a mostly unbuttoned white cotton shirt. He’d showered, shaved, slapped on a spicy fragrance, brushed his teeth, combed his hair—and generally spiffed up as much as a gardener in the midst of a small town during a heat wave could.
He parked his sporty red SUV in Jenna’s drive and got out, peering at her tidy ranch-style home with a critical eye. Updated landscaping would improve the looks of the house a lot, not to mention the trim could use a fresh coat of paint.
He was considering that when he saw the small, compact body bounce off the porch swing and stand at the top step, hands on hips, eyes squinted from the sunshine. He seemed to be restraining himself with great effort.
Stan couldn’t quite tell if Jenna’s son wanted to challenge him or welcome him with berserk joy.
Joy won out. He leaped off the steps and came dashing across the lawn, bubbling over with enthusiasm. “Mom said you were coming.”
Stan smiled, amused at the boundless energy vibrating from the boy. He opened his mind to him and then wished he hadn’t. Ryan still missed his father terribly, and a giant void existed inside him. He was so hungry for a father figure that Stan put a hand to his chest, rubbing at the ache of a broken heart.
“That’s right,” Stan said. “Boating alone is no fun, so I’m hoping you’re game.”
“You bet I am!” Ryan leaned around him to see his SUV. “Where’s yer boat?”
“I keep it docked at the lake.”
“We used to have a boat. But Mom sold it.” His face scrunched up. “Cuz of my dad dying and everything.”
“You haven’t been boating since?”
Skinny shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I go with friends sometimes. But Mom likes to worry, and sometimes she doesn’t let me go.”
A smile tugged at Stan’s mouth. He touched the boy’s head and started him toward the house. “It’s a mother’s sacred job to worry, and I bet your mother is good at anything she does—including worrying.”
“Yeah, she’s real good at it.”
His long face got Stan to chuckling. “Speaking of your mom, is she ready?”
“I dunno. She was runnin’ around, grabbin’ clothes and changin’ clothes and complainin’ about her hair and—”
“Ryan.” That stern admonishment came from a younger version of Jenna poised in the doorway. Rachelle pasted on a friendly smile. “Hello, Mr. Tucker.”
Stan looked her over and knew poor Jenna must do most of her worrying about her daughter. The girl was a real looker and, from what he remembered, smart to boot. The little dress she wore would make any lad with hormones go nuts. It was stylish, but it also accented her figure a bit more than any protective, father-aged man would like.
“Rachelle.” If she were his daughter, he’d dress her in a potato sack—but he hid that thought with a cordial smile. “Call me Stan.”
“All right, Stan.” Her return smile was pretty and welcoming and made Stan want to protect her from the world. “Mom’s almost ready. You want to come in for iced tea? I just made it fresh.”
“Hey! I was gonna show him where I dug up most of my worms,” Ryan protested.
Rachelle’s face tightened. “Stan might not want to look at worms, Ryan.” She bestowed another beatific smile on Stan. “Come on in out of that heat. It’s much cooler inside.”
It didn’t require a mind reader to know that Rachelle wanted to make a good impression. She sensed that her mother wasn’t completely happy on her own and maybe saw him as a step in the right direction. Yet it was so much more than that. Both Rachelle’s and Ryan’s neediness clawed at him, destroying his composure. The love they felt for Jenna was overpowering, but with that love was an almost desperate craving for a return of things lost—a happy home with two parents, a more flexible budget, family vacations.
Jenna tried to fill the gap in their lives, but she could only do so much. Ryan missed the male camaraderie that only another guy could supply. And Rachelle missed her father’s teasing protectiveness and the smell of his aftershave, the way he lifted her off her feet when he hugged her. She missed knowing her daddy was there, the backbone to their home, ready and able to defend them all.
Stan tried prodding her thoughts a little, to see if there were particular concerns on money, but he wasn’t skilled enough to separate the many emotions swirling between the two kids. And truthfully, his own emotions were getting in the way now, because he cared—about both of them, and about their mom.
Wanting to please both kids, he pulled off his sunglasses and gave his most charming smile to Rachelle. “If you could pour me the tea—with plenty of ice, please—both Ryan and I’ll be right in. Just give me two minutes to see this worm farm he’s discovered. Okay?”
Rachelle shot her brother a look of disgust, but accepted the compromise. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Just come in the back door.”
Ryan grabbed Stan’s hand and tugged. “It’s this way. C’mon. I found about a gazillion of them under one rock. My cup wasn’t big enough for them all, so I left some so that next time I fish, I can get ’em. Mom said you might let me fish off your boat. Can I bring my rod and reel?”
Ryan didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t even draw a breath.
“It’s one my dad bought me and it’s really cool, like for an expert fisherman or something. Dad said I had all the makings of a professional. But that was three years ago, so I’m rusty now. Me and Dad used to fish in the mornin’s, when the fish were really bitin’ and you could fill the boat up with enough bass for dinner.”
The rambling monologue brought them through the backyard and all the way to the perimeter where the woods bordered. Jenna had a spacious lot with plenty of room for kids to play. He liked it.
“Of course you can fish,” Stan told Ryan. “We’ll go back in the cove where the big ones hang out.”
“Seriously?”
Stan laughed. “You haven’t fished in three years?”
“Sure I have. Mom takes me sometimes when she doesn’t have to work. But she works lots, and she doesn’t know much about fishing anyway, so she doesn’t like for me to cast the rod.” In a stage whisper, Ryan said, “I got a lure caught in her hair once. So now we just take reg’lar poles. She’ll hand me worms, but she won’t put them on a hook or nothing like that. I can tell she don’t really like fishing too much.”
“You’re obviously an astute young man.”
“What’s astute?”
“It means you’re already good at reading women. Trust me, it’ll come in handy someday.” Stan crouched down with interest when Ryan used all his meager strength to lift a heavy rock.
“You see ’em?” Ryan asked, his voice strained as he struggled with the stone.
“I sure do. You were smart to leave some here. They’ll probably just get bigger, so next time you fish, imagine what they’ll look like.”
