Knowing You (13 page)

“Stupid, Nick.” Tony leaned forward and folded his arms on the table. “Really stupid.”

Everyone talked at once then and Stevie sat back in her chair, trying to become just a little bit invisible. She
didn't have a part in this. She wasn't in Nick's world anymore. And that's how she wanted it.

She slanted a sideways glance at Paul, though, and saw him silently drumming his fingers on the lace tablecloth. The longer Nick talked, the further Paul seemed to drift into the background. And for the first time, Stevie realized that it had always been like that. Nick was the movie star and Paul was just an extra.

Stevie looked from person to person at the table, noticing how everyone was focused on the Golden Boy. She sat forward, riding the spurt of indignation jumping in her belly. For God's sake. Was Nick really all
that
fabulous?

Stevie shot him a look and was surprised to find him staring at her. He gave her his patented
ain't I great?
smile and waited for the impact. How was he to know it didn't happen?

Then he said, “Stevie used to tell me there was life outside football. Guess it's time I listened to her advice.”

Uh-oh.

Stevie stiffened, Mama smiled indulgently, and Paul pulled even farther away.

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
HE HEARD THE CRY
first.

After parking her car behind the Leaf and Bean, Stevie stepped out, set the alarm, and turned for the shop.

But that pitiful whimper stopped her in her tracks.

Cocking her head, she held her breath and listened. A brisk sea wind whistled down the alley, rustling bits of paper as they were carried off into the darkness. Stevie tugged the collar of her sweater up higher around her neck and pushed her hair back out of her eyes.

Where?

Then it came again. Fainter, more … helpless, somehow. Just the slightest sigh of sound that seemed to carry somehow over the sweeping wind. The pitiful cries came again, faint, weak, and drew Stevie to them like metal shavings to a magnet. Rubbing her upper arms against the chill of the early-evening damp, Stevie followed the sound that was tugging at her heart.

Stevie walked quickly, carefully, out of the halo of lamplight and into the shadows.

Here only the moonlight dappled gently, and in a tiny patch of silvery light she saw the cardboard box and the tiny scruffy head that poked up from within.

“Oh,” Stevie cooed, and dropped to one knee on the asphalt. She paid no attention to the loose gravel digging into her skin right through the fabric of her pale yellow linen slacks. Carefully, cautiously, she reached one hand forward to hold her fingers out for the little dog to sniff.

But the animal ducked its head, clearly trying to avoid being smacked. It couldn't weigh more than five or six pounds, and probably two or three of
that
was dirt. A spurt of anger shot through Stevie, then dissolved into the well of pity rising inside her. Poor little thing. So used to abuse, it apologized for existing with its every move.

At least the dog was free of whoever had hurt it, Stevie told herself. It wasn't much of a silver lining, but it was something. She wasn't surprised to find a dog abandoned behind her shop. Most people around Chandler knew that she took in strays, no questions asked. There'd been many mornings she'd stumbled across a box full of kittens or puppies or … like now, a poor abused creature too afraid to recognize good fortune when it finally happened.

“It's all right now, sweetie,” she crooned, letting her voice take on a singsong quality. “No one's going to hurt you now.”

Just as she reached into the box for the dog, though, headlights sliced through the darkness like bright white swords. Momentarily blinded, Stevie blinked and ducked her head, waiting for the spots in front of
her eyes to dim. The car came to a stop behind hers. Its powerful engine roared like some barely contained beast, straining at a threadbare leash—then, a moment later, it was suddenly silenced. Stevie straightened up, her insides jumping. Paul? She'd left him at his mother's house, still talking to his family. She hadn't expected to see him again tonight. Didn't know if she
wanted
to see him again tonight. For all of his touchy-feely tricks under the table, the minute Nick had started talking, Paul had withdrawn from both the conversation
and
Stevie. The skitter of nerves in the pit of her stomach settled into a cold, hard knot. Nope. Paul shouldn't have come here tonight. And she was just about to tell him that when the driver's-side door opened and Nick stepped out.

Stevie battled the blast of disappointment that shot through her at first sight of Nick. Completely illogical. Made absolutely no sense. She hadn't wanted to see Paul. He wasn't here. So why was she mad?

Never mind.

“Go away, Nick.”

He laughed, clearly convinced she couldn't possibly be serious. “Oh, nice welcome.”

“When I actually
invite
someone over, they're welcome.”

“Damn, Stevie.” He winced and shivered dramatically, as though someone had dropped a snowball down the back of his shirt. “That ice in your voice'll turn a man to stone.”

“You seem lively enough.”

“I'm used to you.”

Stevie sighed. “Lucky me.”

“Jesus.” He drew his head back and stared at her. “What's up with you, anyway?”

Good question. Too bad she didn't have an answer. Or at least not a simple one. So rather than trying to come up with something believable, Stevie turned her back on Nick and stooped beside the box again. She smoothed her hand across the little dog's head and felt it quiver. “Shh. It's okay.” She scooped her hands beneath the frail body and wanted to cry. Poor thing felt like a small furry bag of sticks. Its rib cage stood out and she felt its heartbeat fluttering against her palm. Cradling the dog close to her chest, she stood up just as Nick walked up beside her.

He instantly took a step back and grimaced. “Christ, what is it?”

She shot him a dark look. “A dog.”

“Don't bet on it.”

The animal melted into Stevie's body and slipped into her heart in the same moment.

“Jesus,” Nick said, distaste plain on his face. “I can actually
see
fleas jumping off that thing and onto you.”

Stevie was just so not in the mood for this. “Nick, why are you here?”

He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, rocked back on his heels, and gave her his best smile. The one that used to curl her toes and warm her skin. Funny. Tonight it just irritated her.

“Just thought I'd come by for a cup of coffee.”

Stevie shook her head and watched him. Amazing. But what was more amazing was that she'd been nuts about this man for years and never really noticed just how self-centered he could be. All he could think of
was how he was feeling at any given moment. The rest of the world could be imploding, but if Nick Candellano was A-OK, then how bad could things be?

“You know what?” she said, stepping around Nick to head for the back door. “Shop's closed.”

Nick kept pace with her. “Come on, no cup of coffee? Not even for an old friend?”

“Nick, it's late, I'm tired, and I have to take care of this little guy.”

He couldn't believe it. Stevie'd always been there for him. Back in the old days, he had been able to depend on her as the one constant in his life. No matter what else was happening, Stevie Ryan loved Nick Candellano. Okay, sure, he'd been an asshole. He'd fucked up more than once. But Stevie had never given up on him. She'd always been his ace in the hole. Well, except for not bailing him out of jail that time. But now, when he needed her most, she didn't even have time for a cup of coffee?

Man. What the hell was wrong with the world?

First Paul giving him grief and now Stevie?

She stuck her key in the lock and turned it. But Nick had never been one to give up easy. This was still Stevie.
His
Stevie. She'd come around. She always had. He slapped one hand on the doorjamb beside her head and leaned down. “Stevie honey, take pity. A little coffee. A little conversation. I'm having a rough time right now and—”

Still cuddling that flea motel close to her breasts, she shot him a look he'd never seen from her before. Stevie Ryan looked completely disgusted with him. And he wasn't real sure what to do about that. Slowly
Nick straightened up and, suddenly uncomfortable, jammed his hand into his pocket.

“You know what, Nick?” she said. “As fascinating as your problems seem to you … and as hard as this may be for you to believe … I'm just not interested.”

Then she walked into the shop and closed the door on him. The quiet
snick
of the lock being turned from the inside sounded like a gunshot—and hit him every bit as hard. Nick blinked and stood there like a moron, staring at the damn door, waiting for her to open it again and smile and say, “Just kidding.”

But that didn't happen.

Seconds ticked past and stretched into minutes. Overhead, clouds obscured the moon, and the alley, but for the old streetlights, went dark. Shadows reached out for him and a cold wind slipped down the collar of his shirt and still Nick stood there, stunned.

She'd shut him out.

Left him in the dark.

Alone.

What was he supposed to do now?

*   *   *

Paul went for an early-morning jog, hoping to push the memory of dinner at his mother's house clean out of his mind. Instead, the solitude seemed to sear every separate image into his brain as though it had been carved in by a laser. Of course, if he'd really been trying to take his mind off Stevie, then he wouldn't have driven to Chandler to do his morning run, now would he? Doesn't mean anything, he thought. He often used the wide bike and running path that wound along the cliff's edge above the ocean and then cut across town
to meander through the patch of woods just to the east. True, he hadn't been over here in a couple of months, but what did that matter?

He ran the familiar path because he didn't even have to think about it. He could have run this path blindfolded. Which he might as well have been for all the attention he paid his surroundings. Trees, rocks—hell, even the ocean could have been wiped from the earth and he wouldn't have noticed. All he could see was his mother, smiling at Stevie and Nick as if they were some stupid little couple sitting on top of a wedding cake. And Nick taking it all in, like his just due. Sure, screw around on Stevie—treat this amazing woman like shit—then, when you're good and ready, smile and say, “Sorry,” and everything was forgiven. Perfect.

And so Nick. Like everything else in his life, crap turned to gold. And while the world applauded Nick, Paul slipped into the background and became wallpaper. Until recently, that is. Now, Paul was doing great and Nick's life was in turmoil. Guilt tugged at Paul, despite the fact that he knew Nick's problems could be solved by Nick growing up and taking control of his own damn life.

But he'd never really had to before, had he? It had all come so easily to Nick that now he wasn't prepared for a battle. While Paul had quietly been going about realizing his dreams. Working so low under the radar that no one had noticed him. No one knew just how well his company was doing. No one knew that in his own sphere he was pretty much considered a damn genius. No one knew that he had more money than he knew what to do with.

“Well, whose fault is that?” he grumbled as he stopped running long enough to stretch his legs against the trunk of an old, scarred oak and take a breather. Muscles pulled, his breathing evened out, and his heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm. Finally, he dropped to the ground, stretched out in the still-damp grass, and stared up at the cloud-tossed sky. It was his own damn fault. He'd done it to himself.

He'd kept his career so separate from family, how could they know what was going on with him? Hell, Nick was on television playing football while Paul was tucked away in an industrial park twenty miles away. He'd hidden his life, his feelings, from everyone, figuring that no one would be interested anyway.

Even now, he'd managed to screw up. Instead of putting Stevie out of his mind, forcing himself to get over her, as he'd planned, he'd let her drop even deeper into his life. And this time, when she took Nick back—as he didn't doubt for a moment that she eventually would—it'd kill him to watch the two of them together.

Because now it wouldn't be fantasies driving him insane. He'd have the very real memories of being with her. Inside her.

“Idiot.”

He flung one arm across his eyes. Computer genius. Scientific wonder. The Department of Defense came to him to solve their strategy problems. Leaders of industry called on Paul Candellano when things looked grim. Hollywood tapped him for special effects. Hell, even his most recent computer
game
was backordered. He had more awards for clear, analytical
thinking and troubleshooting than there was room on his office wall to hang them all.

But when it came to Stevie Ryan, he was just another idiot.

Shaking his head, he sat up, wrapped his arms around his knees, and stared off into the thick patch of woods just across from him. Dappled sunlight fractured through the tree limbs and scattered on the ground like golden coins. Silence settled over him like a blanket until more runners went past, breathing heavy, their footsteps drumming on the dirt path. A soft wind ruffled his sweat-soaked hair, making him remember the feel of Stevie's fingers, spearing through his hair as she dragged his mouth to hers. And with that memory came dozens of others. More potent. More tangible. More haunting.

Instant frustration roared through him with all the subtlety of a runaway train. Grinding his back teeth together, he scraped one hand across his face and told himself to get it together. “It's not like you're in love with her,” he reasoned aloud, as he always did when faced with some kind of problem. “You're just … fascinated. A little attached, maybe. But this is nothing you can't get over.”