TOO HOT TO HANDLE Page 29

  Colleen shook her head. "But why would anyone ever do such a thing?"

  Becca knew the answer to that. "Because she saw her meal ticket getting away. Unfortunately, stunts like that are typical of my mother."

  "I loved you. In my heart I was engaged to you and only you. When I saw the announcement, I came back to find you gone. I was frantic. Your parents said you'd gone back to Ireland and were married. That you'd married someone they approved of. I didn't marry Bitsy until 1980, and I only did that because—"

  Becca interrupted. "Mother got him drunk, took advantage of him, and got pregnant with Chip and me. Dad did the right thing."

  "There are two of you?"

  He nodded. "Bitsy had the twins. We divorced a few years ago after my son died."

  "Oh, Christopher."

  Somehow, he and Colleen ended up in each other's arms. Becca wasn't sure when that happened, but the two fell into it so naturally, she felt like a voyeur who needed to give them some space. "Dad, I'm going to go and get something I left in the car. I'll be back in a while." Neither heard her. They were so wrapped up in each other. She figured she didn't have much of a chance to get the keys to the car, so she decided to take a walk, and while she did, she'd call Annabelle to find out how miserable she was.

  She pulled her cell out of her purse and speed-dialed Annabelle.

  "It's about time you called. I've been leaving messages for you all day."

  "Honey, your day can't be as eventful as mine. Wait till you hear what happened."

  "Wanna bet? Ben just proposed to me."

  "Proposed what?"

  "Marriage."

  "Okay, you got me beat. You told him no, right?" There was silence on the line. "Annabelle, tell me you said no." Silence again. Shit. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "I didn't say yes … I said I'd think about it."

  "You'd think about it? What are you nuts? You're in love with my brother, you nitwit! What is it with you and getting engaged to men you don't actually want to marry? You don't love Ben. Why in the hell would you even consider marrying a man you don't love—again? Wasn't once enough?"

  "It would only be temporary, and Ben needs me. It's a long story, but he's got less than a year to get married, and well, he wants to marry someone he can trust not to fall in love with him and confuse the situation."

  "The only person confused in this situation is you. If you accept Ben's proposal, Mike is going to freak. He's already on edge. Daddy handed over the trust and the keys to the castle right before he mistakenly called him Chip."

  "Oh God. He didn't."

  "Yes, he did, which is why I'm standing about ten blocks from your place. I drove up with Dad because he was so upset. He came up unannounced to talk to Mike's mom, whom he hasn't seen in thirty-three years."

  "You're kidding."

  "Hell no, I'm not. Let me tell you, there is some strong mojo zinging back and forth between them. I haven't seen chemistry like that since the day I burned magnesium and accidentally set my lab partner on fire. Daddy's still got it. He showed up on her doorstep, and when I left the apartment, neither of them noticed."

  "That's great. I'm so happy for all of you. Maybe things will work out, and you'll be like a richer version of the Brady Bunch or something."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "You and Mike can finally have the family the both of you always wanted. I'm really happy for you."

  "Which is why you sound so miserable."

  "I'm fine … or I will be eventually. At least I was right. The important thing is that you and Mike are happy."

  "We are, huh? Mike is the most miserable happy person I've ever seen, and it had nothing to do with his hangover either. It had everything to do with you. And if you end up getting engaged to Ben, I swear you'll regret it."

  "No matter what happens between Ben and me, you have to know there's no way Mike and I could possibly be together. I mean think about it. Your father and Mike's mother can pick up where they left off. I know Colleen loved him. Things can work out."

  Just not for Annabelle. No matter how she professed being stronger and making her own decisions, the scared little girl was still inside afraid she wasn't worth fighting for. If Chip weren't already dead, Becca swore she'd kill him for hurting Annabelle the way he had.

  The gods were against Mike today. He hadn't had one call. There was no full moon, no holiday weekend, and no flu epidemic to give him what he needed—a night of solid, nonstop work. Instead, he was left with no valid excuse not to go to his mother's for dinner. He had no valid excuse to avoid telling her what happened just before he planned to propose to the woman he loved. He had no valid excuse not to tell his mother the woman he loved was in love with a brother he never knew he had, much less lost. Unfortunately, telling her those difficult things were going to be a whole lot easier than telling her he'd met his father and his sister.

  The only thing he wanted to do involved a large bottle of Jack Daniel's and a glass, although it didn't seem to help the night before. If he weren't on call, he'd be willing to give drowning his sorrows another try. Unfortunately, the Irish in him gave him a huge tolerance for alcohol, not that he tested it often, and the fact remained he was on call.

  Mike hooked his pager and his cell onto his belt and took off for his mother's. She expected him for dinner, and she'd promised to make his favorite—pot roast—not that he had much of an appetite. Dealing with what he'd experienced today while hungover was a real test of his fortitude, and it would get worse before it got better.

  The whole way to his mother's apartment, every person he saw seemed part of a couple. His friends had even paired off, leaving him the odd man out. The story of his life. Just when he thought he'd had it made, his life fell to shit. Worse than that, he had no clue how to get past it, or how long it would take to recover. He only knew that living like this sucked, and there was no end in sight.

  Mike let himself in, tossed his messenger bag on the hall table, and heard voices. Maybe she had the news on. "Mum, I'm home."

  The voices stopped and his spidey sense went on alert. Turning the corner, his worst fear was realized. His mother and Larsen were on the couch, and Becca was curled up in his favorite chair.

  "What the hell are they doing here?"

  The look on Mum's face made him back up a step. She stood, smoothed her skirt, and walked toward him. "Michael Christopher Flynn. I'll thank you not to use profanity in my home. Is that any way to treat our guests?"

  Larsen stood and moved toward her. "It's all right, Colleen. Mike's had a rough time of it, and I'm afraid I haven't helped matters."

  "Damn straight you haven't helped matters. Now answer the question."

  "I was worried about you." Larsen gestured toward Becca, who hadn't moved. "We both were. We came to make sure you were all right. I see you are, and in no mood to deal with us, so we'll go now and let you have your dinner. I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I hope you'll consider the offer … both offers." He turned to Colleen. "Becca and I will get a couple of rooms for the night. You have my cell, if there's anything you need. You can reach me anytime."

  What the fuck was going on here?

  Colleen nodded and walked Larsen to the door. Becca took her time getting out of Mike's chair and smirked at him as she passed. "Good going, Ace. Way to clear a room."

  At the door, Colleen spoke so softly to Larsen that with the blood rushing through Mike's ears he couldn't hear what she said. Whatever it was brought a smile to Larsen's face and his hand to her shoulder. Colleen leaned forward, kissed Larsen's cheek, and wiped away the lipstick. Jealousy shot through Mike, surprising him more than Larsen's and Becca's appearance had.

  Colleen hugged Becca before she turned to Larsen and smiled. It wasn't a polite smile. He'd seen her smile to acquaintances before. Mike had never seen this smile—a smile he wished like hell she hadn't aimed at anyone. Especially not Larsen. Fuck.

  Mike squeezed his eyes shut and waited until he heard the fam
iliar sound of the locks being engaged. He was going to have hell to pay, but his only consolation was that he no longer had to tell his mother what happened, well, at least not everything that happened. It was obvious she'd already heard about the disaster that took place in Pennsylvania.

  Mike's mother walked right past him to the kitchen. Not knowing what else to do, he followed.

  "You best set the table while I finish getting dinner ready."

  Nodding, he took a couple of plates, silverware, and glasses out of the cupboard before retreating to the dining room.

  Okay, so he was a coward. He'd never walked into his mother's house and not received a kiss. He'd never seen her kiss another man. He'd never seen her wipe lipstick off anyone else's cheek. And he'd never once been unsure of her reaction to anything. When he was a kid and got into trouble, he knew exactly what to expect. He'd have more chores, no television, and no social life for the foreseeable future. But he was no longer a kid, and he'd never before seen such disappointment on his mother's face.

  She brought the roast surrounded by vegetables and the bread to the table, poured herself a glass of wine, and passed the bottle to Mike before she sat and pulled her napkin over her lap.

  He went to the kitchen and filled his glass with water. He was on call, and for once, he wished for an urgent page. He really didn't want to deal with anything more right now, not even his mother.

  "You might as well come out with it." She sliced the bread. "Do you want the heel?"

  He sat and took a drink of his water. "No thanks."

  "No thanks, you don't want the heel, or no thanks, you don't want to talk about it?"

  Both, but he couldn't say that. "I don't want the heel."

  "Then you do want to tell me what happened between you and your Annabelle?"

  "She's not my Annabelle, she's not my anything … she never was."

  "Oh saints preserve us, you've gone and had your ego dented."

  "Mum, she was in love with Chip, not me. I found a painting of my brother she'd painted four years ago. He looked just like me … well, except for the eyes, the lips, and a few other things, but basically, we could have been twins."

  "Yes, but she fell in love with you. I know what love looks like. I also know what pain looks like. I saw both in Annabelle. I told her who your father was. I saw the shock. She had no idea."

  "Okay, maybe she didn't know for sure, but she suspected. She never said anything. She'd never have gone out with me if I hadn't looked like Chip."

  "That's nonsense. If two people are meant to be, then fate will push them together. If you hadn't met at the wedding, you would have met some other time."

  "And she would have thought I was a ghost then, too."

  "Did you propose to the girl?"

  "No. Thank God."

  "I see no reason to thank God for that. You'd planned to propose."

  "I did. But then I saw the painting—"

  "And got mad you weren't the first man in her life?"

  "No."

  "Oh, I see what it is, she could have had other men in her life, but they had to be someone you didn't know or was in no way related to you. Then it's okay."

  "Well … yeah. I mean, she doesn't love me. She loves him. It's obvious."

  "Is it now? Did she talk about him?"

  "No. She only talked about him when she was drugged. She never meant to. She kept him from me."

  "She didn't tell you about him?"

  "Yeah, she did, but she never said we looked exactly alike."

  "So the problem was she didn't say you look like her old boyfriend. Did you tell her she wasn't the only brunette you dated?"

  "No, but it's not the same."

  "No, it's not. But it's not unforgivable. She didn't cheat on you. She didn't lie to you. All she did was fall in love with two men who happened to be related. It wasn't as if she'd planned it."

  "Larsen thinks she did."

  "Christopher is not the subject here. We've all made mistakes in our lifetimes. My mistake was not giving Christopher a chance to explain himself. Unfortunately, that mistake cost your father and me thirty-three years of unhappiness. Learn from my mistake, Michael. Don't repeat it."

  "Mum, this thing with Larsen—"

  "Is not up for discussion. You need time to process the changes in your life, as do I. But the one thing that has nothing to do with Larsen, your brother, your sister, or even me, is your love for Annabelle. Don't be foolish and throw something that precious away. You might spend a lifetime looking and never find it again."

  His mother took her fork and knife and tossed them on her plate along with her untouched dinner. She stood and reached over to take Mike's plate.

  "Hey, I'm not done. I haven't even eaten yet."

  She took the plate right out from in front of him. "That's okay, you weren't hungry anyway. You have a lot to think about and a lot to do. You can't be doing that here. Go home now, Michael."

  He followed his mother to the door.

  She handed him his messenger bag. "You go on and think about what I said and the reasons you're so angry with Annabelle, and see if they still hold water when you think about them logically. Good luck, honey." She kissed his cheek and wiped away the imaginary lipstick. "I'll talk to you in a few days."

  She gave him a shove, and Mike found himself standing in the hall with the door closed firmly behind him.

  When Annabelle got home, she wasn't surprised to see Becca and Dave snuggled up on the couch together. "I assume you're staying over?"

  Becca muted the TV and stretched. "Yeah, Dad was going to put me up at a hotel with him, but I told him I'd rather stay with you. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if he and Colleen end up sneaking around together, and I so don't want to see that."

  "You're kidding. Colleen doesn't seem the type."

  "You didn't see the look in her eyes when they said good-bye or the way he acted and looked when he was with her. The two of them never got over each other—that much was obvious. All this time Daddy was a normal guy, he just hid it well. Really, really well."

  Annabelle had a hard time seeing Christopher Larsen as anything other than an uptight snob, and well, a total unfeeling prick too. "So you think he acted like he has because he was miserable with an unhappy marriage and a broken heart? What? He liked to spread the pain around?"

  Becca pushed Dave off her lap, followed Annabelle into her room, and plopped on the unmade bed while Annabelle changed out of her work clothes. "No, I think he acted like a prick so my mother would leave him alone. If he did anything to go against her, she made his life more miserable than it already was. He didn't stand up to her until he found out he and Colleen were Mother's first victims. Then he raised hell. I guess he went along to get along, not that it makes it right or anything, but having been on the receiving end of my mother's rage, I can almost understand it."

  Annabelle hung the light jacket to her suit in the closet and turned around for Becca to help her with the zipper. Annabelle would rather die than admit she understood it, too. Chip and Becca's mother was scary as hell. "So, has Colleen heard about… Well, you know, has she seen Mike?"

  Becca got up and unzipped Annabelle's dress. "He showed up for dinner and was less than happy to find me and Daddy there. He looks like hell. Between you and my dad, you really did a job on him."

  She stepped out of the dress and tossed it on the treadmill. "I never meant for him to find out the way he did. I was going to tell him."

  Becca lay back and pulled a pillow under her as she rolled over like Mike always did. How weird was that?

  "Yeah, and you were going to dump him. Either way, Mike was going to get hurt."

  Annabelle threw up her arms. "It's not as if he's the only one hurt here. You didn't see the look on his face. He hates me." She walked around the bed, pulled a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt from her dresser, and put them on.

  "He can't hate you. He loves you."

  Annabelle stuck her head through the T-shirt
just before she lost the war with her tears. What was it with her? Every since she cried on Wayne's shoulder, she'd been a freaking watering pot. "You didn't see him. He said I was just like the rest."

  "I know he did. But can't you see that was a knee-jerk reaction? You need to get over this whole thing with Dad. Dad might see you in a different light, and even if he doesn't, the hell with him. Mike loves you. You're worth more to him than any trust fund."

  Annabelle rummaged through her drawers looking for a clean pair of athletic socks. "Easy for you to say, you've never lived like Mike and his mom did. They struggled. Heck, Mike's still struggling to pay his student loans. It wasn't as if he had Daddy Warbucks paying for college and medical school." She sat on the bed with her back to Becca and pulled on the last pair of clean socks she could find.

  "Yeah, well, he's not going to be struggling much longer. He has it all. The estate, the trust fund, everything but you. He'd give it all up in a heartbeat if he knew that was the only thing standing between the two of you."

  Annabelle dropped to her knees and searched for the running shoes she hadn't seen in ages. "It's not the money, and you know it."

  "Yeah, the money is easy to deal with, so is my father. The biggest obstacle Mike has to face is you and your insecurity. He knows you're worth it. I know you're worth it. You're the only person who doesn't."

  Annabelle reached all the way under the bed and grabbed her running shoes, coughed up the dust that followed them out, and shoved her feet in. She looked up at Becca as she tied the laces. "You have no idea what you're talking about." She rose and grabbed her ankle to stretch her quads. "Now leave me alone. I'm going for a run. I can't take any more of your loving support."

  "Are you supposed to be running so soon?"

  Ignoring Becca as she warmed up on the front stoop, she wished there was somewhere to run so she wouldn't have to spend the rest of the night listening to Becca's psychobabble. It was going to get worse. Becca hadn't even started in on Ben's marriage proposal.

  After a good long run, ignoring the increasing pain in her ankle, Annabelle finally limped back home. When she entered the apartment, Becca wasn't alone. Rosalie was waiting, too. Annabelle wasn't looking forward to dealing with her perfect sister.