by Gina Wilkins
“I can tell,” she said.
And she probably could. No one knew him the way Nina did.
Of course, the reverse was also true. He eyed her glowing eyes and rosy cheeks, and frowned. “You and Pendleton are still an item, I see.”
“We’re still seeing each other,” she said, busying herself with pouring coffee.
Tom didn’t at all like her tone. He turned to face her, narrowing his eyes on her suspiciously flushed face. “Mom—”
“Should we carry the desserts into the living room or would you rather sit at the table?”
Her fluttery manner confirmed his worse suspicions. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it when he realized he had nothing to say. For once in his life, he’d found something he couldn’t talk about with his mother. Her love life. It wasn’t anything that had ever come up between them before. He’d stupidly supposed that it never would.
“Maybe we’d better eat at the table,” he said without enthusiasm. “It’s easier that way.”
Nina cast him a somewhat pleading glance, then nodded. “All right. Why don’t you ask the others to join us while I set these things out?”
Tom could almost feel her gaze on him as he turned to leave the room. She wanted something from him—approval, understanding, encouragement, perhaps. He found himself incapable of offering any of those at the moment. He needed time to accept this, he thought grimly. For now, it was all he could do to handle his own tangled relationship.
Chapter Twelve
Conversation during the dessert was stilted, to say the least. Leslie was unusually quiet, throwing occasional surreptitious, suspicious looks at Steve, gazing curiously at Nina at times, darting questioning glances at Tom. She did show Tom the gift Steve had brought them—a heavy silver picture frame—but even that she handled a bit cautiously, as if uncertain what the gift implied.
Steve talked, but his conversation was superficial, limited mostly to the weather, Nina’s good cooking, questions about the baby, comments about the area. Tom answered when spoken to, and tried not to stare at his mother or glare at Steve.
Nina was the one who worked hardest at keeping the conversation flowing; she chattered brightly, asked dozens of questions, made comments that practically dragged responses out of the other three. Tom felt somewhat guilty about not helping her out much, but his head seemed to be stuffed with oatmeal. He wasn’t thinking clearly—about anything.
They all appeared relieved when Kenny cried out from his crib.
Tom and Leslie both moved at the same time to respond, but Leslie was faster. “I’ll get him,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Why don’t we move into the living room,” Nina suggested cheerily. “We’ll be much more comfortable there. Unless anyone wants more cake?”
Both men shook their heads. Tom glanced down at his plate and noted that it was empty, though he hardly remembered taking a bite. He was going to have to stop eating his mom’s desserts while under stress, he thought idly. It was such a waste of good chocolate.
Steve stood when Leslie carried Kenny into the living room. His eyes were focused on his nephew. “He looks like Crystal,” he murmured.
Tom watched as Leslie’s eyes went misty. “Yes, he does.”
“Actually,” Nina said, “he looks a little like you, Steve. Did you and your sister favor each other?”
“Yes,” Leslie answered for him. “There was a strong family resemblance.”
Steve drew a breath and reached out to touch Kenny’s cheek. “Those eyes are Crystal’s. She and I both had brown eyes, but hers were lighter than mine—amber, like Kenny’s.”
He lifted his eyes to Leslie’s. “I loved my sister, Leslie. I didn’t like the way she lived, and I couldn’t help telling her—but I loved Crystal. Always.”
“I know,” Leslie said, her voice shaken. “And she loved you, too, in her own way.”
“Then why wouldn’t she let you call me when she was—when she was dying?” It was obvious from his tone that the question had been haunting him.
“She didn’t want you to see her the way she looked at the end,” Leslie answered simply. “She didn’t want you to attempt to interfere with her pregnancy, even for her best interests. And she didn’t want to have to admit that she’d been wrong to keep you at a distance before, wasting the time you could have spent getting to know and understand each other better. But most of all, she didn’t want you to try to keep her from me at the end. She needed me, and I needed to take care of her. We were sisters, Steve, in spirit, as much as she was your sister by blood. I loved her, too.”
He sighed and pulled his hand away from the baby to run it wearily through his hair. “I know. And—well, I realize I haven’t shown it, but I’m...I’m grateful that you were there for her. At the end.” His slight, uncharacteristic stammer underlined his sincerity.
Tom frowned. “You have an odd way of showing it. Trying to take Kenny away from Leslie after she’d nurtured him from the day he was born was cruel and vicious. She sacrificed everything for your sister and your nephew. You owe her a hell of a lot more than an offhanded thanks.”
“Steve owes me nothing, Tom,” Leslie replied before Steve could speak. “I didn’t do anything for him. Only for Crystal and the baby. For myself. But if he wants to make amends, for Kenny’s sake, I’ll do my part to cooperate.”
She turned to Steve then with a smile that apparently disarmed Steve as much as it surprised Tom. “Would you like to hold your nephew?”
Steve backed off instinctively. “I, er, I’ve never held a baby that small.”
“You were going to fight for custody of him. You didn’t intend to even hold him if you won?” Tom asked pointedly.
“Tom.” Nina placed a hand on his arm.
He fought an urge to shake her off. Damn it, he wasn’t quite as forgiving as everyone else seemed to be. Steve Pendleton had put Leslie through pure hell, frightening her so much that she’d been willing to enter into a marriage she didn’t want just to keep the baby.
Leslie threw Tom one quick, warning look, then turned back to Steve. “You won’t break him,” she said. “Tom hauls him around like a sack of flour, and Kenny seems to thrive on it.”
Steve rose immediately to the bait. If Tom could do it, he could, too, his expression seemed to say as he reached for the child. Kenny, friendly and sweet natured as usual, went happily into his uncle’s arms and snatched eagerly at the glint of gold chain just visible inside Steve’s open-collared, long-sleeved, rugby-styled shirt. Steve carried the baby to the couch, where he sat carefully next to Nina, who couldn’t resist cooing at the baby and touching his soft, chubby little hands.
Frowning at the tableau, Tom felt Leslie slip her hand beneath his arm. “It’s okay,” she murmured to Tom. “I want Kenny to know his uncle.”
He relaxed a little, but there was no way to explain to her that it wasn’t just the sight of Steve with Kenny that bothered him. It was this new vision of his mother as a woman with a life and interests that didn’t include him. The pang he felt when his mom smiled fondly at a man who wasn’t Tom. And his fear that she would be hurt if something went wrong in this impetuous and—in Tom’s opinion—ill-advised affair.
Tom and Leslie settled into the matching recliners that faced the couch and watched the other couple play with the baby. Pleased with the attention he was receiving, Kenny performed for them, pumping his arms, crowing, grinning and blowing bubbles. Even Tom was chuckling before long; it was impossible to watch this baby without smiling.
“He really is cute,” Steve mused, smoothing the baby’s wispy, dark hair with one big, awkward hand. And then he lifted his gaze to Leslie and Tom. “I suppose you two will start adoption proceedings soon?”
“Yes,” Tom said immediately, overriding whatever Leslie would have said. She shot him a startled glance, making him wonder just what she’d had in mind as far as Kenny’s adoption was concerned. Had she planned to leave Tom out of that transaction entirely?
If so, they needed to have a very long talk.
“You’ll call him ‘Kenny Lowery’?”
Tom liked the sound of it. “Of course.”
Leslie cleared her throat. “ ‘Kenneth Pendleton Lowery.’ ”
Steve’s eyebrows lifted, but he nodded approval. “It’s a good name. Better than—” He stopped abruptly.
“Better than ‘Harden’?” Leslie asked coolly.
He grimaced. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you were going to.”
“It crossed my mind,” he admitted. “I haven’t changed my feelings about your father, Leslie. I’ll never forgive him for what he did to my family. But I shouldn’t have blamed you for any of it. You were only a kid yourself at the time. It couldn’t have been any easier for you to be in the middle of the mess than it was for Crystal and me.”
“It doesn’t really matter what name he uses, as long as he is raised with love,” Nina said firmly. “‘Kenneth Pendleton Lowery’ is a good name, and Kenny can be proud of it. I know that I will be very proud to call him my grandson.”
Tom was watching Leslie’s face, and he saw the flicker of her eyelashes. What was she thinking? he wondered. Was she asking herself again if she’d made a mistake bringing Tom and his mother into her life and Kenny’s? Wondering if she’d given away more responsibility for the baby than she’d originally intended? Had she really thought Tom would be content for long to be her husband in name only, standing quietly in the background while she raised the child without his interference, for as long as she chose to stay?
If that was the case, he couldn’t help wondering why she had come to him last night, knowing exactly what would happen when she did..
Nina and Steve didn’t stay much longer. Leslie was feeding the baby when they left, so Tom saw them out. Nina turned to him at the door.
“I’ll call you later,” she promised.
She looked at him with that same half-pleading look that had shaken him before. He tried to reassure her with a smile. “Of course.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek. “See you later, Mom.”
Just as Tom closed the door behind them, he saw Steve Pendleton slip an arm around Nina’s shoulders as they walked to his car.
Back at her apartment, Nina paced the living-room floor, her arms crossed tightly in front of her, her movements agitated. “This isn’t going to work,” she lamented. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Nina.” Steve sounded as though his patience was getting strained when he stepped in front of her to physically halt her pacing. “Would you please stop this?”
“Oh, Steve, I’m sorry, but surely you understand. We have to put an end to this.”
“No, I do not understand. I’m not going to let you throw away what we’ve found together just because your son is too selfish to share you.”
Her chin rose. “Tommy is not selfish.”
“Tom is most definitely selfish if he doesn’t want you to have your own life or find happiness with someone other than him,” Steve retorted firmly. “He’s not a saint, Nina. I’m sure he’s a fine man because you’ve raised him to be, but face it. You’ve spoiled him.”
She wanted to argue. She even opened her mouth to do so. But she shut it when she realized that it would do no good. Steve was right, of course. She had spoiled Tom a bit. Understandable, of course, considering that he’d been her whole life for the past thirty years. Her career, her friends, her few, very brief relationships—none of them had come even close to meaning as much to her as her son.
She shivered, thinking of the invisible wall that had been between her and Tom earlier. She’d seen him use it to keep others at a distance, but he’d never kept her outside before. Not even after his accident, when he’d been wounded and dispirited, angry and withdrawn. He’d always let her in.
He hadn’t let her in today. And it had broken her heart.
“I can’t allow anything to come between Tom and me,” she whispered, willing Steve to understand. “Not even you.”
A look that might have been hurt flashed across his handsome face, but it was quickly replaced by an expression of stubborn determination. “I won’t come between you and Tom, Nina,” he assured her. “But I’m not walking away, either. You mean too much to me for me to give up that easily. If I have to win Tom over as well as you—well, I’ll do my best. But I’m not just going to disappear. Not unless you can convince me that it’s you who wants me out of your life, and not Tom.”
He tugged her into his arms and bent to kiss her. And she moaned softly into his mouth, knowing that she would never be able to convince him that she wanted him to disappear. God help her.
As Tom drove home from work Wednesday, he found himself singing along with the country song blaring from his radio. It was a chilly, rainy evening, already dark, but Tom didn’t even notice the weather.
The sound of his own voice startled him. He hardly remembered when he’d last felt like singing. He’d never been very good—in fact, certain friends had been known to beg him not to join in sing-alongs—but there’d been a period when he’d sung all the time, particularly when he was alone. Lately, he’d spent most of his days alone thinking about how things used to be, rather than simply enjoying the moment.
He was enjoying the moment now. He’d had a pretty good day at work, and he knew that Leslie and Kenny would be waiting for him at home. Despite the problems that were never far from his mind—his physical shortcomings, his precarious future with Leslie, his inexplicable awkwardness with Zach, his mother’s worrisome relationship with Steve Pendleton—Tom was surprisingly more content than he’d been in a very long while.
It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the cause of that.
He thought of the passion he and Leslie had shared last night. She’d slept in his bed every night since she’d come to him Saturday evening. They’d made love; they’d slept tangled in each other’s arms; they’d awoken with smiles and kisses and sometimes more lovemaking if Kenny wasn’t yet up. They hadn’t talked about it—they didn’t talk about their relationship or the future at all—but Leslie seemed increasingly content with the way things were progressing between them. She’d certainly made no complaints.
Tom was almost afraid to say anything for fear of rocking the boat. Every time he allowed himself to think of how happy he was—now, for example—he started to worry that it wouldn’t last. He’d experienced too many losses in the past year or so to take happiness for granted now.
He was smiling when he walked through his front door, shaking raindrops out of his hair, to be greeted by the tantalizing aroma of home-cooked food and the enchanting sound of Leslie’s laughter.
Damn, it was good to have the music and the laughter back in his life, he thought, trying to ignore the nip of apprehension that accompanied the thought.
Leslie was sitting on the floor beside Kenny’s play quilt, supporting Kenny as he sat in front of her, his arms beating the air as if he were attempting to fly. Leslie looked up when Tom came into the living room. Her smile of greeting made him go warm all over.
“Is the kid performing for you?” he asked, tossing his coat over the back of a chair and trying to mask his unusually happy emotional state.
“He’s in a great mood.”
Tom bent to kiss Leslie’s smiling mouth and then scoop the baby into his arms. Careful to use his knees for lifting, he picked Kenny up and held him high in the air. “Hey, pardner. What’s up with you?”
In answer, Kenny gave him a loud, wet raspberry.
Tom burst into laughter, as did Leslie. Kenny crowed with apparent self-satisfaction.
“He’s been doing that all day,” Leslie explained, still giggling. “He thinks he’s discovered a delightful new talent.”
“Pb-b-b-bt.” Kenny was even noisier that time. And then he laughed, a clear, happy baby chortle that would have melted even the hardest of adult hearts.
As far as this baby was concerned, Tom’s heart had melted long ago. As soon as he’d stoppe
d trying to be cautious and detached—which hadn’t lasted very long, he admitted now—he’d tumbled head over heels. And now he was hopelessly in love with both his wife and their tiny charge, though he didn’t know how long he would be able to hold on to either of them.
He hugged the baby, inhaling the fresh scents of soap and powder, and brushed a kiss against impossibly soft skin. “You’re a genius, kid,” he murmured, struggling to keep his voice light. “Not just any four-month-old can blow a good raspberry.”
And then he turned to loop an arm around Leslie and pull her into the group hug. He covered her mouth with his, dimly aware that Kenny was still laughing and making bizarre noises. Could it get any better than this? Tom wondered.
Leslie’s eyes were warm and soft when she drew back to take a breath and smile up at him. “I made a pot of seafood gumbo for dinner. Corn bread and salad on the side.”
“I love seafood gumbo,” he assured her. “I love—”
You.
He smoothly substituted, “I love anything you cook.”
She frowned a bit, as if sensing that he’d started to say something else, but he continued briskly, “I need to wash up first, but I’ll hurry. I had a light lunch, and I’m starved.”
“You’re always starving,” Leslie. accused indulgently, taking the baby from him. “You and Kenny are just alike when it comes to that. Like father, like son, I sup—”
Apparently, she’d spoken without thinking. The instant the words left her mouth, she stammered to a stop, her eyes going wide.
“Er—”
Tom pretended he hadn’t noticed a thing. He patted Kenny’s head and quipped, “We growing boys have to eat, right, pardner? Be back in a sec.”
He headed for the bathroom with a haste that was just short of running. His pulse was still racing as a result of Leslie’s carelessly spoken and obviously unintentional words. Like father, like son.
He’d never known his own father. Had spent a lifetime pretending he didn’t miss what he’d never had. But he knew that he wanted to be Kenny’s father with an intensity that bordered on physical pain.