Michael's Father (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Melinda Curtis

  They were all lying to her. And now…now she was going to be pushed aside to make room for the brat. Everything became painfully clear. The boy was in and she was out.

  Jen dropped the book onto the desk and snatched up the earrings. She deserved those earrings. When Blake abandoned her, she’d sell the diamonds and buy a ticket out of here.

  CHAPTER NINE

  BLAKE PAUSED AT THE DOOR to Sophia’s bedroom. Cori sat at the desk by the window, wearing her khaki capris and clingy orange sweater. She’d avoided speaking to him all day. He moved to her side and knelt beside her, not allowing his eyes to stray to her bare toes. She didn’t look at him. In fact, she stared out the window, her features pinched tightly as if she was trying not to cry.

  “What’s wrong?” Blake asked, glancing back at Sophia.

  Cori dabbed at her nose with a tissue. “I keep waiting to hear if I’ve lost my job. I think Sidney’s going to fire me.”

  Fantastic! Blake felt as if a two hundred pound weight had just rolled off his chest. He could breathe easier. She’d have no reason to return to Los Angeles. Another glimpse of her tense, worried features prompted Blake to say, “I’m sorry about that.” It must hurt to have your job yanked out from under you. Then, he felt a nagging sense of foreboding. He could no longer deny Cori’s concern that Mr. Messina would fire him when he learned the news. How could Blake believe his job would be safe when Mr. Messina had cut off his own granddaughter? Which made the reason he’d sought Cori out that much more important.

  “I want joint custody.” He’d thought about it a lot. Much as he resented the way Cori had handled things, he couldn’t turn his back on his son. And he didn’t want to turn his back on Cori. Fool that he was, he still wanted to be with her. It wasn’t clear to Blake if the wanting was lust or love. At this point, it didn’t matter. He was set on building a family. Sure, they’d be dysfunctional at first. Blake was used to dysfunctional. But he believed that painstaking work and commitment would make a family out of Michael, Jen, Cori and himself.

  Cori looked up at him with a blank expression.

  “And a say in how he’s raised, how we discipline him.”

  “That would require us to talk without jumping down each other’s throats,” she whispered, still looking straight ahead.

  Her words brought to mind Blake’s tongue inside her mouth the other night and how, after a mutual, initial shock, she’d melted against him. He shifted his weight. She’d kept his son from him and lied when he’d asked who the father was. Yet, on many levels, he respected her.

  She’d taken on motherhood alone and done all right. Cori was generous and caring, having made some bargain with her boss to guarantee her paycheck while helping her mother. Despite Jen’s smart mouth and bitter sarcasm, Cori had helped his sister through her first period. They needed to create a platonic relationship. For Michael’s sake, Blake would conquer the longing he felt for Cori until they’d rebuilt the nonphysical connection between them.

  “I think I can do that. I did it yesterday, didn’t I?”

  She rubbed her arms and said stiffly, “We live in Los Angeles.”

  Blake wondered if her desire to return to L.A. would change if Cori didn’t have a job to go back to. He hoped so. “He’s my son.”

  Cori turned to face him, staring sadly down on him from her seat above. “You can’t even call him by his name.”

  Blake let his knees fall to the floor. She’d noticed. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Blake was having a hard time adjusting. But he was trying. Wasn’t that the important thing? Could he help it if he felt awkward saying “Michael” when he’d had no say in naming the boy?

  “I’m not going to let you punish Michael because of a mistake I made.”

  Before Blake could answer, Jen stepped into the room, as sullen as ever and glaring at Blake. “What are you doing here?”

  Blake mentally cursed Jen’s bad timing, while simultaneously wondering about her sour mood. He looked back at Cori. “We’ll talk about this later. Tonight. Be there.” She’d know that he meant he wanted to meet down by the river. They seemed to communicate better in the dark, anyway.

  “You’re in my spot.” Jen tramped across the thick carpet to stand beside Cori. “I need to do my homework.”

  Without a word or even a smile, Cori moved to Sophia’s side, dropping into the chair as if she lacked the energy to stand.

  “Lighten up,” Blake cautioned his sister.

  Jen rolled her eyes.

  Michael stirred, rolled over in the bench seat and blinked sleepily at them all. Fascinated, Blake watched his every move.

  “Does he have to be in here?” Jen asked, gesturing to Michael.

  Blake looked irritably at Jen. “Rough day at school?”

  She ignored him, unzipping her backpack and retrieving her books. Her eyes seemed red. Was everyone hormonal around here?

  Michael ran over to Cori. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

  Without another word, Cori picked up his son and carried him out. Blake followed.

  “Of course,” Jen commented acerbically, as Blake followed the pair into the hall.

  Cori’s assessment was wrong. The tension in the house wasn’t just upsetting the kid. It was also upsetting Jen. Blake realized he needed to spend more quality time with Jen to help her through this difficult time, which, he hoped, would also help her accept Michael as her nephew and not just as a pest she thought was going to disappear from her life.

  “What shall we have today, Peanut?” Cori’s arms supported the boy’s bottom, his spindly short legs dangled on either side of her hips. His head rested on her shoulder.

  What would his son feel like in Blake’s arms? He was dying to know.

  “Cookies.”

  “How about some apple slices?” Blake said.

  “No.” The boy pouted before turning his head away, making Blake wonder what had happened to break the fragile relationship they’d started yesterday.

  “Cookies are fine,” Cori said.

  Blake moved in front of them, opening the pocket door to the back stairs and taking the stairs first, in case Cori stumbled.

  “Good food means he’ll grow.” The kid needed all the nutrition he could get. Blake didn’t want his growth to be stunted.

  “I don’t want apples.”

  “You’ll have two cookies,” Cori said, attempting to reassure the boy as they entered the kitchen.

  Blake picked a shiny red apple out of the refrigerator and started slicing.

  “Cookies.” Eyeing Blake, Michael started to cry, small sniffles and big tears.

  Cori lifted the milk carton out of the fridge with his son still strapped to her chest, then poured him a glass. She chose two of Maria’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, then set him down at the counter with the cookies on a napkin.

  Blake felt extraneous, irritated that Cori wasn’t respecting his wishes. He sliced and pared with sharp movements. When he was done, Cori surprised him by whisking the pieces onto another napkin and in front of Michael. Blake breathed a sigh of relief. He could make this work.

  “No!” With the back of his hand, Michael flung the apple slices off the counter. They bounced off the logo on Blake’s T-shirt, then scattered across the floor.

  Blake rubbed a hand over his chest. Would he never be more than a nuisance to his own son?

  “WHY DON’T YOU HAVE any pictures of Michael around?” Cori asked of Sophia later that evening. “I sent you lots of pictures.” She sat with Mama to avoid going down to the river. Cori needed to slow Blake down. He constantly pushed her, criticizing her parenting decisions, scowling at her, then doing a reversal and playing the concerned dad role. Didn’t he realize that four-year-olds tended to dig in their heels if pushed? And that his ever-changing moods confused Michael just as much as they did her?

  Cori didn’t want to admit Blake sparked nervous excitement in her whenever he came near. She didn’t want to consider that his kiss could mean he still wanted her on
some level—a level buried far beneath the hurt she’d caused. Cori didn’t know what to expect from him next, so she couldn’t prepare any defenses. Coward that she was, she cocooned herself in the safety of Mama’s bedroom instead of meeting him down by the river as he’d asked.

  “I keep those in my bedside table, along with every picture Michael ever made for me.”

  Cori pulled open the drawer. Sure enough, it was brimming with snapshots and inexpensive portraits of Michael that Cori had sent over the years. Interspersed between the photos were finger paintings; drawings that were no more than scribbles of color and watercolors.

  “You don’t put any of them up.” She ran her thumb over the thick trail of blue paint that Michael had made with his thumb. “You never put any pictures of Luke and me up, either.”

  “I’d rather hug family than stare at a piece of paper, wouldn’t you?”

  Cori nodded numbly, blinking back the tears. “Was I a good kid, Mama?” Cori couldn’t resist adding, “Are you proud of me?”

  Mama reached for Cori’s hand, her grip cool and lacking strength. “I am so proud of you, dear. To go off and make it on your own is fantastic. I also thought you were a wonderful child. Until your grandfather spoiled you rotten. In his eyes, you could do no wrong.”

  Cori recalled her grandfather’s stormy expression that day in her dorm room. “He found out I wasn’t perfect.”

  “It’s hard for men to let their little girls grow up.”

  Cori wouldn’t tell her mother how horrible her grandfather still was to her.

  “Have you found him yet, Corinne?” Sophia asked, changing the subject.

  “I haven’t.” She’d gambled all her hopes for finding John Sinclair on her grandfather, who was away at a conference in San Francisco.

  “I wanted to see him before… Well, I guess you can’t always get what you wish for.”

  Cori squeezed her mother’s hand, wanting to give her hope. “We’ll find him.”

  “Thank you. Could you open that bottom drawer?” Sophia asked. “And hand me the papers?”

  Cori did as she was asked. “What are these?” They appeared to be legal documents, signed by her mother, the family’s lawyer and her grandfather.

  “When my time comes, I don’t want to be revived. I don’t want my body to be kept alive on a machine after my soul departs.”

  “But Mama…” How could her grandfather have signed such a thing?

  “Corinne, I’m in pain. All the time. I take a few pills but they upset my stomach. I know the end is coming. Promise me you’ll honor my wishes.”

  “But Mama…” Let her mother die?

  “Corinne, you sit next to me now and I talk to you. If it comes to this, I don’t want you sitting next to my body when I’m not here.” Mama tapped her temple, then her chest. “Or here. Do you understand?”

  Carrying out her mother’s wishes challenged everything Cori believed in. With the superior medical technology that doctors had nowadays, they could keep her mother alive longer. But looking down into her mother’s worn features and sunken brown eyes, Cori didn’t know how she could be so selfish as to deny her mother relief.

  “HEY THERE, BUDDY.” Blake stepped into the pink room after having stood in the doorway watching his son play with action figures, complete with spittle-spurting sound effects. “I thought you might like to play some soccer.” He held out a brand-new soccer ball.

  “No, thanks.” Michael looked at Blake with a careful lack of interest that reminded him of Mr. Messina.

  His reaction might have sent Blake packing, except that Blake remembered how patient Kevin Austin had been with him. And he noticed that the boy’s gaze lingered a little too long on the ball. The boy returned his attention to the brightly colored plastic figures, but the sound effects were conspicuously absent.

  “That’s too bad.” Blake spun the ball in his hands. “Because the vineyards were just mowed and we could dribble up and down the rows.”

  “I’d rather swim.” Michael didn’t even look up.

  Blake smiled. The boy was one heck of a wheeler-dealer at age four.

  “Your mom said yes to soccer. Swimming is still a big no. Besides, if we hurry, I’ll have time to go for lunch.”

  Michael sighed dramatically, then stood, not looking at Blake. “If you want.”

  Blake wanted a lot more, but this was a good start.

  SALVATORE SAT AT HIS DESK pretending to read over a contract with an overseas distributor that needed his signature. Instead of reading, he was listening for Corinne’s voice as she returned to Sophia’s room after dinner, and his great-grandson’s footsteps as he snuck down the stairs for his nightly visit.

  The door to his office, which normally would have been closed, stood ajar. His computer was on and connected to the Internet. Salvatore was ready for this stolen moment.

  “Mama, I brought you some ice chips and some Jell-O.” Corinne’s voice drifted downstairs.

  He could just barely make out Sophia’s refusal. He didn’t want to think about what his daughter’s loss of appetite meant. Instead, he concentrated on listening to the sign that the most joyous part of the day was about to begin.

  There it came! A soft thud. Salvatore allowed himself a brief smile. Michael almost always made noise on at least one step, as if he wanted to signal to Salvatore that he was on his way.

  “Hi, Big Grandpa,” he whispered from the doorway a few seconds later, anticipating Salvatore’s request and closing the door behind him.

  Salvatore looked up with a smile, taking in Michael’s stained T-shirt. He sighed. If he had to guess, he’d say the boy had eaten spaghetti for dinner. “Is it your turn on the computer already?”

  “Oh yes. I cleaned my plate, just like you said.” Michael’s expression was solemn.

  There was hope for the boy. Salvatore had noticed that, after spending only a few short hours with his great-grandson. “You didn’t have any of those chicken pieces, did you? Or french fries?”

  “Not for dinner. I had them for lunch. Blake took me.”

  Wasn’t that interesting? “He takes you out, does he?” Why would Blake do that?

  Moving toward the computer, Michael shrugged, a nonanswer that irritated Salvatore. There was still work to be done here to polish the boy. What he lacked in manners, however, he more than made up for in brightness.

  When his great-grandson touched the mouse, the screen saver disappeared, revealing a close-up photo of the glassy-winged sharpshooter.

  Michael giggled. “I knew it.”

  Salvatore always made sure he talked with Michael about the insect that threatened the California wine industry before they did anything else. Michael liked worms and bugs, something Salvatore encouraged, useful knowledge that would serve the family well. Michael also liked cartoons and such, but Salvatore discouraged that idle business. In just a few short days, he’d learned of his great-grandson’s desire for a puppy, a hand-held video game and a father.

  Once Cori disclosed the name of Michael’s father, Salvatore planned to make sure Michael got the most useful of his wishes, as long as the man wasn’t a liar and a cheat like John Sinclair.

  CORI SLOUCHED IN A CHAIR next to a sleeping Sophia, while Jen did her homework at the desk. The faded afternoon sunlight wasn’t enough to illuminate the room. Jen used a lamp. Cori preferred to hide from her fears in the shadows. It was easier to bide the time in the darkness with her dark thoughts, waiting for the inevitable.

  On a bright note, Blake didn’t cut into Cori every time their paths crossed, although that might have been because she was avoiding him. When they were together, she often caught Blake looking at Michael with guarded longing, yet she still hadn’t heard him call Michael by name. Jen, however, was surlier than ever. The brief truce they’d experienced during the fair on Sunday hadn’t lasted past Monday night.

  It was Michael’s attitude toward Blake that tested them all. Her son could be charming or maniacal. It was impossible to predic
t.

  A tumbling crash reverberated down the hall. Sophia stirred but didn’t waken.

  Cori sprang from the chair and sprinted to the pink room, but not before registering the look of disgust on Jennifer’s face.

  Michael sat in the middle of the bedroom. The shelf on the wall that held Cori’s china doll collection was tilted precariously. Dolls were cast about the floor, three porcelain heads shattered. A bit of Cori’s childhood crumbled. How many times as a little girl had she carefully brought down a doll only to delicately place it back on the shelf, afraid that she would break one? Now her little boy had killed three of them in one blow.

  “It wasn’t me,” Michael said, backing into the far corner of the room.

  “Michael.” Cori looked at the mess with tears of disappointment in her eyes. They weren’t her most precious possessions. He was. She just expected too much of him for a four-year-old. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay.” Jennifer stepped into the room, gray eyes blazing. “He broke those dolls. Do you know how rare those dolls are?” Jennifer gestured angrily at a crushed skull. “Hundreds of dollars.”

  “Jennifer.”

  “Destroyed by your grubby little hands.” Jen pointed accusingly at Michael.

  Michael ran to Cori and latched on to her leg. “It wasn’t me,” he cried.

  “Jennifer, please,” Cori said.

  “It was you.” Ignoring her, Jennifer leaned over Michael, her expression almost feral. “You’ve destroyed them just like you destroy everything you touch.”

  “Get out!” Cori couldn’t stand it anymore. If anyone was going to discipline Michael, it would be Cori. And she’d do it without humiliating him. “This isn’t your room. These aren’t your things.” This isn’t your family. She barely bit back the words. It hardly seemed fair to even think them, when Cori so obviously didn’t fit in, either.