No Matter What

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Will they even see him play?” Molly asked. “He’d have been better staying in L.A. if he wanted to get noticed, wouldn’t he?”

  “Probably, but I think he’ll get noticed no matter what.” He was giddy. That’s my kid.

  He could tell Molly was laughing at him the rest of the game, when she wasn’t on her feet screaming her own delight. Trevor had been dominant in the first half; he ran away with the second. He stole the ball, took it down court himself, dunked, did layups, took wild outside shots. But he wasn’t all hot dog, he also played team ball. Perfect passes, so smooth they looked effortless, had West Fork defeating last year’s league champions by fourteen points.

  When the final buzzer went off, Molly jumped up and down and hugged Richard. “We killed them! We killed them.”

  Grinning, he lifted her in his arms and stole a kiss. “Yeah, we did.”

  The whole West Fork contingent was jumping up and down. The bleachers thundered and groaned.

  They went outside to wait by the bus for the players to come out of the dressing room. It was so cold, they all hunched in their parkas and breathed in dragon puffs but stayed warm from excitement. When the boys swaggered out, the applause was loud and long. Molly loosed another whistle, which had all the boys grinning this time. Richard saw Cait roll her eyes—oh, God, her mother was making a spectacle of herself—but she was smiling at the same time, and her cheeks were pink.

  They got pinker when Trevor stopped to put an arm around her and murmur something in her ear. That silenced Molly and Richard both. He remembered what she’d said Thursday. No, he definitely did not want Trevor imagining himself in love with Caitlyn—the mother of his child.

  Disaster that way lies.

  Was Trevor smart enough to understand what he’d be giving up if he did something stupid now?

  Richard almost groaned. The kid was seventeen. Of course he wasn’t. Good God, he wasn’t smart enough to use a damn condom.

  Maybe, it occurred to Richard, the easing of tension between the Callahans and the Wards hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Maybe it would have been better if they’d stayed enemies.

  Maybe Molly was right, and they should do some serious thinking before they all got in over their heads.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NINE O’CLOCK ON THE NOSE, the phone rang. Molly didn’t have to look at the number on the screen to know it was Richard’s. In line with her decision to keep some distance from him, she hadn’t answered last night. Tonight, she told herself she didn’t want to cut him off entirely. Being cautious didn’t mean she couldn’t talk to him sometimes, or be friendly at games.

  And she already missed him, after only one day without talking to him. Oh, I’m in such trouble.

  “Hey,” he said. “Wondered if you were planning to go to the game tomorrow night.”

  She glanced at the school calendar, always kept handy. Friday, November 30. Home game, West Fork vs. LS. As if she hadn’t known.

  “I told you I never miss a home game.” She was smiling because it felt so good to hear his voice.

  “Can I pick you and Cait up?”

  “I…” Her mouth opened and closed. “Actually, Cait’s going with a friend. And sleeping over.” Tomorrow night was going to be the big night, when she was going tell her best friend, Sabrina, about the pregnancy.

  “You, then?” Richard said quietly.

  “Yes,” she heard herself say. “I’d like that.” They’d have fun at the game, and then…then he’d bring her home. To a house the two of them would have to themselves. For an entire night.

  I won’t invite him in. I don’t dare invite him in.

  They agreed on a time. Neither made any effort to prolong the conversation, even though a part of Molly wanted to, and she suspected he did, too. She felt so high school lately—eager for the sound of one voice, hungry for any tidbit about his life.

  In love.

  Huge mistake.

  No, they could make it work. But later. Much, much later.

  * * *

  THE GYMNASIUM WAS standing-room only the next night. West Fork stomped Lake Stevens. Embarrassed them. Made up for every humiliation in the past ten years. It was Trevor, of course, but not entirely. He made his teammates better, and they all played like champions, even the boys coming off the bench. The second string stretched the lead further, and the crowd rejoiced. Coach Bowman was near tears when Molly saw him after the game.

  “It’s the Promised Land,” he told her, and she felt obliged to pat him on the shoulder and remind him that the season had barely begun.

  “Snohomish,” he was murmuring as he wandered away, seemingly in a daze. “Lake Stevens.”

  “I’m glad Trevor has made somebody happy,” Richard said, gazing after him quizzically.

  “He made a lot of people happy tonight.”

  “That’s not the same.”

  “Now, Coach Loomis—” she nodded toward where the beefy football coach stood by the locker room doors “—is no doubt grinding his teeth because his team had a lousy season, and now he’s seeing the might-have-been.”

  “The ghosts of Christmas past?”

  “Something like that.”

  He only laughed, his mood obviously as ebullient as everyone else’s. As he escorted her from the gym with his hand coming to rest now and again at the small of her back, Molly wondered if it had occurred to him that they could have a night to themselves. Well, not entirely; presumably Trevor would wonder where Dad was if he didn’t come home. Unless…

  “Trevor is staying the night at a teammate’s house,” he announced abruptly, the minute they were alone in his pickup. “A bunch of them are, I guess. At Josh somebody’s?”

  “Loomis.”

  “No. Tell me the kid’s not…?”

  “Sorry. He is. Poor Coach got to watch his son triumph in company with Trevor, while the football team he coaches sucked this year.”

  Richard’s low chuckle sent ripples of pleasure all the way to her toes. “Did this Josh play football, too?”

  “Adding insult to injury…no. He played wide receiver until this year, but as a senior he wanted to concentrate on his favorite sport. Basketball.”

  They’d joined a line of cars and trucks creeping toward the exit from the parking lot.

  “Oh, man.”

  Molly’s laugh turned into giggles she had trouble stopping. Maybe because she had bubbles fizzing in her bloodstream. “I feel so mean! He’s such a nice man.”

  “He did get to see his kid help stomp two rival high schools,” Richard pointed out.

  “There is that.”

  They were both quiet for a minute that felt too long. Long enough that Molly sneaked a peek at his face in profile, only to have him turn at the same moment and meet her eyes. They stared at each other for a long time before she gulped and wrenched her gaze away.

  “Trevor seems to have turned a corner.” That’s it—be upbeat, supportive, a fellow parent. Not a woman.

  “Yes and no.” Richard’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. “Sometimes I think so, but then we butt heads again. He still won’t tell me why he’s so angry at Alexa.”

  “And you really have no idea.”

  “As I told him—not a clue.” He was frowning now. They’d almost reached the street. “I keep thinking it might be the divorce. Maybe he was fonder of Davis than I realized.”

  “But then why…?”

  “He may be angry at me because I’m not Davis.”

  Molly blinked. What an awful thing even to wonder, for a man who loved his children as much as Richard did. “Do you have any reason to believe that?” she asked tentatively.

  He sighed and rotated his shoulders as if to ease tight muscles. “He did choose not to spend this summer with me.”

  “But you said it was the job.”

  Richard accelerated and she realized they’d finally escaped the parking lot. Which meant they’d be at her house in less than ten minutes.

  I’
ve already made up my mind.

  Have you really?

  “He told me it was the job. He may not have wanted to hurt my feelings.”

  Molly thought about that, and was shaking her head almost immediately. “No,” she told him with conviction. “I don’t believe it. His anger is too personal. Too aimed at you. Although the divorce might tie in somehow. Maybe he’s mad because you didn’t stay married to his mom. He could blame you for the, er, succession of stepfathers that presumably meant moving, new schools, et cetera, et cetera.”

  Richard seemed to consider that. “Maybe. He had to be upset that he wouldn’t be able to finish out high school in the same place, with the same friends, same teammates.”

  “I’m surprised his coach didn’t throw himself on a sword.”

  “God.” There was that low chuckle again, husky enough to feel like calloused fingertips. “I hadn’t thought about it. Maybe he did. I don’t follow the L.A. news.”

  “Was Trevor mad at his mom after her last divorce?”

  Richard frowned. “Not mad. Confused, maybe. He was…let me think. Eleven, maybe? Not heartbroken, I know that. I think Bree might have been fonder of Scott.”

  “Do you know why her last two marriages broke up?” So not my business, Molly realized belatedly. English teacher—belated could be another word for too late.

  Richard’s glance struck her as cautious. “No,” he said after a minute. “After Scott, she said she wasn’t in love with him anymore.”

  She could hear the but. He knew more. Suspected more. Really not her business.

  Isn’t it, when I’m thinking about sleeping with him?

  The English teacher pointed out how imprecise she was being. She was definitely not planning on doing any “sleeping” with Richard Ward. Well, unless he spent the entire night.

  She must have made a sound, because his head turned. She discovered he’d pulled up to the curb in front of her house.

  “Alexa got bored easily,” he said, and Molly realized he’d assumed she was upset—piqued? angry? something?—because he’d quit talking.

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “No, it’s okay. Alexa needs to be in love.” He shook his head. His hands were still on the steering wheel, but not squeezing the way they did when he felt something powerful. Loose, relaxed. “Actually, that’s not it. What she needs is to have a man passionately in love with her. If her husband gets too focused on work, family, whatever, she’s lost. She pouts, she teases, she tries to get him under her thumb again, then failing all else she finds someone else who fills the bill.”

  Molly felt an unhappy cramping in her chest. “That’s what she did with you.”

  “Yeah.” He was watching her now, his eyes shadowed but his mouth quirked on one side. “It was tiresome. I was trying to build the business to take care of her and the kids. Dad hadn’t retired yet. I had to be sure he wouldn’t erase any gains I’d made if I got sent to Iraq. I was signing contracts, working my butt off, hiring, supervising and firing until I was sure we had some solid employees, coaching Trev’s Little League team.” He shook his head. “And the truth is…”

  “You weren’t in love with her anymore.”

  He never took his eyes off her. “I’m not sure I ever was, except in a high school kind of way. But I’m a man who takes his commitments seriously.”

  “His responsibilities,” she whispered, remembering his reaction when she’d suggested he didn’t.

  “Yeah. I never looked at another woman. Wouldn’t have. I was building a life for my family. That wasn’t enough for Lexa.” He sounded impatient, shook his head. “The point is, she’s never in it for the long haul, at least until she finds a guy who will worship and adore her above all else, until they both shall die.”

  “You don’t think that’s possible?”

  “Yeah.” Even in the diffused lighting, she saw his jaw spasm. His voice was rough. “I do.”

  She was melting down. Utterly. Completely.

  “To hell with Alexa,” he murmured. “Molly, are you going to invite me in?”

  There wasn’t any decision at all.

  “Yes.” She tried to smile, felt her lips wobble. “Please, Richard.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” His hand slid beneath her hair, and he kissed her.

  * * *

  HE COULD HAVE MADE LOVE to her in the pickup, no problem. He wanted to. He hadn’t been so horny since he was sixteen. Damn, but he hated letting go of Molly long enough for them both to get out.

  Richard had the presence of mind to hit the button on his remote locking the truck and met her on the sidewalk. He was reaching for her when some headlights swept over them. They were standing out on a city street at only ten-thirty on a Friday night. There would likely be a fair amount of traffic. In fact, some of her neighbors had probably been to the game, too.

  “Josh doesn’t live near here, does he?” Richard asked hoarsely.

  “No, and Sabrina doesn’t, either. We should be safe unless one of them gets homesick in the middle of the night.”

  He’d have been amused by the idea if his body hadn’t been seized by such urgency. “You got your key?”

  “I’m hunting.” She mumbled a swearword he guessed she didn’t say at work as she rooted through the giant leather satchel she called a purse. He steered her up the walk as she searched. Get inside before you start ripping her clothes off. There’s a plan.

  She found the key and got it in the lock. The interior was dark but for a lamp left on in the living room. Richard shut the door, locked it and turned Molly to face him. Her purse fell from her hand and thudded to the floor.

  “I want you,” he said, voice pure gravel. “Do you know what you look like in these jeans?” He spread his hand on her butt, squeezing.

  “Fat?”

  “Lush. Sexy. Stick figures don’t do it for me.”

  “Thank heavens.” She sighed, and then their mouths met.

  He tried to take it slow. This was their first time, after all. Slow didn’t seem to be a viable gear. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to care.

  Richard kissed her deep and long. One hand roved while the other kept her tight against him. She seemed to be cooperating with that goal, since her arms latched around his neck and she matched every roll of his hips with one of her own.

  Man, he wanted to take her up against the door, but what if her daughter decided to stop by the house for a forgotten item?

  “Bed,” he growled.

  “Upstairs.”

  He grinned wolfishly. “You walk up ahead of me.” He could relive the fantasy that had tormented him during both basketball games, after watching Molly ascend the bleachers. Only this time, it would have a happy ending.

  She eyed him with caution if not suspicion, then started upstairs. Richard followed close behind. What he’d have really liked was if she were naked. He stroked her ass, eased his hand up to her waist and finally stopped her halfway up so he could press against her body. He nuzzled her neck.

  “I don’t know if I’m going to make it.”

  She shot him a flirtatious, laughing glance, wriggled her hips. “What a shame that would be.”

  He’d have loved to sweep her up in his arms, but Molly wasn’t a small woman and they could end up hurt. While he weighed risk and benefit, she bolted, and he went after her. By the time he made it into the bedroom behind her, she’d freed her hair from the ponytail, letting it fall down around her shoulders. Something about the movement, almost innocent, no more than a woman letting her hair down, turned him on more than an impromptu striptease would have.

  “I love your hair,” he told her, and plunged his fingers into it. He already knew how it felt, silky but not soft, thick and strong. He stroked, letting it run through his fingers. He didn’t kiss her, because he might not have been able to stop, and he wanted to look at her.

  “Lift your arms,” he said roughly, and when she did he peeled her sweater over her head. The sight of her in a peac
h-colored, lace-edged satin bra that barely confined gorgeous breasts was enough to make him feel as if he’d taken a blow to the belly. A sound escaped him. Something raw, ragged. As if in a dream, he lifted his hands and cupped her, ran the pads of his thumbs over her nipples.

  Molly moaned and arched her back, thrusting her breasts more fully into his hands. He lifted them, squeezed, bent his head and nuzzled the bared curves. And then he reached behind her and unfastened the clasp. With slow, deliberate movements, he caressed her shoulders—she had beautiful shoulders—easing the narrow straps off, until the bra slid down and dropped to their feet. He didn’t watch it go. He was enthralled with her breasts. The skin was as creamy as he’d imagined, her nipples a beautiful, dusky color, the areola as generous in size as her breasts were.

  Her head was bent as she watched him look at her and then touch her. Richard knew he was groaning. His big hands couldn’t completely enclose her. He’d never seen anything sexier than her firm nipples peeking from between his fingers.

  Suddenly he’d had enough. He did pick her up only to lay her on the bed, where her hair spread across a dark red, textured cover. It was a perfect backdrop for all that skin. A redhead’s skin. He unsnapped her jeans and peeled them and peach-colored panties over her amazing hips and mile-long legs. He hung up at the shoes, and she laughed at him as he fumbled at the laces and finally yanked one shoe off after getting frustrated at a knot he’d created. Then socks, and he tossed the jeans over his shoulder.

  “You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen,” he said, with utter sincerity.

  As he stared, she blushed, which delighted him. Even her breasts turned pink.

  Richard shed his own shirt, kicked off his shoes and went on one knee above her on the bed. Now he kissed her, first her parted lips, deep and drugging, before stringing more kisses down her long, white throat and then to his target. He licked, nibbled and suckled. He damn well wallowed in those breasts, and in the small sounds she made and the way her hips rose from the bed.

  Somehow she’d come to be kneading his shoulders, testing the contours of his chest and the muscles in his back, and finally she rubbed her palm up and down over the long bulge beneath his zipper. That was the breaking point for him. He’d never taken his pants off so fast in his life. Then they were kissing, arms around each other, moving against each other, tangling their legs, rolling so first he was on top, then her. And, oh, man, the sight of her above him almost blew his fuse.