Turn My World Upside Down: Jo's Story (14 page)

Comfort.

She took the porch steps in two long strides, opened the front door and stopped.

Sam was stretched out on the floor, hands over her
stomach, eyes closed, mouth grimly flattened into a tight, thin line.

From the kitchen came the nearly orgasmic scent of red-wine beef stew. Garlic flavored the air with enough strength to knock a less hardy soul to her knees, but she couldn’t enjoy that just yet.

“Are you dead?” she asked, and kicked Sam’s booted foot.

“If God is a good God, I will be soon,” Sam muttered, without prying her lips apart.

Drama. One thing the Marconis all shined at. “What’re you doing on the floor?”

Her sister pried one eye open and looked up at her. “Got dizzy. It was either lie down or fall down. This seemed easiest.”

Jack clattered up the steps behind Jo and stuck his head around her. “What’re you doing, Sam?”

“Resting.”

“On the floor?” He sneaked past Jo into the hall.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Josefina, you are home,” Nana called from the kitchen. “Step over your sister and comea taste the stew.”

Sam’s eyes opened.

Jo grinned.

Jack laughed and ran past his sisters to the kitchen. “I’ll taste it, Nana!” Only a ten-year-old boy could polish off a double sundae and still be hungry.

“Is there no sympathy for the dying here?” Sam murmured pitifully.

“Fresh out,” Jo said, and reached down to hold out a hand to Sam. Her sister grabbed it and held on when Jo pulled her to her feet.

“Okay?”

“Just a sec,” she said, inhaling sharply, deeply as she swayed on her feet. “Okay, I may live.”

“Good to know,” Jo said, shutting the front door before facing her sister again. Sam’s auburn hair only made her face look paler. Her blue eyes, Marconi eyes, looked wide and glassy. “What’re you doing here, anyway? Don’t you have a home? Husband? Daughter?”

“Yes, to all of it,” Sam said, and headed into the living room to plop down onto an overstuffed sofa covered in faded tapestry cabbage roses. “I’m here, getting sick at the scent of wine and garlic”—she hissed in a breath and blew it out again—“because Nana spilled her guts.”

“About?” Jo asked, and sat down next to Sam, waiting for the rest of it. She had a bad feeling about where this was going. Ever since the night Nana had spotted her and Cash out on the front lawn, Jo had felt the sword hanging over her head. Apparently, it was about to drop.

“You and Cash.” Sam sent a horrified glare at the kitchen. “God, did she put like twenty cloves of garlic in that stew? It’s like a toxic cloud. It’s the garlic that ate Chandler.”

Jo took a deep, appreciative breath. “Smells good.”

Sam turned a cold stare on her. “I hate you.”

“Love you back.” Jo propped her feet on the coffee table, then crossed them at the ankle, hoping for a nonchalant pose that wouldn’t give anything away. “And what about me and Cash?”

“Nana says he’s your new honey.”

Her feet uncrossed and her right boot clunked on the
tabletop. Damn it. She should have known that Nana would take the proverbial bit between her teeth and start off running. The old woman had probably already started a novena to Saint Jude—the patron saint of lost causes—for finally allowing Josefina to find a
man
. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

“Mike’s going nuts.” Sam dropped her head back on the sofa cushion and sighed. “She wants details and wants ’em now.”

“Tough shit.” Jo jumped up from the sofa and ignored Sam’s moan of distress at the sharp movement. “There
are
no details. Never was, never will be, and if there were,” she snapped, turning around to jab her index finger at Sam, “I sure as hell wouldn’t talk about ’em to you two.”

“Who else would you tell?” Offended, Sam sat up straighter.

“Nobody.” She threw both hands high, let them drop, and shot a quick look at the empty doorway to the kitchen. Then she lowered her voice, because she so didn’t need Nana throwing in her two cents’ worth. But the conversation in the kitchen was still going strong between the boy and his grandmother, so she figured she was safe.

“I don’t have the urge, like Mike, to tell every living soul whatever thought happens to drift through my mind,” Jo said, stalking back to the couch. “And unlike
you
, I don’t whine about my problems.”

“Whine?”
Sam stood up slowly, until she could glare at Jo, right in the eye. “I don’t
whine
.”

“Really? Then what’s this?” She waved a hand at her. “All you could talk about was how much you
wanted another baby. Then the minute you get pregnant, all you do is whine about how you’re so sick, it must be a punishment for giving up your first baby.”

“That wasn’t whining,” Sam said with a defensive sniff. “That was
talking
to my sisters who are
supposed
to listen to me.”

“Oh, trust me,” Jo said with a snort. “We listen.”

Sam stood up too and momentarily thought she might have to make a break for the bathroom again, but she swallowed back the urge and glared at her sister. “Fine. Maybe I have been a little whiny—”

“A
little
?” Jo laughed shortly. “That’s the biggest understatement since Custer said ‘I think I see an Indian.’ ”

Sam sneered at her. “You try tossing your cookies every fifteen minutes and see how
you
feel.”

“No, thanks.”

“And since we’re being so honest here,” Sam continued, keeping her voice as low as Jo’s as she leaned in to make her point. “I’d like to say that you deliberately switched this conversation around so that we’re talking about
me
instead of
you
.”

Jo jerked her head back and glared at her younger sister. Altogether, Sam was just too damn quick to miss much. Too bad.

Sam leaned in even further, until they were nearly nose to nose. “Something’s definitely up with Cash or you wouldn’t be so hyper.”

“I’m not hyper. I’m annoyed.”

“You’re always annoyed, Jo. This is different.” She stared hard into Jo’s eyes, looking for something, and finally she smiled. “Hah!”

“What?” Jo backed up warily. Her sister looked too damn happy.

“You’re
interested
in him.”

She flinched inwardly but was pretty sure she covered it up on the outside. “Any woman would be. As a science experiment. The man is—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, ending Jo’s rant before it could get started. “Heard it all before. He should be castrated. A warning sign around his neck, blah, blah. But I don’t hear you saying I’m wrong. Or that Nana’s wrong.”

She gritted her teeth, folded her arms over her chest, and lied. “You’re wrong.”

“Too late,” Sam said, grinning now. “Wait’ll I tell Mike. She’s gonna love this.”

Shit.

“But when you do have sex with him, no changing your life and running out of town.”

“You think
Cash
could make me run when my own sisters haven’t been able to manage it yet?” Jo murmured darkly.

“This is great,” Sam continued, heading unsteadily toward the front door. “Plus, now Mike owes me five bucks.”

It took a second, then it clicked in. “You
bet
on me?”

Sam looked over her shoulder at her. “Of course. Last summer.”

“Last—”

“When you and Cash were at each other’s throats all the time? I bet Mike five bucks that inside a year, you two would be doing the mattress bounce.”

Jo’s chin hit her chest. Nothing like family to take
your personal life and make it something worth betting on. “We haven’t—”

“You will. And when
that
happens, Mike and I
both
want a report.”

“Oh, for God’s sake . . .”

“Samantha,” Nana called out, “you take some stew home to Emma and your husband.”

Sam hunched her shoulders and bolted for the front door. Frantic, she glanced at Jo. “Tell her I’m already gone. If I have to drive home with all that garlic in the car with me, I’ll be pulling over to hurl every five minutes.”

“What’re you doing here?” Cash’s grip on the edge of the door tightened reflexively. Everything inside him shuttered and closed as the dying sun sliced like a blade into his eyes.

His father smiled briefly, and stepped past him into the foyer. “Good to see you, too, son.”

The cloying scent of Aramis announced his arrival, then stuck around to follow after him. Jared Hunter’s black hair was dusted with gray at the temples and his features were blurred from too many years of too much booze. The body he’d once kept carefully maintained was starting to show some wear, but the smile was the same.

Empty charm and unfulfilled promises.

Once, Cash had hoped to be close with his father. Once, long ago, he’d thought that the two of them could build the family Cash had always wanted. But Jared hadn’t been interested in knowing the son he’d made with a woman he barely remembered, let alone missed. And Cash had learned to stop wanting.

Closing the door, Cash leaned back against it, folded his arms over his chest and crossed his feet at the ankles. He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of knowing that he could still get a rise out of him. “What do you want?”

Jared glanced around the impressive foyer, then shifted a look at his son. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“Right.” Cash pushed away from the door and stood on his own two feet. Didn’t hurt that he was a good inch or two taller than the other man. “Since when is Chandler, California, in
your
neighborhood? Last I heard you were still living in Chicago.”

Jared rocked on his heels, pushed his hands into the pockets of his well-tailored slacks, and took another appraising look around him. “Too cold. Thought it was time for a change.”

A flicker of unease darted through him. “You’re not moving here.”

Jared smiled again. “That would be handy, wouldn’t it? The Hunter men, together at last?”

Together
.

Cash knew the only reason his father was here. The only reason he
ever
got in touch. And it didn’t have a damn thing to do with family.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”

Cash didn’t really want to, but hell. He could use a beer himself. Without a word, he started down the hall and made a sharp left turn into the great room. The cathedral ceiling was high and wide. Four sofas were arranged in two different seating areas—one near the fireplace and the other staged to take advantage of the view.

A fire crackled in the river-rock hearth and the flames threw dancing shadows and the rich smell of burning wood into the room.

Beyond the wall of glass, the lake spread out, dazzled with the swirl of reflected color from the sunset. Trees dipped and swayed with the wind and a couple of ducks floated in mindless circles in the center of the water.

Cash didn’t notice any of it. Instead, he headed for the wet bar in the far corner, stepped behind it and opened a minifridge. Grabbing up two beers, he set one on the bar and twisted the cap off the second one.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Jared said, snatching up the beer and wandering to the wide windows. “Too rural for me, of course, but very impressive nonetheless.”

Cash had to force the swallow of beer past the tight knot in his throat. He hated that his father could still get to him. He hated having the man here, in the one place he’d been able to carve out for himself.

And at that thought, he told himself to relax. To remember that they were on
his
turf here. He had the advantage for a change. He inhaled sharply, tried to steady himself with the comfort of the familiar, and asked, “What do you want, Jared?”

The man smirked at him over his shoulder. “Is that any way for a man to talk to his father?”

He wouldn’t be pulled down this road again. Wouldn’t be manipulated the way he’d been as a child. Those days were long gone. “If I had a
father
, I’d be more careful.”

Jared shrugged, tipped the beer up and took a long, healthy swallow. Then he studied the label on the bottle
as if it were the Rosetta Stone. “Made yourself a home here, didn’t you?” he murmured. “But I wonder if you’d have any of this if I hadn’t paid for your education.”

His guts felt cold and hollow. He didn’t owe Jared Hunter anything. Didn’t
want
to owe him. “I won that scholarship to college.”

“Ah,” Jared pointed out, before taking another sip of his beer, “you wouldn’t have won it without the fancy prep school ties though, would you?”

Cash wouldn’t be swayed. “Most people put their kids through high school.”

“And most children appreciate it.” He paced aimlessly around the room, lifting small vases, checking the bottoms, hefting a Remington sculpture as if he could judge the value of it by its weight.

Ancient aches reverberated through him, but Cash squashed them flat. He wasn’t that kid anymore. The boy who’d hoped for family. A place to belong. He’d long since given up on that notion and accepted his “family” for what it really was.

His gaze locked on his father, Cash bit back the bitterness nearly choking him. The key to surviving his father’s “visits” was to keep them as short as possible. Then all he’d have to do was bury himself in work to try to forget that the man was ever here.

“I was thinking maybe I’d just stick around for a while,” Jared said as he set the sculpture down with a thunk, then shoved his hands into his slacks pockets and jingled the car keys within. “Spend a little ‘quality’ time with my son.”

Quality time
.

Jesus.

Rocking on his heels, Jared sent his son a smile.
“Think it’d be a good idea to settle in for a while. Meet the people here—introduce myself around.”

“You wouldn’t like it. Too rural, remember?”

Jared smiled again. “A man can get used to anything.”

Cash’s stomach fisted. Just having his father in his house made him want to get the place fumigated. The man really knew how to work a con. They both knew damn well that Jared didn’t want to be in Chandler any more than Cash wanted him there. But just the threat of a long visit would be enough to pry Cash’s wallet open that much quicker.