For Another Day (One Strike Away Book 2) Page 4

  But this was the first time Nick shared the details from start to finish. Something about Rowan made opening old wounds easier than he would have imagined.

  Her kind eyes. The instant connection like nothing he had ever felt before. The way she sat and listened without commenting while clearly fully invested in what he said.

  All these qualities combined to make recounting the most intimate details of his childhood, if not easy, a little less painful.

  Nick found himself relaxing. He had never been a big proponent of the notion that to lessen his burden, he needed to share the load. But the longer he spoke, the more he wondered if there was something to the theory—given the right time, the right place. And most of all, the right person.

  "I think she sold her body."

  Nick had never spoken of his suspicions. Not to his friends. And certainly not to his mother.

  Rowan gasped, the first sound she had made since he began. Not words. Just that one cry of distress.

  "I can't say for sure. And I never asked because I knew how the thought made me feel. Sick. Powerless. I can't imagine what she would have done if she thought I suspected."

  "She did what she had to do."

  Relieved that Rowan understood, Nick met her gaze, grateful for the tears that hung on her lashes. Tears he had long ago lost the ability to cry for himself—or his mother.

  "We survived. That may not sound like much. But—"

  "You're wrong. Survival," Rowan swallowed a sob. "Survival is everything."

  "Hey." Skirting the coffee table, Nick sat next to Rowan, taking her in his arms. "A few tears is one thing. Don't make yourself sick." He smoothed back her hair as he kissed her forehead. "My story isn't a tragedy."

  Rowan nodded, hiccupping. "Your mother took care of you. Then you took care of her. A perfect happy ending. Except…"

  "The heroine died."

  Fresh pain shot through Nick's body. Progress. A week ago he felt numb, unable to choke the words past what felt like a permanent lump in his throat.

  "Life isn't fair." Tears streamed freely down Rowan's cheeks. "Annie deserved more time. Years and years."

  "Who are you?" Amazed, Nick lifted Rowan's chin. Her glistening eyes cut his emotions to the bone. "I feel like you crawled inside my head. Not a great place to be most of the time."

  "I wish I could take the bad memories away." Rowan touched Nick's face, her warm, soft hand like a soothing balm. "But they helped make you the man you are today. And there is nothing I would change about who you are."

  "You don't know me. I can be a real asshole."

  "You mean you aren't perfect?" Her eyes widened dramatically. "Shocking."

  In spite of the heavy subject matter, Nick had to smile.

  "Far from perfect. Do you want me to run down a list of my faults?"

  "What would be the point? Some of the things you consider faults, I might see as virtues. And what you think of as a virtue—"

  "Might be a fault in your book." Nick shook his head. "The way your brain works is something else."

  "Fault or virtue?" Taking a tissue from a nearby box, Rowan wiped her eyes.

  "Virtue."

  Nick kissed her temple. Then the end of her nose. Her lips were a natural progression. One he couldn't resist.

  "The pizza will be here any second," Rowan said breathlessly between increasingly intense kisses.

  "I'd rather feast on you."

  The second the words were out of his mouth, Nick wanted to groan. Not his style and corny to the extreme, he wondered where the thought had come from.

  "Did you just say that?"

  Rowan's laugh caused a domino effect. Nick snorted, breaking out in the best laugh he'd experienced in weeks. Collapsing onto the sofa cushion, he took Rowan with him, her unrestrained mirth vibrating up and down his arms.

  "I could leave the money on the porch. With a big tip."

  "I do like cold pizza," Rowan sighed, smiling.

  "Is that a yes?" Nick reached for his wallet.

  "Tempting, but no."

  "I could—"

  "I know. You could change my mind." The doorbell rang. "You're awfully confident of your sex appeal."

  "Fault or virtue?" Nick inquired, handing Rowan a twenty.

  "What do you think?"

  "I pick virtue."

  "Surprise, surprise."

  Enjoying the sound of Rowan's chuckle as she left to answer the door, Nick picked up the empty beer bottle and wine glass, heading for the kitchen.

  "An eight-dollar tip for a twelve-dollar pizza. Brock Todd was over the moon."

  "What does Brock usually get for his trouble?"

  "I have no idea. Three bucks is my average. Depends if he hustles his backside or stops to flirt with his girlfriend. She lives two houses down, so depending on the direction of his arrival, my luck is pretty hit and miss."

  Good, bad, or somewhere in between, there was no way to ruin the scent of a freshly baked pizza. Steam rose as Rowan opened the box.

  "Looks like Brock swung around from the north tonight. About now, he's knocking on Charmaine's door."

  "Letting somebody else's pizza get cold."

  "Young love." Rowan handed Nick a plate. "Most of the people on my block are pretty tolerant."

  "I suffered from a lot of teenage lust. Never love."

  "I'll bet you didn't suffer long."

  Smiling, Nick bit into a slice, the burst of spices hitting the back of his tongue in a perfectly composed symphony of flavor.

  "This may be the best pizza I've ever eaten," he declared, taking another bite, his eyes closing as he let himself savor the amazing flavors.

  "Angela's Trattoria. The best Italian food period," Rowan declared with pride. "Angie and I have been best friends since preschool."

  "You don't have to sell me." Nick took two more pieces before sitting at the counter.

  "Nick."

  "Something wrong with your pizza?" he asked, noticing that Rowan had only eaten one bite. "I'll be happy to take whatever you don't want."

  "The food is fine."

  "Hey." Taking her hand, Nick waited until Rowan met his gaze. "I pretty much spilled my guts all over your living room floor."

  "A nice image."

  Nick chuckled. "Talk to me, Rowan."

  "I like you. And I believe what you've told me. But…"

  "You've known me less than a day." Nick frowned. "Seems like longer."

  "I know." Rowan squeezed his hand."

  "However, despite this—connection—Leonard Cartwright is family."

  Rowan nodded, visibly relieved that Nick understood.

  "Leo isn't always the easiest man to deal with. He's used to having his own way."

  "I can identify."

  Rowan's lips quirked. "There's no way to anticipate how Leo will react when you meet him. He might welcome you with open arms. Or toss you out on your backside."

  "He could try." Nick's eyes narrowed, almost enjoying the idea. "He wouldn't succeed."

  Seeing the worry in Rowan's eyes, Nick grimaced.

  "I don't know if Leonard Cartwright is my biological father. But if he is, that means he had sex with a fifteen-year-old girl. For my mother's sake, that makes me sick to my stomach." Nick pushed away his uneaten pizza. "But I'd be pretty pissed no matter who the girl was. Girl, Rowan. Not woman."

  "I can't defend him. I wouldn't try."

  Nick had hardened his heart against Leonard Cartwright. But Rowan was another matter. Her obvious distress made him wish he could make all of this go away.

  "Cartwright might be innocent."

  "Thank you," Rowan kissed Nick's cheek. With a sigh, she walked to the refrigerator, removing a bottle of wine. "Would you like another beer?"

  "No. One is usually my limit."

  "We both know that Leo is your father. I can see the resemblance. So can you."

  "Maybe."

  "You don't wa
nt to look like him?"

  "No." Why beat around the bush? "I have my mother's eyes. That makes me happy."

  "Will you listen to Leonard's side of the story with an open mind?"

  "If he talks, I'll listen. The rest?" Nick shrugged. "I should probably go. Unless…?"

  "Tempting. You have no idea how tempting."

  "Yes. I do."

  Nick held Rowan's hand as she walked him to the door. A sweet gesture that didn't feel out of place. The feel of her fingers twined with his felt… right.

  "No sex for you tonight." Rowan sent him a sideways glance. "Unless…"

  "You're the only person I know in this town. Except for the ladies I met at Murielle's. And the guy who checked me in at the Jasper Inn." Cupping her cheek, Nick smiled. "I don't pick women up in bars. Only in front of the occasional bakery."

  "You're funny. I like funny."

  Rowan wound her arms around Nick's neck. She smelled so good. Like taking in that first fresh breath of air after a cool, mid-summer rain.

  "Better than sexy?" Nick asked, brushing his lips across hers.

  "Funny is sexy. But you? Well, you're the whole package. I know there has to be something wrong with you."

  "So many things."

  "You say that with such pride."

  Rowan's laugh turned to a sigh as his lips moved to the side of her neck.

  "Isn't that a sin? Pride?" Nick looked into Rowan's deep blue eyes, patiently waiting for her answer.

  "Absolutely," Rowan nodded. "And lust."

  "That's one of my favorites." Nick smiled. "How about you? Should we stop?"

  Rowan stood on her tiptoes, the added height bringing her gaze level with his mouth.

  "Absolutely not. Sin away."

  What could a man do when a woman—so warm and soft and sexy—invited him to sin?

  The kiss was carnal. Hot beyond belief. On and on and on. Taking Rowan into her bedroom—into her bed—was so damn tempting. But Nick knew she wasn't ready.

  Cursing his sense of fair play, Nick stepped back. Rowan's eyes remained closed, her mouth wet and slightly parted. He deserved a medal for the act of self-control needed to walk away.

  Or a thorough head examination.

  "Am I crazy to send you away?" Rowan asked.

  "If you are, so am I."

  Resolute, Nick grabbed the doorknob. The brisk night air washed over him, cooling his ardor—but not much.

  "Wait. You forgot your jacket."

  "I wouldn't get far without these," Nick said, taking his keys from the pocket. "You scrambled my brain, Rowan."

  "I'd say that's only fair. Since you do the same to me." Rowan stood, so tempting, holding the door. "I was going to invite you to join me for breakfast. But I get an early start."

  "How early?"

  "Seven. I have to be on the job by eight at the latest."

  "I'll get my morning run in then meet you. Murielle's Muffins?"

  Rowan nodded.

  Waiting until she closed the door and he heard the locks click in place, Nick walked to the SUV. Tomorrow would be an interesting day. He hoped to meet with Leonard Cartwright. Or at the very least, set up an appointment.

  Nick couldn't imagine how he would feel if a grown man showed up claiming to be his son. He had no proof. Only an old letter.

  The answers Nick sought were here in Jasper. He was certain. And he wasn't leaving until he had what he came for.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  "WHAT IS THERE about a sweaty man?" Mona asked with a flirty wink. Setting the cups on the table, she ignored Rowan, concentrating on Nick. "Not too sweaty. Just enough to bring out the yummy factor."

  "I love Mona," Rowan said as the waitress left, her hips swinging. "She'll be flirting as she takes her last breath. Then start again with St. Peter as soon as she reaches the pearly gates."

  Rowan sipped her coffee. She wasn't one of those people who needed a shot of caffeine to get her morning motor running. Since she was a little girl, she woke full of energy no matter how much sleep she had the night before.

  A major plus for a woman in her business.

  "Should I have taken a shower?" Nick lifted the edge of his hoodie, taking a sniff. "My run took me right by here, and I didn't want to be late."

  "You're fine."

  To prove her point, Rowan did her own test. She leaned close to Nick, breathing deeply. He smelled of warm, clean, healthy male. And something uniquely him. A little heady for so early in the morning.

  "Not too offensive?" Nick asked.

  "As long as you shower in the next hour or so, no problem."

  Great, Rowan thought. Now she had the picture of a wet, soap-slickened Nick in her head. Though she hadn't seen him naked, she had touched him through his clothes. His body was rock hard. Muscled in all the right places.

  Rowan felt her blood heat. For a woman who liked sex but wasn't concerned about going without for long periods of time, the path her brain kept taking was disconcerting. Her libido wasn't underdeveloped. She had simply needed the right man to get her motor running.

  Apparently, Nick Sanders was the man. Rowan wasn't sure how she felt about that.

  Nick was a virtual stranger. Yes, they'd made an instant connection. He shared intimate and painful details about his childhood. Maybe she was crazy to believe every word he said. To trust his motives. But Rowan's instincts told her this man was exactly who and what he seemed to be.

  Time would tell if she was wrong. Until then, she would give Nick the benefit of the doubt. Partly because that was who she was. But honestly? The main reason was simple.

  Good looks, charm, and the overwhelming attraction aside, Rowan liked Nick Sanders.

  "Here you go. Fresh orange rolls, a fruit plate, two croissants, and freshly made citrus butter." Mona smiled at Nick, fluffing her teased-out bouffant hairdo. "Enjoy. Your two dozen sticky buns will be ready to go when you are, Rowan."

  "Interesting breakfast," Nick said. But the skepticism in his voice didn't stop him from taking a croissant—and two orange rolls.

  "Most mornings I grab a carton of yogurt from the fridge. Once a week, I splurge. For my crew and me."

  "How did you end up with all women employees?"

  Nick had done most of the talking the night before. But Rowan had dropped a bit of her history.

  "Pretty simple. The men who applied for the jobs didn't want to work for a woman. Honestly? Some of the women weren't that thrilled to start. But I weeded the lollygaggers out quick enough."

  "Weeded. A landscaping joke?"

  Rowan nodded.

  "Good one." Nick popped the last piece of roll into his mouth. "Any of those men regret not taking the job?"

  "I've had a few reapply. But my crew is loyal, and turnover is minimal."

  The fact that Rowan paid top dollar, offered an excellent health plan, and frequently awarded bonuses didn't hurt.

  "Well, there's my girl." A big man wearing a crisp white apron dusted liberally with flour, lifted Rowan into a bear hug. "I didn't get a chance to thank you for saving my butt yesterday."

  "Anytime." Rowan laughed, squeezing tight.

  "Who do we have here? A new boyfriend? About time."

  "A friend," she qualified.

  Rowan didn't want anybody getting the wrong idea. Massive attraction was one thing. She and Nick were a long way from anything bestowing a title on what they felt.

  "You didn't tell me Murielle was Walter Bone Crusher Murielle." Nick lightly chastised Rowan.

  "Nick Sanders." Murielle held out one of his massive hands. "What the hell are you doing in Jasper?"

  "I was about to ask you the same question."

  Looking from one grinning man to the other, Rowan frowned.

  "You know each other?"

  "Nick Sanders. Damn, son." Ignoring Rowan, Murielle shook his head. "The way you play second base is a pleasure to behold. Congrats on t
he championship. I hope you're enjoying the moment. They don't come along very often."

  "I'm still processing. But I'll never forget or take the moment for granted."

  "Good man. I never got back to the big game. Makes me wish I had taken some time to savor the win. Unfortunately, I spent the four months in a party haze. Then back to work worrying about the next season."

  "You won the World Series?" Rowan asked, trying to keep up.

  Chuckling, Nick shrugged. "I had some help."

  "Honey," Murielle sent Rowan an exasperated look. "You and this young man looked mighty cozy ever since you arrived." His narrowed gaze moved to Nick. "Should I take that to mean you didn't tell my girl who you are?"

  "I told her I play baseball."

  Rowan had the good grace to flush. "I don't follow the game."

  "Or any other. How long did you work for me before you figured out what this ring on my finger meant?"

  Murielle held up his right hand. The behemoth gold band was about as subtle as fireworks on the Fourth of July. The championship year was emblazoned in diamonds along with the name of his former team.

  "Who has time to follow sports?"

  Rowan didn't know why she felt the need to defend herself. As a busy woman with a business to run, the best she could do was support the local high school teams. Professional sports had never caught her interest.

  "Slickest second baseman in the game," Murielle said, ignoring Rowan's muttered excuse. "That play you made in game six of the series? Damn, son. Saved the game."

  "Where's your ring?" Rowan asked after Murielle left to check something in the kitchen.

  "We get them at the home opener next season."

  The way Nick's lips twitched, Rowan expected him to burst out laughing at any second.

  "You think my lack of baseball knowledge is funny, don't you?"

  "Not at all," Nick assured her. "However, your obvious discomfort? Sort of tickles my funny bone."

  Rowan frowned, not certain what to say. Had she misread Nick? Was he one of those men who—no matter how much success he achieved—needed his ego stroked every hour on the hour? She had been engaged to a man like that. And had avoided getting mixed up with another ever since—like the plague.

  She would hate to add Nick to that list.

  "Don't look so serious." Nick chuckled, his dark eyes filled with good humor. "I don't care if you follow baseball or not. As for not knowing who I am? Join the club. Other than Murielle, I doubt another person in this room would know my name."