Coming Home (Jackson Falls Series) Page 3

  “After you’ve driven the rest of us nuts.” But there was affection in Rob’s voice. “Stand up to him,” he told Casey. “If you don’t, he’ll walk all over you.”

  ***

  He was right about the pizza.

  Casey crumpled her napkin and let out a sigh of contentment. “How did you ever find this place?” she said.

  “I’m a third-generation North End wop,” Danny said. “This is my home turf.”

  “You don’t look Italian,” she said, studying his face. “Where on earth did you get those blue eyes?”

  “From my old man.” Danny toyed absently with a tomato-stained sheet of wax paper. “He hung around just long enough to get my mother knocked up, and then he split.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, taken aback.

  He shrugged. “It’s hard to miss something you never had in the first place.”

  “No stepfathers?”

  “My mother died when I was five. My grandmother raised me.”

  She tried to picture him as a child and could not. He seemed so much larger than life. Watching him fold and refold the sheet of wax paper, she was struck by the lean elegance of his hands. “I’ve never had pizza for breakfast before,” she said.

  “You’ve led a sheltered existence.”

  “I did,” she said, “until you came into my life.”

  His grin was infectious, and she returned it. “Tell me,” she said. “Do you get teased often about those dimples?”

  He looked embarrassed. “I’ve cursed my parents more than once,” he said, “for giving me this damn baby face.”

  “Why? It’s a very nice face.”

  “Yeah?” he said gruffly. “You think so?”

  “Yeah,” she said softly. “I think so.”

  They studied each other intently, and then he cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. “How about some dessert?”

  “I can hardly wait to find out where we’re going for dessert after having pizza for breakfast.”

  It was called Haymarket, and even so early in the morning, people were crammed into the narrow walkways between carts piled high with every imaginable variety of produce. She was walled in by shoppers jabbering in a dozen different languages, while the street vendors, in their flat Boston accents, tried to outdo each other, vying for her attention, beseeching her to note the outstanding qualities of their respective merchandise.

  “Lady, look at this tomato. You ain’t gonna see nothing like this in no supermarket. I sell ‘em ten for a buck. For you, I throw in a couple extra.”

  She looked helplessly at Danny. “What do I do?”

  “You’re supposed to dicker. Will you look at these kiwi! Have you ever had kiwi fruit?”

  She shrugged an apology to the vendor and scurried to catch up with Danny. Looking at the fuzzy brown fruit he held in his hand, she wasn’t sure she wanted to try it. It looked like a cross between a potato and a hamster. “What does it taste like?”

  “I’ll surprise you. We’ll buy a couple to take with us.”

  They sat on a wooden bench and he watched her face as she bit tentatively into the fruit. She looked at him in astonished delight. “It tastes like bananas,” she said, “sort of.” She closed her eyes to better concentrate on the delicate flavor. “Or maybe like blueberries.”

  “I guess your old man doesn’t grow these on his farm.”

  “It’s a dairy farm, city boy. The only things we grow are calves and corn.”

  “And on hot summer nights, you sit around and listen to the corn growing.”

  “Oh, we’re somewhat civilized. I hear rumors that they’ll be putting in electricity any year now.” She drew her knees up to her chest and studied him. A dimple lingered at the corner of his mouth as he boldly returned her perusal. She was acutely conscious of the most minute things: the warmth of the morning sun on her shoulders, the odor of overripe fruit, the way the fine hairs grew on the back of his hand. She was drunk, intoxicated by the nearness of this charismatic man who had made her feel more in two days than she’d felt in eighteen years of living. In spite of her valiant efforts to remain neutral, her traitorous body had betrayed her. Parts that should have been wet had gone dry, and parts that were normally dry were inexcusably damp. And his voice, that black velvet voice, made her stomach quiver and set the soft hairs on the back of her neck to standing up straight.

  It was exquisite.

  It was terrifying.

  And disgraceful, and wholly inappropriate for a woman promised to another man. She had obligations, responsibilities, promises to keep. She had expectations to live up to, people she couldn’t let down. A wedding in four weeks that she couldn’t miss.

  He took her hand in his. With the pad of his thumb, he traced a line along her palm, his touch bringing to life every nerve ending in her body. “This,” he said near her ear, “is your life line. You’re going to live a long and healthy life. And this—” He paused, continuing the stroking that had her heart hammering double-time, “is your love line.”

  She had difficulty getting the words out. “And what does it say?”

  “You’re going to meet a tall, handsome stranger.” He pressed his lips to her palm. “You’re trembling,” he said.

  She wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t. “I’m afraid this was a very bad idea,” she said.

  “Having pizza for breakfast?”

  She withdrew her hand from his. “Coming to Boston,” she said. “I tried to tell myself it was strictly business, but it’s turning into something else, and I can’t let that happen. I come from conservative people, Danny. I’ve had that conservatism spoon-fed to me since birth. I don’t believe in casual sex.”

  His smile faded. “Are you trying to tell me,” he demanded, “that you believe anything between us could ever be casual?”

  She took a deep breath and looked at him directly. “No,” she said.

  “You don’t have to marry him.”

  For a fleeting instant, something resembling hope sprang to life in her. “Maybe,” she said, “you’d like to make me a better offer.”

  Behind those blue eyes, something stilled. He stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and was suddenly very busy examining the brickwork in the building behind them. “I can’t,” he said.

  A muscle clenched in her jaw as her faint hope sputtered and extinguished itself. She got up from the bench, swung her purse strap over her shoulder, and strode away, not caring where she ended up as long as it was as far as possible from Danny Fiore.

  He caught up with her before she’d gone a dozen steps. “Damn it, Casey,” he said, “it has nothing to do with you!”

  When she refused to stop, he caught her by the elbow. “Listen to me,” he pleaded. “Just listen!”

  “I’m tired, Danny. I’m going to bed.” Yanking free of him, she stepped off the curb and held up an arm, the way she’d seen it done on television. A yellow taxi pulled up, and deliberately ignoring him, she opened the door.

  “You don’t understand!” he shouted. “It’s not you, it’s me!”

  “Don’t worry,” she told him. “You’ll get your damn songs.” And she climbed into the taxi and slammed the door.

  As the car pulled away from the curb, she knotted her hands in her lap. She would not look back. The man was an arrogant, conceited fool. She wouldn’t look back at him if he were the last man on earth.

  When she did, he was still standing there with his mouth hanging open.

  chapter four

  She slept restlessly, her dreams haunted by a broad-shouldered, long-limbed god with probing blue eyes that looked directly into her soul. She awoke to late afternoon sunlight filtering through the window. She had lied quite creatively to herself about why she’d come to Boston. But the truth was that she had come because she wanted Danny Fiore. She wanted to kiss the long, slender fingers with their blunt tips, wanted to taste the pulse that beat in his wrist. Wanted to explore with her fingertips all that silky hair, wanted to rest
her head against his chest and feel the rhythm of his heart.

  But a personal relationship between them was out of the question. He had his career, and she had Jesse. Their futures were planned, their fates sealed. There was no place in her life or his for an extracurricular love affair. In twenty-six days she would marry Jess. She would go on with her life as planned, and Danny would go on with his, and if they were very fortunate, their paths wouldn’t cross again.

  It was the bleakest proposition she’d ever faced.

  If she had any common sense she’d get on the next bus home and forget she’d ever met Danny Fiore. She would grab Jesse and rush him to the altar so quickly his head would spin. And then she’d throw away Dr. Grimes’ damned pills and see to it that Jesse planted a baby in her right away.

  Except that, somewhere along the way, her traitorous common sense had deserted her, leaving her ready to toss away her entire future for a man who would almost certainly break her heart.

  She flung aside the bedcovers and snatched up her robe, tied the belt and yanked free her cascade of dark hair. If Danny wanted songs, then by God, she’d give him songs. But she would draw the line at that. She wasn’t about to let any man destroy her life.

  She found Travis in the kitchen, eating Froot Loops from a chipped bowl. Casey ruffled his hair as she walked by, and he dropped his spoon into the bowl with a clatter. “Where the hell were you all night?” he said.

  “At Rob’s house. Got any coffee?” She touched the side of the percolator to see if it was hot, then began opening cupboard doors in search of a cup.

  “Left side, over the sink.” He watched her pour the coffee. “You sat up all night with those bozos?”

  She took a sip of coffee, then smiled ruefully at him over the rim of the cup. “Danny’s very persuasive.”

  “Yeah. Like a loaded .357.”

  “Don’t shatter my illusions, Trav. I happen to like him.”

  “That’s fine, as long as you don’t like him too much.”

  She busied herself at the refrigerator. “Jesse and I are getting married in a month, remember?” She checked the date on a container of yogurt. “I’m immune to the charms of other men.”

  “Danny’s not like other guys,” he said. “The Virgin Mary would have a hard time resisting him.”

  She searched the jumbled mess in the drawer for a clean spoon. “Speaking purely hypothetically,” she said, “is that necessarily a bad thing?”

  “Hypothetically or otherwise, you’re my sister, and you’re damn right it’s bad.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Do I detect a trace of Neanderthal peeking out from beneath that mild-mannered exterior?”

  “Maybe I should be a little more explicit. Danny’s idea of a long-term relationship is about two hours.”

  She ate a spoonful of yogurt. “What makes you so sure I’m not looking for a last mad fling before I get married?”

  “I know you too well. You’re not the type.”

  For some reason, his comment irritated her. “You know what, Trav? One of these days, I might just surprise you.”

  Her brother ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. “Look, you’re my sister. I care about you.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a big girl now. I don’t need a guardian.” And she patted his arm on the way to the telephone.

  Rob MacKenzie’s younger sister answered the phone, then dropped it with a clunk and yelled, “Robbie, it’s for you! It’s a girl.”

  “Hey, kiddo,” he greeted her, and yawned. “What’s up?”

  “We seemed to be on a roll last night. I thought we might work together again tonight. That is, if you’re not busy.”

  “Yeah, sure. Swing by around seven.”

  Without the overwhelming distraction of Danny’s presence, she and Rob worked together like a piece of well-oiled machinery. She absorbed herself in the work as he magically transformed the music she played into written notation. His praise was direct and unembellished, his criticism specific and constructive, his suggestions for improvement unfailingly on the mark.

  They broke for coffee around eleven. “I have a confession to make,” she told him. “The real reason I came here tonight was to avoid Danny.”

  Rob took a sip of coffee. “I know.”

  “But I owe you an apology. I’m afraid I sold you short. You’re very talented. I’m glad I got the chance to work with you.”

  He studied the toes of his sneakers. “Are you looking for advice?”

  Cupping her coffee mug in both hands, she got up and crossed the room to look at the photographs that adorned the wall above the fireplace. “Your brothers and sisters?” she asked.

  “All nine of us.”

  She studied the pictures. “I’m getting married in a month,” she said.

  “Forgive me for saying this, but I’ve seen happier brides.”

  “I thought it was what I wanted.”

  “Until you met Danny.”

  “Until I met Danny.” She squared her shoulders and turned. “So tell me, Doctor MacKenzie, what’s your prescription?”

  He set down his coffee cup, leaned forward, and tugged at his shoelace. “Tell the world to go to hell,” he said, “and follow your heart.”

  ***

  Danny circled the block for the fifth time, slowing as he passed the lighted window. It was nearly midnight. How the hell would he explain his presence? I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop in. Rob would never buy it.

  He tightened his fingers on the steering wheel. How could it be possible that in just three days, his life had fallen apart? He had his music, he had his friends, and he had his freedom, and if he wanted to go out and get laid, he did. When he came home, he didn’t have to answer to anybody. And that was the way he liked it. He didn’t need some skinny little starry-eyed eighteen-year-old kid ruining it for him.

  A girl like that would want things he couldn’t give her. A home, kids, some kind of stability. He was married to his career. If that made him a selfish bastard, he didn’t give a damn. His music came first.

  Besides, the girl wasn’t even free. She was already spoken for, her wedding just a month away. The thought left a sick taste in his mouth. She was going to throw herself away on that bloodless Jesse Lindstrom, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  He left the Chevy at the curb and strode purposefully up the front walk and rang the bell. The drone of the television floated through the open window, and a moth thumped at the light fixture over his head. Rob’s father came to the door and peered out at him through the screen. “Danny,” he said, holding the door open. “Come on in. The kids are downstairs.”

  The murmur of voices floated up the cellar stairwell. Casey was sitting beside Rob on the couch with the faded chintz cover, one leg folded beneath her, all that lustrous black hair falling loose to her waist. When she saw him, her eyes widened. “Danny,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  He wondered if she could hear the hammering of his heart. “I came for you,” he said.

  He’d come armed with a half-dozen arguments in case she turned him down, but she just nodded mutely and stood, running a hand through her hair, her slender fingers gleaming white against its darkness. “Good night, Rob,” she said, “and thanks.”

  She sat primly in the car, hands folded in her lap, hugging the passenger door as though he were about to take a bite out of her. Tightening his grip on the wheel, he said, “I’d like to apologize.”

  “For what?” she said.

  “For being an asshole.”

  She could have politely demurred. Most women would have. But Casey Bradley was not most women. “Apology accepted,” she said.

  “I’m not very experienced at this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

  “I don’t believe there are any rules of etiquette,” she said, “that apply to this situation.”

  “Lindstrom’s insane.” He stopped for a red light and stretched his
cramped fingers. “If you belonged to me, I’d never let you out of my sight. You can’t imagine how I felt when I saw you sitting there with Rob tonight.”

  “It’s not Rob I’m interested in.”

  Her words, so simple and direct, hit him like a blow to the gut. “Can’t we start all over again?” he said. “Just for tonight? Forget Jesse. Forget the damn songs. Forget everything but the two of us.”

  “How on earth are we supposed to do that?”

  The light changed. He wheeled the car into an empty lot and slammed it into park and took her hand in his. “Hello,” he said. “My name’s Daniel Fiore, and you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I want to hold you in my arms and dance with you all night.”

  For a moment, her hand remained limp. Then she curled icy fingers around his. “Hello,” she said. She smiled, and all the air left his lungs. “My name’s Casey Bradley, and I’ve been waiting eighteen years for you to come walking into my life.”

  ***

  The bar was small and dark and smelled of beer and stale tobacco. Danny pumped quarters into the jukebox and together they selected a dozen slow songs, and while the ice melted in his bourbon and her Coke, they danced in the dark beneath a blue Schlitz sign with half its letters burnt out. As Joe Cocker wailed his own peculiar version of the blues, she felt each tiny nuance of Danny’s body, felt its damp heat through the fabric of his shirt. She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the scent of him, with that combination of bourbon and cologne and perspiration that was uniquely Danny.

  He spoke near her ear. “I bet you thought dancing was done with the feet.”

  Amazed at the control she heard in her own voice, she said, “I suppose you’re going to tell me it isn’t.”

  “It’s done,” he said, pressing close enough to leave her breathless, “with the body. Like this.”

  Trying to keep the conversation light, she said, “Travis warned me to stay away from you.”

  “He’s worried about your virtue. That’s what brothers are for.”

  “And is my virtue in danger of being compromised?”