by Arlene James
He chuckled. “So forget the Margaritas.” She rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t want to get dumped on an empty stomach, okay?”
“You’re not getting dumped,” she pointed out. “We’d have to be involved before you could get dumped.”
He shrugged. “It feels like I’m getting dumped, but have it your way.”
“I intend to.”
He gusted a long-suffering sigh and said, “So before you shoot me down, could we talk about something else? Please?”
“That depends,” she muttered. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Tell me about Ponce,” he said. “It would help me to understand.”
That was true. She took a deep breath and turned slightly in her seat. “He was removed from his mother’s care due to neglect about a year ago. No one knows who his father is. She named six or seven men it could be, but they ruled out the three of them they could find. His grandmother is very elderly and in a nursing home. She doesn’t even know she has a grandson because of advanced dementia. So far as anyone can tell, he has no other family.”
“Poor kid.”
“Not anymore,” she said flatly, and Darren smiled at her.
“No, not anymore. Now he has you. And obviously he’s suffered no permanent damage.”
“That’s true in most ways,” Charly admitted. “So far as we can tell, his birth mother, or his ‘first’ mom as he calls her, didn’t use drugs or drink alcohol while she was pregnant with him.”
“I’d say that’s a given,” Darren agreed. “Ponce’s way too bright and dexterous for that.”
“No, her addiction seemed to be men,” Charly said, “and when Ponce got in the way of that, she dumped him, sometimes on strangers, and made him feel worthless and unloved.”
“Time will take care of that,” Darren assured her.
“That’s pretty much what the counselor says.”
“Believe it,” Darren said. “You and time are all that boy needs.”
Charly smiled. “From your lips to the judge’s ears,” she said. “We have an adoption hearing scheduled in three months.” At that moment the limo pulled up in front of a small, nondescript restaurant tucked into the corner of a strip mall.
“No judge would deny you the right to adopt that boy,” Darren assured her. Then he opened the door and got out, holding down a hand for her. Charly slid across the seat and twisted to set both feet on the ground. Placing her hand in his, she allowed him to pull her up and out of the car. Darren closed the car door and escorted her toward the restaurant. The limo pulled away.
In short order, they were seated at a corner table. Chips and salsa appeared, and suddenly Charly was ravenous. The salsa verde was the best she’d ever tasted. “This is amazing,” she said, pointing to the dish of green sauce.
“Mmm. They make it with avocado, lime juice and cilantro. I have the recipe, if you’re interested, although I like a little more kick in mine.”
“You cook?” she heard herself asking.
“I love to cook,” he answered. “How about you?”
She shrugged. “Me? Mostly I love to eat, which is a good reason not to cook, except, of course, that I have to think of Ponce.” They’d spoken of this before.
“My sister tries really hard to feed Cory properly,” Darren said, “but I think kids get hung up on certain food at different ages, you know? I mean, we all like what we’re comfortable with. Me, I’m comfortable with experimentation, but I remember clearly that in sixth grade I ate nothing but potato chips, French fries and canned pork and beans. You know, the kind with the little wieners in it.”
She laughed, wrinkled her nose and said, “Gross.”
“No, I still like them,” he said. “It’s just that there’s so much more that I like now. The other day,” he said, warming to his subject, “I had blackened rib eye with the most spectacular béarnaise sauce, and last night I grilled asparagus with pineapple and chicken chunks.”
“Grilled asparagus?” she repeated.
“Spectacular,” he promised, bringing thumb and forefinger together in the age-old sign for epicurean perfection. “And not long ago,” he went on, “it was Hopping John.”
“Hopping what?”
“Black-eyed peas and rice cooked with sausage, tomatoes and chilies. Serve it on top of corn bread with a side of greens. Oh, man.”
“Stop,” she laughed. “I’m already hungry. If you keep talking like that, I’ll eat this whole basket of chips.”
He waved that away as a lame excuse. “You can afford it.”
Fortunately, the waitress arrived before she had to acknowledge the compliment. The young, dark-haired woman carried a smile of familiarity in her eyes. “Mr. Darren.”
“Teresa. What’s good today?”
“The cowboy tacos are muy bueno,” she answered, “and the shrimp coctele is just made, very fresh.”
“I heartily recommend both,” Darren said to Charly.
She went for the cowboy tacos, even though the menu said that the trio of oversize tacos made with chunks of meat cooked in a chili sauce came with rice, beans, grilled vegetables, lettuce, tomato, grated cheese, sour cream and guacamole.
“Might as well bring a carryout box with it,” she told the waitress. “I’ll never eat all that.”
“Make it two,” Darren said, “and bring us a pitcher of that sangria iced tea you make. No alcohol,” he added to Charly.
The tea came immediately. It was delicious, delicately flavored and not too sweet. She drank the first glass in a hurry and deliberately savored the second.
“This is one recipe I haven’t gotten Sala to part with,” Darren said, sipping from his own glass, “and try as I might, I can’t nail it on my own.”
“Mmm, honey,” she mused.
He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I’ve been sweetening it with sugar.”
“Lime juice,” she went on, “strawberry, a little bit of grape.”
He laughed and smacked the table with one hand. “Wait’ll I tell Sala. I’ll test it out in my own kitchen first, of course. Get the proportions right.”
“And a little bit of peach in here,” she went on, “or maybe mango.”
“You’re brilliant!” he told her with a laugh. They were still discussing the ingredients of the tea when their dinner arrived.
Charly ate until she was miserable, then loaded the leftovers into the container provided for lunch the next day. Perhaps it was the quality of the food or perhaps it was merely a way to put off what she had to say. Whatever the reason, she usually exercised a little more discipline. By the time she was done, the conversation had turned to the law.
“So what do you like best about practicing law?” Darren asked.
“That’s easy, problem solving. People come to me with problems. I find solutions. That’s the best part.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“Lots of lawyers don’t think of it that way,” she admitted, “but that’s how I see it. My boss says that’s why I don’t make much money at it.”
“Money isn’t everything,” Darren said, “unless, of course, you don’t have any.”
“But there is something to that old saw about finding satisfaction in your work, your life,” she said intently. “Don’t you think?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. On the other hand, you can do a lot of good with money.”
“As long as it’s not a substitute for personal involvement,” she insisted, and he smiled.
“That’s something I’m learning now. Thanks to you.”
The waitress returned then to begin removing the plates and ask how everything was.
“Excellent, as usual,” Darren told her with a wink. He pulled cash out of his pocket and thrust it into her hand without even asking for the check. He got to his feet, obviously expecting no change, and Charly followed suit. Tucking the carryout container into the crook of one arm, she followed him to the door. The moment they stepped outside, the limo sli
d into place in front of them. How wealthy was he? she wondered. As wealthy as he was charming, apparently.
Neither, however, changed what she had to do.
He handed her down into the car, and she slid all the way across, placing the carryout container on the seat next to her. Darren slid in beside her, closed the door and reached for the intercom button.
“Back to the lot, Pat.”
As the limo moved off again, he opened a small refrigeration unit tucked into the corner of the elaborate console and stowed the leftovers inside. Smiling, he said, “We should’ve brought Ponce. Sala makes a dish he calls Mexican Fries. It’s French fries, of course, but with cheese and mild chili and ketchup that’s just a little spicy. Kids seem to love—”
“It’s out of the question,” she interrupted gently.
He blinked, obviously taken aback. “I only meant…I know how important your son is to you, and I like Ponce. I like kids in general, but I really like Ponce.”
She shook her head, touched but determined. “I’ve promised my son that I won’t subject him to any man. He was abused by some of his birth mother’s boyfriends, spanked, derided by them, one apparently even locked him in a closet. He doesn’t trust men.”
“But how will he ever learn if he’s never exposed to a decent guy?” Darren asked.
“He is. His therapist is a male, and there are the fathers of his teammates and friends.”
“And what about you?” Darren asked softly.
“We’ve been through this already. My only concern is for my son.”
“I think you’re making a mistake. I think Ponce needs to be exposed to a similar situation with a man who won’t abuse him or consider him an inconvenience, someone who really likes him.”
“That may be true,” Charly conceded, “but what happens when this ‘nice guy’ moves on? What does Ponce learn from that?”
For a moment Darren didn’t reply. Then very carefully he said, “You don’t know I’ll move on.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” Charly scoffed. “I know it very well.”
“You can’t,” he countered. “You’ve no idea who I am.” He clamped his mouth shut, a glimmer of frustration in his brown eyes.
“You’re right. But I know me.” She turned away, gazing unseeingly out the window at her side. “You’ll move on,” she said, keeping her voice light, unconcerned, though inside a space seemed to open, an empty space. Just like David.
After a long time he muttered quietly, almost to himself, “I’m not so sure.”
She ignored that, concentrating instead on what must be done, said. “It doesn’t matter what might or might not happen if we start seeing each other because we won’t. In fact, I think it best if we see each other as little as possible, so I’m going to resign as head coach of the soccer team.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Why not? You’re the better coach. You can take them through the rest of the season.”
“I can’t let you do that,” he stated flatly. “You’re the heart of that team, Charly. Without you there would be no team.” He shook his head. “No, if one of us has to go, it will be me.”
“But you’re the better coach.”
“That’s not important. You know everything you need to.”
“Now, maybe,” she said, “but if not for you—”
“I won’t lie to you, Charly,” he interrupted, “I don’t want to give up the team. I love coaching those kids, more than I ever dreamed I would, but that’s exactly what I’ll do if you try to resign. I mean it, I’ll walk away without even looking back before I let you quit.”
“But that’s stupid!”
“Maybe, but you have my word on it. If you leave, the team dies.”
It was blackmail, pure and simple. “That’s not fair!”
“And leaving these kids in the lurch is? Just because you’re attracted to me when you don’t want to be, you’ll walk away from them? That’s fair?”
For a moment she could do nothing but gape as she felt her face turn red. It was pure pride that conjured the words, “I never said I was attracted to you.”
He smirked at her, his gaze stating clearly that he had expected honesty of her. She gulped, knowing he was right. “It doesn’t matter,” she murmured. “Don’t you see that I have no choice? My hands are tied in this. My son comes first, period.”
He wanted to argue. She could see that, and she was flattered. To think that a man like Darren Rudd would actually pursue her was a considerable boost to her ego, not that she believed for a moment that he would stick around. Once he knew her better, realized that she would never play his game, give in, settle for a mere physical relationship, he would move on. At least David had married her, but then even he, in short order, had walked away. Oh, he’d said that it was for her own good, that she deserved a man she could love with her whole heart, a man she could love more than her work, but what he’d really meant was that he was bored to tears being her husband.
“I don’t suppose I can argue with that,” he said.
“Then it’s settled. We understand each other?”
“So long as you don’t try to walk away from the team.”
Charly took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of relief and intense disappointment, then she nodded. “All right.”
The car turned into the fenced parking lot where her own small, sensible sedan waited. “I have just one favor to ask,” Darren said, turning slightly toward her.
“What’s that?”
He reached out for her, clasped a hand at the back of her head, near her nape. “This,” he whispered, pulling her toward him.
He lowered his mouth to hers, and her eyes clamped shut. She knew she should be pushing him away, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Instead she felt him slide closer and press her head back onto his shoulder. She felt his hand on her arm, turning her toward him, urging her closer. Then his arm slid around her, holding her upper body tight against his chest. His tongue nudged against her teeth, and she parted them, allowing him access. He swept the cavern of her mouth, slowly, sweetly, with aching thoroughness, as if it was the last time.
The last time.
Yes, that would be it. They could never share another kiss, another moment of this burning intimacy. Tears gathered behind her lowered lids. With poignant regret, she gave herself up to this moment, granting herself a glimpse of what might have been, of what she lost with this decision. Sliding her hands up to his shoulders and then around his neck, she yielded as completely as she dared.
His moan told her that he sensed her surrender, welcomed it, perhaps even treasured it in some way. His mouth grew more urgent against hers, his arms tightening. Instinctively she moved her lips beneath his, rolling her head slightly side to side until it seemed that some part of him, some essence of him, seeped beneath her skin and pervaded her soul. In some indefinable way, they were joined, melded. For the last time. The only time.
Breath expended, she finally turned her head away a bit. His lips clung to hers, then broke away, returning again and again in small, nipping kisses that wound sobs tight in her chest until she could bear no more. Straightening, she pulled away, breaking contact while she still possessed the strength to do so.
“Charly,” he breathed wonderingly. “Oh, Charly.”
She marshaled her resources, placed before her mind’s eye a picture of her son’s beautiful, solemn face, and sucked in a deep breath. “I have to go. Ponce is waiting.”
Darren nodded glumly. “Thank you for meeting me tonight. For letting me kiss you once more.”
She cleared her throat and reached for the door handle, aware for the first time really that the limo had come to a complete halt, probably some time ago. “Goodbye, Darren.”
“Goodbye.”
She wanted to thank him for all he’d done for the team, but she dared not linger long enough to do so. Opening the door, she got out and walked as steadily as she could to her own automobile, firmly believing that she was walkin
g away from what might have been one of the sweetest interludes of her life. For Ponce, she told herself. Only for Ponce.
Darren watched her move across the parking lot, her gait not quite as steady as she surely would have liked. Once she’d unlocked the door and gotten in behind the steering wheel of her car, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t counted on this. He hadn’t counted on any woman, let alone this one, being able to move him as Charly did.
He sat there in the cool interior of the humming limo and faced it. This wasn’t about sex, not merely sex, not any longer—if ever it had been. This, oddly enough, was about life, about the strange, unexpected turns it could take. He’d never expected that his life would take this particular turn. He’d never thought to find a woman, the woman, meant for him. He’d never expected that he actually had a mate, and yet there she was, driving away from him, sure that she had just dismissed him from her life. As if he would let her get away now!
He thought of his sister, Jill, how pleased she would be if he married, and of Ponce, who needed a father as badly as he needed a mother, of himself without them. Darren curled his hand into a fist and brought it down lightly against his knee. He supposed this was love. What else could it be? What else could have him thinking of marriage and fatherhood?
And Charly expected him to just slink away, forget her and Ponce and the way she’d curled his toes just now. Foolish woman. Sweet, foolish woman. Shifting in his leather seat, trying to find a more comfortable position until his need of her abated, he began planning his next move.
Oh, he was aware that Charly thought he’d agreed to leave her alone, but he hadn’t really said or meant that at all. She wouldn’t be pleased when she realized it, but he’d find a way to work past her defenses. He already knew the way, in fact. Ponce. Winning Ponce meant winning Charly. Darren was sure of that. So, for now, he would concentrate on the boy. It wouldn’t be easy, but he would find a way, for all their sakes, and in the end Charly would surely love him for it.
Leaning forward, he hit the intercom button. “Take me home, Pat.”
“Yes, sir.”
Smiling to himself, he wondered if Ponce would like the penthouse or if they would all wind up living in Charly’s girlhood home. He rather fancied that notion himself, for a while at least. Then perhaps they would build. Yes, that would be grand, designing and building a home with Charly and Ponce. He’d build them a mansion, a castle, some place large enough for all their children.
