Читать книгу That Thing Called Love - Susan Andersen - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER JAKE BRADSHAW LEFT, Jenny paced from the couch to the fireplace to the picture window, no sooner reaching one destination than lighting out for the next. The already small living room felt like it was shrinking decrementally by the minute.

She had no idea how much time had passed before her restless circuit finally ended back at the window. She stared blindly beyond the resort grounds to the peekaboo glimpse of The Brothers, the prominent twin peaks in the Olympic mountain range that the inn was named after. “Oh, God.” Thrusting her hands through her hair, she knocked her forehead once, twice, three times against the cool glass. “What the hell am I going to do?”

Nothing came to mind. And wasn’t that too whacked for words—she who had had a plan since her daddy was sent to the pen when she was barely sixteen? At the moment, however, her mind was nothing but white noise, her stomach awash in red-hot acid. And she couldn’t string two consecutive thoughts together to save her soul.

She needed Tasha.

Just the thought of her best friend made her stomach a fraction less messed up, and she dashed into the bedroom, snatched her purse from the top of her dresser where she always left it, and headed back toward the door.

On the way, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of her open closet door.

“Holy crap.” She’d forgotten she was still wearing her cleaning clothes. Not to mention that she was devoid of so much as a hint of makeup and her do was totally pulled apart in front from her ten-fingered grab-and-bang. “That’s not pretty.”

Tossing her purse back on the dresser, she toed off her Keds and kicked them into the closet. She shimmied her jeans down her legs and wrestled her T-shirt off over her head. She was in no mood to go primp crazy, but surely she could do better than this.

It took her no time at all to pull on a nicer pair of skinny-wale cords, a thin red sweater and her three-inch Cuban-heeled black leather boots. She swiped a sheer red balm over her lips and gave her lashes a cursory pass with the mascara wand. Then, removing the rubber bands from her braids, she pulled a brush through her hair.

And called it good.

Two minutes later she was out the door, pulling on a military-style jacket as she headed for the boardwalk that followed the curving shoreline into town.

The wind whipped her hair around her head when she rounded the inn, and she pulled a knit beret out of her jacket pocket. Stretching its back opening, she caught up the bottom of her hair, tugged the gray angora front band into place and tucked in stray strands blowing around her face. The day was more blustery than cold, and the upside to the gusty wind was the clarity of the air now that the earlier clouds had blown away. The Olympics soared out of green layer upon complex green layer of foothills, rising a scant two miles away across the choppy, whitecapped water, their snow-blanketed peaks brilliant white against the clear blue sky.

Two blocks down the beach, the actual Razor Bay of the eponymously named town cut a deep, irregular half circle into the land. The boardwalk emptied onto Harbor Street, the face of the business district, with its brightly painted storefronts lining the long arc of the inlet. As Jenny walked away from the mouth of the bay, the winds dropped and the waters calmed within the protection of three sides of land.

Someone tapped on the window as she passed the orange clapboard Sunset Café, and she waved back at Kathy Tagart and Maggie Watson, who sat at a table on the other side of the glass. She strode past Razor Bay Jet Ski & Bicycle Rentals, darkened now as it was only open on Saturdays and Sundays this time of year. The neighboring aqua, blue and green building next door was Bella T’s Pizzeria, where she was headed.

Jenny whipped the door open, and the rich scent of pizza sauce wafted from brick wood-burning ovens to wrap around her like a security blanket. It was a little early for the dinner crowd, but an older couple she didn’t recognize sat at one of the window tables, and a group of teens, laughing and talking, crowded around two tables they’d pushed together near the game room. As she crossed to the order counter, the door to that room opened and closed, belching out the electronic beeps and clangs of the video-game machines behind it.

Tasha looked up from chopping something on a block below the sales counter—and broke into a wide smile. “Well, hey, girlfriend!” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you this afternoon. Thought for sure you’d be spending your day off eating chocolate-drizzled popcorn and reading romance nov—” Her smile faltered and she lowered her voice as Jenny approached. “What’s wrong? Is it Austin?”

“No, Austin’s okay.” A bark of laughter that threatened to morph into something else escaped her throat. “Well, ‘okay’ might be stretching it a bit, considering his father is in town, and he’s determined to take Austin back to New York with him.”

“What?” Setting aside her knife, Tasha wiped her hands on the white waist apron circling her narrow hips. Then she shook her head. “No, wait, let’s go over to the far table where we’ll have a little privacy. You want a slug of red?”

“Oh, God. That would be soooo appreciated.”

“One glass of wine coming up then.” She selected a wide-bowled goblet and filled it higher than usual with the house cab. “Here you go, sweetie.” Pushing it toward Jenny with one hand, she poured a less generous portion for herself. Then she gave Jenny a quick but thorough once-over. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Breakfast, I guess.” She honestly didn’t remember.

Tasha was already turning away. “Let me make you a slice.”

“I’m not sure I can swallow anything,” she said, but her friend had already grabbed a section of dough out of the fridge, slid it onto a paddle and was ladling sauce onto it.

“If this is as bad as it sounds, you’re going to need fuel. I’ve got some of that Canadian bacon and pineapple you like, although how anybody can eat pineapple on—” She waved the old argument aside. “Take our wine over to the table and I’ll bring the food.”

“Fuckin’ A, dude!” A boisterous male voice suddenly rang through the room, making the elderly couple gape in shock at the table of teens.

Jenny didn’t even turn. Instead, she watched as her friend reached for the big-barreled gun she kept on the lower counter. Then she slowly pivoted as Tasha took aim at the offender and pulled the trigger.

The ping-pong ball that fired from the gun hit dead center in the back of the cursing teen’s head and bounced away to skip in decreasing hops across the linoleum floor.

“What the—” Slapping a hand to the spot, the boy pushed back from the table and whirled to face Tasha, his face a study in indignation.

But once he had her in his sights, he appeared to promptly lose his train of thought.

For the first time since she’d discovered Jake Bradshaw’s identity, Jenny experienced a trace of amusement. Tasha had that effect on the XY end of the chromosome pool. Jenny had always found it interesting because it wasn’t her friend’s body—Tasha was far from being built like a goddess. She was tallish and gangly, with average-size breasts and no hips to speak of. But with her gray-blue eyes, full upper lip and Pre-Raphaelite strawberry-blond curls, she had the more exotically striking than beautiful looks—and presence—of a model from a Michael Parkes painting.

It stopped males in their tracks every time.

The gaze she leveled on the teen at this moment lacked her usual warmth. “This is a place for families,” she said without raising her voice. “So clean up your language or get out of my shop. You only get one warning.”

He hesitated as if tempted to protect his machismo with the usual teenage, knee-jerk don’t-tell-me-what-to-do ’tude. Instead, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding the length of his throat. “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry, Tasha,” Brandon Teller called from his seat next to the boy who’d dropped the F-bomb. “This is my cousin’s first time here. He didn’t know the rules.”

“Now you do.” Tasha granted the boy a smile. “And admiring as I do a man who’s not afraid to apologize, I’ll tell you that you handled it better than many. Welcome to Bella T’s.”

When she and Jenny took their wine and food to a table on the other side of the room a moment later, however, she demanded sotto voce, “Seriously? When did I become a ma’am?”

She made an erasing gesture before Jenny could respond. “Never mind. That’s not what’s important. I want to see you eat some of that pie.”

“I really don’t think—”

“Try.”

So Jenny picked up the slice and took a tiny bite off its tip. She felt so sick at the thought of Jake taking Austin to the other side of the country, she was honestly afraid her stomach would rebel. But the pizza’s flavors exploded on her tongue and she found the crisp golden crust, flavorful sauce and hot, soft cheese a comfort.

Pizza to her was Tasha, and Tash had been her best friend since Jenny’s second day in Razor Bay High, when the other girl had put herself between Jenny and some kids who had thought it would be fun to torment her over the much-publicized statewide scandal from her father’s exposed Ponzi scheme.

She’d come to learn that Tasha’s mother made the strawberry blonde’s standing in school even lower than her own. But that only made Jenny admire her more, because most teens already on the fringe—and likely a good percentage of adults, as well—would have covered their own ass rather than put it on the line for a total stranger.

So she smiled at her friend as she reached for her wineglass. “Have I told you lately how proud I am of you? You did it, Tash—not only do you make the world’s best pizza, but you’re making this place a complete success.” Bella T’s had only been open for ten months, but it had taken off from the beginning, not just with the tourists during high season, but with the locals, as well.

Tasha gave her a lopsided smile. “Toldja a hundred years ago I was gonna.”

She had—the first time she’d made Jenny a homemade pizza in her mother’s single-wide. The same night she’d divulged her dream to one day own her own pizzeria.

From the beginning, the two of them had shared a mutual determination to move beyond their circumstances. But Jenny had been in awe that her new friend, who was only six months older than she, had a full-fledged, neatly typed business plan in her underwear drawer. She’d been living day to day, just trying to keep her grades up in school and her mother and herself off the streets with the after-school maid job at The Brothers that had brought her to Razor Bay. She so honest-to-God admired everything Tasha had accomplished and was happy for her success. Because nobody worked harder.

Now, in the unspoken agreement of good friends, they chatted about everything but what had brought Jenny here until they finished their meal. Finally, reaching for the half carafe she’d brought to the table, Tasha topped off Jenny’s glass and added a splash to her own.

“You look a little more relaxed,” she said. “So take a few deep breaths and try to give me the details without getting yourself all stressed out again.”

“Tall order,” Jenny said, and admitted, “I don’t know if that’s possible.” But she took the calming breath her friend advised and recounted everything that had happened from the moment she’d discovered who Jake Bradshaw was.

“Crap,” Tasha said quietly when she finished. “What are you going to do?”

She blew out a breath. “I don’t know. He’s ignored Austin his entire life—it never once even occurred to me he would show up. But not only has he,” she said with fierce indignation, “he’s here with a plan to disrupt Austin’s life by dragging him away from everything he knows! God, I just want to—”

She stared down at her hands and reached for another calming breath as she uncurled the white-knuckled fists she’d unconsciously tightened into her fingers. Then she looked up at her friend. Gave her a slight half smile.

“It would be nice if I could say I’m being altruistic here, that my concern is strictly for Austin’s welfare. But, God, Tash, I really thought I’d get permanent guardianship. I can’t bear the thought of him going that far away!”

“Of course you can’t. You’ve been in his life since he was, what, two years old?”

“Nearer to three and a half before I really got close to him.”

The other woman shrugged. “Close enough.” She reached across the table to give her hands a squeeze. “And maybe it won’t come down to that. You said Bradshaw is staying here until school’s out, right? Maybe he’ll get bored with playing daddy and go back before June.” She frowned. “Okay, that’s a shitty thing to wish for, too.”

“I know.” Jenny ground the heel of her hand against the headache beginning to throb between her brows. “It’s not like I haven’t considered the same thing. But it’s hard to forget how long Austin fantasized about having a father before he finally put that dream away.” She growled with frustration. “This is such a no-win situation. It’s pretty much guaranteed that one or both of us is going to wind up hurt.”

She leaned into the table. “But I’ve got to think like an adult. Because as much as it’ll kill me to lose Austin, I’m even more afraid that Bradshaw will win his forgiveness—will make him care—then do something exactly like what you said and stomp the kid’s heart to paste.”

The moment the words left her mouth, however, she thought of that glimpse she’d caught of...something. Something that had seethed in Jake Bradshaw’s pale green eyes when he saw Austin for the first time. She wasn’t sure what it had been, exactly. But it had caught her by surprise because she hadn’t expected a guy who’d ignored his son since birth to harbor such strong emotions.

Then she shrugged it aside. So what? It was probably just impatience at having to be here, at having to deal with her and Austin.

All the same, she sat up straighter. “If he’s telling the truth,” she said slowly, “Jake Bradshaw is going to have legal custody of Austin.”

“I’m not sure why he’d lie about it, since that’s something easily checked,” Tasha said.

“That’s my thought, too, because you can be sure I will check. But if it is so... Well, he’s right when he said that if I care about Austin, I have to help make the transition easier for him.” Acknowledging it made her feel like howling.

Tasha nodded. “I’m sorry, Jen. But I think you’re probably right. Look.” She leaned into the table. “You can’t do anything about it tonight, and I don’t like the idea of you going home to brood. You said Austin’s sleeping over at Nolan’s, right?”

“Yes. Part of me is so relieved that I don’t have to pretend in front of him. But you know me too well. Because as much as I’d love to tell you you’re wrong about the brooding, I have a feeling that rattling around the house alone is going to make tonight seem like a dog year.”

“So don’t go home. Things quiet down around here after seven. You can hang around here until then, or run errands or whatever and come back. Either way, I’ll have Tiff close for me tonight. You and I are going to the Anchor. There’s always some distraction to be had there. We can get stinkin’ or we can just feed the jukebox and knock ’em dead at darts. Whataya say?”

She really wasn’t in the mood for the local bar. But neither did she want to go home to take up pacing again. Plus, if she knew nothing else, she could rely on one thing: being with Tasha would help. “Deal. I think I’ll hang here until you’re ready. That’ll give me plenty of time to decide whether darts or getting stinkin’ is the best way to go.”