by Mae Nunn
“Scrabble?” Ben read the title. “Gosh, I haven’t played that in thirty years.”
“I thought I’d give it a try. Maybe he’ll go for it.”
“There’s only one way to find out. He’s upstairs, like always.”
She stopped at the doorway. “Aren’t you going to ask me where Simba is?”
“I’m sure she’s just around that corner, close enough to be at my throat in a moment’s notice.”
“Oh, I thought maybe I’d fooled you into thinking I’d left her at my place.”
He shook his head. “Nope, I saw you both out back earlier.”
She lowered her gaze, seemingly embarrassed. “I’m sorry we didn’t ask permission. But we’re kinda pressed for space at the condo, especially since I took in a roommate. I just couldn’t resist a look around your yard. It seems huge compared to our little public park, and your landscaping is extraordinary. I hoped you wouldn’t mind strangers wandering on your property.”
“Don’t mention it. You’re hardly a stranger, so feel free to make yourself at home.”
He had a feeling it was what she’d do anyway.
Chapter Eight
“Anybody home?” Ali knocked briskly on the door frame before entering Ethan’s room. As expected, he was propped against his headboard with an ancient geology textbook in one hand and a Snickers bar in the other.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s always a pleasure to see you too, Ethan.”
Ali dragged a side chair across the floor and positioned it at the Danish modern partner’s desk. Then she unfolded the game board and set out a small wooden rack for each player. Ethan shifted from his backside to his knees so he could see what was going on. Good, she had his attention.
“Don’t you know it’s the weekend?” he snapped.
“So?” She began flipping the letter tiles facedown in the lid of the box. “If you never leave your room how can you tell today’s any different from yesterday?”
“Morning cartoons, Sherlock.”
“Very nice. You actually made a wisecrack.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s not important.” A teenager who didn’t naturally dole out sarcasm wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “To your point, I’m definitely aware it’s Saturday evening and I felt like doing something fun. I thought you might be interested in a Scrabble smackdown.”
“That’s a stupid kid’s game.”
“Oh, is that right?” Benjamin crossed the threshold carrying an additional chair. “In that case you probably won’t want to join us.”
“Of course he will.” Ali suppressed her shock and continued to set up the game. Inviting Benjamin to play had crossed her mind but she’d dismissed it after a moment’s thought. Working with Ethan was like groping about in a dark and unfamiliar closet. If she was going to fumble blindly it was best to do it in private.
“How about it, Ethan?” Ali kept her voice casual.
“Nope.” He slumped back onto the bed but continued to watch, incapable of masking the interest on his face.
“Alrighty, then.” She turned to Benjamin, who winked and grinned at her as he passed the foot of Ethan’s bed. Another woman might have interpreted the gesture as flirtatious, but Ali felt certain it was conspiratorial and nothing more. Even so, such a teasing glance from the Dallas Cowboy legend was the stuff that drove Bridget Jones to her diary.
“I’m glad you have some time to kill before your dinner’s ready.”
“Pffffff,” Benjamin puffed at the comment. “If a rousing round of Scrabble is in order, the food can wait.”
The game was positioned between the two of them with the board only partially in Ethan’s line of sight. Ali prayed his curious nature would get the best of him and it took less than fifteen minutes to receive her answer.
“Huh?” Ali squinted at the word Benjamin had carefully positioned on the board. “Anth…Anthr…I can’t even pronounce that. You’re making it up,” she accused him as she grabbed her trusty dictionary.
“No way,” Benjamin defended himself.
“Way!” She thumbed through the pages. “A-N-T…How’d you spell that, again?”
“A-N-T-H-R-A-C-I-T-E.”
“Anthracite!” Ethan was on his feet and crossing the room. “That’s the most highly metamorphosed form of coal, containing ninety-two to ninety-eight percent of fixed carbon. It is black, hard and glassy.” He selected a dark chunk from the many cylinder-shaped core samples on his bookshelves, carried it to the desk and positioned it beside the word on the Scrabble board. “Any dummy knows about Anthracite.”
“Well, that certainly accounts for you,” Ali muttered.
“Okay, you two. Keep it civil.” Benjamin never looked up, just reached for more letter tiles to replenish the ones he’d used during his turn.
So, she’d been right not to swat his hand when he’d nonchalantly rifled around in the box for those Ts and As. He was up to something and Ali didn’t know whether to feel relieved or challenged.
Who’s the therapist here, anyway?
Benjamin made a show of adding up his score. “That’s fifteen points for the old man.” He wrote it on the pad with a flourish.
Ethan reached around his father’s shoulder, scooted the H aside and pointed out the pink square underneath.
“Dad, pay attention. That’s a double-word space.”
“So it is! Thanks, buddy.” Benjamin erased and reentered his score.
“Hey, no assistance from the cheap seats.” Ali waved Ethan away.
“She’s right, son. Either pull up a chair and play or go back to bed, but don’t loom over us like Mount Rushmore.”
Ali watched for the boy’s response. His eyes glazed with confusion, like a dog caught in the middle of a busy road, not knowing whether to freeze on the spot or run for the safety of the curb. Instinct told her to intervene.
“Here, take my seat and see if you can do anything with these crummy letters I drew.” She stood and indicated the chair. When he continued to hesitate she walked around the desk, pinched the hem of his T-shirt and tugged Ethan forward. “Really, I could use the help. I’m much better at Monopoly but this was the only game in my closet that still had all the pieces.”
Ethan slumped down, shoved both hands through the mop of hair sticking outward from his scalp and held that pose while he studied the tray containing seven letter tiles.
Benjamin’s head popped up from where he’d been concentrating on his next move.
“I think I smell something burning.” He jumped to his feet. “Ali, would you mind taking my turn while I check on the pie?” Without waiting for her response or Ethan’s objection, Benjamin headed out the doorway. A moment later his head poked back into the room. “And no cheating,” he admonished, then hurried to the end of the hall and thumped down the staircase.
“I interfered upstairs, and I’m sorry for doing that without your permission.” Benjamin’s apology flowed the moment Ali appeared in the kitchen a couple of hours later.
She didn’t bother pretending she had no idea what he meant. “Yes, you did meddle in my business but it worked out well, so you’re forgiven.” And she had to admit, if only to herself, it had been heartwarming to watch his devious efforts to engage Ethan in the game.
“I warn you, it probably won’t be the last time,” Benjamin admitted.
“That’s okay, because I have every intention of sticking my nose into your professional affairs the first chance I get.”
“I held off on supper, hoping you’d join me. There hasn’t been a lady at my table in a long time, so my hosting skills are sorta rusty.” He waved a hand toward the bay window where he’d positioned a second place setting at the banquette. “If you’d prefer something more formal, we can move into the dining room.”
“Gosh, no. I wouldn’t know formal if it jumped up and bit me.” She walked to the table and counted the number of forks beside each plate. Four.
“Anything wrong?” he
asked.
“If this is what you consider informal, I’d hate to see how much silver it takes to feed you by candlelight.”
Benjamin rested a fist at either side of his waist and stared at the table, considering his efforts.
“Cocktail, salad, dinner, dessert.” He pointed as he explained.
“This is a lovely kitchen, but it is not the Ritz Carlton. One fork will do, two tops.”
“You think?”
“Definitely.”
After nodding agreement he swept several utensils away from the table, dropped them into an open utility drawer and then placed a meal before them that Ali couldn’t have cooked on a dare. During Benjamin’s blessing her stomach rumbled like a diesel engine. She risked a peek and caught him smiling as he prayed. The more she knew of him the less by-the-book and more approachable he seemed.
He dished up man-sized portions of fragrant roasted meat, tender vegetables and bubbling gravy. Butter trickled from a crisp, warm roll. If she ate everything on the plate, she’d be too full for dessert. Oh, well. Maybe she’d be crude and ask for her slice of pie to go.
“So tell me, how many more words actually ended up on that board after I left the two of you alone?”
“Very few, seeing as neither of us hand-picked our letters and Ethan refused to stoop to any word with a score under ten points.” She placed a heaping forkful into her mouth and groaned approval as she chewed.
“Thank you.” He smiled at her reaction. “It’s nice to have another person appreciate my efforts.”
“I’m certain there are thousands of people who’ll appreciate your efforts once you’re a Congressman.”
“You keep bringing that up. May I assume your interest means you’d support me?” He kept his eyes lowered to his plate. Ali couldn’t tell if that was to keep the pressure off her or to mask his level of concern for the response.
“Honestly?” It was time to find out how much of this man was tough guy, how much was positive spin doctor and how much was ego.
This time his blue eyes met and held her gaze. “Of course. I’d like to know if you’d vote for me.”
“Unfortunately, after what I’ve learned about one of your potential political action committees, the answer is no. A vote for you would be a vote for that group of crazies.”
His chin snapped up as if he’d been popped in the jaw.
“Wow, I haven’t been zinged like that since you called me an unconscionable idiot.”
“Does this shoe fit as well as that one did?”
“Lady, you are a pit bull.”
“I’ve been called worse.” But never by anyone as high on the Texas social register as Benjamin Lamar.
“Suppose you tell me exactly which group of ‘crazies’ you’re referring to.”
He opened the window of opportunity. Should she back down now?
Hmmmmm…No.
“The Parents First Alliance.”
“The PFA is a strong source of support to the autism community. What do you have against their work?”
“Nothing where autism is concerned. But do you realize how often they challenge Family Services for removing children from dangerous homes?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I happen to agree with them that children are better off with their natural parents than they are in the court system.”
“Have you studied that subject?”
“I’ve read all the literature PFA provided to me.”
“Those marketing materials are tantamount to propaganda. Have you studied this subject personally? Have you spoken with enough victims of domestic violence to find out that most of them would feel safer living under a viaduct than trapped in a house with a drunken mother or raging father?” She rested her fork on the edge of the plate, the tempting food forgotten as she thought of her young friends, her Sunday Kids, who’d go hungry tonight before they’d go home.
“No, I haven’t.” He stared as if studying her face.
“Well, I work with some of those kids during my personal time. There’s an epidemic of teens on the streets who’ve taken matters into their own hands when people like Parents First Alliance let them down.”
She was being too blunt, but he’d asked for honesty.
“Benjamin, a couple of years ago the PFA financed the defense of that cult compound where there were clearly signs of child abuse. A man would have to be ignorant or a gullible fool to support their agenda.”
The lady’s words carried the unexpected sting of a scorpion hiding in the toe of a sock. Ben couldn’t remember ever being confronted so aggressively off the field of competition and certainly never in his own home. He counted to ten, determined to remain calm, resolved not to react like one of the ‘crazies’ she’d just accused him of associating with.
This woman obviously knew her subject matter and she wasn’t afraid to bring the heat. Should he compliment her on a thorough investigation of the facts or escort her out of his house for insulting his integrity?
And either way, what if she was right?
Chapter Nine
Ben would take this up with God later, but right now the woman across the table had made some comments that had to be addressed.
Randy Mason had arranged their initial meeting with the reps for Parents First Alliance. Trusting Randy with his life, Ben naturally assumed these folks who’d given generously to autism research were completely on the up and up. Yes, there’d been some negative press during their court battles to keep kids out of the system and under the guardianship of their parents, but wasn’t that what parental rights were all about?
Had he been naive to trust Randy’s judgment without question? Probably, since Ben was now questioning himself while the lady at his kitchen table waited, staring, expecting a rebuttal.
“I’d like to answer your concerns, but you have me at a disadvantage. I need to do more research on the PFA and their legal battles with Child Protective Services.”
“With all due respect, you should have done due diligence on that subject before you decided to associate with the PFA.”
Fed up with the attack, Ben mirrored her actions, laying down his fork and pushing back from his plate.
“You know what, Doctor Stone? Until further notice I’m still a private citizen. Who I associate with is really none of your business. However, you’ve scored some points and given me plenty to think about. For that I thank you. Once I’ve declared myself a political candidate you’re welcome to get in line with the opposition and have at me. But I’ll also thank you to keep your thoughts on my personal affiliations to yourself, at least in my home and certainly with my son.”
Ben’s defensive words rebounded in the vaulted ceiling above the kitchen and then the room fell silent. If there’d been a cricket in the house, they’d have heard it chirping. At this moment he’d even welcome the tapping of the dog’s nails on the floor nearby as an excuse to break eye contact with Alison Stone. She blinked first, pushed her chair back from his table and placed the folded napkin beside her plate.
“I’ll see myself out,” she said quietly.
“You don’t have to leave.” His mama would be horrified. His unkind words were about to run this woman out the door.
“It’s getting late anyway, so I think it would be best.” She crossed to the built-in desk where she’d set her bag, fished inside it and pulled out a ring of keys.
“Would you at least take your dinner with you?” Ben offered, knowing he had too much food and no appetite to continue the meal or the conversation.
“No thanks. I have leftover pizza.”
If he wanted this to be the last he saw of Doctor Alison Stone here was the perfect opportunity to say so.
But in spite of her spitfire personality, he really liked the lady.
And what about Ethan?
“Should we expect a visit from you tomorrow?” Ben probed.
“My Sundays are reserved for worship and personal time with some of those young people I was telling you about
.”
“Let me rephrase. Should we expect a visit from you ever again?”
Her shoulders drooped for a moment as if the weight of the question were too great. Then, she looked him right in the eye. “Mr. Lamar, I’ve never run from a problem or a challenge. I know I had my doubts about working with Ethan, but as of today I consider him one of my kids. I try never to let them down because everybody deserves to have at least one person they can count on to accept them unconditionally.”
She turned about face, not giving Ben the opportunity to remind her that Ethan had plenty of people he could count on. The heels of her boots thunked loudly across the tile floor and then more quietly on the wood of the entry hall. The alarm system chirped as the door opened and closed behind the very opinionated woman.
Ben stared at her plate and the food that would go to waste now. She’d only enjoyed a few bites before their pleasant mealtime conversation had gone south. How had that happened, anyway? She’d transitioned rather quickly from complimenting his cooking to sniping at his supporters. Could she be down on politics in general or was there a reason she’d drawn a bead on his campaign in particular?
The rumble of her SUV brought him to his feet. Ben crossed the kitchen to peer through the window shutters. The backs of two heads were visible through the wind-shield above the tailgate. The head with long, floppy ears turned toward the house just as the vehicle exited Ben’s driveway. He would have bet dollars to donuts he was being stared down by that blasted dog.
Simba whined.
Ali checked the rearview mirror and noticed her pet looking backward, toward the house.
“I know, girl. You’re tired of spending your evenings back there lying on a rug when we should be getting ready for the Round Up.”
Volunteer rescue workers came from across the Southwest each summer for their very own faceoff. The full morning of climbing, rappelling and confronting obstacles determined the best of the best in ability and preparedness. And when it came to master and canine teams, Ali and Simba were the gold standard. The two excelled in the competition, working as one against the clock, moving together instinctively. They did it for fun—the glory was just gravy.
