Built to Last (Harlequin Heartwarming) (10 page)

Hoped, maybe. Dreamed. But never really believed.

Jo found now that she was hungry to know more about her mother and the choices she’d made. Ryan was right—Aunt Julia had a bias. What if Jo were to find out now that her mother had never, for a single instant, regretted the sacrifices she’d made to have children?

Would it change her life?

Jo shook her head impatiently and scrambled up from the couch. Ridiculous. She was twenty-nine years old, her character complete.

So why, now of all times, did she feel such a childish longing to know her mother better? Why did she regret having so few memories to which to cling?

Why was she suddenly reexamining her image of Aunt Julia, noticing now that her aunt was not just glamorous, but also lonely?

On her way to the kitchen to relieve Kathleen and Helen of their dish-washing duty, Jo refused to answer her own questions. Wasn’t that her prerogative?

She was suffering from curiosity, that was all. A need to understand her roots.

She was certainly
not
imagining herself in love.

R
YAN AND HIS CHILDREN CAME
noisily into the house the Saturday before Thanksgiving, Ryan calling, “Hey! Where is everyone?” and Tyler and Melissa apparently arguing about what meal they’d eaten on the plane. Kathleen and Emma rushed to meet them, Jo following but hanging back. Only Helen and Ginny were missing, Helen having taken Ginny shopping for new shoes, since her toes were crammed into her existing ones.

“Aunt Kathleen!” The slight boy who looked younger than his eight years had a great smile. With wavy brown hair, brown eyes and a thin face, he must take after his mother. After enduring his aunt’s embrace, he studied his cousin with a child’s frankness. “Gol, you’re even skinnier than I am.”

“Skinny?” Emma made a horrid face looking down at herself. “What are you talking about? I’m fat!”

“Fat?” Ryan’s son stared incredulously. “Dad! Emma’s not…”

Ryan laid a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder, silencing him.

Melissa, meantime, was accepting her aunt’s embrace, saying hi shyly to Emma, and eyeing Jo with cool curiosity.

Ryan gave Jo a private smile over the family hubbub. Jo returned it with a composure she didn’t feel. What she wanted to do was flee.

She was actually scared to meet his children.

The realization embarrassed her. So what if they didn’t like her? So what if they did?

They were an occasional inconvenience, she reminded herself, as if it were a mantra. That was all. For Ryan’s sake, it would be nice if she could get along with them well enough to enjoy an outing with them now and again. If she could do preschool story times in her library with enough élan to delight three-year-olds, she could manage this modest goal.

Maybe. As Ryan drew his children forward and Kathleen and Emma parted to allow them to face Jo, Melissa’s eyes narrowed into a stare that suggested
she
wasn’t going to be charmed.

“Jo, my children,” Ryan said simply, his
voice resonant with pride. “Melissa, Tyler, my friend Jo.”

“That’s a boy’s name,” Melissa said in a deliberately rude voice.

Ryan looked at his daughter and opened his mouth as if to speak, but Jo silenced him with a shake of the head.

Smiling ruefully, she said, “I know. I wanted it that way. I always hated being girly. I sure wasn’t going through life as Josephine, I can tell you that.”

“You were, like, a tomboy?” Tyler asked. His expression was open and curious. Either he wasn’t old enough to understand the implications of his father’s friendship with a single woman, or he didn’t mind. Not the way his sister clearly did.

“Yep. I still am,” Jo admitted. “I hardly own any dresses.”

“
I
like dresses.” The pretty eleven-year-old had taken after her father in coloring. Her blond hair, partially gathered at the crown with a pink scrunchy, fell to the middle of her back. Her jeans were boot-cut like a teenager’s, and her shirt, with glittery script that declared she was a princess, was the kind of baby T fifteen-year-olds wore. She even,
Jo decided after close inspection, wore some sparkly eye shadow.

Jo had an aversion to the idea of children dressing to appear sexy. This Britney Spears look mildly shocked her. But Mom must have okayed it. They’d come straight from the airport, hadn’t they?

“I’ll bet you look great in dresses,” she said neutrally. “Me, I twist my ankle every time I put on high heels.”

Melissa rolled her eyes as if to say,
Of course you do.
Actually, she was doing the teenager thing better than Emma, for all of Emma’s problems.

“Listen,” Ryan said, “we have to get going. I wanted to stop and say hi, but ’Lissa and Tyler want to unpack. You’re not leaving until Wednesday, right? Can we do something tomorrow? All of us?”

Jo had been expecting this. From the expression on his daughter’s face, the suggestion was not welcome there.

“Why don’t you spend the day with the kids?” she suggested gently. “We—Helen and Kathleen and I—were hoping you’d all come here for dinner tomorrow night.”

Ryan’s brows drew together. “Of course we
can, but we’d like it if you’d hang out with us. Wouldn’t we, kids?”

Tyler shrugged. “Sure.”

“Um…I guess,” Melissa mumbled.

“Come on,” Ryan coaxed. “It’s your only free day to spend with us.”

Feeling trapped, Jo managed a laugh. “You’ve convinced me!”

“Good.” Either not recognizing the resentment emanating from his daughter or choosing to make a statement, Ryan kissed Jo lightly before saying, “Okay, let’s hit the road, kids.”

After they were gone, Jo looked at Kathleen. “I don’t think your niece likes me.”

Kathleen shook her head. “I don’t think she does, either. And did you see her clothes? She’s only eleven!”

“They were cute,” Emma put in.

Jo wasn’t alone in having forgotten she was there, as they both turned in concert. “For someone your age, maybe,” Kathleen said.

Emma shrugged. “Kids like to look like teenagers. What’s the deal?”

“It’s a big deal,” Kathleen said strongly. “Do you remember when I wouldn’t let you buy a bathing suit with the legs cut up to your waist?”

“Yeah,” Emma fired back, “and I looked so un-cool!”

Kathleen often tiptoed around her daughter. Not today. “You also looked like the girl you were.”

Emma sneered. “It was
so
typical of you!
Your
standards are always higher than everyone else’s, right? Like, all my friends’ moms were wrong!”

For once, Kathleen didn’t back down. “I was trying to protect the daughter I love. Is that wrong?”

A zillion complicated emotions stampeded across Emma’s face. “I don’t know!” she cried. “You’re just always so…
good.
” She swung blindly away. “I’ve got to go do homework.”

Kathleen’s shoulders sagged as she watched her daughter race up the stairs. “The joys of motherhood,” she said, making light of the ugliness she hoped no one else saw.

Jo went along. “This time, I think she’s escaping not just you, but
two
women mired in the dark ages.”

Kathleen sighed. “Do you have time for a cup of tea?”

“Sure.”

“To leave the subject of my charming
daughter,” Kathleen said as they started toward the kitchen, “Melissa will get over it. Unfortunately, she’s taking after her awful mother.” She stopped, so that Jo bumped into her. “I shouldn’t have said that, should I? Especially given my own track record as a parent.” She sounded stunned. “I’m a hypocrite.”

“You’re human,” Jo said bracingly. “And I’m sure you’re aware that Emma is a very nice girl. You can’t have done that much wrong.”

She hoped she wasn’t lying.

Kathleen’s laugh was bitter as she grabbed the tea kettle and ran water into it. “That’s not what she’d tell you.”

“Isn’t it?”

Kathleen leaned against the stove. “You notice she never talks about her father?”

Jo chose her words with care. “I assumed that’s because she isn’t seeing him. Is she?”

“No. His choice.” Kathleen looked as if she’d bitten into a lemon, so sour it stung. “But I think it’s more than that. I think she blames me, not him.”

Jo took mugs from the cupboard and unwrapped bags of Market Spice Tea, an orange-spice blend unique to Seattle for which
she had developed a passion. “Maybe. Or maybe she feels safe enough with you to criticize you. She knows you won’t reject her if she gets angry. I don’t know him, or, um, the whole story, but it sounds as if she can’t feel that confident about him.”

Her roommate cocked her head, expression startled. “That had never occurred to me.” Tears sprang into her eyes. “Jo, I’m so glad you saw my ad in the paper.”

Uncomfortable, Jo said, “I’m not that…”

Kathleen gave her a brief hug. “Yes, you are! You’ve fit in like…like family.”

Jo found her own eyes misty. She detested feeling sentimental!

“I’m flattered.” She made her smile deliberately light. “Back to Melissa. Ryan told me you didn’t like Wendy.”

The tea kettle whistled and Kathleen poured the water over the tea bags. “‘Awful’ is an exaggeration. She’s just whiny, clingy and so sweet I always wondered whether any of it was sincere.”

Jo was suddenly ashamed of herself for asking about Ryan’s ex-wife. He’d married her, after all, which must mean he’d loved her. She shouldn’t have encouraged Kathleen, tempting though it had been. She should have
let him tell her as much—or as little—as he wanted to.

“In this case,” she said, taking the sugar bowl along with her own mug to the table, “I suspect Melissa’s reaction is normal. What kid likes a woman Dad is dating?”

Following her, Kathleen made a face. “I dated once, a few months ago. Emma threw a fit.”

“There you go. At least Melissa was polite.”

Stirring a teaspoonful of sugar into her tea, Jo decided the moment was ideal to find out how Kathleen felt about her dating Ryan. She’d never said a word, never raised her eyebrows. But as his sister she
had
to have opinions, if not feelings, about Jo’s suitability.

“Kathleen.” Jo stirred her tea unnecessarily. “You’ve never said what you thought about me dating your brother.”

Kathleen reached for the honey. A long golden strand curled around her spoon. “He’s an adult. I don’t figure it’s my business.”

“So you don’t mind?” Jo pushed.

“Don’t be silly! What did I just tell you?” She paused—something about the quality of the silence told Jo it
was
a pause and not a conclusion. “My only worry,” she said finally,
“is that it will be awkward here if you two break up.”

Jo nodded. She’d thought of that, too. “I hope if that happens, the break will be amicable. I don’t know why it wouldn’t be.”

“I hope so, too.” Kathleen’s eyes met hers at last, and the steel in her character showed. “Fair warning. If I have to choose between you, Ryan is the winner, no matter how friendly we’ve become. He’s my brother.” Read:
You will be out of the house.
Jo hesitated, then nodded again. “I understand.”

The conversation moved on, as if both knew they’d said what was important. Kathleen didn’t offer more gossip about Wendy or the divorce, and Jo didn’t ask. Wasn’t even sure she wanted to know.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, Jo found herself being picked up to go she knew not where with her boyfriend and his two children she’d been pretending didn’t exist in any way meaningful to her.

The day was cold and wet, apparently typical for autumn in Seattle. The snow level was probably no more than a thousand feet above, if that. Ski areas in the Cascade passes had opened this week and chains were required to
cross the mountains to eastern Washington. She wore a turtleneck and a heavy sweater over jeans, and stuffed Thinsulate gloves in the pocket of her yellow rain slicker.

“Hi, everybody.” She hopped into the truck, shook off raindrops and smiled impartially over her shoulder. “Too bad the weather isn’t better. I’ve convinced your dad to take up in-line skating. We could have gone around Green Lake.”

The paved path ran the three miles around the pretty lake in north Seattle. Joggers, bikers, women pushing strollers and dog-walkers crowded it whatever the time of day. Ryan ran the circle several days a week already. He’d seemed to enjoy the skating.

“Dad?” his son said in apparent amazement. “In-line skating?”

“Does Dad do
anything
you want him to?” his sister asked Jo, tone snotty.

Jo was oh, so tempted to say cheerfully,
Pretty much.
Her better nature prevailed.

“Are you kidding? You know him better than that.”

“What?” He shot her an intimate, sidelong grin that was sure to irk his daughter. “Are you implying I’m stubborn?”

Jo batted her eyes. “Never!”

They laughed. From the backseat came nothing but silence.

“So.” Jo shifted to look back at the kids. “Where are we going?”

“The Pike Place Market,” Tyler said. “And maybe the aquarium.”

“You know, I’ve never been to the Pike Place Market,” Jo admitted. “People keep saying I should.”

“It’s just, like, shops,” Tyler said, sounding disgruntled. He looked even smaller today, hunched inside an oversize hooded sweatshirt. “The aquarium is better.”

“I like aquariums,” Jo told him. “The one in San Francisco is great. That’s where I’m from.”

Melissa sniffed and stared out the window. “
We
live in Denver.”

“We just moved to Denver,” Tyler corrected her. “I hate it there.” For a moment he seemed desperately unhappy. “I miss my friends.”

Looking at his son in the rearview mirror, Ryan asked, “Aren’t you getting together with Chad tomorrow? He was riding his bike the other day when I was going out. He was really excited about you coming home.”

“Yeah!” Tyler straightened in his seat, his
voice gaining vibrancy. “We emailed. It’ll be really cool to see him.”

Jo noticed that Melissa didn’t claim to have made all super-cool new friends. Perhaps she, too, was unhappy in Denver, so far from her father. Maybe that was why she didn’t like Jo. She might still be imagining that somehow the new stepfather would vanish and Mom and Dad would get together again, making her world right.

Her mother’s death had cheated Jo of such fantasies, but she understood them. She had longed so passionately for a way to go back, to before. Before her mother was gone, before she’d had nobody but her distant, irritated father.

They parked in a garage on the waterfront, below the Pike Place Market, which clung to the bluff above. A Seattle institution, the ramshackle structure had started as a modest farmer’s market. The top level, open to Seattle streets, still was a farmer’s market, Jo discovered. Ryan had suggested they start there and work their way down again, instead of the other way around, so they took a glass-enclosed elevator to Pike Street.

Despite the season, fresh fruit and vegetables filled open stalls, alternating with fish
markets and bins of Dungeness clams and huge crabs laid in ice. Farther along, artisans sold their wares, spread out on felt-covered tables. Sterling silver earrings, dream-catchers and stained glass slowed Jo’s pace.