and aversion to pie and learn to appreciate her curves as much as he did.
But for now, he had to get back to work before he forgot his good intentions. He walked Jenna back to the bookstore, gave her a brief kiss on her delicious mouth, and told her he’d see her at five-thirty, at her house.
Hopefully the lake water would be cold. Because he had a feeling Jenna’s more sumptuous thoughts were going to be hell on his libido, and on his control. Out on the boat, at least he’d be able to dunk himself in the water as necessary.
Three
When Jenna got home, rushing so she’d have time to refresh her hair and make-up before Stan showed up, she discovered her daughter still in the bathroom, primping for her date.
When she knocked, Rachelle said, “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Jenna sighed. “Hello to you, too, honey.”
The door opened. “Hey, Mom. I thought you were Ryan.”
They exchanged a quick hug, and Jenna asked, “Where is your brother?”
Wrinkling her nose, Rachelle said, “Out back, digging up worms in the hopes you’ll take him fishing.”
Because Rachelle still had hot rollers in her long blond hair and only half her make-up on, Jenna knew she’d be busy longer than the predicated “few minutes.” Sharing one bathroom with an eighteen-year-old daughter wasn’t easy.
But at the same time, Jenna knew she was going to miss her something awful when college started. “I’ll let him know I’m home.” Then she hesitated. “Where are you going tonight?”
“To the movies, and then the Old Orchard Inn for dinner.”
Jenna frowned. The theater was located just outside of town, and that was bad enough, but the Old Orchard Inn was also a B&B—meaning there were beds right upstairs. At eighteen, Rachelle was on the verge of being a woman, but she was still Jenna’s little girl. She didn’t want to be smothering, but neither could she be cavalier. “You’re going to be late?”
Rachelle shrugged. “Maybe midnight or so. Is that okay?”
“I suppose so.” But as usual, Jenna felt the need to lecture. “Please just remember that as nice as Terrance seems, it’s you I trust, not him. If he tries to buy you alcohol or if anything happens—”
Rachelle rolled her eyes and headed back into the bathroom. “I know, I know. I’ll call a cab, or call you, or I’ll hit him over the head. Don’t worry, Mom. It’s just dinner and a movie. I promise.”
Don’t worry? Dear God, Jenna well remembered the raging hormones of youth, how she and her husband had found plenty of inconspicuous places to explore their sexuality. They’d married young and had a wonderful marriage that had lasted until his death three years ago.
But Jenna wanted so much more for her daughter. . . .
“Mom!” Ryan came thundering into the house with all the delicacy of a herd of elephants. His untied, dirty sneakers brought him to a skidding halt on the hardwood floor right in front of Jenna. “I’ve dug up a bunch of night crawlers.” He lifted a paper cup filled with dirt and wiggling worms. “Let’s go fishing.”
Hiding her revulsion, Jenna peered into the cup. “Wow, you do have a bunch. And they’re so . . .” She swallowed hard. “Big.”
“They’re juicy,” Ryan said. “The fish’ll love ’em.”
Jenna mentally prepared herself and said a quick prayer that her son would be happy with the change of plans. “I’m sure there’ll be time for some fishing, but guess what? Stan Tucker offered to take us out on his boat.”
Ryan’s eyes widened. A heartbeat later, the bathroom door opened and Rachelle stuck her head out, her eyebrows raised in comical wonder.
Dear God, Jenna thought, she’d rendered both kids mute.
Forging on, she cleared her throat and tried to be casual when she felt nearly frantic instead. “I don’t know what type of boat he has, but he said you could go tubing or swim in the cove. We can take the fishing gear along. Stan might like to fish, too.”
Still, both children just stared at her. A deep breath, then another, and a bright smile. “You remember Stan, don’t you?”
They each nodded. Ryan fought a grin. “For real? He’ll take me tubing?”
“That’s what he said.”
Rachelle sent Jenna a sly look—and began teasing. In a soft, singsong voice, she said, “Mom’s got a boyfriend, Mom’s got a boyfriend . . .”
“Rachelle! Of course I don’t. Stan is a—”
“Stud,” Rachelle said. “And if he’s not a boyfriend, then why are you turning bright red?” Laughing, Rachelle threw her arms around Jenna and squeezed. “I think it’s cool.”
“Me, too.” Ryan was suddenly beside himself, jiggling, hopping, and antsy with anticipation. “When’s he gettin’ here?”
Jenna glanced at her watch and gulped. Time slipped by far too fast. “In about ten minutes.”
“Mom.” Rachelle pulled her into the bathroom. “For heaven’s sake. Why didn’t you say something! It’s all yours. I’ll finish up in my room.” Hands flying, she unplugged her rollers, grabbed no less than three hair-brushes and her assortment of make-up, and said, “Don’t just stand there, Mom. Do something with yourself. Change into your bathing suit and that really cute cover-up you have. And let your hair loose. The wind from the boat will tear it out of the clip anyway.”
Rachelle closed the door before Jenna could think of a single thing to say, but she heard her daughter give rapid orders to Ryan. “Now, behave yourself, squirt. Don’t be a toad, okay? Show Mr. Tucker your best side. Don’t embarrass Mom—”
Their voices faded as Rachelle dragged Ryan and his worms down the hall, listing off all the things he shouldn’t do.
Jenna stared at herself in the mirror. Oh, God, she was still red-faced. But not for the reason Rachelle assumed. She didn’t suffer embarrassment so much as unbridled eagerness. She’d turn forty soon. She was a middle-aged widow, a mother of two children, one a grown daughter. She owned her own business.
But at the moment, she felt like a giddy teenager on her first date.
Jenna put her hands to her warm cheeks and surveyed her appearance. Yes, definitely a mess. No way would she wear a bathing suit—the very idea of showing so much skin to Stan left her mortified. The years, and two births, had not been kind to her body. Any man who hadn’t seen her before she lost her figure sure wasn’t going to see her now, at least, not so soon.
If, as Stan said, they eventually made love . . . yes. She craved his description of unrestrained, bold lovemaking. Jenna sighed. Then, and only then, she’d let him look all he wanted. After all, if he was looking, she’d get to look, too. And Stan Tucker was a definite feast for the eyes.
