Loving You (8 page)

“Why don't you just leave your number and I'll have Mimi call you when she—”

“This can't wait.”

She reached up to smooth back a stray lock of hair that had slipped free of the band holding the ponytail in place. “I can't help you.”

“Can't or won't?”

She threw her hands wide and let them slap against her thighs. “Look, you come into my house,
uninvited
, try to order things around to suit you, and I don't even know who the hell you are.”

“Damn. You're right.”

He laughed shortly and came away from the door, straightening up and holding his right hand out. Well, this could explain a lot. He was so used to being recognized, it hadn't even occurred to him that she wouldn't know who he was. “In all the arguing, I forgot to introduce myself.”

She stared at his outstretched hand as if it were a snake, poised to strike. Deliberately she folded her arms across her chest again. After a long uncomfortable minute or two, Nick folded his fingers into a fist and lowered his hand to his side.

“I'm Nick Candellano.”

He waited for recognition to kick in. After all, he'd
only just left the San Jose Saints. A month ago, there was a huge article in the local paper about his retirement, complete with pictures. He'd done an interview two weeks ago that aired on CBS. And yet … Nick shifted position uncomfortably as she simply stared at him.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” she asked finally.

Nick jerked his head back, surprised. She didn't even know his
name
? Had she been living in a cave or something? “Well, yeah,” he said, and to hell with any pretense of humility. “Most people get a charge out of meeting me.”

One corner of her mouth quirked, and even that hint of a smile, wry though it was, did something spectacular to her eyes.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, “but I've never heard of you.”

“I play football. For the San Jose Saints. Well, I did. I'm a—
was
a running back.”

She shook her head. “And that means exactly what?”

“You don't know football, either?”

“Nope.”

“Great. This day just keeps getting better and better.”

“Just what I was thinking,” she muttered so softly he almost missed it.

Nick studied her and swallowed back the bitter pill of being a nobody. Something he was going to have to get used to. And it wouldn't be easy. He liked being recognized. Liked having kids lined up outside the stadium waiting for an autograph. Liked being ushered to the best table at a top restaurant. When it came down
to it, there wasn't a single damn thing he
didn't
like about it.

Except the fact that it was over.

Okay, fine. Let it go. Concentrate on the current problem. “So. You don't know me.” He shoved both hands into his jeans pockets. “That makes us even then, because I still don't know you.”

“Tasha Flynn,” she said, biting off each word to make sure he understood that she gave the information grudgingly.

“Flynn. Irish.”

“Wow,” she said tightly. “A football player
and
a genealogist.”

“Irish explains the red hair,” he mused, ignoring her jibe. “
And
the temper.”

“Yeah? Well,
your
name's not Irish, so how do we explain you?”

“Hey, I'm not the hostile one here,” Nick reminded her.

“No, you're just the idiot who can't tell when he's not wanted.” Tasha's insides were vibrating. Anger, frustration, and pure unadulterated fear rippled through her in alternating waves until she wasn't sure which was which anymore. But did it really matter? For whatever reason, Mr. Football had invaded her home and didn't show any sign of leaving.

She could always call the police.

Oh, yeah, Tash. Great plan. Let's get the authorities involved. Then they'll want to talk to Mimi and things'll only get worse.

Nope. There was no cavalry riding to the rescue. This one was up to her.

She stared up at the man who for whatever reason had decided to make himself a part of her world.
Way
too tall for her liking. As short as she was, people tended to look at her and see not a woman but a child. Thank heaven for the red hair. If she were
blond
and short, she'd never get respect.

Today he was wearing a navy blue sweater over a white T-shirt—she could just barely see the edge of it beneath the neck of the sweater. His blue jeans were as worn as hers and she told herself not to notice how long and lean his legs were. The running shoes he wore were a real departure from the tassel loafers of the day before. But she wasn't fooled. She'd been shoe shopping with Jonas and had to dial him back from the super-expensive shoes he always drooled over. That particular brand of tennis shoe sold for around a hundred and fifty dollars.

Tasha had to cut four heads of hair to earn that much money—and that was only if tips were good.

Whether he was wearing intimidating designer wear or the “just plain folks” outfit, Nick Candellano had money behind him. So whatever it was he wanted, he could afford to stay as long as it would take him to succeed.

“I really think we've done all we can do today,” Tasha said as she inched around him in the confined space and tried for the door. “I've got things to do and I'm sure you must have a ball to throw around or something—”

“I didn't throw the ball,” he said, stepping to one side to block her progress. “I caught the ball.”

“Uh-huh.” He was standing too close to her. Not hard to do, really, considering how small the office was. Still, she backed up.

“But I don't do that anymore,” he said. “I quit.”

“That's a shame.” She wasn't even listening now;
her thoughts were centered on ending this little conversation, even though she knew she should be finding out exactly why he was here.

“We don't have to be enemies,“ he said, and Tasha told herself to pay attention. She couldn't afford
not
to. Until she could get rid of him, she had to listen.

“We don't have to be
anything
,” she said.

“Until I get a chance to talk to either Mimi Castle or Jonas Baker,” he said, taking one step closer to her, “we'll be seeing a lot of each other.”

She met his gaze and Tasha knew he meant what he was saying. She wasn't going to get rid of him until he was satisfied.

A man with money, charm, and a stubborn streak wide enough to match her own could be nothing but trouble. And if that man had dark brown eyes and a lean jaw and shoulders broad enough to land a plane on … well, that was an entirely different kind of trouble that Tasha
so
didn't need at the moment.

Nick Candellano.

Professional football player.

Of course, she only had his word for that, she thought. She wouldn't know a pro football player from … well, from anything. But why would he lie about it? No. He was who he said he was.

So why would he want to talk to Mimi about
anything
? The only “sport” Mimi had known anything about was video poker. And what could Jonas have to do with the world this man traveled in? Like most boys his age, Jonas followed football and baseball and hockey and, well, whatever sport happened to be in season. But she'd never heard him talk about Nick Candellano in particular—so how did Candellano know about Jonas?

A brisk knock at the door startled both of them.
Molly pushed it open, stuck her head inside, and looked from Nick to Tasha. Worry shaded her eyes as she said, “Sorry, Tash. But Mrs. Sorenson's here and getting crankier by the minute.”

“Right. I'll be there in a sec.”

Molly shot Nick a quick, almost admiring glance, then backed out, closing the door behind her.

“I've got to get back to work.”

“About Jonas Baker…”

Jonas
. Though her stomach jittered with a fresh assault of nerves, Tasha stood her ground. As anxious as she was to get this man out of her shop, her house, she had to get to the bottom of his visits. Had to know exactly what she was fighting. Or she'd never be able to fight back.

Steeling herself, she straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and looked him dead in the eye. “I don't have any more time to play games with you, Mr. Candellano,” she said tightly, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Since Mimi's not here, you'll just have to deal with me. So let's have it. Why are you here? What do you want with Jonas?”

He responded to the banked fury in her voice. “You think I
want
to be here? I didn't start this, red. The kid did.”

“What are you talking about? Jonas started what?”

He pushed one hand through his hair, then scraped his palm across his face as if even he couldn't believe what he was about to say.

Tasha braced herself, but even then she wasn't prepared.

“The kid's
suing
me.”

“What?” She felt her eyes bug out and wouldn't have been surprised to see them pop out of her head and roll across the desk.

“He's suing
me
.” This time, the emphasis was on him and Tasha knew that's where his real interest lay. Not in Jonas or Mimi or even her. Nick Candellano was out for himself.

Big surprise.

“He can't be suing you,” she said. “He's only eleven years old.”

“Yeah, well, his lawyer's not a kid.”

“Lawyer?”

He nodded stiffly. “Oh, it's official. I got served with papers yesterday.”

“I can't believe this.” What had Jonas been thinking? He knew that she was trying to stay below the state's radar. He knew that with Mimi gone, their little family was on tenuous ground.

“
You
can't believe it?” He choked out a laugh that sounded as if it hurt his throat.

Tasha, on the other hand, couldn't find a thing to laugh about. Hundreds of thoughts raced through her mind, chasing one another, faster and faster, until her brain was a blur. “What, uh…” She sucked in a deep breath, blew it out again, and forced herself to ask, “What's he suing you
for
, exactly?”

Nick shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. His jaw worked as if he was trying to force the words out. Finally, when she felt as though she couldn't stand the suspense a moment longer, he blurted it out.

“Paternity.”

Tasha plopped onto the edge of the desk, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“The kid says
I'm
his father.”

Oh God
.

Jonas, what have you done?

C
HAPTER
6

Something was wrong.

Carla Candellano Wyatt knew it the minute she walked into her husband's office. Jackson shot her a look that practically
screamed
“guilt.” And her brother Nick actually winced when he looked at her.

Jackson's secretary had been out to lunch when Carla arrived, so naturally she'd just knocked on the door and opened it. After all, when you were showing up to surprise your brand-new husband with a lunch-time seduction, the whole point was surprise, right?

Only problem was, she was the surprised one. Her brother and husband had shut up the moment she opened the door, but the “kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar” expression they were both wearing was a pretty good indication that something important was going on. Something neither one of them was telling
her
.“Okay,” she said, shutting the door behind her, “what's up?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Nick said, and, too late, tried to adopt a nonchalant air. He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and unconsciously shifted his feet into a wide-apart stance, as if expecting
a fight. His big brown eyes went soft and innocent, but Carla wasn't fooled. She'd seen that same expression too many times while watching Nick try to finesse his way out of trouble. Their parents had never bought his act and she wasn't buying it now, either.

“Don't give me that, Nick,” she said, and crossed the room toward him. Her boots clicked loudly into the sudden silence as she walked across the wood floor. “You suck at lying. Always have. Something's up and I want to know what it is.”

Nick didn't answer, just shot a helpless look across the room to Jackson.

Carla followed his gaze and stared at her husband for a long second.

He shook his head. “Leave it alone, honey.”

She smirked at him. Poor man. He hadn't known the Candellanos long enough to realize that was a useless plea. “Not likely.” Turning her head, she gave her brother her undivided attention again.

“Go away, Carla,” Nick said tightly.

“Not a chance,” Carla told him. Hey, this was family. Nick wouldn't have stopped by to see Jackson for no reason in the middle of a workday. So that meant this was an official visit. Man-to-lawyer. Up until about a month ago, Nick had been acting like the biggest ass in Northern California. He'd spent most of his time diving for the bottom of a bottle of scotch—and finding it. He'd alienated his family, fought with his twin, and, in general, managed to piss off everyone who loved him.

Suddenly she remembered the night their older brother, Tony, had tossed Nick's drunk butt into a jail cell, and instantly Carla's insides twisted. That night, all he'd done was smash Reverend Michaels's lawn
goose. Had Nick gotten into some real trouble this time? Something serious? Her stomach churned into a tight knot of dread. If he needed a lawyer, then Carla needed to know why. How in the hell could she help her family if she didn't know what was going on?

“Talk to me, Nick,” she said flatly.

“Jesus, Carla,” Nick said, jerking his hands free of his pockets to throw them high in disgust. “This is none of your business.”