Their gazes merged. Dredging up a suitable retort proved impossible. Warmth crested in his deep-brown eyes in a mesmerizing display. The way he looked at her made Darcy breathless.
“Why are you flirting?” she finally got out. “We agreed it wasn’t a good idea.”
“Did we?” He rocked back on his heels. Then he moved back in. He threaded his fingers through the strands of hair caught on her cheek. “I’ve always loved your hair,” he murmured. “Like spun sunlight. Don’t ever cut it. You look great with long hair.”
“Thanks.”
A sweet yearning drifted through her as she lingered on the five-o’clock shadow darkening his face. It was unsettling how the stubble on Michael’s chin made him altogether too attractive. She’d take him unshaven any day.
Banishing the thought, she focused on the greater concern. “Whatever it is we’re doing to each other, we have to stop. Emerson needs both of us—just not together. He’s more frightened than he’s letting on. If we’re not there for him, he’ll never make it through the next months.”
“What about our needs?”
“They’re secondary to my nephew’s.”
“What if we’re discovering what we once felt for each other isn’t gone?”
The heartfelt rebuttal arrowed through Darcy. An attraction stronger than gravity spun between them. When had it not?
Michael stepped back. He raked a hand across his scalp, as though coming to a decision. Then he plunged forward quickly. “I wasn’t looking to get involved, not after striking out in marriage. I took it hard when you left. But I’m not one to wallow in self-pity. I thought I’d play it safe by marrying a woman who was your polar opposite. Someone too practical, like me. Those vows never took, for either of us.”
“Why not?” she asked. The conversation was clearly difficult for Michael. She was grateful he trusted her enough to discuss his divorce.
“We were both wrapped up in our careers. Over time, we drifted apart. We didn’t even realize we’d missed our most recent anniversary until a week afterward.”
“Oh, Michael . . .”
Pride hardened his jaw. “It’s okay. She did me a favor by asking for a divorce. You were still under my skin, although I didn’t understand how deep until you came back. I didn’t expect to feel the way I do for you, not after so much time.” Pausing, he let his attention trip across the empty road. Then he looked at her again. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t keep Emerson’s needs in mind. Of course we should. Always.”
“What are you saying?”
“A child shouldn’t dictate our future.” For proof, he cupped her face in his hands. A fine urgency colored his voice as he asked, “Is there something between us? Everything we felt for each other the last time . . . Do you still feel the same way? Because I do.”
His touch sent pleasure quivering down her spine. “Yes, I feel the same way.” She rested her forehead against his chin. “That doesn’t mean we should follow through—not while I have so much going on in my life. I can’t.”
“I’m not losing you a third time.”
“Then wait for me.”
“For how long?”
The question hung between them. With the lightest touch, Michael lifted her chin. He searched her eyes.
She didn’t have the answer. The fire in his gaze dimmed.
Then he rallied against the doubts and brushed his lips across hers. Tentative, testing, a request he waited for her to accept. He tasted like liquid heat, and she sighed. At the sound of her pleasure, he coasted his mouth across hers, harder now, teasing her senses until she leaned close, dizzy beneath his lovemaking. She bunched her hands against his chest.
Why won’t he stop tormenting me and kiss me deeply?
The thought brought a moan from her throat. The husky sound put satisfaction in Michael’s eyes.
He took her mouth fully with a kiss that left her spinning.
She was still spinning when he broke it off.
“I’m not as strong as you think,” he whispered against her lips. “Don’t make me wait too long.” When she began to object, he pressed a finger to her mouth. “You’re not the only one who wants what’s best for Emerson. We’ll find a way to ease him into the idea that we’re a couple. He might feel jealous at first. Later, he won’t. He’s a lonely boy afraid of losing his grandmother. Isn’t it better for him to have us together, to guide him through?”
The sweet, sensible explanation stole her voice. Mutely, she nodded.
We’ll work everything out. Won’t we?
In the distance, the sound of an engine cut through the quiet. Michael’s attention veered above her head. He released her.
A horn blared. With a wave, Samson turned the Ford into the driveway.
Chapter 21
At the bottom of Grove Hill Lane, cars were parked at the south end of the field that local kids used for impromptu baseball games. Darcy found a spot at the end of a row.
Hopping out of the back seat, Emerson studied the tree-lined street. “Whoa. The block party is bigger than last year.”
All the way down the lane, adults milled in happy groups. Children dashed about. The Chagrin Falls PD had already cordoned off the street, and four men were placing tables end to end for a buffet line. Farther down, a group of boys with a snaking hose were filling balloons with water and stacking them in large silver tubs. There was also a beanbag toss, a photo booth, and an area with card tables for games—Darcy even spotted a woman, far down the lane, setting up an obstacle course. Two girls, evidently the woman’s helpers, were dragging tricycles from nearby garages.
Darcy waited for Samson to slide out of the passenger side, then locked the car. “Ready, everyone?” she asked.
They started down the street. On the front lawn of a white colonial-style house, a gaggle of teenage girls shared whispered conversation and tubes of lip gloss. A petite black girl in a scalloped jean skirt and a gauzy blouse looked up. She regarded Samson with unmistakable interest as he walked past.
Emerson smirked. “Samson, you have a secret admirer by Mrs. Olson’s house.”
“Be quiet,” Samson muttered. From over his shoulder, he darted a glance at the girl.
When he did, Emerson rolled his eyes at Darcy. Then he pretended to gag. A totally inappropriate response, but at least he was acting like a normal kid. Progress, in her estimation.
She rapped her mischievous nephew on the head. “Hello, anyone in there? Don’t make fun of teenagers. It isn’t nice. And have some respect for karma. Mock Samson now, and he’ll return the favor when you’re thirteen.”
“He will not.”
“Yes, I will.” Samson smoothed down his dreads. “Darcy, how do I look?”
He’d spent the morning burning a trail in and out of her bedroom, seeking advice on what to wear. She was fairly certain the nervous teen had tried on everything in his wardrobe—twice. With her assistance, he finally settled on gray jeans and a new white Nike T-shirt.
“You look fabulous. Total eye candy for every girl at the party.”
Emerson snorted. “Eye candy? That’s dumb. There’s no such thing.”
“Stop talking so loud.” Samson studied him closely. “What’s wrong with you today?”
“Nothing!”
Darcy intervened. “Both of you—chill. This is a party. We’re here to have fun. Samson, go meet some other kids. I need to help Latrice with the cooking.”
“Should I take Emerson with me?”
“And have him embarrass you in front of the girls? No way. When you’re ready to play baseball, circle back and round up Mr. Obnoxious. The game usually starts by midafternoon.” She pointed due south, at the kids heaping bats and mitts in a pile before the rows of parked cars. “I’ll keep him until then.”
Samson walked off. In a remarkable show of confidence, he veered toward the cluster of girls. Darcy was still admiring the spectacle when Emerson made a small noise that sounded like anger.
“I’m not obnoxio
us.” He glared at her. “I’m eight.”
“Yeah, and today you’re acting your age.” All morning long he’d been testy, his usual polite behavior nowhere in evidence. “Mind sharing why you’re in a bad mood?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
In response, Emerson deflated like a pricked balloon. His shoulders curved inward and his gaze flitted across the ground. The disconcerting reaction put Darcy on alert. There was more going on here than readily apparent. She wondered if the testiness was a ruse. Behind it, she sensed fear.
“Seriously. Tell me what’s wrong.” She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I can’t help if you won’t level with me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s embarrassing.” Stepping out of reach, he raised his slender arms in disgust. “Why am I so puny? Most boys my age grow fast. I wish I’d get bigger. Then no one could push me around.”
He was frightened. Alarmed, she caught the edge of his T-shirt.
“Emerson, you’re scaring me.” She tugged him closer. “Has someone threatened you? I want the name. Now.”
“It’s Noah.”
“Who’s Noah?”
Eyes rounding, her nephew listed slightly to peer around her. “He’s standing in the driveway over there. The boy with the black hair. He’s lived across the street from Latrice since I was in kindergarten.” Emerson lowered his gaze. His voice paper-thin, he whispered, “Noah calls me a weirdo twerp. He hits me. Please don’t tell Latrice. She’s friends with his parents. Noah is mean, but his parents are nice.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Forever?”
A finely tuned fury raced through Darcy. The last thing Emerson needed was stress at a block party. His grandmother was dying. He needed to have fun. Goof off, act like a kid. Forget his worries for one afternoon.
“Go inside,” she said with forced calm. “Nella is helping Latrice in the kitchen. She’s eager to see you.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
When she pressed her lips together, his brows scraped his hairline. He’d reached the obvious conclusion.
She’d protect him at all costs.
“No, Aunt Darcy. Noah is fifteen. He’s got lots of muscles. He’ll hurt you.”
“Not a chance.” Clasping his shoulders, she aimed him toward the brick walkway and Latrice’s front door. “Go on. I’ll be inside in a sec.”
He ran inside.
Darcy appraised her opponent. With jeans slung low on his hips, Noah appeared more man than child, a muscular youth towering over his friends. He was chatting with a posse of less-attractive boys. One of the boys made a crude gesture at the girls across the street.
The boy, a skinny redhead, blushed darker than his hair when he noticed Darcy striding past the men setting up tables in the street.
She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Noah.” The challenge in her tone drew the posse back. She came to a halt before him. “You are Noah, right?”
The other teens understood the danger a livid adult posed; Noah grinned.
“Who’s asking?”
“Darcy Goodridge.”
She caught a whiff of something acrid on his breath. Tequila?
“You’ve been bullying my nephew, Emerson?”
“The twerp? Bullshit.”
She jabbed him in the chest. “Ever go near him again, and I’ll report you to the police. Assault is a serious crime.” She leaned closer. “You got that, asshole?”
Stunned, he stared at her.
She turned away. Behind her back, someone in the posse laughed. A typical reaction. The sort of mistake teenage boys made every day.
One that should have put her on alert as she strode across the lawn.
“She sure told you, Noah.”
What happened next took Darcy off guard. A hand clamped down on her shoulder. Before she could react, she was pushed forward.
She fell hard on the grass. The impact kicked the air from her lungs. Dizzy, she began to get up. The vertigo increased, and she dropped back down on her bottom.
The flash of someone running full bore streamed past.
The street was filling up with partygoers and noisy chatter. None of the adults nearby caught sight of Samson. An underweight teen with more heart than muscle, he cleared the grass in three seconds flat.
Emerson’s tormentor never had a chance. With one well-aimed punch, Samson knocked him to the ground. Two girls around junior high age ran up, their smartphones out to record the event. Other children playing nearby followed.
Samson didn’t notice. Fists at the ready, he stood over Noah in a threatening pose.
“Were you raised by swamp pigs? You no-good white trash—why hasn’t anyone hauled your sorry ass to the nearest landfill?” Anger brought out the natural Southern twang Samson worked hard to disguise. “You don’t ever hit a lady. Am I making myself clear?”
Flat on his back, Noah raised frantic palms to shield his face. “Yes. Crystal!”
“Good. You keep it in mind.”
Blinking the stars from her vision, Darcy watched in awe. She chuckled as Noah scrambled to his feet. He dashed around the side of his house with the posse on his tail.
Samson, approaching with a newfound swagger, missed the show.
He helped her to her feet. “Damn,” he muttered. He rubbed his sore knuckles. “That hurt.”
“Don’t swear.” Her elbow, having taken the brunt of the fall, throbbed something awful. “It’s unbecoming.”
“You swore. At that lowlife, trailer trash boy.”
“I did not.”
“Did too. When you were—”
Breaking off, Samson looked past her shoulder. A hint of shyness coasted across his features. The emotion quickly gave way to joy.
Over what, Darcy wasn’t sure. Until she turned around.
The girl in the gauzy blouse sauntered across the street toward them.
The sweet fragrance of simmering barbecue sauce wafted through Latrice’s house. Trudging in through the mudroom, Darcy paused to savor the aroma and pull herself together. After the confrontation with Noah—and Samson’s impressive heroics—her pulse beat a jangly rhythm.
In the kitchen, Latrice and Nella leaned against a counter heaped with dishes in various stages of preparation. Beside them, Tippi gingerly climbed down a metal two-step ladder. Evidently, she had needed the ladder to watch the show from the window above the sink. With a wink at Darcy, she fist-pumped the air.
Latrice asked, “Having fun outside?”
Darcy noticed a few blades of grass on her shoulder. “Don’t start.” She brushed them off. “This isn’t like my juvie stint at the jail. Didn’t Emerson tell you about the kid bullying him?” She grinned. “The score is now settled.”
Nella chuckled. “From the cheap seats, it looked like Samson did the score-settling.”
“Hey! I did my bit too.”
At the table, a fork clattered down. Behind a plate of spaghetti, Emerson’s face registered shock.
He swiped at the sauce ringing his mouth. “Juvie . . . juvenile detention? Aunt Darcy, you did jail time? You were incarcerated?”
“Nice word choice,” Nella said.
Darcy smiled. “It’s a joke, sweetie. I’ve never been incarcerated. Grandmother asked the Chagrin Falls PD to leave me stewing outside a jail cell. I was thirteen. The scare tactic was meant to make me behave.” It was an unnerving experience Darcy never repeated. “I got into a fight outside the roller rink. Grandmother was furious.”
“Why did you get in a fight?”
Latrice bustled to the table. “There was a boy at the rink a lot like Noah.” She handed Emerson a napkin to wipe his face. “Jackson something-or-other. Nastiest boy in Chagrin Falls. He was making fun of a girl with a developmental disability.”
Emerson sighed. “That’s sad.”
“It is,” D
arcy agreed. “She was trying hard to skate well. Jackson was badgering her so much she kept falling back down. When he walked out of the rink, I was waiting for him.”
“You took on a boy?”
“I was tired of him picking on her. Every kid in the skating rink knew she had trouble at school, and her mother was stuck in the bathroom with her little brother. I’m sure if she’d caught Jackson bullying her daughter, she would’ve beaten him to a pulp.”
“Gosh, Aunt Darcy. I didn’t know you were a fighter when you were a kid.”
Nella came to her defense. “She wasn’t, Emerson. What she did to Jackson wasn’t her usual behavior. At the time, there was a great deal of . . . tumult in Darcy’s life.”
“What’s tumult?”
“Upsetting times. Sometimes kids act inappropriately when bad things happen to them.” She gave Darcy a meaningful look. Mentioning Darcy’s childhood friendship with Michael—or why it ended—wouldn’t be appropriate. Changing the subject, Nella added, “Emerson, why don’t you show your aunt the surprise? She’ll get a kick out of it.”
“Sure!”
Latrice removed his plate as he reached for two mason jars. Darcy hadn’t noticed them on the table.
“Aunt Darcy, look what Tippi did. She’s the best.”
At the counter, Tippi gave the thumbs-up. “I am,” she agreed.
Unscrewing the lid of the first jar, Emerson pulled out a fistful of bills. The loose change mixed in tumbled across the table.
Darcy scrambled to catch the coins. “Be careful!” She caught a handful of quarters. “What is all of this?” Each jar was packed tight with wrinkled bills and shiny coins.
“Tippi’s poker winnings. Hers, and the winnings of the old folks who play with her. Mostly old guys. A few ladies play too. They’re giving their winnings to Samson.”
“Why?”
“To pay for his truck insurance.”
“They’re all pitching in?”
Approaching, Tippi reached for the jar. “This is enough to cover his first year of insurance. Michael got the quote for coverage.” She began stuffing the money back inside.
“Wait. Your gambling buddies agreed to this?”
Truck insurance didn’t come cheap. It was a generous gift.
The Road She Left Behind Page 24