“Yeah.”
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. They’d survived the picnic. Now if they could just survive her father.
It was another Norman Rockwell moment, sitting on a bench swing on the front porch. Hunter felt a peacefulness descend around him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Following a dinner of grilled fajitas, he and Serena had come out here while her father and son had gone inside to watch television, the dogs with them.
Hunter wasn’t exactly sure why he’d revealed what he had to Serena in the barn. He wasn’t proud of his family background. He’d stopped short of telling her the worst of it. God bless Texas and the death penalty.
Fighting off the oppressive memories, he stretched his arm along the back of the bench and began toying with her slight curls, the muscles in his leg flexing and relaxing, causing the swing to sway lazily. Maybe he’d add a swing to the deck at the back of his house. But he didn’t think he’d feel the same sense of contentment sitting there alone as he felt sitting here with her.
“I enjoyed today,” he said quietly.
She looked inordinately pleased. “Did you?”
“I did.”
“I’m glad. You’re always welcome to come back.”
He wanted to ask her to come home with him. Spend time on his back porch. Curl up in his bed. She didn’t even have to have sex with him. Just press her back to his chest, her bottom to his stomach.
“I’d like to get your phone number before I leave.”
She popped up like a kid’s jack-in-the-box. “I’ll get my business card. It has my cell phone on it, and I always keep it on.”
He hadn’t meant to send her scurrying into the house, leaving him alone out here. He could see the horses scampering around the corral, where he’d taken them once they were brushed down and fed.
He heard the door open, glanced over his shoulder, and was disappointed to see that it wasn’t the person he was hoping for.
“Are you gonna sleep over?” Riker asked.
Hunter had a feeling the question was innocent, one the kid might ask his best friend—two buddies spending the night together, not in the way Hunter would like to sleep with the boy’s mom. “No, I’m not.”
“When are you leaving?”
“When I’m finished visiting with your mother.”
“Are you going to marry her?”
With a sigh, Hunter lifted his arm off the back of the swing, bent forward, and braced his elbows on his thighs. “Think you could close that door and step out here a little farther?”
He didn’t want Serena’s father listening in on this conversation, although he wouldn’t have put it past the old man to have sent the boy out to do a little intelligence gathering. The kid did as Hunter had asked and crossed the porch to stand in front of him.
“Right now, I’m just getting to know your mom. We’re becoming friends,” Hunter explained.
“Jason’s dad got married. It sucks.”
Hunter wasn’t sure if the kid was supposed to say sucks, if Hunter should correct him or reprimand him or let it go.
“Why does it suck?”
“Because now his dad won’t marry my mom. I wanted him to be my dad, too. Dads do stuff that moms don’t.”
“Like what?”
“Like go to baseball games. Jason’s dad took him to a baseball game.”
“Your mom would probably take you if you asked her.”
“Nah, we’re in mourning because Grandma died. We’re not supposed to have fun right now.”
He didn’t say it with any sort of resentment or sadness, simply acceptance. Hunter wondered if Serena had given much thought to what her son was going to be missing out on while they stayed here this summer. As much fun as fishing with Grandpa might be, Hunter had a feeling the kid would rather be back home playing with his friends.
Serena returned outside. “Sorry it took so long. Riker, honey, what are you doing out here?”
The boy just shrugged.
“We were talking guy stuff,” Hunter said.
“Oh, what kind of guy stuff?” she asked.
“Baseball, mostly. As a matter of fact, I was just about to tell Riker that I was thinking of going to watch a Round Rock Express game. I was wondering if the two of you wanted to go with me.”
Even in the evening shadows, he could see the kid perk right up and expected him to start bouncing at any minute.
“Really?” Riker asked. “When?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to check their schedule. How about if I call your mom to let her know when the next game is?”
“Cool! You won’t forget, right?”
“I won’t forget.”
“Awesome!”
The kid disappeared into the house as though his mission had been accomplished.
“You didn’t just get manipulated, did you?” Serena asked, as she sat on the bench seat, a little closer to him than she was before.
“I’m not sure.”
“If you don’t want to go to a baseball game—”
“No, I do.” And he was surprised to find that he meant it. “The question is—do you want to go?”
“I think it would be fun.” She handed him her card. “Here you go. So you can call me with the details.”
He put his arm around her. “Here’s a detail. I like you, Serena. I like you lot.”
He kissed her, enjoying the way her body came to rest against his, as though it belonged there. It was a heady thought, to think that maybe he’d met a woman who would finally be with him for more than one night.
Chapter 11
Because Serena considered the minivan safer than his jeep, which she feared might roll over, Hunter drove her vehicle through Austin, Pflugerville, and into Round Rock for the Thursday night game between the Round Rock Express and the Frisco Rough Riders. At Serena’s suggestion, he’d purchased tickets for the grassy knoll, which seemed a little far from the action to him, once they were situated on a quilt, but the kid seemed thrilled with the location, had his glove on, and was crouched as though he expected someone to hit a ball right to him.
And Hunter figured that was all that mattered. That the kid was happy.
Riker glanced over his shoulder. “Mom, can I have a hot dog?”
“Sure.” She started to get up.
“I’ll go with you,” Hunter said.
She stilled. “I don’t want to leave Riker here by himself.”
Hunter glanced around. “Why not?”
“He’s too young.”
“For what?”
“To be left by himself at a place like this.”
He couldn’t see the harm in it, but then he’d been on his own since he was eight, and parenting wasn’t exactly his thing. “Okay, why don’t I get the hot dogs then? You want one?”
“Yes, please. Mustard only for me and Riker. A couple of soft drinks, whatever they have.”
He headed up the knoll and made his way to the concession stand. He’d gone to sporting events a time or two, but it was very different going with a woman and her kid. Serena kept a close watch on Riker, as though she thought someone might touch him and he’d disappear in a poof of smoke.
He moved up to the window, ordered the dogs and drinks, caught sight of the bags of cotton candy hanging down, and trusting his instincts, ordered two of those. Then cursed his instincts when the order was delivered and he discovered that carting stuff around for three people was a little more involved than doing it for one.
But wending his way through the crowds with a great deal of care, he made it back to the grassy knoll without dropping anything. Serena’s smile of pleasure made the food reconnaissance worth it.
Riker removed his glove and grabbed a hot dog. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“There is just something about a ballpark hot dog,” Serena said.
She was wearing a red visor that matched her red tank top. White shorts that hugged that little butt of hers and left a lot of
her leg exposed for viewing. His interest in going to the game had jumped up several notches when he’d seen how she was dressed. He definitely liked the scenery up here on the knoll.
She bit into the hot dog and looked as though she was experiencing rapture. He had to look away just so he could eat without leaning over to kiss her. He wasn’t much into kissing in public—but then he’d never been with a woman he wanted to kiss in public.
“Did you play baseball when you were a kid?” Riker asked.
“No, I didn’t play any sports.”
“I want to play Little League next year,” Riker said. “I couldn’t this year, on account of Grandma”—he stole a glance at Serena, as though he thought he might have said something he shouldn’t—“you know.”
“We were spending a lot of time up here with Grandma, weren’t we, sport?” She rubbed his shoulder, but Hunter was left with the impression she would have preferred to ruffle his hair—except he was wearing an Astros ball cap. “It wouldn’t have been fair to the team because you would have missed too many games.”
“I know.”
“Next year,” she said.
“Yeah, next year. I’m going to be the pitcher,” he told Hunter. “Jason is the catcher.”
“That’s the way they do it in the backyard. He hasn’t played on a team yet. A coach might decide differently, Riker. You have to be prepared for that.”
The boy nodded, sipping his drink, but Hunter figured his mother’s words were going in one ear and out the other. Some things only experience could truly teach.
“You could be a coach, couldn’t you?”
It took Hunter a second to realize that Riker was asking him, and not his mom.
“I don’t know enough about the game to coach,” Hunter said.
The kid looked at him as though he’d just announced that he’d forgotten his name.
“I mean, I know the basic rules. Three strikes and you’re out, but I wouldn’t know when to tell a batter to bunt or when he should steal a base or when he should stay put.”
“I could teach you all that. Dads should know all that, so they can be coaches.”
Yeah, maybe dads should, but he wasn’t planning to be a dad.
“Riker, why don’t you turn around and watch the game now?” Serena suggested, a pink that matched the shade of the cotton candy creeping onto her cheeks that Hunter didn’t think was the result of the early evening warmth.
Once Riker had put his glove back on and turned to watch the game, Serena leaned toward Hunter and whispered, “I’m sorry. He’s been a little obsessed with having a dad since Jack got married.” Her gaze darted over to the bags of pink fluff. “Just two bags of cotton candy?”
“I’m not much into sweets.”
“How did you know I was?”
“Lucky guess.”
She opened a bag and reached around Riker. “Here you go. You need to be sure and thank Fletcher.”
The kid glanced over his shoulder. “Thanks.” Then the glove was off again and the candy was disappearing.
“I’ve always been a sucker for cotton candy,” Serena said as she opened her own bag. She pinched off a bit and then looked at him. “Are you sure you don’t want any?”
He thought the look she gave him could have melted the sugar she was holding in her hand. His gaze darted between her eyes and the bit of fluff she held between her finger and thumb.
“Sure, why not?” he said.
She placed the candy against his lips, he parted them, and before he could even bite, it had all melted away. She licked her fingers. “What do you think?”
That it was suddenly too damned hot out here.
“It has potential.”
She laughed and held the open bag toward him. “Help yourself.”
Only he wasn’t interested in feeding it to himself.
“Mom, can I go over there, down by the fence line to watch?”
“No, let’s just stay up here.”
“You don’t have to go with me.”
“No, Riker, there are too many people here tonight.”
The boy’s shoulders sagged forward as he returned his attention to the game.
“He’d probably be okay—” Hunter began, before she stopped him with a shake of her head.
“I’d worry too much. If I looked away, he’d be gone.”
“He seems obedient—”
“Oh, I don’t think he’d run off. I worry that someone might take him. There are people like that. You hear about it all the time.”
“It seems a little paranoid—”
“That’s my style: paranoid protectiveness.”
She didn’t seem offended or angry that he’d questioned her, but was simply letting him know that she wasn’t going to change her approach on his say-so.
So their parenting styles would definitely differ. Parenting styles? When had he ever considered a parenting style?
He’d never contemplated becoming a parent. Kids were a distraction. You had to worry about what they ate, what time they went to bed, what sports they played, and whether or not you could allow them to walk away from you.
And he certainly wasn’t thinking about becoming a parent now. It was a responsibility he didn’t need or want.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “You look like the hot dog might not be agreeing with you.”
Something wasn’t agreeing with him, but it wasn’t what he’d eaten. He took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”
“It was really nice of you to arrange tonight. It means a lot to Riker. Means a lot to me that you included him.”
“Seemed only fair. It was his suggestion.”
“You don’t take compliments well.”
Mainly because he wasn’t used to receiving them. At least not in situations like this, from a lovely woman who was praising him for something other than his bedroom skills.
“You were young when he was born. Did you ever make it to college?”
“No. I’d planned to go, but I was too busy after Riker was born. How about you? Did you go to college?”
“Experience was my education.”
She smiled at that. “The instructor can sometimes be unforgiving.”
She had that right.
“Yeah, but you seldom forget the lessons,” he said.
“It just seems that too often the test is the lesson.”
There was a crack of a bat, the roar of the crowd, he heard Riker yelling, Serena looked up, released a tiny squeal, and covered her head. Ah, the baseball.
A couple of young men and several kids were suddenly scrambling onto the quilt. Hunter hated to do it, but it was headed for his hand and he was the tallest of the lot. He had to take it.
The impact stung his hand, but by the time the ball had traveled this distance, it had lost some of its velocity. He was vaguely aware of some yells and clapping.
“Good catch, man,” one of the guys said before heading back to where he was sitting. The kids who’d come over scattered away, except for Riker who—with a wide grin on his face—was looking at him.
“Wow! Did you see that, Mom? He just caught it. No glove or nothing.”
“I saw it. Very impressive.”
Riker bobbed his head. “You could be a coach. Honest.”
“That was just being in the right place at the right time.” Hunter tossed the ball into Riker’s glove. “Here you go, kid.”
“Awesome! Thanks.” He turned back around and Hunter heard the thud, thud, thud as the boy lobbed the ball into his glove.
“That was some catch,” Serena said as she straightened her visor.
“How would you know? You didn’t see it.”
She wrinkled her cute little nose. “I’m not much into baseballs flying toward me. I didn’t think they’d reach all the way out here.”
“Where did you think home run balls were going to go?”
“I wasn’t expecting the farm league to hit many home runs.”
“These are all you
ng kids who still dream of making the major leagues. They’re going to whack that ball if they get a chance.”
“What do you know about dreams?”
That until this moment he’d never had a single one come true. But he wasn’t going to share that with her. Instead he leaned toward her and whispered, “Most of my dreams involve you with very little clothing on.”
If she were offended, she didn’t let on. As a matter of fact, based on the blush creeping into her cheeks and the way she kept pressing her lips into a tight line every time the corners of her mouth started to curl up, he thought maybe she was pleased by his words.
It was dark by the time Hunter pulled the minivan in front of her father’s house. Serena felt good about the evening. Content. Riker was still excited about the fact that he’d come home with a home run baseball.
Riker pulled open the side door. “I’m going to show Grandpa my ball.”
“Riker,” Serena admonished as she stepped out of the van. “Thank Fletcher for taking you first.”
“Thanks, it was great.”
“You’re welcome.”
Hunter was standing beside her, his voice a gentle purr in the night. Riker bounded up the steps and into the house, the door slamming behind him.
“Did you want to come in for a cup of coffee?” Serena asked.
“Nah, it’s late. I should head out.”
“Thank you for tonight. It was really nice. Special.” Kiss me, she thought. Just kiss me.
She’d wanted him to kiss her during the game. Not that baseball allowed for a lot of “kiss me” moments. Unlike football. The excitement around touchdowns lent itself to hot, steamy kisses more than a base hit did.
“So does it count as a date when your son is with us?” he asked.
“I think so.”
He reached up and removed her visor. “Thank you for going with me.”
The kiss was slow and leisurely. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her against him until she was flattened against his chest. Even the hot, sultry night couldn’t compete with the heat of his kiss.
It poured into her, through her. It made her feel giddy and drunk. Maybe it wasn’t the margaritas that first night that had inebriated her. Maybe it was this. The touch of his lips against hers, the stroke of his tongue, the way he suckled and thrust and latched onto her mouth as though it were a lifeline.
Smooth talking stranger Page 10
