by Metsy Hingle
“But my eyes are blue,” she protested. “Everyone says they’re my best feature.”
“I don’t care what anybody else says,” he said, fisting his hand in her hair. “I like green eyes. Understand?”
“Yes, Adam,” she whispered.
“That’s a good girl,” he said, and loosened the hair in his fingers.
And when she went back to stroking and fondling him, he pretended it was Elisabeth who was kissing him. That it was Elisabeth touching him—just the way he had taught her. Finally, when she had him fully aroused once more, Adam reached for her.
Tossing her onto her back, he spread her legs apart, threaded his fingers through the tight curls. Dark curls, he noted, annoyed that the defect had once again pulled him from his fantasy of Elisabeth. “And when you finish with the eye doctor, go to the beauty parlor and have them dye this little bush blond.”
“All right,” she said.
Closing his eyes, Adam entered her in one swift thrust. He heard her breath catch as he filled her, and he pretended once again that she was Elisabeth. That it was Elisabeth’s sweet body beneath him. That it was Elisabeth’s moans he heard coming from her lips as he drove himself into her. That it was Elisabeth’s voice that cried out his name. That it was Elisabeth he’d once again mastered and made his own.
Kneeling down in front of the small flower bed in her backyard, Lily used her hand spade to dig a hole for the bedding plants. Satisfied it was the right size, she removed the cluster of red impatiens from the little black plastic container and placed the clump of dirt and roots into the hole. Very gently, she smoothed the rest of the dirt around the blooms.
It was coming together, she thought as she looked at the neat row of flowers she’d planted. A quick glance across the yard revealed Timmy was still occupied with his toy lawn mower and was busily running the green plastic thing over the stretch of grass pretending to cut it. Pleased to see him feeling so much better, she was glad that Nancy Lee had agreed to let her have the weekend off so that she could spend it with him. She knew that Nancy Lee hadn’t wanted to agree to her request—not with Mardi Gras only a few days away. But the lady had relented on the condition that Lily agree to work both on Lundi Gras, the Monday before Mardi Gras, and on Mardi Gras morning to accommodate the breakfast crowd. Since she had no intention of participating in the Mardi Gras craziness anyway, she’d agreed.
Thankfully, the weather was cooperating for a change. The sunshine and warmer temperatures were just what Timmy needed after being cooped up with the chicken pox for so long, she thought. Scooting over a few inches, she went back to digging holes for the last of the bedding plants. While she knew it had been foolish to spend money and time planting flowers that, in all probability, she wouldn’t be around to enjoy for long, she hadn’t been able to resist the delicate blooms when she’d spied them in the store. The springlike weather had also beckoned, as well as her son’s eagerness to be outdoors. He was such a good little boy, such a sweet boy. And if pretending that their lives were normal for a little while by planting flowers in a garden and allowing him to play at cutting grass made Timmy happy, then it was the least she could do.
For a moment all the weariness of the past seven months weighed upon her. So did the guilt. Because of her poor choices and her failure to recognize the depth of Adam’s obsession with her, Timmy had nearly been killed. He would never know a father’s love. He would never have his father teach him how to ride a bike or pitch a baseball or hoist him up on his shoulders. Because of her, he was in danger from his own father. She would have to make sure that he remained safe until Adam was no longer a threat.
And if that meant moving from town to town, telling so many lies that she was no longer sure what was true and what wasn’t, then she would do it. She would do whatever she had to in order to protect her son.
“I help you, Mommy?”
Shaking off her somber thoughts, Lily smiled at her son, who had abandoned his lawn mower and now squatted beside her. He stared down at the holes she was digging with serious brown eyes.
“Okay, sweetie,” she said. She handed him the plastic yellow spade she’d bought for him and proceeded to show him how to scoop out the earth.
Ten minutes later, when they’d finished with the last of the plants, Lily stood. “Good job,” she said as she dusted off her hands and jeans, and was surprised to discover that she was wearing quite a bit of the dirt, while Timmy had managed to remain clean. “Now we need to water the flowers.”
“Why?”
“Because flowers and plants get thirsty. Just like you.”
“Oh,” he commented, watching as she set the nozzle of the hose on mist and began to water the flowering plants.
“I help,” Timmy insisted.
“All right,” Lily said and handed him the hose.
Very carefully, he watered the tiny garden for a few minutes. Then he turned toward her. As he did so, the spray hit Lily and she shrieked. She held up her hands and laughed as the water got her—much to Timmy’s delight. Thinking it was a new game, Timmy began to chase her with the hose.
“Timmy, stop,” she said. Continuing to laugh, she made a halfhearted effort to run from him.
At the sound of a man’s laughter, Lily froze. She grabbed her son, knocking the hose from his hands. “Be still,” she told Timmy when he squirmed, fear-induced adrenaline making her voice sharper than she’d intended.
“Lily?”
Only then did she realize that it wasn’t Adam or one of his men. It was Michael. Michael Sullivan. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, that metallic taste of fear still in her mouth.
He appeared somewhat taken aback by the question, but he said, “I tried ringing the bell. But there wasn’t any answer. When I heard laughing, I decided to check out back. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
Embarrassed, and knowing she’d overreacted, Lily put Timmy down. “You didn’t. Frighten me, I mean,” she fibbed. “I just didn’t hear you come into the yard. You caught me off guard.”
“Again, I apologize. I just finished looking at the place next door.”
“Is Mrs. Davis with you?” Lily asked.
“No. She had some kind of Mardi Gras ball to go to tonight and was in a hurry. But she said to tell you hello. I just came by to thank you for telling me about the place.”
Feeling foolish for overreacting, she averted her gaze while she turned off the hose. “You don’t have to thank me. Gina’s the one who remembered the place was for rent.”
“But you’re the one who referred me to Mrs. Davis. And my momma was real strict about us boys thanking people properly. You wouldn’t want me to get in trouble with my momma, now, would you?”
“Something tells me it wouldn’t be the first time you were in trouble with your momma. And I imagine you’re very good at sweet-talking your way out of it.”
“I’m not sure if I should be insulted or complimented by that remark. So I think I’ll ignore it.” He stooped down, bringing himself to eye level with Timmy. “And who is this?”
Still wary, Lily kept a protective hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “This is my son, Timmy.”
If he was surprised to learn she had a son, he gave no indication. He simply held out his hand and said, “Hi, Timmy. I’m Michael.”
Timmy looked up at her and when she nodded, he shook Michael’s hand. “I helped Mommy pwant fwowers.”
“And it looks to me like you did a good job.”
“They get thirsty just like people,” he explained.
“Is that so?”
Timmy nodded. “Are you thirsty? I give you a drink.”
“Timmy,” Lily said, giving her son’s shoulder a squeeze. “Mr. Sullivan isn’t thirsty. He just came by to thank Mommy.”
“Why?”
Lily rolled her eyes. “I’m afraid that’s his favorite new word.”
“Because I’m looking for a place to live and your mommy was nice enough to tell me about the house next door,” he
said in response to Timmy. “Maybe you’ll let me take your mommy and you to lunch so that I can say thank-you.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Lily told him. “You didn’t say. Are you going to take the place?”
As Michael stood, he gave her a look that said he knew she’d deliberately changed the subject. “First off, it may not be necessary for me to thank you by taking you to lunch, but I’d like to. And as far as the house goes, I’m not sure if I’ll be renting it or not.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“Oh, I liked it just fine. But I won’t know for another week or two if I’ll be able to get on with that offshore company. If I do, and the place is still available, I’ll probably take it. If I don’t, then I’ll be moving on and try to get on someplace else. In the meantime, I’ve managed to convince the hotel manager to let me stay on at the current rate—even if it is Mardi Gras time.”
“Then you’re lucky. I understand hotel rooms are at a premium here this time of year—especially if the weather holds up like this.”
“So how about that lunch?” he asked.
“Really, Michael, I appreciate the offer, but—”
“What do you say, Timmy?” he asked, stooping down to face her son. “Will you let me take you and your mom out to lunch?”
“For Happy Meal?”
Michael laughed. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”
“Happy Meal,” he yelled, and launched himself at Michael, who caught him in a bear hug and scooped him up in his arms.
“Timmy,” Lily reprimanded, reaching for her son. Adam had wanted nothing to do with Timmy, had never even held him. To see him now being held in a man’s arms left her shaken.
“It’s okay,” he told Lily. “I have a friend with a couple of boys not much older than him. He’s a real cute kid. How old is he anyway?”
“I three,” Timmy told him, and held up three fingers.
“Three, huh? That’s pretty big. So what do you say, big guy? Can I take you and your mom out for a Happy Meal?”
“We can’t,” Lily told him.
“Why not?” Michael asked, turning those blue eyes on her.
She sighed. “Listen, I’m just going to be direct. I’m flattered by your interest. Really I am. But the thing is, I’m not interested in going out with you.”
“I see,” he said solemnly. “Well, since we’re being direct, I’ll confess that I know you’re a widow and that you’re not involved with anyone, because I asked. So the question is, is it me in particular that you’re not interested in going out with? Or is it men in general?”
“Men in general.”
“Okay,” he said. “Now what about that Happy Meal? I think I spotted a McDonald’s about five blocks from here.”
Lily squinched her eyebrows together. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I don’t date.”
“I heard you. But this isn’t a date. It’s a Happy Meal thank-you.”
“But—”
“I want Happy Meal,” Timmy said, bouncing in Michael’s arms.
“You going to explain to him why you won’t at least let me buy you a Happy Meal?”
Lily looked from her son to Michael, read the challenge in his eyes. “I’m a mess,” she told him, and pointed to her dirt-stained jeans.
“You look pretty good to me, but if you want to change, go ahead. Timmy and I will wait. Won’t we, partner?”
“We wait,” Timmy said, delighting in the high five Michael gave him.
“But I’ll need to shower, not just change my clothes.”
“Go ahead. From what I’ve seen, you don’t wear a lot of gunk on your face like most women, so I don’t imagine it’ll take you long.”
Lily weighed her options, and decided lunch at McDonald’s would be okay. As sweet as her son was, he’d developed a stubborn streak. And while she didn’t want to spoil him, she didn’t think giving in to such a small demand would do any real damage to her position of authority. “All right. Come on, Timmy,” she told her son, holding out her arms for him.
To her surprise, Timmy tightened his arms around Michael.
“You go ahead. I’ll take care of him.”
Lily hesitated a moment, not at all comfortable leaving her son with anyone but Gertie.
“It’s all right. I really do know my way around kids.”
“Okay. But I’d feel better if you came inside with him.”
Michael set her son down. “Hey, partner, what do you say you take me inside and show me some of your toys while your mommy gets cleaned up?”
“’Kay,” Timmy told him, and taking Michael’s hand, he led him into the house.
“Okay, partner, you ready to ride the pony?”
“Ready,” Timmy said with a giggle.
“Then hang on tight,” Michael told the little boy who sat on his back while he proceeded to crawl around on all fours pretending to be a horse.
“Gitty up, horsey,” Timmy said.
Michael pretended to buck, laughed when the boy squealed and managed not to yelp when the kid yanked him by the hair. He circled the small living room a second time, making ridiculous whinnying noises like a horse.
“It looks to me like your horsey needs to rest.”
Michael yanked his gaze toward the doorway at the sound of that soft, smoky voice, and he found Lily standing there watching them. True to her word, she’d only taken a few minutes. The ends of her hair were still damp from her shower. Except for a touch of lipstick, her face remained makeup free. Not that she needed any, he thought. Her skin was pale and smooth and perfect. And damned if she didn’t take his breath away.
She’d opted for another pair of faded jeans that skimmed her hips and long legs. The chambray shirt she’d worn earlier had been replaced by a long-sleeved, pale-blue T-shirt that clung to her still-damp skin. The desire to slide his hands beneath that T-shirt and cup her breasts hit him like a sucker punch.
“Horsey, gitty up,” Timmy demanded.
Grateful this time for the little fists yanking at his hair, Michael circled the room again. He was also grateful to be on all fours with Timmy astride him so that Lily wouldn’t notice his all too obvious reaction.
“Timmy, I think your horse needs a rest.”
“Why?”
Lily sighed at the question. “Because the horse needs to go eat.”
“Happy Meal?” her son asked hopefully.
“Yes, Happy Meal,” Lily replied, and lifted her son from his back.
But as soon as she set him on his feet he reached for Michael’s hand.
Michael laughed and took the boy’s hand. “Come on, Lily,” he said. “This little cowboy and his horse need food.”
“Looks like the horse really did need food,” Lily commented as she eyed his tray from her side of the booth at the neighborhood McDonald’s restaurant.
“What can I say? Us horses need lots of fuel,” he replied with a smile and bit into one of the two double burgers he’d ordered, along with a supersize French fries and supersize drink.
“Cowboys need food, too,” Timmy mimicked and bit into his hamburger.
“They sure do,” Michael said, winking at the boy.
Much to his relief, Lily had relaxed somewhat. While he occasionally caught her checking out their surroundings and the mob scene of kids, parents and teens in the place, she was less edgy than she’d been when he’d shown up at her place. He thought about that wild-eyed fear that had been in her eyes when she’d looked up and seen him standing in her yard, and he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret at having frightened her.
Michael reached for a French fry, and when he noted that Timmy once again copied his movements, he smiled. The kid really was cute, he thought. He could understand Webster wanting to get him back. But as the thought entered his head he remembered Webster’s lack of concern for his son. The man hadn’t been interested in getting his kid back. Only his wife. Only Lily.
And not for the first time since leaving that message the
previous day did he regret making that call. It was the reason why, when Webster had called him back last night, he hadn’t answered the phone. It was also the reason he hadn’t returned the man’s call as he’d been instructed to do.
“Is something wrong?”
Lily’s question jarred him from his dark thoughts. “Nope. Just debating whether or not to get some dessert. What about you, cowboy?” he asked Timmy. “You think you’d like some ice cream?”
“Ice cream,” Timmy squealed.
“Oops,” Michael said when he glanced up and spied the frown on Lily’s face. “Guess I should have asked your mom first. Sorry. You think your little cowboy here could have some ice cream?”
“I suppose if he finishes his hamburger, it would be all right.”
Timmy finished the burger and the three of them dug into the ice-cream cones. He and Timmy both went for vanilla cones, while Lily opted for chocolate. While he made quick work of his own ice cream and Timmy was doing a credible job of getting at least half of the thing inside him, Lily took her time. And as he watched her lick the ice cream, flick her tongue at the side of her mouth to catch a dribble of chocolate, Michael found himself becoming aroused again. Worse, he was actually considering lying to Webster and telling the man he had made a mistake, that he hadn’t found them.
Realizing the direction of his thoughts, Michael sobered. He must be out of his mind, he thought. If anyone had told him a week ago that he would be sitting in a crowded McDonald’s restaurant with a three-year-old boy and a woman he was being paid one million dollars to find, and that he was seriously considering walking away from a once-in-a-lifetime fee, he would have assured them they were nuts. He’d taken the job for the money—money earmarked for Janie and her boys, he reminded himself.
“Finished,” Timmy announced, holding up sticky fingers.
“Wait a second,” Lily told her son, and abandoned her ice-cream cone. “We’d better get you cleaned up.”
“I’ll take him,” Michael offered. “You go ahead and finish your ice cream.” And because she looked as if she might object, Michael scooped up the boy and headed for the men’s room.
He cleaned up Timmy, saw that the little guy used the facilities and made the boy laugh when he splashed water on his face. While a cold shower would have been more effective, at least it helped to cool off some of the heated thoughts he’d been having about Lily.