by Karen Leabo
Love. In all his life nobody had ever said that word to him. Long ago he’d told himself it wasn’t important. He could live a happy and productive life even if he never shared that special connection with another human being. But seeing Lana again had reopened old wounds, pulled old yearnings to the surface like turtles in a swamp rising to the surface to breathe.
When they’d broken up way back when, at least she’d had her mother’s love to fall back on. Sloan hadn’t had anything.
He wanted to drop the subject, but she continued. “So you’ve been on your own since … when, age fourteen?”
“That’s about when my parents got so heavy into the drinking and drugs that they pretty much quit acknowledging my existence.”
“So you’ve had fourteen years of independence to practice, make mistakes, correct them, figure them out.”
“Yeah?” Did she think that meant he always got things right?
“I’ve had only fourteen months. I get so scared sometimes. What if I can’t make it? What if I end up homeless, or having to ask for a handout from some distant relative?”
“People like you do not end up homeless.” Sloan stroked her hair. “You’re a survivor if I’ve ever seen one. Is there a point you’re trying to make?”
She gave a nervous huff of laughter. “Yeah, I guess. I swore I wouldn’t have second thoughts about all this, and well …”
“You do. I knew you would.”
“You did?”
“The way we ended up in bed last night wasn’t exactly a rational, well-thought-out plan. It just happened.”
“So you’re having second thoughts too?”
“Some doubts. Some worries. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Unless we went off each other cold turkey, it was going to happen sooner or later. Now we just have to figure out how to deal with it.”
“See? I knew you were better at this than me.”
He smiled down at her. “We’ll both get better with practice.”
“Very smooth line.”
“Hungry?” he asked, wanting to get off the sticky subject while he could still escape intact.
“Famished.”
Sloan threw together a quick breakfast of bagels and scrambled eggs while Lana showered. She was as pretty as ever, even with wet hair slicked back and no makeup. They talked quietly while they ate, and some of the awkwardness receded. But the bond they’d formed the night before seemed very tenuous this morning.
“I’ll clean up the kitchen while you shower,” she offered. He took her up on it. Twenty minutes later he was walking Lana to her car.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you back to my house so you can pick up your bike?” she asked, perplexed.
“I’ll jog over and get it later,” he said, trying to sound unconcerned. “I have some stuff to do first.” Never mind that picking up the cycle now would take all of five minutes. He wanted an excuse to drop over later and see if she’d really gotten the furnace problem solved. If Lana saw his subterfuge for what it was—and how could she not?—she didn’t let on.
He kissed her, long and hard, before letting her leave.
“Was it a fun party?” Lana asked Rob when she picked him up at the sleepover.
“Yeah, it was pretty good. Peter Spearman threw up.”
“Oh, dear. It’s not something catching, is it?” She lived in fear of Rob getting sick, because it invariably meant she would miss some work.
“Nah, I think he ate too many hot dogs.”
“You didn’t sleep outside, did you?”
“We started to, but it got too cold. I came in at midnight. Nicholas and Clifford stayed out there until three!”
“They were either very brave or very foolish.” At the moment, she considered anyone who took refuge from the cold when they had a chance as very wise. She kept trying to convince herself of that anyway.
“Mom, how come your hair’s all wet?”
She shrugged. “I overslept.”
“You never oversleep.”
“It was awfully hard to get out of bed on this cold morning. I should warn you, the house is freezing. Something’s wrong with the heater.”
“Oh, great. Something’s always wrong with something.”
“That’s what happens when you move into an old house, sweetie,” Lana said sensibly. “We’re gradually getting everything into shape though.”
“I wish we lived in a new house.”
“I wish we could afford a new house,” she said on a sigh. “Someday. When I graduate and I can get a better job.”
“How long will that be?”
“Mmm, a while yet.” Probably another three years, at her current pace. “But I’m almost halfway there.”
“I’ll probably be in college by the time you can afford a new house.”
Lana winced. She knew Rob wasn’t being deliberately hurtful. This was a good time to bring up a question she needed to ask though. “Rob, if you had your choice about who to live with full-time, me or your dad, which would you choose?” She steeled herself, because she had a pretty good idea what his answer would be.
He didn’t say anything for a time. At least he was thinking about it.
“I guess I’d rather live with Dad,” he finally said. “As long as I could visit you.”
Determined not to let him know how much he’d hurt her, Lana pasted on a false smile. “So tell me why you’d like your dad’s house better.”
“Well, he’s got a big TV I can plug my Saturn game into,” Rob began. “And he’s got a swimming pool. And when I stay there I get to go to McDonald’s a lot. Oh, and there’s Pudge.”
Pudge. Bart’s champion English bulldog. He’d bought the darn dog strictly to use as a stud, because it gave him something else to brag about and brought in more money. Pudge lived in a crate much of his life and was hardly a good pet.
“Do you play with Pudge?” Lana asked.
“Well, sort of. He jumps on me and slobbers, and I push him away. That’s how we play. But still, at least he’s a dog.”
Lana had steadfastly refused Rob’s requests for a pet because pets were expensive and her budget was delicately balanced. But if he liked dogs enough to enjoy Pudge, maybe she’d figure out something.
Meanwhile, she was gratified that none of the aspects Rob preferred about staying with his dad had to do with Bart himself. Bart provided Rob with lots of things, but little in the way of play or companionship or help with homework.
“Would Dad let me live with him full-time?” Rob asked.
“Yes, right now that’s what he wants,” Lana answered honestly. “When you had to go to the hospital, it shook him up, I think. He wants you at his house, where he can be sure you’re safe.”
“Can I do it, then?” Rob asked cautiously, as if he instinctively knew what the answer would be.
“We’ll have to see.”
“Maybe …” Rob screwed up his face in thought. “Maybe I could live half and half with you and Dad.”
“That’s something I’m willing to talk about.” But she doubted Bart would settle for a compromise. With him it was all or nothing. If he didn’t win all the marbles, then he considered it a loss.
When she pulled into the driveway, Sloan’s motorcycle was still there. She felt a definite sense of relief—she might get to see him again today—followed by a panicky flutter her craving for him always brought. Seeing the bike also meant she had to explain its presence to Rob.
“Wow, where’d the motorcycle come from?” were the first, predictable words out of Rob’s mouth when he spotted the bike.
“It’s Officer Bennett’s,” Lana answered casually as she pulled into the garage. “He came over last night to visit, and it was too cold for him to ride the motorcycle home later on. I took him home in my car.” No lies there, she thought with a twinge of guilt.
“You had a date with Officer Bennett? Wait’ll I tell Will Jones!” Rob bounded out of the car to inspect the Kawasaki. “When’s he coming back
for it? Will he take me for a ride?”
She supposed that question was inevitable. Lana’s first instinct was to say “No, no, no!” Her baby wasn’t riding on the back of a motorcycle. But then she remembered that Sloan would be driving, and she couldn’t think of anyone she would trust more. “Maybe some time, if it’s all right with Officer Bennett, but not today when it’s so cold,” she said.
“Awesome.”
Lana left Rob to drool over the bike while she went inside to call her HVAC man. They were swamped with calls, the receptionist informed Lana. The first cold snap of the season always brought a bunch of service requests. But someone would be out before the end of the day.
Lana kept her jacket on while she prepared some soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. By the time lunch was ready, Rob still hadn’t made an appearance indoors. Feeling uneasy, Lana went to the front door, thinking about the garage roof and how easy it was for a little boy to get hurt. Maybe she should be more vigilant! But Rob was safe and sound, sitting on Sloan’s motorcycle—with Sloan giving him instructions. Sloan had on worn black sweats and running shoes. Apparently he’d made good on his intention to jog over.
Rob was wearing a helmet that just about swallowed his whole head, along with a pair of mirrored sunglasses. He looked adorable, even if the idea of her baby on a motorcycle scared Lana to pieces.
“Hey, you two,” she called out, standing in the dubious protection of the doorway, though it wasn’t much warmer inside than out. “Lunch is ready. Sloan, why didn’t you tell me you were here? I’d have fixed an extra grilled cheese.”
“He can have mine,” Rob piped in. “I had about a jillion pancakes for breakfast, Mom. I’m not that hungry.”
“Okay by me, as long as you eat some soup. Sloan?” She was pathetically glad to have an easy way to invite him inside. Her sudden dependence on his company was beginning to worry her. Dependence could quickly turn to addiction. Even now she didn’t go five minutes without thinking about him, reliving those exquisite hours from the night before, wondering if and when it would happen again.
Seeking companionship was fine. But this wanting and needing were going to get her into trouble. Her careful plans for remaining in control were flying right out the window, and she was helpless to stop it.
Sloan nodded as he helped Rob off the bike. “I was just giving the Easy Rider here a few safety tips,” he said with a wink.
“Sloan said I could ride his bike sometime,” Rob said excitedly. “When can I, Mom?”
“When it’s warmer,” she said firmly. “If you go out in this wind, next thing you know you’ll wind up with an earache. And Officer Bennett and I have to set up some ground rules first.” She gave him a warning look.
“Sure, Lana,” he replied, appearing puzzled that she even felt it necessary to mention ground rules.
Well, she did. She knew Sloan would never do anything deliberately to endanger her son, but she still had some very definite qualms about that big Kawasaki. Maybe he should let her ride it first.
Hmm, that was an inviting thought, she mused as she hastily set an extra place at the table for her guest. Sitting behind Sloan with her arms wrapped around his hard body, her thighs snuggled up against his, the powerful engine roaring beneath them as they flew along a country road …
“Sitting at your table is getting to be a real habit with me,” Sloan said. “You’ll have to start calling me Sloan the Mooch.”
“Hardly,” Lana said dryly, taking her seat. “You earned the first meal and bought the second.”
“Mom, it’s cold in here.”
“I know, son. The furnace man is scheduled to come out this afternoon.”
“Can’t Sloan fix it?”
“Wish I could,” Sloan answered. “But furnaces aren’t my specialty. Roofs and doors and windows, those I can do.”
Rob studied Sloan silently for a few moments, then abruptly asked, “Are you my mom’s boyfriend?”
Lana thought she was going to sink through the cracks in the floor, but Sloan merely laughed. “Well, now, that’s something you’ll have to talk to your mother about.”
“Is he, Mom?” Rob persisted.
“Um, well, we’ve been on only one date, Robbie. That doesn’t really count as being a boyfriend.”
“But what if you go on more dates? Then is he?”
“We’ll have to see,” Lana said through mounting panic. It was distressing enough trying to figure out what her relationship with Sloan would be without having to do it in front of her eight-year-old son!
“Dad has a girlfriend, Charlene,” Rob continued matter-of-factly. “She’s around all the time. It’d be cool if you could be Mom’s boyfriend and come over all the time. You could show me how to do stuff and teach me about being a cop and stuff.”
Lana winced. Rob was really putting Sloan on the spot, though she couldn’t blame him too much. The poor child was desperate for a decent male role model, which his father certainly wasn’t.
“Charlene, huh?” Sloan said. “She’s around all the time when you’re there?”
“Mostly.”
“Does she spend the night?” he asked casually.
“Yeah, all the time. Dad says it’s okay, ’cause they’re getting married.”
“Uh-huh.” Sloan shot a significant look Lana’s way. She nodded, filing the information away for future use. Lana wasn’t one to pass judgment on her ex-husband’s morals, but a family court judge might.
“Tell you what, Rob,” Sloan said. “About this boyfriend-girlfriend stuff, let’s just take things one step at a time, all right? Meanwhile, if you like—if it’s okay with your mom—I could show you how to hammer nails after lunch.”
Both males looked at Lana expectantly. “Okay, Mom?” Rob asked, his brown eyes pleading.
She shrugged. “It’s fine with me. There are some old tools and lumber scraps in the garage.”
Rob gulped down the rest of his soup. Lana started to clear the table.
“Thank you for lunch, Lana,” Sloan said.
“Thank you for lunch, Mom,” Rob echoed.
“You’re welcome, gentlemen.” She smiled. That was a first. Bart had never thanked Lana for preparing a meal, whether it was sandwiches or veal cordon bleu, so Rob hadn’t learned from anyone’s good example. It warmed her heart that he was looking up to a solid man like Sloan. Maybe her son would learn a few things that needed learning.
“That’s it, Rob. Use nice, sure strokes as you hammer. Think about the direction you want to make the nail go.”
Rob screwed up his face in concentration as he tried to follow Sloan’s directions. Wham! He hit the nail Sloan had started for him, and for once it went into the wood. It didn’t bend.
“I did it!”
“You sure did, Mr. Handyman. Hit it again.”
Sloan enjoyed the couple of hours he spent with Lana’s son out in the garage, hammering stray bits of plywood together. No adult had ever paid attention to him when he was growing up, which he had to believe was one of the reasons he’d turned into such a hood.
Certainly no child had ever looked up to him before, and it filled him with an unexpected warmth. He’d never thought of himself as the kind of guy who’d be good with kids, but he was actually having some success with Rob.
It seemed important to get along with Lana’s son if he hoped to be spending a significant amount of time with them both. On the other hand, Rob appeared to be well on his way to a case of hero worship, and that worried Sloan, especially because he could see how much it pleased Lana. Rob’s devotion to the new man in his mother’s life threw a monkey wrench into the works.
Sloan knew how eager Lana was to connect with her son. While her ex was buying Rob’s affection with expensive toys and indiscriminate privileges, Lana was struggling to compete with love and attention. If letting Sloan hang around would help her make that vital connection, she’d do it.
Once again Sloan couldn’t help but wonder if Lana wanted him becau
se she wanted him or because he was convenient at this stage in her life. In high school they’d stumbled across each other at a time when Lana was dying to stretch her wings and push against the confinements of a conservative childhood. He’d been a test, proving to her she wasn’t ready for an adult relationship.
Was this another test? Was he her first post-divorce experiment? To see if she was ready? What if she wasn’t?
Relationships were just too damn complicated. No wonder he’d failed at them for so many years.
“It feels funny, meeting without Callie,” Millicent said glumly as she dug into her Caesar salad at the Pie Pantry.
Lana nodded her agreement. The three women had begun setting up regular monthly meetings after their encounter with Theodora, Fortune-teller, to discuss their bizarre experience. But as they’d exhausted the subject and come up with no hard facts to explain things, the meetings had gradually turned into social occasions. Even though Callie was living in Nevada with her new husband now, Millie and Lana had agreed to continue their luncheons at the Pie Pantry.
“Callie married her cowboy though,” Millicent said. “And now I hear you’re dating a cop.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Lana asked, disappointed because she didn’t get to spring the news on Millie herself.
“From Rob, of course. He tells Will everything, and then Will tells me.”
“Who’d have thought eight-year-old boys could be such gossips? Sloan and I aren’t exactly dating, but he’s been over to the house a few times for dinner, and we went to the bookstore. He gets along with Rob real well.”
“And how well does he get along with Lana?”
Lana felt herself blushing.
“That’s what I was hoping,” Millie said. “I remember Sloan from high school. What a hunk! I even talked to him a couple of times. We had an art class together. He seemed kind of scary until I got to know him, and then I found out he was just a regular kid who hid behind an image. We all did that, don’t you think?”
“I suppose. Millicent, swear you won’t tell anyone if I tell you a secret?” Lana giggled, feeling like a high-schooler again.