Michael's Father (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Melinda Curtis

  “Find him?” Cori had to wonder if John Sinclair wanted to be found.

  “Yes. I want him to know I made a mistake when I let him go.”

  “Oh.” Cori didn’t know the first thing about finding someone. She’d heard about people doing searches on the Internet and she’d seen private detectives on television, but that was about it.

  “Of course, John should never have given me the ultimatum in the first place, but I’ll forgive him the impetuousness of youth.” Mama looked over at Michael, making sputtery engine noises as he rolled his wheels. “You know a little about impetuousness, don’t you, dear?”

  An image of Blake kissing her years ago wafted in her mind’s eye. The memory shifted, updated itself. She saw Blake’s leaner face approach hers, his gray eyes warm and welcoming. “Not anymore.”

  “I take it from the discussion this morning that you told Blake about Michael.”

  “He’s hurt.” Cori thought about the fierce looks she’d received from Blake. She’d have to hold on to her memories, because he’d never forgive her. “And angry.”

  “He has every right to be both.”

  “I suppose,” Cori admitted, not liking that her mother wasn’t sticking up for her.

  “It’s funny, isn’t it, how family shapes the choices you make in life.” Mama closed her eyes. “Promise me you’ll find him.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” Unfortunately, Cori had no idea where to start. And she was certain time was running out.

  “I WANT A TURN.”

  “Michael, I told you I’d let you check out the Disney site as soon as I find what I’m looking for.” Cori tried to cover the helpless feeling of frustration welling inside her heart. They sat in the pink bedroom with Cori’s laptop on the desk. Mama was napping.

  Cori had tried several different search engines on the Web and found more than three hundred John Sinclairs across the United States. Unless she sent out e-mails asking each one if he was her father, Cori was at an impasse. She’d have to talk with Mama to whittle down the potential list. And Luke. Luke might know what to do.

  Temporarily defeated, Cori typed in the address for the Disney site and helped Michael play with it for a while. She could just call a private investigator, but if her grandfather found out, he’d undoubtedly be furious. Salvatore Messina believed anything even remotely capable of becoming a scandal was to be avoided. On the other hand, if Cori asked her grandfather to find John Sinclair, he’d probably laugh in her face. There was apparently no love lost between the two men. She should have known there was a reason no one talked about her father.

  Whatever Cori did, she’d have to do it quickly. For Mama’s sake.

  “Too tight.” Michael squirmed to free himself from her embrace.

  “Sorry.” Cori eased her hold.

  “Blue, Mommy.” Michael pointed at the blue cartoon bug on the screen. “This room is pink. When are we going to make it blue?”

  “Like, never.”

  Cori looked up to find Jennifer standing in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, a disdainful frown on her face. Her sweater was pulled out of shape, sagging on her chest, probably stretched from her backpack, except that it was on the side opposite the strap on her shoulder. Jennifer’s frown deepened when she realized where Cori was looking.

  “Excuse me?” Cori asked sharply, forgetting for the moment that this was a girl suffering through more than the normal hormonal angst.

  “You guys aren’t staying, so you’ve got no right to change a thing in this room.”

  “Mommy promised,” Michael wailed, shoving the laptop in frustration. He stomped to the bed and picked up his baby book. “It’s not fair. I want to go home.”

  Cori stood and placed herself between Michael and Jen. “If I want to change anything in this room, I will.”

  “It’s not like anyone needs you here.” Jennifer’s face flamed. “We were fine before you came and we’ll be fine after you’re gone.” The girl spun around and walked away, her footfalls on the wood floor echoing her displeasure.

  Cori turned and opened her arms to Michael, needing a hug just as much as he probably did. He flung himself at her. How would Jennifer react if she knew Michael was her nephew? Probably with more spiteful jealousy. Hadn’t Mama mentioned something about Jennifer staying in her old room? Could it be that Jennifer considered the room her own? Yet, how could she, when all of Cori’s childhood collections were here? Cori looked around and tried to see her bedroom through the eyes of a twelve-year-old. The doll collection. The frilly pink accessories. It didn’t appeal to her anymore, but it might to Jennifer.

  Cori sighed, vowing to be more patient with the girl.

  “Too tight, Mommy.” Michael wiggled with a sniff. “I hate it here. I want to go home.” He hopped down and looked out the window.

  “Don’t you want to spend more time with Grandma?” Any time spent with her mother was precious to Cori.

  “No. I want to go swimming.” The pool outside of Cori’s window had obviously caught his attention.

  “It’s still too cold to swim.” Not to mention, he’d sink like a stone since he couldn’t swim a stroke.

  “That’s not fair!” Michael stomped his sneaker on the carpet, then sighed, his voice suddenly calm and sweet. “Can we go outside?”

  Cori chuckled at his ability to control his moods at such a young age. No doubt, he’d make a great lawyer one day. “Let’s go, Peanut.”

  EVERYTHING WAS BETTER before Cori and that thing got here, Jennifer thought once she got to Sophia’s door. Sophia seemed to be getting worse every day since Cori and her little mongrel had shown up. And Jen’s room! She looked back down the hall toward the room she’d always stayed in when Blake was gone. They planned to destroy her room.

  In that room, she’d dreamed of living in a perfect house in a subdivision where she could walk to Shelly’s house. She’d dreamed of riding a bike down a paved road rather than a gravel driveway. She’d dreamed of Christmas with presents under the tree wrapped up beautifully like Sophia did them, instead of hastily with cheap paper and a small, store-bought bow. In Jen’s pink room, those dreams seemed a little closer.

  She’d never have those dreams again. And it was all Cori’s fault. Jen stomped into Sophia’s room.

  Sophia blinked awake, startled. That was Cori’s fault, too.

  “Sorry,” Jennifer mumbled as she stumbled to the desk by one of the windows.

  “Problems?” Sophia’s throat sounded dry.

  Jennifer changed directions and held the cup and straw for Sophia, not answering. Jen avoided looking too closely at Sophia’s pale face.

  “It must have been something awful, right?”

  How could Jennifer tell Sophia that she’d been humiliated after what was supposed to have been the most romantic moment of her life? She’d practically been groped during her first kiss, and the guy didn’t even like her.

  And once Sophia was gone, Jen wasn’t going to be allowed back in this house. She’d have nothing. No cool room, no boyfriend. Nothing. Why did everything have to happen to her? This was the worst day of her life.

  Sophia dribbled water down her chin and Jen automatically moved to wipe it off with a tissue.

  “Is it so hard to see me this way?”

  Jen blushed and shook her head, embarrassed that she’d been lost in her own problems, horrible as they were, when Sophia was dying.

  “You don’t have to come every day. I know the end is getting closer.”

  To her horror, Jennifer choked up. First Devon’s betrayal, then the room. She just knew Cori had noticed that her sweater was stretched. And now Sophia talked about dying.

  “You can’t die.” Jen found herself sobbing uncontrollably. “It’s not fair.”

  “If life was fair, we’d live forever.” Sophia reached up with a trembling hand to stroke Jennifer’s hair. “I’m glad that my memory will live on in your heart, even if my body can’t go on.”

  “Don’t say
things like that. You’ve given up.” She hiccuped. “I thought Messinas never gave up.”

  “I haven’t given up. I’m enjoying what little time I have left.”

  Embarrassed beyond measure that she was crying in front of Sophia, Jen pushed herself away from the bed and ran to the desk by the window, fully intending to grab her backpack and escape. If Jen was lucky, maybe she’d be beamed up to the Enterprise for a ride with Captain Picard like they did on all those repeats Blake made her watch. Then she wouldn’t have to face anyone she knew on Earth ever again.

  “Please, don’t go, Jennifer.” The words were weak and hard to make out, but they were more effective than any order.

  Jen wiped her cheeks and took refuge in the bathroom. Her stomach hurt so bad that she thought she was going to be sick. It was a long time before she was able to come out, and then she only pretended to do her homework.

  “WOW, BIG CAR, Mommy. Who’s going for a ride?” Michael ran toward the elegant black limousine that was parked in front of the Messina home. He pressed his face and hands to the tinted glass at the rear door, trying to look inside.

  “Can’t you control that boy?” came her grandfather’s surly voice from behind Cori. “I’m not going to arrive at the art gallery with those fingerprints on there.”

  Cori hurried over to Michael and pulled him away from the car before her grandfather said anything to hurt him. “Sorry.” She tried to wipe the smudges off with the heel of her hand, but they just smeared more.

  “What are you wearing? This is black tie.” Her grandfather stepped up behind her. “You didn’t expect to go looking like a hooker, did you? What would people say about us, then?”

  The scathing remarks brought tears to Cori’s eyes. The orange sweater was a mistake, just like the red dress. Still, what did it matter how she dressed? Why couldn’t he see who she was inside?

  “I wasn’t planning on going,” Cori finally managed to mumble.

  “Come on, Mommy.” Michael, her little guardian, tugged her hand, frowning at his great-grandfather.

  The driver trotted around with a rag in his hand. “It’ll clean right up, Mr. Messina.” He wiped the window clean, and then opened the door for her grandfather.

  Salvatore climbed in stiffly, almost gingerly. Cori’s brow wrinkled. Something was wrong. Michael tugged Cori farther away and, unable to determine what bothered her, she reluctantly started to follow him.

  “Luke, let’s go,” Blake called from behind her.

  Cori turned. Blinked. Stopped in her tracks. Blake strode toward her in a tuxedo that was obviously tailored to fit him. Perfectly. Her hand nearly reached out to touch the fine black fabric covering his shoulders.

  “You’re going tonight?” Cori asked stupidly. She’d heard Luke tell Mama that he and her grandfather were going to an art gallery opening. She’d never imagined Blake was going, too. But looking at him, she knew he’d fit right in. Blake looked delicious in black. The society women were going to melt at his feet. Cori’s own knees weakened from wanting his attention, craving his touch.

  “Hard to believe the farmhand can mix in with the big guns?” Icy gray eyes challenged her.

  The sweet scent of chocolate reached her. She swallowed, remembering how Blake tasted after eating that treat, how safe she’d once felt with his arms around her.

  Cori’s gaze dropped to the ground. She wished Blake didn’t have the power to wound her so easily, but his anger was her fault. What could she say?

  Michael tugged her hand again.

  “Okay, baby,” she said. “Let’s go walk down by the river.”

  Blake leaned over her and pitched his voice low. “He’s not a baby, Cori. Stop treating him like one.”

  Michael yanked on her arm. Clearly, he’d heard Blake’s rebuke and wanted to leave. What kind of role model was she to let everyone talk down to her in front of her son?

  “He’s my baby. I can call him whatever I want.” That ranked with one of the stupidest comebacks Cori had ever uttered, but at least she’d said something. She knew Blake was hurt by her news, but he had to stop lashing out at her.

  Blake’s brows lowered. Cori cracked his chilly stare with a heated glare of her own. Blake didn’t say a word, at least not with his lips. The look he gave her spoke volumes. He’d never forgive her for keeping his son from him. Then he, too, disappeared into the limo.

  “Hey, Sis.” Luke ruffled Michael’s hair as he passed the pair on his way to the limousine.

  Cori stood indecisively in the walkway. She needed to ask Luke about finding their father. Just not in front of her grandfather.

  Luke passed Cori with a smile and then leaned into the open limo. “Blake, did you see the highlights of the Kings game? Remember when we saw them play the Lakers last year?”

  Cori opened her mouth to ask Luke if he could spare a minute.

  “Get in,” her grandfather grumbled.

  With a tight smile, Luke did as he was bid. The door closed behind him with a soft thud, shutting Cori out.

  A familiar pang of rootlessness caused Cori to trip as she and Michael skirted the walls of her family’s home. Cori used to be the one Luke took to ball games. She used to go to art gallery openings with her grandfather. She used to be the one Blake smiled at. Suddenly, Cori felt like Cinderella, left behind as the others went to the ball.

  Choices. Life was all about choices, she reminded herself. Cori had chosen life for Michael and security for Blake in a way that presented her with much-longed-for freedom. She couldn’t possibly regret that. She couldn’t possibly miss dressing up in those beautiful, too-tight-to-breath clothes and having her hair sprayed until it was stiff as a board. The bad food and good wine she couldn’t stomach. The air kisses. The pressure from her grandfather to be perfect.

  “You know what, Peanut?”

  “What, Mommy?”

  “I need a big kiss.”

  She lifted Michael up for a hug and a smacking good kiss. He giggled, his arms squeezed her tight. This was real. Her little boy was worth everything she’d gone through. Anyone who couldn’t see that was living in the wrong world.

  Looking down at her comfortable tennis shoes as she carried Michael out toward the neat rows of grapevines, Cori knew she’d chosen the right path.

  Then, why was her heart just a little empty at the thought of everyone but her stepping into that limousine?

  SALVATORE MESSINA LET the cool leather of the limousine envelop him as he waited for the pain in his hips to subside. He squinted, as much from the torment as the bright sunlight streaming through the limousine’s open door.

  “Get in,” he grumbled at Lucas, impatient for them to leave. Art gallery openings stretched on forever. Salvatore Messina hoped he could find a chair. He’d gotten to the point where he couldn’t stand long. Couldn’t sit long, for that matter.

  How had it come to this?

  Blake sat opposite Salvatore, his back to the driver.

  “Did you walk the vineyards today?”

  “Yes, sir. Buds are about to break,” Blake replied.

  Salvatore nodded, satisfied. The boy was a good employee who knew his place without being too impressed with himself, and he was faithful to a fault. Salvatore appreciated that. Blake had filled Corinne’s place by his side, but couldn’t fill the hole left in Salvatore’s heart made by Corinne’s absence.

  Lucas slid into the car and onto the seat next to Salvatore, sending a wave of air underneath the leather seat, jostling Salvatore’s hips. He clenched his jaw against the javelin of pain that speared through his body. Then the pressure of the car’s momentum as it pulled away from the house pressed Salvatore into the cushion.

  It didn’t help his mood that Lucas was no longer devoted to Messina Vineyards. That had been a shock. He’d thought he could rely on Lucas until the end. Salvatore stared out the tinted window rather than at his selfish grandson. The boy had the look of Anna and Sophia, but lacked their unwavering dedication.

  Even after J
ohn Sinclair left, Sophia hadn’t tried to talk to her poor excuse of a husband or mention his name to Salvatore again. No. She’d dutifully taken her place at her father’s side, helping him fulfill the promise he’d made to her mother. Sophia had never complained and never let him down. Until now.

  Now everyone in his family had either betrayed him or was abandoning him. In his mind’s eye, Salvatore watched Corinne’s little bastard skip lightly to the limousine and imprint his grubby hands on the glass. Corinne stood next to him, looking like common trash. He’d never imagined things would end this way. Salvatore was supposed to have many heirs to choose from—all of whom shared his vision and dedication to keeping the winery prosperous and alive.

  Instead, he was painfully alone.

  BLAKE STOOD IN THE chilly evening air outside of the Messina mansion, only half listening to Luke and Mr. Messina. Consumed with the need to tell his employer he was the kid’s father, yet dreading the worst, Blake had been unable to concentrate on anything all evening. Good thing they’d been attending an art gallery opening where people drifted around all evening. If they’d attended a dinner, Blake would have been hard-pressed to hold an intelligent conversation with anyone.

  “I’m taking Peter O’Bannon to dinner in the city tomorrow,” Luke was saying. “He’ll need a tour of the vineyards the next morning. What time should I tell him, Blake?”

  It took Blake a moment to realize Luke had asked him a question. “Sorry, um, eight o’clock is fine.”

  Mr. Messina snorted.

  “Since when have we known wine critics to be early risers?” Luke rolled his eyes at Blake.

  “Pick a time, then,” Blake said, nearly gritting his teeth in frustration. Wine critics seemed so inconsequential compared to fatherhood. Pulling his tuxedo jacket tighter against the cold, Blake looked up at the darkened windows on the second story and tried not to wonder if Cori was awake.

  Luke looked strangely at Blake, then turned to Mr. Messina. “Any hope Cori might do the tour?”

  “Cori?” His attention drawn back to the conversation, Blake felt suddenly inadequate at having Cori preferred over him.