Tangled Web (5 page)

Chase paused only to give her a look that indicated she was supposed to let him handle this, his way. Whether that was because he was a physician or Joey's brother, she didn't know. Chase gave Hope another I-know-what-I'm-doing look, put a hand on Joey's
shoulder and propelled him in the direction of the guest bath that was tucked under the stairs. “Let's get you in here and washed up a bit. Carmelita,” he instructed kindly, knowing how anxious Hope's live-in housekeeper was to be helpful, “we could do with an ice pack if you've got one.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Chase.” Carmelita scurried off to do his bidding.

Chase ignored Hope and their close proximity to each other in the tiny room. He settled his young patient on the closed seat of the commode, then raided the medicine cabinet for supplies, taking out bandages, antiseptic wipes and antibiotic cream.

Hope wanted to be in the room but she didn't want to be in the way, so she moved back as far as she could go. She found herself braced against the far wall, with her hip wedged against the sink. Chase's shoulder was within a hair's breadth of hers. Maybe I should have stayed in the doorway, she thought, but it was too late. Chase's body was already blocking the only way out. She had no choice but to stay where she was and suffer through their enforced closeness silently.

Watching Chase gently examine Joey's scrapes and bruises was adequate distraction, however. She observed with uncharacteristic helplessness; prior to this she had always been the one who bandaged Joey after a mishap. She was struck by not only Chase's gentleness and physician's expertise, but also by his innate talent for dealing with kids, period. Chase was a very good doctor, she admitted grudgingly, but his ability to handle young patients didn't exactly jibe with his irresponsible, nomadic life-style. Did he miss having kids himself? she wondered absently as Chase took a closer look at a long, rather nasty-looking scrape under Joey's chin. He seemed to find it nothing to worry about and only cleaned it without comment. Would Chase have kids now if his engagement to Lucy had worked out? Chase was so closemouthed about his private life; no one knew why his engagement to Lucy had ended. Certainly she'd been beautiful and intelligent, if a bit aloof and almost superficial at times.

But that was none of her business, Hope reminded herself sternly, turning her attention back to the unfolding drama. From what she could judge as Chase swabbed antiseptic on the scratch beneath Joey's chin, then daubed it with cream and fastened a bandage over it, Joey was in fair shape, all things considered.

That being the case, the conversation shifted back to how Joey
had gotten into his predicament. At Chase's gentle, pragmatic urging, the story came tumbling out.

“Well, see, it was like this. The Bateman twins said I was a sissy and shouldn't be allowed to play at all 'cause sometimes I lose my breath and have to stop and use my inhaler. I got mad and called them a name back. A—uh—real bad one, Chase.” When Joey admitted this to his half brother, Hope sighed and rolled her eyes.

“And then one of them punched me and I punched one of them. The next thing I knew somebody'd knocked my glasses off and I was on the ground, fighting both of them.”

Both Batemans against little Joey! Hope felt color drain from her face. Those twins outweighed him by twenty pounds apiece, and were sturdy and muscular to boot. They could have really hurt him. Or brought on a full-blown asthma attack. But they hadn't, she reminded herself firmly. Hanging on to her composure by a thread, nevertheless, she asked as calmly as possible, “Where are your glasses now?”

“Dunno.” Joey shrugged. Apparently that was the least of his worries.

“Well, you defended yourself courageously and held your own and that's something,” Chase remarked. He gently cleansed the bruised skin around Joey's left eye. “You're going to have a shiner here, all right.” Chase straightened and held up three fingers.

Hope had to flatten herself against the sink to avoid rubbing up against Chase from shoulder to thigh. “How many?” Chase asked, his eyes riveted on her son.

“Three.”

Chase nodded in satisfaction then gave Joey his laconic smile. “Well, I guess you'll live.”

He might, Hope thought wryly. But she was going to die from lack of oxygen if she didn't get out of there soon. Standing this close to Chase for such a prolonged period of time made it a little difficult to breathe. Fortunately Carmelita was back, ice pack in hand.

Still steadfastly ignoring Hope, Chase put the ice pack in Joey's hand and pressed it to his eye. “You need to keep that on for twenty minutes, then off for twenty, then on again the rest of the
night. Got that?” he instructed his young patient kindly. “It'll keep the swelling down.”

“Okay.” Joey started to get up.

“Just a minute, young man,” Hope said. There was a lot more she wanted to know. “Where was your coach when all this brawling was going on?”

“Over by the fence. Why?”

“And he let you boys fight?”

Joey shrugged his thin shoulders. “Well yeah, until the end, then he broke it up.”

“I don't believe this!” Hope said, turning on her heel. She slipped past Chase, narrowly avoiding a collision, and slipped out into the hall. As far as she was concerned, the fight should have been stopped at the name-calling stage. One punch thrown was too many.

Joey dashed after her, catching up when she reached the telephone table in the hall. “Mom, you're not going to call the coach, are you?” he asked anxiously.

“I most certainly am. This is not acceptable behavior. And if he doesn't understand that, then I'm pulling you off the team.”

“You'd make me quit?” Joey cried. He sounded both incensed and fearful.

“Rather than have you hurt, yes, I would,” Hope said firmly, reaching for the phone.

“Wait a minute here, Hope.” Chase put his hand over hers, using just enough pressure to prevent her from picking up the receiver. His hand acted like a bolt of lightning on her already highly charged emotions. She froze, paralyzed both by the cool, adult determination in his hazel eyes and by the extraordinarily sensual heat that radiated from her fingers, through her arm, to her chest. She didn't want to let him, or anyone else for that matter, tell her what to do about her son. Still, Chase's insistent male presence was as hard to fight as his low, persuasive voice. “Yes, the boys got in a brawl, but there was no real harm done. The other kids were all right, too, weren't they?” Still touching Hope's hand, Chase looked at Joey for confirmation.

Joey nodded. And where Chase's hand met hers, Hope's skin began to burn and tingle.

“Everyone lost their tempers,” Chase continued reassuringly.
He looked at Hope, his intent gaze searing hers. “I'm sure it won't happen again.”

“You're darn right about that,” Hope muttered. Her anger about the indignity her son had suffered returned full force. She still planned to call the coach and tell him exactly what she thought of him but Chase kept his hand squarely on hers. Hope wanted nothing more than to jerk her hand free of his light but implacably confining grip. Not about to tussle with him in front of Joey for ownership of the receiver, however, and knowing Chase wouldn't give it to her willingly, Hope remained where she was, glaring up at Chase all the while.

Joey swallowed. “Mom, you're not going to try to get the twins kicked off the team, are you?” he asked in abject misery, as if the possibility would be unbearably humiliating

Hope considered the call something that had to be done. Those twins had been trouble for a long time. Just because their father owned an oil company, they thought they could do anything and get away with it. Unfortunately, usually they did. Not afraid to take a stand, she said, “Under the circumstances, those Bateman twins shouldn't go unpunished. You could have really been hurt. The next time you, or whoever else they decide to pick on, might not be so lucky.”

“Mom, there isn't going to be a next time. Please. Don't do anything!” Joey wailed. Hope said nothing in reply. She wasn't about to commit to any line of action before she'd had time to think it through. Joey glared at her in mute exasperation. To her increasing aggravation, Chase looked equally pained.

“About your glasses—is there any chance they're still at the field?” Chase asked.

“Maybe.” Joey shrugged, distracted. “If they're not, am I gonna have to pay for new ones?”

Hope ran her free hand through her hair. She hadn't felt so harried or distressed in a very long time. This wasn't the worst day she had ever had, but it was certainly a close second. Chase seemed to intuit that; he kept his hand squarely over hers, more in empathy now than remonstration. “I don't know, Joey,” Hope answered her son tiredly, aware he was still waiting for an answer. “I'll have to think about it.” She wanted him to be responsible for his belongings, and not take them or the money it cost to buy them for granted. But was this his fault?

Abruptly Joey looked as emotionally wiped out as she felt. “Can I go up to my room now, Mom? I want to lie down.”

Hope shot a concerned glance at her son. It wasn't like him to want to take a nap, even after practice. “You're sure you're okay?” she pressed.

Joey rolled his eyes. “Yes!” He shot a worshipful look at his half brother. “Thanks, Chase. For fixing me up and talking to my mom. You know, calming her down and stuff,” Joey said shyly.

Chase held Joey's eyes and touched his shoulder with fraternal affection. “Take care of that eye now, you hear?”

“I will,” Joey promised as he moved up the stairs.

Watching him go, Hope was struck by how young he looked. Only when he'd disappeared did Chase let go of her hand. And though she'd resented the way he had physically taken control of her and the situation, Hope found her hand now felt oddly naked and vulnerable without the warm cover of his.

Telling herself she couldn't let Chase affect her this way, especially now that he was staying there, Hope turned her mind back to Joey's troubles. “I'm still calling that coach,” she muttered.

“Do so,” Chase warned with a daunting raise of his brow, “and that son of yours will never forgive you.”

She looked at him in surprise, shocked not only by the quiet vehemence in his voice, but by his unaccustomed willingness to inject himself so fully into her and Joey's lives. The Chase she had known in the past had always watched family dramas from a distance, never risking personal involvement. Was it possible he had changed or matured? Or was this shift due to Edmond's death and to Chase's own decision to assume more responsibility for the Barrister family and business, as a whole? She had no chance to ask; Chase was already heading for the front door.

“I assume Little League still practices at the park down the street?” he asked a trifle impatiently.

Hope stared after him, her feelings in turmoil. “Yes, they do.” Her voice sounded as dry and parched as her throat felt.

“I'll run over and see if I can find Joey's glasses. Or what's left of them. And Hope,” he reiterated, turning to give her a meaningful look, “I meant what I said. Don't do anything until you've had a chance to calm down.” His face looked tanned and healthy in the dwindling sunlight; he fastened his hazel eyes on hers and
she knew in that one fleeting instant of visual contact that she had more than met her match. He turned and left.

Hope stared after him, bewildered and confused by his actions and yet oddly and perhaps inappropriately drawn to him all the same. When had he started caring what happened to her or her son? she wondered. And why was just the notion of that as disconcerting as the warm, insistent touch of his hand?

Short moments later, Hope found Joey curled up on his bed, his baseball mitt and trading cards beside him, the ice pack pressed against his bruised eye. He was watching a college baseball game on ESPN, and although he seemed focused on the pitcher, she knew his mind was still on the scene downstairs. Feeling worse than ever about what had happened and the overly emotional way she had handled it, she sat down beside him and gently touched his shoulder.

“Honey, I'm sorry,” she said softly. She knew she had overreacted but he was so small and so physically vulnerable. The idea of the Bateman twins picking on him deliberately made her blood boil. That she had dealt with Chase, Rosemary, and Russell Morris that day had contributed to her losing her composure. And that wasn't fair to Joey. “You really shouldn't have to quit the team because those twins picked a fight with you.”

Joey reached for his inhaler. “I really
like
playing Little League, Mom.”

“I know.” And he liked having Chase around, too. Seeing how well the two of them got on was a surprise to her. Joey worshiped Chase; Chase liked the unchecked adoration. And she hadn't expected that she would like having Chase there, too, at least for a brief while. Even though they had disagreed on how to handle Joey, he had exerted a calming, male influence that had been missing in their lives. Hope was acutely aware of how much Joey missed Edmond, especially at times like this. Having Chase there had closed that void with remarkable ease. She knew, for that reason alone, she would be as sorry as her son to see him go. But
there were other aspects of Chase's presence that she didn't like nearly as much: the probing way he looked at her, his almost overwhelming maleness, and the sexuality and health he exuded. The bottom line was she was never more acutely aware of her womanliness than when she was around him. And those were feelings she didn't want. Not now. Not when she was a widow, and Chase was Edmond's son.

Joey's brow furrowed. “If you yell at the coach, then he might want me to quit. I know the other kids would. And then the twins will get mad, too, and they'll just be meaner than ever—” His shoulders slumped in despair.

“They shouldn't be mean at all.” Hope massaged his shoulder gently.

“I know but they are.” Joey exhaled loudly, as if exasperated with her lack of understanding about something he considered obvious. “Ain't nothing going to change that, Mom.”

“There isn't
anything
that will change that.” Hope corrected his grammar absently.

Joey shrugged, and drew on his inhaler again. She watched with relief as he began to breathe a little easier. He lowered the ice pack. His eye didn't look any better, but it didn't look any worse, either. His scratches and scrapes were all tended and neatly bandaged. And with the help of the inhaler, his breathing was still satisfactory. All was okay for the moment, she reassured herself firmly. “Can I get you some dinner?” she urged gently. “No? How about a glass of Gatorade?”

He perked up a bit at her suggestion. “Do we have the orange kind?”

“I'm sure we do. Want me to bring some up?”

Joey nodded, probably grateful he didn't have to go down and get it himself, as was usually the case. Hope didn't allow Carmelita to wait on Joey hand and foot; she didn't want him thinking he was “above all that,” just because his family had money. She didn't want him turning into a little jerk; rather to have the same sensible, matter-of-fact upbringing Chase had had. “Is it okay if I eat later?” Joey asked.

Hope touched his uninjured brow soothingly. “Sure, you can even have a tray in your room if you like.” He had been a trooper, she realized. Edmond would have been as proud of him as Chase had been. She closed her eyes briefly, feeling unaccustomed tears
well up. On days like this, Joey wasn't the only one who missed Edmond. It was hard to raise a child alone. There were times, like now, when she needed a strong shoulder to lean on, too.

Oblivious to the rush of loneliness she felt, Joey put the ice pack back on his eye, wincing slightly as it touched his tender skin. Looking more exhausted than ever, he yawned and closed his eyes. “Okay. Just don't call the coach,” he warned once again.

“I won't,” Hope promised. She qualified her statement honestly, “This time. But if it happens again—”

“I know,” Joey said. He opened his eyes and finished her sentence for her in a resigned tone that let her know how unacceptable having only a mother could be. “You'll have no choice.”

 

C
HASE FOUND
J
OEY'S
glasses in the grass. Although covered with dirty smudges, the lenses and frame were unbroken, but the safety strap that held his sports glasses on had been ripped and would need to be replaced. Obviously, he thought, it had been quite a scuffle, and unless he missed his guess, Joey had done his fair share of swinging and shoving. He probably felt he had something to prove—because of his size, because of his asthma.

Hope didn't understand that, Chase realized. Not that this in itself was surprising. Hope was so soft and feminine, so maternal and kindhearted, she'd be loathe to fight with anyone.

Part of him respected and admired that. He didn't like to fight unnecessarily, either, but this time Joey'd had no choice. He'd had to stand up for himself. Ever the pragmatist, Edmond would've been the first to understand that, and explain it to his gentle-souled wife. But his dad wasn't here to handle this, Chase was. And he knew instinctively what Edmond would've wanted him to do right now—intervene on Joey's behalf and make Hope stop smothering Joey.

Hope wouldn't appreciate that. Hell, she probably wouldn't even listen to anything he had to say. She'd only resent him all the more for butting in at home as well as at the store. If he were smart, he would just grab whatever funding he could for his project and take the nearest plane back to Costa Rica. But that would be self-serving. And Chase had tried very hard to never be the sort of self-centered person his mother was. That left only one option.
He'd butt in and give advice where it wasn't wanted. His father would have approved.

He owed his dad that. Why then was it proving so hard to do? he wondered uncomfortably. Was it because Hope was such a smart, independent, vitally interesting woman who he was privately willing to bet had never tapped in to her own latent sexuality? Or was it because he found himself beginning to fantasize about what it would be like to lead her into that unchartered but luscious territory?

 

H
ER TEMPLES THROBBING
with the beginnings of a fierce tension headache, Hope headed downstairs. It was Carmelita's evening off. The kitchen was blissfully quiet and dark and cool. Hope rummaged in a cabinet for a bottle of aspirin, shook out two and downed them with a glass of water, to little immediate relief.

After some moments, her neck was still stiff with tension, as were her shoulders and spine. Her dinner was in the refrigerator, ready to be microwaved. So was Joey's, but, like him, after the upset of the day, she had little appetite. She fixed herself an icy glass of cola, hoping the mixture of caffeine and aspirin would speed relief to her aching head a little faster than plain water. She headed into the living room, and met Chase, coming in the front door, Joey's glasses in his hand. Seeing his tall, lean body framed in the doorway gave her heart a little pause. Which was, all things considered, she told herself firmly, quite natural. Any woman in her place would have felt a little on edge, physically and emotionally, at the idea of being alone with him. With her, those feelings were intensified. Still, all she had to do was act normally, get through this, and he would go away.

She smiled gratefully, pretending an inner ease she couldn't begin to feel as she accepted Joey's glasses. She felt the brief warm brush of his calloused hand against her softer one. “You found them. Thanks.” He had finished buttoning his jeans and tucked in his shirt. His jeans fit snugly at the waist, defining the male contours of his body very well. Too well, she decided, shifting her peripheral vision away from the apex of his thighs.

“Glad to help.” His hazel eyes held hers, serious now. And again, she felt her heart skip a beat. “Hope, we need to talk.”

No, we don't, she thought. A ripple of unease swept through her. She had been afraid he'd say that. “Chase—”

“It can't wait, Hope.”

She knew that tone. Edmond had used it, too, and it wasn't one to be denied. Obviously Chase had made up his mind. Deciding they might as well get it over with, she nodded briefly toward the living room. Though she had shed her shoes and red blazer earlier and taken down her hair so it fell across her shoulders in tousled, naturally waving strands, she was still dressed rather formally in a white merino wool polo sweater and white wool skirt. Her jewelry consisted of a single strand of pearls and pearl earrings. She was glad for the formality of her clothes. She would have felt far too intimate facing Chase in a warm-up suit or jeans. Just having him here in the house felt, at this precise moment, disloyal somehow. Wrong. Maybe because they were too close in age and far apart in outlook for her to be a proper stepmother to Chase. And maybe because he hadn't ever looked at her as if she were his stepmother. He looked at her as an equal, a contemporary, one he didn't particularly like or want to get to know better, but who he was tied to, in a familial sense, just the same. And even though she tried to ignore that, his deliberately remote, vaguely distrustful attitude had hurt her a lot over the years.

Feeling tenser than ever, she sat down on a chair and waited for him to take a seat on the Chesterfield sofa opposite her. “It's about Joey,” he said as she took a long, cooling sip of her drink. “You're coddling him unnecessarily in my opinion.”

Hope felt herself becoming defensive but was powerless to prevent it. She hated it when other people presumed to know what was best for her son. Putting her drink aside, she hung onto her soaring temper with effort and met his gaze. “Chase, I know you mean well,” she said tightly, warning him to back off, “but I don't need your advice on this.” Nor do I want it, she thought.

Chase sighed. Knees spread apart, he leaned forward earnestly and clasped both his hands between his thighs. “In this instance, Hope, I think that you do need my advice.” He saw the flare of temper in her eyes and felt his own interest stir at the unchecked display of passion. Before she could even begin to cut him off, he interjected autocratically, “He is my half brother.”

Now, Hope though, that was rich. Restless and angry at this unexpected intervention, she got up to pace the room. Unable to
prevent herself from saying what was on her mind, she pointed out quietly, “With the exception of the last two days, no one would ever have known.”

Dammit, she didn't need Chase stepping into her life, into her home and workplace, making her continually uncomfortable and aware of herself. She didn't need him awakening feelings and needs in her she'd forgotten she had. She liked her life simple. She liked being just a mother and a businesswoman. She didn't want to yearn to be someone's woman, too. “You've never acted like his brother.”

Chase whitened at her comment, but knowing it was the truth, said nothing to combat her remark.

But now that the subject had come up, she found she couldn't let it go. There had just been too many years of silence on the subject and too much repression of feeling on both their parts. As a consequence, Joey had gotten caught in the crossfire of their withheld resentments. Chase's disinterest in her son hadn't mattered so much before. It had even seemed excusable because Chase was never around to get to know Joey, but now he did know his half brother. If Chase went back to ignoring Joey again, Joey would be terribly hurt. She couldn't let that happen.

Aware he was watching her steadily and unable to bear his relentless scrutiny, she moved to the window. She stared out at the shady tree-lined driveway that led to the street. Not bothering to mask her hurt or resentment, she continued with her blunt assessment of his actions. “In all these years, you never sent him so much as a birthday card or a letter, Chase. Except for when Carmelita brought you over to help tonight, one dinner conversation is the most you've ever given Joey in his entire life. And you only did that last night because you were trying to figure out how to talk to me about the store. If you hadn't needed to do that, you never would have joined us for a meal.” He never would have known what a delightful child Joey was, she thought. “You never would have come back to Houston at all.”

Hope noted with satisfaction that he didn't try to deny anything she had said. “I admit I haven't been the best sibling,” Chase began, visibly embarrassed. Restless now, too, he got up to pace the room.

“You haven't been anything to him,” she corrected quietly, with no malice. That was the way they had all figured was best,
while Edmond was alive, anyway. “That's why I resent your advice now,” she continued calmly.

Chase knew she had a point. Nevertheless, cossetting was not what his father would have wanted for his second child. As difficult as it was, Chase had to do what his father would have expected him to do and make Hope see she was in the wrong here. She was as wrong as he had been in previously denying any and all ties to Joey and Hope. Like it or not, they were family, just like his mother was family. Maybe in the past this hadn't felt like home to him. With his mother gone and Hope living here, he hadn't had much desire to come home. And if he were honest with himself, he still didn't. Given his choice, he would be back in the rain forest right now, instead of leaving everything to his partner to finish up. But he was here. He was involved. And they both had to deal with that fact as best they could.

Moving to stand beside her, he spoke urgently, “I'm trying to right that now—”