Tucker had to grin. She looked pretty startled at the idea of swapping kids. At least he’d gotten her attention.
For darn sure, she’d gotten his. The business she’d set up was amazing. The shop, the grounds, the house. He’d never thought of her as a lightweight, but what she’d created here was downright remarkable.
And so was she.
“I didn’t mean literally trade kids. But I got this brainstorm of how we could help each other. Starting with my Will … Just looking around here, I can see you’ve got plenty of manual work. He loves messing with dirt. And he’s too young to have a ‘real’ job, but maybe you could find something helpful for him to do a couple afternoons a week?”
She didn’t immediately answer, but he could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind as she considered the idea. She had to be concentrating mighty hard, because her right hand was instinctively stroking the cat on her lap—the cat she’d claimed wasn’t hers and never would be. Finally, she came through with a worry. “Tucker, I’m not sure I’m the kind of feminine influence Mrs. Riddle thinks your Will needs.”
“Are you kidding? You’re perfect.” He leaned forward, serious now, just struggling to find the right words to explain. “You’re not froufrou. You’re common sense. You clearly don’t mind hard work. You’re creative and interesting and smart, but not threatening. I think Will just being around you would help smooth out some of his current rough edges. Give him some confidence that all women aren’t like his mom. That everyone without that Y chromosome isn’t petrifying.”
Hell. He’d said something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. The warm glow in her eyes turned abruptly cool. She stopped rocking. “Well, in some ways you’re certainly right,” she said swiftly. “I’m not remotely a froufrou kind of woman. Much less the kind of girl who’d fit into a sorority at Ole Miss.”
That was the thorn? He thought he was giving her a major compliment. But he never had a chance to respond, because she took the conversational ball. “I’d be happy to have Will around here … but what if he doesn’t want to? Maybe he won’t like me, or the things I’m doing here.”
“Well, I put a question to him at dinner. I’ve always had a heavy work schedule in the summer, and he’s always spent those summers with me. We have a good time. But I just asked him if he’d like a change, like a chance to spend a few afternoons a week somewhere else. Do something different, learn something different. Help someone out. I didn’t put your name out there, I just put out the general idea. And he leaped on it. I think he’d really like it.”
Before she could say no—and Tucker could smell when a woman was about to tell him no … God knew, he’d heard it enough—he added, “And I’ve got a plan for your Pete. And for you.”
There. Mention her kid, and her face lit up with warmth again. Tucker tried to remember the last time he’d been this captivated by a woman … and couldn’t. Talking to her only snared his attention more. For darn sure, he couldn’t stop looking at her.
She was wearing a sort-of-white linen shirt, not sheer, but still light as sunlight, a soft caress of a drape on her shoulders, her breasts, a long, low V-neck revealing a delicate expanse of neck. She wore a tiny gold chain. Nothing glitzy or blingy, nothing like formal jewelry. The chain was just the thinnest collar of gold that glinted when she moved, drew attention to her sun-kissed skin beneath.
And then there were legs. For a pipsqueak, she had amazing legs. Slim calves, shapely thighs … Hell. Her knees were even cute.
Naturally he was attracted to her boobs and fanny—he was a guy. But her mouth revved his testosterone switch, too. Her lips looked vulnerable, bare, softer than satin. Maybe her mouth was a little wide, but that just made her smiles and laughter bigger, showed off those pretty teeth. It was a kissable mouth. Probably, on a scale of one to ten, it rated a fifteen-plus for kissability.
Not that he still played those immature scale games.
It was just … he hadn’t let a woman close enough to think of those old immature scale games … in a blue moon.
“About my Petie …”
He straightened up. “Yeah. Here’s my thought on Pete. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard part of what Mrs. Riddle said to you. She thinks Pete needs a sport, something outside of academics—”
“It’s not that he doesn’t get along with the other kids,” Garnet interrupted, immediately defending her son. “She was just making a point that middle school is tough on all kids. And she thought he’d fit in better with the boys … if he had some kind of athletic skill.”
Tucker nodded, then wedged a little closer. “I heard from somebody—probably another parent—that you were a widow?”
Her voice picked up a careful cadence, making him pretty sure—damned sure—she was giving him the spruced-up version of the story. “Yes, that’s right. Johnny and I ran off, got married right out of high school. It’s no secret I was pregnant at the time. He thought the best way to earn a living was to go into the service. Unfortunately, only a few months later he was sent to the Middle East. He came home on every leave, it’s not as if we never saw him, but he died when Pete was barely three. He just wasn’t around to be a male influence.”
“I take it there’s no other family close? Your parents? His grandparents from the other side?”
“John’s family moved to Oregon years ago. They send presents, cards, but otherwise haven’t tried to be part of Petie’s life. And my family’s originally from Charleston. Two sisters. No brothers.”
When she didn’t add anything further about her family, he thought, ho-kay. Obviously there was a sore spot … which made Tucker conclude that she’d never had much backup coming from family.
“So,” he said slowly, “I don’t care what Mrs. Riddle said. What do you think? About whether Pete needs a sport, or to develop some kind of athletic skill, or just some guy time?”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t see why every boy should be inherently great with sports … any more than every girl plays with dolls. Pete’s smart as a whip. He can cook better than I can. He built his own computer. Sometimes he’ll come out and work with me, so it’s not like he’s afraid to get his hands dirty. He just seems to like being inside more.”
“What sports have you tried?”
“Well … swimming. Hiking. I know, that doesn’t sound like much … but it hasn’t been that easy. I’m really tied down with Plain Vanilla. I have two regular employees, but that’s it. On Sundays, especially during the school year, we often take off and do something. It’s just … Petie would rather do a movie or prowl around a computer store. Sports never seem to make it on his want-to-do list.”
Tucker nodded. “That’s kind of what I thought you’d say. So here’s my plan. Let me take your Pete, while you have my Will. Same setup. Trade kids a couple afternoons a week. Pete can just hang with me … I’ve got a range of groups coming in over the next few weeks. It’ll be easy to give him a chance to try new things. At his size, I’m guessing you’re not real hot on the idea of contact sports, so we’ll concentrate on the other kind. Kayaking, archery, rock climbing. Not that he has to try anything. He’ll just get the chance. No push. No bribery. Just see if he shows an interest, and if he does,
