turned the glove in his hands, noticing a name printed on it with a black felt-tip marker.
C. Lopez.
Cory, whose dad had died in an attempt to serve and protect. He started to toss the glove to a nearby table, but something on the inside edge caught his eye. A label. Cornelio Tomas Lopez.
And a street address.
The boy’s eyes, hungering for reassurance, pierced Gray’s memory—followed by the remembrance of the flashing gaze of his beautiful, standoffish mother.
Miss Gilbert said Cory’s mom loved him. That she did her best to provide for him and give him the attention he needed. He knew from his experiences with Jenna and Michael, though, that it wasn’t easy being a single mom raising a boy on your own.
He tightened his grip on the ball glove, his gaze lingering on the inner label.
No, don’t even think about it, Wallace.
Chapter Two
She’d just stepped out the front door when an unfamiliar silver SUV pulled up at the curb behind her car.
Cory’s Officer Wallace got out.
Elise’s grip tightened on her car keys. What was he doing here? How did he know where she lived? Surely Miss Gilbert wouldn’t share her address with a flirtatious cop of all people. If he’d followed her home to hit on her, he could climb back into his vehicle and head on down the road.
“Mrs. Lopez?” a warm, masculine Texas twang called out as he rounded the SUV and approached. His gaze swept the apartment house and yard in one of those looks she knew quickly—and accurately—assessed the neighborhood. These were her circumstances...and he clearly found them lacking. But his smile nevertheless broadened as he held up something in the hand unfettered by a sling. A baseball glove. “Cory forgot this.”
Thoughtful on the surface, but why had he made such an effort to deliver it personally unless he had an ulterior motive? She gave him an uncertain smile as he came to stand before her. He was taller than she’d originally thought, with a strong, clean-shaven jaw. High cheekbones. Straight nose. His confident, captivating eyes were an unusual light brown, like burnished oak edged with a darker shade. Thick, dark lashes.
Eyes a woman could too easily get lost in.
Nor had she missed that the hand extending from the sling’s edge was ringless—although it wasn’t uncommon for cops on duty not to wear one.
“I’m Grayson Wallace, ma’am. I visited the elementary school today. Met your son.”
As if Cory would let her forget. Or if she could forget her brief, disconcerting encounter with the handsome lawman. “Good afternoon, Officer Wallace. This is a surprise.”
“I imagine so.” Lines crinkled around the corners of his eyes as he undoubtedly recognized the suspicion in her own—telltale lines that signaled this was a man who liked to laugh. Who enjoyed good times. “I didn’t want him to go all weekend without his ball glove. I know when I was his age, I’d have gone crazy if I’d thought I’d lost mine.”
He held out the leather glove, his gaze never leaving hers, but she mishandled the exchange and it slipped from her fingers. His hand brushed hers as he deftly caught it.
“Sorry, ma’am. My fault.”
His gaze trapped hers once more as he again handed it to her. She tucked the glove securely under her arm, then brushed back a strand of hair straying from her chignon. She’d dealt with plenty of men who’d tried to overstep their bounds since Duke’s death. Returning a beloved baseball glove was one more creative ploy to get a foot in the door of her personal life. She could send this one packing, too.
“Thank you. Cory didn’t notice it was missing until we got home. Pretty upset. He wanted to call a policeman to retrieve it because I didn’t have time to go back.” Any excuse to see his Officer Wallace again.
“So it is a special glove.” The smiling eyes sobered. “His father gave it to him?”
Perceptive man.
She nodded. “For his fourth birthday. A few weeks before...”
Her gaze faltered as her voice drifted off. Some days it was still hard to talk about. Especially uncomfortable to discuss with another police officer.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Lopez.” He studied her with a sincere respect, any hint of flirtatiousness extinguished. “I never met your husband, but I knew of him. He was a fine officer.”
“Thank you. He was.”
He broke eye contact. Like many others, he no doubt found it difficult to talk to the widow of a fallen comrade. What can you say that hadn’t already been said? Besides, what cop wanted an in-your-face reminder that some police officers, like soldiers, never come home?
“Officer Wallace! What are you doing here?”
She turned to see Cory dash out the front door, eyes aglow with curiosity and excitement. He jerked to a halt beside her, an eager gaze fastened on their visitor.
“He brought you this.” She reluctantly handed him his baseball glove, not thrilled to elevate the police officer any higher in her son’s estimation than he already was.
“Oh, man. Oh, man.” Cory thrust his hand into the glove, mixed emotions warring in his eyes. He took a step toward the uniformed man, hesitated, then moved in closer to wrap his arms around the startled officer for a hug. “Oh, man, thank you. I thought someone would steal it.”
Officer Wallace’s hearty laugh rang out as he returned the enthusiastic embrace, his gaze flickering to hers and holding it longer than necessary. “You’re welcome, Cory. I know what a favorite glove can mean to a guy.”
Flustered, she glanced at her watch. “Thank you again for going out of your way for Cory. But he needs to get to his homework, and I need to get back to my job.”
He smiled down at her son. “Can’t slack on the homework, mister. Wannabe police officers have to keep up their grades.”
Cory groaned, then lifted a hand for a parting high five before trotting back to the house, the glove held high in triumph.
Still smiling, the officer turned to her, his probing gaze setting loose a truckload of battering rams in her stomach.
“You’ve got a good kid there.”
She shot him a grateful look. “Most of the time. He’s had his moments lately.”
“It’s not easy on a boy, losing his father.”
“No.” Nor was losing a husband easy. Or discovering he wasn’t who you’d believed him to be. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Mr. Wallace, but if you visit the school again I’d appreciate your not indulging his obsession about becoming a policeman. He talks about it nonstop. It’s not healthy for him.”
Or for me.
He squinted one eye and offered a hint of a smile. He probably thought
