the clouds began to gather. True to form, the boys were immune to the inclement weather, especially when the first person crossed the finish line to a chorus of cheers and shouts. “I thought Aunt Bex would win.” Josh looked deflated all of a sudden.
This was the delicate part of being a parent, Tate knew. The smallest nuances could make a major impact, so situations like this had to be addressed carefully. In as offhand a voice as possible, he said, “The men will come in first for the most part. We’re built a little differently. We can run faster. It’s just how it is. She might still win, but in the women’s race.”
“It’s the same race,” Josh pointed out.
Interesting territory.
“But the male and female runners are judged differently, with different times.” He handed Josh a juice box.
“Why?”
A kid who took things literally. Tate considered his response. “It’s like flying a Cessna,” he eventually said. “Those are sleek planes that can do just about anything, but you don’t want to be the pilot in a storm. On the other hand, a 757 can generally handle all sorts of weather.”
The plane analogy was lame, but he meant well, and it was what he knew. In the end he put it in simpler terms. “Men and women aren’t built the same. It’s a biological thing. In plenty of ways, the female of the species has the advantage over us guys.”
He might have elaborated but more runners were crossing the finish line. As predicted, all men so far, but the boys were enjoying the spectacle, soaking up the excitement, the thrill of achievement, and that was never a bad thing.
When the kids spotted Bex, they started hopping up and down, yelling and waving, and she managed a smile and a small wave as she crossed the line and began to walk it off, accepting the bottle of water one of the volunteers handed her.
Bex hadn’t won, as it turned out, but she placed third. Tate was impressed. He kept the boys corralled until she finally walked over. He was merely going to give her the lightweight jacket she’d left with him; instead he draped it over her damp shoulders in what felt, for some reason, like a very intimate gesture.
She met his eyes and said, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Well done, by the way.”
Despite the umbrella, the boys were completely wet because they couldn’t stay still, but luckily it wasn’t all that cold out. She limped next to him as they walked to his vehicle. Her smile was rueful. “No matter what I do, my feet are always bleeding after I run one of these.”
“And you feel like Rip van Winkle, I know. Asleep for twenty years and just woke up.” He wasn’t quite sure, since she was already drenched, why he felt the need to hold the umbrella over her, but he did it, anyway. “A hot bath will do wonders. How was your time?”
“Personal best.” She smiled as she said that, looking pleased.
And beautiful, even soaking wet and exhausted, with no hint of makeup on her face. He had a hard time keeping his gaze from slipping downward to where her shirt clung to her breasts. For someone so athletic, she still had very feminine curves, not to mention those long, toned legs.
He realized she’d caught him staring when her brows went up a fraction. “Please tell me my shirt isn’t transparent now. I’m too tired to look down.”
“Unfortunately not.” He pressed a button on his key fob to unlock the SUV. The boys had scampered ahead and had almost reached the back doors. “But it wouldn’t hurt my feelings if it was. If you need any help getting out of those wet clothes, just call me.”
“Generous of you, but I think I can manage.” Her wry expression changed. “How was Josh?”
“Well behaved and polite,” he assured her. It was the truth.
“Good.” She smiled in relief, a smile that turned into a look of concern. “I mean, he usually is, but then again, he didn’t tell me about the school lunch thing, either.”
“I’m sure he’s anxious about what comes next, once his parents are divorced, but I saw that in Ben and Adam when their life underwent a big change. All you can do is be there and answer the inevitable questions as honestly as possible. For the record, I’m not a child psychologist, but I believe that ‘I don’t know’ is a perfectly acceptable response if that happens to be the case. Those words have certainly come out of my mouth more than once.”
“The trouble is, he’s not really asking.” She stopped to face him, her lashes starred by raindrops.
Those incredible eyes. He was back to thinking they were green again.
This attraction was getting out of hand, and he needed to put an end to it, but he had a feeling that wasn’t too likely.
“I learned the hard way that you don’t have to be a superhero. I was determined to make everything okay for my sons, but the truth is, I couldn’t fix...what had happened.”
That sounded preachy, so Tate amended it with a grimace as he opened the passenger door. “It’s like flying without controls, if you ask me. You take the plane up and hope for the best possible landing.”
She laughed and shook her head as she put a foot on the running board. “You and Tripp. He says stuff like that all the time. You do realize I’m going to get your car seat all wet.”
Tate looked at the boys in the backseat, equally soaked and laughing loudly about something or other, Ben leaning over to punch Adam in the arm. Tate said, “I suspect the vehicle in general might need to dry out, so don’t worry about it. Do we still have a date tonight or will you be too worn out?”
She sat down and reached for the seat belt, clicking it in place. “I believe I owe you. I’ll be fine tonight. Who’s watching the boys or are they coming along?”
He loved his sons, but no way.
Tate went around and got into the car. “Can you picture them selecting bathroom tile or kitchen countertops? Hadleigh offered to watch them. I accepted. She said she’d be happy to have Josh, too.”
“You do know she’s matchmaking.”
He almost didn’t hear what she’d said because the boys were getting rowdy and he’d just flipped the ignition switch. Bex sat there, dripping, looking straight at him, as if life was like the marathon she’d just run, something to be met head-on and conquered.
Tate conceded. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” What else could he say?
* * *
THE RED SILK DRESS was too much for what was essentially a trip to the hardware store, so Bex changed again. Black pencil skirt and white camisole with a pale gold sweater. Okay, that was better. Besides, after 26.2 miles, heels weren’t an option, so plain black flats were, at any rate, comfortable. Her toes needed some TLC.
Bex had no idea where they were going for dinner, so for Mustang Creek, this outfit was middle ground. A little upscale for Bad Billie’s, but dressy enough for O’Henry’s on a Saturday night. There weren’t a lot of other decent choices.
Tara was watching television again, but at least she was with
