His Real Father (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 3

  Brandon had never understood the relationship between his mother and uncle. His mother occasionally criticized Joe for not calling Grams more often, but then she’d make excuses for him.

  He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Brandon knew there was something weird between them. He guessed it had to do with his father. But since his mother had quit talking about Patrick recently, Brandon didn’t bother asking. Even if she answered, he wasn’t sure he’d believe her.

  But none of that mattered at the moment. The only thing Brandon had on his mind was the autographed photo his uncle had promised to get. Mandy Moore—the angel-faced hottie Rory and Winston were totally in love with.

  Brandon couldn’t wait to torture his friends with this new acquisition. But the main reason he’d requested the photo was to show it to Nikki Jean Cho, the coolest girl in school. Nikki planned to be an actress and last week he’d overheard her say that Mandy Moore was her inspiration.

  Since Brandon tended to get all tongue-tied around girls, especially girls as fine as Nikki Jean, he figured an icebreaker would help. Granted, there were just two and a half weeks of school left, but there was always next year. Unless something—or someone—screwed things up. With his mother graduating from college and his grandmother getting married, who knew what might happen?

  Worrying about the future made his mouth dry. Suddenly, he craved a beer.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “HI, MOM,” JOE SAID as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. “I’m home. Call off the search-and-rescue team.”

  His mother shuffled sideways to get around a stack of cartons. Beer, he presumed. “Oh, you,” she said, swatting him with the damp white towel she was carrying. “I knew you’d show up eventually. You’re with Lisa. She’s the responsible one. I can always count on her.”

  He glanced to his right to see Lisa embrace her son, who was several inches taller than his mother. The height difference really made him realize that Joe had been neglectful about visiting his family. He’d seen Brandon at Paige’s wedding, but the boy hadn’t looked so grown up.

  After bending over to give his mother a hug, Joe extended a hand to Brandon. “How’s it going, nephew?”

  Lisa made an odd, almost pained sound and quickly turned away. Curious. Just as odd as her wanting to buy Joe’s Place. At long last, Lisa was going to have her degree, a goal she’d had since high school. Surely she could find a more worthwhile career than running this smelly old bar.

  He’d worry about Lisa and the sale later, he told himself. First, he owed his attention to his mother. As he answered questions about his flight and why he was late, it hit him that in a few short weeks, Maureen would be marrying a man Joe barely knew.

  “So, Mom, is Gunny joining us for dinner?”

  His mother tucked her arm through Joe’s and started leading him toward the swinging saloon doors that separated the bar from the kitchen. “No. He’s over on the coast, fishing with his son. He said he’d bring us back something fresh to barbecue tomorrow. His son and daughter-in-law will join us.” She peered around him to ask Lisa, “Did you invite your mother?”

  Joe saw the look that Lisa and Brandon exchanged.

  “I wouldn’t count on her,” Lisa said. “She has a new boyfriend, you know. He’s even single,” she added for Joe’s benefit.

  Constance Malden, Lisa’s mother, had been a source of embarrassment for Lisa for as long as Joe had known her. Connie lived by her own rules, dating whomever she pleased—even if he happened to be married. By Hollywood standards, that sort of thing happened all the time, but in Worthington, Constance’s social life had provided rich fodder for local gossips.

  Lisa’s blasé expression appeared pasted on. He recalled a scene from high school. Lisa, Patrick and Joe had always dashed home at lunch to watch General Hospital—until the day Lisa had pointed at the television and burst into tears, crying, “There’s my mother, the town slut.”

  Later, Joe had gotten Lisa to talk about what was really bothering her. She claimed that one of Constance’s affairs had been with a married doctor whose daughter was the reigning homecoming queen. In a community the size of Worthington, if a woman was a social pariah, then so, by association, was her daughter.

  To change the subject, Joe asked, “Is it chow time?”

  “I think so,” Maureen said, leading the way through the swinging doors. “Is everything ready, Martin?”

  Martin Franks was a fixture at Joe’s Place. Joe’s father had claimed that Martin had come with the bar, which Joe and Maureen had bought with money they’d received as a wedding gift. Joe had been twenty-four at the time, Maureen just eighteen. Two years later, she’d given birth to twins.

  Assuming what his father had said was true, Martin would be in his mid-seventies. But the only outward concession to time that Joe could see was the addition of silver in Martin’s long black ponytail. Taller than Joe, but many pounds lighter, the man standing by the sink turned and nodded his greeting.

  Prominent cheekbones created shallow, copper-toned hollows and dark eyes sparkled with humor that seldom translated to a smile.

  “Martin, my old friend,” Joe said, increasing his stride to reach the man. “It’s good to see you.”

  Their hands clasped in greeting. Joe had learned years ago that Martin didn’t hug.

  “Hi, Martin,” Lisa said, joining them. She pulled something from her purse. “How’s the burn?”

  “Not bad,” Martin said. “The aloe you gave me helped.”

  “Good.” After washing her hands, she unscrewed the cap of a small ointment tube and squeezed a dab onto her finger. “Mom said this will keep it from getting infected.”

  Martin untied the strings of the white apron knotted at his waist and pushed it aside so he could lift his green plaid shirt. A four-inch-long bright red slash paralleled one of his ribs.

  Joe looked away. He’d always been a bit squeamish around blood and gore. Maybe that’s why Hollywood and I don’t mix. Not enough bloodshed and violence.

  “She sent some bandages, too.”

  Martin tolerated the salve but waved his hand when Lisa displayed several sterile adhesive strips. “No. Air is the best medicine.”

  Lisa made a face. “The ointment is going to get on your shirt.”

  Martin looked at Joe and shrugged. “It will wash.”

  “Men,” she said, her tone exasperated. “You all make terrible patients. Did you give your doctor this type of trouble?” she asked Joe.

  Maureen made a startled sound and reached for Joe’s arm to make him face her. “Doctor? What’s this about?”

  Lisa mouthed, “Sorry,” before dashing away.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d gotten him in trouble. “I had a bit of a scare during the holidays,” he said, taking her by the elbow when she swayed on her feet. “Nothing that diet and exercise couldn’t fix. Look at me, Mom. I’m in better shape than I’ve ever been.”

  “It wasn’t a heart attack. Like your dad?”

  “Not even close.”

  “When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Christmas Eve. That’s the real reason I didn’t come home.” Joe had canceled because of “car trouble.” In fact, he’d been in the hospital. Alone and shaken up. “I knew you’d rush down south if I told you, and when I called, Lisa said you were still a little tired from your last chemo treatments,” he said, anxious to put the conversation behind him.

  Maureen looked at Lisa. “Did you know about this?”

  “I just found out ten minutes ago. Honest,” Lisa said, handing her son a fistful of silverware to put on the table. She followed after him with paper napkins that she folded in neat triangles.

  Joe studied his mother’s face. More lines around her eyes and mouth, but none of the pallor he’d seen in November. She looked fit and healthy. True, she’d aged since his father had died, but Joe blamed himself for some of that. He’d been so busy wallowing in his own guilt and pain, he hadn’t been much help to his
mother.

  He wondered what she would say about his movie. She’d always supported his dreams, but maybe she was too busy looking forward to care about the past.

  LISA TURNED OFF her cell phone. Her mother had called just as Lisa had taken her last bite of dinner. She had excused herself to take the call in the bar area. Only a few regulars were present—all far enough away to afford some privacy.

  Lisa hadn’t minded the interruption. Maureen had started ambling down memory lane, which was always a difficult path for Lisa to trek. Her feelings had grown ambivalent over the years instead of solidifying into rosy, happy memories—especially where Patrick was concerned.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Lisa whirled to find Joe standing a foot away in the garish neon light coming from the CD jukebox. “Oh, yeah. Mom wanted to borrow my silk blazer for her date. She warned me not to expect her home tonight.” She snickered softly. “Funny, huh? She never thought twice about staying out till dawn when I was a teenager and actually sat up worrying about her.”

  “Maybe this is Connie’s way of showing respect to the new alpha female in the house.”

  Lisa couldn’t prevent the laughter that bubbled up. She brushed her fingers against his arm. “That sounds like something your mother would say. Don’t tell me you watch Dr. Phil, too?”

  His smile looked sort of sheepish. “I was tossing around the idea of doing a movie about pop psychology and the whole plastic surgery, slice-and-dice makeover phenomenon that’s going on now.”

  Lisa was surprised. The Joe she remembered was more into nature than human nature. Apparently, that had changed after Patrick died. “I remember when you were going to make a movie about hiking the Continental Divide.”

  Joe pulled back in obvious surprise. “Wow. I hadn’t thought about that in years. Once I hit film school, I sorta got caught up in social issues. After Dead Drunk came out, I went with the flow, so to speak.” He seemed slightly embarrassed.

  “You don’t have to apologize for being successful, Joe. I was just waxing nostalgic. Probably because of my graduation and your mother’s wedding. I feel as if a chapter of my life is coming to a close.”

  He looked around. Lisa knew he didn’t see the place the way she did—fondly, with good memories of working with Joe Sr. and Maureen.

  “Dad hated my movies,” he said. “He probably wouldn’t want to be the focus of one, but something about this place is pulling at me to shoot it.”

  Lisa understood Joe’s mixed feelings toward his father. She had them about hers. Her parents had divorced when Lisa was six, and she’d only seen her father a handful of times since.

  “Speaking of dads, how’s yours?” Joe asked, as if tapping into her thoughts.

  Lisa turned to face the brightly lit jukebox, even though she had no money on her to use it. “He had surgery for prostate cancer last summer, but is doing fine.”

  Wayne Malden had returned to his home state of Indiana after he and Constance divorced. He’d immediately married a woman with two sons. The couple had had a daughter, Jenna, a few years later. Born with Down syndrome, Jenna had required so much care that Wayne had quit his job in sales to stay home with her.

  Lisa still had difficulty relating that kind of self-sacrifice with the man her mother spoke of with such anger—a man who’d failed to pay child support for the daughter he left behind.

  “My half sister is living in a group home and doing really well, I understand. My stepbrothers are both married. I get the whole scoop in a Christmas newsletter.”

  Joe closed the gap between them and reached into his pocket for his billfold. He withdrew a dollar and put it in the machine. “I can’t imagine what it would be like having another family somewhere on the other side of the country. Dealing with one close by is difficult enough.”

  Lisa watched his long fingers drum on the glass while he decided which songs to select. Joe and Patrick both had nice hands. Joe’s were a bit more elegant—better fit for a pen, he’d once said. Just as Patrick’s hands had been made to hold a football. Twins, but so different.

  He pushed a number-and-letter combination. The first few strains of a song filled the air. A spontaneous shiver chased down Lisa’s spine. No. Was his choice a fluke or did Joe actually remember that night as vividly as she did?

  Of course not. He was a guy. A guy who’d just gotten lucky with his brother’s girlfriend.

  Shame brought heat to her cheeks. She started to turn away, but Joe caught her arm. “Are we ever going to talk about what happened between us or do we continue this little dance of avoidance until we’re old and gray?”

  Given the choice, Lisa would have picked old and gray. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course you do. This song was playing on the car radio that night by the lake.”

  Lisa’s heart rate sped up and a whooshing noise filled her ears—the sound of Patrick’s ghost hovering?

  Joe stepped closer. His voice was low, but she heard every word. “We made love, Leese. We were young. Life looks different when you’re seventeen. What happened was me telling you goodbye before I took off on my big adventure. It was you telling me goodbye before you got engaged to my brother.”

  Lisa agreed with the goodbye part, but she also knew that her relationship with Patrick didn’t figure into the equation on any level. She’d asked herself why she’d done what she had a million times over the past seventeen years—and even more often the past few weeks. There was only one answer. But how do you tell the wrong brother that you’ve been in love with him since the first moment you met?

  Lisa tried to speak, but her words were tangled in threads of guilt. After a lifetime of growing up just one step removed from the nasty buzz of gossip, Lisa couldn’t shake off the fear of what people would say if they knew what she and Joe had done on graduation night after Patrick had passed out.

  Even now, years removed from that night, Lisa couldn’t bring herself to explain why she’d made love to Joe when she was committed to his brother. “You were the one, Joe,” she could have said. “Your brother pursued me and you didn’t. He loved me, but I loved you.”

  Lisa had tried to tell him that after Patrick had died, but Joe had pushed her away, unwilling or, perhaps, simply unable to listen to anything once he’d learned that she’d told Patrick of their indiscretion.

  “What happened was sex, Joe,” she said, recalling all too vividly his hurtful remarks the afternoon of the wake. She stepped back to break his hold on her arm. “Maybe it was my mother’s wayward genes kicking in. Whatever the reason, what we did took place in a parallel universe.”

  His hand fell to his side. She thought she read disappointment in his face, but a second later his infamous dimple was in place. “Sorry. I guess I was trying to cross over one of those bridges I burned a bit too hastily in my past. I thought as adults we might be able to start on new ground and rebuild our relationship, but apparently I was wrong.”

  Lisa walked into the kitchen to help clean up the dishes. She couldn’t afford to hand out second chances, not until she’d finalized her business dealings with Maureen and, perhaps more importantly, figured out what to do about the issue of Brandon’s paternity.

  “ARE LISA AND BRANDON GONE?” his mother asked.

  Joe fought to stifle a yawn. He hadn’t gotten in a run today and the lack of exercise—along with a heavy meal and the stress of returning home—had taken a toll. “Uh-huh. She said something about studying for her finals. And Brandon’s going out.”

  Maureen closed the cupboard door and turned to face him. Her beaming smile made his heart feel lighter and not so tired. “That photo you brought him is apparently quite a coup. He’s trying to impress a new girl.”

  “He has a girlfriend?”

  His mother shook her head. “No one steady.”

  Joe was curious about his nephew. Brandon was a good-looking kid who had seemed pretty sociable during dinner. It struck Joe as odd that the boy didn’t have girls flocking a
round him, like Patrick had any time he and Lisa were on the outs.

  But Joe didn’t know his nephew. Maybe, if things worked out, he’d be here long enough for the two of them to spend some time together. But that depended on what his mother decided about the sale.

  “So, Mom, what do you think about my idea of filming Joe’s Place?”

  She let out a tired sigh then, taking his arm, said, “Let’s go home. We can talk on the way.”

  Joe glanced at his watch. “But it’s only nine-thirty on a Saturday night. Dad will turn over in his grave, if we close Joe’s Place this early.”

  She swatted him gently. “He was cremated. Just like your brother. So drop that nonsense.” She snapped off the kitchen light. “Martin will close up. He’s had to take care of a lot since I got sick. During chemotherapy, even the smell of beer would have me rushing to the toilet.”

  Joe tried to hide his reaction. He couldn’t think about his mother in pain, which probably explained why he’d made himself scarce during her treatment. He’d been in the waiting room throughout her surgery at Stanford, but once she’d returned home, he’d hidden out in L.A. He couldn’t handle seeing his mother so weak and fragile.

  “But you look great, by the way. You feel good, huh?”

  His tone must have betrayed his worry, because she hugged him as she might a little boy. “Yes, dear, I’m fine. I’m getting married, aren’t I? What kind of idiot would say ‘I do’ if she weren’t healthy? Marriage is a lot of work. You have to be in good shape to survive it. Right, Martin?” she called out, with a wave to the man behind the bar.

  Martin wasn’t the jovial, flush-faced Irish bartender with a million stories Joe’s father had been, but he was dignified and efficient. He reminded Joe of the English butler Anthony Hopkins had played in The Remains of the Day.

  Martin didn’t answer. Joe hadn’t expected him to.

  “Night, Martin. See you tomorrow at the barbecue,” Joe said. He’d already loaded his bags into Maureen’s car, which was parked beside the well-lit delivery door.