That Thing Called Love. Susan Andersen

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СКАЧАТЬ she looked at him now, she didn’t see that compelling face or the abundant sex appeal. Instead, she pictured all the times Austin thought his father might call, might show up, and the stark disappointment each and every time that didn’t happen. Disdain she couldn’t quite disguise tugged at her upper lip.

      “Mighty big of you to finally decide you could spare your kid a minute of your precious time.”

      * * *

      FOR OVER A DECADE, Jake had dealt with all manner of people. He’d long ago perfected the art of letting things slide off his back. Yet for some reason the contempt from this little female dug barbed needles under his skin.

      It didn’t make a damn bit of sense. The woman was all of five foot nothing, for crissake, and her shiny dark hair, plaited into two thick little-girl braids, with a hank of long bangs pulling free from the left one, didn’t exactly promote a grown-up vibe. She had spare curves, clear olive skin and brown eyes so dark it made the surrounding sclera look almost blue-white in comparison. Dark eyebrows winged above them, and her slender nose had a slight bump to its bridge.

      His brows met over the thrust of his own nose. “Who the hell do you think you are, lady?”

      Okay, not what he’d intended to say. But being back in Razor Bay, the place he’d spent most of his teen years plotting to see the last of in his rearview mirror—well, it put him on edge. Plus, after the thirty-two-hour trip from Minahasa to Davao to Manila to Vancouver to Seattle to here, he was so dead on his feet he was all but punch-drunk. Not to mention seriously tense at the thought of seeing his kid after all these years. Of having full responsibility for him for the first time.

      So excuse the hell out of him for reacting to the contempt in her voice and his own flicker of temper that here was yet someone else who thought they could dictate to him about his son.

      Stuffing down every negative feeling that arose, however, he managed to moderate his tone when he inquired, “And you think you have the right to judge me, why?” God knew, he’d done enough of that on his own. He didn’t need some half-pint stranger’s condemnation on top of it.

      He watched as she crossed her arms and raised her chin. “Well, let me see,” she said coolly. “Maybe because I’m the woman who’s been in Austin’s life for the past eleven years. And this is the first time I’ve ever seen you.”

      Jake wanted to howl at the unfairness of her charge. Except...was she actually wrong? He’d had a series of come-to-Jesus talks with himself on the endless journey back here and was forced to admit that he’d been looking at his dad ethic through a pretty skewed lens for a long time now. The admission made not defending himself to Ms. Salazar more than a simple matter of pride, more than an ingrained reluctance to plead his case to a stranger.

      He couldn’t in all conscience smear the memory of Austin’s grandparents. Not only would it be too much like something his own father would have done—making it all about him and not giving a damn that his kid had loved the people he was trash-talking—but all that damn soul searching had made him realize that he’d spent too many years blaming Emmett and Kathy for doing the job he himself had abdicated.

      They’d protected Austin. And if it cut to the bone that they’d felt it necessary to do so from him...well, I guess it sucks to be you, Slick.

      Somewhere over Midway Island he’d dropped his defenses and admitted they had cut him a lot more slack than he’d deserved before they’d finally lowered the ax and banished him from Austin’s life.

      But that wasn’t the central thing here—at least not right this minute. That would be that he was finally doing what he should have done a long time ago: stepping up.

      So, go him.

      Not that any of this prevented the woman standing in front of him from scratching at his temper. He took an involuntary step in her direction. “The fact remains, I’m Austin’s father and I’m here now.”

      Apparently that wasn’t what she’d expected to hear, because she blinked long, dense lashes at him, just a single slow sweep that lowered fragile-looking lids over her almond-shaped eyes, then raised them again.

      The action ate up a couple of seconds tops, yet somehow it was long enough to make him aware that he was standing a whole lot closer to her than he’d intended. It made him aware as well that, except for the blink, she’d gone very still. Had she seen his banked anger? Jake slowly straightened. Shit. She couldn’t possibly think he was going to hit her, could she?

      He took a giant step back, shoving his hands in his Levi’s pockets.

      In the sudden silence, the back door crashed open, and from the way little Ms. Salazar stiffened, he knew exactly who it was. Heart beginning to kick hard against the wall of his chest, he stared at the opening to the kitchen.

      “Hey, Jenny,” called a male voice from the other room. “I’m home.” The refrigerator door opened, then slammed shut and the lid of something rattled against a hard surface. “Dude! Leave a cookie for me.”

      “Trade ya for that carton of milk,” came a second youthful tenor.

      “You better be using glasses!” Jenny raised her voice to warn. “If I see washback in my milk, you’re dead men.”

      Glass clinked and a cupboard slapped closed. Silence reigned for a few moments after that, before being abruptly broken by the sound of stampeding feet. Two boys burst through the archway.

      The boy in the lead was a gangly brunette who—sweet mother Mary—had the exact same all-bones-no-meat thirteen-year-old build Jake had had at the same age.

      God oh God. All the moisture dried up in his mouth and his habit of being aware of everything around him—honed by years of knowing that otherwise he’d likely end up bitten by a snake, stung by an insect or mauled by an animal with way more tonnage, power and teeth than him—went up in smoke. The cozy little room and everything in it faded from his consciousness, leaving nothing but his son.

      His.

      Son.

      Awash with joy, with terror, with a raft of pain and regret, Jake stared. An emotion he’d never experienced suffused his chest, while panic clawed at his gut. Jesus. He was shaking.

      He hadn’t thought it would matter so much, hadn’t expected to be struck so hard. Was this what love felt like?

      The thought snapped his spine straight. Hell, no.

      It couldn’t be. A: he was a Bradshaw and Bradshaw men’s version of the Big L was so fucked it gave the sentiment a bad name. And B: a man had to actually know someone before he could start slinging that word around.

      He drew a deep breath. It was probably just simple wonder that the kid could have gotten so big already. Jake’d had this image in his head of Austin at two, at four. Hell, at six even, which was how old Austin was the year Kathy had sent him the last picture.

      But this was no little boy—this was an almost-grown teen. Not that Jake hadn’t known how old he was, of course.

      He just hadn’t had a clear picture of it in his head.

      He’d long ago convinced himself that he was doing the right thing—that Austin was better off with his grandparents, who could give СКАЧАТЬ