shin. “Tell me about her.”
“Who? My mom?” He hadn’t seen that coming.
“Yes, I’m curious about her. My real mother died when I was really young, so I never had the chance to know her.”
“I thought you said your parents died recently.”
“They did. I was orphaned the first time when I was eight and then adopted when I was nine.” She cast a glance his way. When their eyes met, she seemed to reel him into her story. Into her life. “My adoptive mother was good to me, but she wasn’t very maternal. At least, not the way I imagined a mom should be. Know what I mean?”
Not really. But he nodded just the same.
“I’m not complaining. It’s just that I had a super-cool foster mom once.” She seemed to brighten from the memory, rebounding easily, which was a relief. Clay didn’t like the sad, pensive look that had touched her expression a few moments ago.
Hoping to prolong the happier thoughts, he asked, “What was cool about her?”
“Pretty much everything.” Rickie’s smile deepened, her mood transformed. “Her name was Mama Kate—at least, that’s what we called her. I have no idea how old she was. Probably in her sixties. She was heavyset with an easy laugh and a loving heart. She never turned down a kid needing placement, so her house was packed with children. Yet she always found special time for each of us. And she was a whiz in the kitchen. She made the best meals—healthy and tasty at the same time. And her cookie jar was always full.”
Clay’s mom was a good cook, too, although she didn’t do much baking anymore. At least, he didn’t think she did. It had been a long time since he’d seen her face-to-face. They talked on the phone, of course. Usually on Sundays. But he didn’t go home too often. Just for Christmas—and only if he wasn’t deployed or stationed too far away.
“How long did you get to live with Mama Kate?” he asked.
“Not long enough.”
She didn’t explain, but Clay sensed a sadness about her. Without a conscious thought, he reached out and placed his hand on her bent knee, offering his comfort and support. Or maybe he just wanted an opportunity to touch her.
“It sounds like Mama Kate set a good example for you,” he said.
Rickie smiled, and this time, when their eyes met, something warm surged between them. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they’d made some kind of emotional connection, one that might linger indefinitely. But they really hadn’t. How could they? They’d just met. And they’d never see each other again.
Yet the longer they sat in the soft glow emanating from the porch lights, the more surreal the evening seemed. Sure, Rickie was just as pretty, just as sexy as ever, but there was so much more to her. And if she lived around here...
But she didn’t.
Reluctantly, he removed his hand from her knee. “I grew up without a father, but my granddad tried to set a pretty good example for me. He was tough as nails, but he also had a soft side.”
Again, she smiled. “So you grew up with a lot of love.”
“Too much at times.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“My mom was one of those helicopter parents. She hovered over me, hell-bent on keeping me safe, close to home and under her wing.”
At that, Rickie drew up both knees. Her smile deepened, sparking something in her pretty brown eyes. It felt pretty damn good to think that he’d done or said something that had caused her pleasure. But for some reason, he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about him or his mother.
“You might think that’s cool,” he said, “but you have no idea how tough it was to live with a mom like mine. Our relationship was pretty strained most of the time, which caused me to rebel every chance I got.”
Rickie cocked her head to the side, causing her curls to tumble over her shoulder. He was tempted to reach out, to touch them, to see if they were just as soft as they looked. But this time, he kept his hand to himself.
“In what ways did you rebel?” she asked.
He thought for a moment, wanting to choose the right example to share. For some dumb reason, he didn’t want to tell her about the time he and Duck got caught drinking Granddad’s Jack Daniel’s behind the barn. Or when he and Poncho lit up cigars in the old lot near the ball field and set the dried grass on fire.
“When I was just a little kid,” he said, “maybe four or five years old, my grandparents came to visit. It was right before Halloween, and Granddad’s wife made me a purple superhero cape to go with my costume. Even days after I’d gone trick-or-treating, I wore that silly thing all the time. And whenever I’d see my mom standing at the kitchen sink and gazing out the window, I’d climb one of the nearby trees and jump out of it. I knew I couldn’t really fly, but I’d pretend to. And my mom would really freak out.”
“Surely you don’t blame her for doing that. You could have broken your neck.”
“Yeah, I know. But she used to hit the roof about a lot of things. And the older I got, the more protective she seemed to get. I can’t tell you how many camping trips I missed because she couldn’t go and didn’t want to let me out of her sight.” Clay took a sip of his cola, wishing he’d gotten another beer instead.
“I’m surprised she let you play football,” Rickie said.
He laughed. “I grew up in Texas. We love high school football.”
“You’re damn straight,” Rickie said. “Friday Night Lights and all of that. Did your mom go to your games?”
“Hell, she sat in the front row for every single one. And once, when I was sacked especially hard, she ran out on the field to make sure I was okay. The coach had to tell her to back off and return to the bleachers.”
Again there went that pretty, heart-strumming smile that lit her honey-colored eyes. “Your poor mom.”
“Maybe so. But she would have been better off having a girl.” One like Rickie, who would have enjoyed baking cookies with her or sitting in a cozy chair reading storybooks. A girly-girl who wouldn’t mind sticking around the house all day instead of messing around with the guys and getting ready to jump on any wild-ass idea that Clay or his friends thought would be fun and exciting.
“Hey, Bullet!”
At the sound of Poncho’s voice, Clay looked over his shoulder to see his buddy manning the grill. The ladies had moved over to the grassy area, too. And from the looks of it, the evening’s festivities had begun.
“The hot dogs are just about ready,” Poncho called out. “Come and get ’em.”
“I’ll bring a couple of plates back for us,” Clay told Rickie.
When he returned, one plate was loaded with hot dogs. The other held a couple of paper cups filled with condiments.
“Oh my gosh.” Rickie laughed. “Who do you expect to eat
