by Judy Duarte
“Probably.”
Chloe whistled. “Lucky lady. That’s one heck of a good-looking man. And he’s big on communication and sharing feelings—something my dates lack.”
Yeah, well, Joe wasn’t going to discuss how fortunate Kristin was to have landed the verbal Boy Wonder. Nor was he going to point out Chloe’s loser radar.
“We’ll see you later,” Joe said. “Surf’s up.”
Chloe smiled. “Have fun, guys.”
Ten minutes later, Joe and his son arrived at the beach and found a spot on the sand to unload their towels and things.
Bobby started toward the water.
“Hey, sport, not so fast.” Joe pulled out the bottle of sunscreen from the canvas tote bag Kristin had packed. “We’ve got to slick on this stuff.”
“Aw, do we have to? Mom’s not even here. And she’d never even know.”
“If you go home looking brighter than the flashing siren on a hook and ladder, she’ll know. Besides, there’s a thing called trust. We want her to know we’ll honor her wishes, even when she’s not around.” Joe smeared the lotion over his son’s small shoulders, down his chest and over his back. “Better get the face, too.”
Bobby stood there, while Joe protected him from ultraviolet rays. Joe wasn’t one to use that stuff himself, even though he knew the hazards of too much sun. He supposed that was a bit of the rebel left in him.
Or maybe it was not having anyone ever fuss over him, not having someone who loved him and depended upon him to make him consider taking better care of himself.
Nevertheless, Joe intended to look out for his son’s health and safety.
“How come moms get so weird about things like using sunscreen, eating vegetables, brushing teeth and not drinking soda for breakfast, except when you’ve been puking all night?”
“Isn’t it nice to know someone loves you?”
“I guess,” Bobby said. “Did your mom make you wear a jacket when none of the other kids had to and stuff like that?”
“My mom died when I was six,” Joe said. “But when she was alive, she worried about me, too.”
Bobby dug his toe into the sand, then glanced up at Joe. “It’s sad—your mom dying and all. It’s kind of like me not having a dad.”
The boy’s words sliced into Joe’s heart. He wanted to tell his son the truth. That Bobby did have a dad. That his father just hadn’t known about him before. But now that he did know, he’d be a part of Bobby’s life forever.
But reality stepped in. Joe couldn’t say squat about Bobby’s dad until Kristin gave him the okay.
“I got a grandpa, though.” Bobby’s face brightened.
“That’s good,” Joe said, unable to mask his lack of enthusiasm.
“He’s really cool.”
“I’ll bet.” Joe couldn’t imagine Thomas Reynolds being anything other than a powerful man willing to bowl down anyone in his way, even a kid.
“Sometimes we go fishing,” Bobby said. “And he takes me to movies. And when my mom won’t let me stay up past nine o’clock, and me and my grandpa are watching TV, he’ll tell her she’s not being fair by making me go to bed before the show is even over.”
“Is that right?”
“Uh-huh. And that’s not all. He’s teaching me how to play chess, too.”
“That’s great. I’m glad your grandfather is good to you.”
And that was a fact. It didn’t make Joe change his opinion of the man, but at least the old bastard treated Bobby well.
A cynical smile tugged at his lips. But how would Thomas Reynolds feel when he learned that his beloved grandson was a Davenport—that he shared the same blood as a drug dealer and an arsonist?
Joe’s smile righted itself as a problem surfaced.
When the truth was revealed, would Thomas Reynolds turn on the boy?
Two hours later, after Bobby had surfed long enough to gain an appreciation for the sport and a desire to improve, Joe and his son sat on the sand, enjoying a milk-shake they’d purchased at the Beachcomber, a seaside grass shack that sold fast food and snacks.
“Do you want to eat here? Or should we pick up tacos on the way home?”
“I really like tacos,” Bobby said. “But without cheese. And no hot sauce, either.”
Before Joe could respond, his cell phone rang, and he answered. It was Allison, the flight attendant he’d been dating. She was calling from a layover in Honolulu.
“How have you been?” she asked.
Joe looked at his son and smiled. “Fine.”
“Are you missing me yet?”
Joe hated those kinds of questions. Especially with an audience. “How was your flight to Sydney?”
“Relatively smooth and uneventful. Hey, did I happen to leave my watch at your house?”
“Yeah. In the kitchen.”
“I feel undressed without it, so I had to buy another one at the airport. I can’t believe that I forgot to put it on before I left your house.”
Joe smiled. “You were in a hurry to get to the airport. Remember?”
She laughed. “And we spent too much time in the shower.”
Yeah, he remembered. He’d had to rush to work, too.
“I’ll be home again on Saturday,” she said. “I’ll have to come by and pick it up.”
“Sure.” Joe glanced at Bobby, saw him use the straw to spoon out his shake. Watched as a dollop of chocolate ran down his chin.
The boy smiled, and Joe swiped at the dribble with his finger. “You missed, sport.”
“Who are you talking to?” Allison asked.
“My…” Joe paused. He’d wanted to say his son, but caught himself. “My friend. His name is Bobby, and he’s seven years old.”
The boy grinned, as though the friendship meant as much to him as it did to Joe.
“Well, maybe I can meet Bobby when I see you Saturday.”
“Maybe,” Joe said, although he wasn’t so sure he wanted to add a woman to the mix—at this point.
“Well, I’d better go,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah. Take care.”
When Joe ended the call, Bobby asked, “Who was that?”
“My…” Again he paused. His lover? His girlfriend? Heck, the relationship hadn’t developed enough to know exactly who Allison was. “That was just my friend.”
Joe was sure gaining a lot of friends since Kristin reentered his life. But he was especially uncomfortable referring to his son that way.
Life would certainly be a lot easier to deal with when Kristin allowed their secret to be told.
Or would it?
Maybe things would just get stickier, and Bobby’s questions harder to answer.
Late that afternoon, Joe and Bobby returned to his condominium complex, where they spotted Chloe carrying a brown bag of groceries in her arms.
“There’s your friend.” Bobby pointed toward the redhead, then waved.
Chloe juggled the bag to free a hand and wiggled her fingers at the boy. A smile lit her face.
“She sure is pretty,” Bobby told Joe.
“You think so?”
The boy nodded. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“Nope. Just my friend. And my neighbor.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
Maybe. But Joe didn’t want to talk to his son about Allison. “Why do you ask?”
Bobby shrugged. “I don’t know. Just wondering.”
“You think I need a girlfriend?”
The boy again looked at the redhead and watched as she reached her porch, shifted the grocery bag and fiddled with the key, trying to unlock her front door. “Chloe sure is beautiful.”
“Yeah. I think so, too.”
“And she sure has big…you know whats.”
It didn’t take a Rhodes scholar to figure out what the kid was looking at. Had Joe been that young when he’d first recognized a womanly shape? Of course, the way Chloe dressed didn’t leave much to the imagination.
Joe’s first thought was to agree with the boy’s assessment and utter, “You can say that again.” But he put a damper on the shallow male thoughts and comments, deciding to respond in a way Harry would, if the older man were sitting here.
“A woman’s prettiest and most attractive feature is her heart, Bobby. And, that being the case, Chloe is just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“My mom has a big heart,” Bobby said.
“Your mom is another beautiful lady.” Joe parked the Tahoe, then handed the bag of tacos to Bobby. “You carry these into the house while I take the board and the other stuff.”
Fifteen minutes later, after quick showers, they ate tacos and sipped sodas while seated on the floor, in front of the coffee table.
“Are you up for another game of Razzle-Dazzle?” Joe asked.
“I sure am. And I’m going to beat you, this time.”
“Good luck, sport. I don’t like to lose, so you’d better watch out.”
They’d only played about ten minutes, which was long enough to see that the boy had inherited his dad’s competitive spirit. Just as Joe’s little orange man toppled in an attempt to snatch a golden ring that would take him to a higher level, the doorbell rang.
Joe handed the controller to Bobby, then answered the door. As he suspected, the cultural duo had returned. His heart did a somersault when he spotted Kristin on the porch, a smile lighting her eyes. Yet when he forced his gaze to the man at her side, he felt like blowing out a raspberry.
Shaking off both inappropriate reactions, Joe invited Kristin and her fiancé inside. “Hey, Bobby, look who’s here.”
While Kristin greeted her son—their son—Dr. Dylan asked, “How’d it go?”
“Great,” Joe said. “We had a good time.”
Hell, the kid could have tied Joe to a chair, set fire to the sofa and invited the neighbors in for a marshmallow roast, and Joe would have had the same answer for the annoying shrink.
“Mom,” Bobby said. “Do I have to go now?”
Joe understood the boy’s sentiment. Heck, he felt like chiming in, too. It was too soon for their time to be over.
“You’ve had all afternoon to play,” Kristin said. “Thank Joe for having you.”
“But we just started a game. Can’t you watch us for a while?”
“I’m afraid it’s time to go.” She looked at Joe, as though he was supposed to help her convince the child that the visit was over.
But she was out of luck. Heck, Joe felt like digging in his heels, too. She’d had the boy for seven years, and he was just now getting a chance to know him. To love him. To bond.
How could paternal feelings develop like that—practically overnight?
Joe probably ought to feel grateful for the time they’d had together, but he still felt cheated.
How the hell was this bicoastal parenting thing going to work?
Would he get Bobby during summer vacations?
Dylan slipped an arm around Kristin and pulled her close.
Another stab of jealousy pierced Joe’s chest, this one more powerful than the last. He tossed around the idea that it bothered him to see Kristin with Dylan. But only momentarily. It wouldn’t do him a bit of good to contemplate a decision he’d made years ago. A decision that had been right.
And even though Joe didn’t like Kristin’s fiancé, that didn’t mean the guy wasn’t good for her. Heck, even Chloe had called Kristin a lucky girl.
So Joe focused on the resentment he felt at handing over his son to another man.
Giving up Bobby to go with his mom was one thing. But seeing him climb into that black Mercedes with the King of Psychobabble was another.
“You see what I mean?” Dylan elbowed Joe. “She’s entirely too easy on the boy. And she’s got to learn how to set some boundaries.”
Then the psychologist strode toward Bobby. “You heard your mother, son.”
The muscles in Joe’s body tensed, as he watched Dylan step up to the plate. A fierce urge to protect his son washed over him. If that guy got physical with Bobby, Joe wouldn’t stand by idly.
But he didn’t have to do or say anything.
Bobby set down the controller and stood up. “Thanks for letting me go with you, Joe.”
“Anytime.” Joe still found himself wanting to clobber the psychologist for taking on a paternal role with Bobby. But he kept his mouth shut.
For now.
But the day would come when Joe would set some boundaries of his own.
With Bobby now in tow, Dylan joined Kristin at the porch and, again, slipped his arm around her, pulling her close.
Joe could have sworn he saw her grimace at the man’s touch.
Were there problems in premarital heaven?
Kristin felt awkward with Dylan’s arm around her, particularly with Joe looking on.
Of course, that was silly—really. And she wasn’t sure why she let it bother her. After all, she and Joe had broken up years ago.
Still, she pulled free of Dylan’s hold and reached out a hand to Joe. “Thanks for looking after Bobby.”
Joe wrapped her fingers in his and held on a bit longer than was necessary. Or was that only her imagination? Her memories playing havoc with reality?
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “I plan to be a big part of Bobby’s life. Remember?”
How could she forget?
And how could she ignore the crazy, unexpected feelings in her chest. Her heart had swelled and filled with warmth, which wasn’t so bad. But it also thumped and bumped unpredictably, like a fumbled football bouncing out of bounds.
She wasn’t at all sure how Joe’s involvement in her son’s life would play out. Or how she felt about his involvement in her own life.
“Well, we need to go,” Dylan said, reminding her that a lot of time had passed, that the future was full of other people to consider—not just Bobby and themselves. There were Dylan’s feelings to think about. And her father’s.
After goodbyes were said, Dylan led them out to the street, where he’d parked.
“Joe is the neatest guy in the whole world,” Bobby said, as he climbed into the back seat of Dylan’s car.
Kristin glanced at her fiancé and caught a glimpse of his stoic face, as he opened the door for her.
Had Bobby’s comment bothered him?
Surely not. Dylan, of all people, ought to understand a child’s enthusiasm, particularly when someone had done something nice.
As the Mercedes pulled away, the adults remained quiet, lost in their thoughts, it seemed.
But Bobby continued to chatter about all the things he’d done with Joe.
“We played Razzle-Dazzle. And then we went to the beach. You should see me stand up on the surfboard.” He paused momentarily. “Well, I didn’t exactly stand all by myself, but almost. And Joe said I was really good for a boy my age.”
Kristin smiled. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Then we had milkshakes, and it didn’t even ruin my appetite. I still ate a taco, except for the shell.”
“I’m glad you had fun with Joe,” Kristin said. And she meant it, even if she didn’t approve of milkshakes before dinner.
“And we saw his neighbor.”
“You mean Chloe?”
“Yeah, the one with the big…”
Kristin looked over her shoulder to see Bobby cupping his hands in front of his chest.
“…the big heart.”
Kristin arched a brow, but didn’t respond. In part, because she wasn’t sure what to say. Sometimes, when Dylan was in the car, she felt as though she was a college freshman sitting in the front row of the classroom with her hand up, just waiting for the professor to shoot down her comment.
Dylan being an expert on most things wasn’t a bad thing, of course. It just made it difficult sometimes.
“And Chloe’s got a super big heart,” Bobby continued. “You can practically see it jumping out of her chest. Joe said that’s why she’s so pretty.”<
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“He did?” Kristin and Joe were going to have to chat about a few things. And his pretty neighbor and her big…uh-hum…heart…was one of them.
“Yep, and Joe said you’ve got a big heart, too. Maybe not as big as Chloe’s, Mom. But you’re pretty, too.”
This time, Dylan glanced across the seat and caught Kristin’s eye. He didn’t smile.
Obviously he had some concerns about the discussion Bobby and his father had about cleavage. Or was it something else?
Surely, there was more to Bobby’s rendition than met the ear. And an odd sense of curiosity niggled at Kristin more than she cared to admit.
Joe said she was pretty?
Chapter Seven
Joe had hoped Kristin would contact him so they could talk about another visit with Bobby, but she hadn’t. He’d let it go for a couple days, knowing her fiancé was in town. But he wasn’t going to sit on his hands any longer.
Of course, he still planned to adhere to the bargain they’d made, but since Kristin would take Bobby back to the east coast before school started, his time with his son was limited. And for that reason, Joe decided to make the first move.
He wasn’t sure what her calendar looked like or if Dr. Dylan had gone back to TV-Talk-Show Land, but he was determined to schedule another outing. He picked up the phone and dialed the number she’d given him, which he assumed was the second line at the house—the only one he was allowed to call.
Maybe he could take Bobby to that new pizza place for dinner and see a movie—something appropriate for a kid. Or, if Kristin would let him keep the boy overnight, they could pitch a tent and camp at the beach.
After three rings, Joe began to think Kristin wasn’t home, until a click sounded and someone fumbled with the phone. The maid or housekeeper, maybe?
But there was no mistaking the deep, baritone voice of Thomas Reynolds, as he barked out, “Hello.”
“Is Kristin there?”
“No. She’s gone to the market. Can I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Joe Davenport.”
In the following silence, the seconds ticked in Joe’s head. About the time he wondered whether the line had gone dead, Reynolds finally responded. “What do you want to talk to my daughter about? I thought we’d gotten a few things straight years ago.”