Entangled (18 page)

He took my hand in his and we continued our
walk to the end of the field. My earlier inspection of the vines
was forgotten in the heady intoxication of romance. Thoughts, of
whether I was ready for a budding relationship, bounced through my
head. The fact that I still harbored resentment against most of the
men I’d dated was a very real point against trying again, but there
was something different about Handel. Sure he was male, arrogantly
accustomed to getting his own way, and he came with a mini-me
nephew. But he’d also been there more than once when I needed him,
past and present.

He seemed to realize I desired time to
acclimate to our new level of friendship, keeping the conversation
neutral on our return to the house. Outwardly, I listened intently
as Handel explained the attempted murder case he was working on,
but inside I was jumping up and down like a little girl who now had
Ken to go with Barbie.

“How’s it going with your mother?” he asked,
after a lengthy pause in the conversation.

I smiled. “You mean has she committed me
yet?”

He chuckled as we slowed to a stop outside
the kitchen door. “No. I mean — are you getting along or should I
drive her back to the airport and send her off?”

“You’d do that for me? Risk the wrath of
Mother just to please me?” I asked, facing him squarely, hands on
my hips.

Handel’s fingertips were warm against my skin
as he reached out and stroked my cheek, his gaze steady. “I’d even
risk the wrath of zombies for you.”

“Thanks, but zombies have nothing on
Mother.”

He shrugged. “She’s a surprisingly strong
woman. Much like her daughter.”

“I’m not that strong,” I admitted with a
small shake of my head. “I fall apart quite easily. Why do you
think she came?”

“Because she loves you. But you’re stronger
than you think. Look how you were ready to take on a burglar
single-handedly the other night.”

“That was mere stupidity. Besides, a burglar
is easy compared to nightmares.” I bit at my lip, my gaze straying
to the tire swing, reminding me of childhood and how quickly things
change.

“What kind of nightmares?”

I sighed. “Nothing really. Still getting used
to the time change I guess.”

He didn’t appear convinced but before he
could question me further, the back door opened and Davy stuck his
head out. “Hey, Uncle Handel!”

“Hey, Davy.” Handel grinned. “Your mom is
looking for you. You’d better run home as fast as you can.”

“Aw, shoot! Can’t I stay here with you, Uncle
Handel? Sabrina and me were just gonna play hide and seek. She’s in
the bedroom counting. I gotta hide.”

“Sabrina?”

“You know - Billie’s old lady.”

Handel made a choked sound and covered his
mouth with his hand. “I wouldn’t call her that if I were you,” he
warned. “Women don’t like the word old.”

I laughed. “It’s not the word, it’s the
connotation,” I said. I put my arm around Davy, who squinted up at
us in confusion. “Don’t worry. I’ll let Sabrina know you had to
leave. She can find you another time.”

“You heard the lady. Now get moving.” Handel
prodded the boy along by giving him a light push toward the field.
“Your mother wants you home for lunch.”

“All right,” Davy mumbled, head down,
shoulders sagging, as he shuffled away.

“He sure knows how to play the
mentally-wounded nephew, doesn’t he?” Handel kept his gaze on the
boy until he was out of sight between the rows of vines.

I smiled. “I’m sure he learned from the
best.”

Inside the kitchen the smell of burnt coffee,
left to sit on the warmer for too long, permeated the air. I poured
the sludge down the sink and put on a fresh pot. Handel leaned
against the counter watching me; absently folding the corner of a
towel left lying there.

“Are you nervous about something?” I
asked.

He frowned. “I don’t think so. Why?”

I shrugged. “Not even a little afraid to come
face to face with Mother?”

“Thanks for reminding me,” he said, his tone
caustic. “Actually, I was thinking about something else. But now
that you mention it, perhaps I should run home too.”

I shook my head and pushed him toward a
chair. “No way. You’re not escaping that easily. Besides, Mother
probably fell asleep on the bed while she was counting to a
hundred. That always happened when she played hide and seek with
Adam.”

He eyed the chair in question. “Are you sure
it’s safe? You didn’t give me the broken one again, did you?”

“I didn’t give you a broken one last time,” I
said, laughing. “You’re the one that broke it.”

“If you say so.”

I poured two cups of coffee and sat across
from him. “So, what were you thinking?

He leaned forward on one elbow, his chin in
his hand. “About you mainly. What you must have been like growing
up. As a teenager. In college. The years I’ve missed between eight
and now.” He grinned. “I won’t use the word old, but I like the way
you’ve aged.”

I felt my face flush with embarrassment.
“Matured might be a better choice. Aged is right up there with
old.” I sipped my coffee, trying not to look as uncomfortable as I
felt. In court I had no problem being the center of attention, sort
of like starring in community theatre, but otherwise I preferred to
blend in. Handel’s direct scrutiny of me as an individual was
disconcerting. Was this why my relationships always failed? I had a
fear of sharing my thoughts and feelings?

“So, what were you like?”

“Pretty much the same — only shorter.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“Oh yeah. A short, smart-mouthed, pimply girl
is always intriguing to the opposite sex.” I batted my eyelashes at
him. “And you thought I never had a date because I was
violent.”

His brows drew down in a frown. “I thought we
were past that.”

“Sorry. Old habits.”

“I see you two have made up and are playing
nice again,” Mother said as she breezed into the room. Her entrance
couldn’t have come at a worse time. I didn’t want her fostering the
idea that Handel and I were a couple. After all, it took more than
a few kisses to change life patterns. But her mind wasn’t as
focused on us as I imagined. She poured a cup of coffee and opened
the back door. “Did either of you notice which direction Davy took
off in?” she asked, stepping out to glance around the tree-lined
yard. She appeared less than eager to go in search of the
eight-year-old boy.

Handel smiled at me across the table, his cup
cradled between his palms. “You don’t have to worry, Sabrina. I
sent him home to his mother.”

She stepped back in and closed the door, her
eyes narrowed in thought. “I’m not expected to find him there, am
I?” she asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“You’ll have to play hide-and-seek with Davy
another time,” I said, amused by the seriousness with which she
took the game. “Margaret wanted him home for lunch.”

She nodded. “Oh, that’s good. I fell asleep
when I was supposed to be counting.”

“Imagine that.”

My teasing tone brought a smile to Mother’s
lips. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, young lady?”

“I just know you.”

“Really?”

Handel cleared his throat. “Well, Billie did
suggest that you might have fallen asleep.”

Mother turned her gaze on him then,
blistering in accusation. “I have something to discuss with you,
young man.”

He slid down in his chair as though trying to
disappear under the floorboards. “I was afraid of that. You know,
Davy has a wild imagination. I wouldn’t take anything he says
seriously.”

She glared down at him for a moment. “Do I
look old to you?” she asked finally, her tone leaving no option
other than a resounding no.

Handel shook his head and gave her one of
those slow smiles I liked so much, the corners of his mouth turning
up ever so slightly, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “You
definitely don’t look like an old lady to me. In fact, my friend at
Antonio’s asked for your number. He thought you were hot.”

Mother laughed lightly, and patted his cheek,
eating up Handel’s flattery like a kitten lapping cream. “You mean
that dark-haired man at the front desk? He was quite attractive,
but he seemed a bit old for me.”

Handel nodded, playing along. “I think he’s
forty-two, but I’m sure you could liven him up. Want me to give him
the okay?”

“Why not?”

I set my cup down with a thump. Coffee
sloshed out over the table, but I was too appalled by the
conversation to worry about it. “Mother! I can’t believe you would
go out with a perfect stranger. You don’t even know his name.” My
mother dating a sweet, widowed banker was one thing, but an Italian
Stallion was quite another. I remembered the man too and the way
he’d ogled us both. At twenty-one she may have been naïve enough to
get involved with a man like Jack, but at fifty she ought to have a
little common sense.

“Actually, his name’s Antonio. He owns the
restaurant,” Handel informed us.

“I thought you were friends with the chef,” I
said with a scowl.

“The chef is his brother, Carl. We went to
school together.”

Mother patted my cheek as though I were two.
“I didn’t say I’d go out with him, honey, I only said he could
call. What are you so worried about?”

“I’m not worried.”

“Good.” She put her cup in the sink, and
leaned against the counter, minutely examining her nails. “I really
need a manicure. Do you think we could go into town today? It would
be nice to get out for awhile.” She looked up, her gaze resting on
me. “Maybe you could have your hair done too,” she said, the
unspoken criticism pricking my soft underside.

Handel rose, ready to take flight. As most
men, unwilling to get in the middle of a confrontation, he knew
when to disappear. “I better get going. Margaret will be sending
Davy to look for me next.” His gaze locked with mine and I knew he
was going to bend down and kiss me goodbye, telegraphing our
changing relationship with a bold stroke.

“Handel,” Mother said, interrupting his
intent. “Your father worked at the winery twenty years ago. Is he
still around or did he retire?” she asked.

The random question surprised me, although
many times I’d thought of asking the same thing myself, but didn’t
want to broach a painful subject. I assumed Handel had no
relationship with his father and was happy with the status quo. If
I weren’t so very interested in the answer I might not have picked
up on his discomfort. He hid it well. A slight stiffening of his
shoulders the only clue. “My father disappeared soon after you
folks went back to Minnesota. No one was really surprised or
searched too hard for him. He was an alcoholic and had a history of
running off. Only this time he didn’t return.” Handel’s voice held
no resentment at the fact, but rather acceptance, and if I wasn’t
reading more into it than was there, it also held satisfaction. His
father was mean and abusive and Handel didn’t miss him. I couldn’t
blame him for that.

“I’m sorry,” Mother said simply, and squeezed
his arm comfortingly.

“Thank you, but it was a long time ago.”

I cleared my throat to catch Mother’s
attention. “Shouldn’t you touch up your makeup if we’re going to
town?” I knew even a subtle hint that something appeared less than
perfect on her face would get her out of the room.

“Oh. Why yes. I better get ready,” she said
meeting my gaze, surprised by my easy capitulation. She usually had
to work a while to get me to a salon. I was not a beauty shop kind
of girl. I even chopped at my own hair on occasion just to postpone
the inevitable. She gave Handel a charming smile. “Don’t be a
stranger around here. I think you’re good for my daughter. I don’t
know the last time I was able to talk her into doing something for
herself. A bit of pampering goes a long way toward renewing the
spirit, you know.”

“Mother, I’m right here. Don’t talk about me
as though I’ve left the room.”

“Sorry,” she said, eyes wide with
innocence.

When she was gone, Handel pulled me into his
arms, a comforting embrace without any strings. Finally, he pressed
a kiss against my forehead. “I’ll call you,” he promised.

*****

The salon was booked and Mother couldn’t get
in until Friday. She made an appointment, obviously planning to
stick around, and we got back in the car. The heat from the
afternoon sun filled the vehicle, a blazing furnace on wheels. I
flipped on the air-conditioning before pulling into traffic.

“Well, what now?” I asked. We were already
out and about and might as well make the most of it. There were
things I wanted to purchase for the house, small items that would
make it my own. Uncle Jack’s taste in décor went South of the
border often times and I preferred soft, muted, relaxing colors.
Call me a boring, Midwestern traditionalist, but I found it much
easier to fall asleep in a room painted a soothing shade of
eggshell than in Jack’s master bedroom painted brick red with black
trim. Luckily, he neglected to hang any of the abstracts in there,
but I still felt as though I had fallen into hell’s waiting room
when I lay on the bed.

“Might as well get a feel for your new town.
Maybe do some shopping?” Mother gazed raptly out the window, her
built-in radar buzzing away as she waited for it to hone in on a
sale. She loved to shop.

“That’s what I was thinking, believe it or
not.”

She patted my knee. “I knew you’d turn out
right sooner or later.”

“Don’t get all excited. I’m not turning into
you,” I said. “My aversion to shopping is just overshadowed by my
tremendous dislike for Jack’s decorating choices.”

Mother pulled down the visor mirror and
fluffed her hair. “His taste does seem a bit eccentric. In the old
days I would have said eclectic, but obviously he changed quite a
lot in twenty years.” She reapplied her lipstick before flipping up
the visor; worry lines etched between her brows as she turned
toward me. “Do you think he may have gone a bit crazy in his last
years? I mean — he painted excruciating things on canvas, gave
away all his beautiful furniture, and willed you his estate.”