Natural Born Charmer (21 page)

“You can take care of yourself.” Old bitterness bubbled to the surface. “It’s so ironic. All the times I needed to talk to you, you wouldn’t take a single call. Now, when you’re the last person in the world I want to—”

“I couldn’t, April. I couldn’t talk to you. You were poisonous to me.”

“So poisonous that you wrote your best music when we were together?”

“I wrote my worst, too.” He stood. “Remember those days? I was washing pills down with vodka.”

“You were drugging before I met you.”

“I’m not blaming you. I’m only saying that living in a jealous frenzy made it worse. No matter who I was with—even my own band—I kept wondering whether you’d gotten to them first.”

Her fists curled at her sides. “I loved you!”

“You loved them all, April. As long as they rocked.”

Not true. He was the only one she’d truly loved, but she wouldn’t be drawn into defending those ancient, misplaced feelings. She also wouldn’t let him shame her. His sexual body count was as high as her own.

“I was wrestling my own demons,” he said. “I couldn’t wrestle yours, too. Remember those ugly fights? Not just ours. I was punching out fans, photographers. I was burning up.”

And taking her with him.

He wandered past her toward the edge of the pond. Only in the way he moved, with the same lithesome, long-legged grace as his son,
could anyone have guessed they were related. They didn’t look alike. Dean had taken after her blond Nordic ancestors. Jack was night, dark as sin. She swallowed and said softly, “We had a son together. I needed to talk to you about him.”

“I know. But my survival depended on staying away.”

“Maybe at first, but what about later on? What about then?”

He met her gaze full on. “As long as I was signing the checks on time, I gave myself a pass.”

“I never forgave you for that blood test.”

He gave a sharp bite of a laugh. “Give me a break. How many lies had I caught you in? You were wild, out of control.”

“And Dean was the one who paid.”

“Yeah, he was the one who paid.”

She rubbed her arms. She was so tired of having her past shape the present.
Fake it till you make it.
It was time to take her own advice. “Where’s Riley?”

“Asleep.”

She glanced toward the cottage windows. “Inside?”

“No. At the farmhouse.”

“I thought Dean and Blue went out.”

“They did.” He grabbed the kitchen chair to carry it inside.

“You left Riley alone?”

He headed for the back door. “I told you. She was asleep.”

“What if she wakes up?”

He picked up his step. “She won’t.”

“You have no way of knowing that.” She went after him. “Jack, you don’t leave a skittish eleven-year-old alone in a big house like that at night.”

He’d never liked being put on the defensive, and he set the chair down hard in the grass. “Nothing’s going to happen. She’s safer there than in the city.”

“She doesn’t feel that way.”

“I guess I’m a better judge of my own child than you are.”

“You don’t have any idea what to do with her.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said.

“Do it fast. She might only be eleven, but trust me when I tell you time is running out.”

“Now you’re the big expert on motherhood?”

A rush of anger sent another crack into the rocky landscape of her serenity. “Yes, Jack, I am. Nobody’s a better expert than someone who’s made every mistake in the book.”

“You’re right about that.” He grabbed the chair and stalked inside.

The crack split into a chasm. Only one person had the right to condemn her, and that was Dean. She shot after him. “Don’t you dare judge me. You, of all people.”

He wouldn’t retreat. “I don’t need you telling me how to take care of my daughter.”

“You only think you don’t.” Riley had touched something inside her, and she couldn’t let this go, not when the little girl’s future was at stake, and not when Jack so clearly understood he was wrong. “Life doesn’t hand out a lot of second chances, but you’ve got one with her. Except you’re going to blow it. I can already see it. Mr. Rock Star is fifty-four years old and still too self-indulgent to let his life be disrupted by a needy little kid.”

“Don’t try to paint me with the brush of your sins.” His words were tough, but the lack of conviction in his voice told her she’d struck a nerve. He shoved the chair under the table and brushed past her. The door slammed. She watched through the window as he grabbed his guitar and bent over the candle flame. Seconds later, the backyard fell into darkness.

Dean enjoyed watching Blue enjoy the Vanquish. She was still behind the wheel as they drove up to the farmhouse. “Explain it to me one more time,” she said. “Explain how you knew I wouldn’t end up be
ing permanently paralyzed by a psychotic woman who was two feet taller than me and fifty pounds heavier.”

“Stop exaggerating,” he said. “She had you by maybe four inches and thirty pounds. And I’ve seen you fight. Besides, she wasn’t psychotic. She was so drunk she could hardly walk.”

“Still…”

“Somebody had to teach her manners. I couldn’t do it. And that’s what teamwork’s all about.” He grinned. “You’ve got to admit you enjoyed it.”

“I hate that.”

“You can’t help it, Blue. You’re a natural born badass.”

He could see she appreciated the compliment.

He got out to open the barn door so she could park the Vanquish. He was beginning to understand her strange inner workings. Growing up with no one but herself to rely on had made her fiercely independent, which was why she couldn’t tolerate being beholden to him. His old girlfriends took dinners at luxury restaurants and expensive presents for granted. But even those cheap earrings galled Blue. He’d seen her steal more than a few glances at herself in the rearview mirror, so he knew she liked them, but he also knew she would have given them back in an instant if she could have figured out how to do it and keep her dignity. He had no idea how to handle a woman who wanted so little from him, especially when he wanted so much from her.

She pulled the Vanquish in and got out. Today he’d carted away several wheelbarrow loads of old feed sacks and other debris from the barn and stables to make room for the car. He couldn’t do much about the pigeons roosting in the rafters except keep the car covered, but once he built a garage, that wouldn’t be a problem.

He slid the barn door back. Blue came up next to him, the purple glass earrings bobbing at her ears. He wanted to slip her in his pocket, among other things. “You’re used to it, aren’t you?” she said. “Not just the fighting, but strangers buying you drinks and everybody trying to be your best friend. You don’t even seem to resent it.”

“Considering the obscene amount of money they pay me for basically doing nothing, I’ve got no right.”

He expected her to agree, but she didn’t. Instead, she studied him so steadily that he got the feeling she knew exactly how much mind-numbing pain he endured. Even in the off-season, he watched so much game film that it played in his sleep. “Professional sports is entertainment,” he said. “Anybody who loses sight of that is kidding himself.”

“But it has to be a drag sometimes.”

It was. “You won’t hear me complaining.”

“One of the things I like about you.” She squeezed his arm, one friend to another, which set his teeth on edge.

“It has a lot more positives than negatives,” he said a tad too belligerently. “People know who you are. It’s hard to be lonely when you’re even middling famous.”

She pulled her hand away. “Because you’re never an outsider. You don’t know what that feels like, do you?” Her face fell. “I’m sorry. The way you grew up…Of course, you do. That was a crappy thing to say.” She rubbed her cheek. “It’s because I’m dead on my feet. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait, I—”

But she was off to the caravan, the beads on her sparkly lavender top twinkling in the dark like tiny stars.

He wanted to shout out that he didn’t need anybody’s sympathy. But he’d never chased after a woman in his life, and not even Blue Bailey could make him start. He stalked inside.

The house was quiet. He wandered into the living room, then stepped out through the French doors onto the concrete slab that would hold his screen porch when the carpenters came back. A stack of lumber waited for them. He tried to enjoy the stars, but his heart wasn’t in it. The farm was supposed to be his refuge, the place where he could kick back and relax, but now Mad Jack and Riley were asleep upstairs, and he only had Blue to protect his blind side. Everything
in his life had gone off balance, and he didn’t know how to straighten it out.

He wasn’t used to feeling unsure of himself, so he went back inside and headed for the stairs.

What he saw at the top brought him to a dead stop.

Riley sat huddled on the top step, a butcher
knife clutched in her small fist, Puffy at her side. The knife couldn’t have looked more out of place with her pink, candy-heart pajamas and round child’s face. He did not want to deal with this. Why wasn’t Blue here? She’d know exactly how to handle Riley. She’d say just the right thing.

He had to force himself to mount the stairs. When he reached the top, he nodded toward the knife. “What were you planning to do with that?”

“I—I heard noises.” She drew her knees tighter against her chest. “I thought there might be…like…maybe a murderer or something.”

“It was just me.” He leaned down and took the knife from her. Puffy, looking considerably cleaner and better fed than on Friday, gave a wheezy sigh and closed her eyes.

“I heard noises before you came in.” She gazed at the damned knife as if she thought he might use it on her. “At ten-thirty-two. Ava packed my alarm clock.”

“You’ve been sitting here for two hours?”

“I think I woke up when Dad left.”

“He’s not here?”

“I think he went to see April.”

It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what Mad Jack and dear old Mom were up to. He strode down the hallway to Jack’s room and pitched the knife on his bed. Let him figure out how it got there.

When he returned, Riley was right where he’d left her, still huddled over her knees. Even the dog had deserted her. “After Dad left, I heard creaking sounds,” she said. “Like somebody was trying to break in, and maybe they had a gun or something.”

“This is an old house. They all creak. How did you get the knife?”

“I sneaked it up to my bedroom before I went to sleep. My—my house at home has security alarms, but I didn’t think there are any alarms here.”

She’d been sitting here armed with a butcher knife for two hours? The idea made him crazy. “Go to sleep,” he said more harshly than he intended. “I’m here now.”

She nodded, but she didn’t move.

“What’s wrong?”

She picked at her fingernail. “Nothing.”

He’d found her with a butcher knife, and he was mad at Blue, and he hated knowing April was getting it on with Mad Jack, so he took it out on the kid. “Say it, Riley. I can’t read your mind.”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

But she didn’t move. Why wouldn’t she get up and go to bed? He had endless patience with the most bumbling rookie, but now he felt himself losing it. “Yes, you do. Spit it out.”

“I don’t want anything,” she said quickly.

“Fine. Then sit there.”

“Okay.” Her head dipped lower, her tangled mass of curly hair hung further over her face, and her defenselessness was a rope dragging him back to the darkest corners of his childhood. His lungs
compressed. “You know, don’t you, that you can’t count on Jack for anything but money. He’s not going to be there for you. If you want something, you’ll have to take care of it because he won’t be around to fight your battles. If you don’t stand up for yourself, the world will roll right over you.”

Misery muffled her quick response. “Okay, I will.”

Friday morning in the kitchen she’d managed to stand up for herself just fine. Unlike him, she’d bent her father to her will, but now, seeing her like this made him crazy. “You’re just saying what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what the
hell you want
!”

Her small shoulders trembled, and the words came out in a rush. “I want you to see if a murderer is hiding in my bedroom!”

He sucked in his breath.

A tear dropped on the leg of her pajamas, right next to a candy heart that said
KISS ME STUPID
.

He was the biggest shithead who’d ever lived, and he couldn’t do this any longer. He couldn’t steel himself against her just because she was an inconvenience. He sank down on the step next to her. The dog came trotting out from his bedroom and nosed between them.

All his adult life, he’d kept his childhood baggage from dragging him down. Only on the football field did he let that dark cauldron of leftover emotions erupt inside him. But now he’d allowed his anger to spill over onto the person who least deserved it. He’d punished this sensitive, defenseless kid for drawing him back to that place of helplessness. “I’m a jerk,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself. Mad at Jack. You haven’t done one thing wrong.” He could feel her taking the words in, running them through that complex brain of hers, probably looking for a way she could still blame herself. He couldn’t stand it.

“Go ahead and punch me,” he said.

Her chin came up, and her teary eyes widened in shock. “I couldn’t ever do that.”

“Sure you could. It’s…what sisters do when their brothers act like jerks.” It wasn’t easy for him to say the words, but he needed to stop acting like a self-centered ass and step up to the plate.

Her lips parted in shock that he might finally be willing to claim her. Hope kindled in her damp eyes. She wanted him to live up to her illusions. “You’re not a jerk.”

He had to get this right, or he couldn’t live with himself. He slipped his arm around her shoulder. Her back stiffened, as if she were afraid to move for fear he’d pull away. She was already beginning to count on him. With a sense of resignation, he drew her closer. “I don’t know how to be a big brother, Riley. I’m pretty much a kid at heart.”

“So am I,” she said earnestly. “I’m a kid at heart, too.”

“I didn’t mean to yell at you. I was just…worried. I know a lot about what you’re going through.” He couldn’t say any more, not now, so he stood and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go check your room for murderers so you can get to sleep.”

“I feel better now. I don’t really think there are any murderers in there.”

“Neither do I, but we’d better check anyway.” An idea came to him, a stupid way to begin making up for some of the pain he’d caused her. “I’ve got to warn you… The big brothers I know are pretty rotten to their sisters.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…They might open their sister’s closet and scream like they really saw a monster in there just to scare her.”

A smile started in Riley’s eyes and played with the corner of her mouth. “You wouldn’t do that.”

He felt himself smiling back. “I might. Unless you beat me to it.”

And she did. She ran ahead of him into the bedroom, screaming all the way. He had himself a sister, whether he wanted one or not.

Puffy joined the melee, and, in the commotion, Dean missed the sound of running feet. The next thing he knew, something hit him in the back, he lost his balance, and fell. As he rolled over, he saw Jack hovering above him, his face twisted with anger. “You leave her alone!”

Jack grabbed Riley, who was now screaming for real while the dog raced in shrill, yipping circles around them. Jack pulled her to his chest. “It’s okay. I won’t let him get near you again. I promise.” He stroked her tangled hair. “We’re getting out of here. Now.”

An unwieldy mix of rage, resentment, and disgust churned inside Dean. This chaos was what currently passed for his life. He came to his feet. Riley clutched Jack’s shirt, gulping for air and trying to talk, but too hysterical to frame the words. The revulsion in Jack’s face gave Dean a queer kind of satisfaction.
That’s right. It’s all out in the open now. And right back atcha.

“Get out of here,” Jack said.

Dean wanted to punch him, but Riley still had a death grip on Jack’s shirt. She finally found her voice. “It wasn’t—He’s not—It’s all my fault! Dean saw the—the knife.”

Jack caught her head in his hands. “What knife?”

“I got it…from the kitchen.” She hiccupped.

“What were you doing with a knife?” Jack raised his voice over the noise of the barking dog.

“I was—It was—”

“She was afraid.” Dean wanted the words to fester, but Riley let it all tumble out.

“I woke up and there wasn’t anybody in the house, and I was scared…”

Dean didn’t stay to listen but headed for his bedroom. His shoulder already ached from his fight with Ronnie, and he’d just landed on
it again. Two fights in one night. Brilliant. The barking stopped as he popped a couple of Tylenol. He stripped off his clothes, got in the shower, and turned the water on as hot as he could tolerate.

Jack was waiting in the bedroom when he came out. The house was quiet. Riley and Puffy had presumably been tucked in for the night. Jack tilted his head toward the hall. “I want to talk to you. Downstairs.” Without waiting for a response, he left.

Dean threw off his towel and tugged a pair of jeans over his damp legs. It was way past time to have this out.

He found Jack in the empty living room, his fingers stuffed in his back pockets. “I heard her screaming,” he said, gazing out the window. “It looked bad.”

“Hell, I’m just glad you finally got around to remembering you left her alone. Good job, Jack.”

“I know when I fuck up.” Jack turned, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’m feeling my way with her, and sometimes I get it wrong—like tonight. When that happens, I do my best to fix it.”

“Admirable. Very admirable. I’m humbled.”

“You never did anything wrong in your life?”

“Hell, yes. I threw seventeen interceptions last season.”

“You know what I mean.”

Dean hooked his thumb in the waistband of his jeans. “Well, I’ve got a bad habit of picking up speeding tickets, and I can be a sarcastic son of a bitch, but I haven’t left any old girlfriends pregnant, if that’s what you’re driving at. No bastard kids running around. I’m embarrassed to say it, Jack, but I don’t seem to be in your league.” Jack flinched, but Dean wanted to annihilate him, and he needed more. “Just to make sure you understand…The only reason I’m letting you stay here is because of Riley. You’re nothing but a sperm donor to me, pal, so keep out of my way.”

Jack wouldn’t back off. “No problem. I’m good at that.” He moved closer. “I’m only going to say this once. You got a raw deal, and I’m sorrier about that than you could ever imagine. When April told me
she was pregnant, I ran as fast and as far as I could. If it had been up to me, you’d never have been born, so factor that in the next time you let her know how much you hate her.”

Dean felt sick, but he refused to look away, and Jack sneered. “I was twenty-three, man. Too young for responsibility. All I cared about was music, getting high, and getting laid. My lawyer was the guy who looked out for you when April couldn’t. He was the one who made sure there was a nanny on duty just in case your mother snorted too many lines or forgot to come home after she’d spent the night entertaining some glam rocker in gold lamé pants. My lawyer was the one who kept track of your grades. He was the one the school called when you got sick. I was too busy forgetting you existed.”

Dean couldn’t move. Jack’s lips curled. “But you have your retribution, pal. I get to spend the rest of my life seeing the man you’ve become and knowing—if it had been up to me—you’d never have drawn your first breath. How cool is that?”

Dean couldn’t handle any more, and he turned away, but Jack had one last missile to toss at his back. “I promise you one thing. I won’t ever ask you to forgive me. I can at least do that.”

Dean rushed into the foyer and out the front door. Before he knew it, he’d reached the caravan.

Blue had just fallen asleep when the door of her peaceful habitat blew open. She fumbled for her flashlight and finally managed to flip it on. He was bare-chested, and his eyes glittered like midnight ice. “Not a word,” he said, slamming the door so hard the wagon shook. “Not one word.”

Under other circumstances, she would have taken issue, but he looked so tortured—so magnificent—that she was temporarily struck speechless. She eased up into the pillows, her comfy haven no longer feeling quite so safe. Something had deeply upset him, and for once, she didn’t think it was her. He cracked his head on the caravan’s
curved roof. A blistering blasphemy split the air followed by a gust of wind that shook the wagon.

She licked her lips. “Uhm, it’s probably not good to take the Lord’s name in vain until the weather’s a little calmer.”

“Are you naked?” he demanded.

“Not at this precise moment.”

“Then hand it over. Whatever ugly piece of crap you’re wearing.” The slivers of moonlight coming through the window carved his face into blunt planes and enigmatic shadows. “The game’s gone on long enough. Give it to me.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he said flatly. “Hand it over, or I’m coming in to get it.”

If another man had talked to her like this, she’d have screamed her head off, but he wasn’t any man. Something had cracked his shiny facade, and he was hurting. Even though she was jobless, penniless, and homeless, he was the needy one. Not that he’d admit it. Neither of them played the game that way.

“You’re on the pill.” Last week, he’d initiated a pointed discussion about blood tests and sexual health, and he already knew this.

“Yes, but—” Once again, she had to keep herself from admitting she took it more for her complexion than for her sex life. In the meantime, he walked over to the cupboard, slid open a built-in drawer at the bottom, and pulled out a pack of condoms she hadn’t put there. She didn’t like his premeditation. At the same time, she appreciated his common sense.

“Give me that.” He pulled the flashlight from her fingers, tossed the condoms down, and whipped back the sheet that covered her. The beam of light hit her
BODY BE BEER
T-shirt. “You’d think by now I’d have lowered my expectations, but I keep hoping.”

“File a complaint with the fashion police.”

“How about I take the law into my own hands?”

She braced herself—hoped for?—some bodice ripping, but he
disappointed her by dragging the flashlight beam along her bare legs instead. “Very nice, Blue. You should show these off more often.”

“They’re short.”