by Day Leclaire
“Going downhill fast. Got it.”
“Don’t write that down!” Hutch considered a way around the problem. “Maybe if they go somewhere dark, her date won’t notice. Write down that she likes romantic settings. They’re dark, right? Movies and candlelight and stuff?”
Ty disappeared behind the form. “Good suggestion, kid. I’ll make a note of it.” His rumbling voice sounded oddly choked and the papers rustled. But a moment later, he lowered the form, looking as mountainlike as ever. “Next. Height and weight. Do you have a clue about those?”
“She’s not fat. I guess she’s okay in that department. And she’s pretty tall for a girl. Bigger’n me,” he added beneath his breath.
Of course, Ty heard. “Give yourself a chance, kid. Male hormones tend to kick in later than women’s. And she’s got a whole passel of years on you.”
“I know. It’s straight genetics.” His chin inched out and he tried to tuck it back in. By Ty’s expression, his attempt hadn’t met with much success. “Either I got the height gene or I didn’t. Since tall is a dominant trait, chances are in my favor that I’ll shoot up one of these days.”
“Then there’s not much point in worrying about it, is there?” came the cool response. “Hair and eye color?”
“Brown and gray.”
“I assume it’s her hair that’s brown and her eyes that are gray?”
For the first time, Hutch felt the urge to laugh. It escaped as a tiny snort. “Yeah.”
“What a relief.” An answering grin flickered across Ty’s face.
“Wanna see a picture?”
“Sure.”
Hutch dug the photo from his pocket and handed it over, hiding a smirk at the mountain man’s reaction. Ty’s expression was sorta the way Hutch’s got over a big bowl of ice cream. Course, his mom was a lot better than ice cream. Even the kids at school thought so. If they had a contest for best-looking mom, he’d win hands down.
Without a word, Ty returned the photo and picked up the application form again. “Occupation?”
Hutch frowned in thought. “I think she’s a waitress this week.”
“This week?”
“She takes what she can get, okay? She works really hard. It’s not like she has a husband or anything to help pay the bills.”
Ty held up his hands—long-fingered, hard-worn hands. Hands like his mom’s, only a lot bigger. It helped ease Hutch’s distress to see the evidence of a man branded by work. “Easy, buster. I’m just asking the questions on the application. I’m not judging. Got it?”
Hutch nodded, aware he’d revealed too much of himself to this man. He’d have to watch that. “What else do you need to know?”
“Marital status. Children. Type of residence.”
Hutch took a deep breath. “We live in an apartment. She’s single. Lonnie—he was my dad—took off five years ago.” He shrugged. “I guess I shoulda said divorced. The papers came through a while after he left. As for children... I’m it. So the guy won’t have to worry about having any sniveling brats around. It’s just the two of us and I won’t give him any trouble.”
Ty lowered his gaze at the telling comments. “I’m sure you won’t.” Poor kid. Calling his father by his given name. Did he realize how desperate he sounded to find a replacement? Doubtful. The boy had it all figured out... or thought he did.
“Okay. What’s the next question?” Hutch demanded.
Ty flipped to the second page. “What would her ideal partner be like? Any idea?”
“A cowboy.”
“Come again?”
“Or a rancher.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Well, it’s the only kind she hasn’t tried yet.”
Uh-oh. “Tried?”
“Yeah. Places we’ve lived and stuff.”
Ty tapped his pen against the application form. It was the “and stuff” that bothered him. Did Hutch mean that the way it sounded? Had his mother tried out various types of men, seeking the perfect partner? Ty’s mouth tightened. For some reason, it bothered him to consider that possibility, especially after seeing Cassidy Lonigan’s wide, generous smile and the hint of vulnerability peeking from big gray eyes. “You move around a lot?”
“Have to. At first we were keeping up with Lonnie. Now Mom’s trying to find us the perfect home.”
To go with her perfect man? “I gather she hasn’t found it yet?”
“Nope. That’s why I decided to help. Her way isn’t working.”
“And you think this will?”
“You use that computer sittin’ there, don’t you?” At Ty’s agreement, Hutch nodded in satisfaction. “Then it’ll work. Now, what else do you need to know?”
Deciding a change of subject was in order, Ty asked, “Does she have any pet peeves?”
“April Mae.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s the girl my dad ran off with. April Mae. Lonnie had to wait until she graduated from high school before leaving us and that peeved Mom a whole lot. I don’t think the guy you pick oughta mention her cuz Mom’ll have a thing or two to say on the subject. And none of it’ll be good.”
“I imagine.”
“Is that it? Are we finished?”
“Not quite.” Ty frowned, running a hand across his jawline. He didn’t like having the boy answer these questions. They’d already discussed some pretty intimate issues. Unfortunately, it was about to get a whole hell of a lot more intimate. “Now for the tough part.”
Hutch practically shot off the chair. “You’re kidding! You mean all those other questions were supposed to be easy?”
Ty offered a sympathetic smile. “’Fraid so. It gets a little more personal from here.”
“More personal? What else can they want to know? You mean like...like...” An expression of abject horror crept across Hutch’s face. “No way! That’s disgusting. My mom doesn’t do that sorta stuff.”
Ty buried his amusement. She had to have done it at one point or another since the evidence sat glaring straight at him. Not that he’d mention that small detail to Hutch. He was a smart kid. It would occur to him in time. “You know...this would be easier if we could get her input. You sure you can’t bring her here for her birthday? We could ask all these questions and get a better sense—”
“No! She won’t do it if—” Hutch broke off, his face reddening.
Ty’s amusement faded. “Please. Don’t stop there. You don’t think she’d agree if she knew what you were up to?” Great. Just what his grandmother needed. More trouble. He leaned across the desk, shoving a bud vase aside. The single yellow rose it contained trembled at the rough treatment. “Look, kid. If it’s not something she wants, why give it to her?”
The boy’s youthful chin jutted out again and Ty released his breath in a slow sigh. If the kid wasn’t careful, someone would take that jaw as a challenge and peg it with a fist. Not that Hutch would give up. He was a scrapper. Too bad he didn’t have the size to back his attitude. It would save him a few hard knocks.
“She may not want it,” Hutch announced, “but she’s gonna get it anyway.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.” The boy flushed at Ty’s dry tone. “Face facts, kid. If you aren’t able to answer the questions, I can’t run her profile. So either you answer or she does. Which is it going to be?”
Hutch’s face screwed up in distaste. “Oh, man. This is not good. What other questions are there?”
Ty glanced at the form. “Strengths, weaknesses, general interests and hobbies. Personality type. Goals and ambitions. And then she’s supposed to describe herself.” The boy appeared nonplussed. A first, Ty was willing to bet.
“Well, shoot...” Hutch released a gusty breath, his bewilderment rapidly dissipating. “Okay. Does your phone have a hold or mute button?”
Ty checked. “Both.”
“And does it have a speaker button?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. May I use it for a sec?”
&nb
sp; Ty shoved the phone across the desk. “Be my guest.”
Picking up the receiver, Hutch rapidly punched in a series of numbers. “Hey, Mom? It’s me. You on your way to work?” He waited a moment, listening. “Oh, good. I’m putting you on speaker, okay?”
Hutch stabbed a button and a voice sweeter than a honey-coated Georgia peach filled the room. “...sweetpea, I don’t mind.”
“You’re not supposed to call me that, remember?”
“Sorry, sweet—Hutch. So what’s up? Where are you?”
“I’m at a friend’s house and need some help. I’m working on a science project for school and—”
“A friend?” The excitement in her voice was painfully apparent, lacing the words with a warmer, heavier note of maternal concern. “Have I met him? Or is it a her?”
“Him. No, you haven’t met. About this project—”
“What’s his name?”
Hutch exhaled noisily. “His name is Ty Merrick. Mom. Pay attention. This is important.”
“I’m sorry, sweet—Hutch. How can I help?”
“We’re doing a personality survey for this science experiment and I need to ask you a bunch of questions.”
“Oh...” There was a momentary pause. “Will anyone realize it’s me?”
“It’s confidential,” Ty murmured to Hutch.
“Is that you, Ty? Gracious. You sound all grown up.”
Hutch started. “The kids in my class are a lot older than me, Mom. You know that. Ty’s...really big.”
“Oh, dear. Was I being rude? Sorry about that, Ty. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”
His name came across the phone line as warm and gentle as a sigh. The way she said “Tah” wrapped around him. It wasn’t a Texas accent. Perhaps he’d been more accurate about that Georgia peach than he realized. Suddenly, he had the urge to meet a leggy twenty-nine-year-old with brown hair just a shade shy of black and gray eyes that shone like silver. To see if up close and personal the eyes—with the tiny wrinkles in the corners that Hutch found so disturbing—were as intensely appealing as her voice.
Apparently, he’d waited too long to respond. Her breath caught and she said, “I did embarrass you. I’m so sorry, Ty. I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t embarrass me.” It took an instant for the soft reassurance to reach her—soft, so she wouldn’t realize he was a man, not a child. “I was trying to figure out where your accent was from.”
“Oh.” Sunshine filled her voice, breaking through the clouds of uncertainty. “I’m from the good ol’ goober state of Georgia.”
“Goober?” he questioned, intrigued.
She chuckled, and a picture of her generous smile filled his mind. Dam that photo! One look and he’d been a goner. “That’s what they call peanuts back there. We might be the Empire State, but we’re really a bunch of goobers.”
Hutch stirred. “Mom. Can we ask you questions? Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Fire away, sugar.”
“Okay. I’m gonna put you on hold for a sec so me and Ty can pick the questions.”
She laughed. “You don’t want to discuss them in front of me?”
“Can’t. It might corrupt the results.”
Her laughter blossomed, as rich and smooth as her voice. Ty clenched his jaw against the sound, not quite believing the effect it was having on him. “We can’t allow that, now can we? Go ahead and talk. I’ll wait.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Hutch stabbed the hold button and frowned at Ty. “You almost gave it away.”
“I don’t like deceiving people. Next time don’t rope me in to your lie. I won’t tolerate it. Are we clear about that?”
Abashed, Hutch nodded. “Yes, sir. Sorry.”
Ty gave him a stern look. “Okay. Let’s get this done.” He tossed a list of character traits across the desk toward the boy. “I need some idea of what she considers her personality type. Read your mom the list and have her choose the ones that best describe her.”
Hutch frowned at the sheet. “I could probably figure these out.”
“It’s better if she did it.”
Apparently, Hutch agreed because he leaned forward and punched the hold button. “You there, Mom?”
“Right here.”
“Okay. I’m going to read off a list of personality traits and you pick the ones that fit you best. Got it?”
“I think I can handle that.” By the subtle amusement coloring her words, Ty suspected she was well accustomed to Hutch’s high-handedness. As soon as her son finished rattling off the list, she said, “You can definitely mark me down as sentimental and affectionate. I tend to be huggy,” she confessed, probably for his sake, Ty realized.
“Real huggy,” Hutch inserted.
“I also consider myself extroverted. I like jobs that bring me in contact with people. And I’m pretty self-assured. I’m going to do what I think best, regardless of anyone else’s opinion.” She hesitated. “What else hits home? I guess you could call me adventurous, since we move around so much. But romantic is definitely out.”
“Aw, come on, Mom. What about all those smelly bubble baths and candles? Those are romantic.”
“Those, my poor misguided son, are feminine, not romantic. I can enjoy ‘girl stuff’, as you like to call it, without having it involve a man or romance. It’s for my own pleasure, not to entice a husband.”
Ty shot Hutch a disgruntled look. Obviously the woman had been badly burned by her ex. Chances were excellent that she wasn’t the least interested in the services the Yellow Rose had to offer. Just his luck. And just Willie’s luck, too. What the hell were they going to tell the reporters if Cassidy refused to cooperate? “Remind me to wring your neck when we’re done here,” he told the boy in an undertone.
A hint of red crept into Hutch’s cheeks, but other than that one telling sign, he acted as though he hadn’t heard. “Go on, Mom. Any others?”
“Let’s see.... I’m tolerant, practical—”
“No way.”
“Sure I am, Hutch.” Utter bewilderment laced her voice. “Why would you think I’m not practical?”
Hutch snorted. “If you were practical, you wouldn’t keep givin’ stuff away. You wouldn’t let our landlady help herself to clippings off your rosebushes any time the mood took her. And you woulda sued Lonnie when he stole all our money and ran off with April Mae in your new pickup. She’s not practical,” Hutch repeated to Ty. Otherwise he wouldn’t be sitting here finding her a date, his tone added.
“I sure wish your daddy hadn’t done that,” she admitted in a low voice. “I’m afraid it set a bad example. And it left hard feelings between the two of you.”
Cassidy’s simple observation threatened to rip through Ty’s callused hide. It came across as unbearably painful. He had to get this show on the road and this kid on his way. Fast. Before he formed an attachment to a honey-warm voice and a prickly ten-year-old brainiac. He punched the hold button before Hutch could get to it. “Let’s move this along, kid. And stop coloring the results. Just ask the questions, let her answer them and move on to the next. Got it?”
“Yeah. I got it.” Hutch sounded as subdued as his mother. “And so’s you know... It wasn’t Lonnie’s running off that left hard feelings. It was what he said on his way out the door. He hasn’t called since he took off and...” The chin wobbled for a telling instant. “And he made Mom cry. The next guy she marries isn’t gonna do that. He’s gonna make her laugh.”
Ty stirred, suffering from a nasty case of empathy. The kid just wanted his mother to be happy. Too bad he thought a man could do that for her. “Look, boy,” he said gently, “you don’t find happiness by getting married. You find it inside yourself first and then share it with others. Sometimes through marriage. And sometimes through friendship.”
Hutch folded his arms tight across his narrow chest. “You sound like my mom.”
That didn’t surprise him. Cassidy sounded like a levelheaded woman—unlike her stubborn son. “Maybe you ought to
listen to her.”
“Maybe,” the boy muttered. “What’s the next question?”
Ty scanned the page. Damn. “I’ll read off this particular bunch, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay.”
“And you’re not going to interrupt?”
Hutch shrugged. “Not unless she gets it wrong.”
Ty bit back his response and punched the hold button. “Ms. Lonigan?”
“Still here, Ty.” To his relief, she sounded a lot more chipper.
“These next few are going to be a bit personal. Just answer them the best you’re able.”
“Go ahead.”
“What’s your favorite way to spend an evening?” He found himself unexpectedly curious to hear the answer.
“That’s an easy one,” Cassidy replied. “I’d spend it in a hot, scented bubble bath with a bunch of those stinky candles Hutch hates so much. Oh! And a good book.”
Ty blinked at the image his mind created, the fantasy made easy thanks to one slightly creased photo. He pictured mounds of frothy bubbles clinging to white silky skin and dark hair piled on top of her head, with damp strands surrounding a piquant face. Huge, somber gray eyes with a hint of mischief sparkling in their depths would peek at him from the middle of the tub. And candlelight would catch in the bubbles and play across her shoulders, emphasizing the purity of her skin. He’d swipe a speck of foam from the tip of her upturned nose before leaning down to—
“Is that all your questions?” Cassidy interrupted.
Ty snatched up the application. Keep your mind on business, son! “Sorry. I have a few more. What are your strengths and weaknesses?”
“Boy, those are tough ones. I guess I’d say I’m a hard worker.” She’d probably had to be, Ty acknowledged. “As for weaknesses...”
“You’re too generous,” Hutch spoke up.
“That’s not a weakness, sugar.” There was a brief pause and then she sighed. “To be perfectly honest, I guess I’m too darn proud. I want to take care of myself and Hutch so I don’t have to depend on anyone ever again. Whatever I need, I plan to get for myself.”
Ty considered her comment. No doubt her ex had a lot to do with her attitude. He could understand that. Cassidy Lonigan reminded him of Willie—a strong, determined woman, chock-full of passion and energy. He smiled. Hell, she should have been a Texan born and bred. She’d fit right in. “Next question. What’s your idea of a perfect date?”