No Matter What

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “No.” He sounded thoughtful. “Squeamish is a good word. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “I think she’s going to refuse to have one.”

  “That’s what Trevor says, too.”

  “Really? She is talking to him, then?”

  He gave a rough laugh. “Who knows? But yeah, some. He says he offered to marry her.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?”

  “He’s really willing?”

  “He’s scared to death.”

  “If it’s any comfort to him, right now, I’d withhold permission. But she turns sixteen in April, and I think that’s the age of consent in this state.” She made a mental note to check. Surely, please God, Cait wouldn’t do anything that dumb.

  Like you did?

  Richard set his now-empty coffee cup on the ground and shoved both hands in his pockets. His rueful gaze met hers. “Do you ever wish you could think about something besides your kid?”

  Molly’s half laugh felt surprisingly good. “Frequently.”

  “Were we as self-absorbed at their age?”

  “Um…yes?”

  He laughed. “Probably. But my parents weren’t nearly as sympathetic.”

  “Did they oppose you getting married?”

  She could see that he was really thinking back. “I don’t know. Yes and no, I guess. Neither of them were college educated…they’d gotten married young, so the concept didn’t seem out of line to them. My father might even have been happy I had no choice but to go to work with him.”

  “Do you wish you hadn’t?”

  His chest rose and fell with a long breath and he let his head fall back. “I don’t see what else I could have done. I couldn’t force her to have an abortion. One way or the other, I’d have had to help support her once she had Trevor. How could I have left for college and done that?”

  “You might have been able to work and take classes, too,” Molly suggested tentatively.

  “Not on an athletic scholarship. Or, at least, I couldn’t have worked enough hours. I could have taken classes locally—but then she’d have been home alone all the time with a little kid and I’d have missed living with my son. So the answer is no. I thought in circles until I was dizzy back then, and ended up where I started.”

  “No regrets?”

  “Oh, I had ’em, but I’ve tried to get past them. I did go back to college after Lexa and the kids went to California. I finally had the time.” He slid Molly a look she couldn’t interpret. “But I did it only for myself. By then I’d built Ward Electrical into something I couldn’t walk away from.”

  “What would you have walked toward?”

  “Engineering. I dreamed big.” His mouth quirked. “Dams, bridges. I do mean big. I went ahead and got my degree in structural engineering.”

  “So now you know how to build those dams. I’m glad you were able to do it,” she heard herself say.

  His gaze seemed suddenly intense. “Why? Does that raise me a notch on the social scale?”

  “What?” She stared at him. “That’s a jerk thing to say! I meant I was glad for your sake. Because it meant something to you.” She started to gather their lunch leavings. “I’d better get back to school.”

  “No.” His hand shot out to grip hers. “Molly. I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.” His chagrin kept her from wrenching her hand away. “It’s me. I wondered whether you looked down on me. A guy who works with his hands, who didn’t get an education.”

  “But you did.”

  “You didn’t know that.”

  She was suddenly so close to him, it was hard to breathe. She wrenched her gaze from those bitter chocolate eyes and looked down at his hand holding hers. That didn’t seem to help. He had wonderful hands, so big they dwarfed hers, long-fingered, calloused, sinewy. “I’m not a snob. You own a thriving business. I suspect you make two or three times the money I do. I was a high school teacher, for goodness’ sakes! Now I plan in-service days for classified staff. I decide when a student’s grades disqualify him for the football team. I made the earth-shattering decision to replace two urinals in the boys’ restroom this summer. All of that makes me superior how?”

  “It’s not about you. I guess something’s been simmering. By high school a part of me had started looking down on my dad. Me, I was going to be someone. Look how all the colleges wanted me. Whatever I did, I’d be changing lives. Having to swallow my pride and accept that I’d live a life no different than Dad’s, that stung. I didn’t realize how much it still does.” He paused, his eyes never leaving her face. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice husky.

  Molly offered a shaky smile. “It really is okay. We all have our triggers.”

  His gaze lowered to her mouth. “You trigger all kinds of things in me.”

  Her pulse bounded. “Yes,” she whispered, and his mouth settled on hers.

  * * *

  MAYBE THIS WASN’T THE time or the place or the mood, but, damn, he couldn’t help himself. She was there, her mouth soft and tremulous, her eyes dilating.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and he was kissing her without making a conscious decision. The first touch of her lips was cold, but they warmed quickly and felt every bit as lush as he’d dreamed. That first faint tremble was the sexiest thing he’d ever felt. He wanted to dive deep, but somehow knew better. This was a woman to savor. He nibbled on her full bottom lip, touched the tip of his tongue to the dip in her upper lip. He brushed his mouth back and forth, licked the seam of her lips, nuzzled his nose against hers until she smiled, and he felt that down to the soles of his feet.

  Finally, finally, her lips parted and he slid his tongue inside, meeting hers. She tasted of coffee and cheese, milk and her, an indefinable taste that was something like a peach. She was holding herself completely still, but she sighed, and then a sound like a moan vibrated her throat. Richard’s control broke, and he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck to position her better. Somehow they weren’t holding hands anymore, either; his squeezed her waist and hers both came up to clutch his shoulders. He kissed her with devastating hunger, and felt equal yearning from her. She sucked on his tongue, and he shuddered. If they were anywhere else…

  That kiss might have gone on forever if voices hadn’t intruded. With a groan he lifted his head to look down at Molly’s face, tipped up to his. Her eyes were closed, her lashes long and thick, forming crescents on that creamy skin. He’d mussed her hair plenty, wiping out any pretence of Ms. Cool and Collected Vice Principal. She was a woman, aroused from the way she was breathing and from the dazed look in her gorgeous, smoky gray eyes once she opened them.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, kneading her neck and loving the thick textured silk of her hair tangling his fingers.

  Her eyes searched his. Then a smile that was almost mischievous curled her mouth. “You’re sexy.”

  He grinned, probably foolishly. “Seems like we’re on the same page.”

  Molly gave a throaty chuckle. “And, oh, if our children ever flipped to this page.”

  “Oh, hell.” It was next best thing to a splash of that snowmelt river water. “You had to say that.”

  She sighed. “It was nice to forget them for a minute, wasn’t it.”

  “Nice?”

  Molly laughed at his outrage. “Okay, better than nice. I didn’t know if you really wanted to kiss me.”

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you since that first meeting in your office, when I hated you.”

  All trace of the smile vanished; there was something hugely vulnerable in the way she looked at him now. “Really?”

  “Did I hate you?”

  “Want to kiss me.”

  “Yeah.” His voice was pure grit. He bent forward enough to rest his forehead against hers. “I still do. But we seem to have company.”

  “Company?” She stiffened, pulled back, turned her head. “Oh, thank God.”

&n
bsp; “Thank God?”

  “What if it had been students from the high school?”

  “That might not have been the best,” Richard admitted. “Do they make it over here to the river from school?”

  “I’m sure they do. We have closed campus for freshmen and sophomores, but the juniors and seniors can head out for lunch.”

  He hadn’t felt this good in he couldn’t remember how long. Years. Maybe never. “We’ll make out somewhere different next time,” he said, smiling at her wickedly.

  She snorted. “In your dreams.”

  “Oh, I’ve been dreaming.”

  They’d started toward the parking lot, passing a pair of incurious mothers paying more attention to their offspring than to the other people at the park. Molly’s hand slipped into his. “I’ve been dreaming, too,” she said softly.

  He almost said, I want you. He did. Desperately. But he had a bad feeling he knew what she’d say, what she’d make him admit—their kids had to come first right now. Richard had no idea how his seriously screwed-up son would respond to his dad suddenly having a sex life. A relationship. Oh, yeah, and with his pregnant girlfriend’s mother.

  Richard hadn’t forgotten the way Cait had reacted the time she’d come home and found him alone there with her mother. The spoiled brat in her had come out. God knows, he thought, their lives were complicated enough right now, the way their kids had tangled them all into a knot.

  No, he wouldn’t say anything that blunt, but he was damned if two selfish brats would make him wait indefinitely to go after the first woman he’d seriously wanted in years.

  “We’ll work it out,” he said easily.

  A choked laugh escaped her. “But not necessarily well.”

  They’d reached their cars. He stopped her, taking her other hand, too, so she had to face him. He smiled, kissed her lightly, then not so lightly. They were both breathing raggedly. “I think it’ll go fine. I wish to hell it could right this minute,” he murmured.

  Obviously not yet firing on all cylinders, she blinked bemusedly at him.

  “Our time will come, Molly Callahan.”

  She could have said, I’m not sure. Or stiffened and stepped back with a Maybe. Or even a suspicious, Time for exactly what? And, Do you plan to use a condom? She didn’t say any of those things. She gave him an astonishingly sweet smile. “Okay,” was all she said.

  And, damn, his body surged at the sight of that smile. His fingers tightened on hers. He groaned.

  Molly grinned. “Go back to work,” she said, then pecked him on the cheek and got in her car.

  Leaving him with an aching erection and absolute faith that he would soon see every magnificent inch of her body bared. He would be able to touch and stroke and knead, kiss and suckle and lick.

  He planted his hands on the side of his van, bent his head and groaned again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CAIT CHOSE THE BREAKFAST table for her great announcement. Filling her travel mug with coffee, Molly had just looked down and noticed, to her exasperation, that she’d slipped on navy-colored flats even though she wore black slacks. They probably weren’t that noticeable—but it would bug her all day. She’d want to hide behind her desk instead of getting out in the halls and classrooms. And, oh, heavens, she had that meeting about possible revisions in the plan for snow days.

  “I’m not getting an abortion.”

  There’d been such confusion with the first snowfall, all of two inches, with some buses completing full routes and others…

  She turned in slow motion to stare at her daughter, who sat at the table with a bowl of cereal, as yet untouched.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  So many emotions rose in her, contradictory, painful and joyous, she choked. Was barely able to speak. “Cait…”

  The slightly pointy chin set defiantly. “You said it was up to me.”

  “Yes, but… Do you really understand what this will mean for you?” Molly shut her eyes for a moment. “Did you have to pick the worst time for us to talk about this? I can’t be late today.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” Her hair fell forward, hiding her face as she bent over her cereal. “I’ll tell Trevor.”

  Molly couldn’t seem to move. “Oh, honey.”

  Cait looked again at her mother. Her eyes burned with some inner light. “I can’t do it, okay? I just can’t. Even if it means…I don’t know what.”

  “I don’t know what, either. That’s the part we need to talk out, you know.”

  “Yeah. Okay. I guess.” She grabbed a napkin and dabbed carefully beneath her eyes. “You know your shoes don’t go?” she said, sniffing.

  Molly sighed. “I just noticed. Let me change and then we’d better get moving. If you want a ride.”

  “It’s cold. I don’t want to walk.”

  That, apparently, was that. Cait didn’t want to talk any more about it during the short drive to the high school. Molly’s thoughts were all but turning backflips. Had she somehow influenced Cait to decide against abortion, which—now, be honest with yourself—was really the most sensible decision for a girl her age? Was it really any better that her daughter was going to bear a child and give it away? And what about the practicalities in the meantime? Cait should be able to make it through first semester without her pregnancy being noticeable. She was unlikely to show at all before, say, mid-January at the soonest. She could keep dancing until then, too. But then what? Alternative school? Could I homeschool her? Molly asked herself wildly. Do we need or want to hide her pregnancy from the world? Is it really anything to be ashamed of?

  Cait leaped out almost before the car came to a stop. She was hurrying away when Molly called after her. “If you want a lift home, you know where to find me.”

  Cait flapped one hand that said, Like I don’t know, Mom? And do you really have to embarrass me by yelling after me in the parking lot?

  Molly collected her briefcase from the backseat, locked the car and walked in a different direction, toward the admin building. The only thing she knew for sure was that she wanted to talk to Richard.

  And was afraid of what he’d say. Especially after he’d understood why she had personal issues with the abortion option.

  She was opening the door when she spotted a group of senior boys getting out of a Camry with macho tires bigger than the manufacturer had recommended. Trevor.

  He didn’t see her. She didn’t see Cait lying in wait. But Molly watched him laughing at something one of the other boys had said. They wrestled with each other in that rough-and-tumble way boys did.

  Molly wondered when he’d laugh again.

  * * *

  “YOU DON’T MIND ME having invited Richard and Trevor for Thanksgiving?” Molly stabbed a fork into the potatoes to see if they were done.

  “No.” Cait was dumping cranberry sauce into a small, cut crystal dish. “It’s cool you did. I mean, what would they have done?”

  “Richard said probably go out. I gather he’s never done the whole turkey and stuffing thing.”

  “It’s okay having them here. Mom, I can mash if you want to check the turkey.”

  The doorbell rang, and Cait went to let the Wards in while Molly opened the oven and tugged at the drumstick. It almost came loose in her hand. The thermometer had popped, too. Definitely done. She grabbed two hot pads and lifted the roasting pan from the oven to the cutting board she’d laid on the counter.

  “Smells great,” Richard said, smiling at her from the doorway. He looked good in dark slacks and a charcoal-gray V-neck sweater with the sleeves pushed up on strong forearms. Dark hair curled in the V of the sweater. No midday shadow on his jaw; he’d shaved and his hair, brushed back from his face, was still damp.

  Molly controlled with difficulty an internal meltdown, returning his smile. “Welcome.”

  From behind his father, Trevor eyed the turkey like a wolf might its freshly killed prey. Molly had a feeling she wouldn’t have as many leftovers as she
’d envisioned.

  “Anything I can do?” Richard asked.

  “Um…maybe carve, once I get the stuffing out. Cait, why don’t you turn on the broccoli. I think we’ll be ready by the time it’s done.”

  They all ended up helping—Trevor mashed while Cait heated rolls, Molly carried the yams to the table and lit candles. For once, they were eating at the mahogany dining room table she and Cait seldom used. Cait had set it with their good china, too, a wedding gift Molly had kept and still loved.

  Once they sat down, Richard said a quiet grace, and they began to dish up.

  “I’m sorry Brianna decided not to come,” Molly commented, adding green salad to her plate then passing the bowl on to Trevor, who sat to her right.

  Richard looked up from the dressing he was ladling onto his plate. “I am, too. She says she’ll come for Christmas, though. Apparently Alexa has made plans.” His gaze flicked to his son. “With friends.”

  Something dark crossed Trevor’s face. Molly saw muscles in Richard’s jaw spasm. When he didn’t say anything, she did. “I suppose it seems strange, the idea of not spending Christmas with your mother.”

  “I don’t want to spend Christmas with her.” His voice was guttural. Too late, he tried to hide a tremor in the hand that held his fork.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He looked at her. “You don’t know.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “I suppose you had the perfect, happy family.” His voice was ugly with sarcasm.

  “No, she didn’t, and you don’t have to be so awful!” Caitlyn exclaimed.

  Molly blinked.

  Trevor’s head swung toward Cait. “I wasn’t…”

  “You were! Mom grew up in foster homes, okay? She didn’t have a mom to be mad at.”

  Molly’s heart swelled. She couldn’t have spoken to save her life.

  A tide of red rose from Trevor’s neck to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Ms. Callahan.”