by Beth Andrews
“Mom cooks,” Brandon said.
“What if she’s not home and you get hungry?” Walker asked, putting the rest of the ingredients into the bowl.
“I can make sandwiches and stuff. Besides,” he said with an impressive sneer, “cooking’s for girls.”
From the corner of his eye, Walker saw Tori stiffen, probably ready to lay into her son, but Walker gave her a slight shake of his head. She frowned but kept her mouth shut.
“I’d say cooking’s for anyone who likes to eat. Or at least, eat food that tastes good.” Walker washed his hands. “Besides, it’s nice not to have to rely on someone to cook for you, to do everything for you.”
As he guessed, that resonated with the kid. Christ, he was so much like his mother, so determined not to let anyone close to him, to depend on anyone. “I guess I could learn to make a few things,” Brandon said, as if someone was pulling the words out of him.
“It’s good to have a couple of standby meals,” Walker agreed, stirring his sauce then tapping the spoon on the side of the pot. “I started cooking when I played ball in high school. Both my parents worked and my sisters were all older and out of the house either working or at college, so if I wanted to eat I had to learn to make it myself. And as much as I loved peanut butter sandwiches, I got tired of eating six of them every day.”
“Six?” Tori asked, her lips curling up in that feline grin that was so enticing. “Holy sticky mouth, Batman.”
Brandon rolled his eyes at his mom’s lame joke but Walker noticed he hid a grin as he ducked his head.
“You burn a lot of calories playing ball,” Walker said. “By the time I’d come home from practice, I was starving. But what really cinched it for me was when I was in high school and my coach told us all that the best way to get ready for a hard practice or game was to make sure we had the right fuel.” He used a soup spoon to taste his sauce, added more salt. “Which was when I asked my grandmother to teach me how to make her marinara sauce. Carbs are a good thing to eat before a game so I started making pasta dinner for the team.”
For the first time, Brandon seemed interested and intrigued with what Walker was saying instead of glaring at him. “Could we do that, Mom?” he asked, getting to his feet. “We could have the guys over before the game next week.”
“Not right before,” Walker cautioned. “Since your games are early, you might want to consider making it a post-game, victory dinner type deal.”
“Yeah, we could do that,” Brandon said. “Can we, Mom?”
“You expect me to feed thirty boys?” She slid Walker a glance that said she wasn’t as thrilled with the idea as her son. “Where would they sit?”
“Boys are easy,” Walker said, knowing now that the idea had taken root in Brandon’s head it’d be hard to get out again. “They can sit on the floor. But you can’t expect your mom to cook for that many guys every week, not after she puts in so many hours at the café.”
Brandon frowned. “You want me to cook.”
Smart kid. “Trust me, it’s a handy skill. And it impresses girls.”
This time, it was Tori who rolled her eyes.
“Come on,” Walker continued. “I’m going to share with you the secret to my grandmother’s recipe. I’ll even let you write it down if you promise never to share it with anyone. Ever.”
Brandon still seemed skeptical. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Walker nodded. “Okay, wash up and you can chop the onion.”
Tori stepped forward as if ready to throw her body between her son and any and all sharp instruments. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
Walker sent Brandon a conspiratorial look. “Women. They don’t understand us men have ingrained knife skills.” He nudged Brandon. “Stick with me and later I’ll show you how to juggle a meat cleaver and two machetes, then we’ll practice running with scissors.”
“Fabulous,” Tori said drily. “It’s a mother’s dream come true.”
Brandon came back to Walker’s side and Walker showed him how to hold the knife. Brandon curled his fingers under and cut the onion in half. “Good,” Walker said, “now, see these lines? Make slices into the onion following those lines, then we’ll just chop them into pieces.”
“Be careful,” Tori said, staring over her son’s shoulder.
“Mom,” Brandon said, obviously completely humiliated by his overprotective mother. “I’ve got this.”
She crossed her arms. “Sure you do. Remind me you said that when we’re in the E.R. getting your fingers stitched back on.”
“Nice imagery,” Walker said.
“Just doing my duty as a mother to instill caution into my son.”
Luckily Brandon—and all his fingers—survived his first lesson in onion and garlic chopping. Walker had him add them to the ground meat mixture along with seasonings. “Okay, now you mix it up.”
Brandon eyed the bowl warily. “How?”
“With your hands.”
“Gross,” Brandon said, but dove in with the same enthusiasm he’d had on the football field. “You played football?” he asked Walker.
“Since I was ten.”
“Walker could’ve played at college,” Tori said, sitting at the table now that she must’ve deemed it safe for her to be a few feet away from her son.
“Yeah? Which college?”
“Penn State.”
Brandon’s eyes widened. “No way. You got picked to play for Penn State? Why didn’t you?”
“I decided to take my life in a different direction.”
“Man, that was stupid.”
“Brandon,” Tori said.
But Walker laughed. “A lot of people agreed with you.”
“Do you miss it?” Tori asked. “Do you ever regret it?”
“I missed it for years, being a part of a team, leading that team, but now I lead a different kind of team and I make a difference, a real one. Do I regret it?” He stopped, thought about it. He didn’t believe in regrets, not in life. You made a mistake, you paid the consequences and moved on, moved past it. “No, I don’t regret it.”
But he had a feeling if he wasn’t careful, there was one mistake he could make in Mystic Point that he’d never be able to get past. One that could jeopardize his career…could seriously skew his judgment when it came to this case.
He wanted Tori. He couldn’t deny it, not when he was there, cooking with her son, unable to stop looking at her. Wanting to touch her. Kiss her.
Take her, again and again until they were both breathless and satiated. Until he’d rid his thoughts of her, purged her from his system for good.
But he couldn’t take that step, wasn’t ready to take that chance, to risk everything he’d worked so hard for. Wasn’t sure any woman was worth what he could possibly lose.
Not even Tori.
* * *
AFTER DINNER, Brandon tried to get Tori to ease up on his no-video-games-no-computer-you’re-grounded restriction, but she’d held firm. Just because Walker was there and had cooked them a really excellent—surprisingly excellent—dinner and had managed to bring Brandon out of his sullen shell didn’t mean she was going to forget her son was being punished.
When he’d discovered he couldn’t play video games, he’d acted as if his life was ruined and he was destined to die of boredom within the next two hours. She’d suggested he read a book, which had brought on a fit of gagging and grimacing the likes of which she’d never seen. And then, once again, Walker had saved the day—or at least, her patience.
He’d taught Brandon how to play poker.
So with the sun set, the three of them sat around the cleared-off table, the dishwasher humming, her kitchen clean and, despite Brandon having three helpings of dinner, plenty of leftovers packed up and in the fridge. Brandon studied his cards, frowning. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out he thought frowning was a noncommittal expression.
“You in?” Walker asked him.
“Just a minute,” Brandon murmured, narrowin
g his eyes first at Walker and then at her, as if he’d recently been granted X-ray vision and could see through their cards. “Yeah,” he said slowly, sliding two green M&Ms into the pile. “I’m in.”
“How about you?” Walker asked, holding her gaze, and something arced between them, that damn connection she needed to ignore, to deny. “You in?”
And she had the strangest feeling he was asking about more than a poker game.
“Too risky for me,” she said, setting her cards face down.
Instead of seeming disappointed, understanding entered Walker’s eyes. As if he knew exactly what she meant and couldn’t agree more—but was willing to ignore his good sense for her.
She wasn’t sure if the idea thrilled and flattered her, or scared her to death.
“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Walker said to Brandon. He laid his cards down. “Three tens.”
Brandon scowled and showed his cards, a pair of queens.
“And that was the last hand,” Tori said, her body sore from sitting on the hard chair, but there was no way she would’ve missed out on the past few hours. “You need to get to bed. You have practice tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Brandon said. He stood and seemed unsure. “Uh, thanks. For dinner and everything,” he told Walker.
“No problem.” Walker gathered Brandon’s cards. “You did a good job for your first time playing poker, but you’ve got a tell.”
“What?”
“A tell, it’s something, a movement or expression or gesture, that people do that tells the other players if you’re bluffing or if you’re holding good cards. You scratch the side of your nose.”
“Nu-uh,” Brandon said, eyes wide.
“Sorry, kid, but it’s true. Work on that and you’ll be cleaning up at the poker tables by the time you’re legally allowed to play.”
“Great,” Tori said. “Now I don’t have to worry about adding any more to that pesky college fund.” She kissed Brandon’s cheek. “Good night.”
“Night,” he said but he didn’t move. Finally he faced Walker. “You’re leaving soon, right?”
“Brandon,” Tori said on a groan. “Could you get any more obvious? Or rude?”
“It’s not rude to make sure your mother is taken care of, to protect her,” Walker said, though he kept his eyes on Brandon. “Yes. I’m leaving soon. Good night, Brandon.”
Her son’s cheeks were red but he met Walker’s gaze, her little boy, trying so hard to be the man of the house when it was up to her to protect him, to take care of him. “All right. See you.”
Brandon walked out of the room and Tori sighed. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize. He was only looking out for you.”
“Yes, but it’s my job to look out for him, not the other way around.”
They stood and she walked him to the door. The night was warm, the sky a blanket of stars. She went with him out onto the porch. “Thanks for dinner and for being patient with Brandon.”
“I had a good time,” he said, and she could almost believe him, except it wasn’t in her nature to trust a man, to trust anyone other than her family. Besides, what guy wanted to hang out with her in her house where there was nothing sexy about the evening, no chance of anything happening?
“You’re good at that,” she said, watching him through slitted eyes.
“I’m good at many things, as I’ve already demonstrated,” he said easily. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”
“Good at coming to the rescue. At saving the day. Saving people.”
“You make it sound like a bad thing.”
“I’m not sure.” She didn’t want to be saved, didn’t want to change for anyone, not even her son, but some days she wondered if she’d ever be happy, ever be truly accepted for who she really was inside. “I do appreciate how good you were with Brandon.”
“Well, usually I just kick kids in the head a few times until they stop bugging me, but I figured this one time I’d try a new tact.”
Her face warmed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“He’s a good kid. Reminds me a lot of my eldest nephew. His father left my sister a few years ago and he’s very protective of his mom and younger brother. He was pissed when she started dating but he came around eventually.”
“I don’t need my son’s permission to date,” Tori said with a smile.
“No, I’m sure you don’t. But it’d probably be nice if he didn’t fight you on it, either.”
“It didn’t bother him when Greg started seeing Colleen,” she pointed out, unable to hide the bitterness from her voice. “I really don’t see why I should let his attitude dictate my actions, especially when he’s so enamored with his soon-to-be stepmother.”
“Because he’s a kid and you’re the adult and that’s the way it is. It’s not fair. But if being a parent was easy, there wouldn’t be as many kids in the foster system, wouldn’t be so many kids who were neglected or abused or spoiled to the point that no one can stand them.”
She leaned against the door. “I hadn’t realized cops were also therapists.”
His smile flashed in the night and her breath caught. “You’d be surprised at my insight.”
No, she wouldn’t be. Tori knew he already saw too much, expected too much of her, thought there was more to her than what she showed the world.
He was wrong. She was all flash and sparkle, sex appeal and fantasy. That was all she wanted to be.
She closed the distance between them. Smiled at him as she laid her hands on his chest. Was reassured and relieved when his heart jumped under her fingers. But he didn’t pull her to him, just watched her. Waited.
“I don’t need your insight,” she said, making her tone husky. Sent him a look from under her lashes. “And you don’t really want to psychoanalyze me.”
“You’ve got that right,” he growled, his eyes hooded. “That’s the last thing I want to do to you.”
Trapping her hands with his own, he kissed her, a heated, hungry kiss that made her forget everything. That her son was inside, that this was her game, one she played better than anyone else, one that she always won. All she could do was feel the scrape of his whiskers against her lip, the taste of him, like the coffee he’d had after dinner. His fingers on hers, steady and warm, the rasp of his tongue against hers.
And she wanted. For the first time, she wasn’t just the object of someone else’s desire. She desired. She craved. His touch, his taste, his body next to hers, inside hers.
The wanting was enticing. More so than she’d ever dreamed. But it was also dangerous. Because wanting too much made you vulnerable, made you dependent on someone else’s will, their decision.
Tori broke the kiss, hated that her heart was racing, that her thoughts were sluggish, her will so weak.
Hated that he stared down at her as if he knew exactly what power he held over her.
And was no happier about it than she was.
“I don’t want to want you,” he told her in a low, raspy tone that only amplified the desire in her veins.
“I know,” she said softly.
And with the taste of him lingering on her lips, desire for him heating her blood, she stepped inside and closed the door.
* * *
“WHERE ARE you going?”
At the sound of his mother’s voice, Anthony stopped, his hand on the door handle. “Out.”
“Out?” she repeated, coming up behind him. “Out where?”
His fingers tightened. “Just out.”
“Anthony—”
“Damn it,” he yelled, whirling around so that her eyes widened and she took a step back. “I’m an adult, a grown man and I’m going out.”
Though she seemed taken aback, she recovered quickly. Nothing kept his mom down for long; she was too well-bred for that. Not even a lying, cheating husband could put a chink in her armor, could faze her.
“You may be an adult—” though she didn’t sound so sure ab
out that last part “—but I’m still your mother and I will not tolerate you speaking to me with disrespect. Do you understand?”
His hands shook, anger built. “You won’t tolerate me speaking to you that way but you’ll let Dad lie to you, cheat on you? You’ll tolerate that?”
She went white and he regretted his words. But he couldn’t take them back, not when he felt as if they were choking him, not when he felt as if he didn’t even know his parents anymore.
As if he didn’t know himself. What he was capable of. He couldn’t stop thinking of how he was like his father. He’d hurt Jess, had taken advantage of her. He’d do it again if she wasn’t with Tanner, if she’d give him another chance. He still wanted her.
Christ, there was something wrong with him. Something rotten, poisonous inside of him.
Like father, like son.
“My marriage is not up for discussion,” his mother said sharply. “This is about you and your appalling behavior lately.”
“My behavior’s been appalling?” He shook his head in disgust. “How can you stay with him? How can you even look at him knowing what he did? He screwed his brother’s wife.”
“That’s enough, Anthony.” But her voice shook. Her throat worked as she swallowed.
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He had to get it out before it exploded inside of him. Before it destroyed him. “He got her pregnant. He’s Nora’s father. I can barely even look at her now. How can you stay after that?”
“None of this is Nora’s fault. Don’t you ever, ever put the blame on her. We raised you better than that.”
They had and it shamed him to admit he had this resentment toward his favorite cousin. He loved her, always had. She’d babysat him, had been another sister to him.
The joke was she truly was his sister.
“What’s going on?” Ken asked as he came in from the study. “I can hear you two across the house.”
Astor’s mouth was thin, her shoulders back. “Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. It’s you,” he snapped at his father. “You walking around here like you’re some sort of king that nothing and nobody can touch. You think you can betray the people you’re supposed to love and we’re all supposed to just forgive you.”