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“That’s right.”
“Daddy’s in heaven,” the imp said so matter-of-factly it was almost chilling.
“I know.” J.D.’s jaw tightened.
“He’s not coming back.”
He exchanged glances with Tiffany, and her eyes warned him to be careful. “I know that, too.”
“Are you staying in a ’partment?”
“For a while,” he said and felt more than a trace of guilt.
“How come?”
Good question. He noticed Tiffany stiffen, the tremulous smile on her lips freezing. “Uncle Jay is here on business—for his work—and…he decided to visit us.”
“That’s right,” J.D. said, mentally noting that it really wasn’t a lie. “But I’ll be in town a while.”
Tiffany’s mouth tightened a little.
Bored with the conversation, Christina wriggled, and Tiffany set her on the ground. “You know, Jay, I still can’t picture you working for your dad. You were always...well…you know.”
“The black sheep, the son who swore he’d never work for his old man, the guy who did everything he could to keep his distance from anything remotely associated with Santini Brothers Enterprises.”
His off-center smile was a little self-deprecating, and his eyes, gray as evening clouds, darkened as if a summer storm were gathering in his soul. Tiffany tried not to notice. She’d been caught in the web of those eyes before and wouldn’t make that mistake again. She couldn’t. He tipped his bottle back and drained it. “As I said before, the prodigal had a change of heart because his older brother died.” The grin fell from his face.
She folded her arms over her chest and sighed. “Life has changed for us all.”
“Hasn’t it, though?” His gaze touched hers so intimately she shivered, then looked away.
“So what’s going on with Stephen?”
If only I knew. “He’s nearly fourteen.”
“And already in trouble with the law.”
“Nothing serious,” she countered, ready to defend her son against anyone and anything, including his uncle if need be. Rather than meet the questions in his gaze, she went to the back porch, grabbed a broom and swept up the remnants of Christina’s mud pie.
“Looks serious to me.” J.D. followed her and rolled his bottle between his palms.
“You should know about being a rebellious youth.”
He hesitated, then set his empty bottle on the rail. “That was a long time ago, Tiffany.” The way he said her name sent a stupid little thrill down her spine, and an unwanted memory started to rise to the surface of her consciousness, a memory that she’d sworn to bury so deep it would never appear again. But there it was, in her mind’s eye. Clear as the day it had happened: J.D. stripped to the waist, drips of sweat sliding down the finely honed muscles of his chest and abdomen.
“You can’t just forget the past, pretend it didn’t happen.” Her throat constricted, and she wanted to call back the words, but it was too late.
“It would be better if we could sometimes,” he said, and she knew in a heartbeat that he, too, was fighting unwanted memories; forbidden, painful recollections of something that, if acknowledged, would only cause more damage.
This conversation with its intimate overtones was getting her nowhere in a big hurry. She swept the last of the drying pansy petals into the shrubs and noticed that Christina was busy plucking blades of grass and tossing them into the air. “Don’t worry about Stephen,” she said a little too sharply. “I can handle him.”
“It’s a tough load. Teenage boy, little girl, part-time job and running this place.”
“Not a problem, J.D. Well, at least not yours.” She forced a confident smile and wiped her hands on her jeans. No reason for him or any of the Santini family, for that matter, to know any of her troubles.
“It looks like you could use a man around here.”
“Excuse me?” she said, nearly stammering at his gall. “A man? Is that what you said, that I could use a man?” She let out a puff of disbelief. “Let’s get one thing straight, Jay. I don’t need a man. Not now. Not ever. I—we’re—just fine.”
