An Unexpected Father Page 10

  Jack bounced up and they walked down the dock, then turned left onto a side pier that led to deeper water. When they reached a white-hulled cutter, Ian stopped.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “It looks like a big sailboat.”

  “See, you’re not so dumb.” He scrubbed a hand over Jack’s head, making him giggle. “She’s mine, all thirty-six feet of her.”

  “Wow! Really? Can I get on it?” Jack’s eyes were wide as he took in the sturdy sailboat.

  “She’s not an it. All boats, at least the ones that someone loves, are she. Her name’s Minerva. And, yes, you can get on her.”

  Agile as a monkey, the boy climbed up over the lifelines and onto the deck. In seconds he was standing on the cabin top.

  “You could use the boarding step,” Ian said with a laugh. Moving to the center of the boat, he did just that. On deck, he studied Jack’s face. “So, what do you think?”

  “This is so cool! She’s big. Did you build her?”

  “Mostly. When I bought her, she was nothing but a fiberglass hull and deck. It took me about four years to finish her.”

  “How fast can she go?”

  “Not as fast as one of Patrick’s racers, but fast enough.”

  Jack climbed all over Minerva, asking questions. Ian couldn’t help feeling a bit of pride as he showed Jack how the cutter was rigged, how the self-steering vane worked and how the solar panels generated electricity for lights and refrigeration. The boat was his life’s ambition. Now all he lacked was the opportunity to take her to sea and chase the setting sun.

  “Can we go sail it sometime?” Jack asked as he stood behind the wheel, turning the rudder to port, then starboard.

  “Maybe. It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “How well you do in summer school.”

  Jack stopped playing with the wheel and peered warily at Ian. “What do you mean?”

  “Your mom says you can’t take sailing lessons unless you go to summer school, right?” At the boy’s nod, he continued. “Well, I’ve got a deal for you, too. You work in school and I’ll take you sailing on Minerva.”

  “How many times?”

  “We’ll go once a week, as long as I see progress. No farting around,” Ian added with a stern look.

  Jack frowned as he considered the offer. Perched as he was on the seat, his gaze was nearly level with Ian’s, who was standing in the well of the cockpit. Their eyes met and held. Ian could practically hear the gears turning in Jack’s head.

  Ian held out his hand. “Deal?”

  Lower lip protruding, the boy huffed a sigh that blew his hair out of his eyes. “I still get to sail the little boats?” he asked cautiously.

  “There’s one for you as long as you keep up your end of the bargain with your mother. But that’s between you and her,” Ian said. He patted a hand on the dodger. “Learn to sail on them and you’ll be able to handle Minerva, or any boat, after that.”

  “When can we go out on this one?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Deal!” Jack thrust his hand into Ian’s.

  “Of course, we have to clear it with your mom,” Ian said. Jack ducked his head and Ian had a suspicious thought. “She knows where you are, doesn’t she?”

  The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  With a sigh, Ian pointed Jack to the steps. “Let’s go, runt.”

  They made their way back to shore and through the yard. As they reached the main gate, Ian saw Mimi hurrying down the sidewalk. Her face was tense with concern. She caught sight of them and stopped for a second, then continued until she was hugging Jack fiercely.

  “This is the second time you’ve scared me to death!” she said, pulling back and bending to catch his eyes. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

  “Jack was just on his way home,” Ian said, defending the boy and himself, too. Mimi’s hair swirled around her face, her eyes a deeper blue from her anguish. Was that how they looked when she was aroused? He shoved the idea away as if it were on fire.

  Still gripping Jack’s shoulders, she looked up at Ian. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

  Ian shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets, keeping himself from reaching out and taking her in his arms. Where was the irritation he had felt earlier? All he wanted now was to comfort her, soothe her the way he had just soothed her son. But if he took her in his arms, he wasn’t sure he could keep from kissing her. Once he started doing that, it might never end.

  “Me’n Ian made a deal,” Jack announced.

  Mimi looked at her son, frowning slightly. “What kind of deal?”

  “If I work hard at summer school,” Jack said, his face alight with a smile, “Ian’s going to take me sailing on his boat.”

  “His boat?” Her shoulders stiffened and she shot Ian a glance. He couldn’t tell if she was pleased by the idea or furious.

  “I’m gonna go tell Grandpop,” Jack said, then dashed away down the sidewalk, headed for the Laughing Gull.

  “I can’t believe it,” Mimi said softly as she watched him run.

  She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face, and blew out a breath. Ian’s fingers itched to stroke the silky mass for himself. When she turned back to face him, he was shocked to see the sparkle of tears in her eyes. Before he could stop them, Ian’s hands were out of his pockets and cupping her shoulders. She felt small and fragile under his palms.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, wiping the wetness away with a hand that shook. “It’s just been a horrible week.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

  Her gaze wouldn’t meet his, staying fastened to the faded A&E marine logo on his T-shirt. Ian’s heart nearly stopped when she reached out and traced the letters with one finger.

  “He hasn’t spoken to me in days. Yet you get him to go to school and be happy about it.” She flashed him a glance, then looked down again. “I should be relieved, but I…I’m jealous, I guess.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t—”

  “No. Don’t apologize. I should be the one doing that. Again,” she finished on a sigh.

  Ian was at a loss for words. When she took a step closer and rested her head on his shoulder, he froze. Seconds later, instinct took over and he slid his arms around her. Her scent—delicate, floral and intoxicating—filled his head as she settled against him. He could feel her breath in warm gusts against his neck. He could feel his own heart galloping. Surely, she must hear it, too.

  Her hands gripped his biceps, her breasts just pressing into his chest. He felt her shiver in his arms as she took a gulped breath. She was crying! He closed his eyes, wishing he knew what to do. Holding her lightly, Ian stroked a hand over her back, much as he had done for her son. He tried to keep his touch comforting, tried not to think about raising her chin and kissing her soft lips. His teeth clamped together with the Herculean effort to leash his desire. When she pulled back moments later and he let his arms fall away, a wave of regret ran through him. She had felt good in his arms, right. “I am sorry,” she said, still not looking at him.

  “For what?”

  She brushed a hand across her eyes again. “For tangling you up in my mess.”

  Ian saw a blush color her cheeks. “I don’t mind. I like Jack.” He winced at his lame comment. Somehow, this woman tied his tongue in knots.

  Mimi sucked in a breath as she took another step away from him. “So. Jack gets to sail with you. That sounds great. He’s obviously excited. And he agreed to go to summer school? That’s amazing. Really. I’ll just—” For a moment, she seemed tongue-tied herself. She flipped a hand down the street toward the Gull. “I’ll see you later.”

  With that, she turned around and walked away. Confused, Ian watched her leave, his eyes lingering on her swaying hips. His mouth grew dry. She had the sweetest bottom he had seen in a long time—maybe his whole life. Her legs, bared in a short skirt, were luscious, and he could imagine th
em wrapped around his waist as he—Suddenly, she turned around and walked back to him. Ian bit the inside of his mouth and braced himself, hands shoved firmly back in his pockets. She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed his cheek. The caress was there and gone before his brain realized it had happened.

  “Thank you for being Jack’s friend.”

  She turned and walked away again. This time she didn’t look back. Ian followed her with his eyes all the way up the street until she disappeared into the Gull. He felt light-headed, sluggish, as if someone had slipped him a drug. Slowly he turned around and with effort propelled himself forward. He was getting in too deep, he told himself, yet he couldn’t convince himself to heed the warning signs. The depths that threatened to drown him looked too inviting.

  Chapter Eight

  Mimi lay back on her bed, one arm over her eyes. Behind her closed lids, visions of Ian tormented her. Why had she cried all over him? And then kissed him? She had been such an idiot. Again. Yet, deep down, she wished she had gone for his lips instead of his cheek. With a groan, she rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in the comforter. She wondered what he thought of her, but she was afraid she knew: she was crazy.

  Sighing, she shifted to prop herself on her forearms, one fingernail picking at the quilting. He had been sweet about it, though, without a hint of arrogance. His gentle hands and strong arms felt good around her. It had been all she could do not to melt into him, to lean against his strength. Mimi glanced at the clock and pushed herself off the bed. She had no time for this useless regret and second-guessing. It had happened; it was time to forget about it.

  Mimi scowled at her reflection for a moment when she stood before the mirror over the bathroom sink, then sighed. Pulling out her makeup, she applied a layer of creamy foundation to her skin. As she worked, the ritual preparation for the stage relaxed her. Thoughts of Ian receded. With a sure hand, she dramatized her eyes with liner and a smoky-gray shadow. Mascara on her lashes intensified the blue irises. A bit of blush and a swath of rose lipstick and her face was ready for the spotlight.

  The dress for tonight’s performance hung over the closet door, pressed and ready. Mimi pulled it over her head and hips. Zipping up the side, she tugged gently to settle the midnight-blue chiffon into place. Fitted from bust to hips, the dress flared into tiers of ruffles that ended above her knees. Short, but not too short, the skirt was flirty and fun. The neckline veed in front and back, edged with a band of silver sequins and beads. Mimi smoothed a hand over the fabric. It shimmered as the thin silver thread in the weave caught the light. Twisting around the see the back, she straightened a ruffle that had flipped up. When she stepped into low black heels, she was ready.

  “How’s it going in here?” Her mother poked her head around the door. “Oh, my. You look lovely, dear.”

  “Thanks. Is it too fancy?” She fluffed out the top layer of ruffles.

  “Oh, no. It’s perfect.” Claire surveyed her from head to foot. “You look like a star.”

  Mimi snorted. “Looks are deceiving.”

  “Well, you have a fan club, anyway. Patrick Berzani and his wife just arrived before I left. He said Anna’s on her way as well as a few other people.”

  Mimi stifled a groan. “Other people” might include Ian. Friends and acquaintances she welcomed, but Ian was a unique case. Under his inscrutable gaze, she might lose some of her buoyant confidence, forget a chord, hit a wrong note, embarrass herself in a million unforeseen ways. “Well, at least I won’t be singing to an empty house.”

  “That’s not a problem, dear. It’s Saturday night in the middle of the summer. The place is packed.”

  “Really?” A wave of anticipation surged through her, bringing a smile to her lips.

  “Your public awaits,” Claire said with a laugh. She hugged Mimi and patted her back. “I can’t wait to hear you sing again.”

  “Showtime, Mom.” Jack had bounded into the room. “Wow! You look pretty.”

  He sounded so surprised, Mimi had to laugh. “Thanks, I think.”

  Claire looked at the clock. “Let’s get going. It’s nearly nine.”

  As they walked downstairs and out the front door, Mimi gave Jack his orders for the evening: “You’re going to have to keep a low profile tonight, kiddo. No sitting at the bar and no wandering around.”

  “I know, I know,” Jack said, rolling his eyes as he skipped along the walkway. “I can’t get Grandpop into trouble.”

  “And you have to be in bed by ten o’clock.”

  “Mo-om.”

  “No, Jacky. That’s too late as it is and I’m only allowing you to stay up because it’s a special occasion.”

  “Don’t worry, dear,” Claire said. “I’ll make sure he gets home and into bed.”

  On the short path between the house and the Laughing Gull, Jack pranced and danced ahead of them, acting as excited as Mimi felt. The night air was warm and humid, slipping like silk over her skin. She could hear the sounds of revelry from the tavern. Her heart started pumping and she felt flushed. Her father was right: singing for an audience was like a drug she needed to survive.

  They entered through the side door. Claire steered Jack away to the kitchen to watch from the serving station. Mimi headed for the “stage” her father had carved out on one side of the room. It wasn’t much, just a stool and a table, but it would do. Her guitar case was propped in the corner, waiting for her. No microphone meant she would have to sing louder, but the venue had the right acoustics for it. Plus, her father had insisted that amplification would only destroy the beauty and purity of her voice.

  As Mimi laid the case on a table, George came over with a glass of water for her. “Knock ’em dead, kid.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” She kissed his cheek as he patted her back and moved away.

  She looked at the stickers on the textured black surface of the case, each one a memory of different places, different bands, musicians, friends, fans and long hours on a bus. She savored them as if seeing them for the first time. Opening the clasps, she raised the lid and touched the guitar strings. It felt as if a heartbeat pulsed through them. She was returning, at least in a small way, to the life she had loved so much.

  The guitar’s polished spruce soundboard shone in the dim light. A filigree of rosewood and pearl circled the hole. Well-worn, the ebony fret board invited her fingers to play. These contours were as familiar as her own body; the sound, an extension of her own voice. The guitar had cost her the earth, but over the years seemed worth every penny, every sacrifice she had made to own it and play it.

  Mimi wrapped her fingers around the neck and removed the instrument from the case. She put the strap over her shoulder. A long sigh rose out of her throat as if she had finally set down some great weight. She turned and sat on the stool, keeping her head bent, eyes closed. Her fingers found the strings and tuning keys automatically. They took their time adjusting each string. She strummed the first chords to a song she had written when she was pregnant with Jack. Through all the years it remained one of her favorites. The words rose to her lips as if they had been locked in her heart all this time. Her performance began; the long months of abstinence disappeared in a second.

  The music got the attention of several patrons nearby. Her voice, starting low and husky, turned more heads as it reached the back of the room. By increments, the bar quieted so that the music rose over the scattered conversations. Mimi kept her eyes closed through the first bars of the song. As the music rose, her eyes opened and she smiled automatically at a man sitting a few feet away. His answering grin encouraged her. She winked and slid her gaze to his companion, who nodded her head in time to the music. They exchanged a friendly glance before Mimi casually caught the eye of other listeners, slowly seducing them with each note.

  When the song was finished, there was applause, but she didn’t stop. She sat up straighter on her stool and segued into a long ballad about life on the road. As she sang, she saw her father tending bar, her mother a
nd Jack standing at the serving station. All sported proud smiles as wide as a sunrise. They had always been her best fans. Warmth swept across Mimi’s face as she absorbed their happiness. She had finally come home.

  “HEY, THE WORKDAY’S OVER. It’s time to play.” Anna stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. “This is play. It’s for my own boat.” Ian barely looked up from the piece of wood he was cutting. “So, go away.”

  He wasn’t surprised when Anna took a few more steps into the shop. The day she listened to her brothers was the day the devil started selling Popsicles.

  “You’ve been working on that boat for years. Aren’t you finished with it yet?”

  “No. It’s a boat, there’s always work to be done.”

  “So, do it tomorrow,” she said, putting her hand on the wood right where Ian was setting the saw.

  “Move your hand before I cut it off.”

  “I’m going down to the Gull. Come with me.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Ian. I’m not matchmaking, I promise.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “I just want to have a last drink with my big brother. Just the two of us?”

  Ian scowled. “When are you leaving, anyway?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  With a sigh of aggravation, he propped both hands on the edge of the workbench and lowered his head. He knew he was being played. Raising his head, he looked over at her. “You remind me a lot of my mother.”

  She stiffened, a flush rising to her cheeks. “There’s no need to get snotty about it,” she said with a snap. “If you’re—”

  Ian grinned at her anger and felt better immediately. “Give me half an hour to take a shower. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Great!” Anna leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek—the second kiss on that cheek for the day. She pulled back, rubbing a hand over her lips. “Better shave, too. That’s some serious bristle there.”

  “It’s supposed to stop women from kissing me,” Ian said dryly.

  “I bet it doesn’t,” his sister replied, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. “You never know, you could meet the woman of your dreams tonight.”