“Michael, don’t—” Cori reached for her son, but Blake reacted faster.
“Can’t you control him?” Blake snatched the boy off the bed with two hands on his little waist, holding him none too gently in the air, inches from his face. “Don’t ever do that again.”
The brat’s dark eyes rounded as they stared at Blake. His mouth puckered tremulously.
Immediately, Blake knew he’d overreacted from stress and lack of sleep, and some other dark reason he was reluctant to acknowledge. Resentment.
I should have been this boy’s father.
Air escaped Blake’s lungs, taking his strength with him. Suddenly, the kid felt as if he weighed a hundred pounds.
“Put him down.” Cori spoke with the unchecked fury of a mother protecting her young. She held out her arms for her son.
Blake met her gaze squarely before setting the kid down. Holding the boy’s sticklike arms, Blake knelt to his level. “I want you to promise me you won’t do that again. You could have hurt your grandmother.” Blake may not have been his father, but he could still be a positive influence on the child. “Are you all right, Sophia?”
“Yes. More startled than anything,” she answered breathlessly.
Cori stood between her mother and her son, seemingly torn as to which needed her the most.
“Promise?” Blake prompted, returning his full attention to the boy. Blake had forgotten how frail a little kid’s emotions were. The boy was small, yet not as fragile as Sophia was.
When the kid nodded, his face full of fear, Blake released him. In the blink of an eye, Cori’s son fled the room. Blake stood, his stomach clenching from what he’d done, not blaming the kid one bit for his hasty retreat.
“That was uncalled for.” Cori’s voice shook, her eyes still focused on the floor where the boy had stood.
Blake shrugged, not backing down, even when he knew only a parent had the right to punish, even when he loathed his own actions. “You want the kid to behave, start setting some rules.”
“Rules—” Cori sputtered, eyes narrowing.
Blake cut her off before she could gather steam. “I have to go. Maria’s downstairs, but I told her you’d stay close to Sophia today. Do you think you can handle that?”
CHAPTER THREE
HOW COULD HE NOT SEE that Michael was his son?
Looking down upon the heads of her son and his father, she’d noted the same swirling pattern of brown hair on each crown. She’d vacillated between anger at Blake for tossing Michael around like a sack of potatoes and disappointment that he couldn’t see the similarities between himself and his son. Yet, should she expect Blake to recognize what she’d tried so hard to hide?
Crash! Tinkle, tinkle.
Cori froze as she slid the last hairpin into her mother’s lifeless hair.
“Michael?” she asked, just as her cell phone rang in her shorts pocket.
“It wasn’t me!” Michael called from the hallway.
“It’s probably that crystal vase,” Sophia observed calmly.
“The one that good-looking actor gave you?” Cori asked, trying to keep her tone light as she reached for her phone.
“Ronald Reagan was our president,” Sophia replied with mock dignity.
Ever since Ronald Reagan had given the vase to Sophia, Luke and Cori had teased her about her crush on him. Cori hoped she wouldn’t find that vase in pieces in the hall.
As Cori answered the telephone, she went in search of her son. His fast-retreating footsteps on the hardwood floor, punctuated with a door slam, signaled his escape to the pink room.
“Cori, I need some PR angles for Nightshade, pronto,” Sidney Collins, Cori’s boss, trilled in her ear. “They liked what you proposed last week, but they want to hear some other ideas from you, just to be sure the first one is the best.”
Cori sighed heavily, as much in response to Sidney’s request as at the sight of Ronald Reagan’s vase in pieces scattered across the floor.
“Not again.” Cori peered into the bedroom at Michael, shaking a finger at him when he looked up from his cartoons.
“I didn’t do it,” he whispered.
“Yes, again.” Sidney didn’t sound happy, either. “Just because they’re so forward thinking they can’t recognize brilliance when it’s right in front of them doesn’t mean we don’t jump through the hoop when they snap their fingers.”
“Tell them we’re out of recommendations. Tell them that was our best idea and the others were so bad we won’t even show them.” Cori stomped down the back stairs in search of a broom.
“No way. Bell-Diva’s new vice president of marketing was talking to the Parker Agency, just testing the waters, he said, but we’ll lose the account if we don’t shine, and shine brightly, in the next few months.”
“I did shine. That last press release was picked up for a segment on the Today Show. Let Adam Parker deliver that.” Collins & Co. was taking off, creating great buzz for their clients, who told others of their success. They were so busy that Cori was starting to wonder if she had any fresh ideas left. The pace had become grueling. If Sidney hadn’t taken a chance on Cori right out of college and stuck with her through the pregnancy, Cori would have moved on by now to someplace where she could be in the spotlight less and with her son more.
“I’m sure Adam Parker will promise them everything. You know him. He’d sell his mother the Brooklyn Bridge if he thought he could make a buck. Seriously, Cori, Bell-Diva is half our billings right now.”
Cori lowered her voice to a whisper. “And more than half of my headaches. I really don’t have time for this.” She knew that the deal she’d struck with Sidney to work from Sonoma was going to cause a snag or two along the way, but she hadn’t expected a problem to arise so soon. At least she could do her public relations/spokesperson job with a telephone, e-mail and fax—as long as her clients didn’t require a meeting or hold an event where her presence was mandatory.
“Nobody has time for this, but nobody knows their business better than you do.”
“And they pay their retainer on time.” Wearily, Cori beat Sidney to the punch, resigned to the fact that she was going to have to work some more today, realizing that keeping her job while helping her mother wasn’t going to be easy. Even as she thought this, several rough ideas started teasing their way through her brain. She would need to go to the store to check on some things first. She ended her call with a promise to get back to her as soon as possible.
Luke strode into the hallway, cell phone glued to his ear while he listened intently, muttering an occasional “Uh-huh.”
“Thank God, Luke. Can you stay with Mama for an hour, maybe two? I’ve got to run to the store.”
“Uh-huh,” Luke mumbled, stepping past Cori into Mama’s bedroom.
BLAKE STUCK HIS HEAD in Sophia’s open bedroom door, expecting to see Cori sitting with her. But Cori’s mother was alone.
“Where’s your posse, Sophia?” Blake tried to make light of his concern as he held back a frown.
“I’m not sure.” Sophia blinked rapidly. Midday sunlight streamed through the windows directly into her eyes. “I called…”
“She left you alone?” Arthritis kept Maria downstairs most of the time now. A second maid cleaned the upstairs twice a week. Blake wouldn’t have left Sophia for so long if he’d known Cori wasn’t going to be with her. And here he’d hoped Cori’s presence would make it possible for him to handle his full workload again.
Blake crossed the room and yanked the drapes closed.
“Cori has a little boy to take care of.” Sophia defended her daughter. Her frail hand moved slowly back and forth over the bedspread and her small feet fidgeted under the covers.
“Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat?”
“Maybe some help to the ladies’ room.”
Blake’s jaw clenched as he wondered how long Sophia had been waiting. She was too weak to stand by herself without help.
Footsteps coming upstair
s, along with the excited voice of a child and the crackle of bags, indicated Cori and the kid were back.
Blake’s face settled into a disapproving frown. Why would Cori leave her mother alone on her first morning back?
“I told you before, Michael, you cannot drink anything we bought today except the soda.” Cori peeked in the room and waved, her smile strained.
“I like beer. I do,” the kid whined.
Blake’s mouth fell open. The kid liked beer?
“No, Michael, you don’t.”
Although Cori lowered her voice, Blake still caught her words and her blush before she ducked out of the room.
What the hell was that all about?
Blake helped Sophia to the bathroom, then stood outside the door while she did her business. He helped her back to bed, his body rigid with tension. With her mother dying, Cori was off shopping for beer? The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. But when Blake excused himself, intending to seek out Cori to force-feed her a much-needed dose of reality, Sophia stopped him on his way to the door.
“Don’t.”
Blake tried to relax his taut features as he gazed down at the woman who’d taken him and Jennifer into her heart. Sophia Sinclair had to be one of the kindest, most generous women on earth. She deserved better treatment from her daughter.
“You need her,” he said, not even pretending to misunderstand.
“This is harder on Corinne than you think. I’ve been in her shoes, watching helplessly as my mother died. She was in school and traveling with my father when I had cancer the last time. I thought it would be easier on her.” She drew a shaky breath. “Let me decide how she helps me.”
Okay, so maybe Sophia had spotted Blake’s irritation and suspected his reaction. She always had been one sharp lady. But this was hard on everyone, and Blake wasn’t about to shelter Cori. Sophia wanted her here, so Cori needed to stay by her side and make sure Sophia was comfortable. Blake took one purposeful stride toward the hall.
“Promise you’ll let me handle Corinne.” Sophia’s soft words stopped Blake again.
He looked back at the frail, dying woman. Blake wanted to make Sophia’s last days as peaceful as possible. Allowing Cori to behave irresponsibly would make things that much more difficult for everyone, especially Sophia. She was getting weaker every day—she was nearly bed-ridden—yet all Cori seemed to see was a sick woman resting in bed.
Blake struggled with his anger for a moment before asking “Why?”
“I have my reasons.” Sophia’s eyes closed tightly as if she were fighting an unpleasant thought. “I need you to honor my request.”
“Of course,” Blake replied, yet he headed for Cori’s room, anyway. If he couldn’t explain to Cori how much help Sophia really needed, he could at least make her feel guilty for her behavior.
The door to the pink room stood open and several shopping bags littered the floor. What was all this stuff? Then Blake noticed the two six-packs of expensive, imported beer on the desk.
The kid was staring at the television while Cori opened her laptop.
“Busy morning?” Blake asked, allowing sarcasm to weigh down his words when what he really wanted to do was raise his voice and ask her what the hell she’d been doing. But a promise to Sophia was to be honored.
“We needed to buy something blue,” the kid said solemnly. He pulled a large blue pillow out of a bag, then wrestled it to the floor and flopped on top of it. “And buy some beer. Mommy buys a lot of beer.”
Blake took a deep, controlling breath and searched Cori’s features carefully. Did Cori have a drinking problem? Was that why Sophia didn’t want him to interfere?
Cori’s computer booted up with a series of beeps. Ignoring his tone, she stared at the small black machine intently, as if it might disappear if her gaze strayed. “Thank you for watching Mama. She was asleep when we left and Luke was around. Is he still here?” she asked with a nervous laugh and a quick glance up at Blake.
“He’s not here, is he. I thought for sure he’d stay.” Cori frowned. “Okay. I’ll sit with her once I send this e-mail.”
“If you’re up to it.” If she was sober. How did he know Cori hadn’t stopped off at some bar somewhere or had lunch and drinks while they were out? Blake considered asking her outright if she had a problem. He’d be right there to help her if she did. But being a Messina, she’d probably just hide the problem and refuse his help.
Cori tilted her head and regarded him carefully. “Why wouldn’t I be up to it?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that you’ve always put yourself first and I can see that hasn’t changed.” Blake kept his voice low. That first summer Cori followed him everywhere during the day although she claimed to have come home from school to work. As if going out at night with her family was work. Blake gave a snort of disgust. He’d had plenty of time over the years to analyze Cori’s behavior and pinpoint her deficiencies. In spite of her warmth and vibrancy, Cori did what she wanted when she wanted.
Cori’s eyes dropped to the floor as though his words had the power to wound her. For a moment, his resolve wavered. After all, it was her mother dying down the hall.
“Go ahead and send that e-mail. I’m sure it’s real important,” he added, just to see if she really was the ice princess he’d made her out to be. If she crumpled, he’d be sorry. But not sorry enough to offer her a comforting shoulder to lean on. That route led to certain disaster, no matter how strongly it beckoned.
Cori’s eyes swept the floor, and then she gathered a shuddering breath and transformed into Mr. Messina’s granddaughter. The line of her mouth became uncharacteristically firm. Hands drew to rest on softly curved hips. Her brown eyes met his with the veneer of indifference she’d worn yesterday in the driveway.
“Yes, I was shopping. Thank you for noticing. I do all the public relations for Nightshade. Occasionally, when I’m stuck, I like to look at their packaging. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other things to do to make sure I can pay the rent this month.”
Because he was out of line, way off base and embarrassed beyond belief, Blake performed an abrupt about-face and exited the pink room. He slid the pocket door to the back stairs open on its silent coasters and retreated to the vineyards.
JENNIFER SAT IN THE public library with her best friend, Shelly Broder. They were supposed to be working on their social studies project—a report on the life of Chinese teenagers—but Jen’s stomach hurt and she found it hard to concentrate. Doodles covered her lined notebook page. She pretty much lived with a knotted stomach every day. As unobtrusively as possible, she placed a hand over the button of her jeans. The pain got worse whenever she thought about Sophia.
Shelly nudged Jen under the table and then looked pointedly toward the door of the library.
Devon Hamlisch came in with his social studies partner and closest friend, Skyler Wight. Devon was the cutest boy in junior high school, with his short dark hair, deep blue eyes and cool swagger. His smile made Jen go all fluttery inside. Not that he smiled at Jen very often.
Devon and Skyler were jocks, so they were part of the popular crowd. Playing on a school sports team practically guaranteed you were “in.” Even Flavio Martinez, who’d been the fat kid everybody picked on just last year, made the seventh-grade flag football team and was suddenly cool.
Kids like Jen and Shelly, who were too uncoordinated to be a cheerleader or play girls basketball, were stuck in the ditch of unpopularity. It didn’t help that Jen and Shelly were about as developed as a fence post. Jen was still in a training bra and she was almost thirteen years old. There was no hope of Devon Hamlisch smiling at Jen anytime soon. The social lines were clearly drawn.
Devon and Skyler walked past table after table, ever closer to Jen and Shelly. Jen couldn’t believe it. Devon Hamlisch and Skyler Wight were going to sit with them. She tried to look calm, as if popular boys walked up to her every day, but her hands began to shake and her eyes widened.
What do I say w
hen they sit down?
Then, at the last moment, the two boys turned away and sat at the table next to them, where Veronica Anderson and Kitten Alley had been giggling for an hour. Jen should have known. Ronnie and Kitten were both cheerleaders. They wore stylish low-waisted jeans and tight sweaters that hugged their small breasts. Jen hoped they’d get an F on their social studies assignment.
“We’re such dorks,” Shelly whispered, obviously having been caught in the same fantasy as Jen.
Jen nodded her head in miserable agreement and pretended to return her attention to the book in front of her. No matter how hard she tried, the words weren’t sinking in. She didn’t want to let Shelly down, but Jen just couldn’t seem to focus lately.
A few minutes later, Shelly nudged Jen and motioned almost frantically for her to look toward Devon’s table.
Devon leaned back into his chair, a thin strand of pink gum linking his mouth to Ronnie’s. The gum stretched too far and broke apart, hanging like two lizards’ tongues from each of their mouths. Devon, Ronnie and Kittie dissolved into near-silent laughter.
The librarian stared menacingly from her post behind the desk. Skyler glanced at Jen and shrugged almost apologetically, his fingers fanning the pages of his book.
“Oh. My. God. That’s disgusting,” Shelly whispered, pulling Jen’s attention back to her own table.
It was the grossest thing Jen had ever seen in her life. And yet she yearned with all of her adolescent being to trade places with Ronnie.
“Let’s go. Blake should be outside.” Jen closed her notebook. She didn’t think she’d ever felt like such an outsider. She wanted to go home and play her music really loud. At least while she sang alone in her room, she felt like she belonged somewhere.
The two girls walked out of the library, hugging their notebooks to their slim chests as if the bound paper could hide the fact that they lacked cleavage. Sometimes Jen thought her plain brown hair, gray eyes and pale skin made her invisible, like a ghost to boys like Devon.
Michael's Father (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 6