Returning her attention to their conversation, she realized with relief it had turned to what was going on at Memphis’s only daily newspaper.
Jay spent a few minutes naming the people still at the Commercial Appeal who’d been there when Rafe was. There weren’t many. Emma knew from her experience with Rafe that reporters tended to move around a lot. Rafe had worked at four newspapers before he’d come to Memphis.
He lifted a hand helplessly at Jay. “I don’t remember a single one of those people.”
“You might when you see them.” Jay cleared his throat. “Ham Goodman certainly remembers you.”
“You said he’s the international news editor, right?”
Jay nodded. “We had a long talk about you yesterday. He’s in dire need of a good multilingual reporter with investigative skills. He wants you to come down and talk to him. What do you say?”
Rafe shook his head. “I can’t.”
“You haven’t lost your writing skills,” Jay pointed out. “I’ve read several articles you’ve written for these history magazines.”
“There’s a lot more to investigative reporting than writing,” Rafe said quietly. “Besides, I can’t abandon Southern Yesteryears before I’ve even gotten her off the ground.”
Emma released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She tried to tell herself the relief she felt was due to concern over losing this job. Tried to tell herself it wasn’t because she remembered all the times Rafe had traveled while he’d been a reporter—and the time he didn’t come back.
“Well, we won’t give up easily,” Jay said. “I know you don’t remember Ham, but he’s one stubborn son of a—” He cut himself off with an apologetic glance at Emma.
Rafe shook his head again. “Sorry. Right now I want to concentrate on my magazine.”
“Think about it.” Jay clambered to his feet. “Well, I’d better get going. Great talking to you again. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Jay. Same here.”
Rafe followed him to the door, exchanging parting comments.
When he stepped back into the office, she couldn’t help asking, “You loved being an investigative reporter. Why didn’t you go back to it?”
He stopped and searched her face. “At first it was because I’d have to deal with people. Now...” He lifted a shoulder. “Investigative reporting requires an excellent memory—both short-term and long-term. Something I don’t have.”
She let her gaze be drawn to the monitor as the computer dinged. But her eyes didn’t focus on the screen.
Rafe recalled more of his past every time he touched her. What would happen if he got all his memories? Would he return to reporting?
The thought of him leaving again on the kind of dangerous assignment that nearly killed him made Emma’s blood turn to ice.
What was there to keep him from it?
Southern Yesteryears. And Gabe. And her.
No, not her. She couldn’t think like that.
Surely his magazine and his son were enough to keep Rafe happy. Keep him here. Keep him alive.
Besides, he might never have all his memories. The things he’d remembered all seemed to deal with his time with her, not his time with the newspaper or with his life before her. Since recalling his past hinged on touching her, and the things he remembered were only about her, the chances were excellent he’d never get them all.
Relieved, Emma reached for the mouse, but her hand froze above it as her own words penetrated.
Keep Rafe happy. Keep him here.
When had it become so important for Rafe to remain in their lives?
“C’mon, Randy. It’s fun! Honest.”
Emma pushed up the sunglasses slipping down her nose and peered over the top of her book. Rafe and Gabe stood in the shallow end of the pool, trying to coax a wary Randy down the slide.
Randy didn’t say anything, just stared down eight feet of curved blue plastic.
“I’ll catch you like I caught Gabe,” Rafe told the boy.
Randy just stared.
“Do you want to climb down?” Rafe asked.
The boy shook his head.
“Do you want Gabe to slide down with you?”
“Yeah!” Gabe cried. “That’d be fun!”
Randy blinked. He regarded his friend for a minute, then gave a quick nod.
“All right!” Gabe hurriedly splashed up the steps at the end of the pool and trotted around to the slide, pulling up the trunks that threatened to slip off his thin body.
Rafe positioned himself at the end of the slide as Gabe climbed up behind Randy.
“Geronimo!” Gabe shouted and pushed off.
Two seconds later the boys hit the water. Rafe caught one in each arm. He let Gabe go under, but he caught Randy before his face got wet.
Randy started laughing. “That was fun.”
Gabe splashed his friend. “Told ya!”
Randy splashed back, then glanced up at Rafe. “Can I do it again? By myself this time?”
“As many times as you want,” Rafe assured him.
The boys swam toward the steps. Emma glanced at her watch, amazed to find it had taken almost twenty minutes for Rafe to talk Randy down. When had Rafe become so patient? The Rafe she’d known would’ve forced the issue within five minutes.
He turned to look at her then, and her eyes hit the jagged scar slashing across his right cheek. Suddenly she knew where he’d learned patience—lying in a hospital bed, unable to move. He’d told Jay his last operation had been just a year ago, when they’d tried one last time to repair the tendons in his leg. All told, he’d had six operations in the six years since he’d been found. He had so many pins in his arms and legs from having them rebroken and reset, he set off the metal detector at the airport every time he flew.
Tears burned her eyes like they had that morning when she’d heard him tell Jay, and she dropped her gaze to the book. He’d suffered so much, physically and mentally. Yet he seemed even stronger than he was years ago, despite his handicaps.
Damn the man. Why couldn’t he be bitter like most people would be? Maybe then she wouldn’t feel sorry for him, wouldn’t want to wrap him in her arms and make his pain go away.
Emma slipped down a little on the chaise, trying to forget everything but the heroine’s peril in her bestseller.
Half an hour later Gabe cried, “Mom! Look at me!”
With a smile Emma glanced up to watch her son slip down the slide for the hundredth time.
Rafe caught Gabe almost as soon as the boy hit the water. Gabe scrambled up to stand on Rafe’s shoulders, holding onto his hands, then he fell backward, hitting the water with a satisfying splash.
Water hit the end of her lounge chair, but it felt good on her feet.
Gabe bobbed to the surface, laughing. He swam over and grabbed the side of the pool at her feet. “Why don’t you try it? It’s fun!”
“I think the slide’s just for kids, baby.”
“Mom,” Gabe cried plaintively. “I told you, I’m not a baby.”
“You’re my baby.”
He rolled his eyes and hauled himself from the water. “Mom!”
“Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re almost a man.”
Gabe’s skinny chest puffed with pride. “I play baseball.”
Emma didn’t have to hide her smile since Gabe ran around to climb back up the slide just as Randy slid down. T-ball was only the first step in learning baseball. Still, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be in Little League, then high school, then college. He’d be a man before she knew it.
“You can call me baby.”
She glanced over to see Rafe grinning at her from the side of the pool. His chin rested on strong forearms marred with several scars she hadn’t seen. One—obviously a burn scar—reached from his left hand to his elbow. He wore a T-shirt, he said to protect the scar tissue on his body from the sun. Did that mean he had worse scars?
She shuddered at the thought.
/> Rafe’s sexy smile faded. He pulled his arms back into the water.
Though she didn’t know why, she knew she’d hurt him. To distract him, she lifted a brow. “I thought I was calling you boss.”
He took the bait, though the smile he gave her held more sadness than mirth. “Well, your boss thinks you should come swimming.”
Randy popped up beside him. “Yeah, Miz Lockwood, come in. It feels great!”
The water did look wonderful, especially since she was slowly simmering in the hot, humid air. Sweat slid down her back and pooled between her breasts.
“Yeah, Mom.” Gabe chimed in as he swam over after sliding.
“Yeah, Miz Lockwood.” Rafe emphasized her name, not so subtly reminding her it wasn’t her name at all. “We want to see the bathing suit that comes to your knees.”
Emma felt like sticking her tongue out at him, but it was more than reaction to his sarcasm. She knew she was being silly, but she didn’t want to take her clothes off in front of him. She didn’t have the same figure she’d had six years ago. She’d had a baby. Her breasts were fuller and her hips wider.
Which was exactly why she should go in. Let him see that she wasn’t the girl he remembered. Maybe then he’d lay off the comments that kept reminding her of their past relationship. Maybe he’d stop looking at her as if he wanted to start nibbling at her toes and work his way up.
“Okay, already. I’ll come in.”
“All right, Mom!”
She stood and pulled her T-shirt over her head. Kicking off her thongs, she turned to see three pairs of male eyes watching her. She placed her hands on her hips. “Y’all stop staring at me and go swim.”
“Come on, guys,” Rafe said. “I’ll race you to the other side.”
Emma quickly pushed off her shorts and turned, planning to dive into the water before the race was finished. Her first step faltered as Rafe stopped in the middle of the pool and glanced back to see how the boys were doing. She stopped altogether when his gaze caught on her.
The boys swam noisily by him, but as far as she could tell he never noticed. He stared at her as if he’d never seen a woman before. His dark eyes glowed like banked embers of a fire as they traveled slowly down her body. She felt his gaze on her like she used to feel his hands. Every nerve in her skin snapped to attention, as if reaching for the touch they remembered so well.
Mesmerized by his heated scrutiny, she couldn’t move, though her pulse became erratic, her breathing rough.
Water trickled from his hair, catching in the dark stubble on his chin. She ached to run her nails across the square jaw, freeing the drops, feeling the contrast of the cool water and warm skin.
“I won!” the boys chorused.
The spell broke into pieces. Rafe turned away. Emma took a deep, shaky breath. So much for her theory that her body would turn him off.
“I was first,” Randy argued.
“I was,” Gabe returned. “Rafe, wasn’t I first?”
Rafe swam to the other side. “Sorry, guys. I didn’t see who won. Want to try again?”
Emma didn’t hear their reply because she made a clean dive into the pool. The cool water was a shock to her hot skin, but one she welcomed.
She surfaced on the other side in time to hear Rafe ask if they wanted to play Marco Polo. It turned out he knew lots of water games, which he said he learned from his nieces and nephews in Houston. They played them all with the boys. Emma enjoyed herself as much as the boys, though she suspected Rafe deliberately suggested games which involved some form of touching, then ruthlessly went after her.
Or maybe she enjoyed herself because of that.
At any rate, the next time Emma glanced at the clock, nearly two hours had passed. “Gracious, it’s almost seven o’clock. Way past time to go.”
“Awwww,” the boys chorused.
“Five more minutes,” Gabe begged.
“Oh, no. You guys promised to get out as soon as I said we had to leave, remember?”
After another chorus of “Awwww,” the boys swam begrudgingly toward the ladder at the far end of the pool.
Emma turned toward the side where her clothes were, then noticed Rafe was making no move to leave. “Aren’t you coming?”
He shook his head as he drifted onto his back and leisurely stroked away from her. “I’m going to swim a few laps before I get out.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You just want to watch me.”
He grinned roguishly. “That’s a perk.”
“If you think—”
“I’ll be there in about an hour with a couple of pizzas.”
That caught her attention. “Pizzas?”
“I told your mother not to cook tonight. I’m going to pick up some pizzas. Sort of a house-warming party.”
Since he turned over and started the crawl stroke in earnest, Emma couldn’t argue. So she swam to the ladder by her chair and climbed out.
She watched him swim as she dried off and dressed. His strokes were clean and strong, proving his claim of swimming for fitness. But something was odd.
Suddenly it struck her. Even though the sun had dipped below the motel, throwing shade over the pool, Rafe still wore the T-shirt. That had to be awkward, with the sodden material hampering his strokes.
Then she recalled that even though the temperatures had been spiking up into the nineties, he always wore long pants and long-sleeved shirts. That was why she hadn’t seen the scars on his arms before now.
And come to think of it, he’d already been in the water when they arrived today.
He was trying to hide his scars.
Why? She’d seen the ones on his face and arms. Did he think a few more would matter?
She looked away from him, telling herself she wasn’t hurt because he didn’t trust her. That would certainly be the kettle calling the frying pan black. Besides, feeling hurt would mean she cared, and she didn’t. She couldn’t. She absolutely refused to care that much about anyone outside her family again.
She corralled the boys and dried them off for the trip home. When they were about to walk out the gate, she glanced back. Rafe cut through the water with slow, powerful strokes.
Suddenly she remembered his taste in pizzas. She walked to the end of the pool, kneeled down and tapped him on the shoulder when he touched the wall.
He threw his head up in surprise, his eyes wide. Then he grinned. “I remember. No anchovies.”
“Mom! Momma! Where are you?” Gabe’s cry was accompanied by his small feet stomping up the stairs to Rafe’s apartment.
Rafe was being wined and dined by a printer who wanted his business, so Emma was alone at the computer. She swiveled in the chair and rose to open the door for her son. “Gracious! What is it?”
He reached the landing and stared up at her. He was still dressed in his dirt-streaked uniform. His face was flushed and his eyes brimmed with tears. “Coach is moving away, Mom. What are we gonna do?”
She reached out and pulled him inside the office. She tried to brush some of the dirt off his face, but only succeeded in mixing it with sweat to make mud streaks. “Coach is leaving? When?”
“In two weeks,” Gabe told her, his bottom lip trembling. “He’s been transper...transter...”
“Transferred?”
“Yeah, that. To Dallas.” He wiped his nose across his sleeve. “There’s five more weeks in the season, Mom! What are we gonna do?”
“I’m sure they’ll find a new coach for you to—”
“No! He told us at practice today he couldn’t find anybody. He’s been calling all the dads and even the moms. Everybody’s too busy.”
Emma pulled him into a hug. Having the T-ball season over early was the end of the world to a five-year-old.
Gabe pulled back and looked up at her hopefully. “Do you think Rafe could be our coach?”
Her hands tightened on his small shoulders. Her first instinct was to scream No! Gabe worshipped the ground his coach walked on. The last thing she wanted was f
or her son to turn Rafe into some kind of baseball-breathing hero.
As her panic receded, however, she came up with a better reason. “I don’t think Rafe’s up to that much exercise.”
“But—”
“I’ve watched a couple of practices. Coach was running back and forth between the players showing them what to do.”
“But—”
“Rafe can’t run, Gabe. He told me so.”
His dark eyes refilled with tears. “The season can’t end now, Mom. We haven’t even won a game yet.”
Her heart sank, and her own eyes filled with tears. This wasn’t Gabe’s first disappointment in life, and it certainly wouldn’t be his last, but it was now, and he was hurting.
She pulled off his baseball cap and ran a hand back through his damp, thick hair. “Tell you what. Let me shut down the computer. Then while you take a bath, I’ll call around and see what I can find out, okay?”
“Okay,” he replied without much hope.
By the time Gabe was dressed for bed, Emma had some good news and some bad news for him.
The bad news was that she had talked to the coach and the director of the league. Nobody had been found to take over coaching the T-Ball Tigers.
The good news—for Gabe, at least—was that she had volunteered.
“Mom!” He stared at her as if she’d suddenly turned purple. “You don’t know anything about baseball.”
“I know a little. I used to play softball when I was in school. Besides, the coach said y’all pretty much know what to do by now. I just need to be there to supervise. He’ll be at the game on Saturday, so your new coach will have a little bit of coaching herself.” She straightened the twisted waistband of his pajamas. “Are you okay with this? If I don’t take the job, you’ll have to quit for the season.”
Gabe leaned into her and wrapped his arms around her neck. “Thanks, Mom. I’m glad you’re not like the other guys’ parents. I’m glad you have time for us.”
Emma returned her son’s hug. Time was something she didn’t have much of, either, but she would give up sleeping before she disappointed her son.
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