Harlequin Superromance December 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Caught Up in YouThe Ranch She Left BehindA Valley Ridge Christmas

by Beth Andrews

  He could blame her for other things, though. Such as him having to stand over his kid to make sure Max not only did his homework but also did it correctly. For Eddie worrying about what would happen if he let either of those things slip.

  “Here,” Max said, shoving his math paper at Eddie when he reached his side.

  Eddie picked it up, his chest tightening at the sight of the messy answers. “Double-check these,” he said, pointing to three problems that were incorrect. Three out of the five. Damn.

  Sitting on the edge of the chair, his tongue caught between his teeth, Max erased the number he’d written in for the first problem. Frowning, he mumbled to himself. “Twenty-three?” he asked, looking so hopeful Eddie wished he could manipulate the formula for math just to make his kid right.

  “Try again. What’s six plus six?”

  Max swung his foot, his heel hitting the chair leg. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Should Eddie be worried it took Max so long to figure it out, that he didn’t know it automatically and had to count on his fingers?

  Another reason to damn Harper. For making him doubt everything his kid did.

  “Twelve.”

  “Right. So when you take the six of sixteen and add six, the answer is twenty...” When Max remained silent—other than all that thumping—Eddie held up all the fingers on his left hand, the pointer finger on his right. “Sixteen...seventeen,” he said, folding his pointer finger down. “Eighteen.” The thumb on his left hand. “Nineteen.” Left pointer finger.

  “Twenty.” Max folded Eddie’s middle finger down. “Twenty-one.” Ring finger, then pinky. “Twenty-two!”

  “Good job. Now rework the other ones.”

  While Max figured out the remaining problems, Eddie put their burgers on the grill, tossed frozen French fries into the oven and threw together a salad.

  “Done,” Max said, digging into his backpack.

  “This one is still wrong,” Eddie told him, tapping the incorrect answer.

  With a weary sigh—as if Eddie was the one making this process last so damn long—Max slumped into his seat clutching his handheld video game. “I don’t know it.”

  “You didn’t even look at which problem it is.”

  He scanned the paper then shrugged.

  “Nineteen plus eight is twenty-seven,” Eddie said, erasing the wrong answer. He held out the pencil but Max had his head bent over his game, his hair in his eyes.

  Eddie wrote in the correct sum, doing his best to imitate his son’s handwriting.

  And he could only imagine what kind of fresh hell he’d catch if Harper found out about it. Too bad. She didn’t get what it was like, being a single parent, trying to do it all on her own. Besides, he’d make up for it by going over Max’s addition flash cards with him this weekend. Twice.

  “Put the game away and get your reading book out,” he told Max. “You can read to me while I get dinner on the table.”

  Eddie grabbed plates, silverware and napkins. When he returned to the table, Max was still hunched over his game, his fingers flying across the buttons.

  “I said, put the game away.” Max didn’t so much as blink. Eddie set the plates on the table with a sharp crack. “Max. Maximilian.”

  Nothing.

  He plucked the video game from his son’s hands.

  “Hey,” Max said, jumping up and reaching for it.

  Eddie easily held it out of reach. “You can play later. After you’ve done your reading and we’ve had dinner.”

  In a full pout, Max flopped onto the chair, crossed his arms. “I don’t want to read it. Mrs. Kavanagh gave me a baby book.”

  “She wants you to read a book about babies?”

  Max rolled his eyes. “It’s a book that babies read.”

  “Must be gifted babies. Reading before they can even talk.”

  Another eye roll, this one worthy of a kid twice his age. “It’s a kindergarten book.”

  “If it’s the book Mrs. Kavanagh assigned you to read, that’s what you’ll do.”

  “I want to read Heroes of Olympus.”

  They’d just discovered the series over the summer and were on the third book. But there was no way Max could read a book at that level.

  Impatience and sympathy battled inside of Eddie with irritation giving them both a run for their money. Big-time. He dug deep so that patience won in the end. He was tired. They both were. Add in hungry, and the fact that one of them was a kid, and you had the potential for a major breakdown. One Eddie didn’t have the time for.

  “If we get everything done by nine,” he said, “everything being dinner, your homework and your bath, I’ll read you two chapters of The Mark of Athena before we go to bed. Deal?”

  Chewing on his thumbnail, Max nodded. Slid his book—Pie Rats Ahoy!—out of his backpack and opened it. “B...b...”

  Eddie covered the second half of the word with his thumb. “Sound it out.”

  “B...beh...”

  “Be,” Eddie corrected, switching to cover the first two letters. “Now this part.”

  “Wuh...” Max shook his head. “Ruh...”

  “Ware. Now put them together.” He covered the second half again. “Be.”

  “Be.”

  Covered the first part. “Ware.”

  “Ware.”

  “Be,” Eddie said, drawing the word out as he slid his finger under the letters. “Ware. Beware.”

  “Beware. Tuh...huh...”

  Eddie curled his fingers into his palms, his nails digging into his skin, but he kept his voice mild as he read over Max’s shoulder. “Remember when t and h are together like that, they make a th sound.”

  Max nodded. “The...there...”

  “Good.”

  “There wa...war...”

  “Were. There were...”

  Fifteen minutes later, their fries were rapidly cooling on the counter and their burgers overdone. And Max was only halfway through a learn-to-read book about a bunch of pie-stealing rats.

  “Let’s eat,” Eddie said, taking the book from Max and setting it aside. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to rip the damn thing into confetti. “We’ll finish this after your bath.”

  “You said we could read The Mark of Athena.”

  “I said if we got done by nine.” Not likely now, not with half a book to go plus Max’s spelling homework.

  Max’s eyes welled with tears and Eddie’s heart broke. Not because his kid was disappointed—disappointments were a fact of life, one you couldn’t hide from or protect your children from. But because Eddie knew exactly how Max felt.

  Damn it, he hated that his son had to struggle. Knew all too well what Max was going through. The frustration. The self-doubt. But worse was the wanting—wanting to do better. Wanting to be smarter.

  Unable to do either.

  “We’ll read one chapter before you go to bed,” Eddie promised. “No matter how late it is.”

  “Okay.” Grinning, Max lunged at Eddie, wrapped his arms around Eddie’s neck. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Eddie held on tight. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to keep his kid in his arms where nothing bad could happen to him. He wanted to promise him it would all be okay, that he’d be okay.

  His cell phone buzzed.

  “Put your stuff away and wash your hands,” he told Max then picked up his phone. “Hello?”

  “Eddie,” a familiar female voice said. “Hi. How are you?”

  He bit back a vicious curse. And wished like hell he’d never turned his cell phone on.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “HEY,” EDDIE SAID, lowering his voice. Luckily, Max was busy washing his hands and had no interest in his dad’s phone call.

  “I hope
I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

  Tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear, he dished fries onto Max’s plate then his own. “We were just sitting down to eat.”

  “At eight-thirty? Isn’t that a little late?”

  He pressed his lips together, squeezed the spatula handle so hard, he was surprised it didn’t snap in two. Who the hell was she to question how he did things?

  “We had a busy day,” he managed to say in a reasonable tone.

  “Of course,” she said quickly as if trying to appease him. “Did you get my messages?”

  Messages? There had been more than the one she left with James?

  He grunted in affirmation as he motioned for Max to sit and start eating. “What did you need?”

  He could picture her on the other end of the line. Even though it was late, she was probably still at her fancy office, her hair pulled back. When they’d been married, she’d often worked twelve-, fourteen-hour days, put in time on weekends and holidays. She’d had no time and little energy for anything or anyone but work.

  Not even her own son.

  “Actually,” she said, “I’d like to talk to Max.”

  Eddie turned his back to Max, who now watched him with a frown. Must have picked up on Eddie’s tension. “Like I said, we’re just getting ready to—”

  “I’ll only take a moment of his time. I promise.”

  Your promises don’t mean much.

  He kept that thought to himself.

  “Your mom wants to talk to you,” he told Max, holding out the phone.

  Max took it. Eddie couldn’t tell if the flush staining his son’s cheeks was from pleasure or nerves.

  “Hello?” Max said.

  Eddie plated up his dinner, tried not to listen in on the conversation. Not that there was much said on Max’s part other than a few yeses, noes, okays and uh-huhs.

  After a few minutes, Max said goodbye and passed the phone to Eddie. “She wants to talk to you again.”

  Eddie set down his burger. “Yeah?”

  “I’d like to visit Max,” Lena said without preamble, obviously taking the hint that Eddie had no desire for pleasantries or to drag this conversation out longer than necessary.

  His stomach churning, he stood, covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Finish eating,” he whispered to Max before walking into the living room. “Is that what you talked with him about?”

  “No. I wanted to run it by you first.”

  Thank God for small favors. She had no business saying anything to Max about visiting before she had Eddie’s permission.

  “Is next weekend a good time for you?” she asked.

  There was no good time. After Lena’s visits, Max always acted out. Fighting at school. Being disrespectful and angry at home.

  How could it be anything other than a disruption? Lena had taken off when their son was two, claiming she couldn’t handle the responsibility of having a child, wanting to climb the career ladder more than to be a mother. She’d moved to Chicago and had been on the fast track with her job ever since. Until she got sick.

  And now she wanted to see Max next week.

  What choice did he have? She was his mother. She had a right to see him. Max had a right to have his mother in his life, even if it was on a temporary basis.

  “Yeah, that works for me.”

  “Great,” she said, sounding so relieved, guilt pricked him. He pushed it aside. “Maybe one night,” she continued, “he could stay with me at the hotel.”

  He didn’t want to fight her but he had to protect his son. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “It’s only one night, Eddie,” she said, sounding small. “I really want to spend time with him. He’s my son, too.”

  “He is your son,” he agreed, though it killed him to do so, “but you haven’t seen him in months. It’s confusing for him to have you pop in and out of his life.”

  “Now that I’m better, I can see him more often. Can’t we work something out?”

  She sounded sincere. But actions spoke louder than words and he needed to make sure this wasn’t some whim brought on by her illness. “If your visit with him goes well, the next time you come to town Max can spend one night with you.”

  “I know I haven’t been a big part of Max’s life up until now,” she said softly. “But I want to change that. Are you going to let me? Or fight me?”

  Her words, the subtle threat of them, blew through him. Chilled him to the bone. “Goodbye, Lena.”

  He clicked the phone off, imagined how satisfying it would be to wing it across the room. Instead, he set it carefully on the coffee table and headed to the kitchen. To his son.

  Are you going to let me? Or fight me?

  He was going to let her. Was going to let her see Max, be a bigger part of his life. Partly because it was the right thing to do. Because he felt sorry for what she’d gone through with her cancer diagnosis. Because he truly was glad she was going to be okay.

  But mostly because if he fought her, he was terrified he’d lose.

  * * *

  TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY-FIVE DAYS.

  She hated mornings the most.

  Actually, Joan thought, keeping her eyes shut as she lay under the heavy comforter on her bed, she hated every single waking moment of each day. But mornings were, by far, the worst. Because each day there was a moment, just as she awoke, when everything was fine. When she forgot, for the briefest of seconds, that her life had been changed forever.

  Each day there were a precious few seconds when she was happy.

  And then it all came rushing over her. The pain. The crushing grief. The sense of hopelessness. Of despair.

  Her son was gone.

  She didn’t know what to do. Wasn’t sure she could go on. She didn’t want to die.

  She just...didn’t want to live.

  Everything inside of her stilled and she held her breath as if she’d uttered her guiltiest secret aloud. Waited for the repercussions, the anger and denial, but none were forthcoming. Not from her husband, who slept next to her. Not from the universe or the God she used to believe in.

  Not from herself.

  How could she deny what was in her heart? The truth she faced each day. That she kept hidden from everyone. She wasn’t okay.

  Wasn’t sure she’d ever be okay again.

  But she’d keep pretending she was.

  Everyone told her to take as much time as she needed, but even if she lived forever she’d never get over losing Beau. Her only child.

  She was supposed to learn how to live without him. How? He’d been her shining light, her main focus and the best thing that had ever happened to her for so long... How could she possibly go on when he’d been so senselessly taken from this world?

  It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. It was the injustice of having him ripped from this world that kept her going. The sense that if she gave up, she’d somehow be letting the monster who’d taken Beau’s life win. She had to at least pretend she was getting better. That she was handling her loss with grace and dignity.

  When all she really wanted was to curl up into a ball in some dark corner and never come out.

  She didn’t have that luxury. She had to be there for Harper and Cassidy. Had to be a pillar of strength for those around her. She would not be pitied, would not be looked down upon or thought of as weak.

  She’d keep right on pretending she was strong.

  Steve shifted, rolled over so that his body pressed against her back, his morning erection solid and warm against the cleft of her rear. A year ago she would have snuggled closer to him, would have lifted his arm and wound it around her waist, led his hand to cup her breast. They would have made love slowly. Sweetly. Or they would have come together wild
ly. Passion driving them both higher and higher.

  Six months ago she would have kept her breathing even and pretended to be sound asleep. Or she would have stiffened and edged away, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t touch her.

  This morning she remained still. Kept her body relaxed as he rubbed against her, his hand gripping her hip, his breathing growing ragged. He rolled her gently onto her back—he was nothing but gentle, her husband, the man she’d fallen in love with years after thinking she’d never find love again.

  They’d gotten married the summer Beau turned thirteen, had said their vows in a small, private ceremony in Steve’s backyard with Beau giving Joan away. Steve’s son and daughter—sixteen and eighteen respectively—had stood up for him.

  It had been such a beautiful beginning. Such a lovely promise to what could have been a long and joyful life together.

  But now that life was empty. She was empty. And so alone.

  All she could do was hold on to the shell of their marriage. Of herself.

  Steve shucked his boxers, slid her underwear down, then lifted the hem of her nightgown. There were no tender words between them. No smiles or laughter like there used to be. He didn’t kiss her, had stopped trying to get her to respond—to his kisses, his touch—months ago.

  But she wouldn’t deny him. Not when she knew sex was a basic human function. Not when he’d been so good to her, helping her keep up her facade in front of everyone else.

  She could pretend with everyone else but not with Steve. It shamed her. Humiliated her. But he was the only one who knew the truth. She was broken. Forever shattered.

  He slid inside of her and she bit her lower lip, grimaced. She wasn’t prepared for him but after a few strokes, her body responded the way nature intended. He grabbed her hips, pressed his face into the side of her neck and pumped into her. His body was warm, his scent familiar.

  She could hold on to his strong shoulders. Smooth her hands down his sides, over the soft skin of his lower back. She could lift her hips, meet him thrust for thrust, give a small piece of herself to him, take some comfort for herself.