Ryan's Renovation (The McKade Brothers #3)
Page 4
“Nope.”
Shielding his eyes from the sun, Joe pointed to the apartments across the street. “Damn gangs.”
Earlier in the week Ryan had noticed the colorful images painted on the west side of the building. He didn’t condone defacing property, but the mural was a nice piece of work. The punk artist should put his talent to better use. “I heard your brother’s involved in a gang.”
“You heard about Willie?” Before Ryan answered, Joe added, “Anna told you.”
“She mentioned you were concerned about your brother.”
“He’s fifteen and full of himself. Thinks he can walk away from the gang anytime he wants.”
After following in his elder brother, Nelson’s, footsteps and graduating from Harvard, Ryan had moved to New York City and had lived there ever since, but he confessed he was ignorant of the struggles facing the four boroughs outside Manhattan. “Are you implying the group won’t let him leave?”
The hollow sound of Joe’s laugh drifted across the lot. “The only way out of a gang is in a body bag.”
“What kind of trouble does the gang cause?” Ryan chose to believe his inquisitiveness was the result of his acclimation to interacting with the guys and not because of a sense of connection he’d developed with them.
“The gang’s idea of fun is to barge into baptisms and weddings, threaten the guests, then steal the alcohol.” Joe rolled a chunk of concrete under his work boot.
“Fun at the expense of others.”
“Yep. The group thrives on shoplifting, selling fake green cards, dealing drugs and extorting small-business owners. You know what pisses me off most?” The younger man vented as if he believed his coworker cared.
And surprisingly, Ryan did. “What?”
“Willie’s got people who care about him. A decent home. Parents who love him. He doesn’t fit the profile of a gangbanger. He’s not a runaway and he hasn’t been abandoned or abused by his parents.”
The next time Ryan spoke with his grandfather he’d remind the old man how fortunate he was that none of his grandsons had taken to a life of crime. Although he suspected his grandfather might argue that he’d have preferred managing a recalcitrant teenager than doling out life lessons to grown men. “If your brother has a lot of time on his hands, what about encouraging him to get a job?”
Joe gaped. “He can make more money protecting prostitutes than flipping burgers.” With a snort of disgust, he added, “It doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?”
“If Willie leaves the gang, they’ll put a bounty on his head.”
A bounty? The scenario had the makings of a Hollywood movie. “What about asking the police for protection?”
“They’d don’t care. They’d just as soon let all the gangs kill each other off and be rid of the problem.”
Frustration steamed from the top of Joe’s head. Had Ryan’s grandfather experienced this same helplessness when Ryan had determinedly walled himself off from the family after 9/11?
“All we can do is wait,” Joe mumbled. “Wait for my brother’s luck to run out.”
An image of the man’s family, gathered around a headstone in a cemetery, swept through Ryan’s mind. He had to help. This is none of your business. Keep your mouth shut. “Maybe I—”
“C’mon,” Joe interrupted. “The boss is waving us over.”
What had gotten into Ryan? If not for the boss’s timely interruption he’d have…What? Offered to save Willie? Hadn’t 9/11 taught him the danger of rescuing people? He’d tossed out his superhero duds a long time ago. No more surrendering himself for someone else—besides, he didn’t have anything left to sacrifice. He had enough of his own problems—mainly why he had no trouble conversing with the guys, but when it came to talking with Anna, he froze inside.
That’s because she unnerves you.
At times Ryan suspected her blue eyes could see his deepest secrets. Deepest fears. After his near slipup with Joe a few moments ago, he’d best keep his distance from Anna. That shouldn’t be difficult.
She was a female. And females were so far down on his list they weren’t even on the paper.
“HI, EVERYONE!” Anna waved as she shut the door of the boss’s pickup she’d driven to the work site. Since the men were stuck in Elmhurst, she decided to bring Ryan’s birthday party to the crew. Leaving the cake on the front seat, she approached Bobby, who watched Joe break up concrete with the bulldozer. Antonio, Ryan and Eryk were tossing debris into the dump trucks, while Leon used a minibackhoe to deposit the larger chunks. “Can you take a break?” she shouted above the grinding gears of machines.
“What for?” Bobby hollered.
“Birthday cake.”
“Well, heck, Anna. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Bobby possessed a mean sweet tooth.
The chugging noise of motors filled the air as she rested the two-tiered confection on the hood of the truck. She removed the plastic wrap protecting the white-frosting swirls. Her roommate, Blair, had baked the chocolate cake, but she’d stayed up half the night decorating the layers.
“Hey, whose birthday is it?” Antonio peered over Anna’s shoulder.
Smile in place, she faced the men assembled around her. “Ryan’s.” As was his custom, the birthday boy remained a respectable distance from the group. She looked him in the eye and he took her by surprise when he didn’t glance away. She wished he had. His glower insisted he wasn’t pleased with the surprise party. Oh dear.
Pasting on a happy face, she spouted, “Ryan’s thirty-seven today.”
A barrage of old-age jokes followed her pronouncement, none of which made a crack in Ryan’s stone face. Anna glanced longingly at the box of candles on the front seat. By the time they coaxed Ryan to blow them out, the cake would catch fire.
She reached for the knife, but Joe cried, “Wait. We have to sing ‘Happy Birthday.’”
“Maybe Patrick would lead us?” Anna offered the shy man an encouraging smile. After a few seconds, raucous male bellowing drowned out Patrick’s beautiful voice. To keep from bursting into laughter at Ryan’s horrified expression, Anna locked her gaze on the bulldozer.
As the last notes of the song faded, she clapped her hands. Then, amid murmurs of appreciation, she served the cake, handing Ryan the largest piece. “Happy Birthday.”
“Thanks.” As if a pistol were being held to his head, he shoveled a bite into his mouth.
“Good, huh?” Antonio mumbled, cheeks bulging.
“Yeah, great.” Ryan’s glare pierced Anna.
For the life of her, she couldn’t understand what she’d done to annoy him. There was only one explanation for his pathetic lack of appreciation for her thoughtfulness—he didn’t care for her. And that hurt.
Everyone was fond of her. She worked darn hard to guarantee no one found fault with her. Ticked, she said, “Seconds, Ryan?”
He shook his head, then placed the remainder of his cake—the entire piece minus one bite—on the hood.
“I’ll wrap the cake for you to take home.”
“No,” he blurted, then lowered his voice. “I’m not fond of sweets. The guys can share the rest of it.”
Anna couldn’t explain what sparked her anger—the fact that Ryan didn’t appreciate her attempt to make his birthday special or that she’d permitted his rudeness to hurt her. And the reason his rudeness could hurt her, she decided, was that she’d allowed herself to care about him.
Stupid, Anna. Ever since you offered your baby up for adoption, you’ve tried to mother everyone and anyone. Well, Ryan Jones doesn’t need or want a mother. She lifted the entire cake from the hood and held it out to him. “Take it. After all, it’s your birthday.”
He raised his hands. “I don’t want it.”
Uncaring that the rest of the guys had stopped eating to gawk at her and Ryan, she stepped closer and insisted, “You’re being too generous.”
“No, I’m not.” He retreated.
Anna adv
anced a step. “Yes.” And another. “You.” Another. “Are.”
Hell. Anastazia Nowakowski didn’t recognize when to give up. Backed into a corner, Ryan decided he’d better accept the cake before the happy-birthday-girl shoved it in his face.
Anna’s blue eyes sparkled with…Tears? “You’re welcome.” She spun away.
While the guys thanked her, Ryan stood aside cursing himself for being such a bastard and wounding her feelings.
How could Anna have known he’d stopped celebrating birthdays and holidays the moment he learned his ex-wife had miscarried their child?
Chapter Four
I’m sorry.
Ryan paced in front of Anna’s desk, rehearsing an apology in his head. Hoping to make amends for his rude reaction to her surprise birthday celebration that afternoon, he’d hung around the locker room until the men had left the building. The click-click of Anna’s heels announced her arrival seconds before she appeared in the doorway.
When she spotted him, she paused, one sandaled foot hovering an inch above the floor. Her mouth flattened into a thin line and the light dimmed in her normally sparkling eyes. After a moment, she unpaused, moved into the room and sat in the chair at her desk.
No hello. No get out of here. No nothing.
“Got a minute, Anna?”
A shoulder shrug. Averting her gaze, she shuffled papers. Stacked and restacked folders. Tightened the lid on her correction-fluid bottle. Loaded staples into the stapler. He got the hint. She didn’t care to listen to anything he had to say.
Edging closer to the desk, he positioned himself in her line of vision. She vacated the chair, crossed the room to the water stand and filled her coffee mug, then gave the hanging plants by the front window a drink. He tried again. “Please, Anna.” God, he hoped she wouldn’t make him beg.
Long, slim, pink-tipped fingers clenched the kitten photo on the ceramic mug. Then she faced him—chin out and with an I-won’t-let-you-hurt-me glare.
“I was an ass.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits, the blue barely visible.
He’d already admitted he’d been a jerk. What more did she want—blood? “About the birthday cake…I apologize for hurting your feelings.”
The slits widened.
Hell. He shouldn’t have used that stupid word—feelings. Women loved examining them. Dissecting them. Declaring them. He’d learned from his ex-wife that whenever the word feeling entered a heart-to-heart, ninety-five percent of the time he’d never said what she’d wanted to hear.
“I didn’t mean to be rude.” He waited for “That’s okay” or “No harm done.”
He got, “You hurt my feelings.”
That damn word again. “I’d like to make amends.”
“Okay. Buy me a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee?” Couldn’t he say he was sorry again? Did he have to spend time with her?
“The Muddy River Café is a few blocks from here.” She retrieved her sweater from the desk chair, then slung her purse strap over her shoulder.
While she locked up, he struggled to figure out how I’m sorry had evolved into let me buy you a coffee.
Side by side they strolled in silence, casting glances in each other’s direction. They rounded a corner and stumbled upon a group of teens roughhousing in front of a dry-cleaning business. Automatically, Ryan placed his hand on Anna’s back and put himself between her and the kids as they passed. Not until the end of the fourth block did he realize that his hand lingered on Anna. How long had it been since he’d pressed his palm to a feminine curve?
You need to get laid.
If he wanted sex, he could find a woman to scratch his itch. But 9/11 and his divorce had worn him out physically, mentally and emotionally. As a survivor of the terrorist attack, he understood on some level that he harbored a desperate desire to connect with another human being. The desperation aspect scared him away from personal entanglements. If the relationship bombed, he’d be worse off than he was right now—hollow inside.
When and if he decided to make love to a woman, it wouldn’t be with one who pitied him. And once Anna saw his body, she’d pity him. She wouldn’t mean to. But he suspected pity came naturally to a person with as big a heart as Anna possessed.
At the next corner they stopped to wait for the crosswalk light and he forced himself to remove his hand from her back.
“Why?”
“Why what?” he blurted, caught off guard by her question.
“It was just a birthday cake, Ryan. Your reaction was over the top. I deserve an explanation.”
The fact that she was right didn’t make explaining easier. He was saved from answering when the light switched to green. Grasping her elbow, he guided her across the intersection and into the café. The place was crowded and loud and Ryan hated it immediately.
Groups of gossiping women, giggling teens too young to be coffee addicts, slouched in big comfortable chairs and slurped from their cups. The stools at the counter were occupied, and a line formed at the register. He intended to suggest they buy their coffee at the doughnut shop they’d passed along the way, but Anna had already secured a spot in the order line. He noticed an older couple vacate a table near the front window. “I’ll get the coffee. You grab that table.”
“Black, no sugar, no cream.”
A no-nonsense coffee for a no-nonsense woman. Anna wove a path through the crowd and Ryan wondered if she was aware of the appreciative glances that followed the swish-sway of her curvy backside. When she reached the table, she turned her chair toward the other patrons. He’d never met a person who wished to be with people more than Anna. He suspected it didn’t matter if they were friend, foe or stranger as long as they kept her company.
Anna twisted sideways to drape her sweater over the chair. The action pulled her silk blouse across her generous breasts. The part of his body that generally hovered near zero suddenly warmed and he forced his attention back to the menu on the wall. Anna was a pretty woman with a Marilyn Monroe body. Dangerous and intriguing, she scared the hell out of him.
He had no intention of allowing his male appreciation to advance further than ogling. Becoming intimate with Anna would mean opening himself up emotionally. No way did Ryan wish for Ms. Happy Chatty to see through him to the dark side of his soul—his lost hopes, lost joys, lost self.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched a man approach Anna. She popped off the chair and hugged him as if he were her favorite teddy bear. Then she invited the guy to sit—in his chair. An old friend? Maybe a lover? Hell, Anna probably hugged all her acquaintances.
Next in line, Ryan rattled off his order. Less than a minute later, coffee cups in hand, he approached the cozy couple. Deep in discussion, neither acknowledged his presence until he cleared his throat.
“Ryan.” Anna accepted her drink from him and motioned to her friend. “This is Charlie. Charlie…meet Ryan.”
“How do you do.” Charlie stood and offered his hand. “Anna and I go way back.”
In years or bed? He shook hands, adding a bit of oomph to his grip.
“Grab a chair and visit awhile longer, Charlie,” Anna suggested.
The man ruffled her hair. “I should get going, brat.”
Brat? Now Ryan was intrigued. What kind of relationship did the two have?
Anna bumped Ryan out of the way and hugged Charlie. Again. “Say hi to Alice and the kids.”
The guy’s married. A zing of what could be labeled relief shot through him. Ryan and Charlie exchanged manly nods, then the guy left.
The longest minute of Ryan’s life passed before Anna smiled and asked, “Aren’t you curious about Charlie?”
God, yes. He studied his cup and muttered, “He’s none of my business.”
“You’re a private person.” Anna was careful with her words.
His family had never used the word private to describe his need to be left alone. “I’m not very social.” Part truth. Before 9/11 he’d been considered a fun guy.
“Do you come here often?” He faced his chair to the window.
“No. There’s another Muddy River near my apartment.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “You don’t cater to crowds, either.”
Intuitive little brat. He slouched, attempting to convey an air of nonchalance, when in reality his body was coiled as tight as a roll of electrical wire. “Not especially.”
“Why?”
Couldn’t this woman stay on her side of the fence? He imagined she was the kind of neighbor who waved while a man was mowing the lawn and kept waving until he turned off the mower, walked across the yard and asked what she wanted, to which she’d reply, “Oh, nothing. Just saying hello.”
He swallowed a gulp of coffee, ignoring the sear of heat against his throat. “Long work hours and socializing don’t mix.”
“Liar.”
Man, her eyes got to him. Bright. Blue. Animated. “What did you call me?” He was having a hell of a time keeping track of the argument.
“I called you a liar. You avoid people because you’re afraid not because you’re too busy.”
So much for keeping his soul hidden. “Not everyone is a people person like you, Anna.”
The light in her eyes dimmed. “Being friendly isn’t easy for me. I’ve worked at it all my life.”
Was she joking? “Well, practice makes perfect. The guys at the station believe you walk on water.”
“We’re like family.”
“How long have you worked for Parnell?”
“Ten years. I turned twenty-two right after I hired on.”
“You got the job right out of college?”
“I didn’t go to college. I went to beauty school, and at the time I was working in a hair salon and not liking the long hours, little pay and achy legs.”
“Then why did you go to beauty school?”
She shrugged. “I was told it was the best a girl in my situation could hope for.”
“Your situation?” Their chat had evolved into a game of twenty questions.