Читать книгу Dad In Blue - Shelley Cooper - Страница 11

The Samantha Underwood who answered her door the following Saturday bore little resemblance to the woman who had bowled Carlo over the week before. The thick, lustrous blond hair that had gleamed like a badge in the sunlight was uncombed and hung lankly to her shoulders. Her eyes were sunken and red-rimmed, her lips chapped. In contrast, her cheeks were flushed with color. Though it was after noon, she wore a pair of flannel pajamas beneath a loosely belted, red terry cloth robe. It was a good thing the day was uncharacteristically mild, because she looked as if even the hint of a breeze would knock her off her feet.

Any other woman would have made an excuse for the way she looked. Samantha simply stood there, waiting.

And any other man—if he had a shred of decency, anyway—wouldn’t have found the sight alluring. But Carlo did. Heaven help him.

Guilt left a sour taste in his mouth. She was James Underwood’s widow. He had no business lusting after her like an awkward youth fumbling through his first crush.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She brought a tissue to her mouth and sneezed. “Just fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

She stood aside so he could enter. “I picked up a bug at work. The hazard of being a nurse, I suppose. It’ll run its course in a day or so.”

His gaze roved over her again. So she was a nurse. It seemed appropriate, given what he knew about her.

“Must be some bug, to make you look like that.”

Her smile caught him off guard. “Do you have to work at it, or are you naturally this charming? Much more of this flattery, and my ego will be totally deflated.”

Carlo amazed himself by doing something he hadn’t done in years: he blushed. He wasn’t normally so clumsy around women. But then, Samantha was unlike any woman he’d ever known.

Her words echoed in his ears. Much more of this flattery, and my ego will be totally deflated. Could she have wanted him to flatter her? His heart gave a wild leap in the seconds before reality jolted him roughly back to earth.

“Sorry,” he said stiffly, “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“I was just teasing,” she chided. “Can’t you take a joke?”

Apparently not. The old Carlo would have taken it in stride. Not only that, he would have given back as good as he got, and thoroughly enjoyed himself in the process. But the old Carlo had died, and a new Carlo had been born in his place. A Carlo who had made the decision to drift aimlessly for a while, to go with the flow and see what happened. The old Carlo would have been appalled at this lack of direction and purpose. But then, the old Carlo hadn’t turned out to be such an admirable fellow, so who was he to complain?

And the new Carlo had had enough self-examination for one day, he decided, when the unpleasant memories threatened to push past the barriers of his subconscious.

“Is Jeffrey ready?”

“I’ll check.” Samantha turned to call up the stairs. “Jeffrey, Carlo’s here.”

Considering that she could have been the poster girl for Webster’s definition of death warmed over, her voice was surprisingly strong.

Carlo decided that he liked the way his name sounded on her lips. He liked it a lot. As a matter of fact, he liked it so much he wanted to hear her say it again. How would it feel, he mused, to hear her cry his name during the throes of passion, and then again, softly, once that passion had been sated?

Two thumps echoed from the ceiling. When Samantha turned back to him, he gave a guilty start at the realization of the direction his thoughts had wandered. He felt his cheeks grow even ruddier as he tried to school his expression into neutrality, so that those very thoughts weren’t visible on his face. What on earth was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he control himself when he was around her?

“That’s Jeffrey’s signal that he’ll be down in a minute,” she said. “We were a little late getting started this morning, and he just got out of the shower.” She swayed and reached out for the newel post at the foot of the stairs.

Mentally cursing his wayward libido, Carlo moved quickly to her side and took her by the arm. The heat coming off her skin seared him as he led her into the den. The pillow and blanket already lying on the sofa bore witness to the fact that his arrival had disturbed her rest.

Samantha’s strength seemed to ebb out of her as he helped her settle onto the sofa, and he wondered exactly how hard she’d had to work not to let on how rotten she was feeling. If her sudden weakness was any indication, she’d used up valuable stores of energy; energy that should have gone to fighting her fever.

“You’re burning up,” he said, tucking the blanket securely around her.

“It’s just a slight temperature.”

“Right,” he muttered. “And the Nile is just a stream. At a guess, I’d put that slight temperature of yours at 102.4 degrees.”

Her eyebrows climbed. Despite her weakness, she managed to look amused.

“Do you always estimate to the tenth degree?”

“For temperatures, I do. And, I might add, I’m usually right.”

He made sure the pillow was centered beneath her head before straightening and looking down at her. She seemed so small and defenseless that he was overcome by an urge to stay by her side until she was well again. For a man who didn’t want any responsibilities, he seemed to be racking them up right and left: first Jeffrey, and now the boy’s mother.

“Just how did you come by this talent of yours?” she asked, her voice a near whisper.

It took him a beat to realize what she was talking about. “Let’s just say I’ve nursed a fever or two in my time. You’ve got a doozy. While it won’t kill you, it will sap your strength. What you need is plenty of fluids and rest.”

“Yes, doctor.”

He had to smile. Samantha Underwood was a nurse. She didn’t need him telling her how to treat her illness. Still…

“Is there anyone I can call to come in and stay with you? A friend? Neighbor?”

“I’m not an invalid,” she protested. She tried to rise up on her elbows and fell back against the sofa. “I’ve been taking care of myself for quite some time now. I think I can manage for a while longer.”

How did she expect to take care of herself, let alone an eight-year-old boy, when she could barely lift her head off the pillow? Carlo knew better, however, than to give voice to the question. Pointing out the obvious would only make her even more defensive.

“What about your mother? Maybe she could come over and keep Jeffrey occupied, so you can get the rest you need.”

Samantha closed her eyes and turned her face toward the wall. “Mom’s away on a cruise. Besides, you’re taking Jeffrey out for the afternoon. That’ll give me all the rest I need.”

Considering the thinness of her body and the circles under her eyes, Carlo doubted it. Samantha was in need of a lot more than a few hours sleep.

If he couldn’t talk her into getting help, at least he could do everything in his power to assure the outcome she seemed so certain of. For Jeffrey’s sake, of course. Turning on his heel, he headed for the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“To get you some water,” he called over his shoulder.

The countertop that had been covered with freshly baked cookies a week ago was a mess. An open loaf of bread teetered on the edge of the white Formica surface; two slices had already fallen to the floor. Beside the bread lay a knife that was smeared liberally with peanut butter and grape jelly. Equally smeared were the countertop itself and the two open containers from which both substances originated. An empty glass sat in a puddle of milk. Obviously, Jeffrey had fixed his own lunch.

Under normal circumstances, Carlo would never consider rummaging around in a stranger’s cupboards. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and he didn’t have the heart to disturb Samantha to ask where she kept things. He’d just have to rely on his intuition to lead him to the items he needed. After all, he’d once been able to find a cache of stolen jewels in under one minute by letting his intuition lead him to the most likely hiding spot. How hard would it be to find things that were meant to be found?

After cleaning up the mess Jeffrey left, it took him less than thirty seconds to find a tall glass, a tray and a pitcher, which he filled with ice and water. When he spied the bottle of aspirin on the counter, he called, “Have you taken anything for the fever?”

“Not yet,” came the weak reply.

He’d placed the aspirin bottle on the tray and was about to return to the den, when his glance landed on the telephone. His brother Marco was a doctor. While he had the opportunity, he might as well get the opinion of a professional.

Carlo felt a lot better after speaking to Marco. So long as Samantha got plenty of fluids and rest, so long as her fever didn’t rise to a dangerous level, and so long as she didn’t exhibit any worrisome signs like convulsions, she should be okay.

“Hold out your hand,” he ordered after placing the tray on the coffee table. When she complied, he shook two aspirin into her palm, then helped her to a sitting position before pouring a glass of water and handing it to her. “Drink.”

He waited until she drained the glass to say, “You should be all set here. There’s plenty of water for you whenever you’re thirsty. There are also some crackers, in case you feel like nibbling on anything. Can I find you something to watch on television? Bring you the remote control? A book?”

“No, thanks. I think I’ll take a nap after you and Jeffrey leave.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me. And don’t worry about Jeffrey. He and I will be just fine. I thought, since it was such a nice day, we’d rake some leaves and jump in them.”

“I love jumping in leaves,” Samantha said wistfully.

“Unfortunately for you, the only jumping you’ll be doing today will be in your dreams.”

“In that case, will you take a flying leap for me?”

He laughed. It was a good sign that she was still able to joke with him. Yes, he decided, there was definitely a mischievous light gleaming in those big, brown eyes of hers. Maybe she was getting better.

“You’re teasing me again, right?” he asked.

“You catch on fast.”

“I try.”

“You should do that more often,” she said.

“Catch on to things?”

“Laugh. It makes you look more human.”

It came to him then that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed out loud. It felt good.

“What did I look like before?” he asked, still smiling. “Godzilla?”

“You know what I mean.”

He sobered, and the good feeling faded. “I guess I haven’t had much to laugh about lately.”

Her sigh was low and heartfelt. “Boy, can I relate.”

“Yes,” he said carefully, mindful that she’d had even less to laugh about in the past year than he had. “I suppose you can.”

“Thanks, Carlo,” she said.

He blinked. “For what?”

“For the aspirin and the water. For coming back today. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Warmth filled him as his heart swelled with pleasure. Then he remembered exactly why Jeffrey needed him, and the warmth was replaced by a sudden chill.

Carlo glanced at his watch. Jeffrey was taking his grand old time getting ready.

“Let me guess. He’s not any more anxious to see me today than he was last Saturday.”

“No,” she admitted. “But he’ll be down.”

“What did you bribe him with? A new toy?”

Her mouth curved. “I don’t believe in bribery, no matter how tempted I am to resort to it. Jeffrey is aware that he has a commitment to spend time with you each week, and that I expect him to honor it.”

The clump of feet slowly descending the staircase echoed into the room. A minute later, Jeffrey appeared in the doorway. His hair was still wet from his shower. When he glanced at Carlo, a wary light filled his eyes. It changed to worry when he caught sight of his mother on the sofa.

Somehow, Samantha managed to dredge up a brilliant smile. Carlo felt a spark of admiration for this spunky woman. Whatever her worries and fears were for her son, she wasn’t about to let the child see them. Nor was she about to let worry for her ruin what would hopefully be, for Jeffrey, a good time.

“Come here,” she beckoned to the boy. When he knelt by her side, she smoothed a hand back over his hair. “I want you to promise to be on your best behavior while you’re out with Carlo. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jeffrey nodded grudgingly.

“She’ll be just fine, sport,” Carlo reassured. “See? She’s all set. Water. Glass. Blanket. Pillow. The best medicine for your mom right now is for us to get out of her hair. Once she takes a nice long nap, she’ll be feeling much better.”

As he followed Jeffrey out of the room, Carlo couldn’t help tossing a worried glance over his shoulder. Samantha was already asleep.

It was the kind of Indian summer weather that, on a school day, inspired many a young boy to play hooky; the kind of weather Pittsburgh rarely saw in November. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the air was unseasonably warm. A light jacket or sweatshirt was all a person needed, and even that seemed too heavy when the sun blazed its brightest.

After closing the front door behind them, Carlo said, “Want to rake some leaves?”

Hands in his pants pockets, his gaze cast downward, Jeffrey toed the ground in front of him. “I guess so.”

Okay, Carlo reasoned. Put that way it did sound pretty much like a chore. He couldn’t blame Jeffrey for being less than enthusiastic.

“I was thinking of something along the lines of a race. I brought two rakes with me. What I thought we could do is see who has the biggest pile of leaves once the front yard is all raked up. Of course, after the winner is declared, we get to jump in those leaves before sweeping them into the street for the maintenance crew to pick up on Monday. You game?”

Carlo gazed at the child, expecting him to eagerly agree. After all, what red-blooded American boy could turn away from healthy competition?

Apparently Jeffrey could. His answer to Carlo’s challenge was an indifferent shrug.

“If you want.”

Strike one, Carlo thought wryly as he headed for the rakes he’d propped against the oak tree.

Twenty minutes later, he was lying face up in a pile of leaves. Ten feet away, Jeffrey stood playing with a yo-yo he’d pulled from his pants pocket.

To give the boy credit, he had tried. Well, he had pushed his rake around for ten minutes or so before abandoning both it and Carlo. Carlo had kept raking until he’d built a nice, high pile. He’d hoped to at least entice the boy into jumping into the leaves. So far, though, he’d had no luck.

Gazing up at the brilliance of the sun, Carlo felt its warmth caress his face. Despite his lack of success with Jeffrey, it felt wonderful, and he wished for nothing more than to lie there for a while longer. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much the guilt and regret he’d been carrying around had weighed him down; how it had dragged at his shoulders, his conscience and his heart as if an anvil had been hung around his neck. It felt good to let go of the load for a while.

He looked over to where Jeffrey was walking the dog with his yo-yo. “Neat trick. Could you show me how to do that?”

Jeffrey showed him his back.

Strike two. Carlo decided to try a different tack.

“When I was your age and my brothers and I raked leaves together, they would throw them at me. It always made me mad. There’s nothing I hate worse than a bunch of leaves in my face.”

Ignoring the blatant hint, Jeffrey sat down on the front steps and stared wistfully at the horizon.

Strike three. You’re out. Carlo sighed. He might have been able to pique Jeffrey’s interest a time or two last weekend, but so far today he was batting zero.

“Baby steps,” he muttered, remembering what Samantha had said to him. He’d measure each success in terms of baby steps, ignore the failures and refuse to look beyond that.

“I have that pocketknife I promised you. Want to do some whittling?”

“Some other time,” Jeffrey said.

Brushing the leaves from his clothing, Carlo sat up. “I’m pretty hot. I think I need an ice cream cone to cool me off. What about you?”

That, at least, got the boy’s attention, Carlo thought with satisfaction. Samantha Underwood might be above bribery, but Carlo Garibaldi wasn’t.

“Baby steps,” he murmured to himself as they set off down the street. “Baby steps.”

They were seated at the local Baskin-Robbins ice cream parlor, munching contentedly on a double scoop of Quarterback Crunch and Rocky Road, when Carlo felt Jeffrey’s gaze on him. More specifically, on his upper arms. When he glanced at the boy, Jeffrey quickly—almost guiltily—looked away. A minute later, though, Carlo felt the child’s gaze on him again.

He had a flash of understanding. “You want to know if I’ve always been this strong, don’t you?”

Jeffrey nodded.

“The answer is no. When I was your age, I was built just like you. I’ve been lifting weights since I was eighteen. It took a lot of work to get to the point where I am now.”

Carlo hadn’t been to the gym for his daily workout since he’d taken his leave of absence. Though he’d wanted to, he simply hadn’t been able to summon the energy to go. Surprisingly, given his idleness, he still had a good deal of muscle tone.

“Can I lift, too?” Jeffrey asked.

“Anyone can lift. You just have to make sure to use proper form so that you don’t injure yourself. When you’re old enough, you can join a gym.”

Jeffrey frowned. “I don’t want to wait till I’m older. I want to lift now.”

Why not? Carlo thought. The day was still young, and he wanted to give Samantha as much rest as possible. Besides, this was the most he’d heard Jeffrey speak. If this was what it took to reach him, Carlo was all for it.

“Would you like to see the gym where I work out?” he asked.

The light in Jeffrey’s eyes was all the answer he needed.

“Hey, Carlo,” Pete Loring, the owner of Fit Bodies, greeted when they walked through the door. “Long time no see.”

“I’ve been busy,” Carlo replied guardedly.

Typical of Pete, he didn’t pry any further. “Who’s your young friend?”

“A prospective client.”

Carlo watched Jeffrey’s eyes go round at the sight of the giant man who wrestled professionally under the name of Killer. Never had a title been a greater misnomer. Though fierce-looking, when not beating his competition to a pulp in the ring, Pete Loring was one of the gentlest men Carlo had ever met.

Pete’s smile broadened. “A prospective client, eh? Well, then, we’ll have to see that he receives the star treatment, won’t we?”

“I know you,” Jeffrey said with the first real excitement Carlo had seen him exhibit. “You’re Killer.”

“You a SCWA fan?” Pete asked, obviously pleased.

Eyes shining, Jeffrey nodded. “You’re my favorite wrestler.”

“Ah,” Pete said, settling a meaty hand around Jeffrey’s shoulders. “A fan. For a fan, not only will I give you the star treatment, but I will also roll out the red carpet. Ready for a tour?”

Carlo stood off to one side while Pete showed a star-struck Jeffrey around the gym and patiently explained the purpose of each machine and exercise. The crowded room was filled with grunts of effort and the sound of weights clanking as men and women alike stared at the mirror-lined walls to ensure they were using proper form. Though they came in all shapes and sizes, they all had one thing in common: their bodies gleamed with the sheen of perspiration that could only be brought on by hard work.

There was a time when the sights, sounds and smells of this room had thrilled him, a time when he’d lived for that hour or two each day when he could lose himself in the sheer joy of pushing his body to its limits. A time when, the minute he walked into this room, his fingers would itch to lift a barbell or to do repetitions on one of the machines. Carlo looked down at the hands hanging limply at his sides. No itch.

He gazed around him with a curious detachment. He’d worked so hard to build and maintain his physique, especially after his injuries, and now he no longer cared if he ever lifted another weight. There were so many things he no longer cared about. And he didn’t even care that he didn’t care. Intellectually, he knew that should worry him, that he wouldn’t be able to resume even the semblance of his former life until he could care.

At the moment, though, the only things he seemed able to work up any feeling for were an emotionally scarred little boy and his sick mother.

When his gaze found Jeffrey again, Carlo saw that Pete had finished the tour and had left the boy to complete a workout of his choosing. The grimness and determination on Jeffrey’s face as he lifted weights with a purposefulness that was far older than his years startled Carlo out of his reverie.

“Whoa, slugger, slow down,” he cautioned, moving to the boy’s side. “You don’t want to overdo it your first time out. What are you preparing for? Battle?”

Jeffrey kept pumping iron. “When I grow up,” he said in a fierce voice, “I’m going to be big and strong like you and Killer. And then I’m going to find the man who killed my dad and kill him.”

Dismayed, Carlo didn’t know what to say. After all, Jeffrey wouldn’t have to look far. The man who had killed his father was standing right beside him.

There was no answer when, darkness rapidly falling, Carlo pressed the doorbell of the Underwood home. At his side, Jeffrey held the autographed T-shirt Pete had given him and the set of weights Carlo had bought so that Jeffrey could continue his workouts at home.

Frowning, Carlo pressed the doorbell again. Still no answer. Inside, no lights shone in any of the windows.

She was probably still sleeping, he told himself, refusing to succumb to the feeling of dread that had his heart suddenly racing. Four hours was a long time for anyone, unless they were desperately ill, to sleep.

“Do you have a key?” he asked Jeffrey.

Jeffrey placed the weights and the T-shirt on the porch floor so that he could rummage through his pants pockets. He pulled out a crumpled pack of gum, a battered toy soldier, the yo-yo and three marbles before finally producing a key. When he slid it into the lock, the door swung silently inward.

“Why don’t you run upstairs, put your things away and wash up, while I go check on your mom.” Carlo needed to get the boy safely out of the way, just in case something really was wrong with Samantha. “It’s important that you wash your hands and arms thoroughly, because you might have picked up some germs at the gym. Since your mom’s sick, you want to be careful not to pass them on to her.”

His reluctance obvious, Jeffrey slowly mounted the stairs. When he reached the top, Carlo headed for the den.

It was hard to see in the dimness, but he definitely glimpsed the outline of her body beneath the blanket. It looked as though she hadn’t moved since he’d left with Jeffrey.

He hated to wake her. But he couldn’t leave until he knew she was alert and able to care for her son.

“Samantha?” he said, switching on a light. She didn’t answer, and he called louder. “Samantha?”

“What?” She sounded groggy as she opened her eyes and blinked against the brightness. “Oh, you’re back. Did you have a nice time?”

“I think it went well.” Except for Jeffrey’s startling revelation about his plans for vengeance. “How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty.”

He poured her a glass of water and helped her to a sitting position. “Better?” he asked, when she’d drained every drop.

“Much. What time is it?”

“Five o’clock.”

Her eyes widened. For a woman who’d slept the afternoon away, she looked anything but rested.

“Already? It feels like I just closed my eyes.”

“That’s because you’re sick.” A lot sicker than she wanted to let on. Leaning down, he rested his hand against her forehead. While still not into dangerous territory, her temperature had definitely risen.

He knew then what he had to do. It was the last thing he wanted. But he would be less than heartless to leave an eight-year-old and a defenseless sick woman to their own devices.

“That settles it,” he said. “I’m staying.”