produced two nickels from the pocket of his jeans, dropping them through the slot.
They clinked on the sidewalk. The box jiggled a bit, curious sounds came from inside, and then a small freckled hand jutted out through the larger opening, clutching a grubby paper cup filled with lemonade.
Mitch chuckled, crouching as he accepted the cup. “How’s business?”
“Vending machines don’t talk, mister,” replied the box.
Some poor mosquito had met his fate in the lemonade and Mitch tried to be subtle about pouring the stuff into the gutter behind him. “Is your mother home?” he asked.
“No,” came the cardboard-muffled answer. “But my babysitter is here. She’s putting gunk on her toenails.”
“I see.”
A face appeared where the cup of lemonade had been dispensed. “Are you the guy who brought my mom home last night?”
“Yep.” Mitch extended a hand, which was immediately clasped by a smaller, stickier one. “My name is Mitch Prescott. What’s yours?”
“Hank Kendall. Really, my name is Henry. Who’d want people callin’ ’em Henry?”
“Who indeed?” Mitch countered, biting back another grin. “Think your mom will be home soon?”
The face filling the gap in the cardboard moved in a nod. “She visits Rosamond after work sometimes. Rosamond is weird.”
“Oh? How so?”
“You’re not a kidnapper or anything, are you? Mom says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. Not ever.”
“And she’s right. In this case, it’s safe, because I’m not a kidnapper, but, as a general rule—”
The box jiggled again and then toppled to one side, revealing a skinny little boy dressed in blue shorts and a T-shirt, along with a pitcher of lemonade and a stack of paper cups. “Rosamond doesn’t talk or anything, and sometimes she sits on my mom’s lap, just like I used to do when I was a little kid.”
Mitch was touched. He sighed as he stood upright again. Before he could think of anything to say in reply, the screen door snapped open and the babysitter was mincing down the walk, trying not to spoil her mulberry toenails. At almost the same moment, Shay’s Toyota wheezed to a stop behind Mitch’s car.
He wished he had an excuse for being there. What the hell was he going to say to explain it? That he’d been awake all night and miserable all day because he wanted Shay Kendall in a way he had never before wanted any woman?
Mitch was wearing jeans and a dark blue sports shirt and the sight of him almost made Shay drop the bucket of take-out chicken she carried in the curve of one arm. Go away, go away, she thought. “Would you like to stay to dinner?” she asked aloud.
He looked inordinately relieved. “Sounds good,” he said.
Sally wobbled, toes upturned, over to stand beside Shay. “Who’s the hunk?” she asked in a stage whisper that sent color pulsing into her employer’s face.
Shay stumbled through an introduction and was glad when Sally left for the day. Mitch watched her move down the sidewalk to her own gate with a grin. “I hope her toenails dry before the bones in her feet are permanently affected,” he said.
“Dumb girl,” Hank added, who secretly adored Sally.
The telephone was ringing as Shay led the way up the walk; Hank surged around her and bounded into the house to grab the receiver and shout, “Hello!”
“Why are you here?” Shay asked softly as Mitch opened the screen door for her.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
Hank was literally jumping up and down, holding the receiver out to Shay. “It’s Uncle Garrett! It’s Uncle Garrett!”
Shay smiled at the exuberance in her son’s face, though it stung just a little, and handed the bucket of chicken to Mitch so that she could accept the call.
“Hi, Amazon,” Garrett greeted her. “What’s the latest?”
Shay was reassured by the familiar voice, even if it was coming from hundreds of miles away. The teasing nickname, conferred upon Shay during the adolescent years when she had been taller than Garrett, was welcome, too. “You don’t want to know,” she answered, thinking of the upcoming commercials and the attraction she felt toward the man standing behind her with a bucket of chicken in his arms.
Garrett laughed. “Yes, I do, but I’ll get it out of you later. Right now, I want to find out if Maggie and I can borrow Hank for a month.”
Shay swallowed hard. “A month?”
“Come on, mother hen. He needs to spend time with me, and you know it.”
“But…a month.”
“We’ve got big stuff planned, Shay. Camping. Fishing.” There was a brief pause. “And two weeks at Dad’s ranch.”
Shay was fond of Riley Thompson; of all her six stepfathers, he had been the only one who hadn’t seemed to regard her as an intruder. “How is Riley?”
“Great,” Garrett answered. “You’ve heard his new hit, I assume. He’s got a string of concerts booked and there’s talk that he’ll be nominated for another Grammy this year. You wouldn’t mind, would you, Shay, our taking Hank to his place, I mean? Dad wants to get to know him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s your kid, Amazon.”
Shay felt sad, remembering how empty that big beautiful house overlooking the sea had been after Riley and Garrett had moved out. Everyone knew that the divorce had nearly destroyed Riley; he’d loved Rosamond and chances were that he loved her still. “I want you to tell him, for me, how much I appreciate all he’s done for my mother. God knows what kind of place she’d have to stay in if he weren’t paying the bills.”
“Shay, if you need money—”
Shay could hear Hank and Mitch in the kitchen. It sounded as though they were setting the table, and Hank was chattering about his beloved Uncle Garrett, who had a house that could be “drived” just like a car.
“I don’t need money,” she whispered into the phone. “Don’t you dare offer!”
Garrett sighed. “All right, all right. Maggie wants to talk to you.”
Garrett’s wife came on the line then; she was an Australian and Shay loved the sound of her voice. By the time the conversation was over, she had agreed to let Hank spend the next four weeks with the Thompsons and their two children.
She hung up, dashed away tears she could not have explained, and wandered into the kitchen, expecting to find Mitch and Hank waiting for her. The small table was clear.
“Out here, Mom!” Hank called.
Shay followed
