ONCE MORE A FAMILY

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  After their first and last nerve-racking trip to the barbershop, she and Grady had taken to trimming Jimmy's hair themselves. It had taken the two of them to get him shorn—one to do the cutting, the other to distract him with a favorite story. Since Grady still read painfully slowly, he made up stories instead. About a famous circus clown named Jimbo who was always having outrageous adventures.

  They'd had so much, she and Grady. A fantastic son, a funky house full of laughter—theirs and the lingering vibrations of other families—and each other.

  If only—

  No, she told herself firmly. Don't go down that road. Think of the blessings you have now, not the ones you let slip away.

  Careful not to make noise, she closed the door and continued down the hall to the living room. She expected to find Grady awake, perhaps out running the way he'd done almost every morning of their marriage. Instead, to her surprise, he was still deeply asleep, sprawled on his back on the floor with only the blanket she'd given him as a mattress.

  His jeans and shirt were slung over a chair, his running shoes nearby. His long legs were half tangled in the sheet, the pillow in the flowered case cradled against his wide, bare chest in much the same way he'd once held her.

  His lean, somewhat bony face, framed by one thick forearm crooked behind his head, was turned her way. The brutally gaunt lines of his cheeks were softened a little by thick stubble the color of wheat, but nothing could disguise the deep lines of bitterness and suffering bracketing his mouth. Lines that hadn't been there three years ago.

  Like Jimmy's, his hair was tousled, the glossy, springy strands of light and dark blond, and a surprising amount of silver, blended into a provocative mixture that defied precise description. In contrast to the soft thatch, the permanent lines etched into his forehead seemed painfully harsh.

  He looked worn out.

  No wonder, she thought, her heart tumbling a little. Three nights on a sagging sofa and now this.

  Even though the room was cool, his bare chest was covered with a fine film of sweat, giving his skin the illusion of hand-rubbed bronze, and the triangle of hair curled in damp ringlets around the tiny flat nipples.

  As she stood there debating whether to wake him or not, he stirred restlessly, muttering something only he understood before drawing up one leg. The sheet fell away, and she saw that he was wearing only dark blue briefs, the thin cotton stretched taut to accommodate his sex.

  He was, she realized suddenly, partially aroused, as though his dream was an erotic one. Feeling a disturbing and decidedly sexual tug in her midsection, she scrupulously averted her gaze as she tiptoed past.

  Sensing an intrusion, a presence, Grady fought through a gray wall of exhaustion, his body already reacting before his mind was fully alert. Consequently he was halfway to his feet before he realized where he was.

  "Is it Jimmy?" he demanded when he saw Ria tiptoeing past. She was wearing a thin cotton robe the color of lime sherbet, and her hair was still a little mussed. His libido sneaked in a hard kick, adding more pressure to his already heavy groin.

  "Good morning," she said, altering her course in order to open the drapes covering the large picture window overlooking the building's tidy front lawn. "I was on the way to the kitchen to make coffee. I tried not to wake you."

  "What time is it?"

  "A little past six."

  Grady remembered looking at his watch around four. Two hours wasn't much, but it was better than the night before.

  He reached for his jeans, far too aware of the heavy throb of arousal that he suspected had been the result of yet another dream of her. Sometimes he remembered them in stark and painful degree. Sometimes he woke with only wisps of memory. Both left him with a lingering feeling of loss.

  He stretched his stiff back, then rubbed his hand over his whisker-roughened cheeks. In spite of the bath he'd gotten while cooling down his son, he felt a little too raunchy for polite company.

  "Mind if I use your shower?"

  Her gaze skittered to his belly, and he realized he was rubbing the fire that burned there now morning and night.

  "No, of course not."

  He glanced at the duffel, then narrowed his gaze her way. Her skin was pale, but her eyes had lost the sad look that had tortured him every time he'd seen her during the twenty-six miserable months since she'd stopped being his wife.

  "I'm pretty much out of clean clothes. Guess you threw away all those old shirts you used to sleep in."

  She nodded. "I'm afraid I—no, wait, I do have one that I used when I painted my office at the Center. It's fairly ratty, but it's clean—and it doesn't smell like cigar." His heart stuttered when she suddenly smiled. "If you make the coffee, I'll dig it out for you."

  He decided there wasn't much he wouldn't do for another of those smiles. "You got a deal."

  * * *

  Kate arrived while Grady was in the shower. Nearly six feet tall and as sleekly stylish as a haute couture model, with short platinum curls framing a classically beautiful face and brilliant blue eyes, Kate turned heads, both male and female, wherever she went.

  An avid feminist and avowed cynic, she and Ria were temperamental opposites. The Viking and the Earth Mother, Tova called them.

  Born and reared in Shaker Heights, Ohio, the only daughter of a corporate CEO, Katie's upbringing had been as rich in love and security as Ria's had been impoverished. It had been her money that had bought the big old house on Wabash Drive. The operating capital, however, came from fees and donations. Twice a year they had a fund-raising reception at which Katie shone like a priceless jewel in glittering designer chic and pearls.

  Everything Ria knew about the upscale side of life, she'd learned from Katie. At the moment, however, dressed in baggy safari shorts and a faded red cargo shirt with a frayed collar and an ink stain on one sleeve, Katie looked more like a harried, overworked coed than the pampered only daughter of a multimillionaire.

  "Coffee," she muttered as she followed Ria into the kitchen. "Lots and lots of coffee. Make it strong."

  "Trust me, it's strong," Ria tossed over her shoulder. And as black as sin.

  As soon as Grady had disappeared into the bathroom with the old Boilermaker shirt draped over his shoulder and one big hand wrapped around a mug of the steaming caffeine sludge he'd brewed, she'd ducked into her bedroom to slip into shorts and a sleeveless V-necked shirt. She'd only been able to find one of her sandals, so her feet were still bare.

  "It's going to be another scorcher today," Kate muttered as she deposited her black bag and a bulging purse the size of a small car on the counter. "Gotta tell you, toots, I was well and truly blown away by your call last night," she declared before braving the steam of the coffee mug Ria handed her to take a greedy sip. "Which, by the way, caught me just coming out of the shower. After I hung up, I danced around the house starkers for a good twenty minutes. Darn near wore myself out celebrating."

  Ria grinned. "Now that was something I'd pay big money to see."

  Katie's lips curled at the corners. "Pres seemed to like it."

  Ria nearly choked on her own testing sip. "Pres?"

  "Preston Woodward IV. An old friend from Shaker."

  "Friend as in friend-friend or friend-lover?"

  "Yes and yes." She took another longer sip, her eyes twinkling.

  Ria shook her head.

  "So, Mom, how's your baby boy doing on this already miserably humid day?"

  Ria felt her face soften. One day, maybe, she'd take his reappearance in her life for granted. But she wasn't anywhere near that stage yet. "Still sleeping like a little angel last time I checked."

  Katie lifted a pale eyebrow. "How's his temp?"

  "It was a fraction under a hundred at 3:00 a.m. Since he seemed so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb him this morning."

  "Vomiting?"

  "No, thank heavens."

  Ria walked to the bleached-pine table and sat down. Kate remained where she was, leaning against the counter wit
h her mug cradled in both hands a few inches from her mouth.

  "Sound's like Jimmy's over the hump." Kate paused to take another more generous sip, her eyes narrowing in blissful enjoyment. "Next question, how's Jimmy's mom doing?"

  "Still in shock, I think," Ria admitted with a laugh that came out on the nervous side. "Or maybe shell-shocked is a better description."

  "From what you said last night it sounds like Hardin didn't give you a lot of notice."

  Ria smiled at that. Kate had only called Grady by his Christian name once—on Ria's wedding day. It was also the only time Ria had ever seen her friend cry. Kate swore it was from sheer happiness, and since she'd been grinning as well as snuffling, Ria had taken her at her word, although a part of her wondered if Katie wasn't a little bit in love with Grady herself. Thinking of that now, she felt a familiar pang. It wasn't jealousy, of course. More like amazement. Of all her friends, Katie was also the only one who'd never said a bad word about Grady after the divorce. In fact, she'd tried very hard to convince Ria to try a separation first.

  "Grady called me after they'd landed at Indianapolis. It was the longest two and a half hours of my life." She reached out to align the pepper mill with the salt cellar. "He waited three days before telling me he'd found our child, Katie. Three days!" She felt her cheeks turning hot. "He claimed he was protecting me."

  "Knowing Hardin, I'd say that's exactly what he was doing."

  "I'm thirty-five years old, Katherine. I don't need protecting."

  Kate's skepticism was written in large letters on her face. "If he had called, you would have been on the next plane out, right?"

  "Of course!"

  "Wringing your hands, gnawing your lip raw. Your basic puddle of quivering nerve endings. Which wouldn't have done you or Jimmy any good."

  Ria shot her a disgusted look. "Gee, thanks for the flattering description of my strength of character, Dr. Stevens."

  Kate raised her mug. "Your character is just fine, Ms. Hardin. It's your total obsession with this whole mommy thing that's always bothered me."

  Ria bristled. "Loving my child is not obsessive."

  "It is if it leads you to neglect your husband."

  Ria's jaw dropped. "Is that what you really think?"

  "Yes, Victoria, that's what I really think," Kate muttered before finishing her coffee. She was refilling her mug when Grady walked in.

  Though his eyes were still shadowed, he looked more alert, wary, even, especially when his gaze found hers. His hair was damp and tousled and curling low on his strong neck. His jaw and checks had the crisp, clean look of a close shave. Though he'd tucked the paint-spattered black and gold shirt into the low waistband of his jeans, he looked more like a hell-raising street tough than a decorated police captain.

  As soon as he saw Kate, the wary look disappeared and his eyes lit up. At the same time his grin flashed, a little crooked, a little reckless and with enough sexual wattage to take even the strongest, most resistant woman to her knees. Though she knew it was simply the remnants of old feelings stirring, Ria felt a powerful need to rub against that strong, hard body. Just long enough to ease the hot little ache low and deep inside.

  "Hey there, handsome," Kate offered with a brilliant smile that had Ria narrowing her gaze. "Love the Rebel Without a Cause look. It suits you."

  "Hey, gorgeous lady," he said, leaning down to kiss the cheek Kate offered.

  The look Kate slanted him was playful. "Lordy, I've missed that old zing."

  He looked a little startled. "What zing is that?"

  "That hot little sizzle that hums through a girl when you turn on the charm."

  He turned red. "You must have me mixed up with one of my brothers," he muttered as he grabbed the pot to refill the mug he'd carried with him.

  "Nope." Kate shot Ria a bland look. "Ria walked into walls for a week after you kissed her for the first time."

  You'll pay for this big-time, Ria told her friend with a look that had Kate's mouth twitching. "Don't you have rounds to make this morning, Doctor?"

  Kate glanced at her watch. "Guess that's my cue to haul out my stethoscope and bedside manner."

  "Such as it is," Ria muttered.

  Unfazed, Kate picked up the handmade doctor's bag with its gold monogram that had been a graduation gift from her proud father. "So, Mom and Dad, where's my patient?"

  * * *

  Ria braced both elbows on the table and used her fingertips to rub her temples. From the den came the frenetic cacophony of a cartoon soundtrack. Twice she'd turned down the volume on the TV and twice Jimmy had turned it up again. Finally, she'd just given up.

  Later she would worry about her son's eardrums.

  It had been nearly two hours since Kate had emerged from the bedroom with a troubled expression and a blunt diagnosis. "Physically he's fine. His temp is normal, his other vitals good. But I have to tell you, I think this is one very unhappy little boy."

  Utterly miserable was more like it.

  The last few hours had been nothing like the joyous reunion she'd pictured over and over in her mind for so many anxious months. In fact, it was close to being a disaster. Instead of the laughing, bright-eyed, affectionate child she'd been aching to cuddle and kiss and spoil, the boy in the other room was virtually a stranger who stared at her with angry suspicious eyes—when he looked at her at all.

  After Kate had left, Jimmy had picked at the pancakes she'd made, his head down and his shoulders hunched, spurning every attempt she or Grady had made to coax him into a conversation.

  He didn't want to wear the shirt she'd picked out from the several Grady had bought him.

  He didn't want to brush his teeth or wash his face.

  He didn't want to see pictures of himself as a baby.

  And for sure, he didn't want to go through the boxes of toys she'd packed away so carefully.

  In short, her adorable, beloved, maddeningly stubborn son didn't want to do anything but sit in front of the TV and stare at the "stupid" screen. Stupid because "only dweebs and welfare creeps" had nineteen-inch screens.

  It was that pronouncement that had stirred Grady's wrath. Fortunately, Ria had seen the firecracker heat come into his eyes in time to head him off. She had a terrible feeling it was going to be a very long day.

  "Bad headache?"

  Careful to keep her eyes narrowed against the obscenely bright sun streaming through the kitchen window, she lifted her head far enough to meet Grady's gaze over the remains of the breakfast neither finished. "Only a twelve on a scale of ten."

  He smiled a little. His exasperation with his son was still there, mixed in with the shadows of other less-easily identified emotions in the recesses of his dark pupils. "Want some aspirin?"

  "I took three while you were on the phone with your folks."

  Giving up on the attempt to rub away the stabbing pulses of pain, she folded her arms on the place mat. "I'm glad you told your mom and dad to hold off on visiting. I think Jimmy needs more time to adjust."

  His mouth gentled. Grady's love and respect for his parents was one of life's absolutes. There'd been a time when she'd thought herself included on the short list of those he loved. "Mom sucked in pretty hard, but Dad understood."

  "When are they leaving on their rafting trip?"

  "The end of the month." He rubbed the back of his neck, then flexed his shoulders. "I heard you had a vacation planned."

  "Two weeks starting today. One of the reasons I called Tova so early was to ask her to tell her mom I wouldn't be using their cabin after all."

  She shook her head at the memory of Tova's excited squeal when she'd broken the news about Jimmy's return. Betty Lou Sanberra had been a little more restrained, but happy for her nonetheless.

  "I was hoping to have Jimmy's furniture delivered today, but the transfer company can't do anything until Tuesday."

  He glanced at the clock, then leaned back and hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his thigh-hugging jeans. The old shirt pulled tau
t, stretched around his torso like a second skin. He was thinner than she remembered, she decided. And he'd eaten less than she had. Jet lag, he'd said.

  She lifted her mug to her mouth and drank the last of her coffee, then glanced at the pot. It was still half-full, something that was unheard of when a Hardin male was in the vicinity. Frowning, she glanced across the table to find that his mug, too, was nearly full. Instead, he was drinking the milk Jimmy refused to finish—and Grady hated milk. She was beginning to think she'd dropped into her own zigzag version of Wonderland.

  "I used to hate it when my mother locked herself in her room and refused to come out," she said with a sigh. "At the moment, though, that seems like a wonderful solution."

  He dismissed that with another of those soft smiles that never failed to touch her. "Nah, that's not your style, honey. You might weave a little after a left jab, but you come back strong."

  At the moment she wasn't so sure she could so much as make a fist, she reflected as she heard a power mower cough into life somewhere on the grounds of the complex. She and Jimmy used to ride the jazzy red lawn tractor Grady had given her for her thirtieth birthday. He'd also given her a French silk nightgown he'd insisted she model for him in the moonlight.

  Jimmy had loved that tractor almost as much as Grady had loved his Charger. Jimmy tended to drive with the same disregard for danger, too, with his ball cap pulled over his eyes like the visor of a helmet. Sometimes it had been a rocket ship, sometimes a race car. Smiling to herself, she glanced toward the window.

  Oh, Jimmy, she thought, her heart breaking. Why can't you let me love you?

  "They abused him, didn't they?" Her voice wasn't quite steady. "The … people who had him."

  Grady glanced down. "Not physically, no. The doctor from California Children's Services who examined him agreed with Katie. He's well-nourished and healthy. On the other hand, his behavior sucks."

  "He seems so … so angry."

  "Wouldn't you be if you'd been ripped out of your own world and dumped into a place where people call you by someone else's name?" He got up suddenly and carried the milk carton to the fridge. "The shrink who examined him said it might take a while for him to adjust."