But her husband didn’t fold, which was only slightly irritating. After all, what woman wanted a weenie for a husband? Much better to have a stubborn man you could fight with than to have a man you could walk all over. Still, she felt a flash of annoyance when Jackson lifted both hands and said, “Sorry, Carla. Attorneyclient confidentiality—”
“Your client?” she interrupted him, zeroing in on that one important word. So it was an official visit. Uneasiness danced through her veins. Great. That meant that for some reason, Nick needed a lawyer. That couldn’t be good news. “Why is Nick your client?”
“Because he wanted the best?” Jackson tried.
“Good effort,” she told him, and promised herself to make his life miserable later. At the moment, though, she spun around to stare up into her brother’s eyes. “Do you talk to me or do I tell Mama that you’re Jackson’s ‘client’ and let her get it out of you?”
A disgusted whoosh of air shot from Nick’s lungs as he scowled at his sister. “Pulling out the big guns is really sinking low this early in the fight.”
“I go with what works,” she said with a shrug.
That scowl deepened. But in spite of his best efforts, a chill swept along Nick’s spine. Nobody wanted to be on Mama’s bad side. Mama had raised four children with a firm hand and—as far as her kids were concerned—an all-seeing eye. Her hugs were legendary, as were her steely stares that could convince a kid to confess to anything in less than ten seconds. Now, though her children were grown, Mama Candellano was still a force to be reckoned with. And the ultimate threat. “Aren’t we a little old for you to be tattling to Mama?”
“I repeat…”
“Christ, Carla, you’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you?”
“What do you think?”
He loomed over her, trying for intimidation. It didn’t work. Never had. Disgusted, he viciously rubbed the back of his neck. Finally he said, “I think life would be easier if I were an only child.”
“Yeah, well, that wish and five bucks’ll buy you a latte at Stevie’s.” Carla plopped both hands at her hips and dared him to look away. “Now tell me what’s up.”
Nick stared down at his younger sister. Her curly dark brown hair surrounded her face and fell to her shoulders in wild abandon. She wore a sweatshirt, jeans, and her ratty old cowboy boots and looked just as fierce as a grizzly. He recognized the glint in her brown eyes, too. She might be married now and stepmother to a little girl, but at her heart and soul she was still and would always be a Candellano.
Ordinarily, he might have been pleased by that knowledge. His family was tight. Always had been. They stood up for one another and weren’t afraid to kick a little butt when it was needed—as evidenced by the crap he’d been getting from the family for the last couple of months. He loved them all, but damn it, he wished to hell Carla was more intent on her own new family right now than on him. Because Carla just wouldn’t give up and walk away.
Until she found out what she wanted, she was going to hound him until he was nothing but raw meat.
Man, the day he’d had, dealing with tough women. First Tasha Flynn practically pushes him out of her house, green eyes flashing; then his own sister turns on him. Nick’s head was pounding. Hell, his ears were still ringing from Tasha’s temper. She’d shouted at him the whole time she was shoving him through the pink hell of a beauty parlor and out the door.
She hadn’t bothered to keep quiet in front of their audience of very interested ladies in various stages of hairdos. And once his feet hit the porch, she’d told him in no uncertain terms to stay the hell away. When she’d slammed the door in his face, the resulting breeze had ruffled his hair and dented his ego.
Well, he’d love to be able to do just what she wanted. But until he had a chance to talk to the kid and smooth this mess over before it got even more out of hand, that wouldn’t be happening.
“Carla,” Jackson said, standing up behind his desk, “back off.…”
She never took her gaze off Nick. “Butt out, Jackson.” Then, to soften her words a little, she added, “I love you, but this is between me and my brother.”
Nick looked over Carla’s head to Jackson and nodded. Then shifting his gaze back to his sister, Nick surrendered to the inevitable. He’d had it fighting with temper-driven, determined women today.
“Okay,” he said, holding both hands up as if she were holding a gun on him. “You win.”
“Was there ever any doubt?” Carla folded her arms across her chest, tipped her head to one side, and prompted, “Now, what’s going on?” Her voice was filled with a concern that warmed him, despite the situation. Family. It all came down to family.
The question was, would his family now include his son?
* * *
“Is he really your dad?”
Jonas nodded and looked down at the eight-by-ten glossy color photo of Nick Candellano. It was an action shot, of Nick, wearing his San Jose Saints uniform, except for the helmet. They didn’t wear helmets in pictures, so people could see the players’ faces. The photographer had caught Nick mid-leap, catching a pass, and his wide smile seemed to be aimed directly at Jonas. Scrawled across the bottom of the photo were the words: Running Backs Rule! Best Wishes, Nick Candellano.
It was the same thing written on all of the pictures he’d received from Nick. Sometimes the color ink was different and sometimes the way he signed his name changed, but other than that, they were just the same. Jonas had written four letters to his dad, telling him where he lived and how Nick could get in touch with him. Then he’d spent days watching the mailbox, waiting for a letter from his father.
But all he ever got was those pictures.
“He is.” Jonas looked at Tommy Malone. “He sends me pictures special, whenever I ask him to.”
Tommy took the picture and held it carefully by the edges, so his fingers wouldn’t get it all dirty. “That’s pretty cool, but how come you wanna sell ’em?”
Jonas rubbed the back of hand under his nose. “’Cause I don’t need all of ’em.” And Tasha’s birthday was coming up and he might need money and he could always get more pictures of his father.
“I don’t have five bucks,” Tommy said. “I’ve only got three.”
Jonas thought about it for a long minute. Three dollars was better than nothing. “Okay, three.”
Tommy grinned at him, dug into his jeans pocket, and pulled out three crumpled one-dollar bills. He handed them to Jonas, then wandered off, across the playground, still admiring the photo of his favorite football player.
The first bell rang and the crowds of kids started wandering closer to the brick school buildings. Lunch recess was almost over. Noise rose up on the cold November wind and drifted across the overgrown lawn toward the asphalt. Tetherball ropes and chains clanged against poles, and basketballs thumped against backboards. The lunch ladies wandered through the crowds of shouting kids, blowing silver whistles that shrieked for attention, yet still went unnoticed.
“Are you selling all of ’em?” Alex asked as he sat down next to Jonas.
“Yep.” Leaning back against the old tree in the middle of the field, Jonas scooted over, making room for his pal. Tree bark bit into his back, right through his sweatshirt. He tipped his head back and stared up through the leafless limbs at the gray clouds overhead. The wind blew hard and sent the tree branches into a wild dance that made them kind of look like skeleton arms clapping together.
“My dad’ll get me more as soon as I meet him.”
“When’s that gonna be?”
“Don’t know for sure,” Jonas said, and tore his gaze away from the storm clouds crashing across the sky. “But it’ll be soon.”
It had to be soon. ’Cause with Mimi dead and Tasha worried all the time, it was getting a little scary at home. He kept expecting to see Ms. Walker from Social Services pull into the driveway to take him away. Every time one of Tasha’s customers drove up to the house, Jonas’s stomach did a weird rolling thing t
hat made him think he might barf. He always had to run to the window and look out to make sure it wasn’t Ms. Walker’s green Volkswagen parked outside.
Ms. Walker was always saying how important Jonas was to her, but he didn’t like the way she kind of crinkled up her nose when she came inside. Like the house was dirty or something, and it totally wasn’t, ’cause Tasha was always cleaning and making him pick up his dirty socks and stuff out of the living room.
But Ms. Walker didn’t like the house and she hadn’t liked Mimi, either. But ’cause Mimi was old, Ms. Walker treated her better. Nicer, kind of. But she treated Tasha like she was stupid, and pretty soon she’d probably take him away. Even though Tasha said it wouldn’t happen, Jonas couldn’t take the chance. He had to be sure. He didn’t want to go away again. He liked his house. And Tasha. And he wanted to stay. So he needed his real dad to help.
And he would. Nick wouldn’t let him down.
“Think he’ll take us to some games before the season’s over?” Alex asked. “I bet he can get us down on the field by the team and everything.”
“Sure he can,” Jonas said, nodding as if trying to convince himself as much as Alex. “Maybe we could even go to the Super Bowl.”
“Wow.…” His best friend’s voice, filled with awe, drew that one word out like a song.
Jonas smiled to himself. He wasn’t lying to his friend. He knew Nick would do all the things Jonas said he would, as soon he knew about him. That’s what dads did.
The second bell rang and the boys reluctantly got up and headed toward history class—visions of the Super Bowl game dancing in their heads.
* * *
By the time Jonas got home from school, Tasha had worn a rut through the living room carpet with her pacing.
She still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to get the football player out of the shop. All she remembered was a lot of vague sputtering and arguing. Well, that and a few women whistling at him as Tasha pushed and shoved him through the shop and out the door. Once she had him on the porch, she’d closed the door in his face and hadn’t taken another easy breath until she heard his Corvette roar into life and rush off down the road.
And even then, breathing was tough.
Air strangled in her throat.
Her lungs heaved, she felt light-headed, and her stomach was doing a whirligig thing that had her seriously worried about tossing her cookies.
Somehow, she’d pulled herself together enough to do Mrs. Sorenson’s hair, then the other two appointments she’d had scheduled for today. It hadn’t been nearly as easy to keep from talking to Molly about what was happening. She’d just had time to give her friend the headlines, then it had been back to work.
As if thinking about the woman had conjured her up, Molly spoke up from the doorway between the dining room and the living room.
“He’s not here yet?”
“No.” Tasha shot her a quick look, then kept pacing, never breaking stride. Heck, she was in a rhythm, now. Twenty-one steps, turn, twenty-one steps back.
“What do you think’s going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Jonas really this guy’s son?”
“I don’t know.” Too many questions. Not enough answers. Oh God. Her head pounded in time with her footsteps. Her heartbeat seemed to hammer out the count as she continued. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, turn.
“What’ll you do if he is?”
Tasha’s steps staggered. She lost count, then stopped dead. She shoved one hand through her hair and yanked at it, as if the sharp pain stinging her scalp could take her mind off everything else. It didn’t work.
“I don’t know,” she said again, and her voice was just a sigh of exasperation and worry. Her hand dropped to her side and her shoulders slumped. She felt as though she’d been beaten up. Her body was limp. Her knees were like water and her stomach was spinning. Surprised she was still standing, she admitted quietly, “I don’t know anything.”
She stared at a square of sunlight outlined on the scarred wooden floor, but she wasn’t seeing it. Instead, her mind filled with the image of Nick Candellano’s face—and then Jonas’s. There were similarities, she thought. The dark hair, the eyes. And that smile. Oh God.
If it was true, she’d lose Jonas. If it wasn’t true, then why was Candellano here? And even if Jonas wasn’t this guy’s son, then the stink made and the investigation would surely turn up the fact that Mimi was dead. And then Social Services would take Jonas away from her and whether Candellano got the boy or not, Jonas would be gone, just the same.
And Tasha would be alone.
Again.
At twenty-seven, she’d be as alone as she had been at seventeen, when Mimi had first found her. Only alone would be so much worse now—because now she knew what family could be like. Bitterness filled her mouth, snaked down her throat, and stained her soul. She should have known. Should have guessed that the good life she’d made for herself couldn’t last. Wouldn’t last. Things like that just didn’t happen to people like her.
She scrubbed both hands across her face, wiping away the single tear sliding down her cheek. Her throat closed around a knot she knew wouldn’t be disappearing anytime soon.
“Tasha?”
She looked at Molly.
“He’s here.”
“What?”
“Jonas,” Molly said, nodding toward the front window.
Tasha shifted her gaze to the view of the wide lawn that needed mowing. Cold wind pushed at the tree limbs and ruffled the hair of the boy with his head down. Jonas was dragging his new backpack across the grass and kicking at a rock as he walked slowly toward the house. A brief smile tugged at her mouth. No one could dawdle like a kid. And Jonas did it better than most.
Knowing he had chores and homework to face once he set foot inside the house, he could make that walk from the bus stop to the front door last a lifetime. It was a routine. One they were both used to. The welcome home. The arguing about vacuuming. The plea bargaining for a little TV time before homework.
It was business as usual.
Their little world.
The same one that, right at the moment, was teetering on the brink of destruction.
Tasha never took her gaze off Jonas as she said, “Go away, Molly.”
“Right.” But before she left, the other woman added, “Take it easy on him, Tash. He’s just a kid.”
“Yeah, I know.” He was a kid. Her kid. Her family. And she was going to see to it that it stayed that way.
Striding across the room, she pulled the front door open and stepped into the cold bite of the November afternoon. The wind pushed at her, almost as if some invisible hand were trying to keep her in the house. Keep her from asking questions she really didn’t want to put voice to. But there was no avoiding it. No ducking the issue. Jonas had started something that they were just going to have to face. Together.
She shook her head, tossing her hair out of her eyes, then walked to the edge of the porch. Jonas stopped at the bottom of the steps, looked up, and grinned.
That smile shot straight to her heart. He was such a little guy. And though she was barely old enough to be his mother, Jonas was more her son than Nick Candellano’s. She loved him with a fierceness that only ten years ago she wouldn’t have thought possible.
Back then, she’d figured love was just a word people used to hurt each other: I love you, so you have to do what I say. I love you, so when I hit you, it means I care. I love you, so shut the hell up and get me a beer.
Love hadn’t meant a damn thing to her until Mimi. And then, just two years ago, Jonas had joined their little family. With him and Mimi, Tasha had discovered what life should really be about. And she wouldn’t lose it now. Couldn’t lose it.
“Hi, Tash,” he said, flipping his too-long hair back out of his eyes.
“Hi yourself.” Dropping to the top step, she sat down and patted the place beside her. “Sit down, Jonas.”
He frowned, lines forming
between his eyebrows as his eyes narrowed on her. “Something wrong?”
“I just want to talk to you.”
He took the first step, then stopped. Worried, he asked, “Did my teacher call you?”
One red eyebrow arched as she looked at him. “No. Is there some reason she’s going to?”
He shrugged and gave her that smile again. The same half-smile she’d seen on Nick Candellano’s handsome face earlier. And her heart clutched. “She maybe might not be happy about maybe my history test.”
A smile struggled to be born inside her and failed miserably. Ordinarily she almost enjoyed hearing Jonas’s last-ditch attempts to soften a blow one of his teachers would be delivering. But today she’d already had a blow that had taken the heart out of her.
Nodding, she said, “We’ll talk about history later.”
Grabbing the reprieve while he could, Jonas grinned again and clomped up the stairs. How was it, she wondered, that one small boy could sound like a battalion of elephants when he walked? When he reached the top step, he swung his backpack at the doorway, and when it slid through the opening, he threw both hands high and said, “Touchdown!”
Football.
Football players.
Tasha’s stomach swirled again and she had to swallow hard to keep from losing her lunch. Jonas plopped down beside her and nudged her arm with his shoulder. “So what are we talking about?” he asked.
She looked down at him and just for a minute let herself enjoy the sweet innocence shining in his eyes. Eyes that now reminded her too much of the man who’d ripped the floor from beneath her feet just a few hours ago.
At eleven years old, Jonas was still more of a kid than a preteen. And despite losing his mother and going into the system at eight and a half, he’d managed to retain a sweet optimism that never ceased to amaze Tasha. Even when Mimi had died, Jonas had been the one to remind Tasha that they still had each other.
They’d clung together through the pain of loss, and now, just a few months later, Tasha thought they were stronger than ever. So why then had he gone searching for his real father? Why had he taken the risk? Why was he willing to gamble everything they had for the chance at something he’d never known?
Loving You Page 7