Anything for Her(9)

“Took a while to be approved as a foster parent. I had to jump through some hoops, which was frustrating when I knew how unhappy Sean was parked in a group home. I think the county accelerated the home visit and what have you, though. The social worker told me they never have enough foster homes for teenagers. Especially one being returned for having a snotty attitude.”

“Does he?”

Nolan shrugged. “He’s a kid who has had the rug yanked out from under him time and again.” He told her some of Sean’s history. “I’d say he’s pretty damn normal, considering.”

“How awful for him to get dumped again so soon after his grandmother died.” She smiled at Nolan. “I knew I liked you.”

So, okay, that gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling, but also embarrassed him. His motives for taking Sean in were still a little muddled, but Nolan knew one thing—it sure as hell wasn’t so people would admire him.

As soon as he could, he turned the conversation back to her.

Her mother was here in town, Allie said; in fact, they’d had dinner together last night. “Mom keeps books for a couple of downtown businesses owned by the same guy—Mark Solver?”

“I know him.”

“Otherwise—I don’t really hear from my father.”

“No siblings?”

She was silent for a moment. “A brother, but I don’t even know what he’s up to anymore.”

“Older? Younger?”

“Older.” She gave him a bright smile that seemed a little forced to him. “You?”

Apparently, she didn’t want to talk about any family but her mother. He couldn’t say he blamed her. God knew, he had issues with his own parents.

Parents. He didn’t even like to think of them that way.

Nolan shrugged. “I grew up in Chicago. That’s where my family still lives. I talk to my brother and sister regularly. Don’t see any of them very often.”

“The Windy City.”

“That’s right. Chicago was all right.” He thought about it for a minute. “Sometimes I miss it. Great food. I haven’t found an Italian restaurant out here to match the ones back home. When I was ready to go into business for myself, though...I guess I wanted to get away.”

No shit, he thought sardonically, and hoped this time she didn’t push for an explanation.

For a moment her expression was rather searching, but to his relief she let it go. “What do your brother and sister do?” she asked. “Or your dad. Is the stonemason thing familial?”

“Nope. My brother, Jed, is an attorney, my sister, Anna, a potter.”

“That’s not so different,” Allie pointed out gently. “You’re both artists. Texture and shape matter to you.”

He shrugged his agreement. He guessed there was a creative streak in their family. But it was an irony because their mother was a publicist—owned her own business—and so far as he knew neither of her parents had been of an artistic bent. And he and Anna likely didn’t share a father.

As it happened, neither of them had the same father as Jed did, either.

Irritated by the tug of something like pain, he pushed the subject down deep where it belonged. He wanted to know about Allie, not talk about himself.

But she wasn’t done. “How did you end up working with stone, then?”

Her question resurrected his edgy thoughts of family. He’d always wondered if his affinity for stone had been inherited. He’d never know, since he had no idea who his biological father actually was.

“I always liked rocks,” he said. “I picked them up wherever I went. Seventh or eighth birthday, my parents bought me a tumbler for Christmas.” He grinned. This was a good memory. “Made a god-awful racket. Everybody complained whenever I ran it. But I had a real good time with that thing. Turned out, rocks that looked plain had something pretty inside.

“Family figured I’d end up a geologist. When I was in high school, I saw an article in this insert in the Chicago Sun-Times about a stonemason. The guy wasn’t a sculptor—that came later for me, anyway—but otherwise he did about the same kind of work I do now. I still remember a picture of this backsplash he’d done, using a dark red granite with veins of grayish-green that looked like a tree. It was really spectacular. I tracked him down and begged for a job.” Nolan smiled. “I swept the workshop floor for about a year.”

“I suppose you generate a lot of dust,” Allie said, the corners of her mouth betraying her amusement.