Crashed, p.17
Crashed, page 17
Then he slanted a look at Travis and his shoulders slumped even more.
“He’s my friend,” Jacob said, some of his attitude returning. “You told me this was my home. Is it?”
This kid was going to try her patience in ways she hadn’t experienced in some time, Isabel decided.
Considering her options, she glanced around, then looked at Travis. “Why don’t you take Storm, Mariah, Aaron and Brooklyn and make sure they’ve all washed up? I need a minute.” Then she shot a look at Aaron and Storm to make sure they got the point.
Both of the older kids had been glaring daggers at Jacob and Brant but at her words, they sucked in a breath, then, with reluctance, followed Travis out of the kitchen. Storm gave Travis quiet directions. Once they were out of earshot, Isabel folded her arms over her chest and focused on the two teen boys in front of her.
Pointing at Brant, she said, “Not a word from you until I give you permission. Otherwise, you’re out and you’ll never come back in. Am I understood?”
He bobbed his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
Hmmm. Interesting.
Then she focused on Jacob.
“Let’s get one thing straight. This is your home. Yes, you can invite friends ... after you get my permission. You are the child. I am the adult. You get my okay, first, or it doesn’t happen.” She planted her hands on her hips and held his surly stare. “It’s always with my okay. I may not have enough food. I may already have plans. You might be inviting somebody who has harassed other kids who live here.” She shot a look at Brant. He was the color of a boiled lobster and busily observing the floor. “Furthermore, you might be inviting somebody who has a parent who might seriously object to them being here. You’re new here, so you need to understand the lay of the land a little better before jumping into the fire. Understand?”
“Just because he doesn’t get along with Aaron doesn’t mean I can’t be friends with him,” Jacob said in a sulky voice, jabbing a thumb at his chest.
“I don’t give a damn if he and Aaron get along or not,” Isabel responded. “But he has repeatedly disrespected Aaron to his face. He bullied Brooklyn—she’s five, even if she does seem to think otherwise.”
Neither teenager would look at her now.
But she wasn’t done. “If I invited somebody here who blatantly disrespected you, how would you feel?”
“I don’t give a shit what you do,” Jacob said. But he still wouldn’t look at her.
Isabel waited, staring at his averted head.
Finally, Jacob said, “I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“You weren’t the one being picked on and harassed,” Isabel said, managing to keep her voice level—somehow. “Were you?”
Brant was the one to break the silence. “I’m sorry.”
It was ... unexpected.
He shifted his feet and looked away, directing his gaze at everybody but her. But he kept talking. “That ... um, it’s kinda why I wanted to come over. I figured I might have a minute to tell ... Aaron I was sorry, to show you guys I’m not always an asshole.”
I’ll be damned, Isabel thought, eying the kid with a bit more consideration.
Jacob shifted to stand closer to his friend. “See?”
Isabel flicked him a look. “Hush.” Focusing back on Brant, she asked, “Why are you sorry?”
“I ... ” He huffed out a breath. “I just am, okay? I get mad sometimes. Do we gotta have a big talk about it or can I just go tell Aaron I’m sorry? I’ll tell Brooklyn, too.”
Isabel saw nothing in his eyes but guilt and embarrassment, but before she moved to call the other boy into the room, she asked, “Does your father know where you are?”
“No.” His cheeks turned a darker red. “He’s down in Bangor for a couple of days, helping his cousin with some stuff, earning some money. I texted my mom. She knows.”
“Okay. You know your dad won’t like you being here ... and I don’t want to cause problems between him and your mother.” God knows Brant’s poor mother had enough problems, just dealing with Lloyd.
“I’m not telling him,” Brant mumbled, staring at his feet.
Isabel decided to leave that statement alone. Walking to the door of the kitchen, she called Aaron back in and gestured for Jacob to leave the room so Aaron and Brant could talk in private. He clearly didn’t want to go, but he did, after shooting Aaron and Brant a last look.
A few minutes later, Brant left, giving Isabel a tentative smile. He took another minute to look for Brooklyn and Isabel saw the younger girl give him a fatalistic shrug in response to whatever apology he offered.
On his way out, Brant spotted Travis. Isabel saw the way his shoulders straightened, his head lifted. Travis nodded at him, the same way he’d nodded at Aaron and she had a suspicion she knew exactly what—or who—was behind the kid’s abrupt change in attitude.
Wonders never cease, she mused.
Feeling like the world was trying to realign, she called everybody back in.
Aaron was washing his hands, looking puzzled. When she joined him, he whispered, “Did you make him do that?”
“No.” She huffed out a laugh and glanced over her shoulder to see Brooklyn telling Travis how to settle Mariah into her high chair. Travis, the smartest man she’d ever known, listened and nodded soberly, then thanked Brooklyn for her help and the young girl glowed under his attention. Looking back at Aaron, she lightly touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Surprised.” He shrugged, then moved in, gave her one of his quick, rare hugs.
She hugged him back, keeping the contact light. “Are you?”
“Yeah.” Aaron stepped back and his cocky smile was back in place. “Just feeling a little ... weird, I guess. That’s the first time anybody’s ever apologized for that shit and seemed to mean it.”
He moved around her and headed to the table, telling Brooklyn not to start hogging the potatoes before the meal started.
Isabel wanted to hold him closer for a little bit longer. That kid’s young heart had already been bruised so much. But as he settled down between Brooklyn and Storm, he was grinning, and he looked happy.
Sometimes, that was the most she could hope for on a day to day basis.
Turning back to the counter, she focused on plating up the rest of the meal.
Chapter 17
Isabel didn’t hear him coming up behind her, but as she finished piling the chicken on a serving platter, Travis was just there. Her heart jittered in her chest and she glanced up at him, felt her breath catch at the sight of him, and she wondered if she’d ever get used to it ... to him.
“What was that all about?”
“Oh, nothing ... just a minor miracle,” Isabel said lightly. “Or what seems like one. I’ll tell you about it later. Although ... I’m wondering. Did you say anything to Brant?”
He slanted her a sidelong look. “Not much. Just mentioned that guys who pick on kids half their size are usually nothing more than assholes. Asked if that was who he wanted to be. Guess he decided.”
Isabel had a feeling it went deeper than that, but now wasn’t the time.
Jacob and Aaron were circling around each other with the same uneasy wariness she’d expect to see in fighters from warring factions and she didn’t want to take her eyes off of them for longer than a minute.
“Ms. Bella!”
Isabel looked at Brooklyn as the girl came rushing up, her Wonder Woman tiara toppling into her eyes as she skidded to a halt on the hardwood floors.
Travis reached out and fixed it, settling it back into place and Brooklyn beamed at him before focusing back on Isabel.
“Yes, Brook?”
“I’m hungry!” she all but shouted. “Can we eat?”
“Such sweet, dulcet tones,” Isabel said dryly with a sideways look at Travis.
“Yes, like a bird.” Aaron rolled his eyes as he took the plate of chicken from Isabel. “And when I say a bird, I’m talking something like a rooster ... or maybe a Canadian goose.”
Hooking her arm through Aaron’s, Isabel grinned.
“What’s dulcet?” Brooklyn asked.
“Gentle and soft,” Isabel said. Next to her, Travis coughed but she heard the strangled laugh he’d cut off. She didn’t dare look at him, focusing instead on Brooklyn. “Yes, sweetheart. We can eat. Why don’t you show Travis where he can sit down?”
The dinner was animated chaos.
Travis settled back to observe and found himself smiling more than once. Also more than once, he found himself having to drag his gaze from Isabel. Her dress was a misty, soft green with a gathered bodice that highlighted her full breasts before nipping in her waist and then flaring out over round, lush hips. The soft color made her skin glow with warmth and he wondered how much time she spent out on the beach.
She’d always been so pale in her teens, even when they’d spent the better part of the mid-morning out of the beach, soaking up the sun, walking and talking. But she’d always been slathering on sunscreen.
He’d once teased her about it, and the look that had come over her face had made him realize it wasn’t vanity or some predilection for burning easy, despite her fair complexion—it had something to do with her dick of a father.
She no longer worried about letting the sun kiss that fair skin. She was all peaches and cream and he wanted to lick her up.
Just then, her gaze met his across the table and the connection was electric.
He saw her throat work as her breath caught, watched her cheeks go rosy and her eyes darken.
Blood drained out of his head, traveled south.
Fuck, he wanted her. Like he wanted his next breath.
“Stop it,” she mouthed silently, as an echo of his need flared in her eyes, darkened them to the shade of a forest as a mist settled over the trees.
He gave her a slow smile, watched those eyes darken a fraction more. Then, before he eroded his control anymore, he looked at the quiet boy sitting next to him. “How are you settling in, Jacob?”
“Fine, I guess.” Jacob jerked a shoulder in a shrug as he answered, not even looking up from his plate.
A real talker, Travis mused.
“School going okay?”
Jacob did look up at that, his lip curled in a sneer. “Oh, it’s fantastic. I’ve been moved around so much, I’m behind in half the shit, and ahead in the rest.”
“Watch your mouth, Jacob,” Isabel warned.
He snorted and focused back on his food. Shoveling a bite of mashed potatoes in, he swallowed, then darted another look at Travis. “Anything else you think you need to ask? Show me a little more interest so maybe she’ll fuck you because you were nice to all of us?”
“Jacob!”
Jacob flinched at her voice, then straightened his shoulders and tossed Isabel a cold look. “What ... it’s not like I’m lying. That’s all guys like him ever do.”
“Jacob,” Travis spoke before Isabel could. “It’s bad enough you’ve got to insult a woman who’s been nothing but decent to you, but you’re also insulting yourself.”
That had Jacob whipping his head around to glare at Travis. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Guys like me ... I’m assuming you mean because I’ve got a decent-looking face and I’m spending time with Isabel. Well, you’re not ugly. So I assume when you get older, that’s how you plan to treat women?”
Jacob shoved back from the table, eyes hot on Travis’s face. “Listen, you dickless wonder, just because I might look like my dad doesn’t mean I’m anything like him.”
“Okay.”
Jacob opened his mouth, closed it.
Travis picked up his glass of wine and took a sip before looking back at the kid. “That woman over there can see through a man trying to pull one over at her quicker than you can tie your own shoes, and she’s been doing it longer than you’ve been alive. So, either you can learn to start respecting women—and trust them—therefore showing you really are different than your dad, or you just disrespect them in another way. Up to you.”
Jacob gave him an ugly look then spun on his heel and stormed out.
The taut silence lingered over the room in his wake, Isabel covering her face with her hands.
Brooklyn piped up, “Is Jacob going to be in trouble for saying one of the D words?”
Isabel made a sound that could have been a strangled groan, could have been a laugh.
“That’s Ms. Bella’s business,” Storm tugged teasingly on Brooklyn’s hair. “You going to finish those mashed potatoes? You said you wanted them, but you barely touched them. If you don’t plan on eating them ... ”
Brooklyn snatched up her fork and gave Storm a challenging look before scooping up a monster bite to shove into her mouth.
Travis watched it all play out before meeting Isabel’s gaze over the table.
There were fine lines of strain fanning out from her eyes but she offered him a half-shrug and lifted her glass of wine in his direction.
The rest of the meal passed in subdued silence and when the kids started to help her clear the table, he joined her at the sink.
“Why don’t you give your troops a night off?” The strain in her expression was obvious. “I’ll help you clear and clean up.”
“You’re a guest,” Storm said, frowning at him. “You shouldn’t help clean.”
“He offered.” Brooklyn scowled up at the older girl.
“No,” Aaron grabbed Brooklyn’s hand and shot Travis a smile, then switched it to Isabel. “Storm’s right. And you know what, Ms. Bella? I think you should take the night off, too. Both of you go relax ... hey, maybe you can have more of that wine out on the deck!”
“Great idea. I’ll get the glasses!” Storm dashed into the kitchen.
Aaron grabbed the bottle and hustled past Travis and Isabel, striding out to the deck. When he came in, he gave them both a chiding look as if to say, what, you’re still here?
“I wanna sit on the deck, too,” Brooklyn said, poking her lip out. She leaned against Travis’s leg and slid her hand into his.
“Help me with the chores and I’ll put makeup on you, Brooklyn,” Storm said, reaching into the cabinet and withdrawing two clean wine glasses.
Isabel and Travis exchanged amused looks as the oldest kid disappeared onto the deck.
When she returned, Brooklyn had moved away from Travis and was waiting to meet Storm, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Lipstick, too?”
Storm grinned at her. “Absolutely. I’ll even do your hair.” Then she met Isabel’s gaze. “Go on. We’ve got this.”
“I think we were managed,” Isabel said a couple of minutes later as they leaned on the railing of the deck. The wine bottle and glasses sat on the railing between them, untouched.
“There’s barely enough in there for half a glass.” Travis picked up the bottle and held it to the dying light, then turned, poured it into the glass nearest her. “Enjoy.”
She smiled, then picked it up and took a sip before passing the glass to him. “We’ll share it.”
He accepted, sipped and passed it back. “I have to be honest ... I prefer whiskey to wine. And if I’m drinking wine, I don’t really love these dry types.”
“Really?” A laugh escaped her. “If that’s the case, I’ll polish this one off.”
They lingered there, enjoying the silence and Travis listened to the noise coming from inside for a minute before slanting a look at her. “Think I could slip off and grab another bottle of wine? Or maybe this bottle of brandy I’ve been eying?”
“Is Miles okay with you sneaking all of his booze?”
“He told me to the code to the wine cellar and pointed out the brandy himself. I figure he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t want me to enjoy it.”
It was unassailable logical, Isabel had to admit.
“He’s got some nice ice wines,” she said, giving him a slow smile. “I’m fond of those.”
“You always did have a sweet tooth.” No sooner had the words left his lips than a shadow fell over his face.
She reached up and covered his cheek with her hand. “Stop it,” she murmured, stroking her thumb over his lower lip. “I had to stop living in the past unless I wanted to live my life angry and bitter. You need to do the same.”
He covered her hand with his own, eyes boring into hers. Instead of answering, he brought her palm to his, pressed a soft kiss to it. “I’ll be right back.”
He was true to his word, carrying a slim bottle of dark glass, already opened and resealed with a plain, reusable cork, a fresh wine glass and another glass—this one a highball. The scent of it told her it was probably whisky. Miles preferred it.
“No brandy after all?”
“Changed my mind. Didn’t feel like wasting time cutting it open and all that shit. The whisky was easier.” He poured her a glass of the wine and offered it, waiting as she tasted.
Isabel let out an appreciative sigh, then nodded to the long, comfortably padded chaise lounges. “Want to sit? Who knows how long we’ll have this lovely peace.”
It actually lasted almost thirty minutes and she was on her second glass of the deliciously cold and sweet ice wine when Brooklyn came bursting through the back door, hitting the porch lights on full so the deck lit up like the fourth of July.
Preening, she spun and twirled her way to stand in front of Isabel and Travis, her arms held out as she posed.
“How do I look?” she demanded, angling her chin up and puckering her lips in an expression Isabel couldn’t identify.
“Lovely,” Isabel said soberly, trapping the laugh that wanted to escape. And the girl was lovely—Storm had used a delicate hand with the makeup, although the glittery swooshes of purple eyeshadow would have delighted Brooklyn. That, and the pink lipstick were the only obvious signs, but it was enough to make the little girl feel beautiful. Being with the older girl had worked wonders for the girl’s confidence.
Isabel’s heart ached at the thought of one day maybe having to let both Brooklyn and Mariah go—they were both young, and loving, children, healthy, the kind many looked to adopt. Aaron and Storm were older, harder to place, and Isabel had already asked Aaron if he’d like to stay, even consider letting Isabel adopt him, but he had yet to answer her—Storm knew the option was open to her as well, but she’d refused, insistent her father would want her once ‘knew what was going on.’ She’d never wavered in her faith in him.
