by Irene Hannon
His smile broadened. “Good. I hate to drink alone.”
A couple of minutes later, sodas in hand, they found a table in the sun. Tess closed her eyes and lifted her face to the balmy rays, enjoying their caressing warmth.
“Mmm. This is great,” she said, her lips curving into an appreciative smile.
Mitch took a sip of his soda and let his gaze rest on those lips—soft and supple and made to be kissed. She was more relaxed than he’d ever seen her—and far more appealing than was healthy for either of them, he realized with a start as his gaze swept down the slender column of her throat and lingered on the bare expanse of creamy skin at her collarbone. He swallowed with difficulty and looked away, firmly reminding himself that he wasn’t in the market for romance. And neither was the lady, from all indications.
When he glanced back she was looking at him, her chin propped in one hand, her slender fingers playing with the soda straw. “You got lucky, you know that?” she remarked with a smile.
Her words jolted him momentarily, until common sense kicked in. Tess couldn’t possibly be talking about the fact that they’d met—even if that was the first thought that had come to his mind. “How so?” he asked, striving for a casual tone.
“The weather,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Mid-March can be awfully nasty in Missouri. It takes a lot of courage to plan an outdoor carnival for this time of year.”
He let his breath out slowly, willing his racing pulse to slow down. “Not courage,” he corrected her. “Tradition. Southfield High’s been having this carnival on the same weekend for years. And I think they’ve only had bad weather once.”
“Well, someone’s doing something right. But I was surprised to see you here. I thought you went to your uncle’s on weekends.”
“I do. I’m heading out there as soon as I leave here. But I had to put in an appearance.”
Tess’s fingers stilled and she frowned. “So I am holding you up.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to leave until after—”
He broke off abruptly to look over Tess’s shoulder, and she turned to find Bruce glaring at her.
“I waited by the food booth for ten minutes,” her son said accusingly, shooting a venomous glance at Mitch.
A crestfallen look swept over Tess’s face. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry!” she apologized contritely. “I burned my hand and Mit…Mr. Jackson walked me over to first aid. We stopped to have a soda on the way back. I just lost track of the time.”
He shrugged stiffly. “It doesn’t matter. The food here stinks, anyway. I’d rather go out with the guys for pizza. If that’s okay.”
Mitch saw the distress on Tess’s face and stood. “I was just leaving,” he said easily. “Why don’t you stay and have something to eat with your mom, Bruce?”
Bruce glared at him. “I don’t have to do what you say when I’m not in school.”
“Bruce!” Tess reprimanded him, shocked by his defiant tone. “Apologize to Mr. Jackson!”
“Why? I didn’t do anything wrong,” he countered sullenly.
Tess rose, bristling with anger. “You most certainly did. You were rude and insolent. There was no call for that tone. I raised you better than that. Now, apologize.”
Their gazes locked for a moment in a silent battle of wills. But though they were equal in height, he was no match for her maternal authority. At last his gaze fell and he studied the toe of his sport shoe.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled begrudgingly, refusing to meet Mitch’s eyes. Then he looked at Tess. “So can I go with the guys for pizza?”
Tess debated silently. She’d blown it just now by not showing up on time for the “date” with her son. And she’d added insult to injury by allowing Bruce’s nemesis to be the cause of her tardiness. She needed to make it up to him, and this might be the way. After all, his request wasn’t unreasonable. And she had been keeping him on a pretty tight leash. She longed to turn to Mitch, ask his advice, but that would only make things worse with Bruce. She was on her own.
“Where are they going?” she stalled.
“Just down the street. To Little Italy.”
Tess knew the place. It was a popular—and safe—hangout for high school kids. “Okay. But I want you home by seven.”
“Seven! But Mom, it’s Saturday night!”
“And you’re fourteen.” She ignored his dirty look. “Do you want me to pick you up?”
His expression said, “Get real,” but his spoken words were different. “I can walk.”
The restaurant was only a few blocks from their apartment and the area was safe, so Tess nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you at seven. No later, Bruce. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
Tess watched as he disappeared into the crowd, then turned to Mitch, her shoulders drooping. “So did I blow it?” she asked heavily, clearly distressed by the confrontation.
He shook his head. “You can’t keep kids under lock and key all the time. And you can’t always be there to watch over their shoulder. Little Italy is okay. And you set a clear curfew. You did the right thing, Tess.”
She wanted to believe him. Desperately. She’d made a lot of mistakes in her life, but she was determined not to make any more when it came to Bruce. Mitch’s reassurance was comforting. But more important, it was credible. He wasn’t the type to lie just to make someone feel good. Especially when a kid’s future was at stake. She’d learned enough about him to know that. The knot in her stomach eased slightly and she slowly exhaled. “Thanks.”
Mitch glanced at his watch, and Tess took the cue. She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “Thanks for the soda, too. I’m sure you’re anxious to get on the road.”
Her statement was true enough. Mitch had planned to arrive at the farm before dark. He could still make it if he left now.
“Actually, since your meal plans fell apart, I thought maybe we could grab a bite first. The food here isn’t quite as bad as Bruce implied.”
Judging by the faint flush that rose on her cheeks, the invitation surprised her as much as it did him.
“I don’t want to hold you up,” she said hesitantly.
She’d given him an out. Which he should take, he told himself firmly. Spending time with an attractive mother of a problem student wasn’t in his plans. Nor was it safe. He knew that at some intuitive level. The logical thing to do was grab a carryout and take off. But somehow his heart wasn’t listening to logic.
“We both have to eat anyway. Unless you make a habit of cookies for dinner.”
She smiled. “No. That was a rare exception. I much prefer real food.”
“Two orders of real food coming up, then. What would you like?”
“Surprise me.”
“No hated foods I should steer clear of?”
She grinned. “Only funnel cakes.”
He chuckled, a deep sound that resonated pleasantly in her ears. “I don’t blame you. Okay, sit tight and I’ll be right back.”
When he returned a few minutes later laden with bratwurst, potato salad, coleslaw and brownies, Tess arched her eyebrows. “So did you invite everyone in line to join us?” she teased.
“Hey, we eat hearty on the farm,” he countered as he divided up the food. “You need a lot of energy to drive tractors and mend fences and pitch hay.”
“So what excuse do I have for eating all these calories?”
His gaze swept over her, swift but discerning. “I don’t think you need to worry.”
Though his tone was matter-of-fact, his words caused an odd flutter in her stomach. She watched him surreptitiously, admiring his strong profile as he squeezed mustard onto his bratwurst. He was a man who could easily let his good looks go to his head, could take advantage of his innate charisma. Instead, he was down-to-earth and genuine. Though he was clearly used to being in charge, his authority was tempered by kindness—and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But it was there, in his eyes. Something had happened to Mitc
h Jackson somewhere along the way that had changed him irrevocably. Tess knew that as suddenly and surely as she knew that for the first time in years she actually found herself attracted to a man.
At just that moment Mitch looked at her, and she felt herself dissolving in the warmth of his dark brown eyes. A sudden surge of longing swept over her, setting off warning bells in the recesses of her heart and sending shock waves rippling through her. For a woman who thought she’d tamed her physical needs, who had convinced herself that she’d built up an immunity to their power, it was extremely disconcerting to discover that it had simply taken the right man to reawaken her long-dormant desire. The fact that she wasn’t in the market for romance—nor, she suspected, was he—didn’t seem to matter. The attraction was real and seemed to have a life of its own, which scared her. And made her want to turn and flee. In fact, she intended to do just that at the first opportunity. In the meantime, she needed to focus on something else.
“So tell me about the farm. How big is it?” she asked, grasping at the first thought that came to mind.
If Mitch was surprised by the abrupt change of subject, or noticed the slightly breathless quality of her voice, he didn’t let on. “It’s a nice spread,” he replied easily. “About five hundred acres. Uncle Ray leases most of it to a tenant farmer now, but he still works about a hundred acres. It’s enough to keep us busy.”
“Do you spend all your free time there?”
He shrugged. “Pretty much. It’s a nice change of pace.”
“I have some friends who own a farm near Jefferson City,” Tess told him. “It’s smaller than your uncle’s—probably a couple hundred acres, mostly fields, some woods. Bruce and I used to go out there sometimes on the weekends. He always enjoyed it. Of course, that was in the old days. I doubt that a farm would hold much appeal for him now. It wouldn’t be cool.” She sighed. “It seems like sometimes…sometimes I hardly know him anymore,” she confessed in a disheartened tone.
Her face grew sad and forlorn, and Mitch fought a powerful impulse to reach over and take her hand. He deliberately reached for the potato salad instead. “Adolescence is tough on everyone,” he commiserated, purposely adopting a clinical tone. “But most kids get through it unscathed. Some just need a little more help than others.”
Tess nodded. “Like Bruce. How do you spot kids like him?”
He shrugged. “I pay attention, especially to mid-term transfers. They often have problems adjusting and finding their niche. It’s not rocket science.”
“No. It’s more difficult than rocket science,” Tess declared emphatically. “Because human beings aren’t as predictable as rockets. Especially adolescents.”
“They can be just as volatile, though. But there are patterns of behavior that pretty consistently indicate trouble, if you know what to watch for.”
“Which clearly you do. How did you learn so much about kids, Mitch?”
It was an innocent question. But his gut twisted painfully, and he found it difficult to swallow the bite of potato salad he’d just taken. They were dangerously close to off-limits territory, and he bought himself a moment to formulate an answer by taking a long, slow drink of his soda. “I was young once,” he replied at last, aware that his response was incomplete and unsatisfactory. But it was all he was prepared to offer.
Before her reporter skills could kick in, prompting her to ask a follow-up question, he turned the tables. “You mentioned in our first meeting that Bruce has a problem with self-esteem. As Chris pointed out in the meeting you attended, self-image is a big part of what drives adolescent behavior. Kids who have issues in this area are often susceptible to peer pressure. But it’s a bit unusual to find that problem in teenagers who have at least one very loving, involved parent in their life—which Bruce does. It’s more common when kids come from homes where the parents are apathetic or even abusive.” He hesitated, and when he spoke again his tone was more personal than professional. “Can I ask you something, Tess?”
She broke off a piece of her brownie and let it crumble through her fingers. She knew where this was leading. Peter. She’d never talked about her relationship with her ex-husband—to anyone. Had never felt the need to dredge up those unhappy memories. Until now. Suddenly she wanted to share the trauma—at least some of it—with this man whose kind, sympathetic eyes seemed to invite confidences. Please, Lord, she prayed silently, help me find the courage to share this hurt I’ve held so long in my heart. And the courage to trust my instincts about this man, who seems so compassionate and caring.
Her heart thudding painfully in her chest, she drew a deep breath and spoke quietly. “You want to know about Bruce’s father.”
“I have wondered where he fits into the picture,” Mitch admitted, his eyes watchful, his tone careful.
“He doesn’t.”
Mitch looked surprised. “There’s no contact at all?”
“No. Unless he happens to remember to send a check to Bruce at Christmas. But the lack of contact isn’t a negative in this case.” Tess took another deep breath and gazed at him directly. “Peter—my ex-husband—was a lousy father. It’s as simple as that. When we first got married, he said he didn’t want children right away. When Bruce came along two years later—quite unexpectedly—I accepted it. Peter didn’t. I thought he’d eventually come around, but he never did. He resented Bruce for intruding on our lives, and he held him to impossible standards. Bruce tried so hard to please him—” her voice broke, and she forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath “—but nothing he did was good enough. In the beginning I tried to make excuses for Peter, but kids are smart. Bruce knew how Peter felt about him. Yet he still kept trying to win his love. Only, Peter didn’t have any to give—to Bruce or, as I finally realized, to me.”
The next part was even harder, and Tess dropped her gaze to stare at the mangled brownie on her plate. When she spoke her voice was so soft that Mitch had to lean closer to hear. “I married Peter when I was twenty. He was the first man I’d ever seriously dated, and I mistook infatuation for love. He was handsome and ambitious and successful, and I was flattered when he took a fancy to me. It was only later that I realized what the real attraction was—my father’s political contacts. Peter was a lobbyist for the theme park industry, and my dad was a state senator. He had the connections Peter wanted. I was just…just the means to an end.”
Even after so many years the admission hurt, and Tess paused to draw a shaky breath before venturing a look at Mitch. Instead of the pity she’d been afraid of finding in his eyes, she saw something else entirely. Something surprising. Anger. Controlled, but simmering just below the surface.
“He was an idiot.” Mitch’s voice was low, but intense.
Tess’s eyes widened at the unexpected comment, but before she had time to analyze it, he spoke again. “How long were you married?”
“Too long. Ten years chronologically, but it felt like a lifetime. Frankly, our marriage began to deteriorate almost immediately, and it disintegrated after Bruce was born. But I kept hoping things would improve. Even when I went back to school to finish my degree, I still did all the things that were expected of the wife of someone in Peter’s position. I kept thinking that if I just did a better job as a wife, he would learn to love me—and Bruce.”
“I take it that never happened.”
She shook her head sadly. “No. I stayed far longer than was healthy for anyone. We were all miserable. Not that anyone would have guessed. Peter put up a good front publicly. In his profession, it was in his best interest to keep up the pretense of being a solid family man.” Tess gave a brief, bitter laugh. “What a joke. We were a family in name only.”
“What finally made you decide to leave?”
Tess gazed at him, into eyes that beckoned her to open her heart and share her pain, to tell this final secret. She wanted to. Wanted to exorcise the ghosts of that final humiliation. But even now, years later, the words wouldn’t come. The memory still hurt too much. No, she c
ouldn’t talk about that final degrading moment, the turning point when only one option had been left to her. Not even to this man, who she suspected would treat her disclosure with understanding and gentleness.
“I was worried about Bruce. About the damage that had already been done, and the damage that would continue to be done if we stayed. And Peter had an offer to move on to bigger things in Washington. The time was right for us to go our separate ways.” Which was the truth. Just not the whole truth. But it was enough. For now.
Tess crumpled her napkin with hands that weren’t quite steady and forcibly lightened her tone. “So now you don’t have to wonder about Bruce’s dad anymore. He’s out of our life. Which is no great loss. And we’re doing fine on our own. Better, really. I just wish I could erase the scars he left with Bruce. But I’m working on it.”
And what about the scars he left with you? Mitch wondered silently. Though he suspected she would deny it, they were there. He could see them in the sadness and disillusionment in her eyes, which spoke eloquently of her own pain as well as the pain she felt on behalf of her son. Yet she had spunk. And spirit. And strength. She was a survivor. She had made a courageous decision, and then done what was required to create a new life for herself and Bruce. But she’d also clearly paid a price. In stress. Uncertainty. Tension. Emotional distress.
Mitch’s throat tightened and he was again tempted to reach over and take her hand. Again he held back, afraid of where that simple touch could lead. He’d vowed years ago to stay away from personal involvements. Friend, adviser, counselor, confidant—he could handle those roles. But nothing more. Yet more was exactly what his heart wanted from Tess Lockwood. So he needed to keep his distance. For both their sakes.
“I’m sorry, Tess.”
It was a simple but heartfelt comment. And it was all that needed to be said.
“Thanks. I am, too. Frankly, I never thought I’d end up being a single mom at thirty-six. I really believed in that ‘till death do us part’ vow we took before God, you know?”
The wistful note in her voice tugged at his heart, and he could no longer resist the temptation. He reached over and covered her hand with his. “Don’t stop believing in it, Tess,” he said huskily. “It can happen.”
