Bachelor Mom

by Jennifer Greene

  “I said now.”

  So much for the tears. “I’m sorry about the stupid ketchup,” she snarled.

  Spence wasn’t through. “Josh, apologize for calling April names.”

  Her son’s chin jutted out. “Hey, you’re not my dad or my mom—”

  “If you think that gets you off the hook, I’ve got big news. Teasing is one thing, and calling someone names to hurt their feelings is another—and you know the difference. Don’t waste your time looking at your mom, because I’m the one talking to you. Apologize. Now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Josh snarled.

  “The men,” Spence informed Gwen, “are now going into the little boys’ room to see what cleanup miracles we can pull off.”

  “Yeah, let’s go scrub Josh up.” Jacob bounded from his seat. “Ho-boy, ho-boy, this is mens’ work, huh, Spence? ’Bye, Mom.”

  The girls were left alone, Gwen bemused at how fast and effectively Spence had handled World War III. His daughter, though, had cupped a pouting chin in her hands, and those big blue eyes were spitting upset tears. “I hate men,” she announced. “And I’ll bet you’re really mad at me for getting ketchup all over Josh.”

  “Well, I think there are better ways to handle getting mad. Especially in public, lovebug.” Owen reached over with a napkin so the little one could blow her nose. She meant to look stern. Spence had managed to. Spence had done the just-right discipline thing. But somehow all she could think of was how much she’d come to love his blond, blue-eyed angel with the irrepressible devil streak.

  “I thought Josh loved me forever,” April said sadly.

  “Sometimes men are just the pits,” Gwen agreed.

  “Well, I’m gonna forget boys for the rest of my life.” The pipsqueak soprano reeked of wisdom. “It just isn’t worth it.”

  Josh echoed those sentiments when she tucked him in several hours later. “You’re okay, Mom. But otherwise I’m gonna forget girls for the rest of my life. The other ones are nothing but trouble.”

  She kissed his cheek and smoothed back his cowlick. “Maybe you want to leave just a little door open. It’s possible you might change your mind in a few years.”

  “Spence was mad at me,” he mentioned.

  “Mostly, I think he was mad at April. But you earned your share. Are you square with him now?”

  “Yeah. He’s okay.”

  That okay echoed in her mind as she wandered into the Florida room. All three kids had naturally accepted Spence’s brand of discipline. All three, in fact, had behaved as if they were part of a family—give or take that April and Josh didn’t plan to speak for the rest of their lives.

  Considering the catastrophe the dinner had turned into, everyone was okay. Except for her. Her pulse was chugging, her heart thumping with anxiety.

  She cleared the toys off the coffee table, switched on lamps and spread out papers. After weeks of researching, she’d accumulated a mountain of information on what it took to become a day-care provider. The laws and licensing. First aid. Facility requirements. Which psychology and child development courses were particularly geared for someone interested in the field.

  Unable to concentrate, she jumped up twice and headed for the phone, but both times stopped herself. She’d already talked with both her sisters this week. She was concerned about Abby. As her younger sister had already guessed, Abby sounded tense and high-strung and anxious, not like herself. Threatened with the ultimate weapon—that her sisters would show up to help—Abby would undoubtedly choose the wise option and eventually spill whatever was really wrong. Until then, Gwen could not see badgering her further.

  Still, she normally needed no excuse to pick up a phone and call her sisters. No matter how different they all were, Paige and Abby loved her. They might pry; they might bicker and argue, but Gwen knew she could count on them for support in any time of trouble. And God knew, she was in trouble.

  Vaguely she heard a distant sound, but it barely penetrated her thick, murky mood. She sat on the couch, staring blindly at the papers in front of her, feeling... lost.

  She’d grown up so sure of the rules. If she was just a good girl, a good wife, a good woman, she couldn’t make a mistake. Ron had been part of that picture-perfect dream. Everyone in her universe had told her how lucky she was to “land him,” a good looker from a good family, a doctor, a charmer. A girl couldn’t make a mistake if she had the good sense to choose a prize catch like Ron.

  Only she understood now, that she’d sold herself a lie. Being good had never protected her from making mistakes. The sure, safe women’s roles had never been safe at all. And months ago, breaking out had seemed like a reasonable answer. Not because she really wanted to indulge in reckless, selfish behavior, but because, tarnation, she needed to explore and test whatever the real Gwen Stanford was made of.

  “Hi, tiger.”

  There, in the doorway, was the source of her pulsechugging anxiety. Typically, damn him, Spence looked like her personal dream of a lover, the Sean Connery eyes, the roguish grin that obliterated her sanity, the lean elegance that made every witless female hormone sit up and say “Hi there.”

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

  “I can see you’re pretty deep in thought. I brought the pager over in case April wakes up, but she’s really sleeping hard. Thought I’d come over to make sure you survived dinner.”

  That was exactly the problem, Gwen thought darkly. She hadn’t. Dinner should have been guaranteed “safe.” No one enduring a meal at McDonald’s with three small children could conceivably be distracted by romantic, loving, desirous thoughts. Only she had. And this restless, frightened, anxious mood had been hounding her ever since. For him, though, she managed a smile. “Put three kids that age together with food, and only a hard-core idealist could expect to digest anything peaceably.”

  “It could have been worse. Offhand, though, damned if I know how.” She saw his wry grin. He moved closer, from light to shadows to inside her light again. His gaze drifted to the papers blanketing her coffee table. “You look really busy. What’s all this?”

  When he stepped closer, her first instinct was to scoop all the papers out of his sight. But she stopped herself.

  This was it, she thought. There wasn’t going to be a better time to put a lid on her Pandora’s box of fantasy dreams. Somehow she’d been playing with his life and feelings. With her own. That had never been her intention, but Spence’s gaze rested so warmly, so intimately on her face. If somehow the new clothes, the new hairstyle, the reckless lover she’d tried to be had swayed him into believing she was a different woman from the real Gwen Stanford, it was more than past time to own up and be honest.

  “Spence,” she said quietly, “I need to tell you something.”

  Spence saw her sudden stillness, had noticed her white-faced edginess the instant he walked in. “So tell,” he encouraged, and dropped down on the couch next to her.

  “I’ve made up my mind about changing careers.”

  “Yeah? That’s great.” Because her eyes kept nervously darting to the jumble of files and figures on the coffee table, his did, too. “‘Licensing for Day-Care Center Regulations,”’ he read aloud from one. “So that’s what you’re looking into?”

  She nodded, her chin tilted just an eensy bit toward the bulldog stubborn side. “I love kids. Always have. I could financially manage going back to school, and I looked at all kinds of careers. But all the high-powered jobs, the fancy careers, the real money-makers ... Spence, they’re just not me.”

  Her love or affinity for children was hardly headline news. Spence couldn’t fathom what he’d walked into, what had her upset. There was fear in her eyes, anxiety, that he couldn’t place for love or money. “The last I knew, the reason you were looking so hard at a career change was to make damn sure you got into something you loved this time.”

  “Yeah, exactly. And when it came to the wire... I just can’t make ambition or some kind of career with clout important
to me. I’m a mom. A cookie maker. I just plain love caretaking little ones. I think I’m going to be stuck being a nurturer-type when I’m ninety.”

  He watched her rub her arms as if she were suddenly cold and, not for the first time, felt like he was wading through quicksand. Her nervousness was contagious. “Tiger, everything you’ve said sounds great. Running a day-care center would seem to be right up your alley. So how come you’re looking like something’s really wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. To me, the whole thing is exciting. I just...” She swallowed, hard, as if a thick lump of cotton was jammed in her throat. “Spence, I was afraid it would sound boring to you. Ordinary. The thing is... I can’t do it, McKenna. Turn myself into a dynamo. Peanut butter always did turn me on more than diamonds. You’ve been such an incredible coach. And you’ve helped me with so much. And I didn’t want to think I’d let you down by—”

  “By standing up for the rights of peanut butter over diamonds?”

  On the tail end of a shaky breath, she said, “I don’t know where you thought we were going together. But if anyone helped me see how important it is to be honest with myself, it’s you. And the real, naked truth is that I’m gonna be peanut-butter ordinary until I die, McKenna.”

  Before she could inhale another shaky breath, he hauled her into his arms. Roughly, not gently... to match a hot, rough, hard kiss that wouldn’t wait a second longer to express.

  She hadn’t let an insecurity sneak out, like a weed poking through grass, in a while now. She’d been mastering the art of standing up for herself damn will, particularly considering what a long hill she’d had to climb from the critical, confidence-eroding el-jerko she’d been married to. That she’d pinned down work she loved and wanted to pursue gave Spence joy. That she hadn’t needed or depended on anyone’s support to follow through with it gave him more joy.

  His lover was getting downright feisty.

  But that she thought he was more attracted to diamonds than peanut butter was a misconception that required immediate correcting. And he could have sworn he’d been extremely clear before on his definition of exciting. Maybe not clear enough.

  So he gave her a liquid kiss. And then another one.

  Her arms slid around his neck. Her lips parted under his, her response wild and willing, fervent. Free. It was always this way. He touched her, and she opened her generous heart and took him in, the way no woman had ever touched him, ever wanted him.

  Frustration speared, then snapped inside him like a coil stretched too taut. Her drumming heart thudded against his own; her quickening breath echoed his; her supple body molded perfectly against him. They were a matched set. She had to see it. And while the fever was rising fast, already tempting both of them to lose control, he raised his head.

  “Tell me what you feel,” he said.

  It slipped out like a forbidden whisper, hopelessly loose in the wind. “I love you, Spence.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then tell me what you want, tiger. Shout it. Tell me.”

  Her eyes widened. His sudden harsh tone had obviously startled her. Her hands slipped, then dropped from his shoulders. She searched his eyes... but she said nothing.

  Despair lanced through him. In business., in life, it was so easy for him to take charge. With Gwen, he’d always known that was the wrong way. If he pushed her, if he made her feel pressured, she could always believe that be was cut from the same cloth as her ex. She wouldn’t feel free. Unless she was.

  But what she wanted had to come from her. Or they had nothing.

  And from her continued silence, that sure as hell seemed to be what she was telling him.

  He pushed off the couch and aimed for the door.

  Twelve

  “Jacob, Josh. I’m just going to carry this pie over to the McKennas’. I won’t be gone longer than five minutes—but you two be good.”

  Her two angels delivered a cross-your-heart promise without a qualm. Gwen was less than reassured. Holding the fresh honey pecan pie with hot pads, she used an elbow to crook open the back door. She could hardly gallop across the yard carrying a hot pie, but hustling was wise. She loved her darlings. She just didn’t trust them alone together for longer than two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

  She didn’t trust her courage would hold out for too long, either.

  Spence, she knew, was upset with her. Last night, she had never anticipated the conversation to suddenly turn into a vulnerable confrontation about love and their future together. When he’d stalked out of the house so fast, he had clearly been hurt—seriously, painfully hurt—at her failure to respond.

  Some might consider the honey pecan pie to be a peace offering. Heaven knew, her first instinct with a man used to be the old traditional woman’s role of accommodation. Whenever her ex was miffed, she would rush right in to please and placate.

  She’d definitely changed, Gwen thought darkly. Her first instinct with Spence was to give him a whomp upside the head. She’d been trying to answer him last night. But the words had all been tangled in her throat—he’d turned her on, for Pete’s sake—so it was his own damned fault if her mind had been on desire and him. His doing, not hers, that she hadn’t been coherently logical.

  So the pie wasn’t a peace offering. It was just... a foot in the door to reopen communication. A swift one, because she had to get to the boys. But her heart had felt gripped in a tight fist all day, knowing she’d hurt him, and she just couldn’t wait all the hours until the kids were asleep before doing something.

  At his back door she yoohooed a greeting. When no one answered, she juggled the pie, pushed at the door latch and poked her head in. “Hello? Mary Margaret? April? Spence?”

  So close to the dinner hour, she expected to see pots bubbling on the stove, Mary Margaret bustling around, lights and noise—but there was nothing. The table wasn’t even set. “Spence?”

  His car was in the driveway, so she knew he was home from work and around somewhere. For a millisecond she considered dropping the pie on the counter and sprinting back home. The thought of running was tempting—as tempting as putting heroin in front of a recovering addict. Running away from confrontations had always been one of her best skills. Still, it seemed that she’d broken that old, handy habit, too.

  She put down the pie for a few seconds. But only long enough to push a hand through her hair, straighten her coral print skirt, and briefly clutch the cameo at her throat for hick. Maybe her heart was thumping with a coward’s fear, but she swallowed hard and moved on.

  “Spence? April?” Finally, a few steps into the hall, she heard voices emanating from the living room. One of them was an adult female voice—Mary Margaret’s, she assumed, and smiled at the image of the housekeeper’s reaction to the dessert. Mary Margaret had a sweet tooth that could compete with any of the kids’.

  But it wasn’t Mary Margaret she found with Spence. Gwen charged through the living room doorway too quickly to apply the brakes. The wreath of a smile on her face froze. The cheerful hello she intended to deliver jammed in the back of her throat.

  The woman in Spence’s arms was tall and svelte. As fast as a camera flash, Gwen took in the swath of mahogany hair, the dramatic makeup, the emerald suit and navy pumps. The woman wasn’t gorgeous, just put together. Perfectly. A model of taste and sophistication and expert styling. Exactly—exactly—like the kind of woman Gwen had always pictured with Spence.

  The hurt was so sudden. Like a bullet had slammed a hole in her soul, stinging sharp, fast and bitter. She couldn’t seem to breathe. Spence very obviously had his arms around the woman voluntarily. He was hugging her. Tightly. Warmly. Thoroughly.

  He also quickly realized she was standing there, because his head shot up. One hand dropped from the brunette, but certainly not with the speed of the guilty. “Hi, tiger.”

  He called her tiger? Right in front of the other woman? Words tumbled out of her mouth faster than a babbling stream. “Geezle beezle, I’m so
sorry to barge in. I couldn’t rouse anyone when I yelled from the back door. Really, I’m sorry to interrupt. I just happened to be baking this afternoon and I brought you over a dessert....” She exhibited the pie, feeling like a fool, but hurling the thing at a wall didn’t seem like a politically correct option. Disappearing was the only driving thought in her head, and she rapidly back-stepped toward the door.

  “I can smell the pie from here—thanks, Gwen, does it ever look fantastic. I’ll even get the first chunk, because Mary Margaret took April for the evening to a party with her grandkids. And somehow I’m neglecting introductions here. Gwen, this is June Roberts. And June, this is...”

  Temporarily there was nothing in her brain but Jell-O. She heard the name, heard the words of introduction, but it took all her mental and emotional energy to concentrate on smiling—and not looking at Spence. She definitely couldn’t face looking at Spence right then. “I’m out of here,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll put the pie on the kitchen counter. And that’s all I came over for, to deliver the pie—”

  “Gwen, wait a second—”

  “No, no, I left the boys alone. And dinner cooking. I’ll see you later, and real nice to meet you...” Gwen was going to tag on the woman’s name but she’d already forgotten it.

  As she tore out of the house, she couldn’t swear to remembering her own. She raced across the yard faster than a track star, barreling into her own kitchen with lungs working overtime and her heart slamming, slamming. Slamming like fire.

  “Josh? Jacob?”

  Contrary to maternal expectations, the boys hadn’t killed themselves in her brief absence—but they were starved. She threw together some macaroni and cheese, mopped a spilled glass of milk, fixed a broken toy, hurled dishes in the dishwasher, drew the boys’ baths. Josh had some new questions about God and wanted to know how toothpaste was made. Jacob wanted to show her some magic tricks. Then came the bedtime rituals.

  She’d have let the children stay up. Maybe forever. But for the first time in mom history, neither son gave her a lick of grief over going to bed and were snoozing hard before nine. The house was abruptly as silent as a nightmare... except for the painful, insistent beating of her defenseless heart.