A Crazy Kind of Love (25 page)

He glanced at her. “Funny.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t laugh so hard,” she said. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

His hands fisted in his pockets. “I don’t—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “If you’re about to give me the ‘we’re just having sex we’re not a couple’ speech again, skip it. We might not have planned any of this—but we’ve moved past the ‘ships that bump in the night’ thing anyway and you know it.”

He nodded. They were more than just bed partners. He just didn’t know
what
they were. Wasn’t sure he was ready to find out, either.

“Look, don’t think of this as pillow talk. Think about it like we’re just two friends spilling our guts. God knows, I’ve spilled enough of mine all over you.”

“Friends?” he asked. “Is that what we are?”

“Works for now, doesn’t it? Besides, there’re worse things to be.”

“Good point.” Trust Mike to cut through the bullshit and get right down to it.

“So do you want to tell me now, before I go to the hospital to see Papa, or when I get back?”

“I get a choice?” he asked wryly.

“There’s always a choice, grasshopper.”

“You getting deep on me?” he asked with a brief snort of laughter. “What happened to a love for shallow?”

“I’m changeable. Sue me.”

He ignored that. “If there’s a choice, I vote for later.”

“Not surprised,” Mike said and scooted off the porch rail. She stepped up to him and laid the flat of her hand on his chest. His heartbeat quickened under her touch and he realized that his instant reaction to Mike was the
one
thing he could depend on lately.

“You realize,” she said, meeting his gaze squarely, “I won’t let this go.”

“When have you
ever
let something go?”

She smiled, reached up and hooked one hand behind his neck. Pulling his head down to hers, she gave him a long, hard, smacking kiss and then released him again. “Rocket Man, you’re getting to know me, aren’t you?”

“I’d say so.”

“Can’t have that,” she said with a shake of her head that sent her blond braid into a pendulumlike wave, “so I guess I’m going to have to find a way to surprise you.”

“You usually do.”

“What’s life without surprises?”

“Peaceful?”

“Boring.” Then she patted his chest, grabbed her shoulder bag off the closest chair, and sprinted down the steps and through the rain to her truck.

Most women he’d known would have had an umbrella, protecting their hair if not their clothes. Mike, though, was a law unto herself. He watched her easy grace, the way her legs moved in long, lazy strides. And he admitted, at least to himself, that he’d much rather have surprises in his life—even if it meant having a dying brother show up on his doorstep or trying to keep one step ahead of Mike.

Papa’s already ruddy face flushed nearly beet red. His full gray beard stood out in sharp contrast against his skin and his eyes were wary as he watched Mike approach his bed.

“How you feeling, Papa?” She grabbed the top rail of the bed and let the feel of the cold metal ground her. It hadn’t been easy, walking into this room. But it would have been even more difficult to stay away.

She’d been worried about this. Talking to him for the first time since finding out about the secrets he’d protected for so long. Facing him, knowing that her father wasn’t the man she’d always thought him to be.

But now, looking down at him, Mike felt the sweet rush of love pour through her. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, sorting through her wildly confused feelings. But the bottom line was, this was Papa. The man she’d loved her whole life. And God, it was good to know that feeling was still inside, despite the pain and the disappointment. She couldn’t have borne losing Papa.

“I’m fine,” he said softly and his hands opened and closed on the flannel sheet covering him up to his chest. “Just . . .
worried
.”

She squeezed the top rail a little tighter. It seemed they were going to have the talk now. Here.

Was she ready?

Nope.

Mike’s stomach churned.

“Your sister Samantha was here this morning. We talked.”

“And now we have to?” she asked.

“I think so.”

“Papa,” she said, suddenly sure she really didn’t want to go there. “Why don’t we just pretend we did and leave it at that?”

“The time for pretending is over.”

She blew out a breath and met his gaze. Pale blue
eyes stared back at her. Misery shone in those familiar depths, along with hope.

She knew those feelings. She’d been so terrified yesterday, that they were going to lose him. She thought about Lucas at home, dealing with a brother he was
going
to lose, no matter what. And she felt . . . confused? Oh yeah. Grateful? That, too. And still, just a little hurt.

To protect herself, delay the inevitable, she said quickly, “The last time we were together in a hospital,
I
was the one in the bed.”

“I remember,” he said, his gaze locked on hers.

“I was scared then, too.” Her voice dropped to a hush as memories reared up, demanding to be noticed.

She didn’t remember the accident. That was probably a blessing. She
did
remember hitchhiking and a guy stopping to pick her up.

The minute she was in the car with him, she smelled the alcohol. The whole car reeked of it. He was happy. Celebrating some big business deal. And he’d told her she shouldn’t hitchhike. Too dangerous. But she was safe with him. She tried to make him stop—even runaways knew better than to drive with a drunk. He didn’t stop, though. Just kept driving and talking and laughing and then he shook a cigarette out of a pack and stuck it in his mouth
.

The car weaved back and forth across the highway while he fumbled with a lighter. Mike yelled at him to be careful, but he laughed again. Then the car drifted farther, into oncoming traffic
.

Headlights speared in through the windshield. The
man screamed and that sound echoed in her brain over and over again as Mike slid into darkness
.

When she woke up, the cops told her the drunk had died, along with the guy they’d hit. She was the lucky one. She lived. Of course, her internal injuries were so severe they’d had to remove most of her ovaries. And at seventeen, she’d had to look up into a kind doctor’s face as he told her there was a ninety-six percent chance she would
never
have children.

She’d paid a heavy price for running. Now Papa was paying a price of his own.

“I remember lying in the bed, feeling so damn sorry that I’d run again. That I’d disappointed you and scared Mama, again.”

“We understood, Michaela. We hurt because
you
hurt.”

She nodded, her grip on the bedrail tightening as the past faded and the present slammed hard into her heart.

“Did Mama know?” she blurted, surprised by the words because she really hadn’t known that question was inside her, waiting to come out.

“No.” He understood what she was talking about now and reassured her as fast as he could. Reaching for one of Mike’s hands, he said, “I would not have hurt her by telling her the truth only to make myself feel better. Confession is not always good for the soul.”

Mike shook her head and sighed. She knew he believed that. But the truth was, a woman always knew. Husbands might think they could keep indiscretions separate from their real lives. But wives always knew.

“Papa, even if she didn’t know—it hurt her.”

“Do you think I don’t know?” he asked quietly, his voice barely more than a breath. “Do you think I haven’t lived with my own guilt, my own shame, all these years?”

“Why, Papa?” Her eyes filled with tears and she lifted her free hand to brush them away. “Why would you do it?”

He sighed and it seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. “It was a hard time, Michaela. Your mama was sick. I was scared.”

“You? Scared?”

A brief, sad smile curved his mouth and was gone again in an instant. “More scared than I’ve ever been before in my life. I couldn’t help her. Couldn’t do anything for her. She was slipping away from me to a place I couldn’t reach.”

Oh God, she remembered it all so well. Mama sick, closing herself off in her room—her own pain and misery making her look for a cave to hide in.

Papa sleeping on the sofa, so he wouldn’t disturb her in the night. Him standing outside their bedroom door, wanting to at least see her, but unsure if he should bother her or not. If she’d welcome him or not.

She remembered she and her sisters creeping through the house, not wanting to make any noise. All of them afraid to admit that Mama was dying. Afraid to look at the crumbling world around them.

And God, she remembered how she ran.

All the times she ran and hid, wanting to escape. Wanting to run from the pain and the fear of losing Mama. Until that last time, when she’d ended up in a hospital and seen the fatigue and sorrow in Mama’s eyes.

In her own way, Mike had made it all so much harder. She hadn’t helped. She’d been that one last straw on the back of an already crippled camel.

“So you ran away, too,” she said quietly.

Surprise flashed in his eyes and she knew he was grateful that she could understand. “Yes. I ran. I’m ashamed. But I ran. I went to a bar in San Jose. Someplace to hear people talk about things other than death and sickness. To hear music and remember life was still going on. And I talked to a nice young woman—a waitress there—who was in college at night. She was alone. And I . . .
felt
alone.”

“Carol.” One word. One name. And it hung in the room like a neon banner flashing
ADULTERER
.

“Yes. Carol.” He scraped one hand across his face, smoothing his beard unnecessarily. “She had problems of her own. And we . . . talked. It helped. Talking to someone who didn’t
need
something from me. Someone who didn’t
expect
me to have all the answers.”

Mike’s insides twisted. She wanted to yell at him. To ask him if he really thought that explanation made everything okay. But she could see in his eyes that he didn’t.

“And it happened,” he said softly, letting it go at that, and Mike really didn’t need a picture drawn, thanks very much.

“When Carol found out she was pregnant, she told me,” he said. “She wanted the baby. And how could I ask her to get rid of a child?” He shook his head. “I couldn’t. So she went to San Francisco. Got a job. Had the baby. I went home to watch my Sylvia die and I helped Carol—and Jack—when I could.”

“Jack knew about us.”

Papa frowned. “You’re his sisters. He should know you.”

“He’s our
brother
,” Mike said flatly. “We should have known
him
.”

Yes,” he admitted, his voice tired. “You should have . . . now you can.”

That was too much to think about at the moment, so she simply shrugged as if it didn’t matter to her one way or the other and said, “Maybe.”

Papa cleared his throat and asked, “Where is Josefina? I haven’t seen her.”

Mike shifted her gaze to the far wall, where an oversized clock was ticking off the seconds. “Jo was here yesterday, waiting with us. She’s—”

“Mad at her papa.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “And you, Michaela? How do you feel?”

She blew out a breath. “I’m still a little mad, too,” she admitted, wondering if that feeling would ever completely go away. “But maybe I understand better because of what happened to
me
when Mama was dying. And I love you, Papa. That doesn’t change.”

His eyes filled with tears and he bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep from giving in to them. When a strong man breaks, it’s not an easy thing to watch.

Carefully, she released the latch on the guard rail and leaned over him to lay her head on his chest. Mike felt Papa’s arms come around her and she closed her eyes on a silent prayer of thanks that he was still a part of her life.

The rest, they’d have to work on.

• • •

Bridget stomped down the back stairs, avoided the rocky path leading down to the lake’s edge, and instead walked through the grass toward the meadow. The storm had passed, the sky was clear, and the wind sharp with the scent of fresh rain.

But the storm inside
her
was still raging.

So mad she could spit, she kept moving until the house was far behind her. Only then did she drop to the ground and stare back at the place. A lovely home, to be sure, but inside that lovely place lay a man more stubborn, more hardheaded, more exasperating than anyone she’d ever met.

“Who’s the fool, though?” she muttered, letting the wetness of the grass soak into her jeans. “The irritating man or the woman who loves him in spite of himself?”

“You know,” Mike said as she dropped to the ground beside her, “I’ve asked myself that very question a couple of times lately.”

Bridget scowled and flipped her head back, swinging her hair in a wild, fiery arc. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Surprise.” Mike grinned, drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you—but in my own defense, if you hadn’t been talking to yourself, you probably would have heard me.”

She looked so at home, Bridget thought with a slight pang of envy and a wave of homesickness so thick she could almost taste it. Mike Marconi had an easy way about her, compassionate blue eyes and a temper to
match her own. Under other circumstances, they might have been friends. But as Bridget loved a man being shunned by the man Mike loved, she doubted that would be happening now.

“I’ve come out to get a bit of distance between me and those two in there,” she said, careful to keep a tight rein on her temper.

Mike flicked a glance at the house behind her. “They’re arguing?”

“It would be better if they were,” Bridget scoffed. “Instead, Justin pretends to be strong and brave and Lucas pretends his brother isn’t there at all.”

“Family’s not easy,” Mike muttered.

“No, they’re not,” Bree said, thoughtful as she pictured her four older brothers and a mother who thought herself the queen matchmaker of County Mayo. “My own would drive the saints screaming right out of heaven. But to be without them would be worse, I think.”