Tell Me a Story Read online

  Chapter 4

  "Are you sure you don't want another piece of pizza, Mr. Flynn?"

  Flynn stared at the slice of pizza Becky was holding out and swallowed hard. Red with tomato sauce and dripping with cheese, it couldn't have looked more deadly to him if it had been laced with cyanide.

  "No thanks. You two go ahead and split it." One thing he'd forgotten about hangovers was that, no matter how bad you felt when you woke up, you could count on it being the best you'd feel all day.

  He pushed his chair back from the table, as much to get away from the food as to get more comfortable, and studied his companions. Twenty-four hours ago, he'd never have believed that he'd be sitting across the table from one small refugee and one hostile neighbor. To tell the truth, the refugee was easier to imagine than Ann. Who would have believed that the dragon across the hall would have such a pretty smile?

  He looked at Becky, his face softening. She'd lost the wary look she'd had just a few short hours ago. She seemed completely at home. Tomorrow he'd have to figure out what to do with her, but for tonight, he just wanted her to be a child. He had the feeling that she'd spent too little time doing that.

  "Parcheesi." Ann and Becky looked at him. Becky looked intrigued; Ann looked suspicious. He grinned at them both. "What we need is a nice game of Parcheesi before bed."

  "I don't think—"

  "I love Parcheesi."

  Ann swallowed the rest of her protest and managed to look enthused. Board games were right below jogging on her list of fun things to do. She'd never understood why people thought it was fun to move little pieces of plastic around a sheet of cardboard. In her experience, it led to arguments and irritation and hurt feelings. But then she'd never played with Flynn McCallister.

  Over the next two hours, she learned that not everyone was like her father, who went about playing a game the way he went about life—you were there to win and nothing else mattered. Flynn didn't seem to think that winning was all that important. His only goal was to have fun, and he took just as much pleasure in losing as he did in winning. He coached Becky, he coached Ann, and he didn't seem to care that they trounced him every time.

  It was a novel experience and one that wasn't entirely welcome. She didn't want to like Flynn. Not only had she grown accustomed to their antagonistic relationship over the past two years—she felt safe with it. Something told her that Flynn McCallister might be dangerous if he got any closer than arm's length. She wasn't quite sure just how he'd be dangerous, but she didn't doubt that the danger was real.

  After four games of Parcheesi, both adults called a halt to any further games. Becky looked as if she'd like to protest, but didn't feel confident enough of her position to argue. Flynn ruffled her hair as he put the lid on the game box.

  "We'll play again, urchin. And next time, I won't go so easy on the two of you."

  "Does that mean you're not going to lose every game, Mr. Flynn?"

  Ann couldn't help but grin at the way the little girl got straight to the point. Flynn gave her a stern look but she could see the laughter in his eyes. She couldn't remember ever knowing someone who could laugh at themselves so readily. Was there anything that he took seriously?

  "That means I'm not going to lose every game." He slid the game onto the top shelf of a cupboard and Ann tried not to notice the way his jeans molded to his thighs. The man was just too attractive to be safe.

  "Time for a bath, I think." He rubbed his forehead as he spoke and, for the first time in hours, Ann remembered that he'd spent the better part of the previous night drinking.

  Against her will, she felt sorry for him. She'd never had a hangover herself but it couldn't be pleasant. No matter how much she disapproved of his drinking, she couldn't help but take pity on him. If his head was hurting as much as she suspected, he could use a short break from his role as host and baby-sitter.

  "Why don't I help you with your bath, Becky? I want to be sure you keep that bandage dry.''

  Ann ignored the grateful glance Flynn threw her. She didn't want him to get the idea that she was doing this for him. When she and Becky returned to the living room, Flynn was looking a little less pale, but Ann told herself that she only noticed because her medical training made it impossible to ignore.

  He smiled at Becky, but his eyes skimmed over her and Ann knew he'd seen the threadbare condition of her pajamas. He didn't say anything that might hurt Becky's pride.

  "Ready for bed?"

  "I'm not tired." A yawn punctuated the end of the sentence and Ann saw Flynn bite his lip against a smile.

  "Well, Ann and I are very tired so why don't you humor us and hop into bed. You can sleep in the room you had last night."

  "Okay." She turned away and then looked over her shoulder at him. "Are you going to tuck me in?" The question was hesitant, as if she were afraid he'd refuse.

  "I wouldn't miss it for the world. We'll both tuck you in."

  Lying in the huge bed, the covers tucked under her chin, Becky's youth and fragility were more apparent than ever. She was such a plucky little thing that it was easy to forget just how young she was.

  Flynn sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair back from her forehead. "Tomorrow, we're going to go visit my parents and we'll decide what to do about you."

  "You won't give me to the welfare, will you?" Her thin fingers came up to clutch his hand.

  "I won't give you to the welfare people. I promise. But we've got to decide how to go about finding your mom. She's going to be worried about you when she gets home and you're not there."

  Ann moved to sit on the other side of the bed. "I'm going to go with you to visit Flynn's parents."

  "We'll have a great time." Flynn brushed the hair back from Becky's face and smiled at her. Ann was stunned to feel a twinge of envy. She wanted that smile turned her way. The realization was so surprising that she almost got up and ran out of the apartment, as if getting away from him was the only way to protect herself. But protect herself from what?

  "Could you tell me a story, Mr. Flynn? Mama always tells me a story 'fore bedtime."

  Ann barely listened as he began to spin a story full of the requisite number of dragons and princesses and handsome princes. She didn't want to hear the soft rise and fall of his voice. She didn't want to see the way his eyes softened when he looked at Becky. She didn't want to like him. It wasn't safe.

  She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she jumped when he touched her arm. Her eyes focused on his face and then quickly shifted away, afraid that he might be able to see her confused thoughts. Becky was fast asleep, her lashes lying in soft crescents against her cheeks. She didn't stir as the two adults eased themselves off the bed and tiptoed out of the room.

  Flynn stopped in the middle of the living room and turned to look at her. He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it into thick black waves.

  "You can stay the night if it would make you feel better. There's plenty of room."

  "No." The word came out too stark, too revealing. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I don't think there's any need for that. I'll just come over in the morning." She edged toward the door. "What time are you thinking of leaving?"

  "Sometime after I get up and I have a feeling that, with Becky around, that's not going to be terribly late." He smiled crookedly. "I suspect she's an early riser."

  "Probably. Most children seem to be." She edged a little closer to the door. "Well, I guess I'll go home now.''

  Flynn followed her to the door and Ann was vividly aware of him every step of the way. He reached around her to flip the lock, and it took all her control to keep from shying away from him. If he noticed her tension, he was polite enough not to mention it.

  Ann stepped into the hall, feeling as if she were escaping some fatal temptation. "I'll see you tomorrow, then." Reluctantly, she turned to look at him, resisting the urge to run for the haven of her own apartment.

  He nodded, stifling a yawn. "Sorry. I guess I'm getting too old
for all-night binges. I'll come knock on your door around ten. That should give us plenty of time to get out to my parents' house by lunchtime. My mother puts on a great spread."

  "That sounds fine." Ann was aware of him watching her until she opened her own door. She turned, lifting her hand in what she hoped was a casual gesture. "Goodnight."

  "Good night."

  She shut the door as quickly as seemed nolite, slumping back against the sturdy wood. Oscar looked up from his favorite spot on the hall table, his yellow eyes full of polite inquiry.

  "Oh, Oscar. What have I gotten myself into?"

  By the time Flynn's car pulled into the long driveway of his parents' estate outside Santa Barbara, Ann had convinced herself that her nervousness of the night before was a product of an overtired mind and an overactive imagination. Flynn McCallister was attractive, there was no denying that, but he was also a playboy who seemed to be content to drift through life. She could never be seriously drawn to a man like that.

  And, if her heartbeat showed a tendency to accelerate when he was near, that was just hormones. Easily understood and easily controlled.

  "Is that where your mom and dad live?" Becky's awed question broke the silence in the Ferrari.

  Flynn nodded as he pulled the sleek car to a halt in front of the door. "This is where I grew up."

  "It's beautiful."

  Flynn studied the building, trying to see it through Becky's eyes. The house was built along the lines of an antebellum mansion, complete with a wide veranda and sturdy pillars across the front. When he was growing up there, it had just been home.

  "I suppose it is."

  The door to the house opened as Ann got out of the car and lifted Becky off her lap and onto the gravel drive. The woman who came down the steps was short and elegantly slim. Her dark hair was going gray without any pretensions, and her blue eyes were a much paler reflection of her son's.

  Flynn came around the front of the car, his long strides covering the distance between them, catching his mother around the waist and lifting her off the bottom step. She laughed, a girlish sound that made Ann smile. "Put me down, hooligan." He obeyed, his wide smile matching hers. She examined her son with maternal eyes, finally reaching up to pat his cheek.

  "We don't see you often enough, Flynn. Your father thought you might call this week."

  "Because of Mark's birthday?" His smile twisted. "I celebrated in my own way."

  "I know but your father was a bit upset."

  "So what else is new? Mom, I want you to meet Ann Perry, my neighbor, and this is Becky Sinclair. I told you about her on the phone. Ann, Becky, this is Louise McCallister, my mother."

  The smile Louise turned on Ann and Becky was warm and full of welcome. "I'm so pleased to meet both of you. We're having a late lunch today so you'll have time to rest a bit after the drive from L.A. You must have been crowded in that little sports car. Why didn't you drive the Mercedes, Flynn?"

  "Becky preferred the Ferrari, Mom."

  "Actually, it wasn't very crowded at all, Mrs. McCallister. Becky doesn't take up much room."

  "Call me Louise. Come in and meet my husband."

  Ann followed her hostess up the steps, aware of Flynn following behind with Becky. Becky seemed a bit awestruck by the elegant house, and her hand clung to Flynn's. The interior of the house was as polished as the exterior. Dark mahogany floors and creamy wallpaper created a rich background for the beautiful antiques that filled the hallway.

  Ann's father was a wealthy man and she'd grown up around money. But there was something different here, some indefinable essence. The McCallister home smelled of old money—lots of it. The walls seemed permeated with quiet elegance. Some of the antiques were one of a kind pieces—all of them were exquisite.

  Despite the decor, it wasn't difficult to imagine Flynn and his brother growing up here. Beneath the rich beauty, the big house felt like a home. A place where two growing boys could have laughed and played without restrictions.

  Louise led the way across the hall and into the study where her husband awaited them. The man who stood to greet them was not at all what Ann had expected. She hadn't given much conscious thought to what Flymfs father would be like, but she'd had a vague image of an older version of Flynn—tall, lean, with elegantly masculine grace.

  She hadn't expected a stocky man a few inches short of six feet. His features were blunt, his eyes a clear, sharp gray rather than electric blue. The only resemblance she could see was the thick black hair, now heavily streaked with gray.

  His handshake was firm, his look direct, lacking the lazy charm that made his son so fascinating and so exasperating.

  "Thank you for allowing me to come, Mr. McCallister."

  "I don't blame you for not trusting Flynn with the child. My son isn't known for his sense of responsibility.' Ann blinked, wondering if she'd misunderstood him, wondering what she was supposed to say in reply if she hadn't.

  "Heilo, Dad. Nice to know that some things never change. It's great to see you again, too." There was an edge to Flynn's voice. "Ann, this is my father."

  David McCallister nodded to his son, his eyes cool. "Flynn. I thought you might call this week."

  "So Mom told me. You know how 1 always hate to do the expected. Besides, we would have quarreled and that seems like a hell of a way to honor Mark's birthday." His tone closed the subject and there was an uncomfortable silence in the room.

  It was Louise who broke it, her expression determinedly cheerful. "Becky, I think the cook was making some cookies this morning. Why don't I take you to the kitchen. I don't think one or two cookies is likely to spoil your lunch."

  Becky pressed tighter to Flynn's leg, her eyes wide and uncertain. "I'd like to stay with Mr. Flynn, please."

  Flynn sank down to her level, meeting her eyes. "It's okay, honey. Go ahead and go with my mom. I promise I won't disappear without you. We have some things we need to talk about. Grown-up things."

  "Are you going to talk about me?"

  "Yes. But that's nothing to worry about. We're just going to decide what to do about finding your mother."

  "You won't call the welfare, will you?"

  "I already told you I wouldn't do that, didn't I? Now, go have some cookies but make sure you save some for me."

  He stood up, ruffling her hair. Becky hesitated a moment longer, looking from Flynn to his mother's outstretched hand, and then she moved forward and tentatively placed her small fingers in Louise's palm.

  "Are they chocolate chip cookies?"

  "I don't know. Why don't we go see?" Ann watched Louise lead the little girl from the room and swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat. No matter what else he was, there was no denying that Flynn was very good with Becky. He showed an understanding of her fears and uncertainties Ann had to admit she couldn't have matched herself.

  The door shut behind Louise and Becky and silence descended. At first it wasn't uncomfortable. Ann had never felt that every second had to be filled with talk. She looked around the room, admiring the walls of books, most of them leather bound. One shelf held trophies, another—family photographs. It was a warm room, full of leather and wood. There was a huge bowl of flowers on a table near the door, and the brilliant colors were a perfect accent to the muted tones of the room.

  Having looked at the room, she began to notice how the silence had lengthened. She looked at Flynn, who sat in a chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His expression was brooding, his attention all for the toes of his sneakers.

  His father sat in a chair not far away, but Flynn might not have been there for all the attention the man paid him. He was staring out the window, his face set in bitter lines, his stocky body held rigidly upright against the soft leather of the chair.

  Since no one seemed interested in speaking, she moved over to the photos, studying them with an interest that surprised her. It wasn't hard to identify the family members. A younger Louise, her expression as warm as it was now. Her husband, his f
ace a little less stern, his eyes softer. There was a stocky young man who showed up in most of the photos, which must've been Mark. She examined his face, liking the warmth and humor that lit his eyes. There seemed to be a vague melancholy in his eyes, but that could have been her imagination.

  And there was Flynn. His lean body lanky with youth and then gradually filling out but retaining that graceful look that was so much a part of his attraction today.

  She looked at the photos again, a little uneasy with what she was seeing. There were numerous photos of Mark as football captain in his uniform, at the beach and in almost every other setting. Flynn was in some of the pictures, sometimes in the background, sometimes with his arm over his older brother's shoulder. But there were no photos of Flynn alone. The realization sank in gradually and Ann turned away from the pictures, not wanting to think about the implications of what she was seeing. She didn't want to feel sympathy for Flynn McCallister. He was dangerous enough without adding that emotional complication.

  The silence had stretched out behind her, making an almost visible presence in the big room. She cleared her throat.

  "You have a lovely home, Mr. McCallister. Flynn tells me he grew up here."

  His eyes snapped to her, dark and fierce. "He and his brother Mark both grew up here. Did he mention his brother?"

  Ann glanced at Flynn, but he didn't shift his eyes from his shoes. She was on her own. "Flynn told me that his brother died three years ago. That must have been a terrible time for all of you."

  "My son Mark was a wonderful boy. He was a police officer. Did Flynn tell you that? Died in the line of duty."

  "I didn't know that. You must have been very proud of him."

  "I was." He glanced at Flynn without speaking, and his son's eyes came up to meet his. From where Ann sat, there was absolutely no readable expression in his face. Father and son stared at each other across an abyss that had obviously been there for a very long time. Flynn smiled, the insolent smile that Ann had seen so often the past two years, the smile that said he didn't give a damn about the rest of the world.