by Lori Foster
While he’d been involved looking at the clay, Royce had quietly asked her, “Would you mind if I got him a few basics?”
Knowing she couldn’t ask Jack to leave empty-handed, not when this was obviously his world, she said, “That’s kind, but I can do it.”
“You could,” Royce acknowledged, “but I really want to.”
Something in his solemn expression swayed her. There was sadness in that dark gaze, and though she couldn’t begin to guess why, Joy knew it had something to do with art.
“All right, thank you. Just don’t go overboard.”
At that point, Royce had looked almost as eager as Jack. Together, the two of them chose a sketchbook, a set of paintbrushes and a very fine box of watercolors with a pallet.
It was a bit much, but she didn’t have the heart to deny Jack...or Royce.
Of course her heart lifted at seeing them together. Royce was just so... Damn him, he was perfect. With Jack.
Patient, attentive, encouraging. He would make an incredible—
No, she firmly told her heart. No, don’t you dare even think it.
It wasn’t what Royce wanted.
It wasn’t even what she wanted.
But God, she was such a mom. Royce’s affection for her son did more to chip away at her reserve than flowers or gifts ever could.
Dinner had been the unique experience of watching her son and Royce further bond, mostly without her. He’d chosen a kid-friendly place to eat, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. Jack had carried that box of paint tubes in with him, almost like a favorite toy. Instead of playing any of the available games while they waited for their pizza, he’d asked questions. Endless questions.
And Royce had answered.
That is, until she joined in, asking, “Are you an artist, Royce?” He certainly knew a lot about it.
Mysterious shadows stole the easy smile from his face. “My mother was.”
Was?
Before she could ask anything more, he promptly changed the subject to primary colors, explaining to Jack how to create his own secondary color shades and the impact white or black had on watercolors.
Her takeaway on their scintillating conversation? Don’t be afraid of experimenting with color, but always go easy with black because it could muddy hues.
Also: anything too personal was off-limits.
So far, when it came to reengaging with a man, she scored a big fat zero. He preferred her five-year-old son’s company to her own.
Oh, Royce was attentive. He kept a hand to her back as they left the restaurant...while Jack ran around to hold his free hand, instead of hers.
He ensured her comfort in his car, a newer Renegade...and then talked cars with Jack, explaining that he also had an ancient Chevy truck.
All in all, she was content to see Jack having such a great time.
As they toured the interior of the drive-in, Royce alternately answered Jack’s questions, while also asking her about opportunities for holding events once the season ended. Possibilities included a classic car show, a Christmas bazaar and, as a goodwill gesture, a light show, since the main road brought drivers past the drive-in.
After they finished going through the concession, Royce asked Jack, “You know what’s next?”
Still clutching that box of paint, Jack bounced on the balls of his feet and asked, “What?”
“Playground equipment.” Around Jack’s cheers, he said, “Let’s go out and you can try it all while I talk with your mom. Then you can give me some recommendations.”
When Jack raced away, Joy warned, “Slow down, please.”
Jack reduced his run to a jog, going out the door ahead of them, but it didn’t seem important when Royce looped his arm around her and urged her forward.
Near her ear, he said, “Hi.”
After spending nearly three hours together, that was so ridiculous she laughed as they stepped into the brisk fall air. At almost seven o’clock, the sun slid low in the sky, prompting some of the security lights to flicker on.
Jack had already reached the gym equipment; he was close enough for her to see, but not for him to overhear.
With their shoes crunching on the gravel lot, the squeaking of Jack’s swing cutting the quiet, she and Royce walked together.
It felt...intimate. His hand on her hip. The dusky sky. Her son so happy.
Intimate, like a budding relationship.
But it wasn’t and she’d have to keep that foremost in her mind. Royce had made it perfectly clear that he was no more prepared for commitment than she was. Last night, she’d reminded herself that it was for the best. All she really wanted from Royce, all she needed, was the escape of sex. Hot, mind-blowing, satisfying sex.
Today, however, she had some doubts. Royce wasn’t acting like a man anxious to get her naked, but he was very natural as a role model to her son.
“Not even a hello, huh?” His hand at her hip squeezed her closer and he lightly nipped her earlobe, touched it with his tongue, then kissed her behind her ear. “I’ll have to think of a way to soften you up.”
Oh, she was plenty soft. If the breath caressing her skin hadn’t done it, the feel of his mouth and the huskiness of his words would have. She’d gone years not even holding a man’s hand, and now Royce had kissed her, touched her, lightly bit her ear...
She stopped and looked up at him. The dim light left secrets in his ebony eyes and that particular tilt to his mouth stirred her need. Thinking back on that earlier kiss... God, she wanted more.
If they were alone, she’d be all over him.
The swing squeaked—not that she’d forgotten Jack. Never that. But with her son so close, what did he want from her?
Ridiculously breathless, she whispered, “Hello, Royce.”
“Yeah, that’s better.” Catching a long lock of her hair, he slowly eased his fingers along the length of it, letting his knuckles brush her shoulder, then her upper chest. “You seem pensive. Did Jack and I bore you today?”
She looked toward her son. He’d scampered off the swing and was climbing the ladder for the slide. “I haven’t seen him this excited in a long time. He really enjoys your company.” The second she said it, she feared it’d scare Royce off. A boy looking up to him, adoring him, probably reeked of a trap. It was certainly scary in her mind.
What if Jack got too attached? It would be awful to see him hurt when things inevitably ended.
Shaking her head, she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” Words failed her. How to explain? She was so damn rusty when it came to conversing with interested men.
Hugging her arms around her upper body, Joy warded off the evening chill, and gave it another attempt. “You were wonderful with him today, but I don’t want him to get the wrong impression.” There. That was frank but not unkind.
For a moment, they stood there in silence.
“Royce?” she whispered. “We were both up front about what this is—what it will be.” And what it wouldn’t.
“Right.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “You asked me about my understanding of art.”
Something in his tone wrenched at her heart. “It seemed like a difficult topic for you.” She knew all about that. There were so many things she didn’t discuss with others. “If I overstepped—”
“It’s not that.” His expression guarded, Royce stared toward Jack. “I don’t particularly like talking about it, not yet, but...”
Unwilling to press him, Joy waited.
“I told you my mother was an artist.” He popped his neck as if loosening tension. His jaw flexed. “A very successful artist actually. It’s how she supported us. Even after she got dementia and would sometimes forget me, she remembered her love of art.”
Joy didn’t know much about dementia, but for his own mother not to recognize him? Tha
t would be wretched for anyone. Had Royce been her caregiver? Did he have siblings who had helped? A father?
He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to get into a lengthy discussion, so rather than ask questions, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Royce nodded his thanks. “To the day she died, she wanted to paint. Anything and everything.” His mouth quirked. “She even painted the sheets in her room when she was too sick to get out of bed.”
Feeling her heart break for him, Joy lightly pressed her hand to his solid chest, offering comfort. Beneath her palm, his heartbeat thumped steadily. “You feel an affinity to Jack because of that?”
He shrugged. “I recognized his talent.” He glanced at her, a quirky smile in place. “I’m sure you did, too.”
“I...” Guilt burned Joy’s face. “Honestly, before Jack, I knew zip about kids. I wasn’t the girl who babysat or wanted to hold other people’s babies. I don’t think I’d ever held a baby until Jack was born.”
The quirk turned into an understanding smile. “Must have been a shocker when you found out you were pregnant.”
“That’s putting it mildly. I was scared out of my wits.” Scared, and entirely alone. She started them walking again. The wind blew and she shivered. “All I know of kids is based on Jack. I’ve always appreciated his art and thought he was talented, but I didn’t realize...”
Royce put his arm around her shoulders, hugging her closer. “Without any comparison, how could you know?”
“I’ve seen his art compared to other kids’ at the camp. I noticed he has a fascination with color, and a singular concentration when he works.”
“There’s that, yes. Plus he also picks up on details most kids his age would miss. Eyelashes on eyes, four fingers and a thumb on hands. A neck instead of a head just sitting on shoulders.” With laughter in his tone, Royce said, “Necks constitute a recall awareness of what he’s seen. That’s a lot of talent in a five-year-old.”
“I’ll make sure to carve out more time for him to paint. Unfortunately, I’m not artistic. Crafty, yes, but nothing that’s really creative.” She got most of her ideas from Pinterest and Facebook.
“What I know,” Royce said, “I learned from Mom trying to teach me, and watching her create. Where most people had a dining room, we had an art studio.” He glanced down at her. “Windows on two walls gave that room the ideal light.”
“Well, you saw my home. We don’t have a dining room to convert, or any available space.” The eat-in kitchen was just big enough for a table and four chairs. “But I think for Christmas I’ll get him an easel, and maybe you could suggest more supplies.”
At the mention of the holidays, he grew quiet again. Joy wanted to smack herself. Of course that would be difficult for him if he’d only recently lost his mother.
She was about to overstep again, wondering if he had any other family, when he stopped walking.
His gaze sharpened. “Jack? Where are you going?”
Joy looked up in alarm. Jack had left the lighted area and was peering into the woods that bordered the property between the drive-in and the park. “Jack!” She hurried forward, aware of Royce right behind her.
“Something’s in there,” Jack said, going to his hands and knees. “I hear it crying.”
“Back up,” Joy ordered in her most stern, no-nonsense tone that demanded immediate attention. He could be hearing a feral cat, an enraged raccoon or... “Right this instant.”
Surprised by her vehemence, Jack stood and took a step back—and the brush moved. Just as she and Royce reached him, they heard a whimper.
And something half crawled out.
“It’s a dog,” Jack yelled as he tried to wiggle free of Joy’s hold.
“A puppy,” Royce corrected. “You need to be real quiet so we don’t scare it, okay?”
In an eager whisper, Jack said, “You gotta get it, Mr. Nakirk.”
The light didn’t quite carry this far, and all Joy could make out was pale yellow fur and floppy ears framing big dark eyes.
Royce knelt down and held out his hand. “C’mon, boy. I won’t hurt you.”
The dog limped forward.
“It’s hurt,” Jack cried, his whole body vibrating with tension and worry.
Joy hugged him closer, saying, “Shh.”
“Can we keep him?”
Keep him? In their tiny apartment? Not possible. Jack had been asking for a dog forever, but hopefully she could appease him with art supplies for now.
At least those didn’t shed fur, pee in the corner or require walks.
“He’s not ours, honey.”
“But he could be. Please, Mom?”
Joy patted his shoulder and said again, “Shh. You don’t want to scare the poor thing.”
The dog finally got close enough for Royce to touch it. “That’s a good boy,” he crooned, his voice soft and low as he stroked the puppy’s head and over his back, urging him closer. “What do we have here, huh? Some brambles? Yeah, that’s got to hurt, doesn’t it, buddy?”
Unfair that Royce was good with her son and so incredibly kind to animals. How was she supposed to resist that?
Damn it, obviously she couldn’t. “What can I do?” she asked. “Is he hurt?”
“It’s too dark out here to tell.” Carefully, Royce lifted the animal into his arms. The poor thing licked his chin in a show of gratitude, then looked worriedly at Joy and Jack.
She felt horribly helpless against his appeal, and desperate to somehow assist. “Why don’t we take him into the drive-in so we can better see?”
“Good idea. Lead the way,” Royce said, and when Jack started to run, he added, “Calmly. The little guy is already shaking.”
Jack immediately slowed, but still got to the door first. He held it open, his bottom lip caught in his teeth as he watched Royce carry in the dog.
“It’s bleeding,” Jack breathed, his eyes round with worry.
“Just a little. I think that might be an old wound.” Sending Joy a meaningful look, Royce asked, “Would you mind getting a few towels by the dryer, and maybe a wet one so we can see what we’re dealing with?”
“I’ll be right back.” Seconds later, she returned to see both Royce and Jack sitting on the floor across from one another, legs folded yoga-style. Royce still held the dog, softly whispering to it.
It had its face hidden under Royce’s chin, and Jack was carefully pulling burrs from its fur.
“Right here, between us,” he said to Joy, and then to Jack, “Remember, slow and quiet, okay?”
Eyes wide and unblinking, Jack nodded.
Joy arranged the towels, but held on to the wet cloth. She saw dirt and brambles in the dog’s fur, but also a nasty nick on its front leg, close to its paw, with what looked like both dried and fresh blood.
Royce gently set the dog before him, all the while stroking it and speaking in soft, soothing tones. His large hands moved with care as he untangled pieces of a sticker bush from the dog’s scruff and tail. Jack had gotten many of the burrs, but Royce also dislodged a nasty thorn in his hip. The dog whimpered constantly, then snuffled and licked where the thorn had been.
As quietly as she could, Joy gathered up the discarded brambles and burrs and took them to the garbage can, before returning to sit beside Jack.
When Royce glanced at her, she knew without words and handed him the wet hand towel. He tried to swab around the bloody area, to see the source of the wound, but the dog yipped and tried to lurch away, burrowing against Jack.
With tears welling in his eyes, Jack helplessly cuddled the dog.
“Easy, easy now. I know it hurts.” For only a second, Royce seemed undecided. Then he let out a breath. “I need to run him to a vet. Do you know anyone?”
Joy shook her head. “Phoenix might, though. She and Coop have Sugar. I’ll call her.”
<
br /> Sunday evening, of course, no vets were open. But Phoenix did know of an animal hospital that was open for emergencies and she shared the number. Fifteen minutes later, they were all ready to go.
Royce wrapped the dog in a towel and stood. “It’s getting late. I should probably run you home first—”
“But I want to go, too,” Jack said, almost at the same time that Joy said, “We can stay and help.”
Searching her gaze, Royce asked, “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” It wasn’t like he could drive while holding the dog, and she wasn’t sure the animal would come to her.
Being more familiar with Phoenix’s directions, Joy drove and Royce sat in back with Jack, the puppy wrapped in towels on his lap.
Yes, this was definitely the strangest date she could have imagined.
Funny thing, though. As Joy pulled into the hospital, she knew she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Chapter Five
Two hours later, Royce unlocked the front door to his small, messy house, reached in to flip on a light switch and then stepped back for Joy and Jack to enter.
Several things went through his mind. It was probably near, maybe even past, Jack’s bedtime. He wished he’d tidied up the house more. And apparently he now had a dog.
The pup, which the vet guessed was a three-month-old Lab mix, slept in a box padded with the towels. After meds that made him loopy, his front leg was shaved around the injury, stitched and wrapped, and he’d been treated for several nasty things Royce didn’t want to think about.
Stepping around Joy, he headed for the kitchen. “You can leave your coats on the couch. Turn on more lights if you want.”
He heard her quietly talking to Jack. Shoes dropped—at least he thought they were shoes—and then Jack slid into the kitchen in his socks.
Royce leaned out of the kitchen to see her laying their jackets over the arm of the couch. The shoes were set neatly by the front door.
At least his couch and chair were new, though the only end table was part of a folding tray set. No rugs. Temporary blinds on the windows. A small TV hanging on the wall.
