“Can we meet on Friday?”

Grant asked, as he pulled a business card out of his pocket and jotted down his number. “Same time as today and same place.”

“How about one o’clock? Why don’t I bring an extra sandwich for you?” Rebecca was beginning to warm to the idea of seeing him again.

“No. Let me bring the food. My daughter’ so sure I can’t even boil water, I need to prove I’m not a total kitchen klutz.”

Rebecca’s laughter welled up from deep inside and brought colour to her cheeks. “All right, but you’ve got to promise we’ll come up with some kind of plan for the kids. Otherwise I can’t justify meeting you for lunch.”

That dampened his spirits a bit. “I promise,” he murmured. “Between now and Friday, I’ll figure out how to make peace with Ryan. I should be able to relate to him better.”

“I hope so. Our kids are the whole reason for us to see each other. Bye, Grant.” She hurried into the salon where she worked.

As he called out a final goodbye and headed for his car, Grant thought he should have corrected Rebecca’s impression. Their kids weren’t why he wanted to see her again.

Roz Denny Fox has been a RITA® Award finalist and has placed in a number of other contests; her books have also appeared on the Waldenbooks bestseller list. She’s happy to have received her twenty-five-book pin and would one day love to get the pin for fifty books. Roz currently resides in Tucson, Arizona, with her husband, Denny. They have two daughters.

A Texas-Made Family

by

Roz Denny Fox

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

REBECCA GEROUX barely made it to the kitchen with her three heavy bags of groceries before one ripped open. Oranges spilled across the counter. Two bounced off and hit the floor. “Lisa!” Rebecca called for her sixteen-year-old-daughter, hoping for some help.

Getting no answer, Rebecca tried her son. “Jordan! Hey, one of you kids had better get in here, or I won’t have time to fix supper before I need to leave.” From the silence that ensued, she knew Jordan hadn’t heard. That wasn’t surprising—he’d had his nose in a book and music blaring from his new iPod as she passed him on the couch. Rebecca didn’t see the appeal of an iPod, but all kids lately seemed to need one. And Jordan had done odd jobs to earn the money for his. Rebecca just hoped the book in his hand was homework.

Gathering up the errant oranges, she dumped them in a fridge drawer. Thank goodness I can multitask, she thought as she stacked canned vegetables on an upper pantry shelf while she filled a large pot with water to boil for spaghetti. Finding a jar of commercial tomato sauce tucked behind the beans, she wrenched it open and poured it into a smaller pan.

Being a single mom who’d worked two jobs for what seemed like forever, Rebecca had long since stopped beating herself up over using shortcuts. She did whatever it took to keep a roof over her family’s heads and food on the table. Not to mention clothes on the body of a teenage boy who grew an inch a month.

It was lucky Lisa waited tables a couple of afternoons a week and the occasional weekend. She babysat, too, for Darcy Blackburn, one of Rebecca’s co-workers at the restaurant. It wasn’t easy, but every penny helped build the college fund Lisa and Rebecca contributed to every week. Lisa was going places. With her straight A’s and work ethic, she was never going to be stuck working two jobs.

“Lisa!” Rebecca yelled again. “Come take over the dinner. I’ve got to change before I leave for the Tumbleweed. At the salon today, I dribbled a big splotch of red hair dye down my blouse. I can’t serve customers like this.”

The side door crashed open, catching Rebecca so off guard she dropped the loaf of French bread she’d just buttered and wrapped in foil.

“For heaven’s sake, Lisa Louise, you scared the living daylights out of me. I thought you were in your room doing homework. Where have you been?”

The pretty blond girl shed her backpack. “Sorry, Mom. I told Jordan to let you know I was taking the late bus home today.” Lisa washed her hands at the sink, then leaned over the stove to peer into the pots. “Spaghetti again?” She wrinkled her nose. “Did you read the article I brought home from health class? Eating all these starchy foods is so fattening.”

Rebecca smoothed a hand down her worn black slacks. “Then it’s a good thing this family burns calories off with hard work.” Handing Lisa a wooden fork, she added dryly, “If you feel the need for extra exercise, you can dance while you stir. Just keep the noodles from sticking. Oh, and don’t put anything down the garbage disposal. It quit again. There goes another hundred bucks.” Rebecca heaved a sigh.

Reaching back into the pantry, she made room for several giant cereal boxes. “So…why did you take the late bus home?”

“We got a new student. Mom, he is totally hot. Ryan Lane. He’s a senior. Actually, he’s been in town a few weeks, but couldn’t start class until the records from his previous school arrived. He’s in my honors English and honors chemistry classes. Mr. Reavis made Ryan my chemistry partner. Ever since Ginny Parker’s dad got transferred to an airbase in Maryland I’ve been the only one doing experiments alone.”

Rebecca shut the cupboard and frowned. Her mind had stalled on the totally hot comment. “So, did Mr. Reavis ask you to stay after class to share your notes with the new boy?”

But Lisa wasn’t listening. “Ryan plays baseball. He’s a pitcher. Coach asked him to try out for the team, and Ryan invited me to watch. Mom, he’s nothing like the other jocks. Ryan’s been going to school in Germany for years. And he has the coolest convertible ever. Baby blue. The exact shade of his eyes,” she murmured, oblivious to the fact that her vigorous stirring had slopped water out of the noodle pot.

“You can’t afford to be distracted by boys, Lisa,” Rebecca chided. “If you expect to get one of these scholarships we researched, you have to keep your grades up and stay in the honors programs. Surely I don’t need to remind you how long it took me to save up for beauty school? And even after I passed the course I couldn’t afford to rent space in a shop right away because I needed all the hours I could get at the Tumbleweed just to pay the bills.”

The girl made a face. “Yeah, yeah. Like you’d ever let me forget. You asked me why I was late, so I’m explaining.”

“I know. I’m trying to be clear about why you can’t lose sight of your goal of going to a really good college.”

“Right. But, Mom, you’ve got to meet Ryan. He’s smart. And nice.”

“Nice is as nice does, young lady. What about his parents? What do you know about them?”

“I think it’s only him, a little sister and his dad. But when I bragged about what a great mom you are, Ryan said he’d like to meet you.”

“Monkey! You think you’ll distract me with flattery? Just remember what I said, okay?” Rolling her eyes, Rebecca began ticking off the chores that Lisa and her brother needed to take care of while she was gone. “Darn, I still have to change this blouse. I’ll get Jordan to set the table.” Rebecca ruffled Lisa’s hair as she left the kitchen.

She had good kids, she reminded herself as she detoured to the laundry room to rub spot cleaner into the stain on her white blouse. She wished she and Lisa could have a more easygoing relationship. But the responsibility for the family’s well-being was all Rebecca’s. Their household ran as smoothly as it did thanks to the rules she’d implemented. One she always insisted on—eating at least two meals a day together in spite of her crazy work schedule. Tossing the blouse in with the rest of the laundry, she prayed it’d come clean as she set the load to wash, and hurried off to find something else to put on.

When everyone was finally seated around the table, Rebecca pumped Jordan about how his classes were going. Lisa didn’t voluntarily mention hers. When pressed, she said, “I’m researching an interesting English paper on early women authors. Did you know some had to use male pseudonyms in order to get published?”

Rebecca listened intently. “Life hasn’t been a walk in the park for women in a lot of fields, Lisa.”

Finishing her meal first, Rebecca rose and rinsed her plate in the sink. “Don’t forget, kids. No using the disposal until I get someone to check it out.”

“When will that be?” Lisa asked. “It smells yucky, too.”

“It won’t be until I can find room in the budget,” Rebecca said, collecting her purse and dropping a quick kiss on each child’s head. “Lock up,” she cautioned out of habit. “I close the restaurant all week, so leave a light on. And, Jordan, no staying up to watch late shows.”

“Mom, we know all that stuff,” Lisa said. “We’re not babies anymore.”

“Humor me, okay? Old habits are tough for old moms to break.”

“You always say that. Forty isn’t old,” Lisa said testily. “Age is a state of mind.”

“Well, then I must be ancient,” Rebecca shot back right before she went out and shut the door.

Her car coughed and died, coughed and died again. At last she coaxed the engine to turn over. Once out on the street, she patted the dashboard. Her car wasn’t getting any younger, either. Every day Rebecca battled San Antonio’s rush-hour traffic as she dashed between two jobs and home. Tonight was no different, but at least she was relatively satisfied that she had her household back on track. Lisa hadn’t mentioned the new boy again. Hallelujah! At least that problem had been successfully nipped in the bud.

REBECCA CONTINUED with that assumption through three idyllic weeks, during which things ran smoothly at the salon, at the restaurant and at home.

On Monday afternoon of the fourth week, however, she got home late because of more car trouble. She rushed into the house, out of sorts from having to wait for the bus after an unsettling call from Lisa’s school counselor. Giving Jordan’s foot a shake as she passed him on the couch, Rebecca said, “The Nissan’s kaput. When I left the salon, it refused to start and I had to have it towed to a repair shop. I’m running really behind. Jordan, are you listening? Get Lisa. I need a private word with her, and then the two of you throw together BLT sandwiches for supper. There’s lettuce and tomato in the fridge. Fix bacon in the microwave. That’s all we have time for tonight, I’m afraid.”

“Lisa’s not home yet. She stayed for the baseball game. Ryan’s the opening pitcher. He said he’d drive her home after the game.”

Rebecca skidded to a halt on the way to her bedroom. “Run that by me again.”

Unfolding his long body from the too-short couch, Jordan peered at his watch. “Lisa thought she’d beat you home. Usually she does. Today’s game must’ve gone into extra innings.”

“Are you saying this isn’t the first time your sister’s stayed after school for a baseball game?”

“Yeah. She watches the home varsity games. She’d like to sign up for the rooter bus, but she thinks you’d have a fit.”

“That explains why her counselor called me at work. She’s concerned about a sudden slip in Lisa’s grades. Listen, Jordan, I need to take a quick shower. Then you and I will walk over to the school. I haven’t got a clue where the ball diamond is. You can show me.”

“Aw, Mom. What’s the big deal? Lisa’s a brainiac. What’s the harm if she goofs off a bit?” Jordan’s question was drowned out by the slam of his mother’s bedroom door.

Following a very short shower indeed, Rebecca rushed back to the living room. Her coral-colored hair was darker than normal because she’d skipped drying it. She ignored the water spots on the light blue blouse she was tucking into a navy twill skirt.

Jordan launched a second argument against walking to the high school. “It’s a dumb idea, Mom,” he said, “Ryan could take a different route home and miss us alto—” He broke off when a key rattled in the lock and the door opened. Jordan raised a warning eyebrow at his sister, who was completely absorbed in something her companion was saying.

The boy trailing Lisa into the house towered over her by more than a head. He wore a dirt-streaked ball uniform and his nut-brown hair had a windblown, precision cut. No run-of-the-mill barbershop cut, Rebecca noted. But it was the kid’s possessive hand on her daughter’s waist that sent Rebecca’s mind reeling.

“Oh, hi, Mom,” Lisa said belatedly. “I didn’t see your car. I…uh, didn’t think you were home.” Grabbing her new friend’s hand, Lisa dragged him fully into the room. “Ryan’s game ran late. He won it with his brilliant pitching.” Lisa sent him a dazzling smile. “The coach let Ryan pitch the whole game. And he struck out the last three batters. Ryan, this is my mother, Rebecca Geroux. Mom, Ryan Lane, Central High’s pitching star.” Lisa didn’t bother to hide how enamored she was of the boy, who appeared to accept her admiration as his due.

Lisa babbled on, unaware of her mother’s growing tension. “I happened to mention to Ryan that our garbage disposal quit and is starting to smell really gross, Mom. He said he installed one in their house in Germany. He’s offered to look at ours to see if it’s worth fixing, or if we need to replace it. Either way, his labor’s free.”

Ryan held out his hand to Rebecca. “Happy to finally meet you, Mrs. Geroux. Lisa’s told me a lot of nice things about you.” His smile and the way he knew all the right things to say felt calculated to Rebecca. He seemed far too carefree to suit her.

Oh, yes, the counselor’s phone call suddenly made perfect sense. Lisa looked at the kid as if he made the sun rise and set. Ryan Lane was to blame for Lisa’s inattention to her schoolwork.

Rebecca had once married a boy with an engaging smile and a sense of entitlement. She had no intention of allowing Lisa to fall into the same trap.

Closing her eyes briefly, Rebecca dug deep to ground herself in the present. She didn’t want to remember the day she’d been forced to flee from Jack Geroux and find safety for herself and Lisa in a shelter. She’d learned the hard way that smiles and empty promises spelled disaster for a girl with no money of her own and far too little education.

When Rebecca opened her eyes again, all she could see was Ryan Lane’s arrogance. She couldn’t bring herself to shake his hand. For Lisa’s sake, Rebecca wanted this boy—Ryan—to disappear.

“Mom?” Lisa gripped Ryan’s left arm, but she’d begun to gnaw her lip in consternation at her mother’s silence.

Rallying at last, Rebecca found her voice and steeled herself. She abruptly stepped between them, effectively separating Lisa from the cocky interloper. “Excuse me, you’ll have to go. I need to leave for work, and with you bringing Lisa home so late our evening routine has been disrupted. While we’re on the subject of my daughter, let me be perfectly clear. She can’t afford to be distracted from her studies by hanging out at baseball games. As for our disposal, thanks for the offer, but I’ve called a plumber.”

She hadn’t, of course, and both her kids knew it.

Even though Ryan Lane was taller and broader than Rebecca’s five foot four and one hundred and twenty pounds, she edged him out the door. Her final glimpse of him showed the smile had been wiped off his face as he gaped at her from the bottom step.

Rebecca shut the door before she had to give any explanation for her rudeness.

Lisa promptly burst into tears. “Mother! How could you embarrass me like that? I’m not a child. I’m almost seventeen. I hate you! I’m never going to speak to you again. I wish I knew where Daddy was so I could go live with him. He wouldn’t be so mean to me.” Flinging her backpack to the floor, she ran down the hall to her bedroom.

Rebecca slowly released her hold on the doorknob. She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. Why in the world would Lisa say such a thing about her father? They never mentioned him. He had no place in any of their lives.

Avoiding her son’s look of dismay, Rebecca picked up Lisa’s pack and set it on the couch.

Jordan flopped down beside the well-used pack. “Boy, remind me never to bring a girlfriend home.”

“Ryan is not Lisa’s boyfriend.”

“Huh! That’s what her friends at school call him. The other girls are jealous. Anyway…what’s wrong with her having a boyfriend? It’s no big deal, Mom. You act like dating is a capital offense.”

“Dating? Have they been seeing each other at more than those silly baseball games?” Rebecca crossed to the window and tugged aside the drape. A pristine blue Mustang convertible was parked at the curb. Ryan Lane stood beside it with his car keys in his hand, facing the house, chin defiantly elevated. He scowled one final time, before slowly stepping off the curb to climb into his fancy car. With a roar, he drove away.

What a contrast to her own battered compact, which now languished in a repair shop until she could find the money to bail it out. And didn’t the age and condition of the cars alone underscore the vast difference between that boy’s family and Lisa’s?

Rebecca let the drape slide through her fingers. She paused as she remembered what else Lisa had said about Ryan’s family—that he didn’t have a mother. It was possible that his father—another single parent—might not be any happier than she was about his son pursuing a girl.

Moreover if the family was as well off as that convertible implied, Rebecca doubted very much that Mr. Lane would be thrilled with her own situation. “Jordan, do you happen to know Ryan’s father’s first name?” If she had that, Rebecca could phone the man and maybe enlist his help in nipping the fledgling relationship in the bud.

“Nope. Maybe Lisa knows. So, Mom, are we still gonna eat before you head out, or what?” Jordan asked, eyeing his mother uneasily. “Aren’t you late already?” The fourteen-year-old picked at a frayed sofa cushion before slapping both knees and standing up.

“Guess there’s nothing stopping me from making BLTs,” he said.

“I can’t leave like this. I’ll phone Darcy and see if she’ll cover my shift.” All at once, Rebecca felt guilty for the way she’d handled things. She should’ve thought about contacting the boy’s father instead of losing her temper. She could have politely sent Ryan away and then sat down with Lisa to discuss her school counselor’s call. They still needed to do that. When Lisa was calmer, she’d see what hanging out with Ryan was doing to everything she’d accomplished so far. And if she didn’t—then Rebecca could involve Ryan’s father.

“Fix yourself a sandwich if you want, Jordan. I’m not hungry. I doubt Lisa will be, either.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Jordan, none of this is your fault.”

“Lisa’s in deep shit, huh? Are you gonna ground her forever?”

“Jordan, watch your language, please. I…uh…will handle Lisa.”

“You better not try now, Mom. She’s too upset to hear anything,” Jordan said sagely. “You might wanna wait awhile, so why don’t you just go to work?”

“Maybe you’re right.” Truthfully, giving up a shift would cost money Rebecca desperately needed to pay for the repairs to the Nissan and the smelly garbage disposal that no amount of disinfectant seemed to help. The kids had no idea how tight their finances were each month. Any unexpected expense meant cutting back someplace else. Subtract a night’s wages and tips and, well, she had no way to cut the budget that much.

“I really should go in to work tonight,” she said to her son, still waffling.

“Yeah, the restaurant’s always busy. Mrs. Blackburn might have trouble handling your tables and hers.”

“I’d better phone Darcy anyway, and let her know I’ll be late. I’ll offer to close for her tonight if she’ll cover my tables until I can get downtown.” Rebecca’s co-worker, Darcy Blackburn, was also a single mom with four young boys. She, too, had trouble making ends meet and would understand kid trouble without asking a bunch of questions Rebecca wasn’t prepared to answer.

After talking to Darcy, Rebecca knocked softly on Lisa’s door. The crying didn’t lessen, so she tried the knob. She wasn’t surprised to find the door locked. “Lisa, open up. We need to talk before I go to work.”

“No. Just because you hate men doesn’t mean I have to. You ruined my life. Go away.”

Rebecca took a breath to respond, then let it out on a sigh. Jordan was right. Lisa wouldn’t listen when she was in this frame of mind. How could she make her daughter, who’d never experienced real hardship, see that a woman needed a good education in case she had to support herself?

Yes, Rebecca’s marriage had fallen apart, but she didn’t hate men. She just didn’t have time for a relationship. She’d assumed that her kids would look at her as an example and avoid repeating her mistakes.

Leaning her head against the door, she said, “Jordan’s fixing BLTs. I’m leaving for the restaurant. When I get home, we’ll discuss this further, Lisa.”

“No, we won’t! You were rude to Ryan. Now he’ll never speak to me again.”

“Listen up, kiddo. We have rules about schoolwork being a priority. You broke them big-time. Are you aware that your counselor phoned me to say you haven’t handed in some vital assignments, and you’ve slipped from an A to a C in two classes?”

“I don’t care!” The sobbing intensified. It hurt to hear how broken-hearted her daughter sounded. Rebecca was torn between calling Darcy back and canceling work tonight, or digging deeper and simply attending to duty.

Just as it had been ever since her divorce fifteen years ago, duty won. Turning away from Lisa’s door, Rebecca pulled a sweater from her closet and ran a brush through her tangled hair.

“Jordan,” she called from the front door. “I’ll do my best to catch the eleven-twenty bus. I hope I’ll be home by midnight.”

Her son stepped out of the kitchen, sandwich in hand. “I wish you only had to work at the beauty shop, Mom. Me and Lisa never get to hang with friends. Like Lisa said, we aren’t babies anymore. I don’t understand why you won’t trust us.”

“I trust you, Jordan. Honey, I work two jobs so that your future, and Lisa’s, will be secure. Be better than mine. You’ll have plenty of time after you get your education to hang out with friends.”

“Maybe we’d rather have a little fun now.” His eyes remained darkly accusatory as he bit into his sandwich.

Rebecca had the door open, and she saw her bus lumbering through the intersection, so she had to leave immediately or put Darcy in a bind.

She hated to go feeling as if she’d failed both her kids. All of this unhappiness had come about in a matter of weeks. Because of that boy—Ryan Lane.

Maybe Darcy could help her decide whether to contact the boy’s father.

Running to catch her bus, Rebecca was out of breath when she climbed on and took the first available window seat. The bus was nearly empty, so Rebecca had a seat by herself. The long ride, unfortunately, allowed her too much time to think.

Had she been wrong to hide so much of her past from her children? They knew she’d grown up in a Mennonite community in Oregon’s Willamette Valley. Once or twice she’d probably mentioned working from dawn to dark in the community orchards and in the sheds, stirring hot vats of apple butter and peach preserves. Maybe she hadn’t been clear enough that leaving the order and her family had had nothing to do with the work, but with the highly restrictive lifestyle. That was why she’d married Jack. They’d both wanted out.

Lisa and Jordan knew she’d been estranged from her folks since before they were born. They seemed to accept the lack of grandparents, so Rebecca had never felt a need to explain the practice of shunning.

But even prior to the shunning, Rebecca had always felt stifled in the small community. She had routinely spent hours in a barren chapel kneeling on hard wooden planks. Her parents, the Epps, did shop occasionally in the nearby town. It was on those outings that Rebecca glimpsed how other people lived. People not bound by austere beliefs.

By the time she was in high school, many of her friends had quit school to work on the family farm. Very few attended the secular public school in Salem.

Families in her community were split between Mennonite and a more rigid sect—the Amish branch of the Anabaptist-Mennonites. The Amish eschewed all modern conveniences and traveled by horse and buggy. Rebecca’s family, being just as spiritually focused but slightly less culturally separatist, allowed her to ride the school bus that stopped at the bottom of their hill.

Her first day of high school, she’d shared a seat with Lacy Hoerner, another freshman, who turned out to be a font of information. Rebecca had been like a sponge. Every day her book bag held a sandwich, an apple and a Bible. Lacy’s was more like a portable cosmetic counter, full of lipstick, eye shadow, mascara and nail polish in every color of the rainbow. As well, Lacy was a master at conjuring up all the latest hairstyles. Rebecca liked being her model and, right then, longed to be a beautician one day. That was the most enjoyable period of her life. Then her brother, Mark, two years older and far more aligned with the church’s teachings, tattled to their parents and ruined everything.

Her parents came down on her hard. It was the end of her schooling in town. The end of all future trips there. She had tried to give up wanting to learn, tried to go home and be the dutiful Mennonite daughter. But she wasn’t able to do it. That small taste of the outside world led to a series of decisions that seemed right at the time, but eventually proved to be a big mistake. Even so, she’d relive even the worst years to be able to have her children.

That was why it had felt like a knife in her heart when Lisa announced today that she wished she could go live with her father.

The bus slowed, jerking Rebecca out of her memories. She looked out the window and saw she’d arrived at the stop a block from the Tumbleweed. She thanked the driver as she swung down. Walking the block blew the cobwebs of the past from her mind.

Rebecca was in the kitchen, tying on her apron, when one realization became very clear. No, she couldn’t roll back time, but she could try to keep Lisa from messing up her life. “I’m going to contact Ryan Lane’s dad,” she muttered.

“Uh-oh. Talking to yourself is a bad sign,” Darcy Blackburn said in a cheery voice from right behind Rebecca.

Startled, Rebecca smacked her elbow on the wall. “Jeez, Darcy, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

The lanky blonde shifted two plates of steaming meatloaf. “Honey, a six-foot woman in a size-ten shoe never sneaks anywhere. Are you okay?” she added. “You’ve been frowning since you walked in.”

“It’s Lisa. She’s been goofing off, skipping study time to hang with a boy. A baseball player of all things.”

“Haven’t we taught that girl anything?” Darcy rolled her eyes. “Well, you don’t complain about your ex so much. But Lisa’s heard me fighting with Kevin over child support more than once. I’m certainly not one to hold back how I feel about living two steps from welfare because I stupidly left high school to marry Mr. Wrong.”

“True. Hey, you’d better deliver those plates before they go cold. Maybe we can catch a minute later to talk. I could use some advice before I dive into the next dreaded mother-daughter chat.”

“Glad I have four boys. I expect I will go through the terrible teens, but I figure I’ll muddle through. Apparently it’s against the law to lock ’em in a closet until they gain some sense.”

“Darcy!”

“Just kidding,” she called and sped off to her customers.

Sure, Darcy could joke. But just wait until one of her boys did something to break her heart. As Rebecca picked up meals from the cook and delivered them, she thought how vociferously Darcy insisted she’d never get married again. Rebecca hadn’t ruled out the possibility, but she never had time to meet anyone.

Work kept her from focusing on her personal problems for the rest of her shift. The Tumbleweed’s proximity to the River Walk meant they had a steady stream of customers. The two friends never found time to chat. At ten-thirty, Rebecca balanced the till, then helped Darcy set up tables for the breakfast crowd.

“I’d offer you a lift home,” Darcy said, “but my mom has the boys. I only use her in emergencies, and they’re too rambunctious for her to handle over a long evening.”

“What happened to your new sitter? Lisa said she seemed great.”

“Yeah, well, turned out she was pregnant. Her folks pressured her to go back to the jerk for the sake of the baby.” Darcy made a sour face. “Been there, done that. I told her all that got me was the twins. I predict she’ll learn that it takes more than a baby to save a bad marriage. Why is it so difficult to find a reliable sitter? Constant turnover is hard on my boys.”

“Why not ask Lisa to fill in? That could solve my problem temporarily. If you make it clear she’s not to have friends over, maybe it would discourage this boyfriend thing.”

“You think this kid will dump Lisa if she stops mooning over him at his baseball games? Wouldn’t surprise me. Men want all the attention focused on them.”

“Well, Lisa needs college money. And she loves sitting for your boys.”

“I’ll phone her when I get home. Do you think she’ll still be awake? And what about her shifts here?”

“I’m sure Max will work around your schedule. Lisa plans to be an elementary school teacher. She loves doing creative stuff with your boys.”

“So do I. Unfortunately I’m usually too tired. Everything falls on me since Kevin sailed off into the sunset with his most recent bimbo. Honestly, how can I expect the boys to grow up when their dad hasn’t? You haven’t heard the latest. She’s barely out of her teens, but she has boobs out to here.” Darcy cupped her hands away from her chest. She was still built like the runner she’d been when she first married Kevin. “Come let me out. It upsets me to talk about Kevin. He’ll never change.”

Rebecca lingered at the door. “It’s not fair that you have to work two jobs to provide for his boys, and he gets to squander his money on a yacht to impress other women. Have you talked to your lawyer about upping his support?”

“She tells me boats are intangible assets.” Darcy grimaced.

“You mean if I sell my house and buy a boat my kids will qualify for college grants?”

“Raising kids on a boat isn’t practical. And you do everything possible to give your kids a nice, normal life.”

And that, Rebecca decided after Darcy left, was the bottom line—even if Lisa suddenly didn’t agree.

Which she didn’t. When Rebecca wearily dragged herself in on the dot of midnight, Lisa was still angry.

“It’s late and we’re both tired, kiddo. All I’m going to say is that I consider it important that we eat together as a family. You let us down today, not to mention blowing off family time to attend an athletic event I knew nothing about.”

“I didn’t tell you,” Lisa said, slamming her pencil down on the kitchen table, “because I wanted to avoid this argument. It’s not Ryan’s fault you and Daddy had a horrid marriage. You are just so biased against men.”

“I am not. Why would you say that?”

“I wonder.” Lisa pursed her lips. “Do you think Jordan and I don’t hear you and Darcy bashing men? Well, mostly Darcy, but you don’t stop her. By the way, she phoned asking me to babysit. I’m sure you had her say I can’t invite Ryan to her house.”

Rebecca’s casual shrug was the same as an admission. “You turned her down?”

“No, but I have a question. How will her boys or Jordan learn to be good husbands and fathers if all they hear is you and Darcy griping about the men you married?”

“I beg your pardon? When have I ever griped about your father?”

“If he’s not a sleaze, why can’t we see him? I’ll bet he left because you nagged. Or maybe because you cheated on him.”

“I don’t owe you any explanation, young lady. And as for me being unfaithful…that’s not even close. Anyway, this isn’t about me, Lisa. It’s about you. I work two jobs so you can have a stable life. You need to do your part by not letting your grades slip.”

“Everything always comes back to you and your jobs.”

“Yes, it does. I make no secret of the fact that my lack of education was a drawback. That’s why I nag you. A woman, especially, needs college so she can support a family should her marriage fail. You’ve seen how many marriages fall apart.”

“But all my friends at school have boyfriends, and they’re still planning to go to college. Ryan Lane is the nicest boy I’ve ever met. You can’t stop me from seeing him. If I can’t bring him home, Mother, I’ll meet him someplace else.” Grabbing her books, Lisa stalked from the room.

Rebecca sagged. So much for thinking she could reason with her daughter. Come hell or high water, she needed to contact Ryan Lane’s father.

Chapter Two

DURING A BREAK between morning clients at the salon the following week, Rebecca called Lisa’s school counselor. Mrs. Feldman agreed with Rebecca that Lisa’s infatuation with Ryan Lane was probably the main reason behind Lisa’s slipping grades. As they chatted, Rebecca found out a bit more about the Lane family. Grant Lane had recently retired from the air force as a colonel and moved to San Antonio with his two children, Ryan and a young daughter, Brandy.

After the conversation with the counselor, Rebecca got the Lanes’ number from directory assistance. Determined to solve this issue parent-to-parent, Rebecca dialed before she could get cold feet.

GRANT LANE, who’d just transferred a load of his daughter’s clothes from the washer to the dryer, walked into his kitchen to pour his first cup of morning coffee. The phone rang. He grabbed it, worried that something had happened to Ryan or Brandy.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Lane, my name is Rebecca Geroux. I don’t know if you’re aware, but your son, Ryan, and my daughter, Lisa, seem to be dating. Until recently, my daughter was a straight-A student. Now her grades are slipping, and I believe it’s because she’s infatuated with your son.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“I’m Lisa Geroux’s mother, Rebecca. I’m calling from work, so unfortunately I can’t talk long. The thing is, Mr. Lane, Lisa needs to keep her grades up in order to qualify for college scholarships. Frankly, Ryan is a huge distraction. I’m appealing to you, hoping you’ll influence him.”

Grant took a slug of the hot coffee to jump-start his brain and let him piece together the choppy facts the woman threw at him. It was news to him that Ryan had a girlfriend. They weren’t exactly on the greatest terms. Anyhow, Ryan was almost eighteen. Grant would worry if he didn’t have girlfriends. “Well, Mrs. Geroux, I’m happy to hear Ryan has made friends, being new in San Antonio and all.”

“This is getting out of hand. Lisa’s never cared for sports, and now she’s throwing away valuable study time watching your son play baseball. It’s also come to my attention that after the game, when Lisa’s supposed to be babysitting for one of my co-workers, Ryan takes her—well, all of them—to a fast-food restaurant where they waste several hours she could use for studying. Are you saying this isn’t affecting Ryan’s schoolwork?”

“Not that I’ve seen. Ryan’s always been a good student.” Grant wasn’t about to tell this woman, a perfect stranger, that his son didn’t confide in him and he had no idea what Ryan’s grades were like. Their rapport had never been great, and it’d gotten worse since Grant’s retirement—when he’d really become a full-time dad.

But maybe he could find out more from Mrs. Geroux. He cleared his throat. “I can see you’re better informed about all of this than I am. Tell you what, I’d be willing to meet with you and your husband to explore this further. Of course, it’ll have to be when Ryan’s not around. Or his sister. I have a younger daughter, and it’s just me. I mean, I’m a single parent.”

“So am I. Meeting you could be difficult, which is why I phoned. I work two jobs, Mr. Lane, so I don’t have much free time.”

“Please…call me Grant. I really do think we need to discuss this in more depth. I’m not convinced I want to interfere in my son’s school friendships.”

“Shoot, my next client just arrived. I need to hang up and go back to work, uh…Grant. I have to say I’m disappointed. I assumed you’d work with me once I explained the situation.”

Grant fiddled with his coffee cup. Mrs. Geroux’s displeasure was telegraphed clearly, and he felt bad for her. “Is it possible for you to get away from work for an hour or so tomorrow? I’ll give you my address. If you can drop by here, you can follow me to our neighborhood café. We can talk over coffee or breakfast if you’d like to meet before work.”

“Tomorrow might be okay. What time? I’ll need to move or cancel clients, but I’m serious about getting Lisa back on track.”

“How does nine-fifteen sound?”

“I’ll make it work. It’s that important, Mr. Lane.”

“Grant,” he reminded her. Then gave her his address and precise directions. After he hung up, Grant wondered if he’d regret offering to meet Rebecca Geroux. What if she turned out to be a lunatic? But it was the only way he could buy time to figure out a response. How would it have sounded if he’d admitted he didn’t even know Ryan was playing baseball, let alone that he had a girlfriend?

Obviously his relationship with his son needed attention, and it was also plain that the Geroux woman thought he could influence Ryan. For that to happen, he and his son would have to have a civil face-to-face talk. Grant would welcome one, but things had happened over Ryan’s lifetime to erect barriers between them. He wasn’t sure he knew how to break them down.

Grant wondered what Rebecca Geroux would think of a father who was on such a rocky footing with his eldest child. He reflected on the cause for his problems with Ryan. He could probably go all the way back to before Teresa died, when his obsession with flying and his career took precedence over his marriage. He’d failed to see how his wife’s troubled history affected their firstborn. For so long it had seemed easier to stay away and avoid the unhappiness—his and Teresa’s. All that time Teresa had raised Ryan alone, and he’d let her, because it was easier to be off building his career.

He supposed he was still looking for the easy way out.

WHEN REBECCA got home after work, she toyed with the idea of calling Mr. Lane back and canceling. After all, they should be able to come to an agreement over the phone. She formulated what she’d say to him as she stopped to collect the mail. Absently, she tore open and inspected the bank statement from the joint college savings account she held with Lisa. Rebecca noted her deposits listed for each week of the month. Lisa, though, hadn’t contributed a thing. Not one cent in nearly five weeks.

The paper fluttered in Rebecca’s hand as she tried to absorb the information. She sat for a moment before stuffing the statement back in its envelope. Then she took a deep breath in an effort to calm her temper. Why no deposits, when Lisa had started babysitting for Darcy and was earning more than in previous months?

Rebecca called the kids and started fixing supper. Once they were all seated at the table, she let them fill their plates before she pulled the statement out of her pocket. Rebecca laid it in front of Lisa, who blanched.

“Mom, I have a year and a half before I need to pay college tuition.”

“True, but each year the costs go up. What disturbs me, Lisa, is that we had a deal. Why didn’t you follow through?”

“I had school expenses,” Lisa mumbled. “Stuff my friends can get without a hassle. I haven’t asked you for money. Why do I have to explain what I’m buying?”

“What things do you need, Lisa? This is the first I’ve heard of any of this. I don’t want you kids to go without. I want you to fit in.”

Lisa got up, leaving her supper untouched on the table. “I’m so sick of money being such an issue. Our garbage disposal is still broken, Mother. Ryan would’ve fixed it at no charge.” Without waiting for a response, she stormed off toward her bedroom.

Ryan again. Rebecca swirled her peas and carrots through her steamed rice. She’d lost her appetite, too.

Jordan ate everything on his plate, but kept his head down until he reached for seconds and then noticed his mom’s listlessness. “Lisa bought an athletic booster card for baseball season so she could get a discount on the game tickets. And the girls I see her hang with have loads more cash to throw around.”

“Who are these girls? Do I know them or are they new friends she’s met with Ryan?”

Jordan shrugged. He finished his meal, then he, too, disappeared. By the time Rebecca tidied up and left for her job at the Tumbleweed, both kids were in their rooms, and she was once again convinced that she had to meet Grant Lane.

THE NEXT MORNING Rebecca gave herself two hours to meet Ryan’s father and enlist his help in breaking up their kids. She hadn’t handled yesterday’s conversation very well. He’d sounded as if he favored Ryan and Lisa being a couple. It was up to her to convince him otherwise.

Rebecca tried to anticipate how their discussion might go if he continued to oppose her. Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Grant Lane probably thought his son was a great catch.

And rightly so, she admitted grudgingly. Rebecca couldn’t blame Lisa for thinking that Ryan was hot. His eyes were a clear, arresting blue, framed by lashes most girls would kill for. Add his cool car to all that, and any girl would be impressed.

Again, Rebecca turned her thoughts to the father. What kind of man bought his teenage son a convertible? Grant must have bought it, because Ryan clearly didn’t work. It would help if he did.

Some men had skewed values. Jack, for example. The only reason Rebecca was willing to meet with a strange man was to ensure that Lisa was better equipped to deal with the Jack Geroux types than she’d been. That was why she’d canceled two clients who hadn’t been able to come in later. Rebecca could see money flying out the window, and she’d have to juggle her bills again. Did single dads have as much difficulty making ends meet?

For the first time Rebecca wondered what had happened to Ryan’s mother. Most likely she’d died, since the kids lived with their dad. Rebecca caught herself momentarily feeling sorry for the children. For Grant Lane, too. Single parenting was hard, regardless of the circumstances.

Lost in her thoughts, Rebecca almost missed the entry to the Lanes’ housing development. Reading off street names, she found the one she was looking for, and made a right turn onto a tree-lined avenue. The homes were spacious, and their landscaping immaculate. Rebecca’s house would fit twice into any one of these Spanish-style mansions. But somehow, after seeing Ryan Lane’s convertible, the affluent neighborhood didn’t surprise her. No doubt the boy had been born into money, and had a future loaded with potential.

She hoped Lisa wasn’t dazzled by all the material things beyond her reach. Frowning, Rebecca braked in front of a driveway that led up to a sprawling house. Multiple arches, red-tile roof, a pristine lawn. The number matched the address Grant Lane had given her.

She wished she’d suggested they just meet at the café he’d mentioned. Her hands felt damp and slippery on the steering wheel. Wouldn’t it be awkward going up to knock on a strange man’s door—especially here, where she was so out of her element? Grant had a nice, melodic voice, she reminded herself. Rebecca hoped he had a personality to match it.

Even as she debated turning around, the decision was taken out of her hands.

The front door opened and every thought sailed right out of her head. The elder Lane came halfway down his brick walkway to pick up his paper. To say he was good-looking was too tame.

Rebecca’s heart thudded. As she tried to settle it, he came up to her car and gestured for her to roll down her window.

“Are you Rebecca Geroux, or just lost in the neighborhood?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and Rebecca managed to say, “I’m Rebecca.”

“Good. Let me throw my paper in the house. My car’s in the garage. I’ll back out and you can follow me.”

Rebecca had noticed the dark blue SUV in the driveway when she drove up. Now she wondered if that was also his, or if Grant Lane was seeing someone. Although if he was, it didn’t matter to her.

Watching him jog back to the house, Rebecca admitted she’d been expecting someone older. He couldn’t have more than a few years on her. Surely a man his age must still work.

She waited, and finally the garage door lifted. Rebecca wrenched on the ignition, giving silent thanks when the Nissan purred to life. She’d just released the parking brake when a red sports car shot out past the SUV. Grant punched a remote control hanging on his sun visor and the door lowered.

Rebecca admired the Porsche Boxter convertible as it sped off down the road. She gave herself a shake. Here she sat drooling like an idiot, and he’d turned the corner at the end of the block. She barely managed to get under way and keep him in sight. He navigated the suburban streets with confidence.

Rebecca thought she’d lost him after he pulled into an area of strip malls. She caught him at a light and saw that he was signaling a turn into a parking space in front of a brightly lit café she would otherwise have missed.

She pulled in farther down the street, but couldn’t help noticing that Grant was already out of his car. Reaching back in, he hung his sunglasses over the visor.

Boy, he was trusting, leaving his top down and his expensive shades in plain sight. She’d installed motion detectors around her house, and attached a Club to her steering wheel every night to discourage car theft. But that was the difference between her neighborhood and Grant Lane’s.

He waited for her beside the café door. As she walked toward Grant, Rebecca cataloged more things about him. His hair was shorter than his son’s and not as dark—more of a honey shade, thick and sun-streaked. But it wasn’t as short as the military types she saw around town. And there were a lot of those, as San Antonio was home to many military families. The slightly mussed style suited him. He wore khaki pants and a navy-blue T-shirt that showed off toned muscles. He looked…darn good. Suntanned. Carefree.

Rebecca glanced at her reflection in the café window to see if she appeared as harried as she felt. Satisfied that she looked okay, she reminded herself that she couldn’t stay long. Her first client was booked for eleven-thirty.

Smiling again, Grant opened the restaurant door wider, allowing Rebecca to pass. It was a nice touch and she gave him points for being a gentleman.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“I usually sit in a booth by the window, but why don’t we get a table at the back where we can talk more freely?” He gestured for her to go first. Rebecca felt conspicuous in her work clothes and comfy shoes, but she refused to slouch.

The waitress arrived seconds after they sat down. “I thought you’d skipped breakfast today,” she said to Grant. “Do you want the usual? And what about the lady?”

“Just coffee for me. Black, one sugar,” Rebecca said.

“Make it the same for me.” Grant turned over both cups that already sat on the table.

Pasting on a smile, Rebecca gripped the handle of her cup. “I’ll pay for my coffee,” she said.

He frowned. “Not necessary. I invited you.” He followed that with another smile of his own that sent heat all the way to Rebecca’s toes. For a moment, her carefully prepared speech lodged in her throat.

“I’ll get right to the point, if I may,” she said, refocusing her attention. “Your son seems to be a good kid, but he’s all wrong for my daughter. Perhaps I wasn’t clear, but she’s a junior and this year is very important. If she has any shot at scholarships, her grades must remain exemplary. I’ve had no luck convincing her to stop seeing Ryan. I thought that, as another single parent, you might understand and help by persuading Ryan to move on. Lisa has to focus on school. That’s all there is to it.”

“At their age, shouldn’t they have a say in how they spend their free time and who they spend it with? I mean, she sounds like a wonderful girl. One a father would be happy to have his son date.”

“You don’t get it at all.” Rebecca twirled her cup around and around. “She’s spent money she can’t afford on a pass for Ryan’s ball games. Money that should be going into her college fund.”

“Why isn’t she doing what you ask?”

Rebecca’s eyes flashed. “I suppose because she’s flattered by his attention. She’s not used to it. The new boy. An athlete. All of that gives her social standing, according to my son.”

“How old is he? Doesn’t he have any influence with his sister?”

“Apparently not.” Rebecca held her cup so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I honestly thought I’d taught Lisa the importance of a good education.” Sipping her coffee, Rebecca shook her head sadly.

“Choosing to watch a high school ball game isn’t the end of the world. So she gets a little off-track. Don’t all kids do that at least once? Or have you planned for every contingency and lived a perfect, orderly life?”

“Hardly. Which is why I want more for my children. But this isn’t about me. It’s about making sure our teens stay on the right path.”

Grant shrugged.

“Is that your answer? Maybe this doesn’t matter to you, but it matters to me.” Rebecca slid out of the booth, dug in her purse and slapped two one-dollar bills down on the table. “Thanks for nothing.” She stormed out of the café, got in her car and pulled into traffic, all the while muttering under her breath about what a jerk Grant Lane was.

GRANT WATCHED Rebecca leave in a huff. He sat glaring after her. She had some nerve trying to manipulate him into a confrontation with Ryan when her own daughter wouldn’t listen to a word she’d said. Although maybe she’d inadvertently handed him a way to bond with his son. If Ryan liked the girl, and she liked him, why shouldn’t they date? It was what normal teens did.

He paid for his coffee, and followed in Rebecca’s wake. She’d already gone through the light at the corner by the time he climbed into his car.

The flash of her ocean-colored eyes haunted Grant as he eased the Boxter into traffic. The hell of it was she’d managed to garner his sympathy, too. He thought about Brandy. If he were in Rebecca’s position and it was his daughter getting into a romance with her son, Grant had to admit he might feel differently. He knew well enough that sometimes a young man was ruled by baser instincts. Rebecca probably knew, too.

But didn’t she trust her daughter?

Adjusting his sunglasses, Grant stopped to wonder why Mrs. Geroux didn’t just ground her daughter, the almost-genius, if she was really that concerned.

It irritated Grant all over again as he replayed their conversation and realized Rebecca had made it seem as if Ryan was totally to blame for leading the brilliant Lisa astray. What if Rebecca had a skewed vision of her daughter?

By all reports his son was a good student, although if truth be told, Grant couldn’t claim much credit for it. Still, Lisa wasn’t the only one who’d be going to college.

This full-time-dad role also meant Grant ought to concern himself with what kind of friends Ryan hung out with. Who knew better than he how easily a young man could screw up his life?

Did Lisa Geroux look like her mother? Rebecca was attractive. Especially when she was passionately standing up for her daughter. Grant hadn’t exactly processed all of Rebecca’s complaints, because he’d been distracted by her pretty eyes and lush lips. She made quite the picture with her shoulder-length red hair curled in wild disarray around her face. Grant found he’d been most drawn to Rebecca’s eyes. They held fire and life, yet he saw a hint of tragedy in their luminous depths.

For the first time in a long while, a woman—a slightly brusque one who didn’t care for him at that—had provoked a yearning Grant had thought was dormant, if not dead. He’d purposely avoided serious relationships since his ordeal with Teresa.

Why had he let Rebecca leave so abruptly? His day now stretched before him like all the lonely days he’d experienced since he’d moved his family to San Antonio. He needed a hobby. Something more than writing a new technical strategy manual as an old friend now in the Pentagon had asked him to do. He’d thought retirement would let him connect with his kids, but they seemed remarkably self-sufficient.

What would Rebecca have said if he’d asked her to go out with him some night? Nothing to do with their kids.

He could guess. She’d already blown up at him. Grant grinned at the thought of what it’d be like to intentionally stoke her fire.

She’d also given up on him too fast. After his years in the military, Grant took his time to make an informed decision. If she wanted his help, she should’ve given him more information. He needed to talk to her again.

But he supposed he’d have to get her phone number from Ryan.

Grant swung his car into his driveway and impatiently punched the garage door opener that hung on his visor. The problem with having to question his son, as Grant knew only too well, was that Ryan barely spoke to him.

Rebecca of the captivating eyes and the protective love for her daughter clearly expected him to be able to influence his son’s choices.

What were the chances of that?

For too many years he’d left raising Ryan to Teresa. With all the ups and downs in their marriage, it had seemed easier. The result hadn’t turned out well for anyone.

Considering his lack of rapport with Ryan, Grant knew he couldn’t open a conversation by repeating Rebecca’s accusations. Especially when he’d been clueless when it came to Ryan’s friends. Or girlfriends, for that matter.

He wasn’t ready to admit the girl was a problem, but wasn’t keeping tabs on stuff like that an important part of parenting? He hadn’t been good at it in the past, but had vowed to be better after their move. It seemed he had a lot of catching up to do.

Thank God Brandy still thought he was an okay dad. But with Ryan he’d have to tread carefully. Very, very carefully.

But he didn’t intend to wade into those waters alone. Rebecca Geroux’s daughter made up the other half of the so-called relationship. Becca—Grant thought that name fit the firebrand better than starchy Rebecca—yes, Becca could damn well get her feet wet right alongside him.

If she hadn’t mentioned it on the phone yesterday, Grant wouldn’t have known his son was playing ball until he overheard Ryan let something slip this morning to his sister.

It was usually Ryan’s job to pick up his sister from school. Lately, though, he’d gotten into the habit of leaving notes on the fridge asking Grant to collect her several days a week. Grant hadn’t asked why. All the reports he’d ever had on Ryan in Germany said he was a good, studious kid. Grant had assumed, apparently incorrectly, that changing schools during Ryan’s senior year required extra work in the library. Grant hadn’t pressed for answers because he was glad of the additional time to bond with the daughter who’d been raised too long by nannies. Yet another mistake.

Just today, Ryan had told Brandy where he’d be after school. At a home baseball game. It hurt to learn that Ryan had deliberately kept this a secret.

What better place to begin catching up on his son’s life? Ryan probably wouldn’t be thrilled to see him, but having the element of surprise on his side was an advantage.

Grant focused on his ideas for the manual, killing time until he needed to get Brandy from school.

“Hi, kiddo,” he said, his heart lighter when she hugged him after tossing her pink backpack in the backseat. Grant was driving the SUV, preferring its side airbags whenever he had his kids with him. The Porsche was an indulgence. A guy thing, although Ryan referred to it as an upside-down bathtub. A pretty pricy bathtub even with the deep discount he’d got by purchasing it at the factory in Germany.

Brandy fastened her seat belt, and turned her big blue eyes on Grant. “Daddy, can I get a clarinet? The band teacher came to our homeroom today. He tested everybody in my grade on flute, clarinet and two horns. One with a slidy thing, the other with three buttons on top. Mr. Gregg—that’s the teacher’s name—said to tell you I have the perfect embouchure to play clarinet.”

She said it so proudly Grant couldn’t help smiling, even though he had no earthly idea what she meant. “That’s great, Brandy. Did Mr. Gregg suggest renting a clarinet to see if it’s something you really want to do?”

“Uh-huh. But most kids are going to have their parents buy new ones. Who wants to use someone else’s mouthpiece? Gross!”

“I see your point. I’ll look into it next week and see what they have at a music store. Right now, how would you like to go to the high school to watch your brother play baseball?”

Brandy’s eyes grew wide. “Does Ryan know you’re going to watch him pitch?”

“So he’s a pitcher. I’ll be…” Grant let the expletive fizzle on his tongue. “You knew he was playing ball?”

“He played in Germany, too. He’s good, Daddy.”

“Then there’s no reason for us not to go watch him, is there?”

She brushed blond curls off her face. “I don’t want him to think I ratted on him.”

“Honestly, Brandy.” Grant blew out a frustrated breath. “Parents are entitled to know what activities their kids are into.”

Her little pixie face fell, and Grant immediately softened his tone. “Maybe he won’t spot us. But if he does, I’ll make sure he knows we’re there because he mentioned it this morning.”

“I guess it’ll be okay, then.”

Grant located the ball diamond and parked a distance from the gate. As he and Brandy walked along the fence, Grant peered through the mesh, trying to get the lay of the land, so to speak. It appeared the home team was at bat. There were already a lot of people in the stands, making it easier to pay and slip in unnoticed.

“There’s Ryan, Daddy! He’s coming up to bat.” Brandy spoke so loudly several people turned to look at them. Grant’s gaze lit on an attractive strawberry-blonde. Her hair was as curly as Brandy’s, but shorter. Finding seats in the second row from the top, Grant eyed the girl, who appeared to have her hands full with two younger children. Twins, would be his guess. Tough, active little boys. Their antics made Grant smile. But he also felt sorry for the girl, who must be their sister or babysitter. When two older boys raced up and flung their arms around her neck, he wondered how on earth she managed to handle all four.

Grant was intrigued by the way all four boys and the blond girl had their attention on Ryan, who was indeed at bat. Ryan slugged a home run on the second pitch. The quintet in the front row clapped madly and yelled Ryan’s name. Even more intriguing was what happened two seconds after Ryan jogged triumphantly across home plate. The twins charged right over to him. Grant watched his son scoop both boys up, then, grinning like a hyena, join the blond girl on the sidelines.

Grant muttered under his breath. The girl had to be Lisa Geroux. Her flashing aquamarine eyes reminded Grant of her mother. And there was no mistaking the chemistry she and Ryan shared. The joy vanished from Ryan’s face the instant the girl turned and pointed to him and Brandy.

Busted, Grant thought guiltily. She must have heard Brandy’s loud comment when they arrived. His stomach bottomed out the way it did when he pulled too many Gs in flight. Ryan was involved with a girl. And her mother was dead set against the relationship. What a mess. He could’ve retired any number of places, but he’d picked San Antonio. It’d been his first duty station and held some happy memories. He’d hoped his kids would like it here, and that maybe he and Ryan could heal old wounds.

Now it appeared they could be facing more problems than ever. It was evident they needed to talk about a lot of things. Not here in front of a crowd, but soon.

Standing, Grant took Brandy’s hand. Ignoring her protests, he led her to the side of the bleachers farthest away from where Ryan stood glaring at them. Grant jumped down and held up his arms for Brandy.

“Why are we leaving? We never got to watch Ryan pitch.”

“Turns out this wasn’t a good idea, Brandy. How about we go get ice cream instead?”

“Rocky road?”

“Sure.” It would no doubt ruin her appetite for dinner. Here he went again, being far too easygoing. But he couldn’t have both his kids hating him. Maybe he should get a few pointers on tough parenting from Rebecca Geroux.

Chapter Three

RYAN LANE stormed into his house around five o’clock, radiating belligerence. Grant had anticipated the outburst, which was why he’d made arrangements for Brandy to play at the home of a new school friend.

Grant looked up from the couch and marked his place in the Dale Brown book he was reading.

“What the hell were you doing this afternoon?” Ryan threw his duffel bag on the couch, barely missing his dad.

“Watch your language, and I suggest you rethink using that tone with me, Ryan.”

The angry teen showed no inclination to back down. Hands splayed on his hips, Ryan ignored his father’s suggestion. “You haven’t given a damn about anything I’ve done for seventeen years. I don’t want or need you poking your nose in my business now.”

“You’re wrong about my not caring.” Setting his book on the lamp stand, Grant stood. He still had three inches and a few pounds on his gangly, six-foot son. He recognized the show of testosterone, but Grant was determined to remain cool and in control.

“Right!” Ryan raised his voice. “You paid housekeepers and nannies, and that means you cared?”

Grant scraped a finger over the stubble on his chin. “I made sure I hired the most qualified caregivers I could find. My job made it impossible to be a full-time dad. You know, son, I don’t think that’s what’s bugging you now. Why don’t you tell me what you’re really upset about?”

“I want you to get off my back.”

“Coming to see you play ball is being on your back? Did you win, by the way?”

“No! My pitching went to hell after Lisa pointed you out in the stands.”

“About her…” Grant hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “She and her brothers were certainly excited about your home run.”

“They aren’t her brothers. Lisa babysits them.” Ryan acted as if his father was short on brain cells. “Their mother works with Lisa’s,” he snapped. “Lisa’s only sixteen, but she’s in all my honors classes. Her brother’s a freshman. Not that I have to explain anything to you about my friends or their families.”

Grant slid his fists deep in his front pockets. Belatedly he remembered Rebecca mentioning that her daughter babysat. “Ryan, I realize our family isn’t the most conventional. At Ramstein, because it was a closed community, I knew the parents of all your friends. Living off base is an adjustment. I’d hoped it would give us the chance to…get more in touch with each other, for lack of a better term. That’s why I bought a house with a patio and a pool. I want us to do things together.”

“Like, you suddenly think we’ll have barbecues and be best buds?”

“For starters, you could invite your friends over some weekend…with their parents,” he added as an afterthought. “I assume your friend Lisa has parents.”

Ryan scowled. “Lisa works most weekends. And Mrs. Geroux isn’t overly friendly. It’s a bad idea, all right?” He snatched up his duffel. “Besides, it’s just Lisa, her mom and her brother, Jordan. So drop it, okay?”

Grant heard Ryan clomp down the tiled hall to his room. His door slammed, and instantly the house pulsed with the sounds of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Grant shut his eyes, took a deep breath and reminded himself that Ryan was still just a kid. A kid who’d had too much autonomy for too long. That was Grant’s fault.

In sudden need of air, he fled to the patio. He’d hired a pool service, but brushing off the day’s accumulation of dust from the pool’s pebbly sides helped clear his mind. He didn’t think he could be of any use to Rebecca Geroux. Not without widening the rift between him and Ryan. Grant had been aware of their rift even before Teresa died. His dilemma had always been that he didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to explain his and Teresa’s marital problems to a boy who worshipped his mother. And was it too late to explain it all now?

Crap! Let Rebecca Geroux solve her problems by herself. Lord knew he had enough of his own. Problems that dated back to when he wasn’t much older than his son.

Teresa had come into his life at a bad time. They shouldn’t have stayed married, but she didn’t want a divorce. And her mental and physical health had been fragile, or so Grant assumed. Too late he discovered a lot had been manipulation.

Whether she meant to or not, Teresa had let her histrionics drive a wedge between father and son. And after her untimely death, Grant’s guilt kept him even farther from Ryan. He’d floundered, and that wasn’t the military way. So, he’d put the problem out of his mind.

Grant hung the pool brush on its pegs and headed back to the house. He should probably find Rebecca and explain why he couldn’t help her break the kids up. He also wasn’t happy with the way he’d let her leave the café.

After more internal debate, he decided to phone her. Since asking Ryan for the number wasn’t an option now, he turned to the phone book. Only no Rebecca or R. Geroux was listed in the San Antonio telephone directory. Thank heaven for the Internet. It was a little scary to see how easily he turned up her supposedly unlisted number.

Grant shut his bedroom door to make the call in private—not that Ryan would hear anything over the blaring music. On his first attempt, Grant misdialed. On the second try, a boy answered. Grant remembered Ryan’s saying Lisa had a brother. “May I speak with Rebecca?” he asked.

“She’s at work. Who’s calling, please?”

“A friend. I suppose I could drop by and see her there.”

“Yeah, sure. Anyone can eat at the Tumbleweed. But she’s always busy.”

Grant heard someone in the background ask who was on the phone. The boy obviously covered the mouthpiece before saying, “Some dude wants Mom. Okay, okay, Lisa. Uh…I’ve gotta go,” the kid said. And he hung up.

The Tumbleweed wasn’t hard to find in the directory. The place was open until ten, which gave Grant plenty of time to get the kids some takeout once Brandy got home. He just had to come up with a good excuse for leaving after dinner.

Greeting her at the door when her friend’s mother dropped her off, he took in his daughter’s smiling face. “Did you have fun with Kiley?”

“Uh-huh. She has a puppy. He’s so cute. Can I get one?”

“We’ll see. Puppies need a lot of care and attention.”

“I know. Kiley’s mama said puppies are like babies. The vet gave Kiley a book that’s got everything a pet owner needs to know. She said I can borrow it. I’ll bet Ryan would help me.”

“Help you what?” Brandy’s brother suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“My friend Kiley has a new shih tzu. I’m trying to talk Daddy into getting me a puppy from the same breeder.”

“I’d rather have a real dog. Like a shepherd,” Ryan said. “I came out to see when dinner is. I’m starved. What are we eating tonight?”

Grant reached for a folder of take-out menus. “I thought pizza. You two decide what kind.” He hesitated. He ought to eat with the kids. But then what excuse could he give Rebecca for going to the Tumbleweed? “I’ll place the order and give you the money to pay the delivery boy. I have an errand to run. I’ll grab something while I’m out.”

“What kind of errand?” Ryan asked, sounding suspicious. “You haven’t gone out at night by yourself since we moved here.”

Ignoring Ryan, Grant passed the pizza menu to his daughter.

Brandy wrinkled her nose. “Why can’t we have real food, Daddy? Kiley’s mom was baking chicken and it smelled so yummy.”

“That’s what moms do, kid,” Ryan said, plucking the menu from her hand. “Dads are pretty much worthless in the kitchen.”

“I beg your pardon. Some of the world’s greatest chefs are men,” Grant protested.

“You, then,” Ryan stressed. “Why don’t you hire a cook like you did in Germany?”

Brandy climbed onto one of the breakfast-bar stools. “I don’t want a cook. I want a mom.”

“Brandy, don’t be a dork. Moms aren’t as easy to get as puppies.”

“I am not a dork, Ryan,” Brandy said huffily. “Our room mom, Mrs. Sanchez, is supernice, Daddy. I’ll bet you’d like her. Manny Sanchez says it’s awful not having a dad to help at home.”

Ryan smacked his sister lightly on the head with the menu. “You are so lame. For parents to hook up they have to meet, hold hands and kiss. Can you picture Dad kissing your room mom—or anyone else?”

“All right, you two,” Grant said loudly. “Enough with trying to arrange my love life. What kind of pizza will it be tonight?”

“Hamburger and tomato,” Ryan said. “And I wasn’t arranging anything. I was explaining to Brandy how low the chances are that any woman would want to date you.”

Grant glared at his son as he dialed the pizza parlor’s number. “I’d like to place an order. One large tomato-hamburger pizza for delivery.” When he hung up, he realized Ryan’s declaration had shaken him. Grant had never considered himself vain. However, as he set out money for the pizza it was all he could do not to recheck his appearance in the mirror. How would Rebecca Geroux see him? But he refused to admit any interest in the woman beyond explaining that he really couldn’t help her.

“I’ll be back before Brandy’s bedtime,” he muttered, his hand on the doorknob.

“Will you look at puppies while you’re out?” Brandy pleaded. “Oh, and remember you said you’d look at clarinets.”

“Not tonight, honey. We’ll make time for that soon, though.”

Ryan glanced up from returning the menu to the take-out folder. “I have plans for the last weekend next month. Saturday afternoon and evening,” he said. “I thought I’d tell you in advance since you didn’t bother to ask if I was busy tonight. You just expect me to watch Brandy anytime it suits you.”

“I’m sorry, Ryan. If you have plans, I can do this another night.” Grant, who was partway out the door, turned back.

Ryan was obviously spoiling for a fight, and his flustered backtracking was almost comical. “I’m staying in tonight,” he mumbled. “But from here on, you’d better check with me first, all right?”

“That’s fair, Ryan. I want us all to get along.”

“Well, okay then,” the boy said, sounding surprised.

AFTER REVERSING his car out to the street, Grant massaged the tension from his neck. He shouldn’t have waited so long to start being a father to his kids. Work had always been his excuse. Now he had to feel his way through the minefield that Ryan, especially, delighted in laying down.

At the first turn, Grant punched the address for the Tumbleweed Steakhouse into his GPS, and he thought about seeing Rebecca again. How long had she been on her own? he wondered. Long enough to be back to dating? For all he knew she might already be seeing someone.

He found the restaurant easily enough, but hesitated about going inside. He wasn’t at all confident as to how he’d be received.

The minute he crossed the threshold, he spotted her. She didn’t see him, so he helped himself to a table near the door and noted what had attracted him earlier. The fiery hair had all but crackled in the sunlight that streamed in the café window that morning. Now, under the overhead lights, it was more muted, but still shone.

As she joked with customers two tables away, Grant liked how her eyes stayed bright with interest in what the older couple was saying. Making people feel important was a gift. Grant quickly opened a menu he found on his table to distract himself from an unexpected rush of heat.

He heard her footsteps approach, then halt as she recognized her next customer.

“I haven’t come to cause trouble,” he assured her, meeting her startled gaze.

“Why come at all?” Her low voice hit him hard. “You made your position plain enough earlier.”

“We need to talk further.”

“Not here,” she said uneasily. “I’m working, for pity’s sake.”

“Where then?”

She tucked her order pad in the pocket of a cowprint apron. “There’s an outdoor coffee shop on the next block.” She jerked her head. “I’m due a fifteenminute break soon, but you go on ahead. I’ll ask another waitress to cover my tables.”

“Is this your way of getting rid of me?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she insisted. “I’ll be along shortly. You can order me an iced coffee.”

Grant had been looking forward to one of those steaks that made his mouth water. And the talk he’d had in mind would probably take more than fifteen minutes. But he supposed even this much was a start.

Unfolding from his chair, he ambled out. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rebecca pull aside a blond waitress in a matching apron. Ouch, he could almost feel the glare that one sent him with her flinty gray eyes.

As he shut the door behind him, he remembered Ryan’s remark about the four little boys at the game belonging to someone Rebecca worked with. The boys were blond, too, so it fit. Grant peeked in through the window, wondering how much Rebecca would tell her friend about him. Most of his concern was about how quickly Ryan might hear of this meeting. He’d see this as his dad going behind his back.

Nothing to be done about that now.

Grant found the coffee shop easily enough. He bought them each a coffee and claimed a table away from the foot traffic on the River Walk. He’d barely set napkins under the cups when Rebecca slid gracefully into the chair across from him at the small, wrought-iron table. A lantern hanging from the brick building rained golden light down on her, accenting distinctive cheekbones.

Suddenly a light, flower-scented perfume had him imagining secret meetings in more intimate settings.

“So, talk already,” she said, peeling the lid off her coffee cup. “I don’t have long. I hope you’re here to say you’ve had second thoughts, and that you were able to convince your son to break up with my daughter.”

He shook his head, as much to focus his mind as to deny having any success.

She took a sip of coffee, and frowned. “Then what’s this all about?”

Grant set his cup down. “Why are you so set on meddling in their lives?” he asked, leaning toward her. “Do you hate all men, or just those interested in your daughter?”

“How dare you judge me!” Rebecca stiffened noticeably.

“I asked Ryan if he’d like to invite some of his friends and their parents to our house for a barbecue. I hoped it would open up a dialogue and maybe he’d mention Lisa. Ryan said you weren’t overly friendly.”

“I was rude.” She blew out a sigh. “I’d just learned that Lisa’s grades were slipping. I believe it’s because she’s smitten with your son. I want so much more for her. For her and my son, Jordan.”

“And ‘more’ doesn’t include falling in love and getting married?”

Rebecca’s eyes flashed angrily, and Grant held up a hand. “Whoa! Don’t get me wrong. I have no idea how tight Ryan and Lisa are. We agree on one thing, though. I don’t want my son getting married at his age, either. So far as I know, he’s collegebound, too.”

“So far as you know? He should’ve applied and been accepted somewhere by now.”

Grant fought to contain his irritation. “So maybe fathers and sons don’t share confidences like moms and daughters do.”

She studied him over the rim of her cup. “Lisa and I used to be close. She’s changed. It’s not just the grades and the boyfriend. Recently she lashed out at me, saying her father wouldn’t be as mean as I am. That hurt a lot.”

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