If she’d expected Cameron to be bothered by her dig at his seeming lack of graciousness, she was wrong. If anything, the man looked as if he’d rather purchase a hundred tennis rackets than avail himself of her simple offer.
“You didn’t wanna buy a racket in the first place,” Erik said suddenly. His head appeared from the inside of a round rack holding skiwear, then just as quickly disappeared. A moment later, he was crouched down near the floor, looking at a bookcase full of books and local maps.
“It’d just be for the one evening,” Cameron said after a moment.
Faith tucked her fingers in the front pockets of her black jeans. “See that it is,” she said evenly. “Since the weather is so nice, I figure the town’s tennis courts are due to be open any day.”
At last, his lips quirked. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you.”
Her shoulder lifted a little. At least he’d stopped looking as if she’d offered to chop off his foot rather than lend his son a tennis racket.
She moved back to the glass checkout counter and found a piece of paper. She scribbled her address on it and handed it to him. “I really will set it out for you, though,” she murmured. “Then it won’t matter if I’m out on a call or not and you can get it whenever you want.”
“My show is tomorrow night.” Erik popped up next to her, a thick picture book on bug collecting in his hands. “You wanna come?”
How could anyone not be enamored of this boy? “I can’t,” she said regretfully. “I already have plans.”
“With who?”
“It’s none of your business,” Cam told Erik. He folded the paper with her address and tucked it in his lapel pocket. “We need to let Ms. Taylor get back to her work.”
She was back to Ms. Taylor.
Faith stifled a sigh and wished it didn’t hurt quite so much. She looked at Erik, deliberately ignoring the fact that Cameron was clearly ready to leave. “I’ll be in Bozeman all day tomorrow.”
“You won’t get back in time?”
She crouched down and shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry.” And she was. Surprisingly so. She’d have thought that she’d rather be anywhere else other than an elementary school.
“That’s okay,” he said after a moment. “Maybe next time.”
Her heart squeezed. “Right.”
Erik pointed at the climbing display. “Sometime will you teach me how to do that?”
“I’d like that. But if you want to learn climbing really well, you should take a class. The guy who teaches it here—Rick—is phenomenal. Much better than I am. The climbing gym is through that door right there.” She pointed to the glass doorway on the right side of the store.
“Can I, Dad? Take a class? When is it?”
“Rick comes every other weekend.” Faith rose. One glance at Cameron’s set expression told her that the boy was doomed to disappointment.
“No,” Cameron said evenly. “You climb enough without adding classes in it.”
“Da-ad.”
“I said no, Erik.”
The boy’s head fell back and he stomped off around the rack of ski boots.
Faith pressed her hands together. “Rick focuses on safety first, Cameron. Erik could very well benefit from that.” She kept her voice low.
“Always so nice when people who don’t have kids go around passing advice to those who do.”
He might as well have slapped her. “Well, pardon me.”
He exhaled noisily. “Look. If you want to go to Erik’s thing, go. Don’t let me stop you. I won’t be trying to kiss you or anything.”
“Trust me, Cameron—” her voice shook slightly “—I am busy. And contrary to the opinion of the female population of Thunder Canyon High School—all who seem to think you hung the moon—not everything is about you. You couldn’t have made your disinterest in me more plain.”
A crash sounded, followed by Erik’s plaintive “Oh, man,” and Faith darted around the ski boots to find Erik standing on a shelf, shoeboxes tumbled around him.
Cameron swiftly moved past her and swept Erik off the shelf, setting him on the ground. “When I said you climbed enough already, did you think that was an invitation? Do I need to ground you again?”
Erik looked abashed. His chin tucked down into his chest. “No, sir.”
Faith gathered up a few boxes and slid them back into place. “Nothing’s broken.”
“Small mercies.” Cameron handed him his coat and pointed to the door. “Move it.”
Erik shrugged into his parka. “See ya’, Faith.”
“See you, Juan.”
Erik’s lips barely moved into a smile. He pushed out the door, dejection in every movement.
Faith looked at Cameron.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said.
“It’ll clean up,” she said flatly. “You know, maybe if you’d let Erik do more of the things he’s interested in—like climbing lessons—he wouldn’t need to focus his energies on being mischievous. And no, I don’t need a child of my own to be able to figure that out.”
He grabbed the door that Erik had opened before it could swing closed. “When you do have a child of your own, then we’ll talk.” He strode out and the door sighed shut.
Faith closed her eyes.
Then she and Cameron would never be talking.
Because having a child of her own was the one thing she would never be able to do.
Chapter Eight
When Faith drove back into Thunder Canyon the following evening from her trip to Bozeman, she could see the line of cars parked up and down the street around the elementary school before she even drove past.
She tapped her thumb on the steering wheel and slowed even more. The parking lot itself looked wall-to-wall with cars. The high windows on the building where the auditorium was located were brightly lit against the night sky.
The building looked welcoming. As if it exuded a physical aura.
Or maybe it was her own longing that was causing the sensation.
She rubbed her forehead. The day had seemed unending with meetings with Jim Shepherd and the rest of the team. Then lunch, celebrating the engagement of Nathan—the youngest of their group. And after that had come Faith’s annual doctor’s appointment. She’d been poked and prodded and pronounced fit enough—healing scrapes notwithstanding. Nothing had changed since her last visit, a year earlier. Not that she expected otherwise. She’d already been picked apart, medically speaking. There were no surprises left.
She reached the end of the block and braked at the stop sign. There were no oncoming cars, yet she still didn’t proceed.
The engine idled. Warm air whispered from the heater vents. Slow, lazy jazz hummed softly from the CD player.
She reached up and nudged the rearview mirror until it was angled enough to see the reflection of the school behind her.
The toot of a horn warned her that another car had pulled up behind her. She hurriedly adjusted her mirror and drove through the empty intersection, letting the impatient car pass her by.
It wasn’t all that late. Not even eight o’clock. And the idea of going home to her dark, empty condominium was suddenly more than she could bear.
So she turned her truck around and drove back toward the cheerfully lit, crowded school. She found a parking spot—well, made herself one at any rate—beneath a streetlight, and strode quickly to the auditorium. She could hear the high pip of youthful voices even before she quietly slipped into the rear of the room.
Folding chairs were set up in neat rows, filling nearly all of the floor space. The children stood on risers on the low stage at one end of the room.
A quartet stood in front of the chorus, Erik among them. A little blond girl about his size was singing a solo at the moment. She was dressed in skiwear and her voice shook a little as she sang about the beauty of winter. Then she took a step back while parental applause rocked the house, and another girl took her place, this one decked out like spring flowers. Faith steppe
d a little closer, still keeping well to the shadows in the rear of the room. She wasn’t altogether surprised to see how Erik stood so still and serious while “Spring” sang her solo. Even though the boy was an utter ball of energy, she knew he was perfectly capable of focusing it when he chose. She’d experienced it herself when he’d pitted his prowess at checkers against her.
She didn’t realize that her gaze was methodically working along the rows of chairs until it stopped.
Cameron sat in the third row from the front. Dead center.
And he held a small video recorder in his hand.
It wasn’t as if he were the only parent present capturing the event on video. From where she stood, she could see dozens of faintly lit video camera screens in varying sizes. But the sight of Cameron—
She blew out a soft breath, and tugged nervously at her ponytail.
The sight of Cameron taping his son definitely did something to her insides. And it didn’t matter at all that inside her head, she could still hear his words to her the previous night.
And even though that should have been warning enough, she stayed there, rapt, through the rest of the performance, only managing to drag her attention from Cameron when Erik stepped forward for his solo.
His voice shook a little, just as the others had, but with each stanza, he gained confidence, until he was belting out his lines, and by the time he and the other soloists stepped back into their spots on the risers, the audience was practically cheering. The children’s smiles beamed out, and along with everyone else, Faith clapped until her palms ached when the performance ended a few songs later.
She fully intended to disappear again before Erik saw her, but that plan was foiled when the parents made beelines for the door the moment the rest of the lights came up. Unprepared for the mass exodus, Faith found herself stuck behind the row of chairs.
Cameron spotted her first.
His footsteps didn’t falter, but even across the distance of a dozen rows of chairs, she felt the sharpness of his gaze fastening on her face.
He’d tasted of coffee.
Her face heated. She looped her long scarf around her neck, which regrettably only made her feel warmer. But she refused to fidget. Particularly when he was watching her so steadily, and providing no hint whatsoever as to what his thoughts were.
While hers, on the other hand, kept running down the same paths until they’d made deep enough ruts that she could have sailed a ship in them.
What was she doing here?
Was it Erik that drew her, or Erik’s dad?
Or both?
Did it even matter? The sly whisper worked through her, ringing in her thoughts as Cameron stopped a foot away from her. His big hand eclipsed the camera he held, and the child’s backpack—probably fat with books and goodness knew what else—slung over one shoulder looked rather minuscule.
His jaw was blurred by a five o’clock shadow, but she could still see the muscle ticking there.
And everything female inside her went foolishly soft.
“Thought you were busy,” he said after a moment. He took another step forward to allow a woman with a stroller to get past them.
“I was. I finished.”
His lids drooped and her lips suddenly tingled. She pulled off her scarf. “Erik’s quite the performer,” she said cautiously. She didn’t want a repeat of the previous night.
He nodded slowly. “Just give him an audience.”
Her hands bunched the scarf. “When I was his age I could never have done a solo like that.” She swallowed. “Well, I couldn’t do it now for that matter.”
His lips tilted slightly. “His mother liked an audience, too.” Apparently, Cameron didn’t want to have an argument, either.
“And…you?”
“I prefer a more private production.”
She nearly choked and whipped the scarf back around her neck. She was so far out of her element it was a wonder she wasn’t drowning in her own rutted thoughts.
She simply could not figure the man out, and it was better if she’d stop trying.
“I, um, I should be going. Tell Erik I thought he was great.”
“Tell him yourself.” His gaze skipped past her and he lifted his chin a little.
Faith turned to see Erik coming into the auditorium from the entrance. Two little girls, the soloists, were hard on his heels.
“Hey, Faith.” Erik grinned, but seemed to take her presence without surprise. As if he’d half expected her to show up no matter what she’d said to the contrary.
Since she was there, perhaps Erik was on to something.
“You and Dad gotta come to our classroom now,” he said blithely. “You gotta see our work. We been pinning it up on the bulletin boards for a whole week.”
Faith’s gaze darted up to Cameron’s. “Oh, I really should get home.” Her voice strangled when Cameron closed his hand over her elbow.
“Lead the way,” he told his son.
“She’s the lady who rescued you, huh,” Spring whispered not so quietly to Erik, casting a curious look up at Faith.
“Uh-huh.”
The other girl wasn’t so shy. She tilted her blond head and addressed Faith directly. “Do you get to keep the gold you found?”
Faith’s eyebrows shot up. “Only gold I found in the mine was named Erik. It’s been other people who are catching gold fever, I think.”
The boy rolled his eyes, but giggled a little as the kids scurried ahead. “Hurry up, Dad. Or there’s not gonna be any cookies left by the time we get there.”
Faith still hung back when Cameron started to follow. “I really should go.”
“Go where?”
Through her long-sleeved sweater, she felt his thumb smooth over her elbow.
An empty home? An elementary school packed with lively children?
Both caused their share of pain.
“Faith?”
She swallowed, knowing her hesitation went on too long. Too obvious, yet unable to do one single thing about it now. The man’s kiss had hinted at heaven, all wrapped up in sinful temptation. But he’d pushed her away as if she’d turned vile. And now…now she didn’t know what he was doing.
Or what she was doing there.
It all came back to that.
And for some reason, it made her want to sit down and cry. But she hadn’t cried in a very, very long time. And she’d be darned if she’d start now.
“Maybe for a few minutes,” she said finally.
He nodded, not smiling. “Erik’ll be pleased.”
“And you?” The words were out before she could think twice. His eyes narrowed a fraction. And she quickly waved her hand. “Never mind. Probably better if we leave that one alone.” Proving that cowardice was alive and well and dwelling inside her, she hurriedly turned and followed after Erik.
The classroom, when they got there, seemed packed with people. But like a determined fish, Erik wriggled between them and latched onto Faith’s hand the moment she stepped through the doorway. She didn’t have to look back to see if Cameron was there. She could feel him in the sparks of energy tickling her spine even when he was yards behind her.
“Come and see my desk.” Erik tugged at her as he dove back into the fray.
There was little Faith could do but follow. She admired his desk and the neat journal that was taped to the top surface. When he lifted the lid, she was suitably impressed with the order of his supplies inside.
“We all hadda clean our desks during class today,” he admitted, grinning. “I had a whole bag of trash.”
Cameron’s hand closed over the back of her neck as he leaned over them both, looking at the desk as well.
How was it possible to freeze and melt all at the same time?
Yet that’s exactly how she felt.
She stared blindly at a vocabulary workbook and tried to pretend there was nothing more extraordinary going on than Erik’s pencils being lined up like a half-dozen dutiful soldiers.
; Fortunately, Erik’s teacher was trying to call order to the group.
“Sit here,” Erik hissed and pushed her to his under-size chair.
Faith sat, which was good since her legs felt oddly insubstantial. Once the room was more or less quiet, the teacher—a humorous, middle-aged woman whom Faith had never met—welcomed the parents, and briefly outlined the work the students had been doing for the past semester. She pointed out the various projects that were displayed around the room, and then invited everyone to continue drinking punch and eating the cookies.
Erik, along with a dozen other seven-year-olds, darted toward the refreshments that were set up on a short table beneath the blackboard. He was back before Faith could even start to make noises about leaving again, bearing a napkin loaded with several cookies. He dumped it on her lap, then was off again.
Faith looked up at Cameron, half afraid that she’d find him looking at her and wishing it were his beloved wife sitting there, instead. But his eyes were only amused as he leaned over and plucked a chocolate-chip cookie from her lap. “Have a cookie,” he said blandly.
Erik had left them with at least a half-dozen of them, and Faith found herself smiling, too.
“Does he like cookies?”
“Don’t all seven-year-old boys?”
She watched Cameron finish off his cookie in two bites. “Don’t all grown men?”
“We never had homemade cookies when I was growing up,” he said. He dumped Erik’s backpack on the floor near her feet, set the video camera on the desk, and hunkered down on his heels next to her chair. He studied the selection remaining, then reached. His knuckle brushed her knee as he picked up a sugar cookie sprinkled with red crystalline sugar.
Sheer effort kept her from shifting in the chair. “Why not? Your mom didn’t bake?”
“I doubt my mother even knows how to turn on an oven,” he said dryly. “Might mess up her hundred-dollar manicure.”
“Your parents are wealthy?”
“Oh, yeah.” He finished the cookie. Brushed the crumbs from his fingertip on his thigh.
All He Ever Wanted Page 11
