by Nora Roberts
Hester, damn good.”
That quiet statement did nothing to ease her pulse rate. Humoring Radley or not, she vowed this would be the last time she entertained Mitch Dempsey. Hester turned on the gas under the wok and added peanut oil. “I take it you do your work at home, then. No office?”
He’d let her have it her way for the time being. The minute she’d turned in his arms and looked up at him, he’d known he’d have it his way—have her his way—before too long. “I only have to go a couple of times a week. Some of the writers or artists prefer working in the office. I do better work at home. After I have the story and the sketches, I take them in for editing and inking.”
“I see. So you don’t do the inking yourself?” she asked, though she’d have been hard-pressed to define what inking was. She’d have to ask Radley.
“Not anymore. We have some real experts in that, and it gives me more time to work on the story. Believe it or not, we shoot for quality, the kind of vocabulary that challenges a kid and a story that entertains.”
After adding chicken to the hot oil, Hester took a deep breath. “I really do apologize for anything I said that offended you. I’m sure your work’s very important to you, and I know Radley certainly appreciates it.”
“Well said, Mrs. Wallace.” He slid the vegetable-laden chopping block toward her.
“Josh doesn’t believe it.” Radley bounced into the room, delighted with himself. “He wants to come over tomorrow and see. Can he? His mom says okay if it’s okay with you. Okay, Mom?”
Hester turned from the chicken long enough to give Radley a hug. “Okay, Rad, but it has to be after noon. We have some shopping to do in the morning.”
“Thanks. Just wait till he sees. He’s gonna go crazy. I’ll tell him.”
“Dinner’s nearly ready. Hurry up and wash your hands.”
Radley rolled his eyes at Mitch as he raced from the room again.
“You’re a big hit,” Hester commented.
“He’s nuts about you.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
“So I noticed.” Mitch topped off his wine. “You know, I was curious. I always thought bankers kept bankers’ hours. You and Rad don’t get home until five or so.” When she turned her head to look at him, he merely smiled. “Some of my windows face the front. I like to watch people going in and out.”
It gave her an odd and not entirely comfortable feeling to know he’d watched her walk home. Hester dumped the vegetables in and stirred. “I get off at four, but then I have to pick Rad up from the sitter.” She glanced over her shoulder again. “He hates it when I call her a sitter. Anyway, she’s over by our old place, so it takes awhile. I have to start looking for someone closer.”
“A lot of kids his age and younger come home on their own.”
Her eyes did go smoky, he noted. All she needed was a touch of anger. Or passion. “Radley isn’t going to be a latchkey child. He isn’t coming home to an empty house because I have to work.”
Mitch set her glass by her elbow. “Coming home to empty can be depressing,” he murmured, remembering his own experiences. “He’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m luckier to have him.” Her tone softened. “If you’d get out the plates, I’ll dish this up.”
Mitch remembered where she kept her plates, white ones with little violet sprigs along the edges. It was odd to realize they pleased him when he’d become so accustomed to disposable plastic. He took them out, then set them beside her. Most things were best done on impulse, he’d always thought. He went with the feeling now.
“I guess it would be a lot easier on Rad if he could come back here after school.”
“Oh, yes. I hate having to drag him across town, though he’s awfully good about it. It’s just so hard to find someone you can trust and who Radley really likes.”
“How about me?”
Hester reached to turn off the gas but stopped to stare at him. Vegetables and chicken popped in hot oil. “I’m sorry?”
“Rad could stay with me in the afternoons.” Again Mitch put a hand over hers, this time to turn off the heat. “He’d only be a couple floors away from his own place.”
“With you? No, I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” The more he thought of it, the more Mitch liked the idea. He and Taz could use the company in the afternoons, and as a bonus, he’d be seeing a lot more of the very interesting Mrs. Wallace. “You want references? No criminal record, Hester. Well, there was the case of my motorcycle and the prize roses, but I was only eighteen.”
“I didn’t mean that—exactly.” When he grinned, she began to fuss with the rice. “I mean I couldn’t impose that way. I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Come on, you don’t think I do anything all day but doodle. Let’s be honest.”
“We’ve already agreed it isn’t any of my business,” she began.
“Exactly. The point is I’m home in the afternoons, I’m available, and I’m willing. Besides, I may even be able to use Rad as a consultant. He’s good, you know.” Mitch indicated the drawing on the refrigerator. “The kid could use some art lessons.”
“I know. I was hoping I’d be able to swing it this summer, but I don’t—”
“Want to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Mitch finished. “Look, the kid likes me; I like him. And I’ll swear to no more than one Twinkie an afternoon.”
She laughed then, as he’d seen her laugh a few hours before from his window. It wasn’t easy to hold himself back, but something told him if he made a move now, the door would slam in his face and the bolt would slide shut. “I don’t know, Mitch. I do appreciate the offer, God knows it would make things easier, but I’m not sure you understand what you’re asking for.”
“I hasten to point out that I was once a small boy.” He wanted to do it, he discovered. It was more than a gesture or impulse; he really wanted to have the kid around. “Look, why don’t we put this to a vote and ask Rad?”
“Ask me what?” Radley had run some water over his hands after he’d finished talking to Josh, and figured his mother was too busy to give them a close look.
Mitch picked up his wine, then lifted a brow. My ball, Hester thought. She could have put the child off, but she’d always prided herself on being honest with him. “Mitch was just suggesting that you might like to stay with him after school in the afternoons instead of going over to Mrs. Cohen’s.”
“Really?” Astonishment and excitement warred until he was bouncing with both. “Really, can I?”
“Well, I wanted to think about it and talk to you before—”
“I’ll behave.” Radley rushed over to wrap his arms around his mother’s waist. “I promise. Mitch is much better than Mrs. Cohen. Lots better. She smells like mothballs and pats me on the head.”
“I rest my case,” Mitch murmured.
Hester sent Mitch a smoldering look. She wasn’t accustomed to being outnumbered or to making a decision without careful thought and consideration. “Now, Radley, you know Mrs. Cohen’s very nice. You’ve been staying with her for over two years.”
Radley squeezed harder and played his ace. “If I stayed with Mitch, I could come right home. And I’d do my homework first.” It was a rash promise, but it was a desperate situation. “You’d get home sooner, too, and everything. Please, Mom, say yes.”
She hated to deny him anything, because there were too many things she’d already had to. He was looking up at her now with his cheeks rosy with pleasure. Bending, she kissed him. “All right, Rad, we’ll try it and see how it works out.”
“It’s going to be great.” He locked his arms around her neck before he turned to Mitch. “It’s going to be just great.”
Chapter 3
Mitch liked to sleep late on weekends—whenever he thought of them as weekends. Because he worked in his own home, at his own pace, he often forgot that to the vast majority there was a big difference between Monday mornings and Saturday mornings. This particular Saturday, however, he
was spending in bed, largely dead to the world.
He’d been restless the evening before after he’d left Hester’s apartment. Too restless to go back to his own alone. On the spur of the moment he’d gone out to the little lounge where the staff of Universal Comics often got together. He’d run into his inker, another artist and one of the staff writers for The Great Beyond, Universal’s bid for the supernatural market. The music had been loud and none too good, which had been exactly what his mood had called for.
From there he’d been persuaded to attend an all-night horror film festival in Times Square. It had been past six when he’d come home, a little drunk and with only enough energy left to strip and tumble into bed—where he’d promised himself he’d stay for the next twenty-four hours. When the phone rang eight hours later, he answered it mostly because it annoyed him.
“Yeah?”
“Mitch?” Hester hesitated. It sounded as though he’d been asleep. Since it was after two in the afternoon, she dismissed the thought. “It’s Hester Wallace. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“What? No, it’s all right.” He rubbed a hand over his face, then pushed at the dog, who had shifted to the middle of the bed. “Damn it, Taz, shove over. You’re breathing all over me.”
Taz? Hester thought as both brows lifted. She hadn’t thought that Mitch would have a roommate. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. That was something she should have checked out. For Radley’s sake.
“I really am sorry,” she continued in a voice that had cooled dramatically. “Apparently I’ve caught you at a bad time.”
“No.” Give the stupid mutt an inch and he took a mile, Mitch thought as he hefted the phone and climbed to the other side of the bed. “What’s up?”
“Are you?”
It was the mild disdain in her voice that had him bristling. That and the fact that it felt as though he’d eaten a sandbox. “Yeah, I’m up. I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“I only called to give you all the numbers and information you need if you watch Radley next week.”
“Oh.” He pushed the hair out of his eyes and glanced around, hoping he’d left a glass of watered-down soda or something close at hand. No luck. “Okay. You want to wait until I get a pencil?”
“Well, I . . .” He heard her put her hand over the receiver and speak to someone—Radley, he imagined from the quick intensity of the voice. “Actually, if it wouldn’t put you out, Radley was hoping we could come by for a minute. He wants to introduce you to his friend. If you’re busy, I can just drop the information by later.”
Mitch started to tell her to do just that. Not only could he go back to sleep, but he might just be able to wrangle five minutes alone with her. Then he thought of Radley standing beside his mother, looking up at her with those big dark eyes. “Give me ten minutes,” he muttered, and hung up before Hester could say a word.
Mitch pulled on jeans, then went into the bath to fill the sink with cold water. He took a deep breath and stuck his face in it. He came up swearing but awake. Five minutes later he was pulling on a sweatshirt and wondering if he’d remembered to wash any socks. All the clothes that had come back from the laundry neatly folded had been dumped on the chair in the corner of the bedroom. He briefly considered pushing his way through them, then let it go when he heard the knock. Taz’s tail thumped on the mattress.
“Why don’t you pick up this place?” Mitch asked him. “It’s a pigsty.”
Taz grinned, showing a set of big white teeth, then made a series of growls and groans.
“Excuses. Always excuses. And get out of bed. Don’t you know it’s after two?” Mitch rubbed a hand over his unshaven chin, then went to open the door.
She looked great, just plain great, with a hand on a shoulder of each boy and a half smile on her face. Shy? he thought, a little surprised as he realized it. He had thought her cool and aloof, but now he believed she used that to hide an innate shyness, which he found amazingly sweet.
“Hiya, Rad.”
“Hi, Mitch,” Radley returned, almost bursting with importance. “This is my friend Josh Miller. He doesn’t believe you’re Commander Zark.”
“Is that so?” Mitch looked down at the doubting Thomas, a skinny towhead about two inches taller than Rad. “Come on in.”
“It’s nice of you to put up with this,” Hester began. “We weren’t going to have any peace until Rad and Josh had it settled.” The living room looked as though it had exploded. That was Hester’s first thought as Mitch closed the door behind them. Papers and clothes and wrappers were everywhere. She imagined there was furniture, too, but she couldn’t have described it.
“Tell Josh you’re Commander Zark,” Radley insisted.
“I guess you could say that.” The notion pleased him. “I created him, anyway.” He looked down again at Josh, whose pout had gone beyond doubt to true suspicion. “You two go to school together?”
“Used to.” Josh stood close to Hester as he studied Mitch. “You don’t look like Commander Zark.”
Mitch rubbed a hand over his chin again. “Rough night.”
“He is too Zark. Hey, look, Mom. Mitch has a VCR.” Radley easily overlooked the clutter and homed in on the entertainment center. “I’m saving up my allowance to buy one. I’ve got seventeen dollars.”
“It adds up,” Mitch murmured, and flicked a finger down Radley’s nose. “Why don’t we go into the office? I’ll show you what’s cooking in the spring issue.”
“Wow.”
Taking this as an assent, Mitch led the way.
The office, Hester noted, was big and bright and every bit as chaotic as the living room. She was a creature of order, and it was beyond her how anyone could produce under these conditions. Yet there was a drawing board set up, and tacked to it were sketches and captions.
“You can see Zark’s going to have his hands full when Leilah teams up with the Black Moth.”
“The Black Moth. Holy cow.” Faced with the facts, Josh was duly impressed. Then he remembered his comic book history, and suspicion reared again. “I thought he destroyed the Moth five issues ago.”
“The Moth only went into hibernation after Zark bombarded the Zenith with experimental ZT-5. Leilah used her scientific genius to bring him out again.”
“Wow.” This came from Josh as he stared at the oversized words and drawings. “How come you make this so big? It can’t fit in a comic book.”
“It has to be reduced.”
“I read all about that stuff.” Radley gave Josh a superior glance. “I got this book out of the library that gave the history of comic books, all the way back to the 1930s.”
“The Stone Age.” Mitch smiled as the boys continued to admire his work. Hester was doing some admiring of her own. Beneath the clutter, she was certain there was a genuine French rococo cupboard. And books. Hundreds of them. Mitch watched her wander the room. And would have gone on watching if Josh hadn’t tugged on his arm.
“Please, can I have your autograph?”
Mitch felt foolishly delighted as he stared down at the earnest face. “Sure.” Shuffling through papers, he found a blank one and signed it. Then, with a flourish, he added a quick sketch of Zark.
“Neat.” Josh folded the paper reverently and slipped it in his back pocket. “My brother’s always bragging because he’s got an autographed baseball, but this is better.”
“Told ya.” With a grin, Radley moved closer to Mitch. “And I’m going to be staying with Mitch after school until Mom gets home from work.”
“No kidding?”
“All right, guys, we’ve taken up enough of Mr. Dempsey’s time.” Hester started to shoo the boys along when Taz strolled into the room.
“Gee whiz, he’s really big.” Radley started forward, hand out, when Hester caught him.
“Radley, you know better than to go up to a strange dog.”
“Your mom’s right,” Mitch put in. “But in this case it’s okay. Taz is harmless.”
And en
ormous, Hester thought, keeping a firm grip on both boys.
Taz, who had a healthy respect for little people, sat in the doorway and eyed them both. Small boys had a tendency to want to play rough and pull ears, which Taz suffered heroically but could do without. Waiting to see which way the wind blew, he sat and thumped his tail.
“He’s anything but an aggressive dog,” Mitch reassured Hester. He stepped around her and put a hand on Taz’s head. Without, Hester noted, having to bend over.
“Does he do tricks?” Radley wanted to know. It was one of his most secret wishes to own a dog. A big one. But he never asked, because he knew they couldn’t keep one shut in an apartment all day alone.
“No, all Taz does is talk.”
“Talk?” Josh went into a fit of laughter. “Dogs can’t talk.”