by Rita Herron
Casey's small dainty feet almost enticed him to suggest a foot game of his own.
"Gabe?"
The uncertainty in her tone jarred him back to reality.
"If you don't, it's okay. Henry S. would love the game, but if you're not used to kids, they can get on your nerves."
Gabe studied Casey's face, revelations dawning. Was she afraid he didn't like children? Was that the reason she'd been so standoffish?
He thought about her being a single mother and realized she probably had reasons to feel that way. Raising a child alone had to be difficult. Some of his friends refused to date women with children, not wanting another man's baggage.
Curiosity over Henry S.' father grew. He must have hurt Casey terribly. If he asked, would she tell him?
"I really would like to take him," Gabe said. "Unless he and your friend are busy."
"No, no," Casey said, visibly relaxing. "Jenna offered to babysit for my date, that's all. I promised to pick him up later anyway."
Gabe's mouth tightened at the mention of Casey's date. As far as he was concerned, her dating days had just ended. "Then let's go get him. Every little boy should go to at least one major league game."
And he would take Henry S. to many more, he silently promised, but he needn't tell Casey that just yet. He checked his watch. "If we leave now, we can make it in time for the National Anthem."
Casey nodded. "Okay, let me change. I promise I'll hurry."
Gabe gritted his teeth as Casey darted into her bedroom. She'd better hurry or he might forget his honorable intentions and go help her. If he did, they wouldn't make it before the ninth inning.
That is, if they made the game at all.
* * *
Casey's breath caught every time she looked at Gabe.
She was either having a heart attack or falling in love.
Not that he was doing anything remotely romantic. He showed Henry S. how to crack a peanut with his teeth, spit the shell out, chew the peanut carefully and then chug his soda. Henry S. showed Gabe his burping talents at the most appropriate time to embarrass his mother.
It had to be the Y chromosome.
But somehow watching him with her little boy was romantic.
Gabe bought Henry S. a sponge tomahawk to do the famous tomahawk chop, a Braves cap, and he surprised her with tomahawk earrings. Balancing a wiggling Henry S. on his shoulders, he stood in line tor thirty minutes to get an autographed picture. Then he battled with an obnoxious drunk over a foul ball which landed in the stands.
"Ball, Mommy," Henry S. exclaimed, holding up his prize.
Casey nodded. Gabe won, sending the staggering, angry man away muttering curses that forced Casey to cover Henry S.' ears. Did Gabe Thornton always get what he wanted?
He wanted her. He'd made it obvious more than once during the evening.
And turning him down was going to be hard if he persisted.
Why did he have to be so darn nice? He truly seemed to enjoy spending time with Henry S.
Oh, that didn't mean he hadn't scorched her with his smoldering looks all night, but Henry S.' silly antics didn't seem to faze him. Was it possible he could accept a child who wasn't his own?
Her stepfather certainly hadn't.
"Handprints," Henry S. said. "Wookie. Wike yesterday."
Casey glanced down and groaned. Gabe's face turned the same yellow as the mustard smeared across his jeans, and his hands tightened around his seat as if he needed to hold something to maintain control.
Casey froze. Would he react like Lou? She had the urge to grab Henry S. and run, but sat still. With one hand, she wrapped Henry S. into a protective embrace.
"Oh, Henry S.," Casey cried. "You aren't supposed to make them on people's clothes." Quickly grabbing a napkin, Casey wiped at the yellow mess on Gabe's pants.
"Sorwee, Mommy," Henry S. whimpered.
Casey glanced from Gabe to Henry S., gauging Gabe's reaction and drew her son farther away from Gabe. "It's my fault, don't blame him. He's just two. He doesn't understand yet. I'll have your pants cleaned. I'll buy you new jeans if the stain doesn't come out."
Gabe's eyebrows knitted in confusion. He brushed his fingers against her cheek. "Relax, Casey." He patted Henry S. on the back. "It's okay, sport. It'll wash out."
"Oh, Gabe, I'm so sorry. I should have realized he might do that." Casey swiped her napkin across Gabe's lap again, avoiding his probing look. "Yesterday Henry S. and I painted handprints for the letter 'h,' you know in my book, and I guess he doesn't understand yet about paper and where and when he can make the handprints."
"I said it's okay." Gabe tensed, stilling Casey's hand with his. "And sweetheart, I think I'd better clean my own pants."
Their gazes locked, and Casey blushed as his meaning dawned. Then his gray eyes delved into hers, and he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm, then each finger so gently that a million delicious sensations tingled through.
Suddenly the crowd erupted into cheers, jerking her back to the game. The third baseman had just hit a homerun. Henry S. waved his tomahawk and screamed the chant.
Then Gabe lifted her chin, angled her face toward him, lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. Casey tasted peanuts and beer and most of all, hot sweet desire.
"Mommy, wook!" Henry S. screamed.
The mustard forgotten, Casey and Gabe pulled apart and laughed as Henry S. tossed his tomahawk into the air.
"Braves won!" Gabe shouted to Henry S.
A burly man spun around and caught the tomahawk just before it landed on his wife's head. Too late, Henry S. bounced up and down, then knocked the man's cup out of his hand.
"Yikes!" The man dove for the cup, slipped on peanut shells and landed in his wife's lap. The cup flew into the air. Casey and Gabe dodged, but beer splattered Gabe's jeans.
Gabe swung Henry S. up onto his shoulders. "We'd better get him out of here before he does any more damage." Taking Casey's hand, they fell in step with the fans, singing the victory chant.
"Hang on, Casey. I don't want to lose you," Gabe yelled.
Casey squeezed his hand and clung to him as they wove through the crowd. She didn't want to lose him either, but would she be able to keep him once he knew the truth about her?
What if Henry S. grew attached to Gabe and he left him? Foster homes had taught her how painful that kind of loss could be.
Gabe had thought her nuts when she said she didn't want to date him because he separated his vegetables. What would he think if she said she wanted to date him now because he didn't mind getting mustard on his pants?
When Gabe asked her to the game, she'd agreed, thinking it would be safer than staying at home with him, but how wrong she'd been.
She'd gone to the ballgame and in the midst of fifty thousand noisy fans, she'd fallen hopelessly in love.
* * *
"If you don't mind, I'd like to stop by my place and change pants before I drive you two home," Gabe said as they pulled away from the stadium. He tried to act as if the stain didn't bother him, and it didn't, but the mustard had seeped all the way through his pants to his boxers, and his skin felt sticky underneath. That along with the spilled beer had combined to make an interesting combination. He smelled like a brewery and felt like a pretzel.
"Sure. If you'll give me your jeans, I'll have them cleaned," Casey offered.
Gabe flashed Casey a wicked look. "Sweetheart, I'll be glad to give you my pants. I don't care if you have them cleaned or not."
Casey swatted playfully at Gabe's wandering hand as it sneaked across the seat and rested on her thigh. "I guess I walked into that one."
"Just let me know when you're ready." Gabe settled their twined fingers on his leg. "All you have to do is ask, Casey."
Casey didn't pull away, but she turned and glanced out the window, and he silently groaned. Would Casey ever trust him enough to open up to him?
Maybe he should come right out and confront her about Travis and the other questions haunt
ing him?
He'd thought going to a ballgame would be safe. But Casey clad in short denim shorts, a Braves t-shirt without a bra, and a baseball cap had driven him mad. The team had scored several home runs tonight while he'd barely made it to first base.
Torturing him further, Casey loved baseball just as much as he did. Every time she cheered, he forgot to watch the runner and had watched her. Not only did her breasts jiggle up and down enticing him, but her peaches-and-cream skin glowed with excitement and her violet eyes grew huge. It was hard to believe a woman with that innocent-looking face wasn't a virgin.
"Henry S. is falling asleep," Casey said.
Gabe glanced over his shoulder. "Did we keep him up too late?"
Casey laughed. "Are you kidding? Getting him to go to bed is usually the problem."
"Will he wake up if I stop?"
"Probably, but he'll go right back to sleep when we get back in the car."
Casey glanced at their joined hands and Gabe followed her gaze, wondering if she felt uncomfortable. Then she tightened her fingers around his and smiled.
Gabe's heart accelerated and he pressed his foot against the gas pedal. He'd better get Casey home before his good intentions disintegrated.
She'd said getting Henry S. into bed was a problem. He wasn't worried about Henry S.
Instead erotic images of how he could get Casey into bed flooded him.
A peaceful silence filled with the car, yet heat simmered between them as Casey settled the radio on a station that played soft rock music and leaned against the seat, her eyes closed, her lips mouthing the words.
His body hardened, forcing Gabe to drag his gaze away from her mouth. Casey had played a seductive game with him that day at the restaurant, but tonight she wasn't playing games. She didn't have to. All he had to do was look at her and desire surged through him, bold and strong, overpowering all his rational thinking.
When they arrived at her house, he'd have to suggest she put on that old tattered quilt of a robe. Not that it would do any good now that he knew her. Her voice, her scent, her smile, her eyes, her small enticing body were imprinted in his brain.
Dammit. For years, the excitement of investigating a story, of watching the pieces fit together, and seeing his words printed on the page had fueled his energy. Tonight, that excitement seemed feeble compared to the way his blood rushed through his body every time she merely said his name.
"We're here," Gabe said, turning into his driveway. His gray stucco house sat on a large wooded lot, but as he looked at the big structure, he saw none of the hominess radiating from Casey's small colonial house. Not one damned birdfeeder or toy littered the driveway. His house might as well be a picture in a magazine. It didn't even look lived in.
"It's... it's big," Casey said, scooting to the edge of her seat. "You live here alone?"
Gabe cleared his throat. What did she think? He had servants, or a live-in woman? "Yes."
"Mommy?" Henry S.' sleepy voice piped from the back.
"We're at Gabe's," Casey said, chewing her bottom lip. "We'll wait in the car."
Gabe hurried around to Casey's side, oblivious to her protests. "No, come on inside. It won't take me long to change."
Casey unfastened Henry S.' seatbelt and helped him out. Propping him on her hip, she followed Gabe inside.
"Do you want something to drink?" Gabe asked as he led her into his kitchen. For some reason, the pale beige walls and sparse furniture suddenly seemed formal and impersonal.
"No, thanks." Casey shifted, uneasily, and scanned the room. "It's a lovely house, Gabe. I can't believe you live here all by yourself."
Gabe shrugged. Was that derision in her voice?
He'd never given the size of the house that much thought, but it was twice as big as Casey's. He hoped she didn't think he was trying to show off. "Make yourself at home," Gabe said. "There's orange juice in the fridge if Henry S. wants some, but not much food. I usually eat out."
Casey settled Henry S. on a sleek, black lacquered chair. "We'll wait right here."
Gabe hesitated. Why did Casey look so anxious? Did she think he brought her here to seduce her?
Hell. He wouldn't seduce her in front of her son. "I'll go change."
Casey nodded, and Gabe noticed her fingers clench the counter. Muttering a silent curse, he sauntered out of the room.
He had done something wrong by bringing her to his place. But he had no idea what it was.
* * *
"Henry S., don't move. I don't want you to break anything in here." Casey shook a warning finger at her little boy.
"Gabe's house has nice things, not junk like ours." Fixing Henry S. with her most intimidating stare, Casey forced her voice to sound stern. The vase in the center of the kitchen island probably cost a thousand dollars.
She spotted the note hanging on the front. Curious, she began to read. "List for the Perfect Woman: Neat, understanding of my job, orderly, attractive." Gabe had several characteristics listed, then crosses drawn through them all, all but two—intelligent and attractive. Hmm.
She certainly didn't fit his list.
Then why had he been pursuing her?
Henry S. giggled, scrambled off the chair and ran across the kitchen. "Expwore," Henry S. said.
"No." Casey's eyes squinted into a frown. "No, buddy, you can't explore. Come back here!"
But her son had a spurt of energy and took off running.
"Henry S., stop!" Casey dashed into the living room just as he climbed onto the sofa.
Casey glared at him. "Get down, buddy, right now."
"No." Henry S. jumped up and down. "No, no, no, no, no!"
Gabe stepped into the room. "So, is this what they call the terrible two's?"
Casey nodded. "Yes. And all that candy and soda at the game didn't help either." Henry S. dove off the couch and landed on the coffee table. A loud crack rang through the air then the coffee table crashed to the floor.
"Henry S.!"
Her little boy screamed and grabbed the sides to keep from falling, but the table leg splintered into pieces and he toppled to the floor.
"Oh, no!" Casey cried.
Henry S. squirmed and sat up, tears streaming down his cheeks. Gabe rushed forward, and Casey froze, memories of her stepfather's harsh scoldings and spankings assaulting her.
She would not tolerate anyone treating her little boy that way.
But Gabe knelt down beside her son, his expression concerned. "Are you okay, sport?" He gently picked him up, cradled him in his arms, then held him, quieting his cries with soothing words. Then he sat down in the wing chair and checked Henry S.' body and head for injuries.
Casey visually swept her son's body, searching for blood, but thankfully didn't see any.
"Sorwee," Henry S. cried.
"Shh, it's okay, sport," Gabe crooned. "Show me where it hurts."
Henry S. pointed to his bottom. "Here."
Gabe smiled, drying the child's eyes with a handkerchief. "Well, I think that'll be okay. As long as you didn't bump your head, little fellow." He kissed Henry S. on the head then settled him into the chair. Henry S. snuggled up with the Afghan, rubbed his wet cheeks, and closed his eyes.
Casey's heart pattered. Gabe was so kind and gentle; he didn't even seem fazed by the fact that her son had destroyed his furniture.
"Casey?" Gabe slowly walked toward her.
She heard him call her name, but her throat was too thick with emotions to answer.
Then he lifted her chin with his hand, and she fell into his arms.
"Casey, what's wrong?" Gabe wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back, pressing her face into the crook of his arm. "Henry S. is okay. I checked him over. He's not hurt."
Casey nodded against him but words lodged in her throat.
Gabe cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. "Casey, what is it?"
"He broke your furniture," Casey whispered.
He tightened his arms around her, his hands continuing
to stroke her, calming her. "My God, the table doesn't matter. Henry S. is more important than any piece of furniture."
Casey swiped at her tears. She was making a fool out of herself, but feelings penned up for years surfaced, and her control snapped. As a little girl, she'd longed to be held and comforted, but there had never been anyone.
She'd always been alone.
She didn't want to be alone anymore. She wanted what she had with Gabe to last.
But she'd learned the hard way that no one stuck around forever.
Still, it felt so good to be in his arms that she decided she didn't care.
She'd take whatever he could give her and worry about picking up the broken pieces of her heart later.
* * *
Gabe exhaled a shaky breath and tilted Casey's face up forcing her to look at him. "Forget the damned table. Look at me. Tell me what's wrong."
Casey trembled. "I can't."
He rocked her against him. "If you think I would ever hurt Henry S., honey, you're wrong."
"I'm sorry..." Casey's voice came out choked.
"Is that it? You thought I would hurt him?" Anger tinged his voice as he pulled away slightly. "What kind of a man do you think I am?"
Casey clenched his arms. He didn't deserve her doubts. She had to make him understand.
"That is what you thought, isn't it?" he asked. "I can see it written all over your face."
"No," Casey whispered, but her voice quivered making her a liar.
Gabe raked a hand through his hair. "That's it, isn't it? You thought I cared more about my furniture than a little boy? What did you think I'd do? Scream at him? Hit him? Throw you both out?"
Gabe's anger made Casey tremble even more, but the hurt in his eyes forced her to speak.
"No, Gabe, it wasn't you... it... was just a bad memory. My stepfather." She averted her gaze, knotting her hands together. Talking about Lou was something she never did. She couldn't bear to see the disgusted look on Gabe's face when he learned the truth about her shameful past. How could he possibly understand when he had a wonderful loving family?