Falling For Nick (4 page)

Together the brothers worked to rid the apartment of the life of Maude Lombard. For hours they removed garbage, hauled out the cigarette smoke infused furniture, cleaned the rugs, and washed the walls.

And the place still wasn't livable.

But it was cleaner.

They didn't go into Maude's room, and they didn't talk about why. Instead, they simply closed the door on their mother's life.

"I think if you paint the walls, it might help with the smell," Billy said as he surveyed the work they'd done.

"Maybe." Nick's stomach rumbled. The noon hour had long since passed. "What do you say we take a break and get something to eat?"

"Sounds good." Billy tied off the garbage bag he held. "I'll take this down on the way."

They left the apartment together and were on their way down the stairs when a man approached them.

"Nick Lombard?" The man gave Nick an odd, knowing smile.

"Who wants to know?" Nick asked, instantly wary. The man looked harmless enough in his polo shirt, tan pants, and suede jacket. He stood on the sidewalk at the bottom of the stairs, holding an envelope out to Nick.

"If you are Nick Lombard this is for you."

Nick reached the sidewalk. Cold February air stung his cheeks.

The man thrust a big yellow envelope into Nick's hand.

"Have a nice day," the man said, his smile widening.

As far as Nick knew, Maude didn't have a will. Whatever awaited him in the envelope was sure to be bad news. For a moment he considered chucking it in the dumpster with the rest of the garbage.

"Who do you think it's from?" Billy asked.

"No clue."

"You have to open it, Nick. It might have something to do with John."

Against his better judgment, Nick tore the envelope open and pulled out two pages of folded paper. Quickly, he scanned the print. "Shit."

"What's it say?" Billy asked, trying to read over Nick's shoulder."

"It's a No Contact Order. I'm not to go within one hundred feet of Clea or my son."

"Jesus, she's playing hard ball," Billy said, a note of sympathy in his voice.

Nick nodded, too angry to speak. Was Clea across the street in The Coffee House, watching him, waiting? A sharp ache started in his gut. Clea hadn't even tried to talk to him; instead she'd taken steps to keep him away. Part of him could understand why, but a bigger part of him seethed with anger and he wanted to rise to the challenge she'd put before him. "I think I might have to take a rain check on lunch, Billy."

"Whoa," Billy said. "I know that look. You're not thinking of going over there, are you?"

"If Clea wants to play hardball, I'll play." Nick started forward, but had to stop and wait for traffic on the street to clear.

Billy grabbed his arm. "Don't be stupid. Think about it.

If you go over there, she'll have your ass thrown back in jail. Is that what you want? Do you want to lose your son before you even get the chance to know him?"

"No." Nick glanced away, fighting to ignore the tightening in his chest.

Billy squeezed his arm. "Clea's getting to you, just like she always has. Damn her. Think about things before you do something you'll regret."

He'd always been quick to act on his temper, and his

temper had always gotten him in trouble. Billy made sense. Maybe he should have listened to him ten years ago. If he had, he wouldn't have gone to prison. He'd know his son, be a part of his life. "You're right."

"I know I'm right. Let's go and get some lunch. You need to think strategy, and I'm going to help you. If you want the chance to know your son, you need to play by the rules."

"I don't want to mess up his life. I don't want to play games, Billy, not when it comes to John." Something sad pricked his heart as he said the words. Did his son want to know him? That question had kept him awake nights when he'd been locked up. Was John better off without a father? Nick didn't know the first thing about being a parent and would probably do a lousy job, but more than anything he wanted the chance to try, which was more than his own father ever did.

Billy let go of his arm. "Maybe you need to tell Clea you don't want to make trouble so she can relax." He grinned. "In the meantime, the first thing you need to do is forget about that No Contact Order. Get your life back together and get an attorney."

Nick frowned. "I can't afford an attorney, and I don't want to take any kind of legal action against Clea. What happened between us wasn't her fault."

"Let me help you, Nick," Billy said, his tone insistent. "I know somebody. A guy I roomed with in college. He's a lawyer. We've stayed in touch. It's my fault you don't know your son. I want to help
you
this time."

"No, thanks. I can make it on my own. I don't need or want an attorney."

"Maybe." Billy gestured to Nick's car. The Boss was parked at the curb. Billy walked over to the Mustang and ran a hand over the glossy yellow paint. "You're back now. Give up the job in Bradley. Do what you love. Go to the garage and ask Mr. Mullin for your old job back. You're the best, Nick. Cars are your passion."

Billy made sense. Nick had only just begun to explore old car restoration when he'd gone to prison. He'd loved the work, loved taking an old car and restoring it to its original state. While in prison he'd taken classes, earning his Automotive Service Excellence certification, with follow up courses in suspension, steering, and engine repair. The thought of working at the garage unleashed a raw excitement. Working for Mr. Mullin would bring him one step closer to his goal - owning a first class car restoration business.

"Do you really think Mullin would hire me?" Nick asked, warming to the idea.

Billy grinned. "Hell, I know he would. Not only does the old man love you like a son, you're the best mechanic around."

Nick looked at his brother, really looked at him. Billy wasn't a scared sixteen-year-old kid anymore. He was a man. He no longer needed protecting.

"Come on," Nick said, catching Billy's enthusiasm for the future. "Let's get some lunch. Besides, it's damned cold out here." Turning his back on The Coffee House, Nick started toward the caf
é
. He'd work on securing a job first, then he'd worry about Clea. Clea Rose had money, respectability, and social standing in the community. If he wanted to win her, he had to play by her rules, have something to offer her. He couldn't afford to make stupid mistakes, not this time.

*   *   *

"It's a great party, Clea."

Clea smiled at her best friend, Mitzi. "Robert's mom has done a wonderful job, as usual." They stood in the living room of the Bloomfield's house. Other guests milled around them, glasses of sparkling champagne in their hands.

Mitzi smiled. "I'm going to miss you when you're gone, kiddo."

"I'll miss you too, Mitzi." Clea embraced her best friend and business partner. The tall brunette gave Clea a peck on her cheek.

"It won't be the same here without you," Mitzi said. "I don't know how I'm going to get along without you at The Coffee House."

"I'm not selling my interest," Clea reminded her. "You can reach me by phone whenever you need to. We'll still be partners. I'll just be in New York, that's all."

A waiter passed with a tray of champagne and Mitzi snagged two fresh glasses, handing one crystal flute to Clea. "Here's to you getting everything your heart desires. You deserve it." She clinked her glass with Clea's.

"Thank you, sweetie," Clea said, her throat thick with emotion.

Mitzi sipped her champagne. "I've always adored this house."

The lakeside home of Senator Bloomfield and his wife, Ellen, was the largest and most spectacular on Lake Bliss. In the late 1800s, the house had been a "gentlemen's retreat" housing ladies of ill repute. Robert's family had owned the house for over thirty years. They'd renovated the house, turning it into a showplace.

Robert lived alone in the house year-round, but his parents still spent their summers with him. The senator and his wife were in residence now for the fast approaching wedding. The party tonight had a dual purpose, celebrating the Bloomfields' return to the lake and Clea winning the Graceland Mitchell Internship for the Arts.

She had to admit that Robert's parents had done a fabulous job with the party. A jazz quartet played, filling the air with seductive music. The entire room sparkled with small white lights, as did the trees surrounding the pool outside. Earlier Robert had told her he wanted her to feel enchanted, like a princess. She frowned. Being called a princess always made her think of Nick.

"Why the frown?" Mitzi smiled gently. "You're thinking about Nick, right?"

"You know me so well." Clea sighed. "I can't get him out of my mind. I know he's still in town, and I can't help but wonder why. It's like I'm afraid to exhale, to relax, because the moment I do all hell will break loose."

"I'll bet Nick's furious about the No Contact Order. I would be if I were him," Mitzi said matter-of-factly. "What are you going to do? Nick was your first love. Do you still want to marry Robert?"

"Of course I do," Clea said, her voice harsher than she intended. "You know things are finally going my way. I have so much to look forward to - the wedding, the move to New York, and the internship. For once, my personal life and my career are both on track. Nick isn't going to change anything. I've worked too long and too hard. All of my dreams are coming true." But Nick clouded her happiness. The year she'd spent with him seemed like a lifetime ago. She didn't want to relive those days, but as long as he stayed in town, she couldn't let the past die.

Suddenly, Clea wanted to be alone, away from the press of the party guests, away from the probing questions that stirred up emotions she didn't want to remember. "Excuse me, Mitzi. I need to use the ladies room."

She stepped around her friend and headed down the hall, but spotted her mother's neighbor, Mrs. Harrison. Not wanting to talk with the older woman, she did a U-turn and went back into the party, stopping in front of the window. Behind her the guests laughed. The smell of roasting meat filled the air. Outside, the lights twinkled and beckoned. She wanted to enjoy tonight, but her heart just wasn't in the party. All day long she'd been tormented by thoughts of Nick.

For a moment today, she'd thought he might come into The Coffee House. She'd seen him on the sidewalk in front of the tavern. She'd watched as he'd been served the No Contact Order. He'd looked over, had even started to cross the street, but Billy had stopped him. And as much as she didn't want to admit it, she'd been disappointed. A part of her wanted to talk to Nick, but a bigger part of her told her she'd done the right thing.

She couldn't trust him. He'd made her promises the night he'd taken her virginity, empty promises of love and commitment. He'd lied to her, shattering her faith in men, in love, and in living happily ever after. She didn't need the kind of crazy, consuming emotion she felt for Nick. She couldn't handle it, and she wouldn't put her son through that kind of heartache.

Clea's insides churned, making her stomach burn. She needed to clear her head, get some fresh air. Taking her coat from the closet, she slipped out the back door. Overhead the stars winked at her. Cold air bit at her nose and exposed fingers, but the urge to be alone overpowered her need for heat.

Between Clea and the water stood a large patio with a swimming pool in the center, followed by a half-acre of lawn. She made her way around the pool, coming to a stop when she spotted Senator Bloomfield. He sat on a concrete bench, and when he saw her, he stood. Always impeccably dressed, he wore a black suit, white shirt, and black tie; distinguished described him perfectly. His blond hair held streaks of gray at the temples, giving him even more character.