Guilty Pleasures (30 page)

“Because he thought I was, I guess.”

“Why did you want to keep the name?”

Nasty glanced toward the stairway. Polly was down there, hearing every word
…
He ran a hand through his hair. This was a test. Polly was finding out how he related to her boy. “I didn’t think too much of myself then. I was kind of hovering. Trying to be something, I guess. The nasty thing gave me something to be. They called me nasty, so I was. You said I was big—that
I
must have been a big kid. You’re right. It took a while because it happened when I was pretty small. Maybe no older than you. But first I lived through what they called me. Then I grew into it.” He wouldn’t turn back now. “I earned my name. I was one mean son of a gun. No one got in Nasty’s way.”

“Didn’t your mom get mad at you?”

Stopping this was a word away—maybe two or three. “I don’t know what my mom thought. She worked and she slept. When she wasn’t doing either of those things, she spent time with old friends.” Men and booze—real old friends.

The boy’s nose wrinkled. “That was tough, huh?”

“Yeah.” A first. He’d never admitted to any feelings about his mother before today. “Not every kid gets a mom like you’ve got.”

“My mom would have gotten real mad at the boy who called you names.”

“It wasn’t a boy. It was my father.”

He and Bobby looked at each other. Nasty slid his gum into a cheek.

“You did something to make him real mad.” A matter-of-
fact statement from a child. Too bad the world wasn’t filled with logical people like Bobby Crow. “He probably wouldn’t have said it if he thought someone would hear.”

“I made him real mad because I was bo
rn
.” Nasty laughed and the sound turned co
ld in his ears. “My father…
Oh, it’s history.”

The boy kept right on watching his face. “He didn’t want you?”

“He took off before
I
was bo
rn
. He didn’t know I’d been bo
rn
till he showed up years later looking for my mom. We’
d left the ranch where I was born
. I was playing on the sidewalk with some kids when he came. I heard a lot of shouting in the apartment. Then he came out and looked right at me. He said
…
well, good old Dad said a lot of things we don’t have to repeat here. But he could look at me and pick me out of a
bunch of kids.”

“How?” Bobby gave up on the shirt and pulled it over his head. He tied it around his waist. “How could he pick you out?”

“Unfortunately I look just like him.” Not wanting to, unable to stop himself, he saw the m
an his father had been through
the eyes of the boy Nasty Ferrito had been that day. “He hated me. On sight. He asked me what my name was.”

Disbelief rearranged Bobby’s expression. “He didn’t know your name.”

“No. And when I told him, h
e said, ‘Xavier’? and laughed.
Then he said, ‘What kind of fancy name is that for a nasty little bastard?’ I went through
a phase when I wished—” Geez,
he’d been about to tell a seven-year-old that the man he was talking to had once been ornery enough to think it would be just fine if the world came right out and called him bastard on a regular basis.

“We’re both bastards,” Bobby said, and pressed his lips tightly toget
her. “I know what that means.”

For a few desperately intense moments Nasty had forgotten Polly. He studied the sky outside. “We’re both important,” he
said. “You’re very important. Your mom thinks you’re the most important guy in the world. I know because she told me. But I know how you feel sometimes. I’ve been there. You can talk to me about it, and whatever you tell me, I’ll understand.” This time with the child hadn’t been planned, but it had been inevitable. If there was any hope for bonding between the two of them—among the three of them—it could only happen with truth as a foundation.

In the silence that followed, Bobby wrapped his arms around his ribs and screwed up his face.

“Something else on your mind?” Nasty asked. He expected to see Polly tiptoeing away again. He didn’t.

Bobby blew up his cheeks and let the air out in a puff. “I’m scared.”

Nasty hadn’t expected that. He gave a big, phony grin. “Why would you be scared? You’re on a trip. We’re going to have a lot of fun—”

“I’m not a little kid. I know when people aren’t saying stuff. Something’s happening, isn’t it?”

In this instance, Bobby
was
a little kid. “Nothing you have to worry about.”

“But you and Dusty took Mom and me away because of something. You wouldn’t just bring us here for a vacation. My mom should be doing the show. She never said anything about taking a vacation—not till I woke up this morning.”

If Polly wanted to contradict him, she would. “Your mom’s real tired. She works hard, and this chance to get away came up. So she said she’d like to come with me and meet Rose.”

The anxiety didn’t leave Bobby’s face. “Why didn’t you and Mom let me drive with you?”

He’d never underestimate this young man again. He pointed at Spike. “The backseat of the Porsche’s not big enough for you and him—not comfortably. And Dusty wanted to come up and visit Rose. They’re old friends.”

“He hardly stayed at all.”

“Yeah.” Had he been this sharp? “But he wanted to do it
just the same. And he’ll be back when he can get someone to look after the shop.”

“Uh-huh.”

Like mother, like son. They both had a thing about being talked down to. “With you gone, Dusty has to do everything himself. But we’ve got a man who can come in.”

“Dusty said you’re a lousy shopkeeper.”

He controlled a grin. “I know. I just can’t seem to learn. We’d better get back before your mom misses you.”

“Because she’s scared something could happen to me?”

Nasty gave him a thoughtful stare. “Your imagination’s running away with you. Come on, Spike. How about a walk, fella?”

One of those words brought a giant bark. The dog rushed ahead and downstairs. When Nasty and Bobby arrived outside, Polly stood a little distance away with her son’s tennis shoes in her hands.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Bobby.” She didn’t smile. “
I
found your shoes.” She held them out, and he took them.

“We were admiring the view.” Nasty looked into her eyes. He swung his case. “I was going to take some pictures. The light’s wrong. Bobby can hardly wait to go fishing tomorrow."

“Can’t he?” To Bobby she said, “Nellie and Rose are waiting for you. They’ve got a surprise.”

“Oh, sure,” Bobby said, not quite pulling off bored disinterest. “You want me to go so you can talk to Nasty on your own.”

“Bobby,” Polly said—with a note of warning.

Her boy muttered, “Okay,” and took off toward the house, his dog beside him.

“He’s a great kid.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “The best. I heard what the two of you said.”

“I thought you had.”

“You told him all that to make him feel better.”

“He asked questions.
I
told him the truth. At first I couldn’t figure out why it seems so important to me for him to be happy.”

She tilted up her face and sniffed. “It’s because you’re trying to make the child in you happy. The child you used to be.”

“I’m not into psychobabble.” But he was a careless fool with his mouth sometimes. “Don’t cry, Polly.”

“I ought to cry. My son isn’t happy, and it’s my fault. Parents should be able to make their children happy.”

He took her tense, trembling body in his arms. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. “When you said he was the best thing that ever happened to you, you meant it. And you were right.”

“Uh-huh. But I wasn’t the best thing that happened to him.
I gave him half of what he deserves to have.”

Nasty tipped her against him and cradled her head. He rocked her gently. “He deserves the best, and he’s got it. You’re under a lot of pressure, or you wouldn’t be doing this to yourself. One great parent is a whole lot better than two parents who don’t get along—or one parent who wants you and one who tries to pretend they do. Hell, Polly, these are some of the things you people spend whole shows getting across to kids.”

“So why don’t I have it all straight myself?”

“You’re doing fine. We’d better get going before Bobby forgets his surprise and decides to come back for us.”

Polly looked up at him her eyes washed clean and bright, bright blue by the tears that were on her cheeks. He kissed the space between her brows. When he raised his face, her eyes were closed.

“Hey,” he whispered. “It’s easy, y’know.”

“Mmm?”

“It’s easy. What’s happening to you and me.”

“You’ll have to explain that.”

“Falling in love.”

Her eyes snapped open.

“Like falling off a log, kid. That’s about how hard it’s been, isn’t it?”

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “This isn’t the time.”

“Sure it is. We don’t get to choose the time. That’s one of the things that makes it so easy. We don’t do much, and it just happens to us.”

“Xavier
…
” She paused, her lips parted.

He chuckled. “I never liked my name till you started using it. When you feel really close to me, you call me Xavier. It sounds great.”

“You assume an awful lot, Xavier Ferrito.”

“Do I? Yes, I guess I do. I assume you love me, too.”

“People don’t do this nowadays.”

He ducked his head until she looked at him. “What don’t people do nowadays?” he asked her.

“The chaste falling-in-love thing. A few kisses. The odd touch. Then they’re in love.”

“A bit more than the occasional touch if I remember correctly,” he pointed out. “But you’re showing your ignorance, sweetheart. Obviously you’re hopelessly out-of-date. We’re doing the chaste—the more or less chaste falling-in-love thing, aren’t we?”

“You’re pushing me.”

“Aren’t we?”

Polly undid several of his shirt buttons and slipped her hands inside. She stroked his chest, moved in close, and rested her mouth on his breastbone.

Shaking her carefully, he spoke into her hair. “Answer me. We’re in love. You know it, and I know it. Don’t we?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Her mouth moved to one of his nipples. With the very tip of her tongue she teased him. “Oh, yes.”

Nasty settled his hands around her neck. Controlling the urge to crush her to him was tough. He rubbed his fingers up and down the back of her neck. “You are a chest woman, okay, sweet Polly. And I love you.”

She became absolutely still.

“I love you, and I want you with me. We’re going to work that one out.”

Her hands fell slowly to his waist. “I think I’d like that. But I’ve got some things to get through first
.
”

“Anything that affects you, affects me.” It was true. Every other thing in his life might be on a vaguely uncertain foundation, but not this. “Festus could have taken off. We may never hear from him again. But if we do, I’ll be right there.”

“Nasty, I don’t think it was Festus who
attacked me at the condo. And I
don’t think he was the one who knocked me in the water.”

“Just let me do the thinking.”

“No!” She backed off, and he saw pure fu
r
y in her eyes. “I thought you’d got the message about treating me like a child. I’m not your responsibility. You can’t kiss it and make it better for me. I’ve got to think about Bobby.”

“We’ll both think about Bobby.”

Shaking her head, she walked backward. “I want you. I want you so much. But I will do what I think is best. If that means I need to go away, I’ll do it.”

“Polly—”

“I won’t do something dramatic like sneaking away without you knowing. I’ll tell you I’m going. But it won’t do you any good to try to stop me.”

“The hell it won’t.” He caught one of her hands. “No. You understand me.
No.
You are not to even think about going anywhere without me. Got it?”

“I’m going back to the house. Those two nice women must really wonder what the deal is. Two complete strangers dropped on them like this.”

He knew a flash of fear. The sensation stopped him. “Rose is no stranger to trouble. She’s had her share.” This was why he’d chosen to be alone for so long. When you had no one who waited for you, no one you waited for, the only time you
were afraid was when you looked at the wrong end of a weapon.

Polly pulled on his hand. He started walking, kept on walking with her beside him. “Promise you won’t do anything dumb.”

“I’ll do what I think is best. I can’t stay here. It’s not right.”