What Mattered Most (14 page)

No deep voice rumbled, and the crying continued. She sat up, straining her ears. Where was John? Pushing back the covers, she slid from the bed and padded through the bathroom to the nursery. She stopped in the doorway, transfixed.

Clad only in boxer briefs, John sat in the Windsor rocker by the window, Sonny Buck cradled against his shoulder. Eyes closed, he moved the chair in a slow motion with one foot and rubbed his son’s tiny back in circles. His demeanor spoke of the infinite patience Lanie had seen in all of his interactions with Sonny.

John hummed, his stroking fingers moving in a similar rhythm. Eric Clapton. “Wonderful Tonight.” She wanted to laugh at his choice of lullabies, but a rapid crush of memories took her breath. John owned every Clapton CD in existence, and how often had they danced to that very song, her arms around his neck, his hands urging her closer?

Those same long-fingered hands cradled her baby with strength and tenderness. A lump settled in her throat. As hard as she’d tried over the five days she’d been home to harden her heart and cling to her hatred, this John kept slipping under her defenses. The discrepancy kept her caught between anger and wanting. How could he be the father she’d wanted him to be, but not the man she wanted in her life?

More and more she had to remind herself of all the reasons why she couldn’t forgive him. More and more, as watching him with Sonny Buck forced her to see the changes in his personality, the arguments rang hollow. More and more, she wanted to be drawn into that circle of love and affection.

But the baby is different. John didn’t love you before. What makes you think he would now?

Sonny Buck’s cries drifted into snuffles, and his small body grew still under John’s touch. “Wonderful Tonight” faded to silence, and Lanie tensed, not wanting John to find her watching him but unable to turn away. His long lashes lifted, and she stared into the intensity of his dark blue gaze.

The rocker stilled. John didn’t smile. “Sorry if we woke you. He’s having a rough night. I think his stomach hurts.”

She fingered the edges of her hair. “That’s okay. I heard him crying and just wanted to check…”

Her voice died away. The dim light glinted off John’s bare skin. John pushed out of the chair and crossed to the crib to lay Sonny Buck down. Lanie watched the ripple of muscle under his skin and averted her eyes from the narrow line of dark hair that arrowed beneath his boxer briefs.

“I think he’s down this time.” John’s gaze flickered her way. He glanced down the line of her body then back up to her face, holding her gaze with his.

Her pajama pants and cami top covered everything, but she felt naked and exposed under that look. Too aware of the quiet surrounding them, she dropped her gaze. “I’ll just go back to bed, then. Goodnight.”

His quiet voice shivered over her raw nerves. “Goodnight.”

Hands pillowed beneath his head, John stared up at the blue and silver fish stenciled on the ceiling. Exhaustion gripped his body, giving him the sensation of moving in thick mud, but sleep wouldn’t come. Etched into his mind was that image of Lanie, clad in the too-cute pink polka dot pajamas he’d bought last Valentine’s and looking at him with soft, hot eyes. His body stirred, and he gritted his teeth.

Several times over the past few days, he’d caught that same look in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking at her. Fighting down hope, he wondered if she saw the same hunger on his face. Not that it mattered. He wanted her, but he wanted more. He wanted everything. With that goal uppermost in his mind, he wouldn’t settle for just the physical with her.

Mentally, he ticked off the number of leave days he had left. Lanie regained physical strength every day, and soon she wouldn’t need him in the house. He had no doubt what would happen then, unless he could convince her first that he could be trusted, could be worthy of her and Sonny Buck. He needed time, and time was the one thing he didn’t have.

With Cary Grant on television and Sonny Buck in his bassinet, Lanie lay on the couch. Half asleep, she listened to John move around upstairs while he put laundry away. Her head ached despite the prescribed pain relievers and the healing scalp incision felt tight and itchy. Edgy and miserable, she pondered a walk on the beach, but her flagging energy made the idea unattractive.

The doorbell rang, and she moved from the couch with a quick glance at Sonny Buck. He slept on, and she went to the door, the now-familiar revulsion shivering over her skin as she passed the foyer bath. She couldn’t even walk into that room yet.

A peek through the security hole sent the memories into oblivion and settled old stresses and uncertainties back into place. Her father stood on the steps. She wondered for one wild, brief moment if she could get away with not opening the door. For a second, even wilder moment, she considered retreating upstairs and letting John handle everything.

She drew herself up and took a deep breath. Leaning on John wasn’t in her plans anymore. Her damp palms slid on the doorknob, but she managed to open the door. Without smiling, she regarded her father. “Hello.”

“Elana.” He smiled, but his eyes, the same golden shade as her own, remained cold. Her stomach clenched. Why did looking at him always send her back to that desperate, insecure girl she’d been? “You’re looking well.”

Was he on drugs? Her face remained drawn with huge dark bags beneath her eyes, and she was sure her hair exposed her lovely new bald spot, complete with Frankenstein stitches. Even John wasn’t deceitful enough to say she looked good right now. “Thank you. Would you like to come in?”

He stepped into the house, his sharp gaze darting around the foyer. Eyeing his custom suit and Italian shoes, she wished she’d bothered to get dressed. Almost twelve o’clock, and she still wore pajamas. The impulse to please him, to impress him, angered her. She indicated the living room with a curt gesture. “Please, sit down.”

Adjusting the razor-sharp pleat on his trousers, he took John’s leather chair and darted a glance at the bassinet. Well, that explained a lot. An icy lump dropped into her stomach. Of course he wasn’t here for her.

She returned to the couch, wishing Caitlin hadn’t gone back to Virginia. Caitlin’s icy disdain always matched up better against Lucas Falconetti’s glacial emotions than Lanie’s spitfire temper. She picked at a stray thread on the hem of her pajama pants. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

Not three weeks after she’d almost died, anyway. At least she had to give John credit for hanging out at the hospital during those first few days.

Her father’s easy shrug reminded her of Caitlin’s. “I had a meeting in Houston. An hour or so more didn’t seem too far.”

John’s bare feet thudded on the stairs, forestalling the need for her reply. “Lanie, who was at the door?”

He appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and she saw him through her father’s eyes—mussed dark hair, a shadow of stubble on his jaw, oft-washed Springsteen T-shirt, faded jeans with a hole in one pocket. A working-class Irish cop who knocked up the disappointing daughter and didn’t even bother to marry her.

John paused, and she could see him measuring her father as well. “John,” she said, rising to her feet, “this is my father, Lucas Falconetti. John O’Reilly.”

Her father stood, and the two men exchanged a brief handshake. Her legs trembling, Lanie sat again and tucked her feet under her. John joined her on the couch, and Lanie resisted the urge to move closer to him.

Silence settled over the room. Lanie had never figured out the right things to say to the man who wished she’d never existed. During her teen years, she’d perfected the art of saying the wrong thing or refusing to speak at all. The familiar rebellious urge to stretch the silence sprang to life.

Lucas crossed one ankle over his knee. “You’re feeling better, Elana?”

Her fingernails cut into her palms. “I’m fine.”

“Good, good.” Her father nodded. “Sheila has been good enough to keep me updated on your condition.”

She supposed being able to say that made him feel better. From the corner of her eye, Lanie saw John’s hands clench on his knees. She shrugged. “You know Sheila. She likes to be helpful.”

He nodded again, adjusting the cuff link at his left wrist. “She says the baby is healthy as well.”

Maybe he reserved the famous subtlety for his business dealings. Aware of John’s increasing tension, Lanie eyed her father. “Yes.”

“Does he have a name yet?” The first hint of real emotion flickered over Lucas’s face. Pride, Lanie thought. Resentful anger licked at her stomach.

She tilted up her chin. “Brannigan McCall O’Reilly.”

“I see.” Distaste curled Lucas’s full lower lip. The use of her mother’s maiden name hit home, she thought. What had he expected? Lucas Giovanni Falconetti II? For the first time, she was glad the baby bore John’s surname.

“But we call him Sonny Buck.” A grin tugged at her mouth.

Lucas’s mouth thinned. “I see you share your mother’s fondness for common nicknames.”

Lanie narrowed her eyes at him, her temper sparking. “I always thought nicknames were a Falconetti tradition as well. When was the last time anyone referred to Vince as Vincenzo or Tony as Anthony?”

“The boy deserves a name he can be proud of,” Lucas snapped.

“Like yours?”

“He has one.” John’s simultaneous words were quiet, cold, deadly. Palpable anger emanated from his tense body.

With a deliberate gesture, Lucas straightened his tie. “I wouldn’t have been disappointed to have my first grandson named for me. I’m also more than willing to offer assistance while you get back on your feet, so to speak.”

Suspicion nudged at Lanie. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Assistance?”

“With your physical limitations, the demands of a newborn must be overwhelming. Carol and I would be more than happy to look after him during your recuperation.”

They could kiss her sweet ass, too. Lanie bit back the words. Her baby in Carol’s clutches? Her stepmother made Caitlin at her coldest seem like tropical St. Tropez. She gritted her teeth. “John’s here to help me. We’re getting along fine, even with my
limitations
.”

Irritation tightened Lucas’s face. “Elana, I can give him the best of everything—schools, opportunities, connections.”

He still didn’t see. He thought money and all it provided was enough. When she spoke, her voice shook. “He has everything he needs right here.”

Her father’s cold gaze flickered to John. “What kind of life can the two of you offer him? You couldn’t even be bothered to make him legitimate.”

Hands clenched, John was on his feet before Lanie sensed him moving. “You need to leave.”

Lucas didn’t move, a slight smile playing over his mouth. “This is my daughter’s house. I don’t believe you have the right to ask me to do anything.”

John took a step forward, and Lanie scrambled to her feet. A hand on John’s arm, she glared at her father. “Well, your daughter is telling you to get the hell out. And don’t bother to come back.”

He rose, cold anger glinting in his eyes. “You’ll regret this, Elana.”

She laughed, feeling free of him for the first time ever. “Oh, sure I will. What are you going to do, shut me out of your life?”

“Do not think you’ll be able to come to me for help later.”

“I won’t. I don’t
need
you.” One hand still on John’s taut arm, she pointed to the foyer with the other. “You remember the way out, right?”

With one last glare, he strode from the room, and moments later, the door clapped shut. Lanie darted a glance at Sonny Buck, but he slept on. Under her fingers, anger vibrated through John’s muscles. The same anger tightened his voice. “Is he always like that?”

Her shaky laugh matched her suddenly weak legs. She clutched his arm for support. “Usually, he’s worse. You should have heard him when I told him I was becoming a cop and not going for a law degree.”

“My God, what a bastard.” John jerked a hand through his tousled hair and smiled down at her. “You’re incredible, did you know that?”

The affection glowing in his navy gaze set her nerves jangling. She dropped her hand from his arm, her fingertips still tingling from the contact. “He may be a bastard, but my mother loved him. God, did he make her pay for that. I don’t think he ever forgave me, either.”

“Lanie, what are you talking about?”

The surge of adrenaline faded. She moved closer to the bassinet, sadness clutching at her heart. In his sleep, Sonny Buck’s mouth moved in a suckling motion. She closed her eyes. “He was right, you know.”

“What do you—”

“He deserves better than us.” The yawning void of her childhood opened before her. She shuddered at the thought of her baby enduring that.

“God, Lanie, don’t. Money isn’t everything. You know that.”

“I’m not talking about money.” She sighed and opened her eyes, staring out at the glassy Gulf. With a shrug, she turned to face him. “He deserved to come into something better than us. He deserved a real family.”

“It’s not too late. We could make it better.” The naked pleading in his eyes made her stomach jump. “Lanie, I—”

“No.” She shook her head, sadness curling around her heart. How could anything be salvaged from nothing? “I’m tired, and my head is killing me. I’m going to lie down for a while.”

He didn’t reply, and she walked away. At the foot of the stairs, she turned and looked back. “John?”

When he didn’t turn, she sighed. “For what it’s worth, you’re already a better father than he ever was.”