way they once had.
He grunted again. Yeah, of course she’d known. Maybe she wasn’t a cast-iron bitch; maybe she’d seen his son as a threat to her daughter. Richard knew how he’d feel if Bree were seeing a guy with Trevor’s behavioral issues. Maybe Ms. Callahan had some excuse for her hostility.
A part of him wished he knew for sure. He was uncomfortable to realize she’d surfaced in his thoughts not because she was Caitlyn’s mother, but because he had been thinking about sex. Something he hadn’t had in way too long. Hadn’t even especially wanted, except in an easy-to-dismiss way when a woman momentarily caught his eye. Casual sex had gotten to be less satisfying at his age, and after the disaster that was his marriage he’d never been sure he was willing to go that route again. Trust once decimated was difficult to resurrect. Most women would want to start a family, too. Been there, done that, and less than satisfactorily. He couldn’t see himself starting all over. So he’d found himself dating less and less often, with the result that opportunities to take a woman to bed came rarely.
I’m thirty-seven years old, and I’ve consigned myself to middle age. I didn’t even notice it happening.
Being a full-time father to Trevor seemed to be hastening the process.
But a picture rose in Richard’s mind’s eye again of Molly Callahan, pushing that cart out of the grocery store. She’d looked ten years younger in jeans and a snug sweater, hair in a ponytail. He could close his eyes and see her. The way the jeans had fit over her long legs and firm, full ass, the sweater over breasts that would be more than handfuls even for a man with big hands. The pink painted on her cheeks by chagrin, the shame and vulnerability in her eyes when she’d called after him to apologize, if obliquely, for her rudeness.
Of course, he’d been so miffed at her instant rejection, he’d then been rude. He could imagine what she’d think and say if he called and asked her out to dinner.
Since that was a clear impossibility, it might be best if he kept assuming she really was a bitch, instead of suspecting she might have some excuses for coming across that way.
* * *
THE HIGH SCHOOL HELD an annual harvest dance, Halloween with its pagan connotations being verboten. It was the first dance of the year, which meant freshman girls in particular giggled and talked about little else when clustered at lockers. This year’s was to be held on Friday night, two days before Halloween.
Molly dreaded dances. Even when they’d had an open, loving relationship, Cait had hated knowing her mother was there, however much Molly swore, cross my heart and hope to die, that she didn’t look for her daughter, tried not to see her even when she did, did not memorize what boys she danced with. Of course, Molly perjured herself when she swore, because she couldn’t help keeping a watchful eye out for her own kid. It was behavior out of her conscious control. Someday, when Cait had children of her own, she’d understand, Molly told herself.
Caitlyn announced at the last minute that she wasn’t going to this dance.
“You can dance with your friends,” Molly suggested helplessly.
Expression mutinous, Cait shrugged. “I don’t feel like going.”
“Trevor probably won’t be there. Seniors usually don’t bother.”
“I don’t want to. That’s all.” She gave a nasty smile. “You have fun, Mom.”
As usual, Molly planted herself out in front of the gymnasium as reassurance to parents and warning to kids. Most of the students arrived in clusters, many from the parking lot. Others, especially the freshmen and sophomores, were dropped off by parents. Molly paid no particular attention to a black pickup pulling to the curb until Trevor leaped out. He hurried away, undoubtedly anxious to disassociate himself from his dad.
Molly made a point of smiling at him. “Trevor. Glad you came.”
Instead of staring his usual challenge, his gaze touched hers with alarm and skipped away. He ducked his head and hurried past her into the gym.
Hmm, she wondered. What was that about?
She glanced back to see that the pickup was still there. In fact, Richard Ward had gotten out and was walking toward her. The night was cold and he wore jeans, work boots, a flannel shirt and down vest. His eyes were shadowed by the artificial outdoor lighting, but she thought they were wary.
“Ms. Callahan.”
“Mr. Ward.” She turned her head to smile at some students. “Sarah, Danielle, Micayla. Have fun.”
“Chilly night to have to stand out here,” Richard remarked.
“Yes, it is.” She’d pulled out her wool peacoat for the first time and had the collar turned up over a scarf wrapped around her neck. She even wore gloves. She could see her breath. His, too, come to think of it.
He remained silent as she spoke to more kids and waved greetings at a couple of parents. She saw out of the corner of her eyes that he’d shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. When there was a momentary lull, he spoke. “I keep expecting to hear from you.”
She faced him. “Trevor hasn’t been in any more fights, thank goodness. We had some vandalism, but as far as I can tell he wasn’t tied to it. Which is not to say he doesn’t still worry me.”
“Me, too.”
Well, that was honest. It didn’t so much surprise her as make her aware anew of how badly she’d misjudged him. After seeing him earnestly making the rounds talking to Trevor’s teachers, she’d been forced to realize that he did care about his son and was, in fact, taking full parental responsibility. He still made her uncomfortable, but that wasn’t his fault. Seeing him only reminded her of how poorly she’d handled that meeting—and probably the phone call preceding it.
Okay, and then there was the fact that he reminded her for the first time in a long while that she was a woman, with a woman’s needs. Right now, for example, she was painfully aware of his size, broad shoulders, dark, tousled hair and the angles and planes of his face that made it look…austere. Although that might not be the bone structure. Molly had a feeling this man was suppressing a whole lot.
“I gather he and your daughter aren’t an item anymore,” he said after a minute.
“Yes, so she tells me.”
“Did she say why?”
“No.” Molly frowned and really looked at him. “They’re young. Pairings don’t usually last long.”
“Maybe not.” He rocked back on his heels. “I met Trevor’s mother in high school. Dated her the last two years, and married her.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it. She didn’t know why she was shocked that he’d told her so much. It hadn’t been a throwaway, making conversation kind of comment. Had he really gotten married at eighteen? She was horrified whenever she heard about students graduating and getting married right away.
Not that she could say much, married at twenty and a mother at twenty-one. Yes, but see how that had turned out. Maybe it’s why she was horrified by the idea of it happening to anyone else.
“But you’re divorced,” she heard herself say, and winced.
“I
