Michael's Father (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Melinda Curtis

  “You know how important this account is, Cori. Abe Monroe asked for you by name, for crying out loud. Think of how happy Adam Parker’s going to be to hear about this.”

  “Take a breath, Sid.” Cori added the cheese to the eggs and milk she’d already mixed together. Behind her, Michael ignored his toasted waffles while he watched cartoons on the small television on the counter.

  “Take a breath? Take a breath, she says,” Sidney griped, then proceeded to rant incoherently about lost opportunities, ungrateful employees and how easily they could be replaced.

  Cori knew Sidney’s threats were only half real. It was the half about losing her job that was a little frightening.

  Ignoring her fears, Cori set her cell phone down on the forest-green kitchen counter, knowing that Sid would take at least another minute to wind down. She poured the mixture into a pan, then added sliced green pepper. Satisfied when the omelette sizzled upon contact, Cori picked the cell phone back up. Sidney was gasping for breath—a sure sign that she was almost finished.

  “Mommy, I need more syrup.”

  Cori retrieved the glass syrup pitcher from the cupboard, then set it in front of Michael. Maybe after he drenched the waffles in syrup, he’d eat something.

  “Sid, can I have a word? Please?” Cori watched Michael carefully dribble maple syrup over his waffles.

  Sidney huffed in Cori’s ear.

  “Why don’t you have the team come up to Sonoma for a relaxing weekend in the wine country?” Cori turned to check on the omelette, only to discover that the frying pan had practically disappeared behind a billowing cloud of smoke. Frantic, she turned on the fan over the stove.

  Before the smoke cleared, glass shattered at Cori’s bare heels, stealing her breath.

  “It wasn’t me.” Michael’s standard disclaimer.

  Her entire body tense, Cori didn’t have to look down to know syrup was splattered all over the kitchen. It was plastered to the back of her bare ankles.

  “I’ve got to go, Sid. Tell them I can meet to discuss my ideas over breakfast on Sunday, if they decide to spend the weekend.” She hit the end button and tossed the phone onto the counter.

  “What are you doing?” Blake’s irritation cut through the hum of the kitchen fan.

  Cori flinched. Of all the people on the property, only her grandfather would be less welcome at that moment than Blake. “I’m making my mother breakfast.”

  “Damn it, Cori, you’ll stink the whole house up.” Blake hopped through the syrup swampland to turn off the burner, then headed for the sink with the still-smoking pan.

  “Start fanning the kitchen door, boy,” Blake ordered as he passed Michael, who was slouched over the kitchen table, his attention still on the cartoons.

  “P.U. What stinks?” Jennifer walked into the kitchen with all the disdain of a teenager, her backpack slung over her shoulder. “Tell me that’s not syrup on the floor.”

  “His name—” Cori was right behind Blake “—is Michael.” After all she’d done for Blake by keeping her secret, the least he could do was call his son by his given name.

  “Hello-oo! Anybody home?” Jennifer waved a hand in front of Michael’s face.

  Other than tilting his head slightly to the left, Michael remained unfazed. Such was the behavior of a four-year-old feigning innocence.

  “Jen,” Blake admonished his sister. “Aren’t you supposed to be waiting for the bus?” Blake stopped abruptly in front of Cori, so that she almost ran into his broad back. She backpedaled. He punched the power button on the television and tried again. “Open the kitchen door. Now.”

  Michael blinked once and hopped out of his chair.

  Blake began scraping the egg mess into the sink, then blasted the pan with water.

  “His name is Michael,” Cori repeated, grabbing a sponge and thrusting it under the water, splashing her red T-shirt in the process. “And I spent a lot of time on that omelette. Now you’ve ruined it.”

  “Saved somebody’s life is more like it,” Jen observed dryly.

  Blake looked over his shoulder at his sister. Cori crouched down on the floor and began making small lakes of maple syrup with glass shard islands, relieved that Blake’s ire was momentarily directed elsewhere.

  Jennifer tossed up both hands. “You’re right. I’ve got a bus to catch. Just need a signature on this before I go.” She waved a paper at Blake.

  “Fan the door, kid.” Blake made a push-pull motion with his arm until Michael did as he was asked.

  “Michael,” Cori muttered, rolling her eyes, marveling that Blake could keep track of all the goings on and hold more than one conversation, yet not remember Michael’s name.

  Blake snorted in response. “You Italians give everybody these formal names that only mothers use. Corinne? Lucas? Nobody but your mother and grandfather call you that. Did you think when you named your son that all his school friends would call him by that mouthful of a name? Do you think his drinking buddies are going to call him Michael?” Blake turned the pan around and scrubbed vigorously. “You ruined this omelette when you forgot to grease the pan.” He left the pan to soak the remaining difficult pieces and dried his hands on a dish towel.

  “I didn’t forget,” Cori said defensively. She hadn’t known. Wasn’t it a nonstick pan? She didn’t cook much. You could buy so much good take-out in L.A. that she’d never learned how to cook from scratch.

  “How about I sign this for you?” offered Jen.

  Stretching out a hand toward Jennifer’s paper, Blake lowered his chin and peered down at Cori. “You were distracted enough that you didn’t notice all the smoke. Maria’s due any minute, and she’ll be pissed that you even touched her pans.”

  Cori looked around. The kitchen was really smoky. Cori opened her mouth to thank him for helping her, but he cut her off.

  “Don’t say it.” Blake held up a palm. “Jen, grab that mop in the pantry, will you?” He took the paper from Jen and then picked up a pen near the kitchen telephone. “What’s this I’m signing?”

  Cori gave up on the sponge and tried paper towels. When she realized Blake and Jen hadn’t spoken for an abnormal amount of time, she looked up from smearing syrup. Blake studied the paper, his expression boding ill for someone. Jen gripped the mop so hard her knuckles were white.

  “What’s wrong?” Unlikely as it was, Cori feared the paper had something to do with Mama.

  “When were you going to tell me about this?” The ice in Blake’s tone seemed to cool the kitchen ten degrees.

  “It’s no big deal. Just a midterm progress report.”

  If Jen weren’t standing so stiffly, Cori might have believed the girl didn’t care.

  “F as in fail is a big deal.” Blake shook his head in disbelief, his fist wrinkling the paper. “There are two of them.”

  BLAKE NOW TURNED HIS full attention on his sister. Looking at her progress report tore him apart. He wanted to shout his frustration, blame himself, blame her. Jen never brought home a grade worse than a B. He drew a steadying breath. “I thought you were doing your homework with Sophia.”

  “I do,” she lied, her pink cheeks giving her away. “I’m going to miss my bus if you don’t sign that thing.”

  “To hell with the bus. I’ll drive you to school today. It says you have missing assignments. What’s that all about?”

  “I want to take the bus,” she protested, albeit weakly.

  “I’m driving you to school.”

  Tears filled Jen’s eyes. Blake forced himself to be firm with her. He was responsible for her. He’d have to straighten her out, no matter how weary he was.

  He jumped as Cori’s fingers moved lightly over his skin before stopping on his biceps. Unwanted longing curled in Blake’s belly. He hadn’t felt such peace and completion, such hurt and loss, since the night they’d made love. He should have shrugged away her touch, not endured it, not reveled in the heat of her skin on his.

  “What’s Mama supposed to do for breakfast now?”
Cori asked.

  Blake fought the urge to snap at Cori, and lost, pulling away from her. “She can’t keep down much more than water.”

  Rather than wilt at his tone, Cori just swallowed. “What’s she been living on?”

  “She had an IV tube in the hospital.”

  “And lately?”

  “Water. Broth. A little bread soaked in milk. We tried those energy drinks, but they don’t stay down.”

  “That can’t be enough…”

  “It’s not.” Blake hardened his expression against her. Cori was soft. She’d always been soft. Blake couldn’t handle taking care of another weak female right now. He didn’t need to know her secrets. Suddenly, he wished she’d just disappear as she’d done nearly five years ago.

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  Blake spared Cori another glance. Her brown eyes didn’t waver from his. Soft? Cori? Not at the moment. Why was Sophia keeping the details of her health from Cori? Rather than rebuke Cori for thanking him, again, Blake gave her the briefest of nods.

  “If you’re going to drive me, we need to leave now,” Jen wailed.

  “Mommy, my arm hurts. I need to stop,” the kid whimpered.

  Blake considered whining a little himself.

  “I REALLY REGRET MISSING the Mustard Festival this year. We’ve had such a mild winter that the wildflowers must be spectacular.” Mama smiled at Cori, who sat ramrod straight in a chair next to her mother’s bed.

  Cori struggled to hide a yawn. The Mustard Festival in nearby Napa celebrated spring with blooming wildflowers between rows of grapevines. Attending black-tie events and driving through the scenic area was an indication to those in the business that spring had arrived in the wine country.

  Michael slept in the window seat across the room. Mama had been talking for hours, bringing Cori up to speed on friends in the wine industry and people living in the area. Her drawn face showed fatigue, but she seemed reluctant to rest.

  Despite the length of time they’d spent together, Cori was disappointed that none of the topics her mother brought up were personal. Although she’d tried to talk about her mother’s needs, Mama deftly switched topics. Her mother could have held these conversations with anyone, including a stranger. The only real conversation they’d shared was that first night when Sophia had been half asleep.

  “Mama, don’t you want to rest?”

  “You’re my guest, dear. I can’t just go to sleep while you’re here.”

  You’re my guest. The words pierced Cori’s heart. She’d never be part of her own family again. Perhaps that was why Mama kept up the idle, tedious chatter about nothing.

  “You think I’m a guest?” Cori struggled over her mother’s words.

  “Well, not a guest. That’s not a pleasant word to use with family. And you are family, even if you’ve felt you’ve had to live away from us.”

  I had no choice. Cori tried to compose herself. She couldn’t possibly tell her mother that now. She’d kept it from her all this time.

  “Thank you,” Cori finally said. She wished Mama would treat her more like family. Then Cori would be able to slouch in this uncomfortable chair instead of sitting bolt upright with an aching back. Of course, Cori never talked about personal subjects with family, much less slumped, since she’d learned at age eight that life wasn’t that way in the Messina household.

  “I want you to be comfortable, dear,” Mama said.

  Cori thought of Blake and his admonition that she should be honest. Maybe it was that simple. Maybe all Cori had to do was let down her guard and her mother would let down hers.

  “Well, if you’re not tired, would you mind if I slipped out to take a nap in my bedroom? Michael will be all right over there. He should sleep for another hour.” Okay, so she’d resorted to a little reverse psychology. Cori suspected her mother would sleep if she left the room. Michael was fine and didn’t really need watching over, and letting Mama believe she was caring for Michael might give her ego a much-needed boost.

  “If you need to rest, I’d be happy to watch him.”

  It worked. Holding in a smile of joy, Cori stood, turned to go, then stopped. She couldn’t leave without pushing Blake’s advice a little further. “When I come back, I want you to talk to me like family,” she said in a shaky voice. “No more of this drivel about being a guest.”

  Mama gasped dramatically. “I don’t talk drivel.”

  “You can drivel with the best of them.” Cori leaned over and kissed her mother on the cheek. “Take a nap. I’m sorry I didn’t realize earlier how tiring this was for you.”

  Mama placed her palm against Cori’s cheek, her eyes suddenly misty. Cori held back tears of her own. Maybe Blake was right about being truthful. At least, with her feelings.

  “I used to kiss you on the cheek like that when I came to tuck you in.”

  “I remember, Mama.” It was one of Cori’s fondest memories, brought back when she kissed Michael each night.

  “You’ll take a rest and not work?”

  “I believe you’ve bored me to the point where a nap is necessary, yes,” Cori fibbed. She needed some uninterrupted work time.

  Mama smiled. “I must not have taught you the fine art of conversation.”

  “Au contraire. You taught me much too well.” According to Blake, that is.

  BLAKE REMOVED HIS muddy boots at the kitchen door of the Messina mansion, grabbed a handful of M&M’s from an open bag in the refrigerator, and then took the back stairs to the second floor. He needed to check on Sophia.

  He pushed open the door to Sophia’s room and peeked in. Sophia slept peacefully, her chest rising and falling in a regular, if shallow, rhythm. Movement by the windows caught Blake’s eye and he saw the kid snoozing, as well, his back to the door. Cori’s child fit snugly into the window seat. Still, one wrong move and the kid would tumble from the padded bench onto the floor.

  Telling himself he was only ensuring Sophia’s continued rest, Blake slipped into the room. He placed the flowered ottoman from Sophia’s love seat next to the window seat. If the kid rolled off, he wouldn’t fall far.

  Where was Cori?

  Unable to stop his curiosity, Blake took a few steps down the hall, then pushed open the door to the pink room. Cori lay on the bed, a fuzzy pink afghan covering her torso, a pile of papers next to her head. She’d been wearing shorts today, taking advantage of the warmer than normal early spring weather, and her legs lay in glorious exposure on the pink comforter. He couldn’t help but stare at her. Cori’s face was relaxed, making her look more like the young woman who’d wrapped herself into his heart several years earlier than the worried mother he’d been watching over these past few days.

  “I’m not asleep this time, either,” Cori said with a yawn. “Just resting my eyes.”

  Blake didn’t react, didn’t budge from the door frame when he knew he should have excused himself and returned to his duties. He was too focused on Cori’s casual reaction to being caught in bed. Rather than jerk up, she rolled onto her back and stretched her arms over her head, no more bothered by his presence than when he’d been her lover. He couldn’t take his eyes off the curves she presented.

  “Rough day?” She pushed herself to a sitting position, her brown eyes suddenly full of compassion. “Sorry I asked.”

  His jaw tightened as her question brought back all of his frustrations with Jennifer.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Compelled by Cori’s genuine sense of interest, Blake took two steps into the room and started dumping on her before he knew what he was doing. “I spent an hour this morning talking with the principal and counselor at the junior high school. Given what’s going on with Sophia, they all wanted to treat the situation carefully. I convinced them to be tough.” He shrugged as if he fought with school officials every day. “Starting today, I have to sign a homework planner Jennifer brings home every night.”

  “Jen needs your understanding as well as your discipline.” Cori sighe
d. “I know it’s hard for me to concentrate on work with all this going on. If I didn’t have my boss breathing down my back, I’d gladly set it all aside. Just because Jen seems to be taking it in stride, doesn’t mean she isn’t as overwhelmed as the rest of us.”

  Pearls of wisdom, his mother used to say when someone made things clearer. Damn if Blake’s tension didn’t ease just talking to her. Was he supposed to feel that way, with all the history between them? Blake rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t think so. He didn’t want her trying to fix his problems. Then she’d discover just how many problems he had—among them, loneliness.

  Cori’s head tilted and Blake realized she was looking at his socks. He backed into the doorway.

  “I noticed this morning that you made an appointment for work.” He laced his tone with a hint of disapproval.

  Cori’s brown eyes hardened and she leaned back. There. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? To put some distance between them?

  “It’s important to our agency. To my boss. To my survival.” She reached for the pile of papers on the bed and began straightening them, upright and substantial as a shield. “Besides, it’s just tentative.”

  “More important than Sophia?”

  Cori glanced down at his legs and clamped her mouth shut. Small hands brushed Blake’s knee as the kid stepped past him, carrying a blue book.

  “’Scuse me.” The boy wobbled over to the bed and climbed into his mother’s lap.

  Cori tossed the papers to the floor, tucked the kid’s book behind her, wrapped her arms around him and kissed the top of his little head. As she rocked him gently, the kid’s eyes drifted closed, shutting Blake out. The boy didn’t look much like Cori. Oh, he had the brown eyes, but his hair wasn’t blond like Cori’s or black like the others in the Messina clan. He must have gotten his brown hair from his dad. And his features. Blake couldn’t see any of Cori in his features, either. Dumbo ears waved on either side of the kid’s head. Blake remembered the pain of growing into ears like that.

  “Does his father spend much time with him? Has he even seen him?” Blake voiced the questions he’d been asking himself over the past few days. Immediately, he wanted to take the words back. It was none of his business. He and Cori had shared something brief and physical. She’d left for school the next day without even saying goodbye. It was only idle curiosity that made him ask.