Double Trouble (21 page)

Even though I agreed, I was insulted by his tone. “You think I can’t take care of my own father?”

“He’d never manage that elevator, he’d hate the neighborhood, he’d be away from his cronies and his doctors. You’re on opposite schedules, so you’d get no work done.” I started to argue, but James held up a finger. “And last but not least, you two would kill each other if left together in a confined space for any length of time. Be realistic, Maralys. Can you afford the kind of care they recommend? Can he?”

I stared at the toes of my boots. “I think the house is pretty much the only asset there.”

“That’s what I thought.” James frowned and stared at the opposite wall now, thinking. The cogs they were a-turning.

I was seriously tempted to let him solve this, which said a frightening thing about how much I trusted him. I mean, I usually solve everything myself because I know then that it will get done right.

But James was showing a remarkable ability to get things done in a reasonable way, and with a minimum of fuss. He’d lost his job, his inheritance, his marriage, his money and his house, but other than some understandable frustration, he seemed to be doing just fine.

A nurse came by, her shoes making a squeaky sound on the linoleum, one that echoed loud in the quiet. She spared us a thin smile, then wheeled a cart into my dad’s room. I glanced at my watch—they were checking his vitals every two hours.

We said nothing, both clearly aware that my dad’s future wasn’t going to be resolved easily. The nurse left, moments later, her smile prim, and continued to the next room.

“So, what else is new?” I asked, ready for a change of topic and feeling the weight of the silence between us.

“Nothing, other than that I stink at parenting. We’ve been over that.”

I gave a very glum James a playful punch in the shoulder, recognizing that he was due for another kick. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve only been doing it for a couple of weeks.”

James snorted in surprise, then turned to look at me. “Aren’t you a bit old to still be kissing the boys and making them cry?”

“Peter Pan syndrome.” I grinned at him, noting that his dimple was making an entrance. “I’m never going to grow up. House policy.”

“Bull. You’re more of an adult than any woman I’ve ever known.”

It didn’t sound like a compliment. “And what is
that
supposed to mean?”

“That you take care of things. You expect nothing but you give a lot. You slip in, get stuff done and disappear.” He shot a sidelong glance my way. “It’s disconcerting that you’re so self-sufficient, if you want to know the truth.”

“What? I’m supposed to be one of those Victorian heroines, wailing “save me, save me”?” I rolled my eyes. “Puh-leese.”

He chuckled to himself. “I’m having a hard time imagining that.”

“And what’s the matter with being self-sufficient? You’re better at it than I am,” I retorted without meaning to make any such confession. “Look at all the stuff you’ve gotten done. Look at all the changes you’re making, just as easy as 1-2-3.”

“Someone had to do it.”

“I didn’t think you’d make so many changes so fast. I didn’t think you could.”

“Me or just anyone?”

I shrugged. “Either way.”

“You do what you have to do. If anyone understands that, it ought to be you. I followed your advice, made my list and checked it twice. It seems to be working out pretty well.”

“Just like I know what I’m doing.”

“Just like.” James turned to look at me and our gazes locked for a long, hungry moment. I licked my lips without meaning to do so, and he watched. I swear his eyes were more green when he met my gaze again.

“I saw your suits,” I whispered.

James shrugged and spread his hands. “What do I need them for?”

“But you’re used to having them.” I flicked his cuff, needing to touch him, however briefly, but not wanting to explore why. “This is not your look, at least it hasn’t been.”

Impatience flicked across his features. “It’s just stuff, Maralys. Stuff comes and stuff goes and the only thing that matters in the end is who you are inside, what you do and what mark it leaves in the world.”

“Oh, do I smell a midlife crisis? The timing would be about right.”

“Maybe a midlife course correction.” He slanted a bright glance my way. “Or maybe you’re just not used to men who are adults.”

“How so?”

“That jerk you married wanted a mommy, not a partner.” He turned to look at me, his gaze slipping over my features like a touch. “You’re very independent, Maralys, and very clever. Most men wouldn’t know what to do with you, though they might find you attractive.” He touched the corner of my mouth with a fingertip. “That mouth and all.”

“What’s wrong with my mouth?”

“Just what comes out of it. You spit barbs, Maralys, just to keep everyone at bay.”

I grimaced. “Doesn’t work with you.”

James chuckled softly and the sound made my heart go thump. “You’ve got nothing on what I’ve faced in court.” He settled back beside me and I sensed the tension in him. He was going to say something I wouldn’t like. “Maybe you should date a man for a change. An adult.”

“What difference does it make to you?” I knew damn well what he was implying and the prospect was a whole lot more interesting than I knew it should have been.

“Lots.” James leaned closer and bumped my shoulder with his. We were both sitting with our arms folded across our chests and our legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. A passing observer might have thought us old pals, but there was a distinct crackle of awareness between us.

His hands were tanned now, even the mark left from his wedding ring faded to just about nothing. James has great hands, have I mentioned that? I’ve always thought them very sexy. I stared at them now and let the buzz come to life in my gut. His legs are long too. There’s something great about tall men.

In a drawer far far away, Captain V was getting jealous.

“When was the last time someone listened to you, Maralys?” he asked softly. “Really
listened
to you, as if you knew things worth knowing?”

The answer was never and he knew it so I admitted nothing.

“The last time a guy did what you asked?”

I held my tongue.

“Or solved his own problems instead of waiting for you to do it? When was the last time you dated a man who didn’t need you to tie his shoes? Come on. Admit it.”

“Never, and you know it! What the hell difference does my taste in men matter?”

“Hey, maybe you prefer men who are really little boys. Maybe you like being in charge. Maybe you don’t want to lose control by trusting someone.” James turned to face me, his expression avid. He was challenging me and I was ready to take his dare. “Maybe you’re afraid that you might meet your match.”

“Not likely,” I snapped, but the words didn’t have nearly enough zing. James smiled in a predatory way and I couldn’t look away from him, as much as I would have liked to.

His gaze dropped to my lips and he whispered. “Was that kiss really as hot as I remember it being?”

My mouth was dry. “You have an active fantasy life, clearly.”

“Oh, I do,” he mused. “And there’s a consistent theme. Maybe I should say, a consistent character.” He watched me for a minute, maybe waiting for me to say something or move. I didn’t. James dipped his head, brushing his lips lightly across mine.

It was an exquisite kiss. Tender and demanding and so delicious that I wanted more. A lot more.

And I wanted it now. I started to sit up and give back as good as I got. James turned in his seat, both of us forgetting where we were and why, forgetting
who
we were.

My father fixed that.

“I’m thirsty! ” he cried, a feeble version of his usual tone, then coughed. “I’m
thirsty
!”

I broke the kiss with a jerk and stumbled to my feet. James stood and reached to steady me with his hand on the back of my waist. I think he said my name, but I raced away from him. I lurched into Dad’s room like a drunk, I was in such a hurry to put distance between us.

There were too many memories there. And I was shocked at how easy I found it to just lean into James’ kiss and forget everything else around me. It was dangerous stuff, to be able to lose yourself in someone else, especially someone else who you weren’t supposed to be kissing, someone whose motives you didn’t really know.

Nope, I had to get the moat dug and the gates closed ASAP.

I found the cup of water and lifted the straw to Dad’s parched lips, my hands shaking as though I was at ground zero of a nuclear blast. He was paler than usual, his pupils dilated from the painkillers. The light was dim in the room, or maybe I’m just making excuses for him in hindsight.

Because he smiled at me, really smiled at me, and my heart just had time to clench hard with gratitude that he was okay before he ruined it all.

“I knew you’d come,” he whispered, stretching out one hand for my face. “Tell Maralys to go home. You stay with me now. You’re all I need.”

He must have seen my shock. But he smiled at me, as beatifically as an angel.

You’ve heard about the proverbial straw breaking the camel’s back. This was more like a two by four, that’s what it takes for me to get the message. It didn’t matter whether he’d mixed us up or not—he wanted my sister, not me, and the drugs brought the truth from his lips.

I put the cup down on the side table, turned and walked out of the room.

Enough was enough. I was out the door and on my way.

“Maralys!” James shouted from behind me but I didn’t care. I wasn’t turning back for anyone. Not now. Not ever. The gates were up and double-bolted, the island inviolate.

I snagged my jacket without losing a step, and flung it on. I walked down the hall, past the nursing station, not really seeing where I was going, unshed tears blurring it all. I was on autopilot, heading out of my father’s life. I was numb, at least long enough to get to the elevator.

Then as I stood there, waiting, I started to shake. I’d been incredibly dumb, thinking that I owed him anything, thinking that anything I did might change anyone’s mind, thinking that people owed each other anything out of respect and or out of blood.

The age-old simmering stew came to a boil, a red hot frothing boil, spilling over the side of the pot and sizzling when it hit the flames.

“Maralys!”

To hell with them all. I was going back to Osaka.

The elevator was too slow and I could hear James’ footsteps, so I impulsively dashed for the stairs. I ran down them faster and faster and faster with each floor, my heels slamming against the tiles. It felt good to flee, to feel my blood pumping and my lungs working, to peer over the railing and know that I could slip and plunge to my death.

I liked the taste of my own mortality.

I don’t know how long it took me to run down those stairs. I don’t even remember how many floors up we were. But that run made me more determined to live each moment to the fullest, to take what I wanted and to hell with the rest of them. No more duties, no more obligations, no more worrying about the future.

I’d thought for years that that was what I was doing, but it was all a lie. A lot of talk, as James said, because my actions were those of a dutiful daughter.

I was indeed the good Catholic girl that I’d never persuade anyone that I was, no matter how hard I had tried. Oh, it was bitter, acrid even, to face the fact that my father would never ever love me for what I was. I faced it and I hurled the truth of it out the window and I ran as fast I could toward my new life.

I hauled open the steel fire door at the bottom of the stairs, out of breath and damp with my own perspiration, and stopped cold. James stood there, cool and composed, his eyes snapping. He was big enough to make a good roadblock.

“I’m giving you a ride home,” he said in a most parental tone.

“Wrong. I’ll take care of myself, thanks.” I made to brush past him but he snagged my elbow. I fought him, thinking that a scene would change his mind, but there were very few people around and none of them were interested. I called him a few choice names and he didn’t even blink.

In fact, James snagged me by both elbows. He marched me to the door, his grip resolute and his expression grim. “You’re going to lose this one, Maralys, so you might as well give it up.”

“I am not going anywhere with you!” I kicked and I bit and he gave me no quarter.

“Got it in one. You’re going home. I’m just your means of transport.” He shoved me none too gently in the direction of the parking lot.

“It’s a matter of principle,” I snarled. “I’m not going to owe anyone anything ever again.”

He was undaunted. “Fine. I owe you for picking up the boys the night Marcia left. This evens the score.”

“The contract revision evened the score.”

“Then I owe you for the advice on getting rid of the shopping.” James stopped beside a motorcycle and briskly unclipped a pair of helmets. He handed me one with a look that brooked no argument.

I stopped dead, incredulous. “You’ve got a bike?”

“I’ve had it for twenty years.”

“Get out of town.”

A smile touched his lips, then was banished. “That was the point.”

“I never knew.”

“It’s been stashed in the back of the garage. Your sister hated it but I couldn’t get rid of it.” He glared at me, belligerent as I’d seldom seen him. “Call me sentimental and you can walk.”

My mouth opened and closed. I was lost in a major way. It was an old bike, but lovingly maintained, its chrome gleaming.

“Why did you bring two helmets?”

“Just thinking ahead. I knew you’d be here.” James put on his own helmet and got astride the bike. He kicked off the stand and started the engine, balancing on his heels as if anxious to go. “Helmet or no ride.” This was clearly a limited time offer.

I pulled on the helmet and seized the moment. Truth be told, the bike suited my mood perfectly. We roared out of the quiet hospital lot and rocketed through the quiet streets. I could feel the tension in James, both in the aggressive way he drove and the tautness in his muscles. That kind of thing is tough to miss when you’ve got your legs wrapped around a guy.