by Lita Lawson
“That’s all right.” Christine was searching for the next thing to say when her son piped up.
“Why don’t you stay for dinner with us?”
Her heart banged against her rib cage. Dinner with JT? Sitting together?
“There’s enough for all of us. Right, Mom?”
Mom. That one word grounded her. Even if JT was standing in her kitchen looking good enough to eat, she was a mom. Not a woman, and not a possible roll in the hay. A mother. She wanted to kiss the top of Sammy’s head for saving her, but knew that would be way uncool with a biker in the kitchen.
“Sure. JT, would you like to stay?”
She didn’t want to meet his eyes again, but forced herself. What a mistake. The impact was volatile.
Rattled, she reinforced herself with her status of mom. She was certain bikers didn’t date moms, or find them desirable. Moms cleaned up after sick children and had stretch marks to prove they were mothers. Definitely nothing JT would be interested in.
Giving herself an internal talking-to, Christine decided she would focus on treating him as an employee, someone working security. Not as a desirable hunk of a man any woman would love to have sitting next to her at dinner.
“Smells good,” he said with a shrug. “Sure, why not.”
His offhanded acceptance of the dinner invitation reassured her he wasn’t interested in her in that way, and would be safe to dine with.
Padding to the kitchen cupboard to get another place setting for him, Christine realized she was barefoot and was wearing a pair of Tad’s old cutoffs. Definitely a mom. Mentally, she shrugged. The less attractive she was tonight, the better off she would be.
As she busied herself with dishing out the meal, she listened to the easy banter between her son and JT. Sammy was ecstatic that JT was going to give him his ride on the motorcycle tonight. The happiness in her son’s voice warmed her heart.
Carrying two plates to the snack bar, she was disconcerted to discover Sammy had sat on the end bar stool and JT was in the middle. That meant she had to sit next to JT while trying to eat dinner. This might be a new form of diet.
“Did you wash your hands, Sammy?” Christine arched an eyebrow in his direction.
“No. That’s for sissies.”
JT got up from the table, towering over Christine. “I forgot to wash my hands.”
When he made his way to the kitchen sink with Sammy close behind, Christine tried to keep her mouth from hanging open in shock.
She took her plate to the bar stool on the other end, hoping Sammy and JT would switch seats. No such luck. Christine tried to squeeze far to the right, enough to keep from having JT’s arm brush against her as he sat down, but it was no use. As he slid onto the stool next to hers, his leather pants brushed against her bare thigh, making goose bumps form along her body. Stabbing a fish stick with her fork, she hoped JT wouldn’t notice.
“Cold?” He turned toward her as she chewed her food.
Her mouth full, all she could do was nod.
“I’ll close the window for you.”
His getting up caused his leg to once again brush against her thigh, and Christine swallowed. Hard. Before he returned to the stool beside her, she scooted so far to the right on her bar stool, she was afraid it would tip over. At least his thigh didn’t touch her again when he sat down.
JT gave her an appreciative glance. “This is really good.”
“Thanks. Just frozen fish sticks and fries.” She smiled. “I’m a culinary genius.”
“Yeah, but my mom makes the best fries, doesn’t she, JT?” Sammy leaned over to look at her, several dabs of ketchup dotting the corners of his mouth.
“I can’t remember the last time I had homemade French fries,” JT said. “They’re great.”
“Thanks.” Christine moved the food around on her plate, her appetite having left when the butterflies took her stomach hostage.
When JT shifted to talk to Sammy about bikes, she glanced surreptitiously at the man’s long hair and found herself wanting to touch it. But as a mom, she couldn’t do such things.
Christine steadied herself, getting a grip on her newfound desire for this man. It both shocked and scared her. She hadn’t felt this attracted to Tad, even when they were first dating. Deciding she was just curious from the long-ago time in high school when she’d almost gotten to go on a ride with JT, she pushed the thoughts from her mind.
When they’d finished eating, she occupied herself with clearing the table.
“Here. Let me help.”
As she reached for JT’s plate, his hand met hers. She pulled away quickly, and the plate did a little bounce on the counter. Taking her load of dishes to the kitchen sink, she was unnerved to hear JT following close behind.
“You don’t mind if I take your son for a ride, do you?”
“No. Just treat him as if he were your own.” Christine couldn’t believe she’d said that, and had to resist slapping her palm over her mouth.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be safe with me.”
The retreat of his boots followed the sound of Sammy’s laughter out the front door. She watched through the screen as JT secured the helmet on her son’s head, and waved as they rode off. JT shifted the bike’s gears, and as they got farther away, she sighed and closed her eyes.
Returning to the kitchen, she retrieved her glass of lemonade and took it to the front porch. With no other choice than to be patient, she settled into her wicker chair and propped her feet on the table, waiting for her son’s return.
And JT.
• • •
Driving his bike cautiously through the old residential section of Charleston, JT shouted back at Sammy, “Am I going too fast?”
“No way! This is cool.”
JT had never imagined that a child clutching his waist could fill him with such unfamiliar emotions, the kind he didn’t want to delve deeper to explore. Instead, he focused his thoughts on Christine.
He still had the picture of her in his mind when he had left their house. She was standing inside the doorway, the screen muting her appearance. Her yellow T-shirt hugged her womanly curves, and the oversized shorts she wore highlighted rather than detracted from the shapeliness of her legs. And those lips . . . he longed to kiss them, to taste the sweetness he knew lay there. His gut tightened just thinking about her.
Sammy squeezed JT’s waist as they leaned into a turn, reminding him that she was a mother. A not-yet-divorced mother, and from one of the oldest and most upstanding families in the Charleston area. In contrast, he was a biker, a roamer, and a loner. He could add foolish dreamer to the list if he thought for one moment that Christine Yeager would be interested in him.
A traffic light briefly halted their ride, and he looked back at Sammy. The kid had a huge grin plastered on his face. JT returned it with a smile of his own, remembering the first time he’d ridden a motorcycle and the thrill of it all. The kid loved it, and his mother would hate him for corrupting her son into wanting a bike. Or more bike rides.
The thought of spending more time with Sammy tugged at his heart. JT had never wanted children. His own childhood made him doubt that he’d be a good father, having bounced from one foster home to another.
With Sammy hanging on to him, JT wondered if one day he might wind up with a kid of his own. He doubted it. He never stayed in one place long enough to risk attachments. Nor did he behave carelessly in a situation that might result in pregnancy.
The light turned green. JT popped the clutch to let out just the tiniest wheelie, and Sammy’s squeal of delight was his reward.
Pulling back in front of Christine’s house a little later, he kicked the stand into place and got off the bike. He helped Sammy down and undid the helmet for him.
“Wow. That was so cool! Thanks, JT!”
Before he could reply, Sammy was running up the yard to his mom waiting on the porch.
“Did you see that, Mom? I rode a motorcycle!”
Christine ruffled S
ammy’s hair. “Yeah, I sure did, honey.”
JT followed in Sammy’s wake to the porch where Christine was sitting in one of the frilly chairs.
“Thanks, JT.”
“No problem. I just hope he doesn’t get the bug for a bike. He’s a bit young for it.” He looked at Sammy, who was holding a glass of milk and busy stuffing his mouth with a cookie from a plate waiting for them on the glass tabletop.
• • •
“Do you want to take a spin?” JT’s eyes seemed to tease Christine, daring her to take the plunge.
She thought back to the time in high school when she’d been on the back of his bike, ready to go, and Tad had finally arrived to pick her up. Nearly fifteen years had gone by, and here was her second chance to ride with JT. But it was too late for that.
“How about it?”
“But I don’t have anyone to watch Sammy.” Just then, she heard rustling at the shrubs and saw Sadie’s head pop above the bushes.
“I can watch him for you.”
“Thanks, Sadie,” Christine said, wondering how long Sadie had been there, “but it’s almost his bedtime.”
“It would be a quick ride,” JT said.
An excitement bubbled up inside her. She shouldn’t. She couldn’t.
“Go on, Mom. It’s a blast!” Sammy was grinning, showing off a milk mustache.
Christine felt outnumbered and gave in. “Okay.”
“You can’t go dressed like that, though,” JT said, glancing at her bare legs. “You need to wear some jeans and sturdy shoes.”
“Why?”
“Just in case something would happen, you need protection.”
Christine gave him a teasing look. “Are you saying you’re not a safe driver?”
“No, I just like to be prepared.”
She liked the way he seemed to fidget at that. “All right. Give me a sec.” She went inside and bounded up the stairs to her bedroom.
As she quickly rifled through her closet, she could hear JT give Sammy an overview of the shiny chrome parts of the motorcycle. Stepping out of her shorts, she replaced them with a pair of jeans. She found an old pair of hiking boots in the back of her closet and put those on.
Back out on the porch, she was ready to go.
JT scanned her attire with a frown. “That’s better, but the T-shirt won’t hold up if we spill. You gotta be properly protected to ride with me.” He slid his leather jacket off and held it out for Christine to slip her arms into. “Here, put this on.”
She put her arm into one of the sleeves and felt JT’s warmth still lingering there. A strong, musky male scent filled her senses. Sliding her other arm into the sleeve, she felt JT’s heat all around her. The weight of the jacket didn’t feel oppressive; it felt safe. Trying to keep her reaction from showing, she took the helmet from Sammy.
“Hey, Mom. You look cool.”
“Thanks, tiger.”
She listened as JT explained how to ride the bike and to avoid touching the metal of the hot exhaust pipe. He started the bike, and Christine looked over at Sadie before she got on. Over the din of the engine, she could have sworn she heard her neighbor say, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” Christine decided the engine must have distorted her words.
Stretching her leg over the seat of the motorcycle, she straddled the bike and sat on the slightly raised seat behind the driver. A warmth slowly suffused her face as her pelvis aligned right behind JT’s denim-clad rear.
“Hold on tight,” JT commanded.
Christine placed her hands on his shoulders, daring only to allow herself to touch him for the necessity of staying safely seated.
She firmly planted her boots on the little pegs for her feet, thrusting her knees into the air. In this position, her thighs reminded her she hadn’t been faithfully working out. After Tad had left, she had eased off her daily workouts. There didn’t seem much point since she’d sworn off men and no one was going to see her naked anytime soon. Her body pressed against JT’s reminded her there were indeed good reasons to keep in shape.
JT put the bike in gear, the forward motion pressing Christine up against him. Now she regretted she hadn’t worn a bra as her breasts pancaked against his broad shoulders, causing her to react at the contact.
She was just glad JT couldn’t see the deep flush that was heating her face with embarrassment. Other than Tad, no other man had touched her there. She rationalized that JT wasn’t touching her, probably couldn’t even feel her breasts pressed against him. She was just touching him due to the physics of the motorcycle ride.
The wind whipped strands of her hair against her face. Every turn and shifting of gears caused her to scoot closer to JT, her legs spread against his hips and lower back.
She tried to relax and enjoy it. Surely countless women had ridden behind him, and this was nothing new to him. But the experience was new to her. She was unsure of what was more fascinating—the excitement of the ride, or the way her body responded to being pressed against him.
Before she knew it, they were parked in front of her house again. Christine swung herself off the bike, feeling a slight burn in her inner thighs. She vowed then and there to start working out again.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said as Sammy came bounding down the sidewalk toward them. His presence grounded her once again as a mom, something she desperately needed after fighting her body’s reaction to JT during the ride.
“The pleasure was all mine.”
JT’s eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses again, so she couldn’t tell for sure if he was serious or teasing.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m already going to have trouble getting Sammy to sleep after all this excitement.”
“Ah, Mom. Do I have to go to bed already?”
“Sure do.” She watched as her son’s bottom lip predictably stuck out, beginning the pout.
“Say good-night to your guest, Sammy.”
“’Night, JT. Thanks for the ride.”
As Sammy wrapped his arms around JT’s middle in a hug, her throat tightened with emotion. She hadn’t seen Sammy do that to his dad in so long, it choked her up.
JT bent his tall frame and placed his large hand on Sammy’s back, a gesture of tenderness she hadn’t associated with the man. His face seemed to harden and then yield, softening. Even with his sunglasses shielding his eyes, she could tell JT didn’t mind Sammy’s gesture. And that surprised her.
A distant rhythmic sound broke into Christine’s thoughts, and she glanced toward her porch, where Sadie was rocking. Pulling Sammy from JT, Christine wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulders. Together they walked back to the porch as JT drove off into the dusk.
“Thanks for watching him, Sadie.”
The older lady groaned a bit as she pulled her bulk from the rocking chair. “No problem, my dear. It’s nice to see you getting out.”
“I wasn’t getting out . . .”
Waving a dismissive hand toward Christine, Sadie walked down the steps. “He seems like a perfectly fine suitor.”
“He’s not a—” Her voice was drowned out as the hedges rustled with Sadie’s passage.
Sammy pulled free and ran into the house, and Christine followed, muttering, “He’s not my suitor.”
But she had to admit there was a part of her that wished he were.
Chapter 4
Anxiety was starting to get the better of Christine. Only three weeks remained until the Fall Festival that was held the last weekend of October, and she had a million things left to do, including painting her screened-in porch.
Her home would be one of several with historical significance that would be open for public tours to raise donations for the Historical Society. The architectural history of her home was enhanced by the fact that her great-great grandfather had been a state senator and her great-grandfather had been governor.
With all the planning for the November election and helping Sammy with his homework, Christine could barely find five minutes of free time,
let alone enough to spend painting.
The morning sun on Saturday promised a hot day, and she donned old shorts and a white short-sleeved T-shirt. At least she didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing her looking like such a mess.
She took a moment to just breathe before they started their project. Sipping her now cold coffee, she thought about the divorce. Her husband’s indiscretion had shattered her world, making her realize that their life together had been just an illusion.
Christine thought she and Tad had been so happy together. His political career was thriving, they had their son to dote on, they had designed and renovated her grandmother’s house together, and she thought they would spend the rest of their lives together. Now she wondered if she would ever be able to trust another man, to be able to let go and love like she had with Tad.
Shaking her head, she dumped the coffee remnants in the sink. Right now she didn’t have the luxury of reliving past mistakes and wondering about the future.
“Sammy, are you ready?”
Her son appeared in the hallway dressed in just a pair of swim trunks and sneakers. In his hands, he lugged a boom box.
“I got the music.”
“Okay. Let’s get to work!”
Christine feigned enthusiasm for the project but would, however, enjoy her son’s company. It had been a hectic week. She’d had to work late several nights, not leaving much room for spending quality time with Sammy.
They made their way downstairs to the screened-in porch off the kitchen. When she and Tad had moved into the house ten years ago, they added the porch. A light gray stain left the wood exposed, which was how Tad had wanted it. Christine was going to paint it white so it would be soft and feminine, just the way she had wanted it. But it had been another concession of many in her marriage.
Last night she had moved all the furniture and plants into the backyard. All she and Sammy had to do was start painting.
She set the ladder up to start on the ceiling while Sammy plugged in his boom box. He tuned it to one of the local Top 40 stations. Music to motivate.
For an hour, they diligently brushed on paint. Then when an old Ricky Martin song came on the radio, both she and Sammy hummed and sang along.
