Falling For Nick (10 page)

"Get out of town, Lombard," Boomer said. "You're not wanted here."

"What is this, an old Western?" Nick asked, amused by the statement. "Are you going to ask me to draw my pistol next?"

Boomer's face went red. "Don't you think you've upset Clea enough?"

Nick didn't reply. He didn't owe Boomer any kind of explanation and they both knew it.

Boomer took a step toward him. Would Boomer hit him? Probably not. The man was too smart. He'd always thought of Boomer as an iceman, a man who didn't show anyone but a select few, what he was really like. His talent for keeping his cool, for playing the victim, had landed Nick in jail for a crime that should have been labeled self-defense. More than anything he wanted Boomer to crack. He wanted Clea to see for herself what kind of man Boomer Bloomfield really was.

"You aren't going to come between me and Clea again," Boomer said. "She belongs to me now. She always has. If you have any respect for her or for John you will get out of their lives. Don't drag them down with you."

Nick didn't comment, but inside his blood boiled. He held his anger in check, a skill he'd perfected in prison.

"Did you hear me, Lombard?"

Boomer's eyes had a wild look Nick remembered from high school.

"What's between Clea and me has nothing to do with you." Nick kept his tone calm and even, despite the turmoil churning within him.

"It has everything to do with me," Boomer shouted. "Stay away from her or…"

"Or what? You'll send someone after me? Just like you sent your brother after me? Why don't you just be a man and do the job yourself this time?"

Boomer's fist went flying, hitting Nick square in the nose. He stumbled back and felt the warm gush of blood. Anger rushed up to meet the frustration he felt, but he didn't hit back. He wasn't about to blow it, but he did gain some satisfaction from knowing Boomer could be provoked; that he wasn't made of ice after all.

"Stay away from her, or you'll be sorry." Boomer spun away, the heels of his expensive shoes clicking as he ran down the stairs to the street.

Nick closed the door. Going directly to the bathroom, he turned on the shower and climbed inside, letting the warm spray calm him down and wash the blood away. Boomer had issued his warning, just as he had ten years ago. Only this time Nick would beat the rich prick at his own game. He'd control his temper, and he'd win. He was smarter than Boomer in every way.

Every way.

Clea set the double mocha with extra whip down on the counter. "Here you go, DeAnn. Be careful, it's hot."

"Thanks, honey." DeAnn passed her a five-dollar bill. "God it smells great in here. I'll take the aroma of fresh brewed coffee over permanent solution any day."

Clea smiled as she made change. For a moment she'd considered calling Mitzi out of the office to make DeAnn's drink. The last thing Clea felt like doing was chatting with DeAnn, the town busybody. The beautician was sure to ask her about Nick, and while she didn't want to talk about her relationship with him, hiding from the townspeople wouldn't make her problems go away. She needed to be strong for John and part of that entailed fielding curious questions.

"So," DeAnn said, tapping one red lacquered nail against her coffee cup, "have you seen much of Nick since he's been back?"

Clea closed the cash register, bracing herself for the questions and comments to follow. "I've seen him around."

"Really?" DeAnn said, one perfectly waxed brow raised. "He's just as delicious as he ever was."

"I guess."

"He's the father of your child." DeAnn dipped a finger into the whipped cream, and bringing it to her mouth she sucked the rich topping from her finger. "You have a bond with him that can't be broken, even by Boomer Bloomfield."

Clea turned away, busying herself with making a vanilla latte for a man at the end of the bar.

"I was Maude's best friend," DeAnn reminded her. "I think deep down she regretted how things ended between you and Nick. She'd want you to be together. Maude loved John."

Clea glanced up, spilling hot milk onto her hand. "Ouch." She pressed a wet towel to the burn. "How do you know Maude loved John? She never gave him the time of day."

"Maybe that's what she wanted you to think." DeAnn sipped her coffee.

"What do you mean, DeAnn?" Clea asked, her attention totally focused on the beautician.

"Nothing. I just think she had a soft spot for him. He was her grandson." DeAnn smiled. "I remember when you and Nick were teenagers. Passion like that doesn't fade. Make sure you know what you're doing, Clea. Don't throw away your happiness because you think you're doing the right thing. Follow your heart this time around."

Clea frowned. "Thanks for the advice, but I'm a big girl. I know what I'm doing."

DeAnn smiled smugly, the smile of a woman who'd taken a turn or two at love. "What a gorgeous picture of John." She pointed to the photograph Clea had hung behind the coffee bar that morning.

The Coffee House walls held dozens of Clea's photos, everything from landscapes to her more creative hand-altered designs. To her delight, Clea had made several sales over the past few years.

"Yes. I like this one." Clea turned to look at the picture of John on the beach. He squatted at the edge of the canal. Around him, as far as the eye could see, were discarded oyster shells. Beside him stood the white plastic five-gallon bucket that had been his constant companion on the beach since he'd become big enough to tote it around. The bucket had housed everything from small crabs, to shells, to driftwood.

The day she'd seen him on the beach the light had been fantastic, the day cloudy but bright, the water a steel gray against a cold January sky. She'd been afraid she'd be unable to catch the different shades, the textures of the shells and sand and water. But to her surprise she'd been pleased with the finished work. She'd captured John perfectly, from his dark hair to the untied tennis shoes on his feet. She didn't usually display photos of her son, but in this particular shot, with his head bowed, his face was hidden from view. Even after she'd framed the picture, she'd debated showing it, not sure she really wanted to sell this one.

The shop bell rang, and John came through the door, followed by Robert. Since Clea worked until three-thirty, Robert had offered to meet the bus, hoping to avoid a repeat of the fight yesterday afternoon.

"Hi, guys," Clea said. The smile John usually had ready for her was absent.

"Hello," Robert greeted, shrugging his shoulders as if to tell her he had no idea of John's mental state.

John came to the bar and climbed up on a stool. His tousled hair made him look younger than his nine years. They hadn't really talked since last night. He'd been so angry and closed off. She'd given him some private time to digest the news of Nick's return.

"How was school?" She watched his face, looking for a sign of how he felt.

He shrugged. "Fine."

"Do you want some cocoa?" she offered, hoping to soften him up. She couldn't stand to see John upset. His closed look upped her anxiety.

"Okay."

Another one word answer. Disappointed, Clea turned away to fix the cocoa. "Robert what can I get you?"

"Cocoa sounds good to me."

"Coming right up." Every bad feeling she had about Robert since Nick's return to town melted away as she made the cocoa. He'd promised to be there for John, and he was. She could always count on Robert to live up to his word. He was John's life preserver, something solid John could hang onto during this difficult period.

"John and I are going to go and play some basketball before dinner. Toby's going to meet us at the court. Is that all right with you?" Robert stirred an extra spoonful of sugar into his cocoa before taking a sip.

"Of course. I'm off in a few minutes anyway. I've got a nice salmon upstairs. Will you join us for dinner?" She glanced at John. "Toby, too. If he wants to come."

John shrugged again.

Robert gave her a smile of understanding. He knew how much John's indifference bothered her.

"I'd love to come to dinner. Thank you." Robert tugged John's arm. "Come on, buddy. Let's take our cocoa with us. Toby's probably waiting."

Together they left the shop. Quickly, Clea tidied up her workspace. If she hurried, she could get a walk in before Robert and the boys returned. Getting some fresh air might help to clear her head.

She glanced over at DeAnn. The beautician smiled at her, no doubt eager to pick up the conversation where they'd left off. Well, she wasn't going to give DeAnn that chance.

"Mitzi?" Clea called.

"Yes?"

"I'm leaving."

"Gosh, is it that time already?" Mitzi came out of the office. "You okay?" She glanced at DeAnn.

"I'm fine. I need some air." Clea shrugged her coat on. "If Robert and John are looking for me, tell them I'll be right back."

"Will do." She walked Clea to the door. "Have a nice walk."

"Thanks." She smiled at her friend.

Clea left the shop and ran upstairs to get her camera. She intended to follow the line of the canal on her walk. She'd seen some blue herons earlier that morning, and hoped to see them again somewhere along the shore.

Back on the street, the brisk air stung her cheeks. She walked, her pace fast, putting one mile, then another between her, the town, and her problems. Thoughts of Nick danced through her head, mixing with images of John. Unsettled, she continued to walk, finding no solutions to her problems. Confusion swirled around her, propelling her forward, causing her to lose track of time and distance. She spotted the herons close to Oyster Point. Taking her Hasselblad from the case, she focused the camera, taking several shots.

The wind whipped up, and the sky darkened overhead. Not wanting to get caught in the rain with her camera, she turned around, but didn't get more than a quarter of a mile before the rain started. Cold, frozen rain, the kind of rain that could turn to snow. Clea held her camera bag under her coat, trying to keep it dry.

Behind her she heard the sound of an approaching truck. She quickened her step. The truck slowed as it neared her. Clea checked to see if she knew the driver. Instantly she recognized the tow truck from Mullin's Garage, but the driver wasn't old man Mullin; it was Nick.

He pulled alongside her. She kept walking. She didn't want to get in the truck with him. She didn't want to be alone with him. Her feelings for him were too sensitive. She glanced over at the truck. Nick leaned across the seat to roll down the window.

"Need a lift?" he asked.

"No, thanks." Freezing rain ran down her face to soak the collar of her coat.

"Don't be stubborn, Clea," he said. "Get in. It's at least a mile back to town and you're already soaked. If you stay out in this weather you'll get sick. Is that what you want?"

Clea glanced up at the sky. The rain wouldn't be letting up soon. She didn't want to expose her camera to the rain if she didn't have to. "All right." Against her better judgment, she climbed up into the truck. The heat inside the cab warmed her chilled skin. An old Aerosmith song played on the radio, reminding her of the year she'd spent with Nick. An instant longing for him shot through her, and she wondered if the song had the same effect on him.

"What are you doing way out here?" Nick asked, as he put the truck into gear and they started forward.

"I shot some photos of two blue herons." She pulled her camera bag out from under her coat.