Falling For Nick

FALLING FOR NICK

Copyright © 2012 by Joleen James

All right reserved. Except as permitted under the U. S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means now known or hereafter invented, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is coincidental.

Cover Art by Visual Quill

For Ray, the love of my life.

Port Bliss, Washington

A pitiful handful of mourners had gathered to bury Maude Lombard.

Clea Rose still had no idea what had compelled her to attend the funeral. Her black heels poked into the soggy grass like stakes in the ground, holding her prisoner to the macabre scene before her. Tangy sea air, thick with unleashed moisture, threatened to drench the sad group at any moment. The tension built in the air as a storm brewed both overhead and at the Port Bliss Cemetery.

She didn't belong here, knew she should leave, but she couldn't go, not yet. The wind picked up, and the birch trees lining the perimeter of the cemetery shivered, sending an ominous whisper around the mourners. Clea shook off the feeling of foreboding and focused on the people encircling Maude's casket.

Dick and Andy Bower, the town drunks, stood to Clea's right. Dick and Andy were Maude's best customers at the Port Bliss Tavern where she'd worked as a cocktail waitress for close to thirty years. To Clea's left stood DeAnn Schemer, Maude's best friend. DeAnn owned the local beauty parlor, affectionately called DeAnn's Doos. Next to DeAnn stood Bernie Cottenheimer. Bernie had been Maude's current boyfriend and best drinking buddy. His normally red eyes appeared even redder today. He'd been crying, and that surprised Clea, making her wonder if he'd actually loved Maude. Next to Bernie stood Maude's youngest son, Billy.

At one time Billy Lombard had held all the promise for the Lombard family. Two years younger than Clea, he hadn't changed much in the ten years since she was in high school. His jet-black hair still stuck up in all the wrong places. Dressed in what had to be a new black suit, he stood beside Maude's casket, his head bowed. Clea knew first-hand that Maude had been a rotten mother, yet her death would cause great sorrow for Billy. He'd always had a soft heart, a beautiful soul, and a sharp mind, a mind he'd wasted here in Port Bliss.

As Reverend Parrish began the service, Clea focused her attention on the spray of red roses and baby's breath covering the casket. The Reverend's words blended into the soft shuffling of bodies around her. Clea's mind went back to the moment she'd arrived at the cemetery. She hadn't missed the light of surprise in Billy's eyes when he'd noticed her walking toward the gathering. Something had brought her here to say good-bye, to show respect for the grandmother of her son, despite the fact she had a silent agreement with the Lombards not to speak of the connection between them. Maybe the need for closure had brought her here, closure she'd never had with Nick.

She couldn't help but think of Nick today. He'd been out of prison for close to three months. Did he know his mother had died? Would he care? Clea didn't know. She did know he cared about Billy. Nick would do anything for his kid brother.

Bernie said a few words about his love for Maude as DeAnn sobbed quietly beside the casket.

"Maude leaves behind two sons, Nicholas and William," Reverend Parrish said, "and a grandson, Johnathan Rose."

All eyes turned to Clea. Pride and her high heels kept her rooted where she stood. Her eyes met Billy's and he gave her a nod, a respectful nod. After all this time, she wasn't sure how she felt about a nod from the Lombard family. They'd given up their right to know her son years ago.

The unmistakable roar of an approaching car distracted the mourners, and everyone turned toward the road. Glad all eyes were off of her, Clea also sought out the car. Her breath caught when she recognized the yellow and black '69 Mustang Boss racing toward them. Only one person in Port Bliss had a car like that. Her heart lurched. It couldn't be.

The Mustang braked to a stop at the edge of the grass. The door swung open and Nick climbed out - all six foot four inches of him. Wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket, he looked every bit as dangerous as he had in high school.

Clea's chest tightened with panic. She'd always imagined meeting him again, but not like this, not at a funeral.

Beside her DeAnn said, "Well don't that beat all? Nick's come home."

Clea tried to move, but her heels remained stuck in the grass. Unable to make a quick exit, she turned to face the casket, hoping Nick wouldn't notice her. She felt like an animal snared in one of old man Patenski's iron beaver traps. Her heart beat so loud she could hear the echo in her ears, the roar blocking her ability to think clearly.

"Go on, Reverend," Billy said as Nick stepped into place beside him.

"Nick," the Reverend greeted before continuing. "And so we say our final good-bye to Maude Lombard…"

Clea didn't hear any more. A powerful force she didn't understand pulled her toward Nick and she found herself held captive by his stare, a stare so compelling every nerve in her body began to hum. The intensity in his eyes made her remember every reason she'd been attracted to him, every reason she had to fear him.

"May you rest in peace, Maude." Reverend Parrish concluded the service, then extended his hand to Nick.

Clea made her get-away, dislodging her heels from the earth. She was halfway to her car when the rain started. Fat, angry drops, and for some reason the saying, "Raindrops are tears from God," ran through her head. Was God crying for Maude? Or was He crying for them all? The rain soaked her as she fumbled in her purse, looking for her keys.

"Clea."

"No," she said sharply. She needed time to get her emotions under control. She couldn't talk to Nick, not yet. Locating her keys, she inserted the key into the lock. The late model Honda clicked, all four doors unlocking. She reached for the handle. Nick's fingers closed around her arm.

"Aren't you going to say hello, Princess?"

The smooth sound of Nick's voice brought back every ounce of physical hurt, every shard of mental anguish she'd felt the past ten years. "Let go of me, Nick." She kept her eyes on the car. She didn't owe him a thing, not anymore.

"I don't want to fight, Clea."

Regret softened his words, and awakened her own regrets. Clea glanced at him. Close up, he was even more handsome than she had remembered. It wasn't fair. He still wore his black hair longer than fashionable. The dark stubble that had felt like sandpaper against her skin shadowed a jaw that had grown stronger and leaner with age. Blue eyes the color of a hot summer sky glowed with a promise she'd tried to forget.

He let go of her arm, but his stare kept her pinned to the side of the car. As much as she wanted to she couldn't move.

"I'm sorry about Maude," she offered, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't be. I'm here for Billy."

The hard tone of his words stirred an ache within her. "Yes, well, I'm sorry for Billy, too."

"He's had a tough time," Nick said, "but he's back on his feet now, working at Mullin's Garage."

"So I hear," Clea said. "Look, I need to go."

"How's my son?"

For a moment she had trouble thinking, let alone speaking. With an effort, she cleared her throat. "Don't confuse him, Nick."

A hard glint darkened Nick's eyes, and she remembered the lightning fast way his moods could change.

"He's my son, too, Clea."

She turned away from him, toward the car. "You made it clear a long time ago that you wanted nothing to do with him. You've never even seen him." With shaking fingers, she pulled the handle open and slid inside the car. When she tried to close the door, Nick caught it.

"I'm John's father," he said. "I have questions."

A chill ran down Clea's spine. Was Nick here for more than just the funeral? Had he come home for John? "I'm sure you have questions, but I'm not sure I'm inclined to answer them. Especially not here, and not now."

The muscle near his jaw tightened. "Then when? Just say the word and I'll be there."

"I don't know." A terrible tightness had taken hold of her chest.

"Nick," Billy called from the graveside. "Come on, man. We're waiting for you."

"You better go," Clea said, the words a whisper.

"I'll be in touch."

He started to reach for her arm. Clea's heart skipped a beat. At the last minute he pulled away. Turning, he walked back to Billy, placing a comforting arm around his brother's shoulders. At one time she would have given anything to have Nick comfort her, but those days were gone.

Clea yanked the Honda's door shut and flipped the switch, locking Nick out of her car, her heart, and her life. She started the engine and drove off. She didn't look back.

*   *   *

"You'll make a beautiful bride, Clea."

Clea stared at herself in the full-length mirror. On the outside she looked composed, but inside her world was crumbling. Thoughts of her encounter with Nick yesterday twisted her nerves into tight knots. Last night she'd put off telling her mother, and her fiancé, Robert, about Nick. She'd needed time to adjust to the news herself before having to deal with their comments. At this moment, she wanted to be anywhere but where she was, in Elizabeth Spencer's Clothing Shop, trying on her bridal gown.

"The dress is worth every penny," her mother said with a satisfied nod. "You look like a princess."

"I'm not a princess," she said, remembering Nick's words yesterday. "I'm far from it."

Vivian Rose walked a slow circle around her daughter. As usual, her mother had dressed to the nines in a powder blue Chanel suit. At age fifty-nine Vivian appeared years younger. Her blonde hair, born from a bottle now, was cut short, chic, with soft layers framing her face. Clea wished she had her mother's sense of style. Her mother looked elegant, put together, in control. Clea had never been in control, not once, and lately that thought bothered her more and more.

Vivian tapped one French-manicured fingernail against her chin. "This dress needs a tiara. You could wear your hair up."

"A tiara?" Clea said. "I don't know. It sounds pretentious. I thought it might be nice to keep it simple and have some flowers woven into my hair."

"Flowers? Really, Clea, you only get married once." Vivian smiled. "You're going to be the daughter-in-law of a United States senator, the wife of a prestigious attorney. You need to look the part. Everything's going your way, both personally and professionally. Winning the internship for your photography means a fresh start for you, Robert, and John. New York is waiting for you. It's your time to shine, honey. All your dreams are about to come true."