“So why don’t you like her?”
He was prepared to play ball and dig weeds. Not to have an intimate conversation. Boys didn’t have those. Not in his family, anyway.
He made his next attempt at a basket. “I do like her.”
“Then you want to date her?” Sammie rebounded, jumped and missed, rebounded and jumped again.
“I’m seeing someone.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said.” The boy missed again and took the ball down the driveway to bring it back up for a fresh try. He made the basket from the foul line.
“She talked to you about dating me?”
“When I asked, sure. Mom talks to me about everything.”
Probably not quite everything, but it was good that the boy thought so.
“If you weren’t seeing anyone, would you date her?”
Cal had never known there were so many minefields on a basketball court.
“She’s a student of mine in school.” He made a right-handed hook shot, rebounded and went for the left. Which he missed.
“But she’ll be out of school before my real school even starts again. She’s graduating.”
Cal knew that.
Sammie stood there, a four-foot-something wizard, bouncing the ball back and forth between his hands.
“What’s with all the questions about your mom’s love life?” Cal finally figured out that he had to take the offense here or lose all control of the conversation.
“I dunno.” Shrugging, Sammie took another shot. They played a little one-on-one and then the boy said, “It’s just that she never dates and I know it’s because of me.”
“How do you know that?”
“Grandpa said so.”
“To your grandma?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you ever think that maybe you shouldn’t listen to people’s private conversations?”
“No.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t.”
“If she waits for me to grow up before she dates, she’ll be too old.”
Cal tossed the ball to the kid. “She’ll never be too old for someone to love her,” he said. He was flailing around in his mind for more to add, something meaningful and deep that would satisfy the boy.
And keep him from repeating his fears to his mother. That was all Morgan needed—to think she had to start dating to meet her son’s needs.
Dating wasn’t something Cal could help her with.
And he sure as hell didn’t like the idea of her going out with someone else just to satisfy a need in her son’s fragile psyche.
“Your mother will date when…”
Cal had no idea what he was going to say—was making it up as he went—and was thankfully interrupted by the back door opening.
And then he stood speechless for an entirely different reason.
Frank Whittier stood there, dressed in basketball shorts that hung to his knees, a T-shirt that left no doubt the old man still had the chest and shoulders to be an athlete and a pair of scuffed basketball shoes.
“You need some help with your footwork, son,” he said. “Here, let me show you.” Frank took the ball from Sammie’s grasp, and for the next half hour he monopolized the boy’s mind with the things he should be thinking about—the intricacies of good basketball.
* * *
MORGAN CLEANED LIKE a madwoman while Sammie was with her parents on Sunday. Saying goodbye to her son, telling him to have a good time and to tell her parents hello for her had been the second-hardest thing she’d done in her life. The first had been sitting up all the previous Friday night waiting to hear if Sammie was dead or alive. To know if he was ever coming home to her again.
She knew he’d be coming back Sunday night. She just didn’t know if his return would be temporary.
And so she cleaned. Her closet. Sammie’s closet. The kitchen cupboards and refrigerator. She cleaned out her desk drawers and the bathroom drawers. She did the usual dusting and vacuuming and scouring, too. And when her mother called to say that they were taking Sammie out to his favorite gourmet burger place for dinner and would be bringing him home late, Morgan didn’t argue. Though, technically, she had the right to.
She baked chocolate-chip cookies instead. Sammie’s favorite.
And then ate half a batch of them waiting for him to get home.
At which time, stuffed from his dinner out, he was too full to eat them. He took his gaming device, kissed her good-night and went to bed. Not even noticing that one of the things she’d cleaned out of his room was the baby monitor.
* * *
AFTER A NEARLY SLEEPLESS night, Morgan dragged herself into class Monday morning. Attendance made up a percentage of her grade and she wasn’t going to put Professor Whittier in the awkward position of having to either grade her down or do her a favor. She didn’t want any favors.
Several reasons accounted for her lack of sleep. No monitor. Too many cookies. And too little Sammie. She was panicked that their time together was coming to an end.
Cal looked great that morning. Wearing a white shirt, dark blue pants and tie, and maroon leather shoes, he could have walked out of one of her dad’s boardrooms. Or off a film set.
He was giving an overview of their final paper. Morgan already had hers half-done. She’d chosen to write about Mark Twain’s lifelong message and had way more to say than the word count would allow.
Bella didn’t seem to have any grasp on her paper, based on the number of questions she had.
Cal tended to his adoring fans with the grace of a great movie star, exuding a sexiness that kept every woman in his sphere riveted.
It was embarrassing, really, the way her classmates flirted with him. Thinking that because he was male, all he would care was that they were sexy and blonde and available.
Morgan was sure he’d experienced his share of erotic sexual encounters. She bet he knew his way around a woman’s body—every curve and nub and opening.
Grabbing her water bottle from her pack, Morgan took a long sip of water. Cal glanced her way, letting his gaze rest on her for an excruciatingly long second before he moved on, leaving her a bit warmer than before.
Another woman in her row—Lyla Something-or-Other—had his attention now. As he moved nearer to her, Morgan’s own attention went to the rock-hard thighs encased in his expertly creased dress pants. Last night she’d dreamed about those thighs, dreamed they were wrapped around her… . Morgan silently cursed herself. Cal Whittier’s private parts, or the size of them, were entirely not her business.
“I didn’t realize English was so boring.” Whittier was looking straight at her. And so was the rest of the class.
“You care to join us this morning, Ms. Lowen?” he asked, kindly enough. The class chuckled.
“Sorry, sir. Didn’t get much sleep last night. Uh, you aren’t boring, sir.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she realized what she’d said.
Floor, please, now. Swallow me up.
“He asked you if you had any questions about your paper,” Bella whispered from across the aisle, loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Oh, sorry. No, sir. I’m good.”
Like hell she was.
She felt hot and horny and scared to death she was going to lose her son, and feeling more alone than she’d felt in her entire life.
What was a little embarrassment on top of all that?
* * *
MORGAN’S LACK
OF ATTENTIVENESS in his class bothered him. And it bothered him that that bothered him. Which was why, when his father’s ringtone sounded ten minutes after class, he picked up with a slightly impatient, “What?” And then quickly tempered it with, “Is everything okay, Dad?”
“I was just called in to Dwayne’s office.”
Dwayne Summers, their landlord, and his father’s boss. The fact that the other man was communicating with his father was not the least bit unusual. The fact that his father was calling him and telling him about it was.
“What did he want?”
“He thought I’d applied for a job elsewhere.”
“Why would he think that?”
“Someone called. Asked questions about me.”
Damn. Rubbing his head, Cal dropped down to the couch in his office. “What questions?”
“How long I’ve been here. What kind of work I do. Am I a good employee. Reliable. Timely.”
“Who was it?”
“A Ramsey Miller. Guy just gave his name. Didn’t say where he was calling from. Dwayne thought I’d applied somewhere and gave him as a reference.”
The words running through his mind were good in any language. And just as useless, too. Obviously Miller had put a private investigator on Cal. And found Frank by default.
“You told him you’re not leaving, I take it?”
“I told him.”
“And?”
“He was glad to hear it.”
“I’ll check on this Ramsey Miller guy and get back to you. Just hang tight, Dad. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He hoped to God he wouldn’t be struck down for lying before he could get his father out of this.
Whatever it took.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MILLER DIDN’T TAKE Cal’s call. Not any of the times he tried to reach the Comfort Cove detective that day. And Cal didn’t leave any messages. He’d talk to the guy on his time. His terms.
But Miller had better understand that he would talk to him.
In the meantime, Cal had another matter to tend to. Not as disturbing as the Miller issue, but one that was still niggling away at his brain.
He put it off until ten o’clock that night, telling himself that if he gave himself time, he’d just let it go.
In truth, as soon as Morgan Lowen answered the phone, he knew that nothing short of her voice had been going to soothe what was eating at him.
“Are you still planning for Sammie to come here tomorrow after school?”
They’d made the arrangement when she’d picked her son up on Saturday. Instead of going to the day care after school, as he sometimes did when Morgan was working, Sammie was going to be spending Tuesday and Thursday afternoons with Cal and Frank.
Unless his mother had changed her mind sometime between noon on Saturday and Monday morning when, for the first time in four years, she hadn’t been paying attention in his class.
Every student had days when their minds wandered. He knew that. Expected it.
And she had a hell of a lot on her mind.
But…
“Yes. Unless you need me to make other plans.”
“No.” Sitting at the computer in his home office, Cal took a sip of whiskey and stared at the blinking cursor awaiting his attention. An autobiography of sorts, a compilation of researched facts and memories, should not take twenty years to complete.
And maybe it wouldn’t have if he didn’t keep going back over it, and every bit of research he’d done, searching for the answers that were missing. If he didn’t keep delaying the process by finding more research to do.
“So you’ll pick him up from school at three as planned?”
“Yes.” Why was he taking her lack of attention personally? It wasn’t as if he’d been lecturing. And even then…
“I let Julie know to release him to you.” Morgan interrupted his mental discomfort. “Since she met you last week you won’t need to show identification.”
She told him how to find the principal’s office where Sammie would be waiting with Julie. He took notes.
And when she was telling him thank-you and it sounded like goodbye was coming next, he said, “Everything else okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. The enrollment drive for the day care, which I missed on Saturday, was successful and I have a lot of extra paperwork to do to get all the kids registered by the start of school in September.”
Not quite what he’d been asking. But he was interested, just the same.
“I’m sorry for this morning, Cal.” Her voice had dropped. Like she was speaking intimately.
Or maybe his body just reacted that way because he’d had a long day.
“What was going on?” he asked.
“I didn’t sleep much last night. And my paper is already half-done. My mind just wandered.”
He knew immediately that she wasn’t telling him the whole story. But she didn’t owe him anything.
“You’re sure everything is okay?”
“Yeah.”
“No repercussions with Sammie?”
“He’s actually been nicer since he was at your house. I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you for all of this.”
“You thank me every time I walk through the kitchen. I can’t believe how much of a difference the new curtains make.”
“Curtains are hardly comparable to my son’s life,” she said with a sleepy chuckle. Cal wondered if she was in her bedroom.
He took another sip of whiskey. It was already half-gone. He had to get back to his book.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said, wincing at his abruptness. “When you come by to get Sammie after work.”
“You’re sure he’s not a problem?”
“If things go as well as they ended up on Saturday, I’m going to be the one in debt here,” he told her. “We might be helping a little bit with Sammie, but he could be giving my father back a piece of life.”
So they were even. No one owed anyone anything.
Except him. He owed Kelsey Barber dinner.
* * *
AFTER ANOTHER SLEEPLESS night, Morgan dropped Sammie off at class on Tuesday.
“Remember, Professor Whittier will be picking you up this afternoon.”
“I know, Mom. I’m going straight to Julie’s office to wait for him.” The boy’s tone was affable. Maybe even eager.
Could a lack of male companionship really have been their problem?
“I’ll remember to be polite and you don’t have to hurry to pick me up,” he added quickly. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he turned to her, a frown between his brows. “You’ve got the four-year-olds today, and it’s Tuesday so the twins’ dad will be coming to get them. Don’t worry if he’s late, is all. I’ll be fine.”
Her little man. So maturely aware of her feelings, too. What would she do if she lost him?
What would he become under her father’s chauvinistic rule?
With the kiss to his cheek that he still allowed her, Morgan sent him off and watched until he was inside the building. Then, still sitting outside his school, she opened her cell phone.
The number wasn’t on speed dial. But she knew it by heart. And was slightly shocked when her father picked up. Until he spoke.
“So you’ve finally changed your mind? You ready to end this thing before you drag that boy into court?”
She almost hung up. “I want to talk to you, Daddy. I know it’s late notice, but can you
meet me for lunch today?” She had an hour.
“I’ve got the Lyle brothers coming in, and then Dennison.” He paused. She heard a page turn. “I’ll have Margaret call and bump them an hour.” He told her to meet him at his favorite restaurant at noon.
He didn’t ask about her schedule. Didn’t consider her work. Or the fact that she had lunch from eleven-thirty to twelve-thirty.
But she wouldn’t get angry. Anger would be counterproductive. It wouldn’t help Sammie. And she could have someone cover her class if she didn’t make it back right at twelve-thirty. She’d arranged for a dance instructor to come in that afternoon, anyway. All anyone would have to do for her was supervise.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
For her own mental health she translated his harrumph into “you’re welcome.”
* * *
CAL ONLY HAD TWO classes during summer session. The upper-level literature class he had with Morgan, and another, individually regulated graduate-level English Lit Review class. The latter had eleven students, all working independently and meeting with him as their schedules coordinated with his. Each student had to pick ten pieces of English literature from a predetermined list and write twenty-page reviews, analyzing the works according to a series of set guidelines. Cal’s job was to assist them, answer their questions, discuss their work and provide grades.
Messages from two students requesting meetings were waiting for him on his answering machine Tuesday morning. Along with a return call from Ramsey Miller.
Cal called the cop first.
“Leave my father alone, Detective.” The demand was unequivocal. Harassment was against the law. Not that a detective following up on leads in a case was harassment, but there came a point…
“I am doing my job, Professor,” the man shot back. “I have a crime to solve and I will do what it takes to solve it.”
“My father has not been out of this city in several years. He couldn’t possibly have taken your evidence.”
“He could still easily be involved in its disappearance. Like I said, Professor, I will do what it takes.”
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