Three
Tom pulled up in front of the small duplex, parked beneath the lamppost, set the brake and turned off the ignition. Opening the door, he pocketed the keys and slid out of his new truck.
Idly he ran one hand over the flashy red paint that looked a dingy gray in the weird glow of the yellow fog light. The day he’d bought it, just a month ago, he’d actually called Donna, to tease her about the “new baby” in his life.
A short laugh shot from his throat. New baby had suddenly taken on a completely different meaning.
He could just imagine the look on Donna’s and her husband’s faces when he announced the arrival of her little brother. Or sister.
Shaking his head, he started around the front of the car. A muffled roar of sound rolled toward him. Out of the darkness, four young boys appeared as shadows in the gloom, then sailed past him, ably surfing the asphalt on skateboards.
Their laughter hung in the air for a long minute after they were gone, and Tom stared after them. Skateboarding. In the dark. Fearlessly pitting themselves against drivers who would have a hard time spotting them in their blue jeans and sweatshirts.
A cold chill swept over him. The kids couldn’t have been more than ten, tops. When his child was ten, Tom would be fifty-five. Nearly sixty. He groaned tightly. How in the hell would he be able to keep up with the kid?
Shaking his head at the thought, he turned to stare at the small, neat apartments in front of him. A singlestory, craftsman-style duplex, ‘Kate had told him hers was the one on the right. Tom shifted his gaze to the square of lamplight making the blue drapes across a wide front window glow with a nearly serene light. He tried to imagine her there, inside.
He should have come by sooner. Called her. He’d wanted to. But she was right. This did feel awkward. Sure, they’d known each other for three years. But they’d only spent three weeks of that time together.
In the month she’d been on base, Tom had hardly seen her. He’d deliberately kept his distance, wanting to give her time to settle in. To get used to the idea of their being in such close quarters for the first time.
But it had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep from calling her, talking to her. Honestly, he’d wanted to give her time to decide if she even wanted to continue the affair that had come to mean so much to him over the past three years.
Now, it seemed the choice had been made for her.
Dragging in a deep breath of sea-flavored air, he started for the front door. Along the way, he noted the neat flower border that lined the narrow, curved walk. Tiny statues of squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits dotted one half of the thumbnail-sized front lawn, and he smiled, wondering if Kate had set them out or if they belonged to her neighbor.
How little he knew about her, the person, he mused. Oh, he knew that rubbing the back of her knee lightly would make her purr in pleasure. But he didn’t know the simple things. For instance, what was her favorite color?
What the hell kind of relationship was this?
Two front doors met him. The door on the left, painted a bright blue, also sported a wild-looking wreath made of dried flowers and boasting a stuffed canary on its straw ribbon. He glanced at it and it opened.
A small, older woman in skintight pink pants topped by a neon yellow sweatshirt stepped out onto her porch. She looked up at him, smiled and instantly lifted one hand to unnecessarily smooth her chic, silver hair. “Well,” she said, her tone openly interested. “Hello. I heard you walk up, thought you were one of the girls. But you’re most definitely not, so just exactly who are you?”
“Tom Candello, ma’am,” he said, and couldn’t help noticing when she winced slightly at the “ma’am.”
She recovered quickly though and, stepping toward him, she held out her right hand. “Evie Bozeman,” she said, giving him a wide smile. “You’re here to see Kate, then?”
“That’s right,” he said, and snapped a quick look at the still-closed door on the right.
“And are you a Marine, too?” she practically cooed at him.
“Yes ma’am, I’m a colonel.”
“Ooh, fascinating,” she murmured, then her gaze swept him up and down. “A shame you didn’t wear your uniform. I do so love a man in uniform.”
“I don’t usually wear it off base,” he told her and silently counted his lucky stars that he hadn’t worn it tonight, especially.
“As I said, a shame. Ah, well, jeans are nice, too.” She inhaled sharply, beamed a smile at him and tightened her grip on his hand. “I’m delighted Kate has a date. I’ve told her and told her, she’s too young to just sit at home all the time.”
Too young, Tom thought with an inward groan. At thirty-two, she was too young for lots of things. Including him. As he’d told her often over the past three years.
“You take me, for example.” Evie was talking again, tugging him toward Kate’s door. “Why, I’m almost never home. Tonight’s different, of course. The girls are coming over for a game of cards. We invited Kate to join us, but she said she had plans.” She actually batted her eyelashes at him. “And she certainly wasn’t lying.”
There was a gleam in Evie Bozeman’s eyes that had Tom wanting to call out the troops for backup.
From out on the street, a car horn sounded and Evie looked past him, thank heaven, squinted a bit, then grinned and waved. “The girls are here,” she told him, and tugged him around again to face the walkway.
Tom glanced over his shoulder at Kate’s unadorned door and wondered where the hell she was. Then it occurred to him that she might be watching all of this and thoroughly enjoying it instead of coming out to rescue him. As soon as that thought registered, though, he reminded himself that he was a colonel in the Marine Corps. He shouldn’t have to be rescued from a woman who had to be at least sixty-five.
Determinedly he tried to pull his hand free, but Evie held on in a grip that told him she’d done this before.
“Now, don’t run off, Tom,” she said, waving one arm in a wide arc, to hurry her friends along the flower-lined walk. “I want you to meet the girls.”
Surrendering to the inevitable, he followed her gaze to the four women hurtling up the walkway. Each one well into her sixties, they wore jeans or the same kind of tights Evie was wearing. Sweatshirts, T-shirts and running shoes completed the ensembles, and Tom had to admit they looked nothing at all like what he would expect from a bridge club.
“Girls,” Evie announced proudly, “this is Tom.” She paused for effect, then added, “He’s a Marine. A colonel.”
Tom shifted uneasily as four pairs of interested eyes turned on him.
“Where’d you find him, Evie?”
“My, what a looker!”
“Whose is he?”
“Can we keep him?”
This last from a tiny
