by Cara Marsi
Doriana dropped the meatball. It fell off the table and rolled under the counter. Josh retrieved it and threw it into the sink.
“No,” Doriana said. “We will not invite him for Thanksgiving. He’s my employee. Thanksgiving is for family.”
“Doriana,” Lena said, staring at her wide-eyed. “Do you hear yourself? Our table is open to anyone.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Can we just drop the subject?”
Lena and Anita exchanged looks.
Several times during the day, Doriana caught Anita staring at Josh and then back at her, a question in her eyes. Shivers raced along Doriana’s spine. Josh looked too much like Logan. The women in her family were smart. She had to keep them away from Logan.
When dusk settled, they all sat down to a meal of fresh wedding soup and crusty Italian bread. Doriana looked around the dining room table at her family and knew they would stand by her no matter what she did in life.
Hadn’t they all rallied around her when she was seventeen and pregnant? They’d never passed judgment on her and they never would. But if they guessed Logan was Josh’s father, the women would try to push her and Logan together. Her dad would want to pummel Logan, or worse.
And Josh. What about him? Would he resent her for keeping him from his father?
A horn blast outside startled her from her thoughts. Josh jumped up from the table.
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
Doriana put down her spoon and narrowed her eyes at her son. “Go where? You haven’t finished eating and you didn’t tell me you had plans tonight.”
He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, Mom. I’m just going to the movies with some friends.”
“What friends? Who are they? And why don’t they come to the door?”
“Oh, Mom, no one comes to the door anymore. See you all later.” He blew kisses to the women before striding out of the room.
“Josh, come back here.” Doriana jumped up, hitting the table and sending soup sloshing over the side of her bowl. The lace tablecloth caught on the buckle of her belt, holding her.
“Let him go, Doriana,” Lena said. “He’s a good boy.”
“Mom, he knows the rules and he’s testing me.” Doriana freed herself from the lace and raced out of the room. She made it to the front door in time to see Josh get into an older model car. Engine rumbling, the car shot away. Doriana closed the door and leaned against it. Just when things seemed so good between them. Anger and fear clutched her like the lace that had held her hostage. Something was going on with Josh. Something secretive. A cold chill of dread made her shiver.
~~~~
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Are you going to tell me?” Anita set the can of hairspray on the counter and met Doriana’s gaze in the mirror.
Putting on an indifferent face, Doriana fluffed her hair with her fingers and studied herself. “I like the layers. Very edgy. I can see why you’re one of the top hair stylists in Philadelphia.”
“Stop that.” Anita sat in the stool next to Doriana and swiveled Doriana’s chair to face her. The expression in her brown eyes dared Doriana to look away. “You’ve had sixteen years to hide the truth. I will not let you out of that chair until you come clean.”
Doriana forced her gaze from Anita’s. She shivered despite the late afternoon sunshine slanting through the large picture windows of Anita’s hair salon. They had the shop to themselves on a Sunday afternoon. She stared outside to where pedestrians hurried by on the city sidewalk.
“Look at me, Doriana.”
Doriana slid her gaze to her cousin. She might as well admit defeat. Anita wouldn’t give up. Tenacity was a Santisi family trait.
“What do you want me to say?”
Anita put her hand over Doriana’s where it rested on the chair arm. “I want the truth from your lips.” Anita squeezed Doriana’s hand and smiled her encouragement.
Tears pricked Doriana’s eyes. “Is it that obvious?” Anita nodded. “My God, Josh has Logan’s eyes. He even walks like Logan. Did you really think I wouldn’t guess?”
“I’d hoped you wouldn’t.” Tears streaked her face.
“Let it all out, sweetie.” Anita handed Doriana a tissue.
“Windows,” Doriana managed to say, waving a hand toward the windows. Anita walked across the room and dropped the shades, shutting them off from any curious bystanders.
Ten minutes later Doriana wiped her tears and blew her nose.
Leaning against the counter, Anita smiled down at her. “Something tells me you needed to do that for a long time.”
“I did.”
“You know I’m always here for you,” Anita said. “What are families for?” She shot Doriana a wry smile. “I was pretty hurt all those years ago when you wouldn’t tell me who Josh’s father was.”
Doriana swiped at some lingering tears. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell anyone. I was so humiliated that Logan walked out on me. And I was afraid of what Daddy would do to him.”
“Uncle Dan is a force I wouldn’t want to cross.” Anita patted Doriana’s hand. “Why did Logan leave?”
Doriana bit down on her lip. “I don’t know.”
Anita frowned. “Then ask him.”
“I’m afraid of the answer. I don’t know what to do. Logan appears after sixteen years from God knows where. Does he know about Josh? What does he want?”
Anita chuckled. “I can guess what he wants. I saw the way he looked at you the other day.”
“Logan doesn’t want me. If he did, he wouldn’t have left me.” Anger and hurt, like a knife plunged into her stomach, threatened her tenuous control. “And he was with Candi yesterday at the Italian Market.”
She threw her tissue toward the wastebasket. It landed on the floor. A metaphor for her life right now.
Anita waved a hand. “I wouldn’t worry about him and that woman. It’s you he wants.”
“Cut that out,” Doriana said. She couldn’t allow herself to believe Logan wanted her. She couldn’t open her heart to hurt again.
“You need to tell him about Josh,” Anita said.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Taking a deep breath, Doriana inhaled the cloying odors of hairspray and shampoo. The scents made her sneeze. Anita handed her another tissue.
“Logan doesn’t have a permanent job or home.” Doriana crushed the tissue in her hand. “He left me once. If he leaves again, Josh will be hurt. I can’t take that chance.”
“Maybe you’re selling Logan short,” Anita said.
Doriana glanced away from her cousin’s knowing gaze. She scanned the upscale salon, done in soothing shades of blue and green. The colors did nothing to calm her nerves. The stylists’ stations stood empty, waiting for tomorrow. Like me, waiting, but afraid of what tomorrow will bring.
Cans of hairspray and styling products stood like silent sentinels over clips and brushes. Anita was like a sentinel, wanting only to protect and help her. She looked at Anita. “I know you care and I love you for it. Let me work this out for myself. I’ll tell Mom and Dad when I feel it’s right.”
“Okay.” Anita studied her.
“It’ll be fine.” Doriana brushed her new bangs away from her face.
Anita reached over and arranged the bangs back into place. “Don’t mess with the hair. You look beautiful. Logan will go nuts when he sees the sexy new you.”
“Stop that.” Doriana threw the tissue away. This time it landed in the wastebasket. Maybe things would work out after all.
Anita folded her arms across her chest and locked gazes with Doriana. “How did you meet Logan?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“You owe me,” Anita said with a smile. “After all, you wouldn’t tell me about him when we were teens.”
Doriana shook her head. “You never give up, do you? There’s not much to tell. I was sixteen and Logan eighteen. I missed my school bus one afternoon and went to one of
Dad’s construction sites. I thought the foreman would drive me home.”
“And Logan was there.”
Doriana nodded. “He worked as a laborer.” She took a deep breath, letting her mind travel back through time. “He was magnificent. Dressed in black with attitude to spare. When he looked at me, my toes curled.”
Anita sighed. “The princess and the bad boy.”
Doriana rolled her eyes, making Anita laugh. “Logan drove me home on his motorcycle. Despite his dangerous looks, I trusted him.”
“A motorcycle. Sweet. I love it.”
“That’s enough, Anita.”
“Does anyone ever get over first love?”
“I did,” Doriana said.
Anita’s gaze bore into hers. “No, you didn’t. You still love Logan.”
“I can’t,” Doriana said, standing. “I just can’t.” Her fingers fumbled on the ties of the plastic cape she wore. She finally loosened it and let it slide off her to the floor. She wished her problems would slide away as easily. She grabbed her purse from the counter. “Thanks for the haircut, Anita. I have to go.”
“Running away from the truth?” Anita’s soft laugh followed Doriana from the shop.
* * * *
The loud ringing jolted Doriana. Heart pounding, she sat up in bed and groped for the phone. The digital numbers on the bedside clock glared at her. Only trouble called at two o’clock on a Monday morning. Dread racketed to fear and she reached for the phone with a trembling hand.
“Hello,” she croaked.
“Ms. Callahan?” The female voice sounded professional. Doriana’s pulse hammered.
“Yes.”
“Ms. Callahan, this is Becky Palmer, Olde City Security.”
Doriana jumped out of bed. “What’s wrong? Who’s hurt?”
“No one’s injured as far as we know,” Becky Palmer said. “There’s been a fire at your riverfront site. You’re on the list to call in an emergency.”
Doriana’s shoulders sagged. As long as no one in her family was hurt, she could handle this.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll go right away. Did you call Mr. Callahan?”
“Yes, Ma-am. He’s on his way there now.”
* * * *
Doriana parked her Jaguar next to her father’s Cadillac and cut her engine. Police cars and fire trucks ringed the construction site. She got out of her car and closed the door, shivering in the early morning cold. She’d grabbed the first wrap she found in her closet, a light jacket.
The acrid odor of burning wood made her choke. Holding a hand over her mouth, Doriana picked her way through gravel to where her father stood talking to several men. One of the men turned as she approached.
Logan? Why was he here? Apprehension sliced a path up her spine.
Her father, standing next to Logan, turned also. “Doriana, you didn’t have to come here. It’s late.” He glanced quickly at Logan, but not before Doriana caught the sheepish expression on her dad’s face.
“Why are you here, Logan?” she asked.
“Logan’s had some experience with fires,” her dad said.
Logan’s eyes challenged her to question her dad.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Looks like someone set a pile of lumber on fire.” Dan glanced at the middle-aged man in a fire department uniform standing next to him. “Thanks to the quick work of Captain Smith and his people, no real harm was done.”
“Ma-am,” Captain Smith said, touching the rim of his cap.
Doriana nodded and looked toward the smoldering pile. “When do you think it was set, Captain Smith?” she asked.
“About midnight,” the captain said. “Luckily it was a slow burner.”
A heavy feeling of foreboding, like a chunk of wood hitting her chest, struck Doriana. Josh had come home at one o’clock, way past his curfew for a school night. He had no explanation for the dirt smudges on his face. Could it have been soot?
Why would she even think that? Josh would never do anything to hurt his grandfather. But she had no idea where he’d been.
“Doriana? Did you hear me?” Her dad’s voice pierced her thoughts.
She jerked her attention to him. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“Why don’t you go home? Logan and I can handle this.”
“This is my company too,” she said.
“Mr. Callahan, Captain Smith, we need your attention over here.” One of the firefighters standing by the pile of charred wood signaled for the men to join him.
Her father and the captain walked away, leaving Doriana alone with Logan. She hugged herself against the cold. She refused to look at Logan.
“Here, put this on,” he said, slipping his leather jacket off and settling it on her shoulders.
She pulled the buttery soft leather close, inhaling Logan’s masculine scent laced with citrus. Memories of wrapping herself in Logan’s black leather jacket all those years ago rushed at her. The leather in that old jacket wasn’t nearly as soft as this one, but its roughness against her skin always reminded her of Logan, hard but soft around the edges.
“Dorie, it will be okay,” he said, touching her chin with his finger and tilting her face toward his.
Doriana looked into his eyes, shadowed in the pale moonlight. Need overwhelmed her. She was so tired. Tired of dealing with her son and the long hours at work. She longed for someone to share her burden. She longed for the shelter of Logan’s arms.
She stiffened and pulled away. She could handle Josh. She always had. But could she handle her growing feelings for Logan?
Logan put his hands on her shoulders. The heat of his touch seared her through the heavy leather. It would be so easy to walk into his arms and let him take care of her. She couldn’t. He studied her. “Stop trying to carry the weight of the world, Doriana. Your dad and I will take care of this. Let someone else worry for a change.”
Had he read her mind? Logan always had a way of seeing into her soul.
She wanted to insist it was her company and her responsibility, but her bone-weary body wouldn’t listen. Her fight with Josh a few hours ago had drained her. And the new fear that Josh might have something to do with the fire gnawed at her. She couldn’t think straight anymore.
She slid the jacket off and handed it to Logan. “Thanks. I’ll see you at the office in a few hours.”
* * * *
“Did you manage to get any sleep?”
Doriana looked up from her desk to where Logan stood framed in the doorway.
“A little.” She picked up a pencil and rolled it between her fingers. The soft wood soothed her ragged nerves.
Logan pushed away from the door and headed toward her. The lines of exhaustion around his mouth and eyes and the faint stubble of golden beard couldn’t diminish his glorious masculinity. Her heart did a crazy flip.
He perched on the edge of her desk and reached out a hand, taking the pencil from her and setting it down.
She bristled at his breach of professional etiquette, but his nearness and the heat in his hazel eyes mesmerized.
“I like the new haircut.” He smoothed strands from her face. “You look tired.”
“I’ll manage,” she said. “I always do.”
“I know.”
He shifted, but his gaze never left hers. “About the other morning. At the Italian Market.”
The memory of Logan brushing back Candi’s hair, touching Candi the same way he touched her, hit Doriana like a blast of wintry air off the Delaware River.
“You don’t have to explain,” she said.
Logan leaned closer. She inhaled his unique scent of citrus and outdoors. She grabbed the pencil again to keep from stroking her fingers along the chiseled lines of his face.
“I want to tell you,” he said. “Candi is a friend, a friend who’s in trouble. That’s all.”
She wanted to believe him. When they were teens, Logan never lied to her. He’d never hurt her until the day he left. She looked away fro
m him, breaking the connection. She needed distance from him and time to sort out her feelings.
“What’s this?” Logan stood and picked up one of the papers from her desk.
“Nothing. Just some doodling.” She tried to grab the paper from him, but he waved it away.
Logan scanned the drawing. “This is more than doodling. This house is beautiful. You designed it?”
She nodded and held out her hand. When he gave her the drawing, she stuffed it in a drawer.
Logan watched her for long seconds, making her fidget. “I remember you wanted to be an architect,” he said. “What happened?”
Another dream that died the night he walked away. “Life got in the way.”
“Life?”
A baby and no husband. “Dad needed me at the firm.” And my son needed me at home.
Logan leaned closer and traced her lips with his finger. She knew she should pull away but her traitorous body wouldn’t move.
“The feisty girl I knew wouldn’t have let anyone stop her from doing what she wanted.”
“That girl died a long time ago.”
“I wonder,” he said softly.
Heat burned her face. Had that girl really died? Being with Logan again triggered old hopes and stirred bittersweet yearnings about what might have been.
The phone rang, breaking the mood. Doriana grabbed for the phone, feeling she’d just been thrown a rescue rope against her own damning thoughts.
* * * *
“Dan, what can you tell me about Bryce James?” Logan tapped his fingers on the FedEx package that rested on the small table where he and Callahan sat.
Pale afternoon sunshine slanted through the windows in Dan’s penthouse office, reflecting the confusion in Callahan’s blue eyes.
“Why are you asking about Bryce?” Dan shifted his weight in the chair.
Logan leveled his gaze at the older man. “Because you left out something very important in his dossier.”
Dan stiffened. “Bryce James has been with me for twenty-five years. He had a little trouble a while back. He took care of it. What are you saying?”
Logan slipped some papers from the envelope in front of him and scanned them. “Let’s see. A gambling addiction so severe he checked into a treatment center.” He looked at Dan. “Gambling debts to the mob. Did you pay off his debts?”