Wentworth who was the only Wentworth he ever really thought about when he thought about the family Marla had been estranged from. But then her adopted mother and adopted sister were just specks in the shadow Tom Wentworth cast, so it wasn’t surprising that they wouldn’t be uppermost on his mind for the last thirteen years.
Cutty opened his eyes and looked at the clock on his nightstand.
It was just after 5 a.m.
He doubted he would be able to sleep anymore but he didn’t want to get up, either, so he cupped his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling.
He still couldn’t believe that Kira Wentworth had shown up.
Marla’s sister.
He’d only seen her once before. Actually, he’d only met her mother and father one time, too. But while Tom Wentworth’s face was one Cutty would never forget, he had barely glanced at Kira before her adoptive father had ordered her to her room that night thirteen years ago. So there was no way Cutty had recognized her. If he had he might not have been so willing to let her come into his home. Her or anyone connected to Tom Wentworth.
Tom Wentworth.
Yeah, meeting him just once had been enough. More than enough, Cutty thought.
Marla’s father hadn’t wanted Marla to date in high school so she’d only seen Cutty on the sly. They’d made arrangements through friends; they’d met at the movies or the shopping mall; they’d seen each other at school functions. And always they’d had to keep an eye out for anyone who might report back to the controlling father, who ran his household with an iron fist.
But six months into dating, Marla had realized she was pregnant.
Cutty didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone as afraid of anything as she’d been to tell her father.
Two seventeen-year-olds facing a nearly three-hundred-pound mountain of mean—the memory was still fresh in Cutty’s mind.
To say it had been an ugly scene was an understatement. Tom Wentworth hadn’t even wanted Cutty in the house. He’d hit the ceiling at just the sight of a boy there with his daughter. But Marla had insisted that they all needed to talk. Then she’d told her father what they’d come to tell him.
And all hell had broken loose.
Cutty still couldn’t believe the way Tom Wentworth had exploded. It was as if a bomb had gone off in that living room. He’d screamed that Marla was a whore. A tramp. A good-for-nothing slut. And worse.
There hadn’t been much Cutty could do during the tirade. Nothing much anyone could do but sit under the rain of hurtful, hateful words. But when Tom Wentworth had begun to demand that Marla have an abortion, Cutty had stood up to him. He’d told Tom Wentworth that Marla didn’t want to have an abortion.
And Tom Wentworth had nearly beaten him to a pulp.
A few good punches of his own had saved Cutty, but after that he’d been afraid to leave Marla there alone with her enraged bull of a father. So Cutty had taken Marla with him and left, not having any idea what he was going to do with her.
And a baby.
The sun began to make its rosy entrance through Cutty’s bedroom curtains, and for a while he watched it, trying not to relive those early emotions that could still creep up on him every now and then. He’d been just a kid himself. A scared kid. With no one close by to turn to. He’d felt responsible. Overwhelmed. Terrified. He hadn’t known what the hell he was going to do….
Lying there wasn’t getting him anywhere, he decided suddenly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat up on the edge, gripping the mattress and let his head drop forward.
Tom Wentworth had washed his hands of Marla—that’s what he’d told her when she’d tried to call him the next day in hopes that he might have cooled off. She was on her own. He didn’t care what happened to her.
Her adoptive mother had packed some of her clothes and sneaked them out to her because her father had said she wasn’t even entitled to those.
And that had been that.
At least for a couple of years until Marla had gone behind Cutty’s back. But that had been that in terms of Cutty and the Wentworths.
Until now.
Now when Kira Wentworth had shown up on his doorstep.
He really had thought she was the journalism student when he’d first caught sight of her coming up his porch steps. The journalism student had already interviewed his friend Ad, and Ad had told him she was slightly older than the average college student. That she was thin. Pretty. Blond.
Kira Wentworth fit that description. Although the minute he’d laid eyes on her he’d thought that he wouldn’t say she was merely pretty. Kira Wentworth was beautiful. And her hair wasn’t just blond. It was the color of honey shot through with sunlight. Plus she had skin like alabaster. And the softest mouth he’d ever seen. And a small, streamlined nose. And those eyes! They were the blue of a summer sky on a cloudless day. Not to mention that for a petite woman she had a body that wouldn’t quit….
So, okay, he couldn’t deny that that first sight of her had stirred things inside him that hadn’t been stirred for a long, long time. But how confusing was it that the first person he’d been attracted to, since he seemed to have gotten his head together again after Marla’s and Anthony’s deaths, was a Wentworth?
Incredibly confusing, that’s how confusing it was.
Rationally, Cutty knew there was no reason to hold a grudge against Kira Wentworth. But that had been his reaction when she’d told him who she was. In spite of his initial attraction to her. He’d been tempted to kick her out of his house. What had gone through his mind was that he didn’t want any Wentworth anywhere near him because with any Wentworth came the potential for contact with Tom Wentworth. Or the effects of having been raised by him.
But Cutty hadn’t wanted to be a hard-ass, so he’d tried to curb the feelings.
And apparently he’d been pretty successful, since only a few minutes later his heart had gone out to Kira when he’d told her about Marla and Anthony and witnessed the blow that struck.
He’d been so successful at curbing his negative feelings that he’d even been tempted to comfort her with a hug.
Well, more than a hug. What he’d really been inclined to do was take her in his arms, learn what it would feel like to have her head pressed to his chest, her body against his….
But she’s a Wentworth, he’d reminded himself to chase away that urge.
Or at least to resist it. The urge hadn’t exactly gone away, he just hadn’t acted on it.
In fact, he’d still been struggling with it when she’d offered to come in and care for the twins. And him.
He hadn’t expected that and once more his emotions had taken a swing toward the negative. He’d instantly imagined another Wentworth in his house. He’d flashed on the way things had been. On the way they could be again.
Cutty
