Finding You Read online

  A whisper of pain, of tender sympathy, gushed from her, but he kept talking, wanting to get it all said.

  “She was screaming when I got to the scene. Diane died instantly, but Reese was screaming.” He shoved his free hand through his hair, then wiped his palm across his face. “I can still hear her,” he murmured. “I close my eyes and I can still hear her.”

  “Jackson—”

  He shook his head and watched as the roller coaster came to a jerky stop right in front of them. Reese, sitting in the third seat, beamed at him, her face filled with childish excitement and the kind of joy he’d almost given up on seeing ever again. As the carnival worker went along the coaster, unfastening the safety straps, Jackson finished his story, never taking his eyes off Reese.

  “When the firemen finally pulled her out of the car and I could reach her…” He swallowed hard. “She looked at me through big, teary eyes and the screams stopped. I haven’t heard a sound from her since—not until the day at your house, when she laughed.” He turned then to look at Carla, and the tears in her eyes seemed to overflow into his heart, his soul. “You reached her, Carla. When no one and nothing else had, you reached her.”

  “It wasn’t me,” she said, blinking back the tears and holding tightly to his hand. “It was the puppies.”

  “And you.” He glanced down at their joined hands and smiled as Reese ran up to them and laid both of her hands atop theirs. “You touched us both, Carla. And damned if I know what to do about it.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  AT DUSK, THE DANCING started.

  One section of the grassy field was staked out and claimed as a makeshift dance floor. Strings of tiny white lights reached out from the nearby trees and crisscrossed the area, shining like lines of low-hanging stars. Someone had hooked a stereo system up to the speakers and a wildly diverse selection of rock and roll, Frank Sinatra, and country music poured out over the crowd.

  And as Ol’ Blue Eyes sang about doing it “his way,” Tony and Beth whirled through the ankle-high grass, eyes only for each other. Nick stood to one side, beer in hand, watching all of the couples. Paul did a slow waltz with baby Tina cradled in his arms and Jackson swayed in time to the music, with Reese standing on the tops of his feet and grinning up at him.

  A sunset that looked as if it had been painted especially for the occasion hung out over the ocean, turning the water into a shimmering surface of gold and crimson. A soft wind rippled through the crowd, and as the first stars peeked through the black velvet sky Carla draped an arm around Stevie’s shoulders and watched the party.

  “What a great day, huh?” she asked.

  “Terrific,” her friend agreed. “Did you hear? Rachel’s Fiesta Platter Surprise caused a minor outbreak.”

  “Of what?”

  “Food poisoning.”

  “Serious?”

  “Nobody died,” Stevie assured her. “But by now they’re probably wishing they had.”

  “Good God. Wonder what the ‘surprise’ in Fiesta Surprise was?”

  “As far as I’m concerned,” Stevie said, “the surprise is that anyone’ll eat anything that woman cooks.”

  “They don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  “So instead they end up worshipping at the porcelain altar.”

  Carla’s mouth twitched, and when she looked at Stevie, they both gave in to the laughter nearly choking them.

  “Ah,” Carla mused, “life in Chandler. Always interesting.”

  “Some times more than others.”

  “Huh?”

  “You should be out there dancing,” Stevie told her.

  “I don’t see you out there.”

  “Strictly supervisory position this year, thanks.”

  Frowning, Carla studied her friend for a long minute. “You’re not still hung up on—” She jerked her head in her jerk of a brother Nick’s direction.

  “Nope,” Stevie assured her. “But my body…” she sighed. “Remembers. Though it’s been two years and the memory’s vague.”

  “Oh, crap.” Carla hated thinking of her best friend still hurting over Nick’s betrayal.

  “Hey, chill out.” The blonde smiled and shook her head. “I’m over it. Probably all I need is another man. Quick.” Cocking her head, she asked, “Wanna lend me yours?”

  “He’s not mine,” Carla said. “And no.”

  Stevie’s gaze shifted to the dance area and locked onto Jackson, smiling down at his daughter. She’d finally had a chance to spend some time with the man who was so occupying her best friend’s thoughts and feelings lately. And she liked him. Which was both good and bad, Stevie figured. Good because Carla surely deserved a break. Bad because Jackson Wyatt was going to be leaving real damn soon. Still, the summer was young yet, and there was a lot to be said for taking advantage of the here and now.

  “He’s a good one, Carla.”

  “Yeah, I think so.” Hell, Carla knew so. She’d spent too much time with him in the last few weeks not to have noticed. His tenderness with his daughter. His desperation to reach the child before he lost her forever. He was giving his all to that little girl and it touched Carla deeply to be a witness to it. But it was so much more than that, she thought. It was little things. Like the way his cold, standoffish facade had melted during the time he’d been in Chandler. How he smiled when he saw her. And the way his slightest touch made her tremble.

  Okay, that last one wasn’t a “little” thing. It was pretty damn big. And getting bigger all the time. She seemed to be in a constant state of arousal these days. Lately she’d watched more late-night TV than she had in years. Even her nightmares hadn’t chased her from sleep as often as thoughts of Jackson did.

  “Then why,” Stevie said, “don’t you get out there and—oops. Never mind.”

  “What?” Carla asked, coming up out of her thoughts like a swimmer breaching the surface of the ocean after a particularly long dive.

  “Listen,” her friend said.

  She did. The music had changed; the slow, smooth strains of Frank Sinatra gave way to a pulsing beat and a deep, throbbing voice.

  A slow smile curved Carla’s lips even as she shook her head and started backing up. “Oh, man.…”

  Stevie laughed and grabbed Carla’s arm, holding her in place. “It’s no use,” she said. “Here they come.”

  Sure enough, Tony, Paul, and Nick were heading right for her, silly grins on their faces.

  “Let’s go, little sis,” Tony said, taking one of her hands in his.

  “Tradition,” Paul said simply, snatching her other hand.

  “We’re bigger than you,” Nick warned, and stepped behind her to give her a push.

  “Help?” Carla said, looking back at Stevie.

  “You don’t want help and you know it,” her friend said on a laugh, moving closer to the dance floor for a good view.

  No, Carla thought, she didn’t want help. And she only pretended to protest. The real truth was, she’d be devastated if this particular tradition ever ended.

  Van Morrison’s song, “Brown-Eyed Girl,” blasted across the crowd as the Candellanos moved to the center of the grass. Tony, being the oldest, claimed the first part of the dance and swept his younger sister into a fast-paced whirl. He was stalwart, brave, and proud. The strong one. The one everyone depended on. And she loved him fiercely.

  She laughed up into his eyes and remembered every other year when her brothers had claimed this dance with her. From the time she was a kid and thought her three brothers were the most fabulous people on earth, this song had been hers.

  The Candellanos’ own “brown-eyed girl.”

  And every time she heard it played on the radio, it brought back wonderful memories and a sense of warmth that had seen her through some very dark times.

  Tony grinned and handed her off to Nick with a flourish. Nick led her in a half-assed jitterbug that had her laughing so hard she could hardly keep up. Again and again, he spun her around the grass, singing in a slight
ly slurred, very off-key voice that still touched her heart. Nick, the show-off. Nick, the supremely confident one, the one who made them laugh and kept them guessing. And even when she wanted to drop-kick him, she loved him so much it hurt.

  Then it was Paul’s turn and Carla’s heart squeezed painfully. Paul was so reserved, so quiet, so the opposite of every other Candellano, that when he really smiled, as he was doing now, it took her breath away. The tender one. The brother who protected his heart as carefully as he did his computer calculations. And though all three of her brothers held a piece of her heart, Carla sometimes thought she loved Paul best of all.

  For the last chorus of the song, the four of them draped their arms around one another and moved in a wild, fast circle—as if they were at a Greek wedding. Linked, joined by blood and love and memory, the Candellanos formed a tight bond that locked enemies out and drew those they loved even closer.

  * * *

  “They’re really something, aren’t they?” Stevie asked, loud enough to be heard over the music, as Jackson came up to stand beside her.

  “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like them.” He turned back for another quick check on his daughter and wasn’t at all surprised to see her sitting on Mama Candellano’s lap again. Reese seemed to have claimed the older woman for her own, and Jackson couldn’t really blame her. To be offered nothing but warmth and acceptance and love? What kid wouldn’t respond? Let alone one with a wounded heart like Reese’s.

  “Not surprising,” Stevie was saying. “The Candellanos are one of a kind.”

  “All of them?” he asked, swinging back around to watch as Carla and her brothers danced, laughing, together.

  “Every last one,” Stevie said.

  Jackson tore his gaze from Carla in time to see a brief flash of pain dart across the surface of Stevie’s eyes, and he knew there was a story there, somewhere. Instantly he shifted his attention back to Carla. He had the distinct impression Stevie wouldn’t appreciate him noticing her pain.

  Funny, there were dozens of people dancing beneath the strings of tiny lights, but he saw only Carla. Her body swayed in time to the music. She tossed her head and her dark curls flew about her laughing face in wild abandon. Her long, bare legs flashed honey brown and his gaze locked briefly on that damn silver toe ring, winking in the lights. Everything about her was so alive. So vital. So … immediate. And he wished for nothing more than to be out there himself, dancing with her in the soft light. He could almost feel her in the circle of his arms, and knew that their bodies would meld together perfectly. He wanted to hold her, caress her, feel her heart beating against his. He wanted to whirl around beneath the stars and lose himself in the shine of her eyes.

  God, he wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life.

  The last pulsing beats of the song were fading when the blonde beside him reached out and tugged at the sleeve of his shirt to get his attention.

  “What?” he asked sharply, reluctantly turning his head to look at her.

  “Color me curious,” she said, glancing to one side, to make sure Carla was still out of earshot, “but I want to know what you’re up to.”

  “Up to?”

  “With Carla.”

  His back teeth ground together. Christ. What was this? Another inquisition? More veiled threats? Carla’s brothers had been hinting at dismemberment all afternoon—now he had to take it from Stevie? “Watching her dance, mainly,” he managed to grind out.

  “Cute,” she said. “But not the answer I was looking for.”

  “It’s the only one you’re gonna get.”

  “Is that right?” Stevie cocked her head and looked up at him. “Look, H and T,” she said, and Jackson frowned. What the hell did that mean? “She might look to you like a great way to kill a summer, but there’s more to Carla than that.”

  That was the problem, wasn’t it? She was way more than a summer fling. Too much more, for a man who carried around enough baggage to fill a cargo ship. Hell, if she were easy, he’d have been able to scratch his itch a long time ago.

  “Trust me, I’ve noticed.”

  She laughed, loud and long. “Oh, honey, I don’t trust you. That’s why we’re talking.”

  He lifted one eyebrow in a manner that he knew damn well usually served to terrify clients and opponents alike. Stevie wasn’t impressed. And he wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  “And before you say it,” she went on, “I know this is none of my business. Hell, Carla’d kill me herself if she could hear me. But I’m going to say this anyway.”

  He flicked a glance at the dance area and noted that the Candellanos had stopped dancing and were headed his way. “Then you’d better say it fast.”

  She looked, too, then turned to meet his gaze again. When she spoke, the words came fast and furious, tumbling over each other in her haste to get them said. “Fine. Carla’s had a rough couple of years. Maybe she’s told you and maybe not. Also not my business. And I don’t know what’s between you two—but I’m telling you here and now. You deliberately hurt her … leave her heart all cut and bleeding … and I will personally scoop your heart right out of your chest—with a garden rake.”

  “Jesus!” Jackson winced at the imagery. And staring into her pale blue eyes didn’t make him feel any better. She looked about as friendly as a mother grizzly bear about to defend her cubs from intruders. This was one dangerous blonde. But he respected her for trying to protect Carla. Hell, wasn’t that exactly what he’d been trying to do, by keeping his distance?

  “Well, good,” Stevie said, smiling. “I believe we’re clear.”

  And terrified, he thought, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” he said, and knew that much, at least, to be the truth.

  “You know what?” she said, studying his eyes as carefully as if reading the fine print on a contract. “I think I believe you.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Hey,” she said, giving his shoulder a friendly slap, “don’t bother to thank me. I do what I can.”

  “What you can do about what?” Carla asked as she walked up to join them.

  Her brothers, Jackson noted, had split off from her, Tony going back to his wife, Paul, reaching for his Palm Pilot, to sit beneath a tree, and Nick to fetch yet another beer. Briefly Jackson wondered what had spurred the other man’s drinking binge today, but in the next instant he returned his focus to Carla.

  “Oh,” Stevie said, “I decided to let Jackson dance with you.”

  Carla laughed, but he saw the quick, uncertain glance she shot him. “Decent of you.”

  “I’m a swell person.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Well,” Stevie announced a bit too loudly, “you kiddies get on with it. I’m heading over to Mama for another bite of that strawberry cake of hers.” But before she left, she gave Jackson a long, steady look and muttered, “See you around, H and T.”

  He felt immensely safer the minute she left. Any woman who could come up with such inventive threats was not a woman to cross.

  “Getting to know Stevie, huh?”

  Jackson turned back around to look into Carla’s beautiful dark brown eyes. “A little too well, I think,” he said, then dismissed thoughts of the blond entirely. “She did have one good idea, though.”

  “Yeah?” she asked, tipping her head to one side and smiling up at him. “And what’s that?”

  In the soft glow of the overhead lights, her eyes looked deeper, darker, than ever before. Her skin warm and golden, her hair seemed as thick and smooth as heavy silk and he wanted—no—needed to touch her.

  Now.

  He held his hand out to her. Jackson said, “Dance with me.”

  “Oh,” she said, shaking her head, “you don’t have to—”

  “Dance with me, Carla.”

  Her gaze locked with his and Jackson could have sworn he was falling into the warm depths of her eyes. And damned if he wasn’t en
joying the plunge. When she laid her hand in his, he closed his fingers over hers, wanting to feel her skin against his. He smoothed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles and delighted in the shiver of appreciation he saw tremble through her.

  Keeping a tight hold on her hand, he led her into the center of the grassy field. Around them, couples, young and old, moved in tandem to Faith Hill’s throaty, sexy voice reminding them to “Breathe.” The music swelled as he drew Carla tightly against him and slid one arm around her waist. She pressed close, laid her left hand high on his shoulder, and swayed in time to the music, moving her hips in a way that made him want to grab her and make a run to the closest bed.

  Get a grip.

  Carla’s blood pumped furiously and she was pretty sure her knees were turning to water, but she held on anyway and enjoyed the ride. God, it felt good, just being here, this close, feeling his body pressed along the length of hers. Who knew dancing could feel so sexy? His thighs brushed hers; the button snap on his jeans dug into the soft skin of her belly, where her tank top pulled up. His hand dropped from her waist to just above her butt, and she held her breath, hoping he’d explore a little farther south. But even as that hope presented itself, she knew it was futile. They were in the middle of a dance, surrounded by the citizens of Chandler. No way was he going to grope her—heck. Her mother and his daughter were just a few feet away.

  Okay, that was as good as a bucket of ice water dumped on her head. She pulled back a bit and tried for some conversation. Anything to keep her mind too busy to think about what she really wanted to think about.

  “So did you enjoy the Fourth?”

  “Yeah,” he said, making a tight turn so that he could watch her hair fly off her neck. “I really did.”

  Safe territory. Go for it. “It’s my favorite holiday.”

  He looked surprised. “Better than Christmas?”

  “Uh-huh. The Fourth is easy. It’s fun and relaxed and warm and, big plus here, fireworks. I’m a fireworks freak. Christmas is nice, but it’s crazed, too.” She shook her hair back out of her face and saw his eyes darken. A quick flash of something warm and liquid shot through her and Carla had to swallow hard before talking again. “Um, you know … everyone running around. Buying presents. Worrying about what to buy. And in my family, there’s a lot of buying.” She smiled, despite the warmth still trickling through her bloodstream. “Christmas Eve dinner’s the tradition with us, and it’s a nuthouse.”