Sweet Home Carolina

by Rice, Patricia

  “Sleeping there as far as I know,” she called back. “But ask Zack. It’s not any of my concern.”

  “What do you mean it’s not your concern?” Evan demanded, following her.

  “She means I have paid for the privilege of having the house to myself, and I can walk the ceilings if I like, as long as I do not harm the premises.” Unperturbed, apparently indulging in masculine amusement at Evan’s bluster, Zack set his wine bottle on the counter and sampled an olive from the Greek salad.

  Amy was excruciatingly aware that Zack was following her every move. Knowing his competitive instincts, she could tell he was assessing Evan, the situation, and her reaction, processing everything through that high-caliber brain of his, and probably making mincemeat of it.

  She had this kind of argument with Evan all the time now. It was meaningless. Evan just liked to have his way, and now she finally had the freedom — and gumption — to defy him. She’d bitten her tongue too many times when they’d been married not to enjoy upsetting his applecart now.

  “We close on the house on Friday,” she reminded Zack, ignoring Evan. “I’ll have to remove the rest of the furniture by Thursday night. Do you have a place to go yet?”

  “You will own the cottage Friday, will you not?” he asked with carelessness, moving on to sample the bruschetta.

  Adam burst in to grab a platter, glance at the adults, and rush back out again without asking about the hamburgers. Smart kid, Amy figured. She knew from Jo’s explanations that Flint’s boys had endured a lot of confrontations between their parents in their growing up years. She had no desire to remind them of that unhappy time.

  “I’ll sign the deed Friday, but the cottage won’t be fit to move into. We’ll have to stay at the apartment for a while longer.” She elbowed her ex from blocking the refrigerator. “Go visit with your children, Evan. They haven’t seen you in a month.”

  “I want to know what the hell’s going on here first. Where are you moving my kids that isn’t fit for living in? What apartment?”

  “Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Reaching for the ketchup, Amy turned to bat her eyelashes and plaster on a fake smile. “I bought a house.” She didn’t add, and I did it without you. She was still pretty amazed herself.

  “How can you buy a house? You don’t even have a decent job.” Evan scowled, crossing his arms, making it obvious he had no intention of leaving while Zack was there.

  Opening drawers until he located a corkscrew, Zack didn’t seem to be wasn’t in any hurry to get out from under foot either. He tutted disapprovingly at Evan’s comment. “You doubt that the inimitable Amaranth can look after herself? No wonder you have communication problems.”

  “The only thing inimitable about Amaranth is her ability to run up credit cards!”

  Lifting the tray of prepared hamburger patties, Amy escaped the war zone for the more pleasant company in the backyard. It might be amusing to be spoken about in the third person, but she had hungry kids to feed and not a lot of patience for male posturing these days.

  She’d be a little more pleased that Zack thought her inimitable if she didn’t believe he was just figuratively punching Evan’s lights out. Zack’s civilized exterior didn’t fool her for an instant. Beneath the smooth tailoring and behind the charming smile was a man who had a mind with wicked teeth and the conscience of a wolf.

  “Mommy, my tummy hurts.” Louisa wrapped her chubby arms around Amy’s knee, immobilizing her.

  “You didn’t eat those green apples, did you? I told you they’d make you sick.” She looked around for help. “Johnnie, would you take this tray for me? Carry it over to the grill.”

  Wearing his hair buzzed short these days, still sporting a gold earring and the first signs of adolescent acne, Flint’s twelve-year-old loped over to take the tray. “Are you sure there are enough?” he asked, eyeing five pounds of hamburger with disappointment. “I could eat a horse.”

  “I don’t recommend it or your tummy will hurt, too. There are bratwursts in the refrigerator if those aren’t enough. Try some of the salads.” Amy reached down to lift Louisa from her leg.

  “I don’t like onions,” he replied, galloping off with the burgers.

  “I like onions,” Zack murmured near her ear, deftly handing her a glass of wine while taking Louisa from her arms. “They have many layers and taste spicy.”

  Just the rumble of his voice could shiver her spine into a puddle of lust. Amy sipped the wine to steady herself, then glanced at the glass in surprise. It was the most delicious wine she’d ever tasted, and probably cost ten fortunes. “I cannot deal with this,” she muttered, fortified enough by the adult beverage to admit her tension. “I cannot. Back off, Zack, or I’m likely to hurl.”

  “Hurl what?” he asked with interest, backing off with Louisa in his arms.

  “You don’t want to know.” Amy eyed Louisa contentedly curled against Zack’s neck, touched her little girl’s forehead to test for fever, and frowned in concern, forgetting both wine and argument. “Maybe you better set her on the porch swing and let her rest a bit. She feels kind of warm.”

  “Give her here. I’ll take care of her.” Marching down the back steps, Evan reached for his daughter.

  “Daddy!” Josh cried joyfully, jumping from the swings to race across the yard.

  Louisa grinned and held her arms out for her father, too.

  With reluctance, Zack let the little girl go. She’d felt so right breathing her baby breath on his neck that his heart had almost broken to give her up. How could he ever forget the feel of wiggly weight in his arms, the baby powder scents, the childish giggles? Better that she go to her father, where she belonged.

  And better that he stay and admire the children’s mother. Amy had changed into a gauzy peach-and-lemon shirt over a lemon tank top and matching shorts. He loved the free-flowing lines and soft colors on her. They suited her much more than the dull, tailored outfits she wore to work.

  “Hey, Son.” Evan rubbed Josh’s hair while bouncing Louisa on his arm. “Want to go home with me tonight?”

  “Johnnie’s gonna teach me to climb the apple tree.” Intent on his own program, Josh ignored the question. “Mommy, when are we gonna eat? We’re starving.”

  He imitated his older cousins so well that Zack laughed. Aware that the other man threw him a look of annoyance, he tried not to make the evening any harder on his hostess by explaining his laughter. “I will help your lovely mama make burgers so you will not starve, all right?”

  “Yeah!” Josh pumped his fist in the air. “I want mustard and pickles.”

  “And salad,” Amy reminded him. “Eat some of the tomato bread and I’ll fix you a plate of macaroni in a minute.”

  Zack watched the older boys inhaling bruschetta as if it were peanuts and decided that must be the tomato bread. Josh ran off to join them, leaving his father without a backward glance. Zack could almost sympathize, except Evan seemed more intent on antagonizing Amy than paying attention to his marvelous son.

  “Where are you taking my kids?” Evan demanded, following Amy and Zack across the yard to the grill rather than putting Louisa on the porch. “I have a right to know where they’ll be living.”

  “If you had bothered to come and pick them up when you were supposed to, or even taken some of your precious time to call, you’d know by now.”

  Zack thought perhaps he ought to disassociate himself from the family argument, but he hated to see the little girl caught up in it, and he disliked deserting Amy if she needed his help. He knew nothing of grilling hamburgers, but he had a lively interest in walking all over brutes who growled and made others miserable, especially at a party.

  “If the little one is feeling poorly, perhaps I could take her to the porch?” he suggested. He wanted to add that Louisa shouldn’t have to hear her parents argue, but he thought Amy understood that. He’d suffered enough family fights to know children didn’t need to hear them.

  She gave him a look of relief that co
nfirmed his opinion. “Would you, please? Sometimes she just gets too excited.”

  “She’s not too excited,” Evan argued, refusing to release the toddler. “I can take care of her just fine.”

  Amy slapped meat patties onto the grill. “Excellent. Then go sit with her on the porch swing until she’s feeling better. I need to get these cooked before the kids start chewing my ankles.”

  “Daddy! Come see me swing,” Josh yelled from the swing set.

  “He’s been asking for you for weeks,” Amy said in a heated undertone. “Give him some attention.”

  Zack felt the other man’s glare and realized he was an obstacle to Amy’s wishes. Grinning, he saluted Evan and strolled away to see what the older boys were doing. He did not need to make Amy’s life miserable. If it were within his power, he would sweep her away from all this. But she had responsibilities that tied her down, and he had no right to interfere, so he left the field. For now.

  He might seriously reconsider his strategic retreat if Amy’s ex continued to make an ass of himself in front of the children.

  “Where’s Luigi?” Adam asked as Zack helped himself to more of the excellent bruschetta before it disappeared. The fresh tomatoes and basil no doubt came from the garden in the back corner. The vines were almost spent, but he could see a glint of red here and there. Bruschetta should be made only with the freshest of ingredients. These might be the last of the season, and he savored the spicy sweet blend of flavors.

  The picnic table was covered with an assortment of plastic-wrapped salad bowls. Picking up a heavy paper plate with one hand, Zack uncovered a bowl with the other. “Luigi went to see a movie in Asheville.” More likely, he went to find a woman. With no corporate spies to terrorize and no gyms to work out in, Luigi was bored. “You should ask him to teach you sharpshooting. He is an expert.”

  “Would he? Teach us?” Johnnie asked in awe.

  Zack shrugged. “Certainly. He taught me.”

  From the corner of his eye, he watched Evan reluctantly leave Amy to see what his son was doing. The man had no clue how to play with his children, it was evident. He held a sickly Louisa like a bag of feed and stood at a distance from his little boy, watching Josh pump his legs to set the swing in motion but making no effort to help him swing high, as the boy so obviously wished to do.

  To interfere, or not to interfere. That was the question. Whether ’twas nobler to suffer the slings and arrows.…

  Oh, hell, it was more fun to interfere. Bullies needed to be pulled up short and taught to mind their manners.

  “Try some of this green salad.” Zack pointed at a delicious layering of peas and onions and other tasty tidbits. “I think it has peanut butter and octopus tentacles in it.”

  “Ooo, gross,” both boys exclaimed, reaching for the bowl.

  Smiling, he strolled away. He’d been a boy once. Octopus tentacles were quite an attraction.

  He checked on Amy. She was flipping hamburgers and pretending not to notice what was happening with her ex and their children. Mothers had eyes in the backs of their heads, though. She knew precisely what was happening. All the better for him.

  The children were not his responsibility, but removing the competition from the playing ground was always a source of pleasure. Zack stopped behind Josh’s swing. “Want a push? I bet you could see the stars if you went higher.”

  “Higher,” Josh yelled with delight.

  Catching the swing, Zack shoved him harder, and Josh squealed, “Higher!” Zack obliged.

  Not unexpectedly, Evan stalked around the swing set and shoved Louisa at him. “I can do that.”

  “I am sure you can,” Zack murmured, taking the bundle of dirty pink topped by blond curls from Evan’s hands. Louisa didn’t complain about the transfer. Sucking on her thumb, she curled into Zack’s arms.

  She was a heartbreaker, this one. But he was intent on bigger game, so he needn’t worry about broken hearts. Taking the second swing, he rocked her gently, smoothing his hand over her back, while watching Evan push his son toward the sky. Zack figured the new shirt he’d worn just for Amy’s admiration would suffer dirt stains from Louisa’s knees, but the pleasure of the child’s trusting hold was worth the price.

  “Not that way, Daddy,” Josh cried when his father almost pushed him from the seat with his big hand at his back. The swing twisted awkwardly and the boy nearly fell.

  “Don’t do this often, do you?” Zack asked cheerfully.

  “And you do?” Catching the chains, Evan attempted to shove the swing from above Josh’s head.

  “I climb ropes, swing swings, anything to keep in shape,” Zack agreed with perfect honesty. “One does not need to be a child to play.”

  “Men work. Children play.”

  The swing careened sideways, and Zack had to abandon his seat for fear of a crash. Josh looked a little dazed but happy, so Zack refrained from commenting. Louisa snuggled her nose into his shoulder. “My tummy still hurts,” she complained.

  “Then let us take you back to your mama,” he suggested. “I will learn how to flip burgers just for you, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Nessy pa,” she agreed, happily parroting new words.

  “I’ll take her. I know how to flip burgers.” Having given Josh another push, Evan grabbed his daughter from Zack’s arms.

  Twisting to watch his father, Josh lost his hold on the chains after the rough push and, with a cry of terror, flew off the seat and slammed onto the ground, knees first.

  With her brother’s first wails, Louisa puckered up and, lifting her golden curls from Evan’s shoulders, hurled green apples and ice cream down her father’s shirt collar.

  Twenty-two

  “Honestly, Evan, you won’t die of a little upchuck. Josh is the one who’s bleeding, not you, and he’s making less noise.”

  Barely keeping a lid on her boiling temper, Amy held out a hot washcloth to her ex while cradling a sobbing — smelly — Louisa to her shoulder. “Just wash off his knee and put a Band-Aid on it, or hold Louisa so I can do it.”

  She didn’t even bother turning to Zack for help. The great Olympic champion looked green and was pouring a second glass of wine at the far end of the kitchen. He’d been doing amazingly well earlier, until the kids reached the crying, bleeding, throwing-up part that was the downside of parenthood. She could excuse him for not joining in. She assumed he’d had little experience in dealing with crying children, and these weren’t his kids.

  But Evan ought to be smacked upside the head with a wet flounder for caring more about his clothes than his weeping children.

  At the moment, Evan was too busy stripping off his ruined shirt to find bandages. “This is a Joseph Abboud, dammit! I just bought it. Why the hell are you having a party when she’s sick? She ought to be home in bed.”

  “Just put the damned shirt in the wash. At least finish cooking the hamburgers so the boys don’t start gnawing on their knuckles.”

  Balancing Louisa in one arm, she rubbed the soapy washcloth on Josh’s knee and ignored Evan as he strode half naked through the kitchen to deposit his precious designer shirt in the laundry room. She’d grown up doing without luxuries just as he had, but she still knew people were more important than material things. Maybe men should nurse children so they could get in touch with their inner nature. Providing men had any inner nature, other than a need to succeed.

  Zack remained frozen and pale near the back door, intelligently staying out of her way. She didn’t expect him to step up to the plate when it came to crying children. It wasn’t his responsibility. It was Evan’s.

  When she lifted her head to glare angrily at Mr. Stupid for ignoring her second request, she noticed Zack’s handsome mouth tightening. Not only was he looking a little green, but his usually laughing eyes looked unhappy and stared at some point beyond her shoulder, as if not seeing the room at all.

  If she needed any reminder of their differences, the kids had offered the perfect opportunity. Any sexual fantasies she ma
y have entertained fled in this crash with reality. This was simply a mundane family scene of the sort she handled every day. It infuriated her that Evan refused to deal with it, but Zack’s reaction was not only useless, but puzzling. First, he had looked terrified, and now he didn’t seem to be present at all.

  She was amazed he wasn’t spinning the Bentley’s wheels in escape. “Will someone please rescue the hamburgers?” she shouted.

  Abruptly drawing back to the chaos in the kitchen, Zack finally met her gaze and set aside his glass. Looking relieved at finding an excuse to escape, he nodded and slipped out the door.

  She sighed in relief at this lifting of one small burden. He might not handle crying children, but he did what he could, more than she could rightfully expect.

  Murmuring comforting words to her sobbing children, Amy began the process of restoring their fragile world to normal. The men were adults. They could damned well take care of themselves.

  * * *

  He was a coward.

  Utterly amazed at that discovery, Zack had spent a lonely night roaming mountain roads, unable to tolerate the haunting emptiness of Amy’s once beautiful home. Luigi hadn’t returned from the city. And Amy had refused to bring the children back to the house, insisting home was where their beds were — in that tiny little apartment. Where he couldn’t go.

  And he’d been relieved.

  How the hell had that happened? He’d always nursed Danielle’s bruises. He was an expert at bruises, after all. Pentathlons did not happen without pain. He’d always been the one to get up with her when she was ill. He hadn’t been squeamish — as Gabrielle had been — until the night they’d died, and then he’d started seeing Danielle in his nightmares, with blood streaming down her head, crying for him, and his heart had cracked irreparably. He hadn’t been there for her that night. He’d arrived too late.

  Crying children had sliced his cracked heart into sushi ever since.

  After ten years, the nightmares were gone, but at the moment, his head was spinning so hard that past, present, and future were all jumbled inside him. That had not been little Danielle getting sick last night. He’d had nothing to do with Josh’s bleeding knee. None of it was his fault, no more than Gabrielle’s accident had been his fault. That was guilt by association, as the therapist said. Irrelevant.