Taming Natasha (17 page)

“No. You'll just have to face it, Mama, you have grown children—and you raised them very well.”

“Not so well that Alex learns to pick up his socks.” But she smiled, hoping her youngest son wouldn't deprive her of that last vestige of motherhood too soon.

“Did Papa and Spence stay up very late?”

“Papa likes talking to your friend. He's a nice man.” Nadia laid a circle of dough on a pie plate, then took up another chunk to roll out. “Very handsome.”

“Yes,” Natasha agreed, but cautiously.

“He has good job, is responsible, loves his daughter.”

“Yes,” Natasha said again.

“Why don't you marry him when he wants you to?”

She'd figured on this. Biting back a sigh, Natasha leaned on the kitchen table. “There are a lot of nice, responsible and handsome men, Mama. Should I marry them all?”

“Not so many as you think.” Smiling to herself, Nadia started on a third crust. “You don't love him?” When Natasha didn't answer, Nadia's smile widened. “Ah.”

“Don't start. Spence and I have only known each other for a few months. There's a lot he doesn't know about me.”

“So tell him.”

“I don't seem to be able to.”

Nadia put down her rolling pin to cup her daughter's face in two floury hands. “He is not like the other one.”

“No, he's not. But—”

Impatient, Nadia shook her head. “Holding on to something that's gone only makes a sickness inside. You have a good heart, Tash. Trust it.”

“I want to.” She wrapped her arms around her mother and held tight. “I do love him, Mama, but it still scares me. And it still hurts.” On a long breath she drew back. “I want to borrow Papa's truck.”

Nadia didn't ask where she was going. Didn't need to. “Yes. I can go with you.”

Natasha only kissed her mother's cheek and shook her head.

 

She'd been gone an hour before Spence made his bleary-eyed way downstairs. He and the gray dog exchanged glances of sympathy. Yuri had been generous with the vodka the night before, to guests and pets. At the moment, Spence felt as though a chain gang were chipping rock in his head. Operating on automatic, he found the kitchen, following the scents of baking, and blissfully, coffee.

Nadia took one look, laughed broadly and gestured to the table. “Sit.” She poured a cup of coffee, strong and black. “Drink. I fix you breakfast.”

Like a dying man, Spence clutched the cup in both hands. “Thanks. I don't want to put you out.”

Nadia merely waved a hand as she reached for a cast-iron skillet. “I know a man with a hangover. Yuri poured you too much vodka.”

“No. I took care of that all on my own.” He opened the aspirin bottle she set on the table. “Bless you, Mrs. Stanislaski.”

“Nadia. You call me Nadia when you get drunk in my house.”

“I don't remember feeling like this since college.” So saying he downed three aspirins. “I can't imagine why I thought it was fun at the time.” He managed a weak smile. “Something smells wonderful.”

“You will like my pies.” She pushed fat sausages around in the skillet. “You met Alex last night.”

“Yes.” Spence didn't object when she filled his cup a second time. “That was cause enough for one more drink. You have a beautiful family, Nadia.”

“They make me proud.” She laughed as the sausage sizzled. “They make me worry. You know, you have daughter.”

“Yes.” He smiled at her, picturing what Natasha would look like in a quarter of a century.

“Natasha is the only one who moves far away. I worry most for her.”

“She's very strong.”

Nadia only nodded as she added eggs to the pan. “Are you patient, Spence?”

“I think so.”

Nadia glanced over her shoulder. “Don't be too patient.”

“Funny. Natasha once told me the same thing.”

Pleased, Nadia popped bread into the toaster. “Smart girl.”

The kitchen door swung open. Alex, dark, rumpled and heavy-eyed, grinned. “I smelled breakfast.”

 

The first snow was falling, small, thin flakes that swirled in the wind and vanished before they hit the ground. There were some things, Natasha knew, that were beautiful and very precious, and here for only such a short time.

She stood alone, bundled against the cold she didn't feel. Except
inside. The light was pale gray, but not dreary, not with the tiny, dancing snowflakes. She hadn't brought flowers. She never did. They would look much too sad on such a tiny grave.

Lily. Closing her eyes, she let herself remember how it had felt to hold that small, delicate life in her arms. Her baby.
Milaya.
Her little girl. Those beautiful blue eyes, Natasha remembered, those exquisite miniature hands.

Like the flower she had been named for, Lily had been so lovely, and had lived such a brief, brief time. She could see Lily, small and red and wrinkled, her little hands fisted when the nurse had first laid her in Natasha's arms. She could feel even now that sweet ache that tugged when Lily had nursed at her breast. She remembered the feel of that soft, soft skin and the smell of powder and lotion, the comfort of rocking late at night with her own baby girl on her shoulder.

So quickly gone, Natasha thought. A few precious weeks. No amount of time, no amount of prayer would ever make her understand it. Accept, perhaps, but never understand.

“I love you, Lily. Always.” She bent to press her palm against the cold grass. Rising again, she turned and walked away through the lightly dancing snow.

 

Where had she gone? There could be a dozen places, Spence assured himself. It was foolish to be worried. But he couldn't help it. Some instinct was at work here, heightened by the certainty that Natasha's family knew exactly where she was, but refused to say.

The house was already filled with noise, laughter, and the smells of the celebrational meal to come. He tried to shake off the feeling that wherever Natasha was, she needed him.

There was so much she hadn't told him. That had become crystal
clear when he saw the pictures in the living room. Natasha in tights and dance shoes, in ballet skirts and toe shoes. Natasha with her hair streaming behind her, caught at the apex of a grand jeté.

She'd been a dancer, quite obviously a professional, but had never mentioned it.

Why had she given it up? Why had she kept something that had been an important part of her life a secret from him?

Coming out of the kitchen, Rachel saw him with one of the photographs in his hand. She kept silent for a moment, studying him. Like her mother, she approved of what she saw. There was a strength here and a gentleness. Her sister needed and deserved both.

“It's a beautiful picture.”

He turned. Rachel was taller than Natasha, more willowy. Her dark hair was cut short in a sleek cap around her face. Her eyes, more gold than brown, dominated. “How old was she?”

Rachel dipped her hands into the pockets of her trousers as she crossed the room. “Sixteen, I think. She was in the corps de ballet then. Very dedicated. I always envied Tash her grace. I was a klutz.” She smiled and gently changed the subject. “Always taller and skinnier than the boys, knocking things over with my elbows. Where's Freddie?”

Spence set down the picture. Without saying it, Rachel had told him that if he had questions, they were for Natasha. “She's upstairs, watching the Macy's parade with Yuri.”

“He never misses it. Nothing disappointed him more than when we grew too old to want to sit in his lap and watch the floats.”

A laughing squeal from the second floor had them both turning toward the stairs. Feet clomped. A pink whirlwind in her jumpsuit, Freddie came dashing down to launch herself at Spence. “Daddy, Papa makes bear noises.
Big
bear noises.”

“Did he rub his beard on your cheek?” Rachel wanted to know.

“It's scratchy.” She giggled, then wriggled down to run upstairs once more, hoping he'd do it again.

“She's having the time of her life,” Spence decided.

“So's Papa. How's your head?”

“Better, thanks.” He heard the sound of the truck pulling up outside, and glanced toward the window.

“Mama needs my help.” Rachel slipped back into the kitchen.

He was at the door waiting for her. Natasha looked very pale, very tired, but she smiled when she saw him. “Good morning.” Because she needed him, she slipped her arms around his waist and held tight.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She was now, she realized, when he was holding her like this. Stronger, she pulled back. “I thought you might sleep late.”

“No, I've been up awhile. Where have you been?”

She unwound her scarf. “There was something I needed to do.” After peeling off her coat, she hung it in the narrow closet. “Where is everyone?”

“Your mother and Rachel are in the kitchen. The last time I looked, Alex was on the phone.”

This time the smile came easily. “Sweet-talking a girl.”

“Apparently. Freddie's up with your father, watching the parade.”

“And putting him in heaven.” She touched her fingertips to Spence's cheek. “Will you kiss me?”

There was some need here, he thought as he bent toward her. Some deep, private need she still refused to share. Her lips were cold when his met them, but they softened, then warmed. At last they curved.

“You're very good for me, Spence.”

“I was hoping you'd catch on to that.” He gave her bottom lip a playful nip. “Better?”

“Much. I'm glad you're here.” She squeezed his hand. “How do you feel about some of Mama's hot chocolate?”

Before he could answer, Freddie came sprinting down the steps again, one shoelace trailing, to throw her arms around Natasha's waist. “You're back!”

“So I am.” Natasha bent to kiss the top of Freddie's head. “What have you been up to?”

“I'm watching the parade with Papa. He can talk just like Donald Duck, and he lets me sit on his lap.”

“I see.” Leaning closer, Natasha took a sniff. There was the telltale fragrance of gumdrops lingering on Freddie's breath. “Does he still hog all the yellow ones?”

Freddie giggled, casting a quick, cautious look at her father. Spence had a much different view of gumdrops than Yuri. “It's okay. I like the red ones best.”

“How many red ones?” Spence asked her.

Freddie lifted her shoulders and let them fall. It was, Spence noted with some amusement, almost a mirror image of Natasha's habitual gesture. “Not too many. Will you come up and watch with us?” She tugged at Natasha's hand. “It's almost time for Santa Claus.”

“In a little while.” Out of habit, Natasha crouched to tie Freddie's shoelace. “Tell Papa that I won't mention the gumdrops to Mama. If he saves me some.”

“Okay.” She dashed up the stairs.

“He's made quite an impression on her,” Spence observed.

“Papa makes impressions on everyone.” She started to rise, and
felt the room spin. Before she could sink to the floor again, Spence had her arms.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” She pressed a hand to her head, waiting for the dizziness to pass. “I stood up too fast, that's all.”

“You're pale. Come sit down.” He had an arm hooked around her waist, but she shook her head.

“No, I'm fine, really. Just a little tired.” Relieved that the room had steadied, she smiled at him. “Blame it on Rachel. She would have talked through the night if I hadn't fallen asleep on her in self-defense.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

“I thought you were a doctor of music.” She smiled again and patted his cheek. “Don't worry, the minute I go into the kitchen, Mama will start feeding me.”

Just then the front door opened. Spence watched Natasha's face light up. “Mikhail!” With a laugh, she threw herself into the arms of her brother.

He had the dark, blinding good looks that ran in the family. The tallest of the brood, he had to bend to gather Natasha close. His hair curled over his ears and collar. His coat was worn, his boots were scarred. His hands, as they stroked Natasha's hair, were wide-palmed and beautiful.

It took Spence only seconds to see that while Natasha loved all of her family deeply, there was a separate and special bond here.

“I've missed you.” She drew back just far enough to kiss his cheeks, then hugged him close again. “I've really missed you.”

“Then why don't you come more often?” He pushed her away, wanting a good long look. He didn't care for the pallor in her cheeks, but since her hands were still cold, he realized she'd been out. And
he knew where she'd spent that morning. He murmured something in Ukrainian, but she only shook her head and squeezed his hands tight. With a shrug very like her own, he put the subject aside.

“Mikhail, I want you to meet Spence.”

As he took off his coat, Mikhail turned to study Spence. Unlike Alex's friendly acceptance or Rachel's subtle measuring, this was an intense and prolonged stare that left Spence in no doubt that if Mikhail didn't approve, he wouldn't hesitate to say so.

“I know your work,” he said at length. “It's excellent.”

“Thank you.” Spence met look for look. “I can say the same about yours.” When Mikhail lifted one dark brow, Spence continued. “I've seen the figures you carved for Natasha.”

“Ah.” A glimmer of a smile curved Mikhail's mouth. “My sister always was fond of fairy tales.” There was a squeal from upstairs, followed by rumbling laughter.

“That's Freddie,” Natasha explained. “Spence's daughter. She's making Papa's day.”

Mikhail slipped a thumb through one belt loop. “You are a widower.”

“That's right.”

“And now you teach at college.”