Dad In Blue

“Just how did you come by this talent of yours?” she asked, her voice a near whisper.

It took him a beat to realize what she was talking about. “Let’s just say I’ve nursed a fever or two in my time. You’ve got a doozy. While it won’t kill you, it will sap your strength. What you need is plenty of fluids and rest.”

“Yes, doctor.”

He had to smile. Samantha Underwood was a nurse. She didn’t need him telling her how to treat her illness. Still…

“Is there anyone I can call to come in and stay with you? A friend? Neighbor?”

“I’m not an invalid,” she protested. She tried to rise up on her elbows and fell back against the sofa. “I’ve been taking care of myself for quite some time now. I think I can manage for a while longer.”

How did she expect to take care of herself, let alone an eight-year-old boy, when she could barely lift her head off the pillow? Carlo knew better, however, than to give voice to the question. Pointing out the obvious would only make her even more defensive.

“What about your mother? Maybe she could come over and keep Jeffrey occupied, so you can get the rest you need.”

Samantha closed her eyes and turned her face toward the wall. “Mom’s away on a cruise. Besides, you’re taking Jeffrey out for the afternoon. That’ll give me all the rest I need.”

Considering the thinness of her body and the circles under her eyes, Carlo doubted it. Samantha was in need of a lot more than a few hours sleep.

If he couldn’t talk her into getting help, at least he could do everything in his power to assure the outcome she seemed so certain of. For Jeffrey’s sake, of course. Turning on his heel, he headed for the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“To get you some water,” he called over his shoulder.

The countertop that had been covered with freshly baked cookies a week ago was a mess. An open loaf of bread teetered on the edge of the white Formica surface; two slices had already fallen to the floor. Beside the bread lay a knife that was smeared liberally with peanut butter and grape jelly. Equally smeared were the countertop itself and the two open containers from which both substances originated. An empty glass sat in a puddle of milk. Obviously, Jeffrey had fixed his own lunch.

Under normal circumstances, Carlo would never consider rummaging around in a stranger’s cupboards. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and he didn’t have the heart to disturb Samantha to ask where she kept things. He’d just have to rely on his intuition to lead him to the items he needed. After all, he’d once been able to find a cache of stolen jewels in under one minute by letting his intuition lead him to the most likely hiding spot. How hard would it be to find things that were meant to be found?

After cleaning up the mess Jeffrey left, it took him less than thirty seconds to find a tall glass, a tray and a pitcher, which he filled with ice and water. When he spied the bottle of aspirin on the counter, he called, “Have you taken anything for the fever?”

“Not yet,” came the weak reply.

He’d placed the aspirin bottle on the tray and was about to return to the den, when his glance landed on the telephone. His brother Marco was a doctor. While he had the opportunity, he might as well get the opinion of a professional.

Carlo felt a lot better after speaking to Marco. So long as Samantha got plenty of fluids and rest, so long as her fever didn’t rise to a dangerous level, and so long as she didn’t exhibit any worrisome signs like convulsions, she should be okay.

“Hold out your hand,” he ordered after placing the tray on the coffee table. When she complied, he shook two aspirin into her palm, then helped her to a sitting position before pouring a glass of water and handing it to her. “Drink.”

He waited until she drained the glass to say, “You should be all set here. There’s plenty of water for you whenever you’re thirsty. There are also some crackers, in case you feel like nibbling on anything. Can I find you something to watch on television? Bring you the remote control? A book?”

“No, thanks. I think I’ll take a nap after you and Jeffrey leave.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me. And don’t worry about Jeffrey. He and I will be just fine. I thought, since it was such a nice day, we’d rake some leaves and jump in them.”

“I love jumping in leaves,” Samantha said wistfully.

“Unfortunately for you, the only jumping you’ll be doing today will be in your dreams.”

“In that case, will you take a flying leap for me?”

He laughed. It was a good sign that she was still able to joke with him. Yes, he decided, there was definitely a mischievous light gleaming in those big, brown eyes of hers. Maybe she was getting better.

“You’re teasing me again, right?” he asked.

“You catch on fast.”

“I try.”

“You should do that more often,” she said.

“Catch on to things?”

“Laugh. It makes you look more human.”

It came to him then that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed out loud. It felt good.

“What did I look like before?” he asked, still smiling. “Godzilla?”

“You know what I mean.”

He sobered, and the good feeling faded. “I guess I haven’t had much to laugh about lately.”

Her sigh was low and heartfelt. “Boy, can I relate.”

“Yes,” he said carefully, mindful that she’d had even less to laugh about in the past year than he had. “I suppose you can.”

“Thanks, Carlo,” she said.

He blinked. “For what?”

“For the aspirin and the water. For coming back today. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Warmth filled him as his heart swelled with pleasure. Then he remembered exactly why Jeffrey needed him, and the warmth was replaced by a sudden chill.

Carlo glanced at his watch. Jeffrey was taking his grand old time getting ready.

“Let me guess. He’s not any more anxious to see me today than he was last Saturday.”

“No,” she admitted. “But he’ll be down.”

“What did you bribe him with? A new toy?”

Her mouth curved. “I don’t believe in bribery, no matter how tempted I am to resort to it. Jeffrey is aware that he has a commitment to spend time with you each week, and that I expect him to honor it.”

The clump of feet slowly descending the staircase echoed into the room. A minute later, Jeffrey appeared in the doorway. His hair was still wet from his shower. When he glanced at Carlo, a wary light filled his eyes. It changed to worry when he caught sight of his mother on the sofa.

Somehow, Samantha managed to dredge up a brilliant smile. Carlo felt a spark of admiration for this spunky woman. Whatever her worries and fears were for her son, she wasn’t about to let the child see them. Nor was she about to let worry for her ruin what would hopefully be, for Jeffrey, a good time.

“Come here,” she beckoned to the boy. When he knelt by her side, she smoothed a hand back over his hair. “I want you to promise to be on your best behavior while you’re out with Carlo. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jeffrey nodded grudgingly.

“She’ll be just fine, sport,” Carlo reassured. “See? She’s all set. Water. Glass. Blanket. Pillow. The best medicine for your mom right now is for us to get out of her hair. Once she takes a nice long nap, she’ll be feeling much better.”

As he followed Jeffrey out of the room, Carlo couldn’t help tossing a worried glance over his shoulder. Samantha was already asleep.

It was the kind of Indian summer weather that, on a school day, inspired many a young boy to play hooky; the kind of weather Pittsburgh rarely saw in November. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the air was unseasonably warm. A light jacket or sweatshirt was all a person needed, and even that seemed too heavy when the sun blazed its brightest.

After closing the front door behind them, Carlo said, “Want to rake some leaves?”

Hands in his pants pockets, his gaze cast downward, Jeffrey toed the ground in front of him. “I guess so.”

Okay, Carlo reasoned. Put that way it did sound pretty much like a chore. He couldn’t blame Jeffrey for being less than enthusiastic.

“I was thinking of something along the lines of a race. I brought two rakes with me. What I thought we could do is see who has the biggest pile of leaves once the front yard is all raked up. Of course, after the winner is declared, we get to jump in those leaves before sweeping them into the street for the maintenance crew to pick up on Monday. You game?”

Carlo gazed at the child, expecting him to eagerly agree. After all, what red-blooded American boy could turn away from healthy competition?

Apparently Jeffrey could. His answer to Carlo’s challenge was an indifferent shrug.

“If you want.”

Strike one, Carlo thought wryly as he headed for the rakes he’d propped against the oak tree.

Twenty minutes later, he was lying face up in a pile of leaves. Ten feet away, Jeffrey stood playing with a yo-yo he’d pulled from his pants pocket.

To give the boy credit, he had tried. Well, he had pushed his rake around for ten minutes or so before abandoning both it and Carlo. Carlo had kept raking until he’d built a nice, high pile. He’d hoped to at least entice the boy into jumping into the leaves. So far, though, he’d had no luck.

Gazing up at the brilliance of the sun, Carlo felt its warmth caress his face. Despite his lack of success with Jeffrey, it felt wonderful, and he wished for nothing more than to lie there for a while longer. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much the guilt and regret he’d been carrying around had weighed him down; how it had dragged at his shoulders, his conscience and his heart as if an anvil had been hung around his neck. It felt good to let go of the load for a while.

He looked over to where Jeffrey was walking the dog with his yo-yo. “Neat trick. Could you show me how to do that?”

Jeffrey showed him his back.

Strike two. Carlo decided to try a different tack.

“When I was your age and my brothers and I raked leaves together, they would throw them at me. It always made me mad. There’s nothing I hate worse than a bunch of leaves in my face.”

Ignoring the blatant hint, Jeffrey sat down on the front steps and stared wistfully at the horizon.

Strike three. You’re out. Carlo sighed. He might have been able to pique Jeffrey’s interest a time or two last weekend, but so far today he was batting zero.

“Baby steps,” he muttered, remembering what Samantha had said to him. He’d measure each success in terms of baby steps, ignore the failures and refuse to look beyond that.

“I have that pocketknife I promised you. Want to do some whittling?”

“Some other time,” Jeffrey said.

Brushing the leaves from his clothing, Carlo sat up. “I’m pretty hot. I think I need an ice cream cone to cool me off. What about you?”

That, at least, got the boy’s attention, Carlo thought with satisfaction. Samantha Underwood might be above bribery, but Carlo Garibaldi wasn’t.

“Baby steps,” he murmured to himself as they set off down the street. “Baby steps.”

They were seated at the local Baskin-Robbins ice cream parlor, munching contentedly on a double scoop of Quarterback Crunch and Rocky Road, when Carlo felt Jeffrey’s gaze on him. More specifically, on his upper arms. When he glanced at the boy, Jeffrey quickly—almost guiltily—looked away. A minute later, though, Carlo felt the child’s gaze on him again.

He had a flash of understanding. “You want to know if I’ve always been this strong, don’t you?”

Jeffrey nodded.

“The answer is no. When I was your age, I was built just like you. I’ve been lifting weights since I was eighteen. It took a lot of work to get to the point where I am now.”

Carlo hadn’t been to the gym for his daily workout since he’d taken his leave of absence. Though he’d wanted to, he simply hadn’t been able to summon the energy to go. Surprisingly, given his idleness, he still had a good deal of muscle tone.

“Can I lift, too?” Jeffrey asked.

“Anyone can lift. You just have to make sure to use proper form so that you don’t injure yourself. When you’re old enough, you can join a gym.”

Jeffrey frowned. “I don’t want to wait till I’m older. I want to lift now.”

Why not? Carlo thought. The day was still young, and he wanted to give Samantha as much rest as possible. Besides, this was the most he’d heard Jeffrey speak. If this was what it took to reach him, Carlo was all for it.

“Would you like to see the gym where I work out?” he asked.

The light in Jeffrey’s eyes was all the answer he needed.

“Hey, Carlo,” Pete Loring, the owner of Fit Bodies, greeted when they walked through the door. “Long time no see.”

“I’ve been busy,” Carlo replied guardedly.

Typical of Pete, he didn’t pry any further. “Who’s your young friend?”

“A prospective client.”

Carlo watched Jeffrey’s eyes go round at the sight of the giant man who wrestled professionally under the name of Killer. Never had a title been a greater misnomer. Though fierce-looking, when not beating his competition to a pulp in the ring, Pete Loring was one of the gentlest men Carlo had ever met.

Pete’s smile broadened. “A prospective client, eh? Well, then, we’ll have to see that he receives the star treatment, won’t we?”

“I know you,” Jeffrey said with the first real excitement Carlo had seen him exhibit. “You’re Killer.”

“You a SCWA fan?” Pete asked, obviously pleased.

Eyes shining, Jeffrey nodded. “You’re my favorite wrestler.”

“Ah,” Pete said, settling a meaty hand around Jeffrey’s shoulders. “A fan. For a fan, not only will I give you the star treatment, but I will also roll out the red carpet. Ready for a tour?”

Carlo stood off to one side while Pete showed a star-struck Jeffrey around the gym and patiently explained the purpose of each machine and exercise. The crowded room was filled with grunts of effort and the sound of weights clanking as men and women alike stared at the mirror-lined walls to ensure they were using proper form. Though they came in all shapes and sizes, they all had one thing in common: their bodies gleamed with the sheen of perspiration that could only be brought on by hard work.

There was a time when the sights, sounds and smells of this room had thrilled him, a time when he’d lived for that hour or two each day when he could lose himself in the sheer joy of pushing his body to its limits. A time when, the minute he walked into this room, his fingers would itch to lift a barbell or to do repetitions on one of the machines. Carlo looked down at the hands hanging limply at his sides. No itch.

He gazed around him with a curious detachment. He’d worked so hard to build and maintain his physique, especially after his injuries, and now he no longer cared if he ever lifted another weight. There were so many things he no longer cared about. And he didn’t even care that he didn’t care. Intellectually, he knew that should worry him, that he wouldn’t be able to resume even the semblance of his former life until he could care.

At the moment, though, the only things he seemed able to work up any feeling for were an emotionally scarred little boy and his sick mother.

When his gaze found Jeffrey again, Carlo saw that Pete had finished the tour and had left the boy to complete a workout of his choosing. The grimness and determination on Jeffrey’s face as he lifted weights with a purposefulness that was far older than his years startled Carlo out of his reverie.

“Whoa, slugger, slow down,” he cautioned, moving to the boy’s side. “You don’t want to overdo it your first time out. What are you preparing for? Battle?”

Jeffrey kept pumping iron. “When I grow up,” he said in a fierce voice, “I’m going to be big and strong like you and Killer. And then I’m going to find the man who killed my dad and kill him.”

Dismayed, Carlo didn’t know what to say. After all, Jeffrey wouldn’t have to look far. The man who had killed his father was standing right beside him.

There was no answer when, darkness rapidly falling, Carlo pressed the doorbell of the Underwood home. At his side, Jeffrey held the autographed T-shirt Pete had given him and the set of weights Carlo had bought so that Jeffrey could continue his workouts at home.

Frowning, Carlo pressed the doorbell again. Still no answer. Inside, no lights shone in any of the windows.

She was probably still sleeping, he told himself, refusing to succumb to the feeling of dread that had his heart suddenly racing. Four hours was a long time for anyone, unless they were desperately ill, to sleep.

“Do you have a key?” he asked Jeffrey.

Jeffrey placed the weights and the T-shirt on the porch floor so that he could rummage through his pants pockets. He pulled out a crumpled pack of gum, a battered toy soldier, the yo-yo and three marbles before finally producing a key. When he slid it into the lock, the door swung silently inward.

“Why don’t you run upstairs, put your things away and wash up, while I go check on your mom.” Carlo needed to get the boy safely out of the way, just in case something really was wrong with Samantha. “It’s important that you wash your hands and arms thoroughly, because you might have picked up some germs at the gym. Since your mom’s sick, you want to be careful not to pass them on to her.”

His reluctance obvious, Jeffrey slowly mounted the stairs. When he reached the top, Carlo headed for the den.

It was hard to see in the dimness, but he definitely glimpsed the outline of her body beneath the blanket. It looked as though she hadn’t moved since he’d left with Jeffrey.

He hated to wake her. But he couldn’t leave until he knew she was alert and able to care for her son.

“Samantha?” he said, switching on a light. She didn’t answer, and he called louder. “Samantha?”

“What?” She sounded groggy as she opened her eyes and blinked against the brightness. “Oh, you’re back. Did you have a nice time?”

“I think it went well.” Except for Jeffrey’s startling revelation about his plans for vengeance. “How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty.”

He poured her a glass of water and helped her to a sitting position. “Better?” he asked, when she’d drained every drop.

“Much. What time is it?”

“Five o’clock.”

Her eyes widened. For a woman who’d slept the afternoon away, she looked anything but rested.

“Already? It feels like I just closed my eyes.”

“That’s because you’re sick.” A lot sicker than she wanted to let on. Leaning down, he rested his hand against her forehead. While still not into dangerous territory, her temperature had definitely risen.

He knew then what he had to do. It was the last thing he wanted. But he would be less than heartless to leave an eight-year-old and a defenseless sick woman to their own devices.

“That settles it,” he said. “I’m staying.”

Chapter 4

Samantha was determined to stand, even if it took every ounce of her strength. Pushing the blankets aside, she swung her feet to the floor and placed her hands flat against the sofa cushions for support. If only her head wasn’t so woozy and her limbs didn’t feel like they each weighed a thousand pounds.

After drawing a deep, bracing breath, she leaned forward and centered her weight on her legs. For a second or two, she was certain she’d collapse. But finally, through sheer determination, and not a little perspiration, she gained her feet.

She didn’t even want to think about how awful she must look.

“You don’t have to stay,” she said, locking her knees when they threatened to give way beneath her. After being huddled beneath a blanket all afternoon, the air in the room felt cool, and she shivered. “I’m feeling much better.”

“Liar,” he said mildly.

“No, really. I know you’re used to taking charge, but it isn’t necessary. I’ll be just fine. You can go home now.”

She heard a hint of panic creep into her voice and bit her lip. She couldn’t concentrate enough to figure out why it was so vital that he leave. All she knew was that every instinct of self-preservation she possessed was screaming how it was imperative for him to go.

“Face it, Samantha, you need help.”

Sick as she was, the sound of her name on his lips still managed to send shivers of awareness up her spine. Those six words, spoken softly and with concern, penetrated the haze clouding her mind. In a moment of clarity, she knew exactly why she was so desperate for him to leave. She didn’t like the way he made her feel when he looked at her, all soft and feminine and trembly inside. Even less did she like the way her breathing went haywire when he smiled; how her heart raced when he spoke her name.

She’d had her chance at love, and it had been wonderful. No woman could have asked for more. Then James had died, and they’d buried her heart with him.

Apparently, however, her hormones had stayed behind.

When she was well again, none of this would matter, she told herself. When her weakness disappeared, so would her vulnerability.

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