Loving You (6 page)

“Well, if he'd been a cop,” Molly offered eagerly, “he wouldn't have left at all.”

She'd already considered that option and rejected it. During a certain time in her life, Tasha had had more reason than most to become intimately acquainted with the police. And though her instincts had faded with time, she was pretty sure she could still spot an undercover man, and Tassel Loafer didn't set off those warning bells inside her. No, he set off a completely
different
early alert system. Which she really didn't want to think about at the moment. Or ever. Tasha shook her head. “Trust me on this.
No
cop dresses that well.”

“Private detective?” Molly ventured.

“Hired by who?” Tasha countered, sitting up and shoving both hands through her hair in frustration. “And for what reason? No. You've been reading too many mystery novels again.”

“Then who do
you
think he was?”

“I don't know,” she said softly. “And that's what worries me.”

“Maybe he won't be back.”

Tasha shook her head. He'd be back. The guy had
determined
written all over his face. A look that said, “I've never been denied anything in my life, and I don't plan to start now. Step aside, or get run over, lady.” Tasha shivered. “He'll be back, Moll. There's not a doubt in my mind. He'll be back.”

She just wished she knew what to do about him when he did show up.

*   *   *

Nick drove straight to the Leaf and Bean from what was left of his house.

The place was busy.

Polished wood and soft lights made the coffeehouse look warm, welcoming on a cold morning. Sunlight streamed through the front window and danced off the wood walls and tables. From the overhead beams oversize baskets hung on silver chains, trailing enough flowers and ferns to start up a good-sized rain forest. And over it all, the rich, tantalizing aroma of coffee and fresh-baked pastries filled the air.

The Leaf and Bean was a gathering place in town, once the summer tourists were gone. The locals came out of the woodwork, reclaiming their town for the winter months. Well, at least in the early mornings. In cold weather, the tourists really didn't get moving until afternoon. Then the tiny town of Chandler would get wrapped up in the spirit of the winter carnival and catering to the day-trippers who flocked to town to take part in the festivities.

In the mornings, though, the locals huddled around the small round tables scattered across the gleaming wooden floor at the Leaf and Bean. Conversations rose and fell like waves battering against the shore.

Only a half hour or so away from Monterey, Chandler was a world unto itself. A throwback to a gentler era, the wide Main Street looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. With forests and a lake on one side of town and the ocean on the other, Chandler had the best of everything—an easy commute to a big city but the comfort and irritations of a small town. The local gossips spread news faster than the
New York Times
, and there wasn't a kid in town who could get away with anything. But there was a sense of community here you just didn't find most places.

The Candellanos had been in Chandler for years. Like most of the Italian families in the area, they'd been drawn to Northern California generations ago, by the fishing industry, the canneries, and the vineyards. They'd stayed, raised their families, and become a part of the tapestry that was California.

Familiar faces dotted the crowd in the coffee shop and a few of them turned to smile at Nick as he walked across the room. He nodded in greeting but kept walking, hoping no one would start a conversation until he'd had some coffee.

Following his nose, he stepped up close, rested his forearms on the gleaming wooden counter, and glanced at his twin brother, Paul. Fraternal twins, the two of them were absolutely
nothing
alike. Either in looks or in personalities. But they shared a closeness that only another set of twins would understand. “Aren't you supposed to be at work?”

Paul shrugged and winked at his new wife. “I'm going in late today.”

Nick shook his head and watched as Stevie and Paul shared one of those secret, incredibly intimate looks that only couples understood. Electricity arcing between the newlyweds nearly singed Nick's eyebrows. Amazing.

Before Stevie had entered his life completely, Paul would never have considered missing work. The man's brain was as fast and complicated as the computer programs he designed. But apparently, he'd found something with Stevie that was bigger—more important to him than the work that had always been his driving ambition.

A small twinge of envy spiked through Nick, then disappeared again almost before he could be surprised at it. After all, he'd never wanted a steady relationship—a marriage. Hell, if he'd been interested in that, he wouldn't have blown it with Stevie years ago. Even as he thought it, he realized that his time with Stevie felt like another lifetime ago. Now, when he looked at her, he saw … a sister. Paul's wife.

Weird.

“So what's up with you?” Paul asked, splintering Nick's thoughts.

“I'm hiding out from the Marconis.”

“A little loud over there?” Stevie asked, reaching behind her for a pot of coffee sitting on a warmer. From beneath the counter, she pulled out a bright yellow mug, filled it to the brim, and slid it across the counter to Nick.

He bent his head and inhaled, sucking in the rich aroma that cleared his head and opened his eyes. “God bless you, my child.”

Stevie laughed and leaned into Paul's side before asking, “So what happened to you last night?”

He picked up his mug, took a long sip, and let the hot dark brew slide down his throat, like a blessing from above. “Last night?”

“You were supposed to come over for dinner?” Paul reminded him, nodding his head toward his wife. “Stevie was cooking?”

“Oh, yeah.” Nick scraped one hand across his face. Hell, he'd forgotten all about the dinner in the face of his sudden could-be parenthood. Hardly surprising. Looking up at his twin, Nick thought for a minute about telling Paul what was going on. Asking him what he thought about it.

But then he realized that Paul would probably tell Stevie, who would tell Carla, and then Mama was bound to find out and—good God. No. Best to keep the food chain of the Candellano family in mind.

“Forgot,” he said abruptly. “Got busy down at the station. You know, doing some editing and dubbing on the tape we did yesterday.” They didn't need to know that only one cameraman had been at the game, which probably meant that the whole segment would boil down to about ten seconds of airtime.

“That's right. The play-off,” Paul said. “Who won?”

“St. Anne's little darlings wiped the field with Santiago.” And that's all he could remember about the game he'd had to sit through for more than two hours. Not only had he been bored out of his skull, but the odds were that when the ten-second segment aired, Nick would be sliced neatly out of it.

Perfect.

Oh, yeah. His future was looking brighter all the damn time.

“Didn't love it, huh?” Paul asked as Stevie smiled and walked past him, carrying two pots of coffee out to the crowd.

Nick laughed shortly and took another sip of coffee. “Not so much.” He stared down at the coffee, studying the dark surface, trying to let his mind go blank. But it wasn't working. One thought chased another through his brain, and all of them were centered on an eleven-year-old kid out to screw up Nick's life.

He needed to talk to Mimi Castle. Needed to talk to
somebody
. Paul? he thought again. Sure, he was married now, but the twin thing was a strong bond. Paul could keep a secret. And Paul was so damn logical and clear-thinking, he'd be able to look at the problem
coolly, dispassionately, and maybe he'd be able to think of something Nick hadn't considered yet.

Nodding to himself, Nick looked up at his brother, ready to take the risk and dump everything on him. But Paul wasn't looking at him. His gaze was fixed on Stevie. Following her as she moved through the crowd, laughing and talking with her customers as she refilled cups. The expression on Paul's face told Nick that his brother was nowhere near cool and logical. Hell, he looked like he was ready to grab Stevie up and carry her into the office for a little extension on their honeymoon.

Nope. No help from this quarter. And really, maybe it was just as well. Nick needed to get a grip on this himself.

His problem.

His solution.

“Hey, Paul!”

His twin brother tore his gaze from Stevie, looked over at Nick, and grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry. Zoned out on you, didn't I?”

“I'm getting used to it,” Nick said dryly. “Ever since you and Stevie got back from Ireland, you've been like you're on another planet.”

Paul leaned against the bar top and waggled both eyebrows. “Honeymoons, Nick. You ought to try one sometime.”

“Just what I need,” he muttered. First a kid, then a wife. Oh, yeah. That'd be great. Swallowing the last of his coffee, he straightened up. “As long as you're back there, give me five coffees to go.”

“Five?” One of Paul's eyebrows lifted.

“One for me—”

“The Marconis get the rest?”

“If it'll get 'em to hurry, I'll bring 'em their coffee every damn day.”

Once he had the coffees ready to go, he picked up the cardboard tray and looked at Paul and Stevie again. He'd never seen his brother happier. Never seen Stevie so completely in love. Marriage could work, he thought. For some, the whole family thing was just right. For him … not a chance.

*   *   *

Bills.

The great equalizer.

With a break between customers, Tasha snatched at the extra half hour in her day. Settling in the small office tucked into the back of the shop, she pulled out her checkbook and got down to the business of throwing money down a rat hole. Or, to be precise, several rat holes. Well, okay, not throwing it away. But paying bills was enough to give anybody a headache. There just never seemed to be enough money to go around. More often than not, she ended up juggling with all the panache of a circus act. But there was no applause when she finished her performance.

Pay this one, wait on that one—eventually everyone got their turn. But things were tight, no mistake.

She hadn't even realized how much Mimi's Social Security checks had helped out. How could she have, though? While Mimi was alive, the older woman insisted they stick to a strict code of “don't worry, be happy.” That old reggae song had been one of Mimi's favorites, since it perfectly encapsulated her outlook on life. “Don't sweat the small stuff,” she was always saying.

“But this isn't small stuff, Mimi,” Tasha whispered.
“This is life stuff, and it's getting so tight, any minute now, I'm gonna start squeaking.” Heck, just trying to keep the old house from falling down around their feet was eating up a lot of hair money.

Tasha filed the paid phone bill, then reached for the Edison envelope. Bracing herself, she closed her eyes as she pulled the statement out. Slowly, cautiously, she opened her right eye and took a peek at the amount due. Instantly her left eye flew open. “Eighty-five bucks?”

Flipping the folded bill open, she scanned it quickly, all the time remembering Jonas's habit of entering a room and hitting a light switch. Of course, he never bothered to turn the lights
off
. Even in broad daylight, the kid left a trail of brilliant illumination behind him.

“He must have lived in a cave in a former life,” she muttered, and picked up a pen to write the check. “I swear, I'm going to buy him a miner's hat. Or a flashlight.”

But she wouldn't do either and she knew it. She'd just keep doing what she'd been doing … turning the lights off behind him—only more often. Eleven-year-old boys just weren't any good at all about remembering anything but the location of the fridge.

“Which brings us to the grocery bill.” She glanced at the amount of this week's check and shook her head. “Amazing how much that boy can eat.”

Mimi used to say that children went into feeding frenzies just before they started growing in leaps and bounds. “Well,” Tasha said, smiling, “judging by the food intake, if Mimi was right, Jonas should be a foot taller inside a month.”

But then, a lot could happen in a month, couldn't it? Dropping the pen, Tasha leaned back in her chair
and let her gaze slide around the room. Just six months ago, she'd thought things were pretty good.

And then, overnight, Mimi was gone.

Scrubbing one hand over her eyes to keep the threat of tears at bay, Tasha forced her mind onto a different track. Like this little room, for instance.

When she'd taken over doing the shop's books a year ago, Tasha'd convinced Mimi to let her paint the office. There was only so much pink a person could take. Well, a person other than Mimi. The older woman should have been a Mary Kay rep. She'd loved pink. In all its shades. Thankfully, she'd kept most of the pink in the beauty shop portion of the house, which Tasha would never think of changing. Mimi's stamp was all over the shop, and there it would stay.

But here, in the office, the walls were now a soft blue, with white paint sponged on top of the base coat until the walls looked like a blue sky studded with soft white clouds. It was soothing and cool and … hers. Tasha's spot. The one spot in the house where she felt as though she really had earned her place here.

Everything else had been a gift.

She closed her eyes and let her mind drift back across the years to the moment she had first found her way out of the darkness. It was ten long years ago. Mimi Castle had looked into Tasha's eyes and seen something no one else, including Tasha, had ever seen.

Someone worth saving.