“What?”
“Are you...?” He couldn’t even get the words out. His heart told him he was wrong. Emphatically.
But it made sense.
“Am I what?”
She was staring at him now. All wide-eyed. Stopped at a light, he studied her.
“Are you hoping that by becoming friendly with Dawson you can somehow find out the secrets to his mother’s—”
“What!” Her shriek filled the car. And then some. “I can’t believe you’d even think such a thing! Oh, my gosh!”
She sounded like he’d just accused her of murder. He felt as though he had.
They rode in silence for a few blocks. The rift between them deepening, becoming a chasm, a sinkhole he could lose her in...
Reparation was up to him and he panicked as he scrambled for answers.
“For the record, I never felt like you’d do such a thing.”
“Then why ask?” Her accusatory tone reminded him of her mother. Not that he’d tell her that. Ever.
Lil had had her issues, sure, but she’d been a great mother. And a good wife, too. He’d loved her. Truly loved her. He’d never missed her more than he did in that minute.
“Because I don’t understand why, after months of not caring about anything, you suddenly care so much about this kid.” That didn’t come out right. “I get that he’s cute,” he added. Even he’d felt something when the mother and son duo had lit up the television screen on a rather dreary Thanksgiving day. “But he’s not the only cute child we’ve run across in the past year.”
“She’s a single mom trying really hard.”
“She’s not the only single mother we’ve come across, either.”
“He’s special, Daddy. You can tell that just by looking at him...”
He understood that. Somewhat. And liked it a whole lot better than his sabotage theory.
“And the way she looks at him. The way he seems to matter more than even winning a spot on the show...”
He remembered that Thanksgiving Day show—the way the boy had been the one to notice that Janie Young had won...
“He’s lucky that he has her,” Kelsey was saying, her voice soft. “That she loves him so much. And I just...”
He was really starting to get it now. The boy had his mother’s love. Totally. Completely. Something that Kelsey was drawn to be a part of. If she could.
“I feel guilty,” she continued. Blowing his newest theory.
“Guilty?”
“Yeah, because, like, when we win, that means she’s going to lose.” She shrugged again. “We can’t do anything about that, because, you know, there can’t be two winners. So, I was just thinking that where we can help out, we should. You know, with her being the only other local contestant, we’re going to be living in the same town even after the show and might run into her and I just...feel like we should make this as easy on her as we can.”
And maybe, without knowing it, she was drawn to the mother/child closeness? The bonding she was missing?
Burke had no way of knowing. Of predicting what might happen next. Or, apparently, of preventing the disappointment he was convinced he was bringing upon his daughter. One step at a time. He just knew, as he pulled into the small, garage-less drive, that he loved his daughter more than life. And that he was ill-equipped to guarantee her happiness.
* * *
WHAT ON EARTH had she been thinking? Inviting a doctor and his daughter to her tiny house situated in a neighborhood without the community landscape standards that governed most of the neighborhoods in Palm Desert. Her place was clean—well, picked up, at least. But other than the two bedrooms and one bathroom, it had only the L-shaped living and kitchen area. Plenty big enough for just her and Dawson.
She was starting to feel slightly claustrophobic as the time neared for their guests to arrive. Funny—she never felt that way when Cor and Joe were over.
Standing in the opened closet doors at the far end of her kitchen, pulling Dawson’s twin sheets out of the dryer, she watched as her son sat, knees apart and legs crossed at the ankles, on the floor in front of the television, playing the video game Joe had bought him for Christmas. A nonviolent game with a cute little character who had to run and jump and face a lot of challenges on his way to wherever the next level would lead him.
And she wondered how he’d appear to the strangers coming to their home that afternoon. Would they see Dawson for who he was?
“Gah!” Dawson’s rounded shoulders jerked downward, his little neck having to tilt back even farther than normal for him to see the television.
“Gah!” The passion in his voice as he urged his man on made her smile. Just that quickly she was awash with the warmth of love she felt for her little guy. And then assailed with guilt for the thoughts she’d been having. Thoughts of him appearing less than perfect to others. And her caring at all what they thought.
He’d played all of his exercise “games” with her in great humor. Had worked hard to hold on to the large pencil and draw straight lines and then circles on plain paper. And she wanted him relaxed and in a good mood when their guests arrived.
Guests he didn’t yet know about.
Dawson tended to take life as it came. A lesson she tried hard to learn from him.
“Hey, bud, you want to help Mommy make your bed?” It was a long shot with the video-game controller in his hand, but she always asked for his help when doing anything she knew he could attempt.
Washing floors. Dusting.
A lot of the time he joined in happily. Most particularly when she was cleaning bathrooms. He loved swirling the brush around the toilet water.
While his game ran on without him, he looked at her, his mouth hanging open as it so often did.
He grinned at her. She stared at his drool. And wished she’d never invited the Carters over. Had been wondering, since the moment she’d issued the invitation, what on earth she’d been thinking.
Or, more accurately, why she hadn’t been thinking.
Yeah, Dr. Burke Carter was a handsome guy. Maybe the most compelling man she’d ever met.
But she was a mother now. Full time. First and last.
As Dillon had been quick to point out every time he wanted her complete attention and didn’t get it. Which had been at least once a day...
Jumping as the doorbell rang, Janie shook her head.
“Gah!” Dawson, apparently unconcerned by her lack of response
