by Roz Denny
"Thanks," she said grudgingly. "I won't be long."
"Take your time, Mom," Mike yelled. "Gabe's teachin' me how to kick."
"Great…wonderful," she muttered, trudging through the back door, ruing the day soccer was invented.
Surprisingly Sarah did feel refreshed by a shower. As she dressed in navy cotton pants and a white oversize shirt, she speculated that a suit might give her more of an advantage when it came to negotiations with Parker. Oh, well…
Leaving the comfort of her room, she headed for the kitchen, expecting to find them still playing soccer in the yard. But as she pushed open the French doors, she stopped short. Both of them stood at her kitchen counter calmly shaping hamburger meat into patties. Mike was yammering nonstop. He paused for a breath only after his tall companion nudged him. "Hi, Mom." The boy grinned. "Me and Gabe are fixin' dinner." A wayward lock of hair fell across his eye, and he blew it away before plunging his hands into the sticky meat mixture again.
"Gabe and I," Sarah said without thinking.
"Are you gonna help, too?" The child's blue eyes grew wider still. "We're doin' this 'cause Gabe thinks you look beat—like the last rose of… of… something." He glanced to the man for help.
"Ah, 'summer' was what I said, Mike." Gabe met her narrowed gaze with a sheepish grin. "I see now that 'the last rose of summer' was the wrong expression, Mrs. Michaels. Or may I call you Sarah?" he asked, taking a second inventory.
Oblivious to the undercurrent swirling between the two adults, the child hummed to himself as he carefully placed a patty on a sheet of waxed paper.
Sarah turned abruptly toward her son. "I was correcting your bad English, Mike," she explained. "Please try to use better grammar." Irritated by Parker's earlier statement about her appearance, she said, "Not everyone can spend a leisurely afternoon bumming around the beach. Some of us work for a living."
Gabe knew the barb was aimed at him. He refused to acknowledge her ill humor. Instead, he turned away to wash his hands.
It was then that Sarah saw the table was set for three. That, too, irked her.
"Did you invite Mr. Parker to dinner without asking, Mike? You know the house rules."
Her son's happy grin faded.
Feeling like a heel, Sarah wished she'd just let the incident slide. After all, it was late, and she had to settle this issue with Parker tonight.
"I thought it was only friends my age I hadda ask about," the boy said. "Gabe's different, isn't he, Mom?"
As if he wasn't the one under discussion, Gabe calmly set a salad bowl filled with greens in the refrigerator. Trying to remain unobtrusive, he leaned against the counter and waited. He sensed her mood was erratic.
Sarah had to appreciate the fact that he didn't try to interfere. Backing off, she threw up her hands and gave a weak smile. "Forget I said anything, guys. I am beat tonight. I should be gracious and thank you both for fixing dinner." She glanced hesitantly at their guest as she ran a nervous hand through her son's curls.
She was rewarded by the return of Gabe's heart-stopping smile.
"You're a good mother, Mrs. Michaels," he said in an undertone when the conversation lagged. "This is all my fault. You'd gone to shower when I noticed the barbecue out back. Mike mentioned the meat was thawed—"
Sarah interrupted with something unintelligible. Then, as if by prior agreement, all three of them moved to the backyard where Gabe set about preparing the ancient barbecue. Sarah watched, aware of how easily he dispatched chores that took her much longer. And Mike, who ordinarily wouldn't have a thing to do with cooking, begged to help.
Sarah found that funny. But her smile died as her gaze accidentally collided with Gabe's. She blushed. Certainly he didn't read anything untoward into my laughter, did he?
Sobering, she decided to set the record straight. With Mike in the house to hunt up barbecue sauce, she approached Gabe. She had to let him know she wasn't his type—in case he was considering it, which she doubted— and she wasn't looking for a husband substitute or any fake family togetherness. She took a deep breath. "I'm not much good at impromptu picnics, Mr. Parker. Or impromptu anything. You may as well hear this up front. My inability to do these… these spur-of-the-moment things is a major reason Mike's father left us." She let her lashes drop to hide her embarrassment. It sounded awful spelled out. What must he think?
Bold blue eyes inspected her from the crown of her head to her trim ankles, then moved slowly back up again. "Some men are natural fools," Gabe said, his voice matter-of-fact.
Sarah wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. Nevertheless her cheeks burned, and she was relieved when Mike returned to claim Parker's attention. She went back inside where she rearranged the table settings, placing them far enough apart to avoid any suggestion of intimacy. When there was nothing left to do, she stepped out on the back deck to see when dinner would be ready.
The charcoal briquettes chose that moment to erupt in flames. It all happened so fast Sarah's feet stayed rooted to the planks. She watched in horror as smoke billowed and flames reached treacherous fingers toward her son. A cry welled up but lodged in her throat.
Gabe, appearing calm, set the child behind him and fanned through the smoke to lift the sizzling rack away from the flames. "Could you get me a cup of water, please, Mike?" he asked quietly. "You see now why I said we should never stand close to the barrel when we light it."
Big-eyed, Mike nodded, then turned and ran past his mother to fetch water from the kitchen. He jostled her on the way out. "Move, Mom! Gabe needs this quick."
Sarah's heart began a slow slide back into place. Her knees buckled. She sank onto the top step and stared. Gabe sprinkled water over the hot coals, all the while explaining to Mike what he was doing and why. Once the steam had dissipated, he let his little helper place the first patty on the grill.
Sarah heard the praise mixed with his instructions. She wished she could honestly say she would have handled things this well. But she knew from past experience that she probably would have panicked, frantically dashed water at the flames, yelled at Mike to get out of the way. He'd have burst into tears, and if they ate at all the meal would have been tense.
She rose and stumbled toward the house. Part of her had wanted Gabe Parker to fall short in his dealings with her son. But what if he had? He spoke at her elbow, making her jump.
"Charbroiled hamburger, madam?" He whisked a plate over her shoulder and with a grandiose flourish leaned around her and waggled his eyebrows.
She eyed the blackened patty. "Charred would be more accurate," she said, wrinkling her nose. As she ducked beneath his arm, she caught the anxious look on her son's face. "However—" she backpedaled "—I'm hungry enough to eat mine raw." The boy's relieved grin would have been redeeming if Gabe's presence hadn't made her so edgy.
She suddenly realized there were no glasses on the table. "I don't keep beer in the house," she said to Gate. "Would you like water or milk?"
"There's lemonade. Mike picked lemons from your tree and made it all by himself." Gabe indicated the frosty pitcher.
Sarah's surprise showed. "Well, by all means, we must have lemonade." Pleased, she gave Mike a spontaneous hug.
He grinned but eluded her to follow Gate's lead in slapping condiments on his hamburger bun.
Sarah set the pitcher of lemonade and three glasses on the table. Her son emulated Gate's every move—down to the dill-pickle garnish he ordinarily loathed. Quickly she bit into her own hamburger, unwilling to admit she might be just a bit jealous.
Sarah had intended to remain coolly aloof. Before she knew it, however, she was laughing along with Mike at Gabe's sports stories—none of which included surfing. It was after one such humorous anecdote that she happened to glance at her watch.
"Mike," she gasped, "it's almost nine! Tomorrow's a school day. Bedtime."
She dismissed his "Aw, Mom" and his pout with a firm shake of her head. Now, she thought, comes the tantrum. Parker would see firsthand what she had to deal w
ith.
Unfolding his rangy length from the table, Gabe commanded, "Do as your mother says, Mike. Ordinarily I'd expect you to help clean up, but tonight we adults have things to discuss, so you're off the hook."
Mike jumped up. "Okay, but will you come say g'night 'fore you go?"
"If I can." Their guest darted a sharp glance in Sarah's direction.
Dumbfounded at the way he'd backed her, Sarah nodded.
Mike bestowed one last puppy-dog grin on Gabe, then left the room.
Suddenly the kitchen seemed too small and too quiet to suit Sarah. "I'll make coffee," she offered, leaping to her feet.
"I'd like that," Gabe said as he tried to discreetly dump an almost full glass of lemonade down the drain.
She laughed and suddenly the constraints fell away. "I saw that. I should make you drink the rest of that horrible stuff. Why didn't you tell him to add sugar?"
Gabe chuckled and turned from loading the dishwasher. "I couldn't believe you drank yours with a straight face. You deserve a medal. It's just… he was so proud. I didn't have the heart to burst his bubble."
Sarah swallowed a giant lump. "Take a seat, Mr. Parker. So far, you've done all the work. The least I can do is dishes." She placed milk, sugar and mugs on the table, and her smile flashed again.
"Call me Gabe, please. May I say… it was good to see you relax." He smiled back and slid into the nook. "I know I made a bad first impression. What can I do or say to change your opinion, Sarah?" Her first name slipped easily off his tongue, because somehow she was different tonight. Gabe thought perhaps this might work out, after all.
A chill of apprehension skated up Sarah's spine. Mesmerized by the brilliant blue eyes so like her son's, she found her thoughts muddled. Losing count of how many teaspoons of instant coffee she'd put into each cup, she gave up and poured the boiling water. Catching her lip between her teeth, she turned the handle of one toward him. "You certainly won Mike over fast." She drew back quickly as their fingers accidentally brushed. Again a shock.
"I like him," Gabe stated simply. "I like most kids, but he seems exceptionally bright." He gazed beyond her into the distance. "My father was always too busy building an empire to spend time with my brother and me. Perhaps I relate to Mike's loneliness."
Sarah hid her surprise. It was difficult to believe he was ever lonely. He possessed the type of unconscious good looks women fawned over. Farrell did, too—and he'd had the same effect on women. She gulped her coffee, glad of the heat that burned her mouth and took her mind off her feelings about Gabe Parker.
The moment the sting subsided, she broached the subject she'd mulled over all day. "The agency has no other volunteer available and my son needs help with soccer. So if you're still interested, it's okay by me. Any time you could spare to teach him will be appreciated. But I'd like to approve all arrangements in advance. And if you aren't able to follow through, I'll expect time to break the news. He's been disappointed quite enough already." Gabe sipped from his cup and studied her without blinking.
For several moments Sarah thought he would refuse.
At last he shrugged. "He's your son. You set the rules. I follow them. Our program isn't designed to antagonize parents." Gabe put down his cup. The tension was back between them.
Sarah broke eye contact first. Before she had a chance to respond, Mike stuck his fresh-scrubbed face around the corner. "Will you tuck me in, Gabe?" His expression was anxious, as if he expected things to have changed since he'd left.
"If it's okay with your mom, kicker." Gabe slid out of his chair.
Sarah was too tired to fight them both. "Don't be surprised if you can't find his bed for the stuffed animals," she told Gabe. Picking up their cups, she walked to the sink. "It's late, so please make it quick. I'll be in the living room."
She had just begun to wonder what was keeping Gabe, when he reappeared, looking slightly abashed.
"He conned me into reading a story."
Abruptly Sarah said, "Please don't give him so much attention that he'll be hurt when you finish this assignment, Mr. Parker." Her warning loomed between them like a gathering summer storm.
"I thought we'd progressed to Gabe and Sarah. And he's not just an assignment. If you could drop the chip off your shoulder a minute, I'd like a word with you about those soccer shoes of his."
"What about them?" she asked, rising. "Coach gave them to him. They were his son's."
"Ah. That explains it." Gabe was relieved to hear she hadn't bought them. "They're too small," he said. "He needs a new pair before Friday."
"Mike hasn't said they hurt his feet," Sarah said defensively. "It's not like he wears them all the time. I hope you didn't fill his head with foolishness. I have a mortgage to pay, bills, a car air conditioner to replace—" She broke off. Her finances did not concern this man. Crossing the room, she opened the door. "Good night." Her voice was strained. "Thank you for helping him with his soccer."
Gabe hesitated and brushed a thumb over his lips. Then, softly, he said, "Don't give the shoes another thought, Sarah. I'm meeting him for soccer practice tomorrow. I assume you approve? I'll see that he gets home safely, too." Before she could object, he left, pulling the door from her grasp and closing it firmly.
Sarah felt well and truly bulldozed. But by the time she collected her wits and opened the door, he was backing out onto the main road. Of course she would give it another thought! She would sit up half the night juggling bills. She provided for her son, and she didn't need Gabriel Parker making her feel guilty. Tomorrow she'd call the agency, dammit, and tell them Mike didn't need a friend after all.
Slowly she walked to the kitchen and pulled the stack of bills from the drawer. She sat down at the table, spreading them out, sorting them into the order they were due.
"Did Gabe leave, Mom?"
Sarah glanced up and saw the boy standing in the doorway.
"Everything's okay, isn't it?" he asked, his small face etched with worry. "Gabe will meet me tomorrow, won't he?"
Sarah felt as though a huge cauldron was beginning to boil in her stomach. "Go to bed, Mike. Everything's fine." Yet even as she said it, Sarah feared nothing in her life would ever be fine again.
CHAPTER THREE
Sarah opened one sleepy eye and tried to unravel the fuzzy threads of a dream. Her bed was shaking. She bolted upright. A volcano? No. Not on Oahu. In another moment, she realized the racket was coming from Mike's bedroom.
She grabbed the bedside clock and suppressed an oath. It was late. She'd forgotten to set the alarm.
Shrugging into her robe, she raced down the hall, flung open Mike's door and stopped. The child she normally had to blast out of bed was up and dressed.
"What in the name of heaven are you doing?"
"Jumping rope," he answered.
"I can see that." She put a hand to her brow. "Why?"
" 'Cause Gabe said. It builds muscles. Gabe said do it every day."
Sarah closed her mouth, then opened it again. "We're late. Could you fix your lunch while I shower? And that does not mean packing all cookies."
The boy looked insulted. "I gotta eat healthy. Gabe said."
Sarah groaned and turned away. "For once, do what Mom said."
"Hey," he called, "Gabe said I need new soccer shoes."
Sarah paused outside the bathroom door. "And I say we can't afford them this month. Gabe had no right… Oh, this is ridiculous. We're late. Not one more word of wisdom from Gabe Parker until I've had my morning coffee. Understood?"
She entered the bath, cursing Gabe under her breath. When cold water hit her full force, she yelped. Darned faucet needed fixing, too.
The rest of Sarah's morning passed in a blur. Mike missed his bus and she was forced to drive him to school again. As he got out, she reminded him to call if Gabe didn't show. Changing her mind, she said to call either way.
"Okay," he agreed, successfully evading her kiss. "But I wish you'd quit treatin' me like a baby, Mom. I'm goin' on nine, you
know."
Sighing, she watched him dash off to meet friends. As she negotiated the heavy traffic, she thought about how hard it was to admit he was growing up. She still hadn't come to grips with it by the time she reached Mitzi's.
"Well?" demanded her friend the moment she slid into the car.
"Sorry to be so late. I forgot to set my alarm."
"I don't mean why are you late. You didn't call to tell me about Gabe Parker." She offered a smug smile. "But Osamu did. Check back issues of the daily paper—Parker's splashed all over the society pages. Women in diamonds. Women in furs. Looks to be more gigolo than community servant."
Sarah pulled her eyes from the traffic. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Mitzi. Are you saying he dates rich older women?"
Mitzi frowned. "Rich, at any rate. His newest conquest is a mere child. Sheena Maxwell. I've heard how much money Layman Maxwell spent on her finishing school in France. Isn't he one of Lou's clients?"
Sarah stopped at Mitzi's corner of Kalia and Ala Moana. "Yes, in fact I think he has an appointment soon. But Sheena isn't exactly a child."
"Oh?" Mitzi lifted a brow. "Mom hadn't read this edition or I would've brought it for you to see. With that mop of hair, Sheena looks just like Farrell's chickie-babe."
Concern crept into Sarah's eyes. "Mr. Maxwell is throwing the do of the year for Sheena's twenty-first birthday. Lou has practically ordered me to attend. I've been trying to get out of it."
"He's big in Rotary, so Osamu was invited, too. Frankly I can't wait."
Sarah drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "For a while last night, Parker seemed different. Nice. Mike idolizes him. Did Sam say anything specific—about him and Sheena, maybe? Anything I should worry about?"
"Don't get me wrong. My husband thinks the guy walks on water. Knows him from college. Specifically, he told me to butt out." Her eyes grew dark. "I don't want to see your heart stomped on again, Sarah."
When Sarah didn't respond, Mitzi sighed. "Mom's picking me up after work tonight. And she'll drive me in tomorrow. Are we still on for the game?"