by Glynna Kaye
And a proud Texan.
She could see it all there in the flashing seconds when he’d held her gaze. He hadn’t even had the courtesy to cloak his appreciative glance as it fleetingly swept over her, his expressive eyes questioning if she returned his interest.
Which she did not.
She’d never again willingly put herself in a position to wait up late at night, anxiously listening for the garage door to signal the safe return of her hero. There would be no more haunting reminders, when embraced in the arms of a body armor-clad man, that the bulletproof vest was there for a reason. No heart-stopping moments when an unidentified police officer was reported as injured on the 5 o’clock news. She’d never again risk the nightmare of two somber officers at the door in the dead of the night, waiting to take her to the hospital. Or endure the heartbreak of not getting there in time to say goodbye.
No, never again. She hoped she’d made that plain enough when she broke visual contact with Cory’s Officer Wallace and hurried her son from the building.
“Mom?” His face still a thundercloud as he waited at the apartment door, Cory jerked past her when she let them inside. “How old do you have to be before you can be a policeman?”
The cop thing again. But at least he was speaking to her. “Much older than you are now.”
“How old?”
“Depends. Twenty-one, usually.” Twenty-one. That’s how old Duke had been when he’d moved to Texas where his bilingual fluency and three years of law-enforcement coursework were much sought after.
He hadn’t lived but a week beyond twenty-six.
Three years her senior, he’d been her childhood sweetheart in their small Arizona hometown. Which was why she couldn’t move back there, no matter how much she wanted to. Not yet. Not until she could return with her head held high, her finances restored and the weakness of Tomas “Duke” Lopez well-hidden from family and the community.
Cory flung his backpack to the hardwood floor and flopped onto the worn couch of the diminutive living room. Then, as if coming to a sudden conclusion, he scrambled to the sole end table, opened a drawer and pulled out the massive city phone book.
His reading skills were rapidly progressing, but he still had a considerable way to go. Nevertheless, he determinedly flipped through the thin-sheeted pages as she speed-dialed his sitter, their downstairs neighbor Billie Jean.
“Change out of your school clothes, Cory. Don’t dawdle.”
She glanced impatiently at her watch. It was disruptive enough to her employer that they’d accommodated her taking a midafternoon lunch hour each day. Even with the school situated between home and work, when traffic was congested there wasn’t much wiggle room to pick up Cory, deposit him at Billie Jean’s and get back to the clinic.
“Mom?”
As she waited for her friend to answer, she turned to her son, who still lingered over the phone directory spread across his lap.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got to get my ball glove back, so I need the help of a policeman. How do you spell Wallace?”
* * *
“Thank you again for coming.” Miss Gilbert, an attractive blonde in her early twenties, smiled at Grayson. “You and the other professionals made quite a positive impression on my class. On the whole school, in fact. But especially on Cory Lopez.”
“Cute kid.” With a gorgeous but stuck-up mom. “Too bad about his dad.”
“Yes. The sudden loss continues to take its toll, as is apparent from his behavior.”
“His behavior?”
“According to his former kindergarten teacher, it’s been like night and day compared to last year. Restless and distracted. Playing rough. Aggressive. Almost obsessed with following in his father’s footsteps and getting even with the man who shot him.”
Grayson frowned. “They have the guy in jail. I know it’s not been the customary swift Texas justice, but he’s awaiting trial.”
“That doesn’t mean much to a little boy.”
“No, I imagine not.”
“I couldn’t help but notice, though, how he settled down almost from the moment you arrived. Do you have children of your own, Mr. Wallace?” Her quick glance took in his left hand prominently supported by the sling, then her smooth cheeks flushed. He smiled to himself. Checking him out for a ring, was she?
“No, no kids,” he admitted. But maybe on down the road.
“Must be the uniform, then. Reminded him of his father.”
“Could be.”
“He’s a child with so much potential. Elise—his mother—works hard to provide for him, to give him love and attention. But a troubled boy that age could use a strong male influence. Have you ever thought about our district’s mentoring program?”
“What’s that?” If it was what he thought it was, he wanted no part of it. He didn’t intend to get attached to anyone else’s kid ever again.
“It’s an opportunity to connect with children in a meaningful way. Too many in this part of town come from broken homes that are struggling financially. There are few good role models.” She lifted her gaze to his in appeal. “I’d love to see a youngster like Cory have a chance, not end up like so many drawn to street gangs in order to find a place where they feel they belong.”
“I doubt I’d be much of a mentor for a first-grader. Maybe an older boy, if I had the time. Which I don’t.”
“At least please give it some thought, Mr. Wallace.” Her cheeks flushed again. “I’m sure you noticed how the children—Cory—gravitated to you.”
Yeah, he’d noticed how Cory had sidled up to him, especially when he’d crouched to his level. How the boy had moved in close, basking in the attention. Jenna’s son had been the same. He and Michael had been drawn to each other. Grown close. Closer than Gray had ever been to a little kid. Did Michael understand why Gray was no longer a part of his life? Did Jenna explain it to him at all?
He shoved away the haunting speculation. “Cory’s a friendly little guy.”
“I know it’s your job to keep the ‘bad guys’ at bay, Mr. Wallace, but what if those bad guys had once had a man in their lives who cared about what happened to them?” Miss Gilbert’s smile again encouraged, but it would get her nowhere.
His memory flew to his brother who’d been raised without a father when their parents had split and each took two kids. Jack turned out okay, didn’t he? Then again, he’d grown up on a ranch, not in the heart of a big city.
“I don’t mean to pressure you,” the teacher amended, apparently mistaking his silence for annoyance. “But I’ve come to love Cory. A policeman like you, who’s already had a thorough background check, could move quickly through the mentor screening process.”
“Thank you for putting confidence in me, Miss Gilbert, but I’m afraid it isn’t feasible right now.”
“I understand.”
Sensing her disappointment, he realized it was time he drew the conversation to a close. “I’d better gather my own things and be on my way. Let you finish up and get started on your weekend.”
He shook her hand, then crossed the room to retrieve the box of “cop props” he’d brought to show the kids. He paused to pick up a baseball glove that had been kicked under a nearby table, but when he turned to give it to Miss Gilbert, she was no longer in the room.
He glanced down at the kid-size glove in his hand and smiled. He still had his own junior-size one stashed in a box in his closet. The kid who’d left this one behind wouldn’t sleep a wink all weekend not knowing until Monday if it was safe. Memories of the years he and his younger sister and brother had lived in rural Appleton flooded back. Of the times after the woman he knew as Mom died and Dad returned them all to the city and became immersed in medical school. Times when the highlight of his day was when his dad tossed a few balls with him before burying him
self in his textbooks.
Gray thoughtfully turned the glove in his hands, noticing a name printed on it with a black felt-tip marker.
C. Lopez.
Cory, whose dad had died in an attempt to serve and protect. He started to toss the glove to a nearby table, but something on the inside edge caught his eye. A label. Cornelio Tomas Lopez.
And a street address.
The boy’s eyes, hungering for reassurance, pierced Gray’s memory—followed by the remembrance of the flashing gaze of his beautiful, standoffish mother.
Miss Gilbert said Cory’s mom loved him. That she did her best to provide for him and give him the attention he needed. He knew from his experiences with Jenna and Michael, though, that it wasn’t easy being a single mom raising a boy on your own.
He tightened his grip on the ball glove, his gaze lingering on the inner label.
No, don’t even think about it, Wallace.
Chapter Two
She’d just stepped out the front door when an unfamiliar silver SUV pulled up at the curb behind her car.
Cory’s Officer Wallace got out.
Elise’s grip tightened on her car keys. What was he doing here? How did he know where she lived? Surely Miss Gilbert wouldn’t share her address with a flirtatious cop of all people. If he’d followed her home to hit on her, he could climb back into his vehicle and head on down the road.
“Mrs. Lopez?” a warm, masculine Texas twang called out as he rounded the SUV and approached. His gaze swept the apartment house and yard in one of those looks she knew quickly—and accurately—assessed the neighborhood. These were her circumstances...and he clearly found them lacking. But his smile nevertheless broadened as he held up something in the hand unfettered by a sling. A baseball glove. “Cory forgot this.”
Thoughtful on the surface, but why had he made such an effort to deliver it personally unless he had an ulterior motive? She gave him an uncertain smile as he came to stand before her. He was taller than she’d originally thought, with a strong, clean-shaven jaw. High cheekbones. Straight nose. His confident, captivating eyes were an unusual light brown, like burnished oak edged with a darker shade. Thick, dark lashes.
Eyes a woman could too easily get lost in.
Nor had she missed that the hand extending from the sling’s edge was ringless—although it wasn’t uncommon for cops on duty not to wear one.
“I’m Grayson Wallace, ma’am. I visited the elementary school today. Met your son.”
As if Cory would let her forget. Or if she could forget her brief, disconcerting encounter with the handsome lawman. “Good afternoon, Officer Wallace. This is a surprise.”
“I imagine so.” Lines crinkled around the corners of his eyes as he undoubtedly recognized the suspicion in her own—telltale lines that signaled this was a man who liked to laugh. Who enjoyed good times. “I didn’t want him to go all weekend without his ball glove. I know when I was his age, I’d have gone crazy if I’d thought I’d lost mine.”
He held out the leather glove, his gaze never leaving hers, but she mishandled the exchange and it slipped from her fingers. His hand brushed hers as he deftly caught it.
“Sorry, ma’am. My fault.”
His gaze trapped hers once more as he again handed it to her. She tucked the glove securely under her arm, then brushed back a strand of hair straying from her chignon. She’d dealt with plenty of men who’d tried to overstep their bounds since Duke’s death. Returning a beloved baseball glove was one more creative ploy to get a foot in the door of her personal life. She could send this one packing, too.
“Thank you. Cory didn’t notice it was missing until we got home. Pretty upset. He wanted to call a policeman to retrieve it because I didn’t have time to go back.” Any excuse to see his Officer Wallace again.
“So it is a special glove.” The smiling eyes sobered. “His father gave it to him?”
Perceptive man.
She nodded. “For his fourth birthday. A few weeks before...”
Her gaze faltered as her voice drifted off. Some days it was still hard to talk about. Especially uncomfortable to discuss with another police officer.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Lopez.” He studied her with a sincere respect, any hint of flirtatiousness extinguished. “I never met your husband, but I knew of him. He was a fine officer.”
“Thank you. He was.”
He broke eye contact. Like many others, he no doubt found it difficult to talk to the widow of a fallen comrade. What can you say that hadn’t already been said? Besides, what cop wanted an in-your-face reminder that some police officers, like soldiers, never come home?
“Officer Wallace! What are you doing here?”
She turned to see Cory dash out the front door, eyes aglow with curiosity and excitement. He jerked to a halt beside her, an eager gaze fastened on their visitor.
“He brought you this.” She reluctantly handed him his baseball glove, not thrilled to elevate the police officer any higher in her son’s estimation than he already was.
“Oh, man. Oh, man.” Cory thrust his hand into the glove, mixed emotions warring in his eyes. He took a step toward the uniformed man, hesitated, then moved in closer to wrap his arms around the startled officer for a hug. “Oh, man, thank you. I thought someone would steal it.”
Officer Wallace’s hearty laugh rang out as he returned the enthusiastic embrace, his gaze flickering to hers and holding it longer than necessary. “You’re welcome, Cory. I know what a favorite glove can mean to a guy.”
Flustered, she glanced at her watch. “Thank you again for going out of your way for Cory. But he needs to get to his homework, and I need to get back to my job.”
He smiled down at her son. “Can’t slack on the homework, mister. Wannabe police officers have to keep up their grades.”
Cory groaned, then lifted a hand for a parting high five before trotting back to the house, the glove held high in triumph.
Still smiling, the officer turned to her, his probing gaze setting loose a truckload of battering rams in her stomach.
“You’ve got a good kid there.”
She shot him a grateful look. “Most of the time. He’s had his moments lately.”
“It’s not easy on a boy, losing his father.”
“No.” Nor was losing a husband easy. Or discovering he wasn’t who you’d believed him to be. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Mr. Wallace, but if you visit the school again I’d appreciate your not indulging his obsession about becoming a policeman. He talks about it nonstop. It’s not healthy for him.”
Or for me.
He squinted one eye and offered a hint of a smile. He probably thought her overly protective. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that, ma’am. He’s six, right? Today he wants to be a lawman. Tomorrow it will be a veterinarian. Or an astronaut. Or a cowboy.”
“I can hope—and pray—that’s so.”
For a moment she thought Cory’s cop was going to say something else. Make an observation. Ask a question. But he merely motioned to her vehicle at the curb. “I’d better let you get on your way.”
“I am cutting it close. Can’t afford to be late.” With a polite but dismissive nod, she moved toward her car. To her dismay, he kept up with her stride for stride.
“Where do you work?”
“Not too far from here. At a medical clinic down the street from that big used-car dealership. You know the one?”
“I do. So, you’re a nurse? Therapist?”
She noticed he didn’t ask if she was a doctor—the neighborhood alone answered that question easily enough. But the assumption that she’d have a degree beyond high school stung. Becoming a physical therapist had long been her dream. But Cory had arrived shy of a year of marriage and Duke had insisted that education take a backse
at until the kids—however many came along—were in school.
“No. I’m a receptionist, medical records manager and general go-to gal.”
“So on your feet all day.” A smile tugged as he glanced down at her strappy, high-heeled sandals, the wisdom of which his amused expression questioned.
“Right.” She took a slow breath as she reached her vehicle, unwilling to get too chatty with the undeniably attractive man. No, he hadn’t crossed the lines of propriety as a few had done. He hadn’t boldly hinted that a woman alone might appreciate some male companionship. He hadn’t asked her out. Nevertheless, she kept up her guard. “Thank you again, Officer Wallace, for making a little boy very happy.”
“The name’s Grayson. Or Gray.” He held out his hand.
“Elise,” she offered reluctantly, as his big hand swallowed hers. She didn’t want to be on a first-name basis with this cop.
“Pretty name.”
“Thank you.”
He released her hand, his brown eyes again questioning—as if still attempting to gauge the level of her interest. She braced herself, preparing to share too-often-practiced words to decline coffee. Dinner. Dessert. Or other more presumptuous propositions.
But to her surprise he merely fished momentarily in his uniform shirt pocket, then handed her a business card. Was this the latest strategy in the dating game realm? He thought he’d made a good enough impression that she’d call him?
Arrogant man.
He stepped back. “Good to meet you, Elise—and Cory as well. Hope you both have a great weekend.”
With an absurd prick of disappointment, she watched him stroll to his SUV and climb in, lift his unencumbered hand in a parting gesture and drive away.
She glanced down at the business card and shook her head. Talk about egotistical. But he did have beautiful eyes and was polite.
And speaking of polite, where had her manners gotten off to? He’d gone out of his way to bring the baseball glove and she hadn’t thought to ask how he’d injured his arm. How long he’d been in law enforcement.