Four years ago, he’d dived into his work and submerged himself. Cutting himself off from memories that tore at him, he’d forced himself to stop looking back. To look only at the future that would, if he and a few other dedicated scientists could pull this off, be changed forever.
“Change is good,” he muttered and sat down on the top step. Leaning back on his elbows, he stretched his long, jean-clad legs out in front of him and crossed his feet at the ankles. The wind battered him, fast and cold, tugging at his hair, pushing at him, as if trying to get him to go back inside.
But as clouds rushed toward him and the last rosy streaks of color faded into black, Lucas stayed where he was. Thinking. Always thinking.
Three months ago, he’d been a solitary man with a mission.
Now, he still had the mission, but he was far from solitary. Mike Marconi had pushed her way into his world and then left her boot prints stamped all over the damn place.
Hell, he even had brass parrots in his kitchen because he’d looked into her sky-blue eyes and seen hurt there. Hurt he’d caused by laughing at her stupid parrots. Scowling into the wind, he told himself that it didn’t mean anything. That of course he wouldn’t want to deliberately hurt her.
He didn’t want to deliberately hurt anyone.
Except for Justin. He wouldn’t mind planting his fist in his twin’s face—although for that to happen, he’d have to actually see Justin again and Lucas wasn’t interested in that happening anytime soon.
But he didn’t want to think about his twin at the moment. Hell, even thinking about Mike was preferable. And she was making him insane.
He hated like hell to admit that the plain truth was, the only person he’d have taken brass parrots from was Mike.
And for the first time in his scientifically inclined life, he didn’t much care for the truth.
4
There was just nothing better than a whole Saturday off. Sure, they didn’t work on Sundays but that didn’t really count.
Not that Mike went to mass on Sundays, but she was still Catholic enough to feel guilt about choosing sleeping in over a sermon—and that sort of ruined the feel of a day off.
Today, though, was a gift. A gorgeous Saturday—deep blue sky, lots of white clouds muting the heat of the sun, and a great sea breeze whipping in off the ocean. A perfect September day, just warm enough to remind you of summer, but cool enough to convince you that fall was headed right at you.
By rights, the Marconis should have been working, or at least getting started, over at Cash Hunter’s place. But yesterday at the family meeting, Jo had brushed right over the suggestion of getting a jump on things over there. In fact, she hadn’t wanted to talk about Cash at all. No big surprise there, since the man had a talent for pushing every one of Jo’s buttons. And God knew, she had plenty of ’em.
“Seriously,” Mike muttered as she parked her truck at the end of Main Street and unlatched her seat belt. “Jo so needs a man.” A second later, though, she was whispering, “But there’s a lot of that going on.”
She herself hadn’t had a date in so long that Frank Pezzini was starting to look good to her. Which just went to show that a lack of sex killed brain cells. Because Fabulous Frank, as Carla Candellano Wyatt liked to call him, was forty, with a comb-over he’d been perfecting for the last ten years, a potbelly, and a propensity for shiny white shoes.
She shuddered, shook her head, and climbed out of the truck. A freshening wind rushed at her, lifting her long blond hair, freed from its usual braid, until the thick, wavy mass danced around her head. Smiling to herself, she slung her black purse over her shoulder, slammed the truck door, and hit the sidewalk.
Up and down Main Street, shop doors were propped open in silent invitation. Old-fashioned globe street-lights stood in splendor, with wildly blooming chrysanthemums planted at their feet in bright splotches of color. Tourists wandered, neighbors stopped to chat, and traffic crawled from stoplight to stoplight while drivers looked for parking spaces.
And under it all, the constant murmur of the sea rose and fell as if it were the heartbeat of Chandler itself.
Still smiling, Mike headed down the sidewalk, passing Jackson Wyatt’s law office on the corner, the candle shop, Wicks and Wax, and, God help her, Terrino’s pizzeria. But it was too early for pizza, despite how good that sauce smelled as the scent of it poured through the open door in tantalizing waves.
She hurried past, listening to the soft click of her heels against the pavement. It felt good to be out of her work clothes. God knew, she loved being a plumber—and she was good at it—but she also loved being a girl. And wearing soft blue linen slacks with a pale cream silk blouse and strappy, bone-colored sandals made her feel . . . like shopping.
Mike glanced in the window of the Spirit Shop as she passed and almost paused to drool over a new set of Celtic-design tarot cards. Inside the shop, Trish Donovan was busily waiting on a stream of tourists. But Trish would keep her talking for an hour. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but “first things first.”
She followed her nose toward the Leaf and Bean, two doors down.
In Chandler, the one place to get an outstanding cup of coffee was the Leaf and Bean. Stevie Ryan Candellano was a wizard with an espresso machine, and even if you didn’t like coffee—and Mike didn’t want to know someone who couldn’t appreciate liquid caffeine—the biscotti and other pastries Stevie made fresh every day were well worth the stop.
Mike pushed the door open and took a deep breath, enjoying the rush through her system as nerves danced and blood pumped in anticipation. Cinnamon hung heavy on the still air and the low growl of dozens of conversations sounded like the hum of a white-noise machine.
The cream-colored walls and ceiling were accented by thick, dark wood beams and the polished wood floor gleamed in the sunlight streaming in through the front window overlooking Main Street. Copper planters and baskets, filled with ivy, ferns, and all kinds of flowers that always seemed to bloom for Stevie, no matter the season, hung from heavy silver chains. A long glass case on the far wall displayed the amazing baked goods made fresh every day, and the rich scent of coffee pulled customers in the moment the door was opened.
Mike paused on the threshold and looked around, spotting familiar faces in among the tourists. Summer season was almost over, but the autumn crowd was just beginning to trickle into town.
In another week or two, the Autumn Festival would set up shop in the meadow just outside town, giving the local artisans a chance to showcase their stuff. Then, when that was over, the day-trippers would start filtering in, coming for a look at the fall foliage. In December, there’d be the Victorian Christmas Festival, with wandering carolers and street stalls selling everything from hot apple cider to roasted chestnuts. By the time winter was over, everyone looked forward to the Flower Fantasy in April, when the farmers sold cut flowers, bulbs, and seeds. And then summer was back and the whole cycle started over again.
Mike grinned at the thought. People in the city thought small-town life was boring. Nope. There was always something new going on and a dozen people who could tell you all about it.
“Hey, Mike,” someone called out, “need you to stop by the house sometime this week. The pipes in the house are groaning like an old woman in heat.”
Mike laughed. “Right, Mr. Santos. I’ll call and set up a time.”
“Old woman in heat.” The woman sitting beside the older man swatted his arm. “What would you know about that?”
Mike left the Santoses to their bickering and walked across the room, nodding absently to everyone she passed. By the time she made it to the counter, she was more than ready for her coffee. Leaning both arms on the cool, shining glass, she smiled and said, “Latte, Stevie. Fast.”
Stevie Candellano laughed and turned toward the espresso machine, a silver pitcher already filled with fresh milk. Slipping it under the steamer, she glanced over her shoulder while the machine hissed and did its magic. “Haven’t see
n you in a couple of days. You trying to kick the coffee habit?”
Appalled, Mike shook her head. “Hell no. That’d be like trying to quit breathing.”
“Glad to hear it.” Stevie turned and grabbed a cardboard cup. Turning off the steamer, she wiped down the twin blades, then poured the hot milk into the cup before spooning on a light layer of foam, just the way Mike liked it. Slipping the lid on the cup, she handed it over. “So, you find any money in your mailbox yet?”
Mike laughed, took the cup and swallowed a careful sip of her drink. “Nope. And I’ve been checking.” She glanced around behind her at the crowd, then met Stevie’s cool blue gaze again. “Anybody else find some?”
“Oh yeah.” Stevie leaned forward and tilted her head in the direction of the back of the store. “Mr. Bozeman over there? His TV broke a few days ago.”
“Not surprising.” The old man was Sam’s neighbor and to hear her tell it Mr. Bozeman had the damn thing running twenty-four hours a day.
“What’s interesting, though,” Stevie pointed out, “is that the very next day, he found five hundred bucks in his mailbox.”
“No shit?” Mike turned to look at the older man, who was so deaf he had to get nose to nose with his friends just to hear what they were saying.
“Yep. So naturally, he went right out and bought himself a better, bigger TV.”
“Oh,” Mike said, laughing, “Sam’ll be happy to hear that.”
“My guess is she already has. He got surround sound this time.”
“Good God.” She took another sip and shifted a look across the pastries behind the glass. Considering blowing her diet all to hell, she thought about it while she asked, “No one’s got a clue about who the good fairy is yet?”
“Nope.” Stevie shook her head, then wiped a clean, soft towel across an already immaculate counter. “But the Stevenson kids have hooked up a motion-sensor camera to their mailbox—”
“Those kids are scary,” Mike put in, remembering the time the twins had set fire to their parents’ garage by trying to launch a homemade missile inside.
“Too true. And they’re offering their services to anyone else who wants to try to catch the money fairy.”
“Great.” She laughed as she imagined mailboxes all over town bursting into flames or something.
“Oh yeah. Things’re getting interesting.”
“Things’re always interesting around here.”
“Uh-huh,” Stevie said slyly, “and speaking of interesting, how’s the cutie in the new house on the lake doing?”
Mike stiffened. “Cutie? Lucas?”
“Hello?” Stevie looked at her as if she were insane. “You do have eyes, right?”
Oh, nothing wrong with her eyes and, yes, she’d noticed Lucas’s a time or two, which she really didn’t want to think about at the moment. “Well, yeah. And I suppose he’s not too bad, but cute?”
“Hey, I’m married and I noticed. What’s your excuse?”
“Sanity?” She shifted position uneasily and told herself that there was no reason to get defensive. Heck, there was nothing going on between her and Lucas. Just some minor irritation and a little . . . okay, a lot of humming attraction, but hey. She was human.
“Very funny. But not only is he cute,” Stevie said, “Paul says he’s brilliant.”
“He would know, I guess.” Paul Candellano, Stevie’s husband, was pretty damn smart himself. A computer genius of some sort or other, he did lots of work for the government and designed programs for all kinds of things, which just baffled Mike, since the only computer stuff she was qualified for was pushing the ON button.
So the nerd prince was brilliant. Was she surprised by this? No. A little intimidated? Maybe. But why should she be? she thought defensively. She could have stayed in college. She could have gotten a degree—if she hadn’t been bored to tears.
All right, maybe not bored. But she did remember at the time being too anxious to get on with living to sit in a series of classrooms. Papa hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d learned to live with Mike’s decision.
So Lucas was brilliant. Could he install a Jacuzzi tub or do a full copper repipe? She didn’t think so.
“Hey, Stevie,” a man called out from across the room. “How about a refill?”
“Coming up, Joe,” she answered, already reaching for the coffeepot. “I gotta run. But hey, Mike, tell Jo I need to talk to her about a new roof.”
“For here?”
“Yeah.” She stopped and smiled. “There’s a leak over the bedroom in the loft apartment. I hardly go up there anymore since I got married. So didn’t notice it until yesterday when I went up to clean out the last closet.”
“Sure,” Mike said as she walked away, “I’ll tell her.”
Hmm. The loft apartment over the shop was empty now that Stevie had moved into Paul’s house. She’d been in that apartment. It was big, roomy, and God knew, it was close to coffee.
There was no reason now for Mike to keep living at home. Not now that she wasn’t saving up for her dream house. Why shouldn’t she think about renting Stevie’s old apartment? It’d be good to get out of the family home. Especially, she thought with an inner cringe, if Papa started bringing Grace home. No way did she want to be around to see the two of them cuddling and cooing.
Something to think about, she told herself, and happily sipping the world’s best coffee, she left the shop to enjoy her day off.
• • •
Lucas sat in his car and seriously considered throwing it into reverse and just backing the hell out.
All he’d wanted was a cup of coffee to go, and now he not only had no coffee, but wasn’t going. Because of her.
Mike Marconi and a dark-haired woman were standing directly outside the Leaf and Bean. Beside the brunette, a small, blond girl and a big golden retriever waited impatiently to get moving again.
Lucas’s gaze locked on Mike Marconi and, despite his better instincts, he looked her up and down in slow approval. For once, she wasn’t wearing her uniform of battered jeans and faded T-shirt. Instead, she wore tailored slacks and a silk shirt that clung lovingly to every curve. Her long blond hair hung loose to the middle of her back in a fall of sunlit waves. She swayed slightly as she talked and his gaze locked on the curve of her hip. Damn it, he’d thought her a distraction in the jeans and T-shirts. The way she looked now took the word distraction to a whole new level.
Then he noticed her tense smile.
Why tense?
Her body language was tightening up even as he watched her. She folded her arms across her chest, took a step back from the pretty, dark-haired woman she was talking to, and shook her head while she pointed vaguely across the street. Trying for an escape?
Grumbling, Lucas climbed out of his car and stalked the few steps separating him from the two women. Mike turned at his approach and gave him a smile usually reserved by kids for the arrival of the ice cream truck on a hot summer day.
“Lucas! Hi. Sorry I made you wait,” Mike said, threading her arm through his.
He felt one eyebrow lift, but then he saw something in Mike’s eyes that had him going along with her. “No problem,” he said easily. “Haven’t been here long.”
“New friend?” The dark-haired woman winked at Mike, then smiled up at Lucas. “Hi. I’m Carla Wyatt. This is my daughter Reese and, well, the furry beast currently leaning against you is Abbey.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said and petted the dog before glancing at Reese when she tugged at his pants leg. “Yes?”
“Abbey’s gonna have a baby, just like Mommy.”
“Really?” He felt Mike’s fingers tighten on his arm just a little, so he straightened up and added, “Congratulations. To you and your dog.”
Carla laughed. “Thanks. It’s pretty exciting.” She laughed again. “Abbey’s probably not excited, but I am. Just left my husband in his office mumbling something about college funds and high quarterly yields or whatever.” She grabbed the little
girl’s hand and started for the door of the coffee shop. “Now I’m going in to tell Stevie I win the baby bet. We were sure she was going to be the one pregnant first, because, you know, Paul’s working at home most of the time now and, well, Jackson’s been out of town a lot and—” She caught herself, laughed again and shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to give you the whole story. Just excited. You know?”
“Sure,” he said, though he didn’t have a clue. Lucas had never really been the “fatherhood” type. He’d always been too focused on his work to think about spending any time with diapers and baby puke. But anyone with half an eye could see that Carla was excited enough for four people. So why wasn’t her good friend Mike happy for her?
He shifted a look at her, but she was watching Carla.
“Tell Jackson I said happy baby, okay?”
“You bet,” Carla said, still grinning. “And tell Sam I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Right,” Mike said and backed away, drawing Lucas with her.
When they reached his car, Mike let him go, and then walked around to the passenger side and got in. Lucas stood there, looking at her through the windshield. Until she waved her fingers at him in a “come on” motion.
Once in the car, he glanced at her. “Why are you in my car?”
“Hello?” She blinked at him in stunned amazement. “Because I just told Carla Candellano that I was meeting you and you went along with it, so I had to get into the car or she’d think I lied to her.”
“You did lie to her.”
“Well, I don’t want her to know that.”
“I thought her name was Wyatt.”
“Is now, but she’ll always be a Candellano.” Mike tossed her purse onto the floor. “Italians may get married, but they never leave the family.”
“Like the Mafia family, you mean?”
“Stereotypes. I’m panicking and he’s talking sterotypes.” She sighed. “Not the Family. The family. Her family. The Candellanos.”
“Ah . . .”
“Are you going to fire up the engine any day soon?”
A Crazy Kind of Love Page 5