to him. Like it would be trouble to put up my stepgrandson’s father. Besides, have you looked in the kitchen recently? There’s enough food to feed Yonkers in there. All these people on these weird diets…nobody eats real food anymore. Towanda’s been kvetching for the last half hour about how the hell is she going to stuff it all in the Fridgedaire. We won’t have to cook for a week.”
“This has got to be a bad dream,” Cass muttered, but Lucille pretended not to hear her.
“This is no time for Cassie and me to be sitting around, depressing each other. So, for a few days, you’ll stay. Be a father to your son. Regale us with stories about the ice cream business. Keep our spirits out of the toilet.”
Apparently convinced the matter was settled, Lucille left to see out the last of the guests, except for one set of distant cousins, who seemed to have bonded with the buffet. And Mercy was still here, too, having a set-to with Towanda, if the raised voices coming from the kitchen were any indication. Suddenly, the argument stopped—which led Cass to wonder whether the two women had come to terms or killed each other—leaving the house ominously quiet.
Blake hesitated before asking, “Is this okay with you?”
“Oh, right. As if I have any say in the matter.”
His mouth tilted. “I’m not afraid of an old lady.”
“Yeah, well, I am. And if you had any sense, you would be, too.”
“Nope, sorry. Although Towanda’s another story entirely.”
Cass glanced away before she was tempted to smile. “In any case, please don’t feel obligated to stay if you don’t want to.”
“Actually…I wouldn’t mind hanging out more with Shaun. While I’m here.”
“I’m…sure he’d like that.”
They could have hung laundry on the tension strung between them.
“Well, then,” he said, jangling his car keys, “I suppose I’ll go back to the hotel, get my things. If that’s okay.”
Propping her elbow on the arm of the sofa, Cass let her head drop into her palm, her eyes drifting closed. “Blake, please. Don’t make me think. Or make decisions. Or even react. Just do whatever you need to do, okay?”
“Only if you’re sure…”
Now her eyes popped open. “Blake!”
The ambivalence in the gentle brown eyes that met hers tied her insides into a million little knots. And she knew, at that moment, that he hadn’t changed. Not really. Not enough to matter, at least.
Why, God? Why are you doing this to me?
She straightened, folding her hands primly in what was left of her lap. “I’m going to be miserable, no matter what you do. So if it makes Lucille a little happier right now…” Her breath gripped her throat, and she realized how perilously close she was to falling apart. “And I’m sure Shaun really would appreciate your being here,” she got out. “He’s got some activities planned I’m not going to be up for. If you could stick around and take him, I’d be very grateful.”
At that, she saw some of the tension ease from her former husband’s shoulders. “I’d be happy to help,” he said with that smile that used to…
Never mind what that smile used to do. She couldn’t let it do it now. Or ever again. And that’s all she needed to remember, she thought as she watched Blake leave the room, recalling how she used to cuddle up to those broad shoulders on chilly mornings.…
N’uh, uh-uh…
All she needed to remember was that remembering was not an option.
Chapter Two
Blake found Shaun doing a bad impression of a skateboarder in the cul-de-sac in front of the house. The kid had changed into a pair of droopy jeans with shredded hems, topped by three layers of shirts in varying degrees of grunge. For a split second, Blake considered whether he even wanted to be seen with the kid.
“I’m going back to the hotel to get my stuff,” he called over. “Wanna come?”
The skateboard went flying in one direction, Shaun in another, as he came to a halt. Panting, he took off his hat—its original color anybody’s guess—shook out his now-unconfined hair, then pushed the hat back on his head. Backward. “You staying here?” he asked as he snatched the skateboard up off the pavement, then ambled toward Blake, board dangling from his knuckles.
“Appears so.” Blake waited until the boy reached him before continuing. “Lucille’s idea.”
Shaun nodded, a half grin tugging at his lips as he hissed out a breath. “What’d Mom say?”
“Not much,” Blake said cautiously. “Although she did mention that you had some plans for the next few days and maybe I could play shuttle service.”
Another nod. “Yeah, that’d be cool. I s’pose.” Now he gave Blake’s Range Rover the once-over. “Not bad,” he pronounced, skimming one hand over the hood. “New?”
“The Bronco gave up the ghost last winter.” For some reason, Shaun’s nonchalance was making Blake antsy. “So. You want to come with me or not?”
“Yeah. Sure. C’n I put the board in back?”
“Yeah. Sure,” Blake echoed, opening the door.
The skateboard duly deposited, they both climbed into the car. Shaun immediately asked if he could turn on the radio; Blake, assuming the kid wasn’t thinking along the lines of an easy listening or classical station, not so immediately agreed. Two button clicks later, the glove-leather interior of his car pulsed with mind-numbing, quadrophonically enhanced hip-hop. Blake glanced over at his son, who was drumming the dash in time to the…music. He sucked in a deep, deep breath, then let it out very, very slowly.
It was a start.
Cass blew a puff of air through her bangs and considered the plate of food in her hands, still uneaten, still unwanted. Right on cue, reminding her she wasn’t the only one who needed to eat, the baby delivered a swift kick to her right kidney. With a sigh, she lifted something unrecognizable to her mouth and began to nibble, only to quickly dispose of it in her napkin. Whoever had put the chicken liver on her plate had an obvious death wish. Liver, in whatever form, from whatever animal, was still something’s innards, and Cass did not eat innards. Ever.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Hey, honey…you okay?”
Cass immediately reined everything in as Mercy plopped herself down beside her, wiping her sapphire-blue-tipped fingers on a napkin. The nails were a perfect match to the petite woman’s fitted suit. Her lips, thankfully, were not.
“Sure,” Cass answered. “I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So if you’d already made up your mind how I was, why’d you ask?”
“Because
