Читать книгу A Father's Sacrifice - Karen Sandler - Страница 12

I’m here to stay.

Where the hell had that come from? Staying had never been part of the plan. There’d never even been a plan, just a vague notion that he’d stop in Hart Valley long enough to speak with the Russos and deal with Sean’s ashes. But somehow seeing Nina, working with her again in the café, had changed everything.

But who was he kidding? He couldn’t stay in Hart Valley. The town busybodies would chew him up and spit him out, just as they’d done all his misguided life. It would be even worse now, with him fresh from prison, with all the unanswered rumors flying through town like buckeye leaves scattered by a breeze.

Nina stared at him, shocked to the point of horror. “You can’t stay.”

He sensed something in her voice—simple worry? Or was that panic? His instincts sent a warning that settled as a knot of tension between his shoulders. “Why not?”

“Because I…because they won’t let you. Arlene and Frida and the others.”

“The busybodies.”

Nina had given the gossiping group that nickname, back when he’d worked at the café. The four old matrons would hold court in the corner booth by the front window, watch him work in the kitchen and whisper about him. When he would emerge to help bus a table or ring up a sale, they would fall into disapproving silence, their angry eyes trained on him every moment.

Jameson grabbed a towel and wiped down the griddle. “Let them talk.”

“Jameson, please.”

The desperation in her tone sent up warning flares again. “I don’t give a damn what the busybodies have to say about me.”

“I do.” She barely whispered the words.

He felt fingers crawl up his spine. Dropping the towel on the now clean griddle, Jameson rubbed his hands against his apron. “What’s going on, Nina?”

She stood frozen, looking trapped. “Nothing.” Her gaze flicked away.

His stomach a mass of snakes, Jameson stepped closer to her and grabbed her shoulders. “Tell me.”

The moment he felt the warmth of her against his palms he realized he never should have touched her. The thin fabric of her white blouse offered such a frail barrier, they might as well be skin to skin. Whatever self-control he might have once possessed was torn away by the long years of abstinence.

Gripping Nina tighter, he took in a long breath of air, waiting for her to move…praying she’d step away. Because if she didn’t, he’d kiss her. And if he kissed her, there was no telling what else he would do.

When she did move it was with excruciating slowness, her hands lifting, no doubt to nudge him away from her. But instead she rested her palms against his chest, and the contact was so unexpected it pulled the air from his lungs, released in a low fragment of a moan. Then her hands drifted higher, and Nina’s face lit with wonder.

She was perfect—skin the color of cream, brown eyes endlessly deep, full lips begging his to brush against them. Her mouth curving in a smile, one lock of ebony hair falling across her brow—everything about her invited him in. Her spirit flowed through him like a balm soothing the sharp edges of his soul. He shut his eyes, her beauty almost too painful to see.

Her voice sifted into his ears. “I’d forgotten how amazing it feels to touch you.”

His heartbeat thundered so violently he thought it might bring down the walls of the café. If he shifted even slightly he would lose the last scrap of will he possessed, and the result would be mortifying. “Nina,” he managed, parceling out just enough breath for her name.

He risked a glance down at her, then cursed his mistake. With her face lifted up to him, her lips moist and barely parted, he would die if he didn’t taste her just once.

Any thought that he might resist evaporated when she lifted her face to him. His hands left her shoulders and cradled her head as he touched her mouth with his. She arched against him, her full breasts grazing his chest, her fingers brushing against the sensitive nape of his neck.

He plunged his tongue into her mouth, a distant part of his mind knowing he was taking things too fast, too soon. With a step, he positioned Nina up against the prep counter, thrust one leg between hers. He knew she had to feel how hard he was, the length of him pressed against her hip. But she didn’t pull away, didn’t push him from her.

He ground against her, knowing he shouldn’t, helpless to resist. It felt far too good, impossibly pleasurable. But even as his tongue tangled with hers in her mouth, even as he imagined taking her here in the kitchen, a wrongness began to creep in.

He didn’t know where he found the strength, but he stopped, edged away from her. He couldn’t look at her, partly out of shame, partly out of fear that the sight of her tousled hair and flushed face would drive him to pull her back into his arms.

Half-blind with the need still burning through him, Jameson walked back toward the sink, took a water glass down from the shelf and filled it. He kept his back to her as he drained the glass.

He heard her light footsteps, sensed her moving closer. He felt the heat of her hand before she touched him, and choked out one word. “Don’t.”

“Jameson.”

Even his name on her lips was powerful temptation. “Don’t touch me. I can’t—” He didn’t finish the thought, hoping she’d understand.

A hesitation, then she said, “I’m sorry.” She moved away, putting space between them.

Jameson filled the glass again before he turned to her. She wouldn’t meet his gaze at first and when she did, he saw a trace of guilt in her expressive brown eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

“We both—”

“No, it was me. I took advantage.”

He laughed out loud at that, some of the tension in his body dissipating. “Believe me, sweetheart, the advantage was mine.”

She blushed, the faint pink an appealing lure. Then he saw the tears in her eyes. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

He set aside the water glass, risking a few steps closer to her. “Tell me what, Nina?”

She searched his face. “I don’t want him hurt.”

Confused, he shook his head. “Who—”

He heard the shuffle of feet from the cook area and a small querulous voice. “Mommy? Where are you?”

“Right here, sweetie.” Nina turned to go to her son, casting one last glance over her shoulder at Jameson. He followed her, an elusive sense of precognition dancing just out of reach.

As Nina knelt beside her son, Jameson hung back. It was only because he’d promised to keep his distance, not because his intuition screamed at him. Still, as he leaned one hip against the prep counter, his flesh tingled with anticipation.

Nate rubbed at his eyes, then his face split in a wide yawn. Jameson felt his heart squeeze. The lines of Nate’s face, the slender body, even the way his head tilted to rest on his mother’s shoulder—it all spoke to him, tried to communicate a hidden message. Jameson tried to tell himself it was just that Nina’s son resembled Sean as a boy. But tapping at the back of his brain, another voice reminded him he’d only seen his brother that one time when Sean was young.

It wasn’t his brother Nate took after. And although Nina’s stamp was clear on the boy, the father had added something, too. The father…

A roar started up in his ears and his vision seemed to narrow to just those two people across the kitchen from him. Nate’s head resting in the crook of Nina’s neck, her gaze meeting his own unflinchingly. The challenge in Nina’s face giving way to acceptance as her arm curved protectively around her son.

Her nod was nearly imperceptible, but her words might as well have been a cannon shot. “He’s yours, Jameson.”

He didn’t realize he’d moved until he stumbled into the stove and felt the heat of the still warm griddle on his hand. He snatched his hand back, grateful in a distant part of his brain that the griddle had cooled enough he hadn’t burned himself. With an effort, he directed his mind back to the realization that now blared at him.

He’s yours, Jameson. Nate was his son. He’d fathered a child on that tempestuous night. He’d done so little in his life that was worthwhile, that had value. Yet somehow, without even meaning to, he’d done something right, helped to create something precious.

The roar in his ears grew louder and he couldn’t seem to stand still. Without volition, his feet moved, backing him away from Nina and Nate, sending him from the kitchen, through the café and out the door into the brisk autumn night. He kept moving until he’d reached the Camry, then pulled the keys from his pocket and climbed into the car. He started the engine, backed the car into Main Street, then headed off into the darkness.

He didn’t know why. He didn’t know where. But he had to get away, he had to run, to think, to find a way to get his mind around the enormity of what he’d just discovered. He didn’t know what would happen next, he only knew that for the first time in four years he could escape and that was exactly what he intended to do.

Nina knelt beside Nate, stunned. In all her imaginings of the trauma that might ensue if Jameson discovered Nate’s existence, she’d never guessed that he would have simply abandoned her, abandoned the son he’d help create.

Sitting back on her heels, she waited until Nate fell asleep slumped against her, until her legs cramped in the awkward position. Jameson couldn’t have left them entirely, disappeared without a word, without declaring he would or wouldn’t accept the responsibility and the reality of his son. She’d seen him drive up Main Street, but surely he’d cool off and return.

With Nate in her arms, Nina rose awkwardly. She’d have to take him upstairs to his bed, then come back to finish closing up. Nate would be fine for the half hour or so it would take to lock up, tidy the last table and ring out the register. He was a sound sleeper and once he went down, he was out for the night.

The cool autumn air seeped through her lightweight shirt, sending a chill up her spine as she carried Nate up the back stairs. Nate might be small for his age, but he was still an armful. Nina had to catch her breath on the landing outside the door to their tiny apartment before she pushed open the unlocked door.

She didn’t bother with the lights as she crossed the living room toward the minuscule space she’d made over into Nate’s bedroom. The apartment had been used as storage when her parents first bought the café. Ten years ago it had been converted into an apartment for Nina. She’d lived here ever since.

And Nate had been conceived up here.

Easing him onto his bed, she tugged off Nate’s shoes and jeans then pulled the San Francisco Giants comforter out from under him. After pulling up the covers and switching on the night-light by the bed, Nina brushed a quick kiss on Nate’s cheek and slipped out of his room.

As she hurried back down the stairs, she tried to keep her mind on closing up the café. But the turmoil of the last several hours intruded, images of Jameson battering at her mind’s eye. Every thought of him spiraled back to the most vivid memory—standing in his arms, his mouth hot against hers, the clear evidence of his arousal pressed against her leg.

She fumbled with the back door latch as echoes of sensation rippled through her. Mixed with her own sensual awareness of those moments, shame burned. She’d intentionally touched him, had invited his caresses, his kisses. It was the only thing she could think of to divert him.

She stepped into the quiet of the kitchen, quickly assessing the bus cart with its trays of dirty dishes, the dessert prep counter covered with cake crumbs, the open spice containers that needed to be put away. This at least would keep her busy, maybe keep her mind from straying back to the feel of Jameson’s fingers stroking her neck, his tongue sliding against hers.

Knock it off! She grabbed an empty dish rack and began filling it with rinsed plates and glasses. Blanking her mind as she worked, she kept all her focus on loading the dishwasher.

But she couldn’t let go of the tantalizing images. They’d insinuated themselves inside her, linking the more distant memories of that night five years ago with today’s brief encounter.

She worked faster, scraping off food, squirting the plates with the sprayer at the sink, jamming them into the rack. But thoughts of Jameson still nipped at her heels, chased deep into her mind. He seemed imprinted on her senses.

The crash of a shattering dinner plate shocked her back into awareness. She stared numbly down at the fragments of crockery, then sagged back against the work counter. With all her heart and soul, she wished Jameson O’Connell had never existed.

At the jangle of the front door Nina realized she’d never locked up, or flipped the sign over to Closed. Picking her way through the pieces of the broken dish, she made her way out to the floor so she could inform the would-be customers she was no longer serving dinner.

The sight of Jameson, lingering just inside the door, hit her hard. He’d taken off the apron and had it wadded in his hands. His face looked wild, as if in the hour since he’d left he’d crawled out of his own personal hell.

He edged away from the door and held the apron out to her. “I forgot to take it off.”

Nina moved just close enough to take it from him. “No problem. Thanks for bringing it back.”

The banality of their conversation seemed ludicrous. They had a mountain of issues to talk about, yet they were chatting about an apron.

Nina set it aside on the nearest table. “Do you want to sit?”

He shook his head. “I can’t.” His blue gaze burned into hers. “We have to talk.”

She knew that, yet her stomach clenched. “Okay.”

He looked down at his hands as if surprised they were empty, then lifted his gaze to her again. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs. Asleep.”

“How old…” He swallowed, his throat working. “When was he…” A glance away, then back at her. “Are you sure—”

“He’s yours, Jameson. I’m positive.”

An incautious joy lit his face for an instant before he squelched it again. “Tell me…tell me how…what happened? We used—”

“A condom. I know.” It had been the only flash of good sense in the whole encounter. She’d had condoms in her nightstand and they’d stopped their headlong passion long enough to put one on. “They were old. That’s my only guess as to why it didn’t work.”

He nodded, taking it in. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her hand gripped the edge of the table. “You know the answer to that, Jameson. You were gone. Vanished. By the time word filtered back to us about what had happened, you were convicted of manslaughter.”

The pain in his face was nearly unbearable to witness. “If I had known—”

“What could you have done? How would anything have been different?”

Something flickered in his wary blue gaze. “It might not have changed anything. But I might have—” He cut the words off, looking away briefly. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.”

“Water under the bridge,” she said, wondering if he would remember.

The taut line of his mouth eased fractionally into a faint smile. “Your mom forgave a lot with those four little words.”

“Mom figures everyone deserves a chance.”

His smile faded as his expression turned bleak. “And you? How much are you willing to forgive?”

She didn’t answer, but Jameson didn’t expect she would. The question was unfair, anyway. His transgressions had gone beyond the absolution of the most forgiving of hearts. And beyond those sins, the potential of his father’s legacy still lurked.

Rubbing at her arms, her gaze strayed to the lone table still filled with dirty dishes. “I have to finish closing up. I don’t like leaving Nate too long by himself.”

“Let me help.”

She wanted to say no; he could see it in her face. She forced a smile. “Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll get the dishes.”

She nodded, then stepped around the front counter behind the register. Producing a set of keys, she headed for the door and locked it. After flipping the sign in the window, she shut off the front lights. The whole time she kept her back to him, giving him the clear impression she wished him gone.

But they still had plenty to resolve and he wasn’t leaving until they’d talked everything out. Guilt dug at him that his first instinct had been to run, but he’d gotten his head on straight quick enough and he was determined to take responsibility. He welcomed it.

He quickly cleared the table, stacked the dishes efficiently and carried them back to the dishwasher. The stack filled the rest of the rack that Nina had started. He shoved the rack into the dishwasher, started the cycle, then dumped the dirty flatware into a rack for the next load.

He heard the beeps of the register as Nina rang out the day’s sales. He could see her shoulder and the curve of her hip through the kitchen doorway and he let himself relive the brief unforgettable moment of their kiss. Right then, he would have given another four years of his life to kiss her again.

Once he’d pulled the sterilized rack from the dishwasher and shut the doors on the flatware, he headed back out front. Nina was counting up the register, credit card slips in a neat pile next to currency of varying denomination.

He waited until she’d counted through the tens in her hands and noted the total on the daily receipts sheet, then he stepped into her line of sight. “We’re not finished.”

She compressed her lips and a dimple formed in the corner of her mouth. He remembered tasting that tiny depression, laving it with his tongue. He shut down his thoughts, focused on Nate, his future.

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Who knows I’m his father?”

“No one,” she told him flatly.

“You must have told your parents.”

She shook her head. “Not even them.”

A dull ache centered inside him. “What about Nate?”

She met his gaze. “I told him you lived somewhere else and you couldn’t come to visit.”

Nothing but the truth. Still, it cut deep. “And now that I’m here? What do we tell him?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had thirty seconds to even think about it.”

“We don’t have to tell him about prison. Not yet.”

Her dark brown eyes flashed. “We don’t have to tell him anything!”

“Fine. Other than that I’m his father—”

“I’m not telling him that.”

He thought he would explode with anger. “The hell you won’t!”

“He’s only four. He won’t understand.”

“He’ll understand that much.” Tamping down his ire, he took a step toward her, risked a hand on her shoulder. “Nina, please…”

He felt resistance, as if she wanted to shrug off his hand. She took a breath, let the contact remain. “What do you want, Jameson? To let the world know you’re his father, then head off down the road? You said you want to stay, but how long will that last?”

How could he answer that, when he hadn’t even worked it through in his own mind? “He needs to know who his father is.”

She nodded, a bare concession. “I think you’re right. But it will break his heart to meet his father, then be abandoned.”

“I won’t abandon him.”

The beginning of tears glimmered in her eyes. “How do I know that, Jameson?”

What could he say to her, what could he promise? His own father was such a sorry excuse for a man. He might not have followed in his father’s footsteps, but he had his own trail of failure. How could he prove to Nina he could change, that he could be the kind of dad Nate deserved?

What burst into his brain, half formed and half crazy, he should have rejected out of hand. Even if he had the courage to say it out loud, she’d never agree. It was a fantasy anyway, something that worked for people like the Russos, but for a man like him, happily ever after was a joke. Especially with the possibility he was more like his father than he wanted to believe.

But this wasn’t for him. This was for Nate. He’d discovered he had a son and he would damn well do everything he could to build him a better life than he’d had.

He swallowed against a desert-dry throat, taking a deep ragged breath. His gaze locked with Nina’s, he tightened his hand on her shoulder.

And forced the words out. “Marry me.”