“Oh. My. God.” A moment or two passed before Gina continued. “What did you do? What did he say? Where the hell has he been? Why didn’t he write to you? Bastard.”
A short laugh shot from Rita’s throat. She heard the outrage in her sister’s voice and was grateful for it. How did anyone survive without a sister?
“I nearly shrieked when I saw him,” Rita confessed. “Then I hugged him, damn it.”
“Of course you hugged him,” Gina soothed. “Then did you kick him?”
She laughed again. “No, but I wish I’d thought of it at the time.”
“Well, if you need me, Jimmy can watch the kids for a few days. I’ll fly out there and kick him for you.”
Rita sighed and smiled all at once. “I can always count on you, Gina.”
“Of course you can. So where’s he been?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t he write?”
Rita frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Well, what did he say?”
Rita picked up her cup of herbal tea and took a sip. “He only wanted to talk about the baby.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Exactly.” Sighing more heavily now, Rita set the cup down on the coffee table again. “He was...surprised to find out I was pregnant and he didn’t look happy about it.”
“We don’t need him to be happy. But why wouldn’t he be? Who doesn’t like babies? Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
While she waited, Rita’s head dropped back against the couch. Her apartment wasn’t tiny, it was cozy, she thought in defense as her gaze swept over the space. A small living room, an efficiency kitchen, one bedroom and a bathroom that, she had to admit, was so small she regularly smacked her elbows against the shower door. But the apartment walls were a soft, cheerful green and were dotted by framed photos of the beach, the mountains and her family.
“There,” Gina said when she was back. “I took the baby to Jimmy. I have to pace when I’m mad.”
Rita laughed. “Gina, I’m okay, really. I just needed to talk to you.”
“Of course you did, but we’re Italian and I need my hands to talk as much as I need to move around. Besides, I just finished feeding Kira. Jimmy can take her for a while.”
Her sister had four gorgeous kids, the youngest only eight months old and a husband who adored her. A small pang of envy echoed in Rita’s heart. Then to ease the hurt, she rubbed the mound of her baby with slow, loving strokes, and reminded herself that she had a child, too. That she wasn’t alone. That it didn’t matter that Jack had walked away from her only to suddenly crash back into her life.
“So,” Gina said a moment later, “what’re you going to do about this? How are you feeling?”
“I’m not sure, to both questions.” Pushing up off the couch, Rita walked to the window overlooking Main Street and smiled, thinking Gina was right. Italians thought better when they could move around. Looking down on the street, she enjoyed the view that was so similar to the one she grew up with. Historic 25th Street in Ogden also had the old-fashioned, old-world feel to the buildings, the lampposts and the bright, jewel-toned flowers spilling out of baskets.
But as pretty as it was, it wasn’t home. Not really. She was alone in the dark but for a slender thread of connection to her big sister.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, “because I don’t know what he’s planning.”
“Whatever it is, you can handle it.” And, as if Gina had read her mind, she added, “You’re not alone, Rita.”
Her mouth curved slightly. “Not how it feels.”
“You still love him, don’t you?”
Rita laid her hand on the glass, letting the cold seep into her skin, chilling the rush of heat Gina’s question had awakened.
“Why would I be foolish enough for that?” she whispered.
“What’s going on with you?”
Jack looked up. His father walked into the office that, up until four months ago, had been his. Thomas Buchanan was a tall man, with salt-and-pepper hair, sharp blue eyes and a still-trim physique. Though he’d abdicated the day-to-day running of the company to his oldest son, Thomas maintained his seat on the board and liked to keep abreast of whatever was happening. That included keeping tabs on his son.
“Nothing,” Jack answered, lowering his gaze to the sheaf of papers on the desktop. “Why?”
“Well,” Thomas said, strolling around the room, “you nearly bit Sean’s head off when he couldn’t get the shipping schedule up on the plasma fast enough.”
“It’s his job,” Jack said, being perfectly reasonable. “He should be able to accomplish it when asked.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jack knew that tone. He glanced at his father, saw the wary curiosity-filled expression and looked away again. He wasn’t in the mood for a chat and couldn’t satisfy his father’s curiosity. He knew that ever since he’d returned to civilian life, his family had been worried about him and no one more than his father. There didn’t seem to be anything Jack could do about it, though. He didn’t need therapy or sympathy and didn’t want to talk about what he’d seen—what he wanted to do was forget about it and pick up his life where he’d left off. So far of course, that wasn’t happening.
Rather than try to explain all of that to his dad, Jack chose to ignore the man’s questions, even though he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. The worry would remain, along with the questions, whether spoken or not. After a few seconds of silence from him, though, Thomas seemed to understand that it was a subject Jack wasn’t going to address.
“Still don’t understand why you changed the office furniture around,” his father said, surprising Jack with the sudden shift of topic. “My father’s the one who put that desk in front of the windows. I don’t think it’s been moved since then. Until now.”
Jack squirmed slightly in his oversize black leather chair. He’d made a few changes since he’d stepped into his father’s shoes. The main one being that he had moved the old mahogany desk across the room so that he could have his back to a wall and not be outlined in a window.
Yes, he knew it was foolish without anyone pointing it out to him. He didn’t have to worry about snipers here, but it was hard to shake ingrained habits that had kept him alive.
“I like it where it is,” Jack said simply.
“Yeah.” His father gave a resigned sigh, then admitted, “I wish you could talk to me.”
His father’s voice was so quiet, so wistful, Jack’s attention was caught. He looked up and found his dad watching him through concerned eyes.
He didn’t enjoy knowing that his family was worried about him. In fact, it only added to the guilt and the pain that were crouched on his shoulders every day. But he couldn’t ease for them what he couldn’t ease for himself.
“We do talk,” Jack said.
“Not about anything important,” his father answered. “Not since you got back. It’s like you’re still too far away to reach.”
“I’m right here, Dad,” he said, trying