Love

to see that the image of respectability remained intact. As he stopped to talk with one of his cronies, Jason could just imagine the wild tale he was hearing about his grandson’s latest escapade.
“Okay, whatever game you’ve been playing, it’s over now,” he said with finality. “I want you to leave before my grandfather gets over here. And if I hear the slightest hint that you’ve continued to spread these lies about me, I’ll slap you with a slander suit that will make your head spin. Is that clear?”
He moved out of the booth to let her pass. She slid across the seat and stood up. Instead of going, though, she stood toe-to-toe with him, undaunted. Her chin jutted up a defiant notch and her hands went to her hips.
“I’ll leave,” she said. “But don’t think for one minute that I’m intimidated by the likes of you. And as long as we’re issuing warnings and threats, you might remember this—if you come near my brother again with one of your shady deals, I’ll turn you over to the cops. Is that clear?”
With his grandfather approaching, Jason didn’t have the option of telling her exactly what he thought of a woman who managed to get her facts so incredibly screwed up, then tossed around slanderous charges.
“Oh, I think we understand each other,” he muttered.
She nodded. “I’m sure we do.”
She cast one final glare in his direction, then whirled around and stalked off, leaving both Jason and his grandfather staring after her.
“Who the devil was that?” Brandon demanded.
“Some lunatic.”
Brandon’s gaze narrowed speculatively. “What’d she do to get your dander up?”
“Nothing.” Jason slid into the booth and gulped down the remainder of his Scotch.
“Oh, really? Last time a woman got me that hot and bothered, I asked her to marry me.”
Jason’s horrified gaze shot to his grandfather. “I don’t even know that woman.”
Brandon shrugged, his expression pure innocence. “Maybe you should get to know her. Mind you, I don’t know the whole story, but judging by what I’ve heard in the last five minutes, she’d give you one hell of a run for your money. Seems to me you could use the challenge.”
“Granddad, if I ever need the skills of a matchmaker, remind me not to come to you for advice. That woman would would drive a saint to drink.”
Brandon eyed the empty glass in front of Jason and nodded complacently. “Yes, indeed. A regular hellion. You could do worse.”
“Frankly, I don’t see how,” Jason said. “With any luck, I’ll never see her again.”
* * *
Sammy Roberts was sprawled on the frayed living room sofa watching television when Dana got home. He spared her an all-too-familiar sullen, hostile glance then returned his attention to the thirteen-inch screen where black-and-white images flickered weakly. At least she knew that set hadn’t been stolen. She’d bought it herself. Sammy would have gone for color.
Still shaken by her encounter in the bar and worried sick by what was happening to her brother these days, she crossed the room in three quick strides and snapped off the TV. “We need to talk.”
“Again? I got nothin’ more to say.”
Filled with determination and furious that she might actually have made a complete fool of herself earlier, she pulled up a chair in front of him and sat on the edge. “Well, I do. I want you to tell me again about this man who sold you the hot VCR.”
Sammy sighed heavily and stared at the ceiling. A hank of limp hair hung down in his eyes. Dana barely resisted the desire to brush it off his face. She supposed he was just being a teenager, but he’d grown increasingly resentful of any suggestions she made about his clothes or appearance. It had nearly killed her when he’d shaved one side of his head to crew cut length and left the other side long, but she’d bitten her tongue and chalked it up to his need for self-expression. She’d seen at least a half dozen other boys in the neighborhood sporting equally horrifying hairstyles.
“Dammit, Sammy, I want you to talk to me.”
“He’s just a guy.”
“How old? How tall? What’s his name?”
“I figured you’d know all that by now. Didn’t you find him and turn him over to the cops?”
“No, I did not,” she answered truthfully.
There was no mistaking the relief in Sammy’s eyes. He’d been scared when she’d stormed out of the apartment earlier, not for her, but for himself. He’d obviously feared retaliation, but he’d been wise enough to know there was no way he could stop her.
“Sammy, the man belongs in jail. What he did—what you did—was wrong.”
“So turn me in,” he said with the sort of smug bravado that made her want to shake him. He knew she wouldn’t do it, knew that she was a soft touch where he was concerned.
It had been seven years since she’d taken on the responsibility for raising Sammy. He’d been nine and she had just turned sixteen when their ne’er-do-well father had vanished for the last time. Their mother had died two months later, of a broken heart as near as Dana had been able to tell. Dana had been more concerned with survival than with a medical diagnosis that was too late to do anybody any good.
It had taken every ounce of ingenuity Dana had possessed to keep herself and Sammy two steps ahead of the social workers and out of the legal system. She’d conned one of her mother’s friends into posing as a legal guardian, whenever the need arose. She’d even trumped up some very official-looking documents to make it all appear legal. Since Rosie hated authority and had always wanted to be an actress, she’d been more than willing to step in occasionally and present herself as the responsible adult in the household. Overworked school officials had been easy enough to fool.
The scheme had turned out just fine. Dana had worked hard, taking any job she could get, from waiting tables to mowing lawns. Sammy had helped