’d expanded from selling drugs to selling sex and whatever vice he could capitalize on. Ava couldn’t really hold that against him, or at least not much. She knew that survival wasn’t always pretty.
But she could resent the carelessness that had led him to draw her father into that life. A life of greed and violence. Of building an empire on others’ pain. A life that demanded loyalty to Carlos, above all else.
And God help anyone who threatened that life he’d created.
Jack leaped onto the counter and growled.
“Shit. Just hell.” Ava looked at the broken glass in her hand. Blood oozed sullenly from a shallow slice. “Well, Jack, you got your revenge for those shots. And I’m jumpy as a damn rabbit.”
Wrapping her hand in a clean dish towel, Ava stretched to open the cabinet that held her household medical supplies. She shoved aside the ibuprofen, flipped the latch on the small first aid case.
Screamed when she saw the eyeball.
The bistro chair clattered to the floor as Ava slammed against it, sending Jack streaking from the room on a hiss. The case toppled, spilling its contents, and Ava’s frozen heart began knocking like her old washing machine.
The eyeball bounced, and rolled toward her.
“Sonofabitch.” The damn thing was rubber. Ava pushed herself to her feet.
She peered out the window above the kitchen sink, saw the shadow of a car parked on the street. Light flared, just one brief burst from a match, and she caught the goon’s smile as he lit his cigarette.
It burned her ass that he’d obviously heard her scream.
Shoving her good hand through her hair, Ava considered that he’d been in her home. Left a little reminder that her uncle was watching.
She wanted to scrub everything again, and with bleach.
She looked toward Calhoun House, saw Lou Ellen’s bedroom light on. And felt the cold breath of fear against her neck. Her very presence put her friend in danger. She was, and always had been, very careful about whom she allowed herself to get close to. And wouldn’t have confided in either Lou or Katie but for the fact that they needed to be aware of the situation, for their own safety.
And, damn it, she was entitled to a few real friends.
Hadn’t Carlos already cost her the only man she’d ever really cared for? Not to mention both of her parents?
Furious again, Ava refused to draw the blinds at the kitchen window. Let the goon outside watch.
Slowly, methodically, she bandaged her hand, then finished washing and stowing her dishes.
And left the light burning as she got ready for bed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEASTER Sunday dawned bright and beautiful, but Ava’s mood was anything but sunny. Exhausted, angry, and anguished by last night’s dreams of her mother, she brooded into her morning coffee.
Her mother had always loved Easter. The concept of hope. Of rebirth. No matter how many times Ava’s father had disappointed her by falling back in with his brother, Lorena Martinez hadn’t lost faith. Not in her God. Nor in her marriage.
Ava was forced to admit that she herself had lapsed. But in honor of the woman who’d done so much more than give her life, Ava dressed for mass.
A light, raspberry colored sweater, she decided, to compliment the dress of shell pink linen. The wedged mules added just the right touch. Long, willowy women like Lou Ellen and Katie might be able to get away with flats, but as Ava’s particular gene pool ran toward short and well packed, she suffered the necessity of heels.
Tottering down the steps in those heels, she flicked a disgruntled glance toward the black T-Bird. Bastard had good taste in cars, she’d give him that. When she fired up her Mustang, the T-Bird’s engine roared to life as well. She wondered if he’d follow her into church.
The cathedral was packed with the faithful, and those who were simply there out of habit. Ava watched with some amusement as more than one chiffon-clad child suffered the inevitable candy-induced meltdown. But as she fanned herself with her bulletin, listened with one ear to the homily, Ava felt herself settle.
When the service was finished, she bucked the flow of people and angled her way up the aisle. The goon would undoubtedly be waiting for her out front, so she decided to sneak out the back.
Forsyth Park was just a block over, and it was a beautiful day for a stroll.
The warm breeze slid over her skin, fragrant with fresh grass, the light perfume of spring. Of life renewing itself. Ava could almost feel her mother’s touch in the whisper of air. Lighter now, she tossed her sweater over her shoulder and walked with satisfaction.
Despite the long shadow her uncle cast, she decided her life was fulfilling. She had a satisfying career, good friends, and a comfortable home. She worried for her father, loved him terribly, but had come to realize that the choices he’d made were his own. There was nothing she could do about the bed he’d made, and it wasn’t her responsibility to lie in it. At this point all she could do was try to make her own.
Ava passed families spread beneath the oaks with their picnics, fat ham sandwiches and deviled eggs, and jellybeans by the bagful. Some children engaged in an egg hunt. They carried handled baskets, ground dirt into the knees of their good pants, and darted about like pastel fireflies, brightening the air.
A young girl in a lavender dress tucked a number of her brother’s eggs into her own bas
ket when he dared to turn his back.
Grinning, Ava didn’t notice the dog until he brushed against her leg.
“Finn!” She stroked his well-groomed head. “What are you doing here?”
But even as she asked the question, she knew. And looked up, toward the stretch of field several yards in the distance, to meet a pair of familiar blue eyes.
About a half second later, those eyes, and their owner, were knocked to the ground by a couple hundred pounds of leaping male.
“HEY dumbass!” Jordan heard Jesse call out in exasperation. “You’re supposed to run when you catch the ball. Not stand there like an idiot.” Jesse turned toward their brother Justin, the MD. “I think you should check him out. Maybe he suffered some brain damage after all.”
Justin grinned, but Jordan paid no attention to his brothers. When he’d spotted Ava, his mind emptied faster than a classroom after the final bell. Several seconds elapsed before he even realized he’d hit the ground.
“Get off me, James.” He bucked the heavy bulk of his youngest brother to the side, tossed the football toward the still grinning Justin. Like he cared about a little touch and tackle after he’d gotten a look at Ava Martinez’s bare legs.
Ignoring the various catcalls coming from the field behind him, he made a beeline toward the good doctor. It was beyond him why he’d left her office yesterday without figuring a way to get his hands on her in the none-too-distant future. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
As Jordan watched, Finn licked the back of her knee.
Once again, his dog had the right idea.
“WELL shit,” Ava muttered to herself as the man approached. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
“Down boy,” he said mildly, reaching to grasp Finn’s collar. But his gaze never left Ava’s. “Hey, Doc.”
He was slightly winded, glistening with sweat, and smelled pleasantly of soap and male. The hair sticking out from under his cap had dampened into sable curls.
His eyes were blue headlights, pinning her.
“Mr. Wellington.” Because her legs felt weak, she kept her tone cool.
“Okay, if you keep saying that I’m going to feel like my father. Call me Jordan.”
“Okay. Jordan.” She slid a glance over his shoulder toward the field. “It looks like I’ve interrupted your game.”
“What? Oh. No big deal. Just killing some time with my brothers before dinner.”
She blinked once, and then gave the field another look. “All of them?”
“All of what?” He offered a friendly smile.
“Are they all your brothers?”
“Oh. Yeah.” He spared a quick glance. “Well, all of them except for the blond.” The blond, Ava noted, who was making a rather rude gesture at Jordan’s back. “We keep him around for entertainment purposes. Anyway, enough about them. You look fantastic.” He reached out and slid a finger along the wide strap of her dress.
Ava took what she considered a prudent step back.
Jordan’s smile edged into a grin. “So listen, I was wondering if I could take you to dinner.”
“I… I…” Shit. Was she stuttering? “I have plans.”
“Not tonight,” he clarified. “I’ve got the whole family thing going on. But another night this week. How about tomorrow?”
“It’s a workday.”
“You eat on workdays, don’t you?”
“No. I mean yes, but…” What the hell was the matter with her? “But the answer is no. I’m not interested in having dinner with you tomorrow.” There. She’d finally located her brain.
“Friday, then. Wait.” He held up a hand before she could answer. “Saturday. I forgot that you work half the weekend.”
“I don’t think so.”
Jordan chewed on the inside of his cheek while he squinted at her. “Why not?”
“What do you mean, why not? You’ve made a proposition, I’ve declined. Simple as that.” Finn licked her leg again and she jumped.
The reaction didn’t go unnoticed.
“Do I make you nervous, Ava?” His murmur was low.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“So you find me unattractive?”
“What? No. You’re…” Gorgeous? Mouth watering? “Attractive enough.”
“Hmm. Then you must prefer having dinner with ugly men.”
Ava’s lips twitched against her will. “Look, Jordan, I appreciate the offer but –”
“Do you have a policy against dating clients?”
Oh, that would make this so easy if it were only true. But it was Easter Sunday, and she wasn’t going to lie. “No.”
“THEN have dinner with me.” If Jordan hadn’t seen the interest, felt the heat coming off of her in little riffs, and if he didn’t want her so badly, he wouldn’t have persisted. But since he had and he did, he wasn’t going to back down.
Bottom line, he didn’t want to.
“You’re very aggressive,” Ava informed him.
“Not so much aggressive,” Jordan mused. “That’s my brother Jack. He’s a barracuda. Or what my parents politely refer to as driven. Me? I’m what you might call persistent.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Sure there is. Aggressive is obviously overbearing. Persistent is more… quietly determined. Subtle, if you will.”
AND why, Ava asked herself, was she standing here discussing semantics with this man, when she should be getting the hell out of Dodge?
“You think you’re being subtle?” she asked instead.
“You would understand the difference if you met my brother.”
“Well, then.” She looked toward the other men again. They’d formed a large pile and seemed bound and determined to pound one another into the ground. The blond launched himself on top of the others with a bloody cry of glee. “I’ll have to make it a point to stay away from your brother.”
“His wife would appreciate that. Have dinner with me.”
It was like being ever-so-slowly pummeled by a velvet fist. “You just don’t give up, do you?”
“Like a dog after a bone. No pun intended.”
“Okay.” She drew a deep breath, slapped a palm against his chest before he could pummel her again. “Despite the fact that you’re… attractive, you have great taste in dogs, and you’re unbelievably persistent, I’m afraid this just isn’t going to happen. My reasons are my own, and if you’re half the gentleman you appear to be, you’ll respect that and leave me alone. Now,” she removed her hand, unsure whether the sheen of sweat on her palm was Jordan’s or her own. “If you’ll excuse me, I have someplace I need to be.”
STYMIED, and not a little bit worked up, Jordan watched her walk away.
He had enough complications in his life right now without factoring in a challenging and by all appearances difficult woman.
Her hips swayed, and he was riveted.
Since when had he backed down from a challenge?
Tipping his cap back to better appreciate the view, he decided he might just be aggressive after all.
AVA slammed her hand against her steering wheel as she merged into the traffic in the square. Jordan Wellington was a complication that she couldn’t afford and didn’t need. And it was just her bad luck that he seemed to keep popping up whenever she least expected.
Did the man have to be so damn cute?
Why couldn’t she have yanked a buck-toothed, mullet-sporting redneck out of that trunk? Or maybe a basement dweller with an obsession for computer games and an unnatural aversion to the sun?
Damn it, it just wasn’t fair.
She thought of Lou Ellen, and what she would have to say about fate. Well, if you asked Ava, fate was a real bitch. Dangling a man like that in front of her when she was powerless to take the bait.
A growl of frustration clawed its way out of her throat, and when she checked her rearview mirror and caught sight of the T-Bird riding her ass, the infamous Martinez temper snapped its leash. She lowered the con
vertible’s top, flipped an unseemly finger high into the air, and smiled grimly as she punched the gas.
Blowing through a red light, Ava watched in amusement as the goon narrowly avoided the business end of a pick-up truck.
Nothing better to ease her frustration than a nice Sunday drive.
CHAPTER NINEWHENEVER their five sons, two daughters-in-law, infant grandson and toddler granddaughter gathered with him and Addison, Tom Wellington felt like the ringmaster in a very busy circus. And now there was the addition of a large, playful grand-dog to add confusion to the melee.
He grumbled about hiding the breakables, groused over the fact that he was going to have to work well into his dotage because they’d eat him out of house and home. Generally bluffed and blustered.
No one took him seriously.
It could have had something to do with the fact that he let his granddaughter play with his autographed baseball from when the Braves won the World Series. Might be because he snarled at anyone who tried to take his grandson off of his hip. Or was possibly due to his tendency to sneak bits of ham to Finn when no one was looking.
He was a man who adored his family.
And he was a man who knew his family well. It always amazed him that the five rambunctious boys he and Addison had produced had turned into five very fine – yet very different – men.
But of all his sons, he shared the closest connection with Jordan.
It wasn’t preference, or favoritism. He loved each of his children as a father should. It was simply a matter of like understanding like.
And despite the fact that Jordan smiled and laughed, traded insults with his brothers and Clay, and chatted amicably with his sisters-in-law over dinner, Tom could sense the shadow of trouble in his son’s eyes. So while the others were involved with the tail end of an egg hunt in the backyard, Tom carved out a few moments alone by asking Jordan to help him bring out more beverages to stock the cooler.
Normally he would have enjoyed wheedling out the problem with clever discourse and quiet cunning, but as time was an issue he decided to cut to the chase.
“You want to talk about it?” Tom stacked a couple of six packs of Blue Moon in his son’s arms. He rooted around in the back of the fridge, found the juice boxes that his granddaughter liked best, and balanced a couple of them on top of Jordan’s load.
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