honest about what you expect of them. Don’t pretend that they can do any and everything. Kids know they have limitations, and they can smell pretense a mile away. No one can trust deceit, even if its well-meaning. Remember that you’re the adult. You’re the one in charge.”
“I know that, but will they?” she worried aloud.
“Don’t give them an option. Believe me, in the long run everyone will be happier that way. Kids aren’t comfortable when adults abdicate their control. They may resent being told what to do—that’s normal and part of developing independence—but inside they know they aren’t capable of making all the decisions. They need the security of adult supervision, whether they realize it or not.”
Traci smiled at her handsome friend thoughtfully. “You really ought to have children of your own, you know.”
A shadow passed briefly over his face. “I hope to.”
Traci could have bitten her tongue off. How could she have been so thoughtless? She had been told that after years of hoping, Bolton’s late wife had finally believed herself pregnant, only to discover that her symptoms were those of cancer. With her had died their hope of having a child of their own. She turned her hand over beneath his and squeezed his palm. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It was a compliment. I took it as such, anyway.”
“It was meant as one.”
“Well, then, for pity’s sake, don’t apologize,” he declared, laughing. “Even a minister’s ego occasionally needs nurturing, you know.”
Traci laughed at that. Bolton Charles was the least egocentric man she’d ever known. Wyatt Gilley, now there was a man with an ego. It was obvious in the pride with which he held himself, the way he dressed and moved. What had it cost him to admit his liability in open court? She couldn’t help admiring him for doing the right thing, even if he had come to it rather late. She wondered if his ego had taken a beating when his wife had divorced him. Did he still love her perhaps? Might he take her back if she wanted him to, put his family back together again?
“Traci?”
“Hm?” She looked up into Bolton’s smiling eyes.
“You got lost for a moment there.”
Lost? Thinking about Wyatt Gilley, of all things! She felt color heat her cheeks. What on earth was wrong with her? “Was I? I, ah, was just wondering if it wasn’t about time to start dinner. You’ll stay and join us, won’t you?”
He released his hold on her hand and’ leaned back in his chair, a knowing little smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I never turn down a homecooked meal,” he said good-naturedly, “or the company of a beautiful woman.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, relieved to hear the teasing tone of his voice, and quipped, “I’ll tell Grandmother you said that. She’ll be so thrilled.”
They both laughed at that, having admitted some time ago that an obvious attempt at matchmaking had brought them together. Traci could only wonder why it wasn’t working.
Traci dropped her gloves, folded her arms and succumbed to an open stare. Why was she surprised? Wyatt Gilley was exactly the sort of man to drive a sky blue convertible sports car, when any other single parent of twins would have opted for a small, sensible station wagon. She wondered if all three could get in it with the top up and if the boys didn’t mind being squished and belted into a single seat. Well, it wasn’t any of her concern. She walked out onto the narrow front deck that essentially served as a doorstep and waited for them to unload and crunch across the gravel parking area to her. She could not resist taking a good look at Wyatt Gilley, though her throat constricted when she did.
He wore a royal blue T-shirt tucked into the waistband of soft, faded jeans, a narrow canvas belt trimmed with brown leather and expensive brown leather athletic shoes without socks. Each item seemed to have an intimate familiarity with his body, as if from long acquaintance, and yet at the same time every article looked spanking new. As he moved closer, he slid off his sunglasses, and even from a distance those blue eyes leaped out at her, shockingly vivid. Her pulse quickened. She immediately averted her gaze.
“Here we are,” Wyatt called, his smile audible. “Just as promised.”
Traci nodded and forced an impersonal smile onto her face. Her remarks she addressed to the boys, her voice studiously polite. “Hello, boys. Ready to work? A bunch of litter has accumulated around the perimeter of the building. You’ll find a couple of trash bags on the big deck. Pick up everything but the broken glass. I don’t want you cutting yourselves. I’ll be inside if you need anything.”
Neither boy seemed particularly inspired by the assigned job, but they went off to do it with a minimum of grumbling and only a few pained looks. After they’d rounded the corner of the building, she addressed their father, her gaze darting around his face without managing to land anywhere. “You don’t need to hang around. The carpentry work can’t begin until the new lumber is delivered.”
“That reminds me,” he said, stepping up onto the deck with her. “The lumber the boys took has been cut into odd lengths, but it might be serviceable. Should I bring it over?”
Instinctively, Traci moved away and tried to think. Odd lengths. Floorboards to be replaced both inside and out, shelves to be built, a portion of cabinet to be framed in, the new doorway to be cased. She tried to implement the instructions given her by her grandfather over and over again during the first nineteen years of her life. She tried to see in her mind exactly what had to be done, step-by-step, but she kept getting derailed by the vision of Wyatt Gilley performing those steps. She shook her head to clear it, realized what he must think and decided to let it stand at that. “No, don’t bring it here,” she said. “You keep it. You’ve paid for it, after all, and I’ve already reordered, but thank you, anyway. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am busy.”
She started to turn into the open doorway at her back, but Wyatt stopped her with a hand clamped down on the forearm folded across her middle. A strange kind of heat flashed up both arms and across her shoulders and down into her chest.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gone husky. “Is there a problem? I’d like to help.”
Her own voice felt as if it had to be forced up out of her chest, past her overinflated lungs and around an enormous lump in her throat. “N-no!” The word seemed to free her breath, which came rushing out behind it. A deep draught of fresh air helped to clear her head a bit. “I—I mean, there’s nothing wrong. Wh-what could be wrong? I’m going to get my shop opened, thanks to you.” As she spoke, she managed to extricate herself from his touch by dropping her arms to her sides.
For a long moment his eyes plumbed hers, reaching, it seemed, for the inner recesses of her mind. She kept very still, so still that her heart seemed to have ceased beating. She dared not blink. She dared not think, lest he see her thoughts and read them. Finally she felt him withdraw, slowly, gently, and her heart started to beat again in careful, even measures. A slight smile lifted the corners of his finely sculpted mouth.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said apologetically.
She hoped he did not recognize the relief behind her nod. “You can pick up the boys in about an hour and a half, if that’s all right.”
He slid the sunglasses onto his face. “See you later, then.”
She
