Her chin high, she said, “I have no desire to do business with your family firm, now or at any time in the future.” She wanted to make that very clear.
Russell’s expression turned ugly. “You’re making a mistake,” he warned, his eyes flashing in anger. “I could have cut you quite a deal.”
The only thing she wanted from him was to be left alone. Pasting an official smile on her face, she stalked out, and on her way, asked the nearest security guard to please escort Mr. Morris to his car and see that he got off all right. As always, Russell knew when to cut his losses and move on to greener pastures. He said nothing more, save a falsely cordial public farewell.
“So how was it?” an excited Leigh Olney asked when she saw Hope again an hour later. At Hope’s blank look, Leigh elaborated, “Your reunion with your old high-school buddy? Russell Morris said the two of you hadn’t seen one another in years.”
Hope wished fervently it had stayed that way.
Leigh continued with cheerful candor, “He figured you’d be really surprised, and I guess you were.”
Stunned and heartsick was more like it, Hope thought. Gathering her wits, Hope said, “To tell you the truth, Leigh, we weren’t that close back then. He’s just down on his luck right now. And I can’t help him. That being the case, I’d prefer not to see him again.”
Leigh looked crushed. “I’m sorry, Hope. The guy led me to believe—I mean he’s the heir to Morris Fabrics and all and you’re running this place—I just naturally thought—”
“I know you did, and it’s okay.” Hope knew how charming Russell could be when he put his mind to it. She sighed, “Mr. Morris has a way of implying closeness where none exists.”
Leigh nodded, understanding that much very well. It was clear from the look on her face that nothing more needed to be said. “Listen, about the meeting this morning. I want you to know I’m behind you all the way.”
“Thanks. I’m going to need every bit of help I can get,” Hope said. Especially since neither Chase nor Rosemary was in her corner, she thought.
Unfortunately Hope’s day didn’t get any better. One by one, buyers came in to express their concerns about the new direction she had charted for Barrister’s and the security of their jobs. She felt exhausted and depressed while she was driving home, but began to relax when she entered the house and caught a whiff of Carmelita’s delicious lemon chicken.
After a long, hot soak in the tub and a glass of wine, she’d be able to forget all about her horrendous day and Russell Morris. By the time Joey arrived home from Little League practice, all would be back to normal. Or as close as it could be, with Chase living in the guest house out back, she amended wryly.
Unfortunately, Hope hadn’t gotten any further than kicking off her heels and putting down her briefcase when the front door banged open and Joey came running in, his head ducked down in shame. Tears streamed down his face. “My God, what happened?” she cried, looking at the swelling bruise that seemed to cover most of his upper cheek and all of his left eye. Where were his glasses?
He tried to shrug it off and escape further maternal scrutiny. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing!” Hope cried. She stepped in front of him, latched on to his arm and gently but firmly prevented his escape to his bedroom.
Carmelita gasped as she joined them. In her mid-thirties, the slim housekeeper had lived with them since Joey was born. As emotional as she was kind, the devoted employee loved Joey almost as fiercely as Hope did. “Oh, no, Joey,” Carmelita said, wringing her hands.
“This looks wicked,” Hope said seriously. She started for the telephone. “I’m calling the doctor.”
“Mom, no—” Joey dashed after her and grabbed her sleeve. “Don’t—”
Looking more panic-stricken than ever, Carmelita said, “I’ll get Mr. Chase. He’s a doctor. He will know what to do.” Not waiting for Hope’s permission, Carmelita took off at a run.
Realizing what a big deal was going to be made out of this, Joey swore, using language a flabbergasted Hope had never heard coming from his mouth. That mouth, now that she looked at it, seemed a little swollen, too. And there was a tear in the sleeve of his T-shirt. Slowly she put down the phone. She still intended to call the doctor if necessary, but later, when she had a bit more information. Hands on her hips, she faced her young son. “What happened to you?”
His lower lip shot out in mutiny. “I got in a fight, okay?” he said rebelliously.
This was a first and completely unlike Joey. She faced him incredulously, bending her knees slightly until she and Joey were at eye level. “Why?” It didn’t take a genius to realize Joey didn’t want to say, which made her all the more anxious.
“What’s going on?” Chase asked breathlessly. He joined them, Carmelita fast on his heels. He’d obviously been dressing when Carmelita summoned him. Rather than finish, he’d merely grabbed his shirt and boots. Even now, the top two buttons on his jeans had been left undone. Hope, concerned only for her son, was not about to point out that omission to Chase as he pulled on a soft rumpled navy work shirt and began to button it over the broad expanse of his suntanned chest.
Hope turned her gaze up to Chase’s face, wishing he weren’t here to witness this. “Joey got in a fight,” she reported in a highly emotional voice.
Joey rolled his eyes. Too late Hope realized, as evidently did Chase, that smothering concern was not what her son needed or wanted at this moment. Looking as unperturbed as she was upset, Chase grinned at Joey, then shook his head in silent remonstration. Bracing a shoulder against the wall, he asked laconically, with the overt nonchalance only another man could feel at a time like this, “Well, did you lose or win?”
Surprised and pleased by Chase’s more understanding reaction to his troubles, Joey had to think about that. “It was a tie, I guess, since one of the twins ended up with a split lip.”
Hope whirled on Chase, exasperated. She fixed him with a quelling look he just as deliberately ignored. She realized she had signed up for the misadventure of her life by permitting him to stay. She would have to really work to see he didn’t get the upper hand with her or negatively influence her son into adapting his renegade ways. “Chase!” Hope scolded. That he would encourage this kind of macho behavior with her son incensed her. She had wanted him to do the exact opposite. Otherwise, she never would have let Carmelita run to get him.
Chase paused only to give her a look that indicated she was supposed to let him handle this, his way. Whether that was because he was a physician or Joey’s brother, she didn’t know. Chase gave Hope another I-know-what-I’m-doing look, put a hand on Joey’s shoulder and propelled him in the direction of the guest bath that was tucked under the stairs. “Let’s get you in here and washed up a bit. Carmelita,” he instructed kindly, knowing how anxious Hope’s live-in housekeeper was to be helpful, “we could do with an ice pack if you’ve got one.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Chase.” Carmelita scurried off to do his bidding.
Chase ignored Hope and their close proximity to each other in the tiny room. He settled his young patient on the closed seat of the commode, then raided the medicine cabinet for supplies, taking out bandages, antiseptic wipes and antibiotic cream.
Hope wanted to be in the room but she didn’t want to be in the way, so she moved back as far as she could go. She found herself braced against the far wall, with her hip wedged against the sink. Chase’s shoulder was within a hair’s breadth of hers. Maybe I should have stayed in the doorway, she thought, but it was too late. Chase’s body was already blocking the only way out. She had no choice but to stay where she was and suffer through their enforced closeness silently.
Watching Chase gently examine Joey’s scrapes and bruises was adequate distraction, however. She observed with uncharacteristic helplessness; prior to this she had always been the one who bandaged Joey after a mishap. She was struck by not only Chase’s gentleness and physician’s expertise, but also by his innate talent for dealing with kids,
period. Chase was a very good doctor, she admitted grudgingly, but his ability to handle young patients didn’t exactly jibe with his irresponsible, nomadic life-style. Did he miss having kids himself? she wondered absently as Chase took a closer look at a long, rather nasty-looking scrape under Joey’s chin. He seemed to find it nothing to worry about and only cleaned it without comment. Would Chase have kids now if his engagement to Lucy had worked out? Chase was so closemouthed about his private life; no one knew why his engagement to Lucy had ended. Certainly she’d been beautiful and intelligent, if a bit aloof and almost superficial at times.
But that was none of her business, Hope reminded herself sternly, turning her attention back to the unfolding drama. From what she could judge as Chase swabbed antiseptic on the scratch beneath Joey’s chin, then daubed it with cream and fastened a bandage over it, Joey was in fair shape, all things considered.
That being the case, the conversation shifted back to how Joey had gotten into his predicament. At Chase’s gentle, pragmatic urging, the story came tumbling out.
“Well, see, it was like this. The Bateman twins said I was a sissy and shouldn’t be allowed to play at all ’cause sometimes I lose my breath and have to stop and use my inhaler. I got mad and called them a name back. A—uh—real bad one, Chase.” When Joey admitted this to his half brother, Hope sighed and rolled her eyes.
“And then one of them punched me and I punched one of them. The next thing I knew somebody’d knocked my glasses off and I was on the ground, fighting both of them.”
Both Batemans against little Joey! Hope felt color drain from her face. Those twins outweighed him by twenty pounds apiece, and were sturdy and muscular to boot. They could have really hurt him. Or brought on a full-blown asthma attack. But they hadn’t, she reminded herself firmly. Hanging on to her composure by a thread, nevertheless, she asked as calmly as possible, “Where are your glasses now?”
“Dunno.” Joey shrugged. Apparently that was the least of his worries.
“Well, you defended yourself courageously and held your own and that’s something,” Chase remarked. He gently cleansed the bruised skin around Joey’s left eye. “You’re going to have a shiner here, all right.” Chase straightened and held up three fingers.
Hope had to flatten herself against the sink to avoid rubbing up against Chase from shoulder to thigh. “How many?” Chase asked, his eyes riveted on her son.
“Three.”
Chase nodded in satisfaction then gave Joey his laconic smile. “Well, I guess you’ll live.”
He might, Hope thought wryly. But she was going to die from lack of oxygen if she didn’t get out of there soon. Standing this close to Chase for such a prolonged period of time made it a little difficult to breathe. Fortunately Carmelita was back, ice pack in hand.
Still steadfastly ignoring Hope, Chase put the ice pack in Joey’s hand and pressed it to his eye. “You need to keep that on for twenty minutes, then off for twenty, then on again the rest of the night. Got that?” he instructed his young patient kindly. “It’ll keep the swelling down.”
“Okay.” Joey started to get up.
“Just a minute, young man,” Hope said. There was a lot more she wanted to know. “Where was your coach when all this brawling was going on?”
“Over by the fence. Why?”
“And he let you boys fight?”
Joey shrugged his thin shoulders. “Well yeah, until the end, then he broke it up.”
“I don’t believe this!” Hope said, turning on her heel. She slipped past Chase, narrowly avoiding a collision, and slipped out into the hall. As far as she was concerned, the fight should have been stopped at the name-calling stage. One punch thrown was too many.
Joey dashed after her, catching up when she reached the telephone table in the hall. “Mom, you’re not going to call the coach, are you?” he asked anxiously.
“I most certainly am. This is not acceptable behavior. And if he doesn’t understand that, then I’m pulling you off the team.”
“You’d make me quit?” Joey cried. He sounded both incensed and fearful.
“Rather than have you hurt, yes, I would,” Hope said firmly, reaching for the phone.
“Wait a minute here, Hope.” Chase put his hand over hers, using just enough pressure to prevent her from picking up the receiver. His hand acted like a bolt of lightning on her already highly charged emotions. She froze, paralyzed both by the cool, adult determination in his hazel eyes and by the extraordinarily sensual heat that radiated from her fingers, through her arm, to her chest. She didn’t want to let him, or anyone else for that matter, tell her what to do about her son. Still, Chase’s insistent male presence was as hard to fight as his low, persuasive voice. “Yes, the boys got in a brawl, but there was no real harm done. The other kids were all right, too, weren’t they?” Still touching Hope’s hand, Chase looked at Joey for confirmation.
Joey nodded. And where Chase’s hand met hers, Hope’s skin began to burn and tingle.
“Everyone lost their tempers,” Chase continued reassuringly. He looked at Hope, his intent gaze searing hers. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“You’re darn right about that,” Hope muttered. Her anger about the indignity her son had suffered returned full force. She still planned to call the coach and tell him exactly what she thought of him but Chase kept his hand squarely on hers. Hope wanted nothing more than to jerk her hand free of his light but implacably confining grip. Not about to tussle with him in front of Joey for ownership of the receiver, however, and knowing Chase wouldn’t give it to her willingly, Hope remained where she was, glaring up at Chase all the while.
Joey swallowed. “Mom, you’re not going to try to get the twins kicked off the team, are you?” he asked in abject misery, as if the possibility would be unbearably humiliating
Hope considered the call something that had to be done. Those twins had been trouble for a long time. Just because their father owned an oil company, they thought they could do anything and get away with it. Unfortunately, usually they did. Not afraid to take a stand, she said, “Under the circumstances, those Bateman twins shouldn’t go unpunished. You could have really been hurt. The next time you, or whoever else they decide to pick on, might not be so lucky.”
“Mom, there isn’t going to be a next time. Please. Don’t do anything!” Joey wailed. Hope said nothing in reply. She wasn’t about to commit to any line of action before she’d had time to think it through. Joey glared at her in mute exasperation. To her increasing aggravation, Chase looked equally pained.
“About your glasses—is there any chance they’re still at the field?” Chase asked.
“Maybe.” Joey shrugged, distracted. “If they’re not, am I gonna have to pay for new ones?”
Hope ran her free hand through her hair. She hadn’t felt so harried or distressed in a very long time. This wasn’t the worst day she had ever had, but it was certainly a close second. Chase seemed to intuit that; he kept his hand squarely over hers, more in empathy now than remonstration. “I don’t know, Joey,” Hope answered her son tiredly, aware he was still waiting for an answer. “I’ll have to think about it.” She wanted him to be responsible for his belongings, and not take them or the money it cost to buy them for granted. But was this his fault?
Abruptly Joey looked as emotionally wiped out as she felt. “Can I go up to my room now, Mom? I want to lie down.”
Hope shot a concerned glance at her son. It wasn’t like him to want to take a nap, even after practice. “You’re sure you’re okay?” she pressed.
Joey rolled his eyes. “Yes!” He shot a worshipful look at his half brother. “Thanks, Chase. For fixing me up and talking to my mom. You know, calming her down and stuff,” Joey said shyly.
Chase held Joey’s eyes and touched his shoulder with fraternal affection. “Take care of that eye now, you hear?”
“I will,” Joey promised as he moved up the stairs.
Watching him go, Hope was struck by ho
w young he looked. Only when he’d disappeared did Chase let go of her hand. And though she’d resented the way he had physically taken control of her and the situation, Hope found her hand now felt oddly naked and vulnerable without the warm cover of his.
Telling herself she couldn’t let Chase affect her this way, especially now that he was staying there, Hope turned her mind back to Joey’s troubles. “I’m still calling that coach,” she muttered.
“Do so,” Chase warned with a daunting raise of his brow, “and that son of yours will never forgive you.”
She looked at him in surprise, shocked not only by the quiet vehemence in his voice, but by his unaccustomed willingness to inject himself so fully into her and Joey’s lives. The Chase she had known in the past had always watched family dramas from a distance, never risking personal involvement. Was it possible he had changed or matured? Or was this shift due to Edmond’s death and to Chase’s own decision to assume more responsibility for the Barrister family and business, as a whole? She had no chance to ask; Chase was already heading for the front door.
“I assume Little League still practices at the park down the street?” he asked a trifle impatiently.
Hope stared after him, her feelings in turmoil. “Yes, they do.” Her voice sounded as dry and parched as her throat felt.
“I’ll run over and see if I can find Joey’s glasses. Or what’s left of them. And Hope,” he reiterated, turning to give her a meaningful look, “I meant what I said. Don’t do anything until you’ve had a chance to calm down.” His face looked tanned and healthy in the dwindling sunlight; he fastened his hazel eyes on hers and she knew in that one fleeting instant of visual contact that she had more than met her match. He turned and left.
Hope stared after him, bewildered and confused by his actions and yet oddly and perhaps inappropriately drawn to him all the same. When had he started caring what happened to her or her son? she wondered. And why was just the notion of that as disconcerting as the warm, insistent touch of his hand?
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