And Then Came You (7 page)

And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

What was this going to do to Emma? How would it affect his daughter’s life? “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“A good idea?” She whipped her head around and pinned him with a steely look that stabbed right into his heart. “I don’t even
know
her, Jeff. She’s my daughter.”

“She’s my daughter too and, dammit, I’m not going to have her life disrupted.”

“Disrupted?” She turned to face him. The breeze lifted her russet hair into a dance around her head. Her shoulders were squared and stiff and her chin was tilted at a defiant angle that he remembered. She looked like an ancient warrior about to fight to the death and Jeff knew that nothing between them was going to be settled today. Moreover, nothing would be decided without a battle.

But as Emma’s father—the only parent she’d ever known, no matter
whose
fault it was—it was up to him to protect her.

“You think I want to hurt her?” Sam asked. “My God, you’ve had her for eight years. I just found her again.”

“It’s not that easy, Sam.”

“I’ll tell you how easy it is,” she said quietly, but firmly. “You want me to sign new divorce papers, right?”

Alarm bells went off in the back of his head, but what the hell could he do about them? He had no choice but to hear her out and brace for the worst. “Yeah, of course.”

“Well, I won’t sign.”

Damned if he couldn’t practically
hear
the first salvo opening the war. “What?”

“I’m not going to sign. Not until I’ve spent time with Emma. Not until we figure out a way between us that I can be a part of her life.”

Something hard and ugly settled in the pit of his stomach and Jeff wasn’t proud of it. But Emma was
his
daughter. They were a team. A unit. And the thought of suddenly having to share the little girl with her mother hit him hard. It shamed him to admit even to himself that it was panic—and jealousy—rattling around inside him like a marble in an empty coffee can. He didn’t want Sam getting to know Emma because
he
might lose a piece of his daughter’s heart to her.

And he didn’t know if he could take that.

Sam watched him and he wondered for a moment if she could tell what he was thinking. Then she spoke and he was sure of it.

“You’re going to have to get used to sharing her, Jeff.”

“Or?”

“Or,” she said, giving him a smile that had nothing at all to do with humor, “we stay married.”

The threat hung brazenly in the air and he could see that she was pleased with her well-aimed shot. So he could hardly be blamed for enjoying the look on her face when he leaned in close and said, “That can’t happen. I’m engaged.”

“You bet, Grace. Monday morning, without fail.” Jo nodded as she talked, as though the older woman on the other end of the phone line could actually see her. It didn’t pay to take chances. For all she knew, Grace Van Horn was clairvoyant. The woman did always seem to call the house at the worst possible time. What
else was that but a psychic link to the universe? “Right. Sam will handle the details and the work crews will start arriving about eight.”

Grace Van Horn, rich, irritating, and the customer who was destined to be the reason the next three months were already being called the summer of hell, kept talking, outlining her newest ideas for making their lives miserable. Great. Grace had already changed her mind three times and they hadn’t even started work yet.

But they were used to this, Jo reminded herself. She and her sisters had been dealing with customers and potential clients for years.

Hank Marconi had started Marconi Construction when his daughters were little girls. They’d always gone to job sites with Papa and by the time they were teenagers, the Marconi girls could hold their own with any construction crew. Eventually, they’d all joined the business permanently, each of them with their own specialties, and Papa couldn’t have been prouder.

Although dealing with clients was almost second nature now for the three sisters, Grace was a special case. A blinding headache burst into full-blown life behind Jo’s eyes. Might as well get used to it, she thought. She’d be living on caffeine and aspirin for the next three months.

“Got it,” she said, agreeing now to anything, since she knew full well that by the time Monday morning rolled around, Grace would have updates on her updates. “Circular staircase from the patio to the second story.”

No helicopter pad? she wanted to ask, but didn’t, silently congratulating herself on her restraint. Really,
Grace was great. Fun to talk to. A little weird, but weird was fun. Usually. Until she made a mess of Jo’s files. All of her neatly compiled records and estimates and—She sighed and turned toward the coffeepot on the counter, suddenly needing sustenance. Empty. Perfect.

“Right. The wrought-iron balcony railings should be yellow to match the house.” She made another note on her Van Horn file, for all the good it would do her.

Honest to God, if Jo had Cash Hunter in front of her right now, she’d drop-kick him into the next century. If he hadn’t done his voodoo act on Tina, then the Marconis would have a real honest-to-God secretary to deal with Grace. But then, Jo thought wildly as Grace rattled on and on and on, maybe that’s why Tina quit. Maybe it hadn’t had anything to do with Cash’s mysterious sexual hypnotism powers.

Something to consider.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs and Jo shifted her gaze to the doorway between the kitchen and living room. It sounded as if trained elephants were marching on parade. But it was worse than elephants.

It was a giant rat.

Jeff Hendricks stormed down the last of the stairs, across the room, and out the front door like a man on a mission. Jo ran across the kitchen, still clutching the receiver of the ancient blue wall phone to her ear. The coiled blue cord brought her up short with a jolt strong enough to wrench her neck, just before the doorway. But she was close enough to see Sam, right behind Jeff, and she didn’t look good, either. Temper vibrated all
around her like a downed electrical wire jumping and skittering against the street.

Grace was still talking, but Jo had stopped listening. It wasn’t only temper chasing her younger sister. There was something else. Something deeper. Something
big
.

Turning, she walked back across the kitchen, fighting free of the twisted blue cord as it tried to wrap itself around her.

“Right, Grace,” she interrupted the older woman firmly. “I know. Don’t worry. Monday. We’ll be there.”

She hung up, despite the fact that the older woman was still talking. She’d pay for that come Monday, but right now, it didn’t seem important.

“I can’t believe this,” Sam was saying, standing on the threshold and facing her past. “After nine years, you’re still reacting in the same way? You just walk away?”

“Why the hell do you care?” Jeff shot back.

Jo moved quietly into the living room, listening openly. The word “secret” didn’t exist in the Marconi universe.

“You’re
engaged
,” Sam shouted, throwing both hands high and wide before letting them slap down against her sides. She couldn’t even believe this. She’d been feeling like the scarlet letter–bearer for
dating
, for God’s sake, and her
husband
was engaged?

Her brain spinning, she felt the world lurch crazily to one side, then right itself when Jeff started talking again. He stood at the bottom of the front steps and looked up at her. “We’ve been ‘divorced’ for nine years.”

“Yeah,” she argued, knowing that it made no sense,
“but now I find out we’re still married and you’re engaged to somebody else all in the same day. Excuse me for needing a minute or two to process.”

He laughed, looked around the empty yard as if checking to make sure they were still alone before saying, “You’re amazing. You don’t want to be married to me and you’re pissed that somebody else
does
.”

Maybe.

Maybe that’s what she was feeling. But it was hard to tell. There were too many emotions crashing around inside her like out-of-control bumper cars. God. She was married. Her daughter was no more than ten miles from her house. And her
husband
was engaged. No doubt to a Miss High Society Perfection 2004.

He had his career, a nice life, and their child.

What did Sam have?

New paintbrushes?

“Dammit.”

“Good answer.”

She scowled at him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Naturally. Call me when you’re ready to sign the papers.”

He turned for the street and his black Expedition, parked at the curb. She stopped him cold with one sentence.

“I’m not signing, Jeff. Not until we work something out about Emma.”

He stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder. His dark blue eyes shone with some emotion she didn’t even want to identify. His jaw worked and the muscle there twitched violently a couple of times. This was costing him. But she couldn’t seem to care.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said tightly, then left, without another look at her.

Shaking.

She was shaking so hard her eyeballs were bouncing in her head.

“Sam?” Jo stepped out onto the porch behind her. “Did I hear that right? The weasel-dog’s engaged?”

Sam laughed shortly. “Yep.”

“This just keeps getting weirder.”

“There’s more.”

“What’s left?” Jo demanded.

Sighing, Sam realized that it wasn’t over yet. Now she had to tell her family what had happened.

“What’s wrong?”

She glanced at Jo, opened her mouth, then slammed it shut again. For this part of their conversation, she’d rather be inside where Mr. Bozeman couldn’t “accidentally” overhear them while he was trimming his roses. She turned and went back into the house, with Jo as close as her shadow.

“Okay, you’re starting to worry me now.” Jo grabbed her sister’s arm, pulled her into the room, and then pushed her down onto the sofa. “When a Marconi can’t talk, she’s either dead or—hell, I don’t know anything else that could shut up a Marconi.”

Sam dropped onto the cushion like a stone, bounced, then settled. Her hands in her lap, she inhaled deeply and blew it all out again, ruffling the dark red bangs that hung in her eyes. “Shock will do it.”

“She speaks. A good sign. So tell me.” Jo looked around the familiar, yet empty room. Sunlight slanted through windows, illuminating an inch worth of dust
on the coffee table. Nope. No one else was here to help. She was on her own and Sam wasn’t making this easy. Maybe she should go run after Mr. GQ and beat some answers out of him. Mike was better at the tough stuff, though, and she wished her youngest sister were around. “Dammit, Sam, don’t make me beg. What is it?”

“I saw her.”

“Her?” At least she was talking. That was good. She wasn’t making sense, but speech was a step in the right direction. Jo dropped to one knee in front of her sister and looked her dead in the eye. “Her who?”

Sam looked up at her. “My daughter.”

“Oh, my God.”

All the air in the room disappeared. It was the only explanation for the sudden blast of light-headedness that had Jo swaying and then toppling over to land on her butt. The landing jarred her teeth and she shook her head as if that would somehow clear things up. It didn’t. “Where?”

“With him. With Jeff.”

“
He’s
got her?” She shot a look at the wide-open front door. “I should have chased his ass down.”

“He’s always had her. He’s raised her.”

“But how?” This didn’t make any sense. That baby had been given up for adoption. Turned over to a private attorney and— “How did he—”

“His mother.”

“What?” She shook her head. “ ‘Bitch’ doesn’t seem like a big enough word.”

“It’ll do.” Sam’s gaze sharpened, then focused on Jo’s. “All I know is Emma—that’s her name, Emma—looks
just like us. Same eyes, same mouth. Oh God, Jo. She’s mine and she didn’t even
know
me.”

Jo watched as Sam’s anger faded into misery, swamping her with feelings she’d kept carefully blocked for years. All of them had suffered with her. Wondered with her. And couldn’t come close to actually
knowing
the pain that Sam had lived with.

“Oh man. I don’t even know what to say.” Jo went up on her knees again and pulled Sam close. Wrapping her arms around her, she held her while Sam sobbed, her body shuddering with the force of a grief she’d never really recovered from.

It wasn’t something anyone in the family talked about. But losing that baby had cost all of them. And none of them had ever forgotten the little girl who should have been a part of their lives. She was there, always. A shadow in the house. A ghost at the table. A phantom on Christmas mornings. She was birthday candles that had never been lit and fairy tales that had never been read.

All of the Marconis felt that absence keenly. Naturally, Sam most of all. Though she tried to hide it from her family, Jo knew that a part of Sam had been missing since that long-ago August 8, when she’d held her baby close and then given her up. Losing her daughter had carved out a slice of her soul that she’d never been able to recover.

“Oh God, look at me.” Sam sniffled and pushed back out of Jo’s arms. A smile that was more sheer determination than anything else crossed her face. Admiration for her younger sister bloomed inside Jo and pride was right behind it. “I just found her and I’m acting like it’s the end.”

“True.” Jo forced a smile to match her sister’s. She’d play this any way Sam wanted to. And anything big sister could do to make things easier, she’d do it. “So what’s next?”

Swiping her fingers across her cheeks, Sam wiped away the last of the tears, then dusted her palms together as if ridding herself of the pain that had caused them. A hesitant smile wavered on her mouth and then strengthened as she sat up straight. “It’s not the end of anything, Jo,” she said and her voice took on a note of fierce resolve. “I’m getting another shot at this. She’s back in my life, and I’m not going to lose her again.”

“Not a chance.”

Sam grinned. It was watery and still a little shaky but it was filled with a kind of joy Jo hadn’t seen in her sister in way too long. “Wait’ll you see her.”