want to pursue legal action against Beau?” he asked.
“We don’t see an alternative.”
“And you want me to handle it.” Not a question but a statement of fact. She wouldn’t have come to see him except that she was fighting for this little boy and didn’t have anyone else to turn to. It was the second time since he’d moved back to Texas that he’d been sought for skills outside his specialty.
“Please,” she said.
“Mel, I haven’t done anything but corporate work since I finished law school. The Americans with Disabilities Act is way outside my expertise. I’m not even sure this is an ADA case.”
“You always were a quick study.”
He almost laughed. The idea was ludicrous. And yet here she sat all calm and businesslike, except for the fire in her eyes, as if daring him. Like in the old days …
She stood, her eyes gone dull. “Never mind. Apparently you prefer making more money for already rich tycoons than helping one little boy with an almost impossible dream.” She glanced pointedly at a glass case on the wall filled with baseball trophies from his days as a player, T-ball through college. Nothing she said could speak more loudly to him than that one look.
She walked to the door, grabbed the handle.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “Or at least, I’ll see if I can do anything. I need to research a few things first. But maybe even more important, Melina? You need to consider that my getting involved could work against what you’re looking for. You know my history with Beau.”
“If I had other options, I would use them.”
He reached behind her and opened the door to the waiting room. “Vonda, how does my schedule look for tomorrow?”
“You’re free after two o’clock.”
Rafe looked at Melina. “I’d like to meet the Andersons. Do you think they could come in tomorrow at two?”
“I’m sure they’ll move heaven and earth to be here. I’ll call you if they can’t, but I don’t think that’s likely. Should Elliot come, too?”
“Yes. I need to see him for myself.”
“They don’t have much money,” she said quietly.
“Okay.”
“Thank you. Listen, I’ve got a ton of material on Asperger’s. I could drop off a couple of books at your house. Leave them on your porch sometime today, if you want,” she said as they headed to the entry door.
“That’d be good.”
“Angie said you bought the old Dillon house.”
“It needs work, but my dad and brothers are helping when they can.” They stepped into an empty, quiet hallway, the door shutting behind them.
“I didn’t think you’d ever move back,” she said.
“Me, either.” He didn’t elaborate on his reasons. “So, Beau’s gotten fat, huh?” he asked.
Her brows went up at the change of subject, then she nodded. “Beer belly.”
“Drowning his sorrows.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rafe,” she said, then left, the unfamiliar perfume he’d smelled on her at the wedding trailing enticingly in her wake.
Rafe returned to his office and closed the door. He couldn’t read her. If she hadn’t needed someone to plead Elliot’s case, would she have contacted him?
Probably not.
He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small box. He’d always kept it in a place where he could look at it frequently, reminding him how tenuous love could be, but he hadn’t looked inside for a while. He did so now, revealing a small, pretty promise ring he’d given Melina their first Christmas at college, only to have it mailed back to him some months later, a one-word note included. The tangible, devastating memory of a promise broken.
He didn’t owe her anything, even if she was still the one he’d never gotten out of his system, and still the sexiest woman he’d ever met. But he could do this. He would try to help young Elliot but also wipe the slate clean with Melina.
He would be able to get rid of the ring, get it out of sight and out of mind.
Then he would finally be free to move on.
Chapter Three
Rafe pulled into his garage a little after seven o’clock that evening. He saw the living room lights were on even before he spotted his father’s pickup. He was probably sanding woodwork, a tedious process on the way to restoring the hundred-year-old house in a neighborhood where the homes were old but well maintained. Rafe had recently furnished one of his four bedrooms for his father, who’d become a fixture, not always spending the night, but staying often enough to warrant a bed of his own. Luis Mendoza had seemed to age ten years since losing his wife, Rafe’s mother, to pneumonia a year ago.
Rafe unlocked the back door and stepped into a dark kitchen, turning on lights as he went.
“Hey, Dad, I’m home!” he called out above the sound of sandpaper scraping wood.
“In the living room!”
There was no evidence that his father had eaten—no dishes, no jumbled-up McDonald’s bag in the trash. Rafe passed through the dining room and on into the living room. “How’s it going?”
“Almost ready to stain.” From where he was kneeling he arched his back, stretching and groaning.
That’s how I’ll look in thirty years, Rafe thought, although the same could be true of his three brothers, as well. Their mother’s DNA showed up in other ways—drive, work ethic, sociability and deep love of family, but that could also be said of their father, too. Rafe missed his mom more than he could say, so he could only imagine the depth of his father’s loss.
Rafe had expected to have the kind of marriage his parents had—with Melina. He still grieved the loss of that dream, and the children who hadn’t come.
Rafe laid his suit jacket over the back of his leather sofa then crouched next to his father and rubbed his back. “How long have you been at it?”
“Couple hours.” He angled away from Rafe’s touch and gestured to the entryway table. “Melina stopped by, left you some books and a DVD.”
“She said she would.” Rafe checked out the materials. The DVD was marked “Elliot Anderson.” He took the disc out of the case and headed to his television. “I haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“Nope.” Luis stood. When he turned sideways he almost disappeared. He’d probably lost thirty pounds, twenty of which he couldn’t afford to lose. “Is that the way the wind’s blowing these days? Melina Lawrence again?”
“It’s
