by Toni Blake
Nonetheless, knowing it would be hours before he was tired enough to sleep, and still desperate for some kind of distraction from what he'd done to Lauren, he opened the case, then returned to the spare room.
It wasn't yet five o'clock on Monday morning when the phone rang, jarring Nick from sleep. He thrust a hand out from beneath his pillow and found the cordless. "Yeah?"
"Nicky, it's me." Elaine. "What the hell ... ?" "We're at the hospital."
Panic shot through him. "Is Davy all right?"
"Davy's fine," she said, and a blanket of relief dropped over him even as she added, "It's Dad. He was having some kind of attack, trouble breathing. They're looking at him now. Can you come?"
Christ. "What hospital?" "Morgan Plant. We're in the ER."
Twenty minutes later, he walked into the emergency room feeling like hell. Davy ran to greet him, wearing cotton pajama bottoms and a faded Tampa Bay Buccaneers T-shirt, his eyes red, his cheeks tear-stained. Nick gave him a hug. "He'll be all right, Davy. Don't worry, okay?"
Davy nodded bravely, and Nick remained in awe of how much his brother trusted his word. even at a time like this when he had no idea if their dad would be all right.
Elaine rose from a waiting room chair. "You just missed the doctors." She sounded anxious. "They say it's heart failure." He flinched-he' d figured the old man was imagining it. "Heart failure?" His arm still looped loose around Davy's shoulder. "They said blood is accumulating along the path from his lungs to his heart, and it's making his lungs congested. But it might not be as bad as it sounds; they say it can usually be controlled with drugs."
He nodded, a little dumbfounded by what he'd expected to be a false alarm.
"They also think it might be a symptom of something else. Cardio myopathy, I think."
He let out a sigh, opening his eyes wider. "And what the hell's that?"
"It has to do with a lack of nutrition," she explained, then lowered her voice. "In Dad's case, they think it might be a result of alcohol."
"Ah," he said, leaning back his head. There for a minute, he'd almost started feeling sorry for the old man, but this sort of changed things. His father's drinking had cost them all more than Nick could ever add up; now it would likely cost their dad what remained of his health, too. He wasn't surprised-he'd actually been waiting for this for years; he'd just expected it to be the liver, not the heart. He tried not to be too cynical, though, or at least not to let it show, for Davy's and Elaine's sakes.
An hour later, he'd talked to the doctors, who reexplained everything he'd gotten from Elaine and been more thorough about it. All he really heard, though, was that his father would now have medical bills to worry about The little salary he earned at the bait shop where he worked part-time wasn't gonna cut it, nor was the measly insurance the job provided. And he would have doctors and appointments and medicine, and taking care of all that would fall mostly on Elaine. Nick had a business to run, a business that supported all of them, and since Elaine didn't work in order to be with Davy, she had more time for such unpleasant tasks.
When the doctors left, after saying their father would need to be kept overnight in order to run some tests, as well as stabilize him and start medication, Nick turned to his sister and spoke softly. "I'll try to help out a little more than usual, Lainey." But she only shook her head. "You help plenty, Nick, in different ways."
Money, she meant. And taking care of the house. He sighed and gave a slight nod. "Will you guys be okay here if I don't stick around?"
"Yeah. You go on. I know you've got work."
"All right," he said, then looked at Davy. "I gotta go, buddy. But listen, how about if I knock off early today and we'll drive down to the marina and watch 'em bring the fish in? Then we'll go get a pizza at Post Comer."
Davy's eyes lit up. He loved to watch the day-trip boats bring in the catch. And Post Comer Pizza had been a favorite place since they were kids. "Cool!"
"We'll be here for a while yet," Elaine said, "but I'll make sure we're home by this afternoon."
As Nick headed for the door, she grabbed his wrist. "What? I gotta run if I'm gonna get Davy to the fish on time." She stood on tiptoe to plant a small kiss on his cheek.
Sometimes she did that, turned all tenderhearted on him, but he only rolled his eyes. He didn't do mushy. "What was that for?"
"Just to let you know you're not always such a bad guy."
He rolled his eyes again and said, "Gee, thanks," but had the feeling his expression showed something softer than intended. "Gotta go," he told her, then headed out the door.
Since he'd decided to make it a short day, he had to go home and change, get over to Lauren's, and get in as much painting
as possible. As he drove, he thought about what had just happened. One more small disaster in their lives, one more little tornado sweeping through, and whether it knocked anything down remained to be seen.
Goddamn Henry Ash, he thought, letting a familiar anger build inside him as he headed toward his condo. Without Henry's deceit, his father never would've turned into the useless alcoholic he was today. His father wouldn't have cardio myopathy and heart failure. Davy would've had a normal life, and Elaine would've gone to college, and they'd all live more like Lauren did.
Shit. He hadn't meant to let himself get upset over this again. But forgetting about it now was impossible. By the time he was in his van headed toward Bayview Drive, he was clenching his teeth in frustration over his whole damn life and the man who had caused it to take a left turn.
Nick was having a rotten day. Of course, that stood to reason considering the way it'd started, but nothing had gone right after he'd reached Lauren's, either. For starters, he'd spilled half a can of ivory seashell in the back of his van, which-besides wasting paint-had made one bodacious mess. He'd SOP with a drop cloth, but would have to do a better job later. Next, he'd tripped over his own damn ladder and nearly broken his ankle. Then, the first time he'd wanted a drink of water, he'd realized he hadn't brought any because his trip to the hospital had fouled up his normal morning routine-but he didn't want to ask Lauren.
In fact, he hoped she wasn't around, since he didn't know how to act toward her now. He was acutely aware that the last time he'd seen her she'd been beautifully naked and on top of him, and the memory stirred something inside him-but it had only been sex, right? Besides, the thing with his dad this morning, and then getting mad again about her dad. had him in no state of mind to be particularly nice to anybody just now. He only hoped he could talk himself into being in a better mood by the time he picked Davy up this afternoon.
By eleven o'clock, though, with Florida's summer sun blazing down, he needed a drink. And he could run to the 7-Eleven, but he didn't really want to take the time since he was leaving early. Or he could resort to using the outdoor hose, but drinking un-purified water in this area was like drinking sand. He'd caught flashes of Lauren through the lower windows today and happened to know she was in the kitchen right now, so he finally thought, What the hell-I'll ask her for a glass of ice water. And I'll try to keep my temper in check. I won't allude to Friday night and hopefully neither will she. Either way, he realized he was curious to find out how she'd react to seeing him. He knew. of course, that she'd likely been hurt when he'd left; he supposed that was what he'd stupidly intended. But he didn't think she'd want to talk about it.
After backing down his stepladder. he knocked on the same back door he'd carried her through the other night, the same door he'd let himself in without her knowledge on several occasions. When she answered, she looked stunned, although he didn't know who else she could've possibly expected at her back door.
"Hi," she said softly. Didn't quite smile. Didn't quite frown. Sounded tense.
"Hi." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a little taken aback by bow pretty she was. Not seeing her for a few days had dimmed his memory. "Listen, I forgot my cooler, and it's awful damn hot out here. Can I get a glass of water?" She nodded quietly, then
padded on bare feet through the breakfast area to the kitchen. Nick followed, noting the denim shorts that showed off her tan legs, and the snug T-shirt that hugged her breasts and reminded him how gorgeous they were with nothing hugging them but his hands.
She filled a glass with ice water and passed it to him over the counter. "I'm going to be working upstairs, so I'll leave the back door unlocked. If you want more, you can help yourself."
"Okay. Thanks."
They stood looking at each other then, like a flashback to every other time they'd gazed into each other's eyes, until prickles of desire began to tingle down Nick's spine. Shit.
He didn't want this, didn't want to keep wanting her.
But had he actually thought one time would be enough? Had he thought it would squelch the heat that grew inside him every time he was near her?
Maybe he had. Maybe he'd convinced himself that the heat was all about seduction, some sense of seducing her, but as he'd begun to understand on the beach, there was more to it than that. One part of him considered reaching for her, taking her right there on the kitchen counter. But another part thought of Henry. And the princess's palace. And every reason he was angry today. In one sense, seeing her had calmed that, making room for desire, but in another, it had stirred it up, made him feel volatile, dangerous.
"How's ... the painting going?" she made the mistake of asking in the awkward silence.
"Lousy, actually. I don't know who planted those trees so close to the house"-he pointed over his shoulder to the south side-"but I don't know how the hell I'm gonna paint around 'em." It was, in fact, the most recent thing to piss him off and he knew he'd make little progress around the trees before it was time to pick up Davy.
She swallowed, looking nervous, but her response came out sounding stronger than he might've expected. "Look, you saw the place before you took the job. I know there was a misunderstanding about the wall, but those trees were there when you gave Sadie your estimate."
Damn, she was coming right back at him. And he didn't have a clever reply, since she was right. He emptied his water glass and lowered it to the counter. "Sorry," he murmured.
Just then, something tickled at his ankles, and he glanced down to see Lauren's fluffy white cat rubbing up against him. He stepped around the damn thing, but it followed, weaving a path around one leg. "Knock it off, cat."
"She's only being affectionate."
"She's a nuisance."
Appearing even angrier about the insult to the cat than his tree complaints, she bent to scoop the white ball of fur up into her arms. "Be careful, Izzy," she said, glaring at him. "The mean man might punt you across the room."
"Listen," he said, thoroughly disgusted now, "I'm just not a cat guy. And I don't need one hanging allover me." "Well then, maybe you should find your water somewhere else, since the cat lives here, and you don't."
"Fine, damn it," he bit off. Fed up with everything, he turned and stalked toward her back door.
"Why do you hate me so much?"
The words cut through him, stopping him in place.
Stunned, he slowly turned to look at her. "What?"
"You heard me." She spoke softer now, even though her eyes stabbed straight through him. "Why do you hate me?"
He could've given her some toss-off line, could've claimed he was having a lousy day but that it was nothing personal. Yet he supposed she had every reason to ask, and he supposed he had no real reason to hide the truth any longer. "I don't hate you. I hate your father."
She tilted her head, clearly dumbfounded. "My father? Why?"
He took a deep breath and tried to think where to begin. "My father is John Armstrong." He waited to see recognition in her eyes, but it didn't happen, so he went on. "When you and I were kids, our fathers were business partners. Double A Construction? Now Ash Builders? Ring any bells?"
Her pretty blue eyes widened. and she hastily lowered the cat to the floor. "You're Nick? That Nick?"
"In the flesh."
She seemed almost speechless. "I ... I remember you. I just ... didn't put two and two together. I guess I didn't know your dad's last name then. I just knew him as John."
For a moment, Nick didn't know why he was telling her who he was, but now that he'd had sex with her, now that he knew her secrets, maybe something had started niggling in his gut, making him wonder how she would respond, if she would treat him with disdain. Yet all he saw in her eyes was understandable shock. "I still don't know, though," she said, "why you hate my father."
Now it was Nick's tum to tilt his head in confusion.á "Because of what he did. Because he stole my dad's half of the company."
Lauren knit her eyebrows. "Stole? What are you talking about?"
She didn't know? Well, hell, of course she didn't.
She'd been a little girl. He suddenly felt thickheaded to have assumed she'd be aware of the details. "Yeah," he said. "That's what happened."
She stiffened. "I don't know what you mean. My father bought your father out."
"Lauren, your father asked my father to sign some papers, but he lied about what they said. Henry claimed he needed my dad's signature on some things for routine business operations, and Dad signed, but he was really signing away his ownership of Double A Construction." Nick had witnessed the whole thing himself. His father had been wallowing in depression over his wife's death, and Henry had shown up at the house with the papers that would change their lives. Lauren pulled in her breath, looking defensive. "I was a little girl then, but one thing I do know is that your father received a reasonable amount of money for his half of the company. I ran across the papers once, going through some old files when I started working for Dad, and I asked Sadie what they were about. She hadn't worked for Ash when it happened, but she knew they were from the buyout."
"My dad didn't want money. He wanted his half of what he'd built. It was all he had-all we had-after my mom died, and Henry took it from him."
She shook her head helplessly. "I'm sure you're mistaken, Nick. I can't exactly argue it since I don't know the facts, but I'm sure my father didn't take anything from yours."
Nick just sighed. "Believe whatever you want." Then he turned and walked out the door.
Lauren reached for the counter to steady herself, then lowered her gaze to Isadora, who sat licking her paw and swiping it over her face. "You really are a traitor where he's concerned," she said. After all, Izzy seldom rubbed up against her ankles, but Nick Armstrong walks in the door and the cat's all over him. "And I don't know what you see in him, either." Or what I see in him, for that matter.
But really, she did know. Monet. The rose. The ocean.
Tender touches and unnameable emotions in his eyes. Little though it was, those were the things that kept her hanging on to her feelings for him.
His accusation just now made her head spin.
She'd gone into the conversation deciding there was more dignity in appearing calm and unaffected than by ranting about their last encounter, yet he'd quickly quashed the dignity right out of her. She couldn't quite believe she'd been so bold, asking him why he hated her, but over the weekend she'd had time to reexamine all that had happened, and it had been the only real conclusion she could draw. What she hadn't expected was the news that he was the same Nick she remembered from when she was a little girl. The Nick she'd had a crush on.
In fact, it was just corning back to her that he was the first, the very first boy who had stirred any female interest or awareness in her, childish affection though it was.
She recalled a company picnic where she'd been playing on an old merry-go-round by herself and had clumsily fallen off into the dirt. John's oldest son had walked over with a faded basketball under one arm to see if she was all right, if she needed him to go get her mom. She'd been fine, but mortally embarrassed, especially when he'd brushed the dirt off the butt of her red shorts. "You better be more careful," he'd told her, then sauntered over to an empty basketball court and started shooting.
&n
bsp; "Can I watch?" she'd asked, approaching timidly behind him.
He'd shrugged and said, "Sure."
She'd sat cross-legged in the grass at the concrete's edge and quietly taken in his every move, his lanky boy's body displaying the first hints of muscle beneath smooth tan skin each time he released a jump shot or ran in for a layup. She'd thought him godlike.
She'd followed him at a distance throughout the rest of the day, and when the picnic had concluded with a big softball game for the adults, Nick had played, too. Each time he'd stepped up to bat, she'd watched with a child's adoration. She let out a heavy breath, not quite able to believe she'd very recently had sex with that same guy. Meaningless sex. The sex of strangers. Even though they weren't strangers exactly, as she'd thought. And she'd wanted not to be strangers anymore when it was over. Despite herself, she wanted so much more from him now-sexually, emotionally. She had the odd urge to go outside and tell him she was sorry for whatever had happened between their fathers, and she actually went halfway to the door before she stopped. She didn't do it, after all, and she didn't even really know if there was anything to be sorry for. Besides, he was a jerk. A jerk who still twisted her heart every time he came to mind, but a jerk just the same. Even as he'd stood there sniping about her trees, she'd wanted him, wanted to know that same fullness of having him inside her. Wanted to know that same passion, that same heat he loosed in her without even trying. What kind of a fool was she?
Monet.
She was obviously the kind of fool who put way too much stock in one mention of impressionist painters. I like the way they can take anything and make it more beautiful than it really is.
Despite herself, the memory of his words restored a little of her faith in his inherent goodness. It had to be there, didn't it? Didn't it?
Moving to the phone above the kitchen counter, Lauren dialed her father's office number, then turned to lean against the sink. the receiver tucked beneath her ear.
"Henry Ash," he answered. "Hi, Dad."
"Lauren, my dear. To what do l owe the pleasure?