Kisses And Kids (Congratulations Series #1)

by Andrea Edwards

  “Thank you.” She was almost surprised her words came out so smoothly, with no hint of the sudden flushing of her cheeks and racing of her heart. This was crazy—she knew she did a good job and even if she didn’t know it, she’d received compliments before. Just none out here in the moonlight from a man she was becoming more and more fascinated with.

  “How long have you been working with kids?” he asked.

  “I’ve been with the West Side Boys and Girls Club for four years,” she replied. “Before that, I was a social worker in Chicago for two.”

  “Been in social work pretty much since college, huh?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. Along with some time-out for grad school.”

  “Well, the kids are lucky to have you,” he said.

  “Even with a background in gymnastics and ballet?” she asked with a laugh. “Are you even qualified to make such a statement, seeing as how you said you don’t know anything about kids?”

  “Hey,” he said, “I know people. And kids are just little people.”

  She looked over at him, but he was staring off toward the lake. The moonlight had softened his features considerably. Was it the light or was he just more relaxed in the darkness of the night?

  “Sometimes,” he added.

  Trisha punched him lightly in the ribs. “They are just little people,” she said. “Charming, exasperating, interesting, vulnerable little people.”

  He turned to face her. “Well, they like you and—probably more important—they respect you,” he said. “Anybody can see that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he replied.

  She relaxed and let her body slump down a little onto the bench. He sat back again, his arm going around the back of the bench, but this time it rested more against her than the wood. Not that she should necessarily read anything into that. Her heart wanted to disagree.

  “How are you enjoying the kids?” she asked.

  “We’re getting more tolerant of each other.”

  “Any of them giving you trouble?”

  “Not really.”

  She looked over at him. She couldn’t see him all that well in the moonlight, but he seemed peaceful. More so than she could have imagined. Maybe talking last night had put some of his ghosts at least partially to rest.

  “One of the kids hasn’t handled sleeping here all that well,” he said. “So far, both nights, he’s awakened a little after midnight crying.”

  “Rulli?”

  “No. Douglas.”

  Trisha chuckled softly as she pictured the husky, aggressive boy. “Guess you can’t always tell a book by its cover.”

  “Guess not.”

  Was that true for Pat, also, that she shouldn’t judge what type of man he was by the tough, distant mask he wore? A breeze blew in off the lake and she felt herself move just a touch closer to him. Not that it meant anything, she told herself. It was just a reaction to the moonlight.

  Still, she felt the need to fight the silence. “You’re doing a great job with the kids, too.”

  “Yeah, right.” His voice betrayed his disbelief.

  “Don’t argue with me,” she said. “I’m an experienced social worker, trained to see these things.”

  He laughed softly.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  But they had both turned and were facing each other. His laughter died on the soft breeze and the moonlight seemed to hold a melody. She leaned forward just as he did and their lips met. It was a sweet, gentle touch that stirred some deep part of her soul into song. Then suddenly he was pulling away.

  “That’s a kind of thank-you,” he said.

  “I see.”

  The song in her heart had grown, though, bringing a boldness with it. She leaned forward and kissed him back, her lips brushing his with a teasing touch. A warmth spread slowly through her being, leaving a tingly hunger for more. She slowly pulled back.

  “That’s a kind of you’re welcome,” she said, though her voice sounded as shaky as she felt.

  Neither of them said a word, but suddenly she was in his arms. No gentle little kisses this time, but hungers raging as their mouths touched, and then crushed, the other. His lips drove the song in her soul into a symphony, and she wanted more. Her hands ran over his back, feeling the muscles tense; her chest was pressed to his so that his heart beat close to hers.

  This was insane. She barely knew him. Yet her body seemed to be unbothered by such trivialities. A yearning set her heart to trembling. A whole wild panorama of possibilities of delight raced through her mind, even as his hold on her tightened. His mouth moved on hers; he was speaking straight to her soul with his touch. She had never felt so alive, and then as they moved apart in some unspoken agreement, she had never felt so alone.

  There was total silence in the woods surrounding them. No animals crying, no bugs whining, no breeze whispering in the trees. She raised a shaking hand to brush her hair back from her face as if brushing away her response to his touch.

  “I’d better look in on the kids,” she said, and got to her feet.

  He stood up also. “Yeah, me, too.”

  They walked back into the cabin and into their own sides. Without touching. Without looking back.

  * * *

  “Poor kids,” Trisha said softly. “They’re all tuckered out.”

  From the corner of his eye, Pat saw Trisha turn back around so that she was facing out the front window of the van.

  “That’s good.”

  His fingers twitched on the steering wheel. His tone had been just as soft as Trisha’s. That was ridiculous. He wasn’t a kid-caring person like her. These kids were okay, but given the choice, he wouldn’t repeat the weekend. Not in a million years. It had been about seventy-two hours too long with the kids and with Trisha. He’d felt as if all sorts of things had been creeping around the whole time, trying to find some chink in his armor to slip in and make him weak.

  “I couldn’t take another round of that damn bottle song,” he added in a normal tone. “Or Rulli asking if we’re there yet.”

  From the corner of his eye, he could see Trisha turn and smile at him. Part of him wanted to turn and smile back, to share for a quick moment all the little things they’d shared all weekend. But the other part of him—the sensible and in-control part—told him getting involved with her and the kids would be like walking through a spiderweb. He would never get totally free of the sticky silk of their neediness. Yet neither would he be able to give them enough to bring happiness. He watched the road pass beneath them.

  “Today went very well,” she said.

  Pat just nodded. After breakfast and a nondenominational Sunday service, they’d had a scavenger hunt, then lunch and a final awards ceremony. Their group had received the Best Athletes Award. Everyone, especially Angie, was happy.

  “As far as I can see, the whole camp has done very well,” Trisha said. “Don’t you agree?”

  “I guess.” He felt her eyes on him, wanting more. “I don’t have any experience in this kind of thing. But it seemed fine.”

  “You’re intelligent,” she said. “And you certainly can evaluate what’s good and what’s bad.”

  Good was going home and being free of Ben’s little schemes. Bad was letting her and the kids get to him and wake up emotions he preferred to let sleep. Pat just grunted, hoping she would drop the subject and catch a little nap herself.

  “Do you have any suggestions for improving the camp experience?”

  “No.”

  “Well, just think on it and I’ll get back to you. The camp administration appreciates feedback of any kind.”

  He didn’t want her getting back to him. The only thing he wanted was tomorrow morning. Then all this would be gone and his life would be back to normal, back to dealing with adults and hustling new industrial development for the county. That was what he did well.

  And that was the only thing he wanted to do.<
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  Chapter Five

  Pat settled himself at his kitchen table, a bowl of fresh peaches and ice cream by his right hand and Monday’s evening newspaper by his left. He’d had a perfect day—three meetings, a telephone conference call, a ribbon-cutting ceremony in the Airport Industrial District and an argument with the mayor about tax abatement policy. There had been no time at all to think about Trisha.

  Although he’d slept lousy last night, he knew that he would sleep well tonight. He’d had himself a full, high-activity day, a good evening run along the river and now a great dessert. His life was just as he wanted it. No kids running around, trying to make him care. No slender blonde making him laugh and hurt and spill his guts out just because she was sitting near him.

  He took a spoonful out of the mushy mound before him and raised it toward—

  The sudden shrieking of his front door buzzer caused him to jump half out of his seat, dropping the spoonful of ice cream onto the floor. Damn it. His nerves were still on edge from the weekend. He knew he was safe at home but somewhere in the back of his mind lurked an image of a gang of munchkins ready to jump on him and sing about a hundred bottles of beer on the wall.

  Pat pushed himself upright as the buzzer sounded again. “Damn it.” Whoever was at the door was going to go flying nose over butt down the front stairs. “All right, all right. I’m coming.”

  He flung the door open wide, ready to do battle with the intruder. “Yeah?”

  “Hello,” Trisha said. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

  Hell. He’d been building himself up for a confrontation. And now nothing. He felt as if he’d been making love to the world’s most beautiful woman—who looked amazingly like Trisha—when suddenly she slipped out of bed, saying she had to floss her teeth.

  “What can I do for you?” He tried to speak freely and easily but his earlier anger seemed to be echoing all around them, coming to rest in the shadows in her eyes.

  “Nothing really.” She shrugged. “I just brought your van back.”

  He stepped onto the porch and looked around the corner of the house. The van was there in his driveway. “Oh,” he said. He felt like an idiot.

  “So,” she said. “Thanks a lot.”

  “No problem.” He paused. “I was glad to help.”

  “Not any more than we were glad to receive, believe me.”

  Pat just stood there, unable to meet her eyes. Why was he always acting like such a jerk around her? And why was he always half-naked when she came to the house? Last time he had just had jeans on; today it was just a pair of jogging shorts.

  “Well,” she said, turning to leave. “Thanks again.”

  Pat’s gaze flickered from Trisha to the driveway to the street. The van was there, but it was the only car around.

  “How are you getting home?”

  “My car is at the club,” she replied. “I’m going to walk over there.”

  “That’s a mile and a half,” he said.

  “I can use the exercise.”

  He watched her slim, trim figure as she went down the stairs. She needed exercise like Indiana needed corn. Her curves were all just the right degree of curviness, if his sudden shortness of breath was any indication. Trisha was on the sidewalk before his brain connected with his gentleman genes.

  “Trisha.” He hurried to the edge of the porch. “Trisha, wait. I can give you a ride over.”

  She stopped and turned halfway back. “That’s okay.”

  “I’d feel better if I did,” he said.

  “I walk all the time,” she said. “Don’t worry. It’s perfectly safe.”

  Right. Except that she looked about as able to protect herself as a kitten in with a pack of wolves. “I have fresh peaches and ice cream,” he called after her.

  She laughed. It was a beautiful sound—so clear and full, like someone tapping on pure crystal. He had this need to hear it dancing through his life forever. But only a momentary one.

  “Are you telling me just to make me jealous or are you offering me some?”

  Man, was she ornery. “I’m inviting you to come in and have some with me,” he replied.

  “Why, thank you.” She turned the rest of the way and came back up on the porch. “A little dessert would be nice.”

  Pat opened the door for her, then followed her down the hallway to the kitchen.

  “Vanilla ice cream okay?”

  “Sure.”

  As he opened the freezer, he noticed Trisha looking at his own dish on the table. Mostly likely, the ice cream was melted by now and looked awful. He took out another bowl for himself.

  He heaped both bowls full of ice cream and peaches. After putting the ingredients away, he put the bowls on the table and his old one in the sink. Then he sat down across from Trisha.

  She put a teaspoon in her mouth and murmured her appreciation. “This is wonderful,” she said. “Nothing like ice cream and fresh peaches at the end of a long, hot day.”

  “Yep.” Try as he might, he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He sounded like the idiot he was acting like. At least he was consistent.

  “Getting any closer to the treasure?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Where’ve you looked?”

  “Everywhere.” He ate some more, but the silence nagged at him. “There is no treasure. It was just some old story of my grandmother’s.”

  “Can you really be sure, though? What else did she tell you? A clue maybe.”

  He sighed, trying not to let his gaze be captured by that look of eagerness in her eyes, or by the note of excitement in her voice. “Just that it was something her mother always told her.”

  “Which was...”

  He bit back his impatience, remembering the first time he’d heard the story. He must have been about nine or so—it was soon after they’d moved to Huron Street, and he’d been so excited. He was going to find the treasure and use it to buy back their lives. He hadn’t been foolish enough to think it would bring his mother back, but it could get them their house back and their school and maybe their lives. That was when he’d needed the treasure—when he still had dreams that could be met—not now when he was earning enough to buy what he wanted, and smart enough not to want what he couldn’t get. But there’d been no clue. It was all just a stupid game of his grandmother’s.

  “How sad,” Trisha said on a sigh.

  He looked up, startled by her tone, and realized he’d told the story aloud. Damn. What was it about her that made words come flying from his mouth?

  “My grandmother really loved me,” he said stiffly. “If she’d known where it was, and if it had been something that could have made a difference, she would have told me.”

  “Just because she didn’t know, it doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Maybe you just don’t believe hard enough to really look.”

  He got to his feet and took her empty bowl. “Maybe I’m smart enough not to chase rainbows that aren’t really there.”

  “How can you chase a rainbow? It doesn’t move.”

  “You know what I mean,” he snapped. “I don’t need a treasure anyway. I have everything I want.”

  “Everything?” Her eyes questioned him as much as her words did, but she didn’t push. “What exactly did your grandmother say about the treasure?”

  He left the bowls in the sink and came back to the table. “Just that her mother had always said there was a treasure here in the house.”

  “Hidden in the house, or just in the house?”

  He didn’t bother hiding his impatience. “What does it matter? Face facts. There is no treasure.”

  “Facts are fine but not if you allow them to destroy your dreams.”

  “What if the dreams are unrealistic?”

  “Dreams aren’t supposed to be realistic,” she said.

  This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. Pat just held his tongue.

  “I take it you don’t agree,” she said.

  Pat let a quiet sigh escape
. Unfortunately, Trisha wasn’t going to let this go. “I’m a facts kind of a person,” he said.

  “You can’t be.”

  He made a face and shrugged. “Hey, I am what I am.”

  “Didn’t you grow up poor on the west side? Well, something had to drive you to persevere in the face of all the odds that were against you.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “Fear.”

  She just looked at him, a gentle but inscrutable mask covering her face.

  “I was afraid that if I didn’t do well in school and go to college, I’d be stuck on the streets the rest of my life. Afraid that I’d wind up like—” Angel’s name was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to get into that whole mess again “—like a lot of other people.”

  “Well, you certainly had to be determined.”

  That gentle smile remained fixed on her lips, making her even more beautiful. But it was also annoying. It was the kind of smile women wore when they thought they knew more than you did.

  “But you needed a dream to pull you through the rough spots,” she added.

  It was obvious that Trisha was a typical upper-middle-class, suburban-raised woman who’d had everything handed to her on a clean platter. It was amazing how people like her figured that they knew how and why guys like him did anything. Pat suddenly found himself growing tired. Not at all up to an argument.

  “Care for seconds?” he asked.

  She shook her head, her smile growing ever gentler while he found himself growing ever more irritated. It was time to turn off the streetlights and send everyone home before he put his foot in his mouth again.

  “Why don’t you take the van?” he said. “I assume your old one didn’t have a miraculous recovery over the weekend.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, her mood changing. “We really could use it, but I don’t want to inconvenience your operation in any way.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Pat replied. “I don’t have any visitors coming in this week and after that we can play things by ear.”

  “That’s very generous of you.”

  “Not really.” Pat looked away, out toward his backyard. There were no squirrels there now, no birds, no butterflies, no nothing. Just emptiness—like his life, a little voice noted. “It’s good PR and Ben Mackley likes that kind of thing.”