by Glynna Kaye
“Look, Mom. He gave me his business card. It has his cell number on it and everything. He even wrote his address so I can send him a letter.”
“How nice.” Despite her dismay, she managed a smile in Grayson’s direction. “Looks like you’ve made a friend.”
His questioning gaze held hers for a lingering moment, as if trying to gauge her underlying reaction to Cory’s enthusiasm. “It’s a nice night. Cooled off some. We thought we’d sit out here picnic-style if that’s okay with you.”
It was more than okay with her. “May I get you something to drink, Grayson? Soda? Tea? Water?” At least she thought there were still a few sodas in the refrigerator. She didn’t buy them often.
“Soda!” Cory, who’d stuffed another bite of pizza into his mouth, nevertheless managed to yell through the wad of dough and tomato sauce.
She shot him a mind-your-manners look. “Milk for you.”
“Aw, Mom.” Cory stomped his foot and reached for another slice of pizza.
Grayson gave her a sympathetic smile. “Water for me.”
“Me, too. Two waters and a milk, coming right up.” She excused herself and, once inside the apartment, she dashed to the bedroom to peel out of her work clothes before slipping into a pair of faded jeans and a fine-gauge sweater suitable for the mild evening.
She paused in front of the mirror. Ugh. She looked like a stereotypical worn-out schoolmarm with her hair up in a bun like that. It served its purpose at the clinic, keeping it out of her way and lending her a no-nonsense professional edge with incoming clients. But she looked so stuffy.
With only a second’s hesitation, she released her hair from its confines. Shook it loose. Bent over and ran her fingers through it, then straightened for another look at her reflection. No, that was too much.
She quickly braided it down her back, a happy compromise. Or was it? Why did she care if Grayson Wallace thought she looked like the prim school teacher on Little House on the Prairie reruns? With a frown, she coiled the braid at the back of her head and secured it with hairclips, then prepared their drinks in plastic tumblers and headed downstairs.
“So what else did you do today?” She distributed the drinks and seated herself on the far side of Cory. Grayson held out the open pizza box so she could slide two slices onto a paper plate. She murmured her thanks, deliberately avoiding his gaze.
“We kicked the soccer ball around. And Officer Wallace showed me dribbling tricks. Is that cool or what?”
“Very cool.” She took a bite of pizza, relishing the blend of sharp Italian spices mingling with the sweet pineapple and smoky-flavored ham, then wiped her lips with a napkin. When had she ever been so self-conscious eating pizza?
Cory appeared on top of the world, but she didn’t know Grayson well enough to read his personal take on the day. He had on that all-too-familiar expressionless look she used to call Duke’s “cop face.” Carefully guarded. Giving nothing away.
“Is it okay if Officer Wallace comes tomorrow, too, Mom?”
Would he be up for back-to-back kid duty? “I’m not sure he’ll have time two days in a row, Cory.”
Her son turned to Grayson. “Can you, sir? It would be awesome.”
Grayson caught her eye, then smiled at Cory. “Why don’t I talk it over with your mother first.”
“Please, Mom! Let him come.”
“We’ll see.”
For the next twenty minutes, Elise sat mostly in silence as she listened in on Cory and Grayson’s conversation. Surprisingly, Grayson seemed up-to-date on kid flicks, video games and the latest toys that captured a boy’s imagination. Perhaps he had a nephew? Or could there be a son of his own?
He had an easy way of talking with Cory, allowing the boy to speak and prompting him with questions that encouraged him to continue. Cory ate it up, basking in Grayson’s attention. Ever so grateful, a heaviness nevertheless settled in the region of her heart. These were the shared moments that Duke should have been indulging his son in. Not a stranger.
As twilight settled in around them, she gently reminded Cory it was time to go inside and get started on the homework she’d picked up from the school on her lunch hour.
His brows lowered and for a moment she thought he would argue, but with a quick glance at Grayson he got to his feet. “Don’t forget, Mom, you said this could be a skip night.”
“I remember. I’ll come up in a few minutes.” She handed him her door key.
“Good night, Officer Wallace.” Admiration oozed from her son’s voice.
“Good night, Cory.” Grayson stretched out a hand for a shake. “I enjoyed our time together today.”
“Me, too. I hope tomorrow you can—” Cory shot a look at her, then clammed up.
He whirled to race in the door, feet clomping up the stairs. Cringing at the loud reverberation, Elise rose as well, hoping the other apartment dwellers didn’t complain about the commotion.
Grayson stood, curiosity lighting his eyes. “Skip night?”
She self-consciously brushed imagined pizza crumbs from her sweater. “On Fridays—and other special nights—he doesn’t have to take a bath.”
His rumbling laugh warmed her. “All boy.”
“Oh, yes.” She smiled, too. “Judging from Cory’s enthusiasm, you two must have continued to hit it off.”
“We did.”
There was no point in beating around the bush. She’d asked Grayson to spend time with Cory for a purpose. “Did he talk about what happened yesterday?”
Grayson scuffed the toe of his shoe at a crack in the concrete sidewalk, as if weighing his words. “He told me about it. Part of it, at least.”
“And?”
“If I was six years old, I’d have decked the kid, too.”
She grimaced. “I hope you didn’t tell him that.”
“Trust me.” His level gaze reinforced the words of assurance. “We talked about what makes us mad and why we can’t punch people even if we don’t agree with them. Not even when they hurt our feelings or tell a lie.”
“Was he receptive to that?”
Grayson nodded. “He knows what he did was wrong. I can’t guarantee you he won’t do it again. Sometimes reflexes overcome brain cells. But I believe he’s genuinely sorry, and not only because he got caught.”
“That’s the key, isn’t it?”
“He’s a good kid, Elise.” He reached out as if intending to give her arm a reassuring pat, then thought better of it and lowered his arm to his side. “A few bumps in the road right now. But you’re raising him right.”
Her spirits rose at the approval shining in his eyes as he delivered the unsolicited compliment. Too often she doubted herself. Felt like the worst mother in the world. She offered a hopeful smile. “So you don’t think my son’s destined for juvenile detention?”
“Naw. He idolizes his dad. He’s angry that bad people took him away from him.” He paused and cocked his head to the side, his gaze assessing her. “And he worries about you.”
“Me?”
“He says you work all the time or are studying. You’re always saving money and won’t buy yourself anything pretty.”
What?
“That’s not true. Why, I—” But when was the last time she’d bought anything frivolous for herself? Not since Duke’s death or, more accurately, not since she’d been approached by those to whom he owed money. Not since she sold Duke’s truck and hunting rifles. The camping equipment, fishing boat. Furniture. The house. Not since all but the bare necessities had been carted off to consignment stores.
“Kids are observant,” he noted softly, accurately reading her bewilderment. Then he paused to study the surrounding rundown homes. “So are you from around here?”
Judging from his question, it was clear he wondered how she’d come to li
ve in a poorly maintained apartment in a so-so neighborhood when Duke’s police-force wages and life insurance should have ensured a more comfortable lifestyle for his beneficiaries. He probably thought she’d run through Duke’s money, a merry widow blowing the funds for which her husband had traded his life. Well, let him think whatever he wanted. It was none of his business.
“Actually, I’m from Arizona.”
He leaned toward her. “Phoenix?”
“No, a small town. Canyon Springs. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”
“Can’t say I have. Believe it or not, I’ve never been to Arizona. Texas is hot enough for me—no interest in adding overgrown cactus to the mix.”
Relieved at the change in topic, she smiled. “My hometown is in a beautiful mountain pine forest. Pleasantly cool in the summer and considerable snow in the winter. Not a saguaro in sight. But you Texans don’t think any place compares to the Lone Star State, do you?”
“Not much needed that we can’t find right here inside our own borders.” Grayson chuckled at what he had to know was an arrogant-sounding admission. “So is that where your husband was from, too? This mountain country paradise?”
Back to Duke. But she’d keep her explanation brief.
“We were childhood sweethearts. He was several years ahead of me in school and moved to Texas when he was twenty-one. Then I joined him when I graduated.”
“You’re giving me a hard time about Texas—” Grayson folded his arms, his tone teasing “—but you must like it here since you didn’t head straight home to Arizona after—”
He cast her an apologetic glance as the allusion to her husband’s death hung heavily between them.
“Texas grows on you.” She forced a smile to break the awkwardness. “What’s the old joke? I wasn’t born here, but got here as fast as I could?”
A relieved grin touched his lips. Not only a strikingly handsome man, but a sensitive one as well.
“You said earlier,” she rushed on, alarmed at the feelings his concern for her elicited, “that you’re originally from Fort Worth?”
“Born here. Then I lived in a small town called Appleton until I was seven years old.”
“When your mom died.”
A curious uncertainty mingled with the sadness in his eyes. Was there something he wasn’t telling her?
“Right. Then Dad brought me and my younger sister and brother back here. I grew up in the city for the most part.”
Was this a good opening to inquire about the somewhat strange situation with a twin he’d mentioned before? Not normally nosy—she tried to show others the same consideration she desired from them—she nevertheless found what he’d earlier alluded to intriguing. Or maybe she was too quickly coming to find anything to do with Grayson Wallace intriguing.
He shifted his weight. “So, do you want me to stop by again tomorrow?”
“Would you?”
His brows knit together. “Three-thirty okay again?”
“I’ll let Billie Jean know.”
At the mention of Billie Jean’s name, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I made sure Cory and I stayed here in the front yard so she wouldn’t worry about us. But she’d frequently pass by the window keeping an eye on things.”
Elise suppressed a smile. While Billie Jean was protective of Cory, keeping a close watch on Grayson Wallace might have more to do with the law-enforcement officer’s athletic build than her friend’s mother-bear tendencies. But she’d keep that hypothesis to herself. The good-looking bachelor probably already had an ego twice as big as his home state.
“Billie Jean thinks of Cory almost like family.”
“I could tell.”
Her face warmed as he studied her thoughtfully. She bent to pick up the empty tumblers, stacked them inside each other, then straightened to tuck them under her arm. Her gaze again met his.
“Thanks again for coming. And for the pizza. Sometimes it’s hard at the end of the day to dig up the energy to cook.”
“I’m the king of takeout.” A boyish smile surfaced. “Not much fast food, but calling ahead to a decent restaurant and picking up a full meal on the way home.”
Must be nice.
Maybe someday—when Cory was twenty or thirty—she’d try it herself. With effort she pushed aside the disheartening thought, refusing to get sucked into negativity. That was always a danger when she was tired, which seemed to be most of the time these days. She’d endured a sleepless night praying about Cory. Then all day repeatedly beat herself up over running to a policeman to save the day with her son. She hadn’t been thinking straight when she’d met with Grayson last night—yet this evening here she was encouraging him to come again.
Grayson picked up the pizza box from the concrete steps and handed it to her. “Keep the leftovers. Might make a good lunch for you or Cory if warmed-up pizza is your style.”
“Cory will eat it hot or cold.” She tightened her grip on the box and motioned to Grayson’s injured arm. “I’ve been meaning to ask you what you did to yourself.”
“It wasn’t the outcome of, shall we say, one of my more graceful moments. Dislocated my shoulder.”
She broke into a teasing smile. “Jungle gym? Tree climbing? Skateboarding?”
The laugh lines around his eyes creased. “How about leaping off a second-story balcony and landing on the hood of a car?”
“Ouch. Do you make a habit of that kind of thing?”
His grin broadened. “Only when bad guys are shooting at me.”
A knot tightened in her stomach, and something in her expression must have given it away, for Grayson sobered immediately.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—that was thoughtless of me.”
She took a rallying breath. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. So you’re still on duty, even with the injury?”
“I’m confined to a desk and community work. Going stir-crazy, too. I’ve also been undergoing torture by a physical therapist for the past month to avoid surgery.”
“Sounds bad.”
“As dislocations go, it could have been a lot worse,” he said with a grateful smile. “The sling keeps me from forgetting not to overextend myself. I should be back in business by the end of this month, first of next.”
“Physical therapists can work wonders. When I was a kid, my dad tore his rotator cuff. Had surgery, then physical therapy to regain mobility. As a kid I found the whole thing fascinating.”
“So let me guess—you grew up dreaming of being a physical therapist.”
“I did, but then I got married right out of high school—” against her parents’ wishes “—and Cory came along. Right now I’m taking general ed courses online, hoping that will give me an edge when I’m able to go to a real classroom.”
He cocked a brow. “Working full-time, single parenting and studies. You have a lot on your plate.”
“I can handle it.” She squared her shoulders, determined that by God’s grace she would. But how would she deal with classes and hands-on training when those came into play? Working part-time wasn’t an option—and the thought of venturing out for night classes filled her with anxiety.
Concern lingering in his eyes, Grayson nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Elise.”
She watched him to his vehicle, her throat tightening uncomfortably. Tomorrow would be the last day she’d allow him to spend with Cory. Yes, he’d willingly shared time with her son. Had reassured her Cory wasn’t headed for a life of crime.
But his injury in the line of duty brought her up short. Someone had been shooting at another man she’d admitted into Cory’s life. Encouraging a closer bond between the two would be poor parenting on her part.
No more cops.
Chapter Six
“Say again?” Gray kept his voice
even, unwilling to betray the kick to his gut Cory’s softly spoken words generated.
The boy booted a rock with the toe of his tennis shoe, sending it sailing toward the yard next door. He didn’t look at Gray.
“Cory?”
The little guy’s shoulders slumped, his body language clearly spelling out withdrawal. Resistance. But Gray waited. Cory wouldn’t have said what he thought he’d said if the boy wasn’t harboring something that needed to come out. If there was anything he’d learned as a cop, it was waiting things out even when you wanted to hurry them along.
Cory kicked at another rock. Grayson sent one sailing right behind his and the boy gave him a curious look.
“They yell stuff at her,” he mumbled at last, now staring down at the ground with fisted hands.
“Who does?”
“Men.”
Grayson took a few measured steps to close the short distance between him and Cory. “Do you know the men?”
He shook his head and kicked at another rock. Almost lost his balance. But Gray steadied him, then crouched to place a comforting hand on his hunched shoulder.
“What do they yell?”
The boy’s lips tightened. “Stuff. They drive by slow. Make kissy noises.”
Stuff. It didn’t take much guesswork as to what kind of stuff. But he had to make certain he wasn’t blowing the situation out of proportion.
“Do you remember what they say?”
The boy gave a jerky nod. “I think it’s dirty because Mom tells me never to say those words.”
Gray nodded, careful not to betray his own growing anger. “What’s your mother do?”
“She tells me to pretend I don’t hear them and we get in the house fast.”
Grayson picked up a rock, pitched it a few feet away. Then he handed one to Cory and watched him do likewise. The surprising force of the boy’s throw undoubtedly reflected the degree of emotion within.