Small-Town Redemption (13 page)

Charlotte walked in, looking fresh and pretty as a summer day in a pair of jeans and bright green top. “Then you should lock the door.”

She slid onto a stool as if she owned the damn place and set a plastic bag on the bar.

“Sorry, Red,” he said in the tone that always brought out the frown lines in her forehead, “but you’ll have to get your booze somewhere else tonight. O’Riley’s isn’t open on Sundays except during football season.”

“Gotta keep those raging Steelers fans happy,” she said.

“It’s what I live for.” There were worse things to live for. Such as where his next high was going to come from.

She looked around and he took the opportunity to study her. She wasn’t beautiful; her nose was too pointy, her cheeks too round. So why the hell had he been unable to stop thinking about her all day?

He scrubbed the top of the bar with a damp cloth. Hard. One kiss and he’d lost his mind.

“Where’s your daughter?” she asked.

“You’re still having a hard time getting used to that, aren’t you? Me being a father.”

Char set her elbow on a dry spot, resting her chin in her hand. “Well, it did come as something of a shock, seeing as how I don’t think anyone had any idea you even had a daughter. Let alone one old enough to drive, gorgeous enough to turn men into even bigger fools and sweet enough to still call you Daddy.”

“I’m only Daddy when she wants something. Today she wanted me not to kick her butt back to Houston.”

“Is that what you did?”

He sprayed the sink with cleaner, scrubbed the basin, each movement sending jarring pain up his side. He scrubbed harder. “She’s upstairs sleeping. Once she goes out, it’s tough to wake her.”

They’d hung out after breakfast, catching up with each other. Or rather, Estelle had caught him up on her life, chattering nonstop about this friend and that friend, her classes and teachers. He’d kept his comments to a minimum. Partly because it was hard to get a word in edgewise when his kid started babbling.

But mostly because he’d been hurting so bad, he was afraid if he opened his mouth, he’d groan. Or cry. Neither of which would do him any good.

He’d hoped keeping busy would help him forget about the pain. About how much he wished he still had those pills from last night.

“Too bad. I was hoping to get a chance to chat with her some more,” Charlotte said, sounding as if she really meant it. “She’s something. And I mean that in the best possible way. You must be very proud.”

“I am.” Estelle was the best thing he’d ever done.

The best thing that had ever happened to him.

“But you didn’t stop by just to hang out with my kid,” he said, rinsing the rag and setting it out to dry. “You’re checking up on me.”

She shifted. “Am I really that easy to read?”

“Like an open book with large print.”

She flushed, her mouth a thin line as if she didn’t like being open and totally honest. Giving and generous. Traits he didn’t understand himself, but they worked on her. “Actually, I stopped by to give you these.”

She retrieved a sling from the bag along with a prescription bottle. She set it on the bar between them. He eyed it as warily as he would a bomb, as if one of the pills was going to escape its confinement and leap into his mouth.

“It’s your prescription,” she said, slowly. “I stopped by the pharmacy and got it for you.”

“I’ll take this.” He picked up the sling, tucked it under the bar. “Thanks, but I don’t want the pills,” he said, though it was a lie. He did want them. Too much.

She frowned, checked the bottle’s label. “It’s okay. It’s a new script for Toradol. It’s non-narcotic. Much less...potent...than the one you had last night.”

Potent. She meant addictive.

He pushed the bottle toward her. “I won’t take them.”

“We talked about this, remember? As long as you take them as directed—no more than the maximum dose per day—the chances of you becoming addicted to them are slim.” She gentled her voice, touched his hand. “There’s no reason for you to suffer.”

Her words blew through him like a fire, burning his resistance. No, he didn’t have to suffer. All he had to do was pop a couple of those pills and his pain would be gone.

Temporarily.

He was terrified it wouldn’t be enough. That the entire bottle would be inadequate and he’d start wanting more, craving more until he was back to where he was fourteen years ago.

Strung out and desperate only for his next hit. For something to make everything okay.

“I won’t take them,” he repeated. “Not when my daughter’s here.”

For the next two weeks, Estelle was fully his responsibility. His only concern. He refused to blow it, to let his past, his mistakes, touch her in any way.

Charlotte curled her fingers around the bottle. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “When Estelle was little, I promised her and myself I’d never use again.” He forced himself to meet Charlotte’s eyes, to meet the sympathy there head-on. “I won’t take the chance of becoming addicted. I won’t take any chances when it comes to my kid.”

Charlotte exhaled heavily. “Okay. Okay,” she repeated more to herself than him. She tucked the bottle of pills in her purse. “I hope you’re at least taking ibuprofen.”

“Two every six hours. Like clockwork.” They only took the sharpest edge off the pain, but it was all he was willing to do.

“Good.” She smiled, as if she were proud of him for not caving to the pain. As if his fears, his past addiction, were to be ignored. She stood, picked up her purse. “Well, I should get going. I’m due at my mom’s for Sunday family dinner.”

“You have my sympathies.”

“For what?”

“Family dinner.” Sounded like torture. He should know. He’d suffered through enough of them before cutting himself off from his parents and brothers. Everything and everyone from his past.

Except Estelle.

Charlotte grinned. “Hey, I like my family.”

“Even your sister who stole the love of your life?”

Shit. Why had he said that? The comment hit home—her smile slid away and her face lost some of its color. He found himself wanting to touch the back of Charlotte’s hand. Found himself wanting to do something a Bartasavich never did. Apologize.

“Actually,” Charlotte said, staring at the bar, “I’ve come to realize perhaps I...overstated my feelings for James.”

“Yeah?” Why that made him feel relieved and sort of happy, he didn’t want to examine too closely. “Must suck, though. Having to be around them.”

“It’s a bit...awkward...from time to time, yes.”

Yet she was still willing to go to a family dinner. How many times had she been subjected to seeing James and Sadie together? It couldn’t have been easy, not at first. But she did it, had somehow managed to remain close with Sadie, had accepted James as an almost-brother-in-law. She didn’t back down from challenges.

That he admired her tenacious spirit and forgiving soul wasn’t a surprise. That he found those traits appealing was.

One he didn’t like.

“It’ll get easier,” he heard himself say, then immediately wished he could take the words back. No, they weren’t overly sweet or sentimental, were a pat response actually, but he didn’t want her to start thinking he might care about her or her feelings.

“It already has. Just as things will get easier with your daughter and, I’m assuming, her mother.”

“Estelle and Meryl are very close.”

Charlotte blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry. I assumed since Estelle showed up here without your knowledge, that she’d—”

“Run away from home?” He shook his head. “Estelle loves her mother.”

“I love my mother, too. But when I was sixteen, there were plenty of times I would have given my right leg to get away from her.” Charlotte sat back down, the movement pulling her top taut against her small breasts for a moment before she lifted her hips and loosed the material. Too bad. “Were you and Estelle’s mother married long?” she asked, her gaze way too intense. Interested. As though they were two buddies sitting around chatting, getting to know each other.

The interest wasn’t bad. He could deal with that, but he didn’t want her to get too close to him. Didn’t want anyone knowing him too well.

“No.”

She looked disappointed, as if his harsh answer had hurt her feelings.

As if she expected more from him.

“Meryl and I were never married,” he admitted, pulling bottles of beer from the case he’d slid across the floor earlier and putting them into the cooler. “We slept together once, at a party, when both of us were too young, too stupid and way too drunk to know any better.”

He wished he could say that had been his last drunken sexual encounter.

He leaned forward, gave Char his sexiest grin. “I bet you’re thankful now I turned you away when you came to my apartment.”

“Yes, well, I’m always grateful when someone stops me from making a huge mistake.”

His lips twitched at the way she emphasized “huge.” Yeah, it would have been a mistake, one he was regretting not making.

He let his gaze drift slowly, deliberately down the long line of her throat to the vee of her shirt, remembered how she’d looked at his apartment, all glowing skin and long lines, subtle curves. He hated that she’d been so willing to debase herself for some guy who wasn’t worth her time. He slid his finger over the back of her hand, liked how she froze, the only movement her throat as she swallowed. “Glad I could be of service. Tell me, why did you come to see me that morning?”

She looked startled. “I...” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Maybe I wanted to try something new? Do something wild and adventurous and daring.”

“Tired of being the good girl, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“That may have been part of it, but it wasn’t the only reason,” he said, watching her carefully. “We both know what you wanted. And it wasn’t a walk on the wild side or even to get laid.”

She flinched and eased back, sliding her hand away from him. He curled his fingers into his palm.

Wished he could touch her again.

“No, I didn’t just want to get laid,” she said, color rising in her cheeks. “I wanted...” She sighed. “What’s the point? You wouldn’t understand.”

She got to her feet and for some reason, he didn’t want her to go. Not when listening to her chirp on and on actually kept him from thinking of the pain, of those pills in her purse and how much he wanted to take them.

“Try me,” he heard himself say.

CHAPTER TEN

C
HARLOTTE
TURNED
,
SLOWLY
, suspiciously, her shoulders rigid, her narrow waist accentuated by the clinging top. “I wanted to prove something.”

“That you were over the carpenter?”

She glanced away. “Maybe.”

There was more to it, and he wanted to know what, but he didn’t want to push. He hated when people pushed him. But he didn’t like to see her morose and defeated. He liked her when she snapped at him, her eyes flashing.

He must be more demented than he’d realized.

“Want a drink?” he asked.

She eyed him warily, but once again climbed back onto the stool. “I thought you weren’t serving today.”

“I’m not. But you can have soda.”

She flushed and he wondered if she was thinking of the first time he’d waited on her, when he’d thought she was underage. “Cola will be fine,” she finally said.

He used the hose to pour her drink, then set it in front of her. “On the house for going above and beyond the call of duty.”

A smile played on her lips. “Is that your half-assed way of thanking me for helping you?”

“Must be. I’m not usually that nice for no reason.”

Charlotte stirred the drink with her straw. Watched the ice move round and round. Sighed. “I wanted to be wanted,” she said in a rush. She lifted her gaze to his. “That night when I came to you. I just...I wanted someone to want me. Stupid, I know, but there you have it.”

“You were hurting,” he said, hating now that he’d added to it.

She snorted. “I was angry. Furious. At myself for being such a fool. At James for not seeing what I wanted him to see, for not having the feelings for me I wanted him to have. And at Sadie for being the woman he wanted. But mostly I was angry he’d messed up all my carefully laid plans for us.” Charlotte twisted her mouth to the side. “You accused me of trying to make James jealous, and maybe a small part of me had hoped that would happen, but mostly I thought sleeping with you would make me feel better about myself. Would prove I was...”

“That you were what?” he prodded.

Her cheeks red, she stabbed her straw at the ice in her soda. “Desirable.”

She said it so softly, he almost didn’t hear, but that one word blew him away.

“I was a late bloomer,” she admitted with another sigh. “And then, not much actually bloomed.”

He smiled at her self-deprecating humor. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“You sort of did. When you told me you weren’t interested in sleeping with me.”

He pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to explain himself, didn’t want to feel the need to. But he couldn’t let her think that. He’d told himself he wasn’t interested in her, but she still kept creeping into his thoughts.

“My level of interest,” he said gruffly, “may have...changed.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I never would have pegged you as a guy to say something he didn’t mean just to spare someone’s feelings.”

Obviously, she didn’t think it was a positive trait.

“I’m not,” he assured her. “I’m just saying that this morning I was interested.” Intrigued. Attracted. “Very much so.”

By the way she dropped her gaze, he knew she understood he was talking about their kiss.

“That time...” He wasn’t sure where he was going with this, just that he had to say something. “I didn’t like that you were willing to sleep with me just to get back at some guy. I don’t like being used.”

Hated that she’d tempted him to revert to the selfish person he used to be, tempted him to take what he wanted without any thought or care as to how it would affect her.

“And here I thought men were more than happy to be used by women.”

“Some are.” He put the last bottles of beer in the cooler, shut the door. “I’m not.”

* * *

C
HAR
COULDN
’
T
BELIEVE
she was having this conversation. It should have been humiliating. It was more than a little embarrassing. But also sort of...liberating. And, if she were to believe Kane, flattering and exciting.

This morning I was interested. Very much so.

She cleared her throat. There was one more thing she had to admit, since this whole confessing thing seemed to be working for her. “You said I’d thank you for turning me down. You were right.”

If they’d slept together it would have been...well...she couldn’t help but think it would have been pretty damn amazing. She wasn’t a fool, after all. But it also could have been life-changing. She would have felt horrible about herself, and was honest enough to admit she would have then put the blame firmly on him.

She didn’t want life-changing. She just wanted the future she’d always dreamed of. The one she was planning for. No side trips. No detours. And no one-night stands with the sexy bar owner.

“You’re welcome,” he said so solemnly she smiled.

The door opened and Estelle walked in chatting on her cell phone. When she glanced up and saw Kane and Char, she waved.

“Sure,” she said into the phone as she sat next to Charlotte. “Uh-huh. I will. Okay. Love you, too.” She held the phone out to Kane. “Granddad wants to talk to you.”

Kane took the phone and disconnected the call. Handed it back to Estelle.

“Daddy! God—that is, like, so rude. And you’ve probably hurt his feelings.”

“My old man doesn’t have feelings. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Char blinked. “Wait. You have a father?” she asked Kane.

“Most people do,” he said, “at least at one point in their lives.”

“Right, right, it’s just...I hadn’t realized your parents were still alive.”

“Daddy doesn’t like to talk about them,” Estelle said as she leaned over the bar and helped herself to a bag of pretzels. “Because they’re like, super rich.”

Char whipped her head around to look at Kane, her jaw slack. “Your family is well off?” She winced at the shock, the accusation in her tone. What kind of nosy, none-of-her-business question was that?

One she wanted the answer to, she realized.

“They’re not well off,” Estelle said, ripping open the bag. She crunched on a pretzel. “I mean, my mom’s family is loaded, too, but nothing compared to the Bartasavich money.”

Kane sent his daughter a narrow look. “Is this what they teach you at private school? To discuss your family’s personal finances?”

“What? It’s not like I’m bragging. It’s not
my
money.” She turned to Char. “You’ve never really heard of them? Bartasavich Industries?” Char shook her head. “What is this place? Like some kind of alternate dimension where you don’t get the news?”

“Only petty things like war, disease and famine. Nothing as important as who Kane’s family is.”

Estelle, in a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, her face clean, her hair up in a messy bun, was still stunning. And oblivious to Char’s sardonic tone.

Kids these days. Too busy texting to pick up on subtle verbal nuances.

“It’s okay,” Estelle said, patting Char’s shoulder. “So, Dad is one of
the
Bartasaviches. From Houston.” When that didn’t seem to register on Charlotte, Estelle continued. “His father is Clinton Bartasavich.
The
Clinton Bartasavich of Bartasavich Industries.”

“Sorry,” Charlotte said, “never heard of them.”

“Don’t be sorry about that,” Kane said. “Be grateful.”

Estelle rolled her eyes. “Clinton just happens to be one of the top five wealthiest men in Houston, making him one of the top two hundred wealthiest men in America.”

Char frowned at Kane. He raised an eyebrow. None of this made sense. He owned a run-down bar and lived in a cramped apartment with second-hand furniture. He’d been in the military, for God’s sake. The wealthy didn’t let their kids go into combat, did they?

She’d thought he’d grown up on the streets, struggling to survive. Had pictured him poor and neglected because of his drug addiction.

Shame filled her, made the soda turn in her stomach. She’d been wrong. Worse than that, she’d been judgmental and arrogant to think only the less fortunate could have problems.

Everyone had their own burdens to bear.

Estelle looked at Kane. “I can’t believe she didn’t know this. She obviously wasn’t being nice to you this morning in the hopes of getting some huge reward.”

“She’s not usually nice to me,” he said.

Unable to meet either of their eyes, Charlotte sipped her drink, tried to sound natural. “That’s true.”

But Estelle had already turned back to Charlotte. “There’s Uncle C.J.—Clinton Junior—he’s the eldest and Granddad’s right-hand man—”

“If you consider his right hand up Senior’s ass,” Kane muttered.

Charlotte inhaled sharply and choked on the soda. She coughed, cleared her throat. “You have a brother?” she wheezed. Kane gave a quick, jerky nod. “Dear Lord, there are more of you?” The mere thought of several Bartasaviches running loose in the world terrified her.

All that sex appeal couldn’t be good for anyone.

“Oh, he has more than one,” Estelle said. “Like I said, there’s Uncle C.J., then Daddy.” She ticked the names on her fingers. “Then Uncle Oakes who’s a defense attorney, but Granddad is trying to get him to work for the company. Or at least, get into politics.”

“Is that it?” she asked the teen.

“Nope. Next is Uncle Zach who—” Estelle leaned closer to Charlotte and lowered her voice “—knows, like, one hundred ways to kill a person.”

“Who told you that?” Kane demanded.

“He did. Uncle Zach’s some sort of supersecret soldier with all sorts of nasty skills.”

“Not so supersecret if you’ve heard about it,” Kane pointed out.

“Anyway, Uncle Zach’s sort of the black sheep of the family on account of he has all sorts of issues. I guess because he’s the only Bartasavich son who’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket. But even though he seems all scary and unapproachable, he’s actually nice once you get to know him.” Estelle frowned. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I haven’t seen him much. He doesn’t visit Granddad very often.”

“What he is,” Kane said, “is smart.”

“Uncle C.J. says he’s messed up because Granddad didn’t marry Uncle Zach’s mom and she took him away.”

“Uncle C.J. has a big mouth,” Kane growled.

Char’s thoughts whirled. She could barely comprehend the truth of Kane’s background, let alone try to follow everything Estelle had said.

“I...I don’t know what to say.” Char couldn’t take her eyes off Kane, either; his mouth was tight and a flush colored his cheeks. It was ridiculously appealing. “I’m flabbergasted.”

Shocked to hear about Kane’s background. Saddened he didn’t seem to be close to his family. Didn’t want to be close to them. Did anyone in town know about his past? About his brothers? Sadie certainly had never mentioned it.

Unless Kane had confided in her and sworn her to secrecy.

Irritation pricked at Char. Irritation with a healthy dose of envy. She didn’t want her sister keeping Kane’s secrets.

That was Char’s job.

Estelle popped another pretzel in her mouth. “I know. It’s because he lives like a hobo. No one ever suspects he comes from money.”

“There’s nothing wrong with living frugally,” he told her, coming around the bar to stand between them. “I’m sure you’re in a hurry to get to your dinner,” he said to Char.

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “You’ll have to drag me out of here. Really. All of this has been fascinating.” She turned to Estelle, mostly so she could ignore Kane’s darkening expression. “What about your grandmother?”

“Grandma Gwen? She lives in Houston, too. She and Granddad divorced when he cheated on her with Uncle Oakes’s mom and got her pregnant. They were married when Granddad had an affair with Uncle Zach’s mom. A few years later, he got divorced again and married Grace—or was it Bambi?”

She looked at Kane. His mouth remained a thin line. A shut, thin line.

Estelle waved a pretzel in the air. “I’m pretty sure it was Bambi then Grace and then Carrie. They’re still married, him and Carrie.”

Good Lord, Kane’s father had been married that many times? And he’d cheated on Kane’s mother—on more than one wife? She couldn’t help but feel bad for Kane. “And your mother?” she asked him.

For a moment, she didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he shrugged. “She never remarried.”

“She lives in a house Granddad bought for her,” Estelle said, wiping her hands down the front of her pants. “He pays her bills and she pretends to pine for their great love when really, all she misses is his bank account.”

“Estelle,” Kane said sharply.

The teen blinked at him, as innocent as the angel she resembled. “What? That’s what Uncle C.J. says.”

“Junior needs his ass kicked.”

She batted her eyelashes. “Funny, that’s what he says about you.”

“Story time’s over,” Kane said, gesturing for Char to stand up. She was too stunned to do otherwise.

Plus, she really was running late, and Irene Ellison did not tolerate tardiness.

Estelle jumped to her feet. “Before you go we want to invite you to dinner, to thank you for taking such good care of Daddy.”

“We do?” Obviously this wasn’t Kane’s idea.

Estelle frowned at him, as regal as any debutante chiding the less mannered with one severe look. “Of course we do.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Char said.

“We insist,” Estelle said with a big smile. “It’ll be fun.”

How could it be otherwise with the chatty, bright teen?

“Charlotte works nights,” Kane said, and there was that damn tingle when he said her name. “As do I.”

It must have been the tingle that prompted Char to say, “I have Wednesday off.”

Estelle clapped her hands together. “Perfect. And Daddy, you own this place. You can have someone cover your shift or whatever for you. Where shall we go?”

Kane was watching Char, his expression unreadable. “I’m sure Charlotte would be more comfortable eating in instead of going to a crowded restaurant.”

She flushed. What? He read minds now? It was as if he knew she didn’t want to explain to anyone who saw them what she was doing with him. People might get the crazy idea she and Kane were a couple.