Finding You

by Maureen Child

  Unconsciously Nick reached down and rubbed his kneecap protectively. It felt okay at the moment. Sure. While you’re sitting. What about running downfield with some three-hundred-pound maniac chasing you? Different story. Hell, he’d been taking hits on the field since junior high. But the thought of taking another hit to a knee that had already been blown out was enough to make him cringe. And a man who didn’t want to be tackled had no business being on a football field.

  But Christ, he’d been playing to a crowd since Pop Warner football. How would he live without that? Without all of it? The sound of applause, the jolt of excitement he got every damn time he walked into a football stadium, the slaps on the back and the looks of pride that followed him whenever he went home.

  Man, just listen to yourself.

  Damn, but he was a petty man.

  Nick’s gaze settled on the doctor’s face and he realized there was more the other man wasn’t saying. Hell, what else was there? But he had to know all of it. It was like staring at a traffic accident. You didn’t really want to see anything, but you just couldn’t stop yourself from looking. “And worst-case?”

  “Wheelchair.”

  Instantly an image of himself, freewheeling around Chandler, snarling at people who had the nerve to remind him of his heydays, kids throwing sticks into the spokes of his chair, filled his mind. Hell.

  Sinking back into the rich leather armchair opposite his doctor, Nick scraped both hands across his face, took a deep breath, and mentally said good-bye to professional football. Though he’d known this was coming eventually, it didn’t make it any easier to swallow now that it had. On the other hand, he wasn’t a kid anymore. He was thirty-two, right? He’d had a good career. Made a lot of money. Traveled. And running backs didn’t usually have too long a life span anyway.

  The knot in his guts twisted a little tighter. He could paint this any way he wanted. Bottom line, though … somebody’d just pulled the rug out from under his life. And he didn’t have a clue as to what he’d do next.

  Looking at the doctor, he said, more to himself than the other man, “So. What exactly does a pro ballplayer do when he can’t play ball?”

  * * *

  Beth sat at the kitchen table, wadded up her third Kleenex, and tossed it at the trash can. Neat. Even in her misery, Beth’s personality shone through. She had always been a woman who believed in a place for everything and everything in its place.

  Unlike Carla, who believed that wherever something landed, that obviously was its place.

  “So tell me,” Carla said, and pushed the cookie bag closer to her sister-in-law.

  “We had a horrible fight last night.” Then she thought about that for a minute, raised teary eyes to look at Carla, and amended, “Well, I had a horrible fight. Tony just stood there. He wouldn’t even yell at me.”

  A bad sign.

  When an Italian didn’t yell, that was not good.

  Carla sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her middle. Fingers plucking at the material of her sweatshirt, she kept quiet, with difficulty, and waited for Beth to continue. It didn’t take long.

  “I told him I wanted to know where he was going three nights a week.” She snagged a cookie, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Told him that I wasn’t going to let him make a fool out of me.”

  “All good,” Carla assured her.

  “Yes, but he didn’t say anything.” She tossed the cookie to the table, jumped up from her chair, and paced the kitchen. The heels of her sandals clicked furiously on the linoleum. “Nothing important, anyway.”

  “What did he say, exactly?”

  “He said I should trust him.”

  “Ah, the standard return-fire volley.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Anything else?”

  Beth pushed one hand through her auburn hair, and when that hair then fell back into place perfectly, Carla felt an inward sigh of admiration.

  “He said he loved me, but he wasn’t going to explain himself. That he shouldn’t have to.”

  “Oh, that’s great.” Carla shook her head and sat forward again, leaning her forearms on the table. “And if it was you taking off three times a week, he wouldn’t ask questions? He’d just trust you? Not expect an explanation?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Of course you did!” Carla nearly shouted. “It’s logical. Reasonable.”

  Beth came to a stop beside the sink. Curling her fingers around the edge of the counter, she held on tightly, her knuckles whitening, as if her grip on that chipped Formica was the only thing holding her on to the planet. She stared out the window at the yapping puppies and said quietly, “Then he left.”

  Carla simmered quietly inside. Looking at the other woman’s pain was enough to make her want to strangle the big brother she’d always loved so much. How could he be such an idiot? And what was she going to do about it?

  The phone rang and Carla jumped, glaring at it. Now was not a good time. Her sister-in-law turned and looked at the ringing phone as if it were a snake poised to leap across the room and sink its fangs into her. Carla knew how she felt.

  “God, I hate that thing. Just a minute, Beth. Whoever it is, I’ll get rid of ’em.” She stalked across the room, snatched up the receiver, and snapped, “What?”

  “Carla? This is how you answer a phone?”

  She sighed and turned around, shrugging helplessly at Beth. “Hi, Mama.”

  Beth’s eyes went wide and she shook her head, pointing at her own chest. Thankfully, Carla was an expert at desperate pantomime. Beth didn’t want Mama knowing she was there.

  “Was that a sigh?” her mother’s voice demanded.

  “What?”

  “You sighed. I heard you.”

  “Ears like a hawk,” Carla muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” She pushed one hand through her hair. “What’s up, Mama?”

  “Is Beth there? I thought I saw her car.”

  “Beth?” Carla shot the other woman a look and winced as she shrugged and said, “Yes. Beth’s here.”

  Her sister-in-law threw both hands wide and looked toward heaven for help. Carla could have told her from experience that it wasn’t coming. The only one “up there” who would be interested in helping any of them was Papa—and he was too busy enjoying the distance between him and Mama to leap into the fray.

  “I’m coming over to see the baby.”

  “What?” Carla shook her head and reminded herself to pay attention. When talking to Mama, it paid to have all your marbles lined up straight. If her mother showed up and saw Beth crying, there’d be no stopping her from jumping in and running down to the sheriff’s office to slap Tony upside the head. Which wasn’t altogether a bad idea, she told herself. But before she brought in the big guns, she wanted to know exactly what was going on. Key to that was stopping Mama.

  “No,” she said quickly, “Tina’s not here. She’s with—” Carla looked to Beth.

  “Debbie,” the other woman muttered.

  “She’s with Debbie.”

  “That teenager with the headphones?” Mama’s voice went up a notch. “All the time she’s listening to singers. How can she hear Tina if she cries?”

  Carla sighed again.

  “I heard that.”

  Carla’s forehead hit the wall. “Mama, Tina’s fine. I’m fine. Beth’s fine.”

  Her mother sniffed. “So fine then.”

  Great. She had one woman in her kitchen, crying and another woman on the phone, offended. Well, if she had to pick one to deal with at a time, and she definitely had to choose, she’d pick the one standing in front of her.

  “Did you want something, Mama?”

  “I wanted to tell you I like your young man.”

  Instantly worries about Beth slipped to second place in her mind as Carla saw where her mother was headed. “He’s not my ‘young man.’ Heck, he’s not a young man, period.”

  “He’s t
oo old for you?”

  “I didn’t say that, I—”

  “It’s because he has a child you don’t want him?”

  “Of course not.” Insulted, Carla stood up straighter and tightened her grip on the phone. “Reese is a sweetheart.”

  “So why don’t you like him?”

  “I do like him—” Carla shot a glance at Beth and didn’t know whether to scream or be grateful. For the first time since walking in the front door, the other woman was smiling. All it took was Carla being tortured to ease Beth’s misery.

  “Good. I’m having him over for dinner tomorrow night. You should come.”

  “Mama, don’t invite him for dinner.” She reached up and rubbed her forehead, but it was like trying to fight off a nuclear missile attack with a fly swatter.

  “He has to eat.”

  “Not with me.”

  “Why not with you? You need a man; he needs a woman.…”

  Oh, for God’s sake. “Well what’re you waiting for? Book the church!”

  Behind her, Beth snorted out a laugh.

  “Don’t be smart,” Mama said.

  “Mama, I don’t need help finding a man. I just don’t want one.”

  She heard her mother take in a long, protracted breath before releasing it again in a rush. “You told me you weren’t gay.”

  Help me. Mentally, she screamed. But somehow, she managed to keep her voice steady and even as she said, “Mama, I have to go.”

  “Go where?”

  Anywhere.

  “Beth and I…”—her mind raced, then settled on an acceptable excuse—“are going shopping.”

  “Fine. So buy a nice dress to wear for dinner.”

  Her mother hung up before she could argue again, and a dial tone told Carla that Mama had won that round.

  Carla actually winced as she pulled her fingers back from the phone. But problems with Mama could come later. Right at the moment, there were other pots to stir. Turning around, she looked at Beth, and the other woman said, “Looks like we’ve all got our troubles.”

  “Don’t even go there,” Carla told her. “I’ll worry about Mama later. Have you ever considered following Tony when he leaves?”

  Beth shook her head fiercely and folded her arms across her summer yellow tank top. “No way. I don’t want to see him with his girlfriend, the home-wrecking, husband-stealing bitch. It’s hard enough to imagine it.”

  Carla guessed she could understand that. However, she wouldn’t have any trouble at all facing down her brother and whatever female he was doing whatever he was doing with. “All right,” she said, “I’ll follow him. What nights does he go out and what time does he leave?”

  * * *

  Jackson stared down at his daughter’s mutinous face and held back a groan of frustration. For such a little thing, she could really put a lot of disapproval into a glare.

  “Reese baby,” he tried again, still futilely hoping that a six-year-old could be reasoned with, “we can’t go see the puppies.”

  Her little arms snapped across a narrow chest and her brow furrowed. She sighed heavily, unwound her arms, and mimed picking up a puppy and holding it to her face.

  “I know you want to see them, but they’re not your puppies. We can’t just go over there anytime you want to.”

  She nodded so vigorously, one of her pink barrettes flew out of her hair and clattered on the wood floor.

  “Fine. I know Carla said you could come and see the dogs, but—” He was talking to the back of her head as she walked toward the front door. Two long steps and he’d caught her. Taking her arm in a gentle grip, he turned her around to face him. Jackson went down on one knee so they were at eye level, and he studied those solemn but determined blue eyes so much like his own.

  She was in there. God knows she had no trouble making her wishes—well, demands—known. Why wouldn’t she talk to him? Why wouldn’t she let him inside, beyond the walls that she’d built since that night a year ago?

  Reese laid her small hands atop his and tugged. Jackson’s heart ached, and not for the first time a thread of panic unwound inside him. If he couldn’t reach her … if he couldn’t get her to talk to him …

  Resolutely he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind where they simmered constantly, occasionally erupting into a froth of desperation. He would get through to her. He couldn’t lose Reese. Time was running out. Just last night, his mother-in-law had called again, reminding him that if he didn’t find a way into Reese’s silence, she might be lost to him forever.

  “Ah, baby, why won’t you talk to Daddy?” he whispered, and he watched her eyes darken. Secrets lurked in their depths and he wished to God she’d let him help. Pain rippled through him. He sighed, swallowed, and said, “It’s okay, Reese. It’s okay. You can talk to me when you’re ready. I’ll be here. Always.”

  She nodded slowly, keeping her solemn gaze locked with his.

  He only hoped she was ready to talk before the end of summer.

  Reaching out, he swiped his fingers across the silky strands of blond hair lying across her forehead. She gave him a tentative smile as if she knew he was weakening. And, damn it, he was. That smile alone should have been enough to convince him to race his daughter across the road. A smile. Laughter. Hell, she’d reacted more to the puppies—and to Carla—than she had to anything else in the last year. So if he had any sense, Jackson told himself, he’d be using whatever he could in his campaign to bring his daughter back to him.

  Even if that meant spending time with a woman who touched places inside him he’d thought were long dead.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Carla tried to reclaim some of her morning. But not even playing with the puppies could completely ease the turmoil raging in her brain.

  When had her world shifted so out of control?

  It was as if she were living in one of those little glass snow globes and some unseen giant hand had given it a good shake. And she didn’t like it. She preferred things as they’d been for the last two years. Predictable. Safe.

  But instead, she had her brothers worrying her, and a little girl with lost eyes, and the girl’s father—who managed to light wildfires in her body with a glance. And then there was Mama. “She told me to buy a dress. I don’t do dresses. And she knows it.” She looked over at Abbey. “Why me?”

  Disgusted, Carla plopped down onto the wet grass, drew her knees up to her chest, and focused her gaze on the puppies, splashing through the sprinkler. Bath time always began with a free-for-all. The puppies got to play and she got them all wet at once. One thing about goldens—they loved water. Despite her whirling thoughts, Carla laughed as the puppies tripped over their own feet and climbed all over one another and her to get closer to the water source. Abbey sat to one side, like a canine lifeguard, watching her children with a patient eye.

  “Morning.”

  Her stomach jittered at the sound of his voice. Well, this is good, she thought. Nothing like having a gorgeous man see you when you’re soaking wet and covered with muddy puppy paw prints. Sure. Why not? The morning was on a downhill slide already. Facing the inevitable, Carla glanced over her shoulder at Jackson and his daughter, right beside him.

  Her heart did a weird little bump and roll and she wasn’t sure if it was caffeine deprivation or the sight of Jackson Wyatt. She hadn’t had nearly enough coffee this morning, but she had a feeling this particular reaction was pure Jackson. His dark hair was windblown and he wore a forest green T-shirt that clung to the chest that only last night had had a starring role in her dreams. His blue jeans were well worn and did amazing things for his long legs.

  Blood pumped, breath staggered, heartbeat trip-hammered.

  Oh, yeah. She was in fine shape. She blew out an unsteady breath and told her hormones to take a nap. Or a cold shower, whichever was quickest. A sense of self-preservation had her shifting her gaze to the child standing alongside him. Her little Scooby-Doo tennies practically danced in place in her eagerness to ge
t to the puppies. Her hair still looked bedraggled, but there was a shine in her eyes that hadn’t been there just two weeks ago.

  Dogs. Little miracles, Carla thought. Without even trying, they gave love that reached out to whoever needed it most. And Reese obviously needed it. She still wasn’t speaking, but since that first magical morning when she’d laughed, she’d seemed a little less shut off. A little more “connected.”

  No wonder her father was warming up to the idea of allowing the kid to play with the dogs—despite the fact that it meant spending time with Carla. Even he could see that the pups were making a difference in his daughter’s life.

  “Hello?” Jackson said. “Earth to Carla.”

  She blinked up at him, laughed, and said, “Sorry. Zoned out there for a minute.”

  Jackson didn’t mind. Her distraction had given him an extra minute or two to simply look at her. No woman had a right to look that good wet and muddy. She smiled and her face lit up, her dark brown eyes sparkled, and something inside him yearned to be there in the mud beside her. Preferably naked.

  Diane never would have rolled around in the grass with a cluster of puppies climbing all over her. But then, Carla Candellano was unlike any other woman he’d ever met.

  Which was as good a reason as any for him to keep his distance. Yet here he stood. He couldn’t seem to stay away from Carla any more than his daughter could bear to be separated from these puppies. And that probably explained why he’d agreed to have dinner with the Candellanos again tomorrow night. It was simply another excuse to be near Carla.

  Reese tugged at his hand, trying for freedom, but he held her tight. “Your mother came over this morning.”

  Carla’s chin hit her chest. “I know. She called. You know, you don’t have to say yes when she comes up with one of her plans.”

  “I wanted to say yes. I like your mother.” And you, he added silently.

  “Oh.”

  Not exactly an enthusiastic response. A little uncomfortable now, he said, “Look, I’ll understand if you’re not exactly pleased to see me today, but I’d appreciate it if you’d let Reese and me help with”—he waved a hand at the puppy balancing itself against Reese’s right leg—“whatever it is you’re up to.”