go talk to this guy. At least check out this project in a little more detail.” Tess shrugged. “No promises, but we’ll see.”
“YOU KNOW WHO’S USING and who isn’t.” Mason took a deep breath as he faced Rafe Black, one of the teens he’d recently met through the clinic. They stood in an open area around a fountain in the park near Mason’s office. “You need to surround yourself with friends who aren’t.”
Rafe ran one finger along his eyebrow, where he had once worn a double stripe shaved at one end, a mark Mason feared showed the young man’s allegiance to a gang, though he denied it. “But these are my boys, you know? Maybe I can help them. Maybe if they hang with me, then they won’t use anymore.”
“Or you could be tempted to use again.”
“No way.” Rafe stepped back in disgust. “I’ve seen what that shit did to my old man. No way is that going to happen to me.” He thumped his chest. “I’m going to make something of my life, and if I can help some of my boys, then it’s all straight.”
“Will any of them come for the beach cleanup next Saturday?”
He shrugged. “I told them about it.”
“Will you come? I’m happy to pick you up, if you need a ride.”
“I can find my own ride.”
He hadn’t said he’d come. Even if he had, the odds were against Rafe sticking with the program. Mason felt a flicker of disappointment. “Well, let me know if not. It’s no trouble to swing by to get you on my way.”
“It’s all good. We’ll see what’s going down.” Rafe stood, stretching his six feet two inches of lanky muscle, the lines of the man he’d become already evident. “I’ve got to head out.”
Mason nodded. “We still on for some Hurricanes football?”
A wide smile spread across the young man’s face. For just a moment the premature aging around his eyes faded and he appeared the carefree youth he should have been. He spiked an imaginary football. “Orange Bowl? You know I wouldn’t miss it.”
Hope filled Mason as Rafe sauntered down the path through the park. Maybe there was a chance he’d beat the odds, after all.
“He’s lucky to have you.”
Mason started at the feminine voice behind him. He turned, surprised to see the unforgettable redhead from the DCWC meeting.
“Hello.” She extended her hand and smiled. “I’m Tess McClellan.”
Inexplicable heat suffused him. His pulse raced. He stared at her, caught in the beauty of her smile until he belatedly grabbed her hand and pumped with more exuberance than necessary.
Pink rose in her cheeks. “I was at the Dade County Women’s Club luncheon for your talk the other day.”
“Yes, of course, I remember you.”
Why was she here? He willed his pulse to calm and stuffed his hands into his pockets to prevent further spastic behavior. At twenty-nine he’d somehow become an awkward teen again.
“I hope you don’t mind that I tracked you down. Cassie Aikens gave me your office number, and when I called, your receptionist told me I could find you here.”
Muffled musical notes sounded from inside her purse. She dug a cell phone from it. “Excuse me a moment.”
Turning aside she spoke in quiet tones to the caller. “Hi, Evan… I’m not sure… I’ll be back later this afternoon… Ramon has dinner covered… I have to go… Okay, bye.” She stowed the phone back in her purse. “I’m sorry about that.”
“No problem. So, Tess, I assume you want to hear more about the project.”
Up close, she was even more compelling than she’d been from a distance. Not exactly pretty—though the blue of her eyes was stunning—she was entrancing in an uncommon way. When was the last time he’d been this excited, this pleased, to see a woman—and one he didn’t even know at that?
She smiled, revealing a small dimple in her left cheek, as she nodded. “I wanted to see for myself what it was all about.” She pulled on her fingers—her ringless fingers. “I didn’t want to disturb you, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”
“Rafe has had a difficult time, like so many of these kids. They each have a story—some born addicted to crack, some who’ve lost a parent to an overdose, some with HIV-infected parents, more times than not from needles they found in the trash.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to believe they don’t know better. It’s a pity to see people unable to care, especially with kids like Rafe counting on them.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
Memories of his own childhood flashed through Mason’s mind: the morning his mother took off without saying goodbye; his father drinking himself to death shortly afterward; being passed from uncle to uncle until he emancipated himself at sixteen. “Well, I never had it as hard as Rafe, but I can imagine.”
Her gaze softened, and for a moment warmth seemed to flow from her, blanketing him in a sense of well-being. Unbidden, his feet moved him a step closer to her.
“So, you arrange activities for these kids to keep them off the streets?”
“That’s part of it. We have regular workshops to educate them on drug abuse, HIV and other issues that affect them. Try to counsel them on school and careers and help them get jobs in the interim.”
“Are most of them teens like that guy?” A breeze swept up behind her, bringing a whiff of her perfume.
His gaze fell to the fullness of her lips. Her scent teased him and he struggled to focus on their conversation. “We get them in all shapes and sizes. The teens are the ones we worry about the most, though. They’re the most damaged. You can see it in the way they’re closed off, distrustful of everything and everybody. Usually they’re so close to falling off the edge, we’re lucky to get any response from them.”
“That’s so…sad.”
Something in her eyes pulled him in, held him spellbound for a moment, until he blinked and detached himself, inhaling a deep breath to clear his head. “Occasionally we get some of the more fortunate ones, latchkey kids being raised by single parents struggling with poverty and stressful lives. That’s all part of the problem.
“Right now we’re tapping all our resources to help the kids, but then we send them home to their parents, who are still saddled with all their issues. They can undo our efforts in the space of a day. If we can get this center going, we’re hoping to start some new programs for parents and families as well.”
Again she nodded, her forehead furrowed in thought. “And you think one big fund-raiser will be enough?”
“To be totally honest, I’d like this one event to help get us up and running. Then we’ll need something similar at least annually to keep the center operating.”
Her cell phone chimed again and she excused herself to answer it. “Josh, I’m so sorry
