by Cait London
She pressed a hand to her aching back—today was her every-other-week floor cleaning day, scrubbing and vacuuming at the Millers’ big two-story house. She was tired and hot and her ancient air conditioner had broken down and Dani could be anywhere. Shelly turned her face to the oscillating fan, letting it blow the damp tendrils around her face as the washer and dryer hummed near her. Her cotton tank top and the cutoff shorts didn’t ease the heat and she debated asking for an advance on next week’s cleaning to repair the living room window’s air conditioner. The small window unit in Dani’s room did little to cool the small house.
Shelly rubbed a healing cut on her arm and looked down at her bare feet. She didn’t have control of her life or her daughter, and there was only one thing she could do about Roman—tell him the truth and hope…for what? What if he wanted to step into their lives now?
Shelly looked outside her kitchen window to see Roman standing beneath the streetlight. She pivoted, tossed the dishtowel aside, and leaned back against the counter. She crossed her arms, locking her fingers into the flesh, and still they continued shaking. Dani spoke only of him. Shelly had to talk with him. He had to know that Dani, the girl infatuated with him, was his daughter!
She took a deep, steadying breath and turned off the iron that she had been heating to press her customer’s shirts. She hesitated at the back door, then firmly jerked it open and stepped out into the hot, quiet night. The heavy scent of her neighbor’s honeysuckle met her as the police car cruised by and she waited beside her ancient Toyota pickup until it passed. Taking another deep breath, she walked out on the sidewalk where Roman could see her.
She wanted to run, but she couldn’t. She had to protect Dani.
Roman turned to her immediately and started walking across the street. He came to tower over her and said nothing. The oak trees on her lawn hid them from the street, the shadows engulfing them. His face was so hard now, his body lean, but heavier than it had been in his youth. The black shirt he wore stretched across shoulders that blocked out the night, his jeans flowing into long legs and biker’s boots.
But the hair was the same, unruly and shaggy and damp, his scent that of soap and the tang of aftershave—and of anger. She could feel it tremble over the softer sweet scents of the honeysuckle in the hot night.
In the streetlight, one side of his face caught the light, the other was in shadow. Those long lashes shadowed his deep-set eyes and created shadowy fringes on his tanned skin. His jaw gleamed, that high ridge of cheekbone jerked just once as he looked at her. She wasn’t a girl any longer and that close study tore at her senses; she gripped the white fence post for support.
He looked slowly down to her hand, the knuckles sharp in relief, and then back up to her face. The pinpoints of his eyes lasered at her, and she sensed that his slow breathing, that slight flaring of his nostrils, was forced, a man keeping an edge on his emotions. Back then, he’d been so desperate to hold her, to love her, as if he needed an anchor to tether him to life…
Roman’s stance, hip-shot, that arrogant tilt to his head, said he hadn’t come in peace.
It had been so many years. Her heart raced as she tried to force just the words she had practiced from her lips. “I…there’s something you should know.”
His expression tightened and the bitter low tone slammed into her. “That Dani is my daughter. That you—”
“No, she isn’t,” Shelly lied fiercely.
“Oh, she’s mine, all right.”
Her carefully constructed words flew out into the street, still heated from the sun. “You don’t know that.”
“I can do basic math. Her birthday counts back exactly nine months from that night. We’ve been talking. I know quite a few things.”
He wasn’t sparing her, slapping her with facts. “You must know that you’ve got to leave her alone,” Shelly said.
“No, I won’t. You know I won’t, but I haven’t been bothering her—not that way. What do you think I am, anyway? She’s my child, and dammit, you never tried to contact me. There were people here who knew where Mitchell and I had gone. They should have, they ran us out of town as soon as Mitchell left the hospital.”
“You were a boy. There was nothing you could have done.”
“I would have taken care of you somehow. Away from here. I asked you to come with me at the time, but you couldn’t force yourself to leave Mama and step into the big, wide world. And what would you have had? You would have probably ended up hating me.”
Shelly felt herself fading, sliding—then Roman’s hand was on her arm, holding her upright. “Let’s go in. You need to sit down.”
“You can’t come in. If Dani came home—”
“She’d see me. We’ll handle it.”
Shelly let herself be propelled into the kitchen, eased into a chair, and took the glass of water that Roman handed her. “Drink.”
He was taking in the tiny neat kitchen, the rolled dampened laundry in the basket, the already pressed dress shirts hanging on the rack, the waiting ironing board. She couldn’t move while Roman quietly prowled through her two-bedroom home, clicking lights on and off as he went.
Shelly scrubbed her rough hands across her face and knew how he would see the used, reupholstered furniture, the curtains she had sewn, the old sewing machine that she used to patch things, the basket beside it. The bathroom was tiny, cluttered with Dani’s makeup; her bedroom was plastered with posters, clothing on the floor. It was quiet now, without its usual earsplitting rocker music.
Then Roman was back, sitting in a chair, looking down at her worn linoleum floor, his hands dangling at his knees. Her “Roman—” set him off and he lurched to his feet, slamming an open hand down on the yellow marble Formica table. He went to the kitchen counter and braced his hands against it as he looked out into the night.
Then he looked at her and the flashing anger in his light brown eyes, his too-quiet tone, held her. “Want to tell me about it?”
“No.” She didn’t want anyone to know what her parents had said, how the town had speculated about the father, the pressure she’d been under from the minister, and the censure of everyone, the lurid stares from the men. But worst of all was the livid coldness of her parents, the way they wanted her to put Dani up for adoption. “I had friends,” she said, not wanting his pity.
“Uma, Lauren, and Pearl, right? What about your parents?” he demanded as he tested the buttons and knobs on the dead air conditioner. Then he turned back to fire the next volley. “Dani told me how wonderful they were. They didn’t recognize her as their granddaughter. That really hurts the kid.”
“I know. Only my mother is alive now and—”
“And you’re paying the tab at the nursing home and she still won’t talk to her own granddaughter?” His tone was low, quivering, and shaking the room with emotion.
She loved her mother, and through her pain, she’d understood. Her parents had such plans for her—college, a good marriage, security…“There are worse things. I was able to work. I did. I work at the nursing home to help expenses. Mother has a small retirement. We managed. Like I said, my friends helped—Uma and Pearl. Pearl and Walter were wonderful. Pearl gave us so many things she didn’t need. Uma babysat and was my rock.”
“‘Managed.’” The flat tone and Roman’s dark scowl challenged her.
She didn’t like him criticizing the best she could do. “You have no right to judge. Just stay out of Dani’s life.”
“She’s my kid, too. And she’s headed for trouble, just like I was. I know better than you about this and how she could end up. I don’t want that to happen.”
“You don’t have any say in our lives.”
Roman’s smile wasn’t nice. “Honey, from now on, I’m making you and Dani my business.”
Shelly leaped to her feet. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”
Roman frowned and lifted a finger to trace the year-old scar along her temple. “What’s that? How did you get it?”
She b
rushed his hand away. The burn had hurt fiercely, just searing her scalp which bled horribly. She didn’t think it was necessary to see a doctor, and she could ill afford the luxury, using butterfly bandages and good antiseptic. “I hit my head on something the night Lauren died. A branch or something tore my skin when I was coming into the house. I’d been outside, trying to get Dani’s cat in out of the storm, and—”
His eyes narrowed, his expression cold. “Uh-huh. That was quite some branch…. it’s always Dani, isn’t it? That’s why she’s spoiled and doesn’t care if you work yourself to death, while she’s partying.”
“I love her.” Her statement vibrated in the air and Roman watched her carefully, the protective mother fighting for her child. She didn’t try to hide her emotions; she’d already fought many, many times for Dani. She’d fight with her last breath.
He shook his head and studied the wide satin strips hung carefully over the door. His hand cruised down the hot pink satin and he lifted the brightly flowered one beneath it. “What are these?”
She didn’t like him seeing into her life, inspecting the bald, poor edges of her pride. “Ribbons for Rosy, the Ferris’s pig. I launder and iron them for free because I love them and her. The Ferris’s low retirement pensions aren’t paying their bills now, but I can do this for them. And I will.”
He scanned her arm, the bandage running across it. “What happened?”
“An accident.”
Roman’s deep voice was quiet and fierce, demanding an answer. “I asked you what happened.”
“A knife. A butcher knife that I forgot I’d placed on the cans on the closet’s top shelf. I reached up and it came down. No harm done.”
His dark brows jerked into a fierce frown. “Is that where you’d usually place a knife?”
“No…” She didn’t want him to know the series of accidents that had happened in the last year; they had increased since her preoccupation with his arrival in Madrid.
Roman’s expression said he was caught on the edge of a decision and she again tossed him an escape. “I don’t want you to have anything to do with Dani. She’s my responsibility.”
His low tone shook the kitchen. “She’s my child, too. I wasn’t there then—but I am now. She’s not going to end up like me, or ironing someone else’s clothes. The kid is running with the wrong crowd. She has to graduate from high school and get an education.”
“Stay out of our lives. I know what she needs and it isn’t you.” She leaped to her feet, her fists at her side. She hadn’t meant to sail that order at him and in the silence, it boomeranged back to her.
Roman rubbed his chest and looked at her, a heavy pulse beating in his throat as she locked her gaze with his. She’d really only fought for one thing in her life, and Dani was it.
“I’m going to be around,” he said as the washer started bouncing and chugging and moving off the blocks she’d placed beneath it for balance on the sagging floor. Roman tested the soft flooring with his foot. “Termites, more than likely.”
She hadn’t had money for the exterminators and now pride forced her to stay quiet. Roman caught her frown and shot it back to her.
“I’ll be around,” he said quietly as he bent to lift the washer slightly and readjust the cement block beneath one corner. He stood, looked at Shelly, and served her worst fear to her. “Explain it to Dani however you like, but I’m going to be a part of her life. I’ll be around. See you.”
At the door he turned to stare at her. “Dani tells me that just after Lauren was killed, your car caught on fire when you turned the key. Is that true?”
“Yes. I’d been having trouble with it and the engine just seemed to explode. The mechanic said a gas leak—”
“Did you have a gas leak with it before? Any smell of gas?”
“Well, no, but it was old and everything needed repair on it. I smelled gas that morning. One of the old hoses, probably—”
“Uh-huh,” Roman said grimly and closed the door behind him.
“You can’t just come in here and take over, Roman Warren,” Shelly stated shakily to the yawning, quivering silence. I’m going to be a part of her life. I’ll be around. See you.
“Shelly, Shelly, Shelly,” Clyde murmured as he watched Roman step out into the night. “You’re not making this any easier on yourself. I made a mistake with Lauren, hiring someone else, but I won’t with you. I was angry that night with Pete and let my temper get the best of me, shooting at you—missing you. It’s just as well that you wear my mark, that scar. I like that. So much better for the game, then actually shooting you between the eyes. I like the game with you. You can look so distracted, so confused. I’m amused, I really am. But that won’t help you. You’ve trespassed, and you’ve got to be removed. Because if you live too long, you might tell, and I couldn’t have that.”
He tipped his fedora slightly and sank into the shadows as Roman walked by on the street below. Clyde didn’t like the Warrens in his town again, stirring up Uma and Shelly and Pearl, because they belonged to him.
Roman stood inside his father’s garage, the moonlight slicing through the boards on the windows.
If there was any place he didn’t want to be, it was Madrid.
If there was anything he hadn’t planned, it was being a father.
If there was any woman he didn’t want to tangle with, it was the good kind—and Shelly was still innocent and sweet and fiercely a mother fighting for the child they shared. Dani had said that Shelly didn’t—hadn’t ever—dated, and that meant that…
Dammit, the slam of desire still rode him. One look at those long legs gleaming in the moonlight, the crevice of her breasts as she sat looking as though everything she’d loved would be torn away from her, that hair—the sleek, silky movement when she turned her head, and those eyes—green as meadow grass and so soft when she spoke of Dani, the love shining there, the fierce protection of a mother fighting for her child.
He should have been here. He should have—what? Maybe she was right, he was just a boy…Shelly had faced everything by herself…she knew how to love, how to give. What did he know how to do? Race? Find a party and a willing woman?
How the hell did he think he could give her something, anything, now?
The shadowy, musty air closed in on Roman, squeezing his chest. He rubbed the ache there, thinking of all the time that had passed, and the life he’d lived, the women he’d known. Shelly was a virgin when he took her that night, and she was still—he heard a noise and turned to see Dani in the shadows. His daughter, his child. “Hey, kid. A little late for you to be out, isn’t it?”
“Nah. I’m going to be eighteen soon, and I’m a woman already. I do what I want, whenever I want. What are you doing here?”
He knew the tough talk; it had been his. “I’m thinking I’m going to start a garage. What do you think?”
She shrugged, but he caught the excitement in her pale face beneath the paint. Then Roman asked, “You said your mom does cleaning and laundry. I’m going to have to trade fix-up and car stuff for what I need, until I get on my feet. Do you think she’d buy that?”
“I can help you. I’ll do anything, wash your clothes, rags, whatever—even help clean this place. I love motors.”
“Do you wash your own clothes?” he asked, pushing her, resenting all the work that Shelly had had to do to pay their way. Just the way Dani turned her face was enough to remind him of Shelly, that wholesome, clean look.
“Sure.”
He knew she was lying. “Look, kid. Help me out. I don’t know many people here and it takes a bit to build up business. Your mom knows everyone and she’s got a good rep and I don’t. She’s a way in, if you know what I mean.”
Dani considered the thought. “Sure. I’ll fix it.”
“You do that, and when I’m on my feet and something comes in that is hot and fast, I’ll show you what I know about racing. You don’t need to be any biker’s girl. Not with your looks. And if you weren’t wearing that paint,
you’d look that much better—like your mother. Besides, there isn’t anything like racing. You’d look real cute beneath a helmet, behind a steering wheel.”
I’m your father, a little bit late, but I’m trying. “And kid, get this straight—what you want, between us, isn’t going to happen. I’m not looking for jail bait trouble. And I’m not going to be used to keep Jace in line, getting you what you want.”
Dani huffed and stomped out of the garage, slamming the front door behind her. He thought of going after her, of following her, and then he heard the rev of a motorcycle.
Roman rubbed his jaw and couldn’t help smiling. So the kid had a temper, just like her old man. Maybe that wasn’t good, but at least he understood. He probably understood better than her sweet mother.
The one thing he did not want to do was to hurt either Dani or Shelly. They’d both paid enough for him.
Then a motorcycle cruised outside and stopped, purring roughly. In another second, Dani slammed into the garage. She stood, legs braced, her hands on her slender hips, glaring at him.
“Wear a helmet when you ride, kid,” he said, just to get her going, to see why she’d come back.
“You’ve got a thing for my mother, don’t you? A lot of men do. They think because she had me with no old man taking the blame that she’s free and easy. Well, she isn’t, and neither am I. I can get what I want without the payoff.”
“Maybe I am interested in her. I don’t know yet,” he answered slowly, truthfully, and didn’t bother to tell Dani that she might not have a choice about the “payoff.” Some men just took. Was that what he did?
“I won’t be happy, you know. And I’m not her. No one is going to walk all over me and leave me flat like my old man left her. If I want a man, I usually get him, and I don’t put out.”
“That’s hard talk from a little girl.” The kid was honest, and he could deal with that. He heard the motorcycle rev outside and knew that Jace was just as hot-blooded as Roman was years ago. The boy would have to do some running to get his daughter, or he’d be in for a little lesson.