by Donna Fasano
Derrick stared at her, doubt rolling across his handsome features like storm clouds.
"I don't know," he said. "This parenting stuff is so much more complicated than I'd first thought. I'm not sure I can do this."
"Of course you can." Anna reached across the table, and without a second thought, without the least sense of self-consciousness, she touched his hand. "Just be firm and loving and you can't go wrong."
Mrs. Sands chuckled. "I hope you're listening to your own advice. Because Timmy's testing you too, Anna."
Anna allowed a small grin to pull at one corner of her mouth. "I realize that now, and I'll do the necessary."
Derrick turned his hand over and took her fingers in his. "Again, I want to thank you."
His cocoa-colored eyes were as somber as she'd ever seen them. She gave him a smile of reassurance and squeezed his hand.
"And you, too, Mrs. Sands," he said. He sighed heavily. "I'm learning pretty fast that I still have a lot to learn."
* * *
Anna gripped the handle of the canvas bag she used to haul home her planning book and all of her students' papers that needed correcting. She hitched up the shoulder strap of her small leather purse as she walked toward the teachers' parking lot.
All in all, she'd have to say that her conference with Derrick had gone well. There had been a moment of extreme awkwardness—a moment early on when she'd thought she'd read a deep intimacy in Derrick's voice, in his gaze, in his very expression. But luckily Mrs. Sands had joined the meeting and a precarious and uncomfortable situation had been avoided by the woman's presence. And she'd been relieved to escape further awkward circumstances when Derrick had left the meeting after the school counselor requested to speak with her concerning the other child involved in the fight, Andrew Whitney.
Anna bent to insert the key in the door lock.
"Anna."
Turning at the sound of Derrick's voice, she felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of him about ten feet from her.
"I didn't want to startle you," he said, coming closer.
An appreciative smile tugged at her lips. "Thanks," she murmured.
It was amazing to her how, every time she came near this man, she succeeded in presenting a calm exterior when all the while her insides were running riot. This time was no exception; her heart pounded, her nerves came alive, even her skin began to tingle. However, she was able to offer him a spontaneous, relaxed smile even though a sudden apprehension filled her stomach with a thousand buzzing bees.
"Can we talk?" he asked. "I'll only keep you a minute, but... there are some things I need to say."
Once again Anna felt trapped in the eye of the high-speed tornado that always seemed to twirl and twist around the two of them when they were together. The central spot of this emotional storm was invariably an airless vacuum in which she found it impossible to breathe.
Unable to utter a word, she simply studied his face and hoped she looked more in control than she felt.
"Yes, I was going to call you about my problems with Tim," he said softly. "But I had every intention of speaking to you about something else. Something personal." He hesitated only a moment. "Us."
There was an unspoken request in his dark, velvety eyes, a silent petition that she not interrupt him, that she give him the courtesy of having his say. Anna granted his request, not because she wanted to hear these "personal" thoughts he wanted to voice, but because she simply couldn't find the strength to stop him.
She should stop him. She should. That was so very obvious to her. But she just couldn't.
"Listen," he said. "I know you're a special teacher. You've proved that to me by the way you care about Tim. And the other children in your class."
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and Anna sensed that he was going to reach out to her.
Please don't touch me, she said silently. Please don't.
Derrick gently placed his warm fingers on her forearm, and surprisingly, the contact caused a calming hum to radiate across her skin. Her heart rate seemed to steady, her blood ceased to throb in her ears.
"But you're a special person too."
A heated curl of pleasure sprouted inside her at his compliment.
"A very special person."
His voice took on a nectar-sweet thickness, a cozy huskiness meant only for her ears. The rich resonance and texture of his expression wholly overwhelmed her—so did the meaning of the wonderful words he was saying.
He went on. "And I think that, even from that small amount of time we spent together on the boat, there's something special between you and me."
That brown gaze of his darkened to a deep mahogany. "It's something I think we really need to explore. We'd be foolish not to."
She knew she should step away from him, at least far enough so that she no longer felt his skin on hers. But even as the thought entered her head, he slid his fingers across her forearm, curled them over the curve of her arm and held on, almost as if he knew she meant to try to escape.
"I've felt," he continued, "ever since we were out on the bay, that you've been running from me." His mouth tipped up into a soft smile. "But I refuse to let you get away until we've discovered what this... something is."
Her brain absorbed his last statement. Here's your chance! it told her. You can deny feeling this special something he's talking about. You can act cool, calm and collected, and flat-out lie about the specialness, the electricity, the emotional storm that sweeps over you every time you're in his company. Hell, every time you even think about him!
She swallowed. But would that be fair to him? a tiny voice inside her asked.
Anna looked down at the pavement. She bent her knees just enough so that she could set down the canvas bag at her feet to give herself a few moments.
Time. She desperately needed time to think this through. But time wasn't something she had a lot of right now. Derrick was standing here in front of her expecting her to say... something.
A furious battle took place in her head as the next few seconds flew by. A battle in which her protective instinct fought with the part of her that wanted to be honest, upright, and true.
She needed protecting, that was certain. She wanted desperately to avoid the humiliation she knew she would see in his dark eyes if he knew the full truth. But did that mean she had to lie about how she felt? Did that mean she had to deceive him by acting as though she were blind to what he already knew was staring them both right in the face?
Raising her eyes to his, she absently drew her tongue across her lips to moisten them before she spoke. She lifted her free hand and placed her flattened palm against the front of his soft cotton dress shirt.
"Derrick," she began, "I won't deny that there's... there's—" she shook her head helplessly as she searched for some descriptive word to define the churning, pulsing emotions she felt "—something here between us. I don't know if it's some weird kind of chemistry... or some sort of physical attraction—"
He chuckled, and the smile he gave her in response to her attempt to define this "thing" was nearly wicked, and she felt an intense urge to return it. But she didn't. Because she knew he wasn't going to like the rest of what she had to say.
Again she licked her lips and steeled herself to finish.
"But we can't explore it," she said.
His smile faded, and in her mind she seemed to stumble over the words she'd meant to say.
Suddenly she tipped up her chin a fraction. This was no time to falter.
"I can't allow that," she told him, and she was pleased that her statement had come out sounding so firm and yet gentle. "And I can't give you an explanation."
She blinked once, twice. "All I can tell you... is that it wouldn't work."
Her hand slid from his chest, and she reached down to pick up her bag from the ground. She stepped away from the car, pulled open the door and placed the bag on the center of the front seat. She was relieved that he did nothing to stop her.
She straightened and turned back to him.
"You'll have to trust me on this."
After speaking those last few words, she slid behind the wheel, started the engine and pulled away.
Anna turned onto the main road, not daring to look in her rearview mirror. She placed her hand high on the left side of her rib cage, hoping that he wasn't feeling the same kind of ripping and tearing in his heart as she was feeling in hers.
Chapter 6
Derrick stood at the kitchen sink and scraped the skins from the carrots into the food disposal. The first time he'd used the vegetable peeler, he'd flayed the top layer of flesh from the entire length of his thumb. He was pleased to realize that his technique and skill had improved with months of practice and he could now use the utensil without drawing blood.
When he'd been in the Navy, he'd only had to go to the nearest Officer's Club to get himself a decent meal. But now as a civilian he'd had to learn to read recipes, measure ingredients, peel, chop, season, simmer, braise, fry, and bake. He'd discovered a whole new world that included leavening agents and food additives such as herbs and spices that affected the taste, texture, and nutritive value of the meals he prepared. He was an accountant, for goodness sake, not a chemist. And probably the hardest part of cooking had been learning to time the process so that all the food was finished at the same time. He chuckled, remembering the dried-out hamburgers and roasts that he and Timmy had eaten with potatoes that weren't quite cooked through. However, he'd been determined to master the skill of cooking and now he felt quite at home in the kitchen.
In fact, he'd now become so adept at peeling and chopping vegetables that while he was performing the task, he felt comfortable enough to allow his mind to wander to his last moments with Anna today in the school parking lot.
He couldn't believe how she'd shot him down.
At least she hadn't denied there was something between them. Hell, a person would have to be in a coma to miss it.
Lord, he didn't know what it was he felt for Anna, all he did know was that the kiss they shared on the boat that Saturday morning had rocked his senses, and it hadn't been pure physical desire. He chuckled, silently admitting that lust had played a big part in making the kiss so damned memorable. However, no matter how earthshaking he had found those moments, she was adamant that testing the waters, so to speak, was out of the question. She'd come right out and said a relationship between them would never work. Anyone would have thought it a bit early to talk in such serious terms; he'd only wanted to explore that overwhelming sensuality they'd conjured. Even so, he couldn't help but wonder what her reasons had been for making such a strong, emphatic statement.
As he rinsed the carrots, one by one, and placed them on a paper towel, he decided that he shouldn't worry over something he couldn't do much about at the moment. Right now he needed to focus all his attention on Timmy. With that in mind he began to mull over some of the things Anna and the school counselor had said to him about his godson.
The thing that bothered him the most was Mrs. Sands's suggestion that Tim didn't believe Derrick was going to stick with him. He hated to think that his godson was insecure about this new family the two of them were developing. Sure, with all Timmy had gone through, it was understandable that he might not trust Derrick to be in this for the long haul. Derrick wished there was something he could do, some way to prove to Tim that he wasn't going anywhere. The counselor's advice that the solution lay in a "one day at a time" approach was damned frustrating. The problem solver inside him wanted to come up with a quick and easy solution that would ease Timmy's mind.
Derrick also didn't like the idea that Tim was being manipulative. If he was learning to exploit authority at the young age of five, what would that lead to later on in his life? Derrick wondered. It frightened him to realize that every answer to that question that crossed his mind didn't point to a healthy, ambitious adult life for Tim.
Authority. Somehow that seemed to be a key word here.
Derrick was finding out that being Tim's guardian wasn't going to be the buddy system he'd first imagined. Fun days spent sailing together or going to ball games. He was swiftly coming to understand that Tim was constantly learning, that the child's every waking moment was an opportunity to acquire the skills he'd need to be a competent person. And Derrick was only now realizing that he had become the most important teacher in these all-too-necessary life lessons.
As he sliced the carrots into small rounds, the magnitude of the job of raising Tim seemed suddenly daunting to him.
He couldn't be Tim's pal, he couldn't be his best friend—not if he was going to be the authority figure in the boy's life. And that was just what Derrick needed to be, now that Timmy had begun challenging the chain of command.
"Use firm and loving discipline." Anna's soft, feminine voice flitted through his head, and Derrick felt less alone.
Firm and loving discipline. The idea was a good one, he knew. It came from the experts—teachers and counselors. But he knew jack squat about disciplining a kid.
Taking television away from the boy was useless because Tim watched so little of it. Derrick chuckled suddenly, thinking maybe he should force Tim to sit and watch several of those nonsensical game shows or a couple hours of tabloid television. No, he shook his head. That would be torturous child abuse.
Derrick couldn't take away outside playtime. Tim really didn't play outdoors much.
Tim did spend a great deal of time reading. But Derrick couldn't very well take away the child's books.
He dumped the carrots and the potatoes he'd already cubed into the pot of simmering beef stew and set the timer on the stove for fifteen minutes.
Opening the cabinet, he pulled down salad plates and bowls for the stew and turned toward the table. Then he stopped.
Setting the table was one of Tim's chores—one of the chores that, for the past few days, he'd refused to do. The thought prompted Derrick to set the dishes down on the kitchen counter and go down the hallway toward the bedrooms to look for Tim.
He knocked on the closed door.
"Yes?" Tim answered.
Derrick opened the door, leaned into the room and saw his godson sprawled out on the twin bed, leafing through a book. "It's time for you to set the table for dinner," he said.
"Aw, but... I already told you," Timmy said in a whiny voice, "I don't feel like doin' that anymore."
Apprehension solidified in the pit of Derrick's gut as heavy as a concrete block. In all his years as an officer in the United States Navy, he'd never felt the least bit anxious about doling out reprimands and punishment when they were deserved. But now the turmoil that roiled inside him as he thought about correcting his godson made him feel as though he were nearly in a panic.
"Just be firm and loving." He could hear Anna's voice silently coaching him.
"Well, Tim," he said, "it's on your list of chores. You agreed to do it when we sat down together and made the list."
"But—"
Derrick's raised brows stopped whatever excuse Timmy had been about to give. "This isn't a request," he said, his tone quiet yet firm.
Timmy hesitated, as though he was considering his options. Finally his little chin tipped upward. "But I really don't wanna right now."
The defiance in the boy's tone surprised Derrick, and he realized immediately that this childish tactic was part of the testing and manipulation that Mrs. Sands had mentioned. He worked hard to contain his irritation, reminding himself that Tim was only five, that the school counselor had told him that this behavior was spurred by the insecurity the boy was experiencing.
"Well," Derrick said, keeping his tone even and sincere, "I can only hope you'll come and do the job. Because if you don't, you'll only be adding to the punishment you already have coming."
With that said, he gently closed the door and turned to go back down the hallway toward the kitchen.
As he expected, the door sprang open quickly and Timmy was soon following close on hi
s heels.
"Punishment?" the boy said. "For what?"
"For your behavior in school today," Derrick informed him.
"But Andrew was fightin' too!"
Turning the corner into the kitchen, Derrick went to the stove to check on dinner.
"And I didn't start it! It was all Andrew's fault."
Calmness suddenly lightened the heavy anxiety that had been weighing on him back in Tim's bedroom. This immature behavior was an act of desperation to avoid punishment, and that knowledge helped Derrick to put everything into perspective. No, the child hadn't committed murder, but Derrick couldn't allow Tim to go against school rules and get away with it. Neither could he allow him to lie.
"You know very well," he said softly, "that I spoke to your teacher today, and I think you're not being entirely truthful about who's to blame."
Timmy ducked his head, went to the counter and plucked up the dishes that Derrick had placed there.
Derrick bent over the pot of simmering stew and stirred it, suppressing a smile. He was glad that he hadn't had to press the issue of Tim setting the table for dinner.
When the boy stalked to the silverware drawer and angrily jerked it open, Derrick forced himself not to react.
"It's Miss Maxwell's fault," Timmy muttered. "She tried to make me pick up the checkers."
"Who lost his temper and flung the checkers all over the play area?"
Derrick went to the table and busied himself folding the paper napkins into triangles as he covertly studied Timmy's face.
"Miss Maxwell is mean," Tim blurted. "And Andrew is a jackass."
"Tim!" Derrick's tone was a mere decibel below a shout and the boy started. "You will not use that kind of language; do you hear me, young man? Where did you hear that word? Because I know I've never said it."
Without raising his eyes, Tim muttered, "Andrew called me that today."
"Well, he shouldn't have done that. It was wrong."
The boy's chin began to tremble the slightest bit as he placed the cutlery beside the plates.
