A Mother for Cindy Page 6

  “Brenda didn’t care.”

  There was a wealth of unspoken emotions in those simple words that struck a chord with Jesse. His pain wrapped about her heart and squeezed. She reached out to touch his arm and he took a step back. The rejection hurt.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What’s there to be sorry about? My wife didn’t want to be involved with the mundane household chores like cleaning, shopping, cooking. That’s why I hired Boswell.”

  So much more wasn’t being said, Jesse realized as she watched Nick shut down his emotions, not one shred of evidence of what he was feeling visible on his expression. She needed to watch what she said. She was way too curious for her own good. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about the past and all the prodding on her part wasn’t going to change that.

  She shoved herself away from the railing, noticing a piece of paper swirling on the wind and racing across the deck. She snatched it from the crevice it was lodged in and balled it into her fist. “I’d better order that pizza now. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

  Silence greeted her announcement and heightened her unease.

  She entered the kitchen while Nick stayed out on the deck. After calling in the order, she started for the back door and stopped herself. He needed time alone or he would have come inside when she had. She always wanted to fix everyone’s problems when some people didn’t want her to. She needed to learn to back off when the message was loud and clear.

  Jesse began setting out the plates and napkins for the pizza. The back door opened and closed. The atmosphere in the kitchen sharpened as though someone was taking a knife and honing it to a razor’s edge.

  “I’m sorry if I opened old wounds. I didn’t mean to,” Jesse said, not facing Nick as she shut the cabinet. She didn’t want to see no emotions on his face; she didn’t want to see that bleak look, either. Both bothered her.

  The sound of his footsteps cut through the silence that hung in the air. She felt him near, could smell his particular lime-scented aftershave. She licked her dry lips, pushed herself off from the counter and whirled around to face him. He was only a foot away, so close she could touch the hard planes of his face, smooth his frown away—if she chose to. She kept her arms at her sides as though frozen. In that moment she felt as though she would shatter into a thousand icy particles.

  “No, I’m the one who is sorry. I’m not used to having…a friend. You were only trying to find out about me.”

  The word friend came out stiff sounding, as though he had never said it before. If truth be told, she wasn’t used to having a male friend. She had many females as friends but not a man. She forced a smile to her mouth. “Yes, friend. I figured you needed someone to show you around Sweetwater. After all, you’re going to be here for two months.”

  “And you’ve decided you’re that person?”

  “We’re neighbors. That’s what neighbors do for each other.”

  “Not in Chicago.”

  “Well, in Sweetwater they do and since you’re in Sweetwater, you’re stuck with me.” Again the second she had said the sentence, she wanted to take it back. What was it about this evening that was making her say things she shouldn’t? Must be the storm brewing. She hated bad weather. She acted irrationally with no fore-thought to what she was going to say.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “You make it sound like a sentence.”

  “You might feel that way before it’s over,” she said in a flippant tone, wanting to lighten the mood before she began to confess all her deep, dark secrets—or worse, he did. Then she would have to do something about them.

  “Can I help you with anything? Set the table? Wash your windows?”

  “If I thought you were serious about the window washing, I’d take you up on the offer another day. Haven’t you noticed there’s a storm brewing?”

  “Kinda hard to miss. It was spitting rain when I came in.”

  “Then just in case we’d better get a few flashlights out.”

  “Does the electricity go off a lot when it storms here?”

  “No, but I like to be prepared.” Then she might feel she had some control over the bad weather. “How is Cindy when it storms?”

  He thought a moment. “She’s usually okay. Our apartment is well insulated. It has to be a really bad storm for us to hear it.”

  “I wish I could say that. This house is old and I think we can hear a pin drop outside.”

  “How is Nate?”

  “Fine. He’s like his father. He loved a good thunderstorm.” Better than me, she wanted to add, but hoped no one discovered her weakness. She tried to put up a brave front for the family, but it was getting more difficult. She had never done well in a storm before Mark was struck by lightning. Now she came apart inside with each sound of thunder and flash of lightning. On one level she knew her actions were way out of proportion to what was going on, but on a deeper level it didn’t make any difference.

  “Where are your flashlights?”

  “I have several in the drawer by the refrigerator and a couple in the drawer in the coffee table in the den.”

  “You are prepared.” Nick retrieved the two flashlights from the kitchen drawer, then headed toward the den.

  While he was gone, Jesse stared out the window over the sink, listening to the wind brush the limbs of the oak tree against the house and the raindrops pelt the panes as though they were fingernails trying to claw their way inside. Her hands clutched the counter so hard they ached. It had begun and from the looks of the clouds earlier it would be a doozy. She shouldn’t have invited Nick, Cindy and Boswell to dinner—to watch her fall apart. If she hadn’t, she could have closeted herself in her bedroom and huddled under the covers until it was over.

  “I’ve got two more flashlights. Anything else you want me to do?”

  Jesse caught herself before she gasped. She hadn’t heard him returning, so lost in thoughts of the storm. Focus on the man, she told herself and turned toward Nick. “No, I think all we need now are the pizzas and we’ll be set.”

  Not a minute later the doorbell chimed. “Want me to get it while you get Boswell and the children?” Nick asked, already walking toward the front door.

  Jesse spotted her money on the counter and started to go after Nick. She stopped herself, realizing he had intentionally ignored it because he had decided he would pay for the pizzas, had stated that very thing when she had suggested ordering out. In that second she realized Nick Blackburn was a force to be reckoned with—like the storm.

  She made her way to Nate’s room and found Cindy and her son on the floor playing with Bingo and Oreo. Boswell sat on Nate’s bed watching the two children, not one expression crossing his face—not even boredom. She could see where Nick would think that Boswell was perfect for him. They both didn’t show much of what they were thinking. Two of a kind, she thought with a laugh.

  “The pizzas are here. Wash up and come to the kitchen.”

  Nate hopped up. “You ordered pepperoni, didn’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Yes!” He pumped his arm in the air. “Mama Mia makes the best pepperoni pizza.” He raced past Jesse with Cindy following on his heels.

  Boswell pushed himself off the bed. “If what young Master Nate has been telling us is true, then we are in for a delightful treat.”

  “If you like pizza, then, yes, you are. You can’t beat Mama Mia’s.”

  “Is she Italian?” Boswell motioned for her to leave before him.

  “Mama Mia is a man named Charlie and about as American as apple pie and baseball.”

  “I see.”

  “You do? I’m not sure I do. I went to school with Charlie and all of us knew any restaurant he opened would be successful. He was a great cook as a teenager. He just thought the name Mama Mia would help him when he first opened his restaurant ten years ago. We tried to tell Charlie his name would go further than a made-up one.”

  “Some people don’t believe enough in
themselves and put on a facade for others.”

  Jesse glanced at Boswell and wondered whom he was talking about. Himself? Nick? Someone else? Was the man lonely? Did he have a girlfriend in Chicago? Maybe she should try to fix him up as well as his employer. “Well, Charlie has plenty of confidence now. He’s opened a chain of these pizza parlors all over Kentucky. Quite successful but still lives here and is very involved in the original restaurant. We’re lucky in Sweetwater.”

  When Jesse entered the kitchen, the children had finished washing their hands and were drying them with paper towels. Nick had placed the boxes of pizzas on the table and the aroma peppered the air with smells of cheese, bread, meat and spices. Jesse’s mouth watered. Fear always made her hungry.

  As she sat at the table, the first rumble of thunder followed by a flash of lightning made her stiffen, gripping the edge of her chair. She glanced around, hoping no one noticed the fear she imagined etched into her features about now. Again she wondered why she had invited her neighbors to witness her falling apart. She generally avoided even Darcy and Beth who knew so many of her secrets while growing up.

  Nate started to reach for a piece of pizza. Jesse gave him a stern look. He snatched his hand back and bowed his head. Cindy followed suit while Nick frowned and Boswell stared.

  “Remember we say a prayer before eating,” Jesse said and folded her hands in front of her. “Dear Heavenly Father, bless this food that we are about to enjoy. Watch over those less fortunate then us and provide us with the means to help them when we can. Amen.” Silently she added, And help me to get through this evening without making a fool of myself.

  When she brought her head up, she found Nick lifting his and she was relieved that he had gone along with the prayer. She got the impression that he hadn’t stepped foot in a church in a long time, if ever. Maybe that was why they had moved next door for the summer. Maybe she was supposed to show him the power of the Lord in a person’s life. Nick was hurting deep inside. She wanted to help. And in the process maybe help Cindy find a mother.

  “Isn’t this great?” her son said while his mouth was stuffed with pepperoni pizza.

  “Nate! Please wait until you finish eating your food before you talk.”

  Her son gulped down a mouthful of food, then washed it down with some milk. “Sorry.” He turned to Cindy who was next to him. “What do ya think?”

  The young girl bit off a more delicate bite than her son and chewed it thoroughly before answering, “Great! You were right.”

  Nate puffed out his chest. “Of course. I know the best places in town for food.”

  “My son, the connoisseur.”

  “What’s that?” Nate took another big bite of his pizza.

  “An expert, in this case of food.” Boswell used his fork to cut off some of his slice and brought it to his mouth.

  “Yep, that’s me. I know the best place to get a fudge sundae, a hamburger, fries. You name it. I can tell you where to go.”

  Another crack of thunder sounded with lightning striking close by. Jesse jumped, nearly choking on her food. She began to cough. Nick patted her back while tears filled her eyes. A long moment later she breathed normally again and took a large swallow of her water.

  “Mom, you okay?”

  She waved her hand. “Just went down the wrong way.”

  “Mom doesn’t like storms,” her traitorous son announced to the whole table.

  Everyone regarded her. She could feel the heat burning her cheeks. “I—I—” What could she say to that?

  “When it storms really bad, she usually hides out in her room.”

  “Nate, I don’t think my habits need to be discussed at the table.” Jesse clenched her hands in her lap and pinched her lips together.

  “Sorry, Mom. I just wanted them to know why you jumped.”

  Her jaw ached from gritting her teeth. Her nails dug into her palms. When more thunder rumbled the walls and lightning scorched a path through the air not far from the window, Jesse managed only to flinch, but her fists tightened even more. She nearly came unglued when she felt Nick’s hand cover hers. She slanted a look at him and saw him wink. Something inside her relaxed a bit even though the wind and rain slashed at the house.

  “I saw, Master Nate, that you had the game Trouble. Anyone up for a rousing game of Trouble?”

  “I am,” Cindy said, leaping to her feet with a piece of pizza in her hand.

  “Me, too.” Nate stood, finishing his last bite. “Can we take our food to the den and play a game, Mom?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll make sure they don’t get any food on the furniture.” Boswell scooted his chair back and rose, while the children grabbed up a piece of pizza and raced from the room.

  “I will supervise the children while you finish eating.”

  When Boswell left, the silence lasted for a few seconds then thunder filled it, reminding her that a storm raged outside—not that she had ever forgotten except for a few seconds when Nick had touched her hands and winked at her. “We’d better clean up this mess.”

  “That’s something I can handle.”

  Jesse began taking the plates over to the sink. “I don’t get the impression you do too many dishes.”

  “I have in the past.”

  “You did?”

  “Distant past. When I was working my way through college, I had a variety of jobs. One was being a dishwasher at a fancy restaurant. I took pride in the fact that I didn’t break one piece of china or crystal.”

  “I am impressed. How long did you wash dishes?”

  “Two days.”

  Jesse laughed. “What happened?”

  “I convinced the owner I would be better suited as a busboy.”

  “How long did that last?”

  “Three days. I became a waiter at the restaurant when one didn’t show up and stayed for two years. The pay wasn’t great, but the tips were. Funded my last two years of college.”

  “So you’re the kind of guy who seizes the moment.”

  “Definitely.” Nick opened the dishwasher and took the first plate that Jesse rinsed off. “That job taught me a few lessons.”

  “What?”

  “Hard work pays off. And how to grit my teeth when someone was being condescending. That it’s better to be rich than poor. After working there, I decided I wanted to be one of the people who was waited on, not the waiter.”

  “There’s more than one way to be rich in life than having money.”

  “When you grow up poor, scrambling for something decent to eat, it doesn’t seem that way. I have a feeling we came from two very different backgrounds. You grew up here in Sweetwater, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You probably never wanted for a thing.”

  She turned so she could face him, not one expression visible on his features. “I had a good childhood. My father made a nice income. My mother didn’t work outside the home. We went to church every week. I was a cheerleader, class secretary in high school and on the girl’s softball team. A pretty normal childhood for Sweetwater.”

  “But not for me on the streets of Chicago. My father left my mom when I was two so I never really knew my father’s family. Mom worked two jobs to try to put some food on the table and keep a roof over our heads. Sometimes she was successful, other times not. I can remember days going without much food except peanut butter sandwiches. We didn’t even have money for the jelly. To this day I can’t eat peanut butter.”

  She reached toward him. “I’m sorry.”

  He took a step back, staring at her outstretched hand. “What for? It wasn’t your fault.” He pivoted toward the table and strode to it to pick up the last of the dirty dishes.

  His stiff back drew her toward him. She started to move forward but stopped herself. She knew by his earlier actions that he would reject any offer of comfort. Swinging back toward the sink, she grabbed a glass.

  Thunder and lightning, close and deafening, shook the house.

&nb
sp; Taken off guard, she jerked back and the glass slipped from her nerveless fingers. In slow motion she watched it crash to the floor, shattering into hundreds of shards at her feet.

  Another round of thunder and lightning sent her back against a solid wall of human flesh. Arms held her and turned her around. The comfort she had wanted to offer Nick was evident in the softened expression on his face. His arms wound about her and drew her to him.

  For a few seconds she forgot the storm. She felt as though she’d come home.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The jasmine scent that he’d come to associate with Jesse inundated Nick. For a few seconds it felt so right to hold this woman to him and give her the comfort she needed. Then his memories flooded him like her scent, and he realized the danger in getting too close to Jesse Bradshaw. She could make him wish he were different, that he had never known the heartache of being married to Brenda.

  From an early age he had learned to be a survivor and the only way he knew to survive was to distance himself from anything or anyone who might hurt him. He hadn’t with Brenda and he had paid dearly for that mistake. The dull pain in his leg when he did too much was a reminder if he ever dared to forget.

  He continued to hold Jesse who trembled in his arms. The warmth from her body threatened to melt his defenses. He fought to keep them intact, desperation vying with his needs as a man that he’d kept buried for over a year.

  Finally he stepped back, his hands clasping her upper arms. “Are you all right?” He heard the slight quaver to his words and winced at the vulnerability he was exhibiting. Never show your weakness to another, he had been taught through the years when he had struggled to take care of himself after his mother’s death. And Brenda certainly had reinforced that when their marriage had begun to fall apart.

  Jesse’s green eyes glistened with unshed tears. “No—yes.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Nate was right about me not handling storms very well.”

  “We all have things we are afraid of.”

  “What is yours?”

  Being asked that question, he wanted to say. Instead, he shrugged and decided to tell her the partial truth. “Going hungry.” He’d told Jesse more of his past than he had anyone else except Brenda. And in the end his deceased wife had used that knowledge to hurt him. He couldn’t believe he had disclosed so much to Jesse. He hadn’t known her long, and yet she was so easy to talk to—to make him want to forget his past. That realization sent panic through him. He hardened his heart, determined not to give in to the weakness of wanting to be needed.