“No doubt in quiet, genteel tones,” Mike guessed.
“Cute.”
“And he said . . . ?” Sam asked.
“He said I should go now, because I’d be going eventually anyway, so basically, Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?”
“Bastard.” Sam scowled in disgust.
“Totally,” Mike agreed.
“Moron,” Jo said, feeling that wadded-up paper with her squiggled words of affection burning a hole in her jeans pocket.
“So,” Sam said, “do you still want him?”
“I’m just stupid enough to, yes,” Jo admitted, though the truth was so galling she wanted to spit.
“Then you’re going to have to take the risk and tell him how you feel.”
Humiliation rose up inside her and Jo could feel her stomach twist into tight little knots of defiance. There had to be an easier way.
“He’s not interested,” she said.
“You don’t know that,” Sam said.
“He told me so himself.”
“He didn’t know you love him.”
“It won’t make a difference,” she said stubbornly. “If anything, it’ll just make him push me away even faster.”
“His loss then.” Sam held one hand out in front of her. “But you’ll never know for sure if you don’t try.”
“Amen,” Mike said, laying her hand on top of Sam’s. “And if he’s really too dumb to see how great you are and how good you’d be together, then he’s so not good enough for you.”
Jo looked at the two women in the world who meant everything to her. Unfailing loyalty. Unquestioning love. This was family. This was what Cash couldn’t seem to get. And maybe she could understand why.
But that didn’t mean she was willing to let him blow off a future because he didn’t like his past.
Laying her hand on top of her sisters’, she said, “Okay. I’ll tell him. I’ll make him listen to me if I have to hit him in the head with a hammer.”
“Atta girl,” Mike snorted. “Use your charm.”
Jo ignored her. “Then when I’ve had my say, if he still won’t wake up and see what we could have together . . . I’ll be the one to let him go.”
Eighteen
Waiting to hear from Melanie Smith was making Jo nuts.
She felt as if she were stuck in neutral, her engine revving, but there was nowhere to go. She couldn’t face down Steve Smith and she couldn’t have it out with Cash, either. Well, she could, but she wasn’t going to. Not until she had her life in order. She wanted her past cleaned up and disposed of before facing down the man who could be her future.
Lying out in the cool grass of the Marconi family backyard, she stared up at a wide, starlit sky. Behind her, she could hear the homey sounds of Nana fussing around in the kitchen and the low-pitched hum of the television as her father no doubt fell asleep in his recliner. Jack was probably upstairs doing his homework and she should be inside writing up the bid on the Stevenson job.
And yet . . .
She couldn’t help worrying about Melanie, and besides, from a completely selfish point of view, she wanted this finished. So she could go deal with Cash.
Maybe he would still tell her to go. Maybe he wouldn’t be interested in knowing she loved him. But by God, he was going to have to listen to her. The man couldn’t become a part of her life and then walk away without at least letting her say her piece.
“Who’re you mad at?”
Jo tipped her head back on the grass and got an upside-down view of her little brother strolling across the yard toward her. His jeans were too baggy, his hair too long, and his sneakers looked as though Bear had been chewing on them again.
“Who says I’m mad?”
“Your foot’s tapping hard on the ground. Usually you only do that when you’re mad.”
“Hmm.” Geez, Cash didn’t even have to be in the vicinity to affect her temper. She deliberately stilled her right foot, stared up at the sky again and said, “You’re way too smart.”
“Yeah, I know. My teacher says I’m gifted.”
She laughed as he stretched out in the grass beside her. “Is that right? Well hey, I think that’s a first for the Marconis.”
“What’cha lookin’ at?”
“Just the stars,” she said, lifting one hand to point. “There’s Mars.”
“Yeah? How do you know?”
“Because Mars is called ‘the Red Planet.’ But from here, it only looks a little yellow-orangish, see?”
“Yeah.” He leaned his head against her shoulder and kept looking. “Know any other ones?”
Thoughts of Cash and Melanie drifted away. “Um, that’s Jupiter there and way over there? That’s Saturn.”
“The one with the rings.”
“Hey,” she said, giving him a nudge in the ribs, “you are gifted.”
He laughed and Jo smiled into the darkness. “I’ve got a telescope back at my house. This summer we’ll pull it out and look at all of ’em a little close up.”
“Cool. How do you know this stuff?”
“I took an astronomy course in college last year.” And almost flunked it. But Cash had ridden to the rescue with his Astronomy for Dummies book. Blast the man, there he was again. Up front and center in her mind.
“Jo?”
“Hmm?”
“How come Cash hasn’t been around much?” He tapped his fingertips on his cast. “Is it ’cause of me? You know, the fire and everything?”
“No.” She patted his good arm and turned her head to give him a smile. Learning fast on the guilt meter, wasn’t he? “It’s not you, kiddo.”
“Then why?”
“I don’t know,” she said at last, because it was the only thing she could say. “Guess you’d have to ask him.”
No way was she going to try to explain to a ten-year-old that the closer she felt to Cash, the further away he pulled. Nope. Let the great man himself take on that little task.
When her cell phone rang, Jo was grateful for the interruption. Digging it out of her jeans pocket, she checked the caller ID, then sat up straight and whipped it open.
“Melanie?”
The next morning, while Jo was on her way to San Francisco, Grace Van Horn walked down the Lake Road to her nephew’s house.
The morning was cool and the wind that sighed through the trees sounded like whispers from an interested crowd. She tugged her black cardigan a bit tighter around her and stepped carefully in her black mules. Sunlight dappled the dirt road and she took her time, walking slowly. Not so much to enjoy the morning, as to put off the chat she’d have to have with Cash.
He was the son she’d never had and she loved him more than she could say. But a more hardheaded individual she’d never met. Still, she wasn’t looking forward to giving him news she knew would cause him pain.
When she rounded the bend, she saw that he was already in his workshop. The pounding beat of classic Rolling Stones rushed through the open double doors to greet her as she approached.
He hadn’t heard her come up, so just for a minute or two, she studied him unaware. He’d always been a loner and for that she blamed her younger sister Kate, Cash’s mother. Kate loved her only son, but she loved herself more, and Cash had never really accepted that. He pretended differently of course, but Grace knew that a part of him was still waiting for Kate to be the mother she should have been.
And now, Grace was going to have to give that lingering hope another kick.
“Morning, handsome,” she called, forcing cheer into her voice.
He looked up from the table leg he was carving and gave her a smile that could light up a small city. “A little early for you to be out, isn’t it, Grace?” he asked, turning back to his task.
He scraped the razor-sharp edge of a carving tool along the table leg and pushed out a thin curl of wood that dropped to the floor to join hundreds of others just like it. “No yoga today?”
“I’m taking a break,” she said, wandering
into the workshop. Of course, the break had been precipitated by the phone call from Kate, but she’d get to that.
Poking through his tools, she was amazed at the varied shapes and sizes of the awls and blades.
“Those’re sharp,” he warned, “be careful.”
“Who’s the table for?” she asked, wandering back toward him.
“No one in particular,” he said, straightening up to narrow his gaze at her. “And it occurs to me that you’ve never been that interested in what I’m working on before.”
“Of course I am,” she protested. “I’m very proud of you, Cash. You do beautiful work and I’ve always said so. Ask anyone.”
He tossed the blade he was holding onto the workbench, folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her with suspicion. “Okay, Grace, there’s a reason you’re here, full of compliments so early in the morning, so spill it.”
She winced.
Instantly, his attitude changed. “Are you okay? Is there something—”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, wanting to reassure him at least on that score. But blast it, if she had Kate here in front of her right now, she’d slap her silly.
“Then what?” More wary than suspicious now and that tore at Grace.
The man shouldn’t have to live his life on guard. He should let go of the past and move on. Enjoy his life. She’d seen how he and Jo were together, and the romantic in her wished that something would come of it. Wished he would let himself love Jo and be loved by her. Have a family so she could entertain honorary grandchildren before she got too old to recognize them.
And she was still stalling.
“It’s your mother,” she said flatly, keeping her gaze locked with his.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Such a good question,” she murmured, but then rushed on. “She called me this morning. Said she didn’t get an answer at your house—”
“I’ve been out here most of the night.”
“Yes, well, she’s not coming this summer and she wanted me to tell you.”
The words tasted bitter, since Grace knew very well how much this news would hurt him. Kate and her friends traveled the country year round, never staying in any one place too long. Yet every summer, she’d come here, to Grace’s house. And it was the one time of the year that Cash could count on seeing his mother.
She waited to see reaction flash in his dark eyes, but it didn’t happen. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah,” he said, and picked up the blade again. “Doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? You built that darling little cottage for her. You wanted her to come and now she’s not.”
“The cottage is gone, remember?” Another curl of wood dropped to the floor.
Grace moved to the radio, flicked it off, and instantly, silence dropped between them.
“You could build it again,” she said, though she knew she wasn’t really helping.
“She wouldn’t want it. I know that. You know that.”
“Yes, but—”
“Grace.” A note of defeat sounded in his voice. “She won’t stay if I build her a dozen cottages. People just don’t stay.”
She almost argued with the tone of weary acceptance in his voice, but then thought better of it. Hadn’t she just been telling herself that he had to get past wanting to rewrite his family history? Stop hoping that Kate would become the mother he’d always wanted her to be?
“You’re right. She wouldn’t.”
He gave her a quick smile. “So, why keep beating my head against that stone wall? It’s better this way anyway.”
“Which way is that?”
He smoothed his big hand up and down the table leg, checking for flaws, feeling the wood grain, and she knew he was giving himself time to think. To put the words together. Finally, he glanced at her again. “It’s better alone, Grace. It’s not easy, but it’s better.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, walking closer to him. Staring up into his eyes, she said, “Being alone is the easy way. It means you don’t have to connect. You don’t have to be there for anyone but yourself. It means hiding out.”
He laughed shortly. “Great. Thanks. Glad you could stop by.”
He was shutting her out, and by heaven, she wouldn’t allow that. “For the first time in your life, Cash Hunter, I’m ashamed of you.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “What the hell for?”
“Do you think I don’t have eyes? Do you think I don’t know that you have feelings for Jo Marconi?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, digging his blade into the wing of a butterfly and making it deeper.
“It’s all that does matter,” she said shortly, grabbing his arm, forcing him to look at her. “And you’re turning your back on it.”
Cash fought down a rising tide of fury and reminded himself that this tiny woman was the closest thing he’d ever really known to a real mother. But even all the love he had for her wouldn’t let him take that one lying down. “Hell, Grace, that’s a family tradition!”
“What?”
“Closing people out. It’s what we do. My father did it, my mother did it, even you, Grace.”
The sting of hurt feelings shone in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah?” he countered, letting his irritation guide his words. “Well, if you’re so much better at loving someone than I am, why did you never remarry?”
She took a step back, stunned to her shoes. “I—”
“You’ve been mourning a husband you didn’t love for thirty years, Grace.” Shaking his head, he gave her a sad smile. “You never once admitted that he died in a car wreck the night you threw him out.”
Her hand flew to her throat. “How did you—”
“Mom told me.”
Her lips thinned into a grim slash that he couldn’t ever remember seeing on her face before. He’d hurt her, and he felt bad about that, but damn it. “I’m sorry, Grace. But for God’s sake, if anyone should understand how I feel about this, it should be you.”
“Is that right?”
“Damn straight. You’re nuts about Hank Marconi, but I don’t see you saying yes to any of his proposals.” He picked up a honing stone and wiped it carefully over the edge of his carving tool. When he was finished, he looked at her again. “I don’t see you willing to take a chance. Willing to risk the pain again. How are you so different from me?”
Grace staggered back a step or two and her eyes were wide with hurt and just the faintest shimmer of tears. Cash felt as if he’d kicked a puppy. Just like that, all the anger left him and he knew that if she let those tears fall, he’d be on his knees in front of her, begging her to forgive him. God, he couldn’t lose Grace.
Her hand at her mouth, she only stared at him in shocked silence. In the quiet, he heard the wind coursing through the trees outside. Out on the lake, a duck called to its mate, and from a distance, he heard Grace’s goats and sheep waking up and making a racket.
Cash scrubbed one hand over his face, then pushed it through his hair with enough strength to rip it all out, strand by strand. His life was suddenly in the toilet, so he attacked the only woman in his life who’d ever been a constant? Great. Nice job.
“Pay no attention to me, Grace,” he said, “haven’t had any sleep and shouldn’t be around people. It’s no excuse, but I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that to you.”
“No.” She held up one small hand to hush him up. “No, you were right.”
“Grace—”
“You just wait a minute now,” she said, and some of her fire was back, though those tears were still sparkling in her big eyes. “You had your say, and now it’s my shot for a rebuttal. Everything you said is completely true.”
“Ah, damn it . . .” He reached for her and pulled her into a hard, tight hug.
She patted his back, then stepped away. “Don’t go all soft on me now, Cash. You made your point. And it w
as something, I’m ashamed to say, that I never admitted to myself. Your uncle, my late husband, was a dreadful man.” She frowned in memory. “He was loud and rude and overbearing and I knew almost from our honeymoon that I’d made a huge mistake. I stuck it out another year, though, before throwing him out, and then when he died, it seemed . . . easier, somehow, to rewrite history.”
She blew out a breath and shook her head until the gold hoops at her ears swung in a wild rhythm. “Foolish. Even cowardly. But sometime over the years, even I began to believe the lies I’d built up. As for not remarrying, you’re right about that, too. I was too afraid to trust anyone again. Too scared to let myself love completely again. Too used to being alone to even try.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he blurted.
She smiled. “Oh, honey, I know that. The truth isn’t always easy, but sooner or later, you’ve got to look at it.” She came closer, reached up and cupped his face between her hands. “And now, I’ve got a truth for you.”
He braced himself, because despite her love for him, Grace had never held back from telling him just what she was thinking. “Yes, ma’am?”
She smiled again. “Don’t look so worried—it’s nothing dire. I just want you to think about something for me, Cash.”
“What’s that?”
“If I’m willing to admit that I’ve been dead wrong about way too many things in my life—I want you to consider the possibility that you’re wrong, too.”
“Grace—”
“And I want you to think about it now. Don’t wait too long, Cash. Love—real love—doesn’t come around every day.”
“You two ready?” Jo looked at Melanie, then shifted her gaze to Linda Sandoval, Steve’s assistant.
Melanie swallowed hard, inhaled sharply, then nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”
“That’ll do,” Jo said, and gave her a quick smile. As for herself, she was more than ready. The first time she’d come to the city to see this pond scum, she’d dressed to impress. Today, she’d dressed to impress herself.
To remind herself of who she was, who she’d become, she wore her neatly pressed jeans, a red, starched MARCONI CONSTRUCTION T-shirt, and boots polished to a mirror shine. All symbols of the life she’d built. Of the life she was proud of.
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