by Jo Leigh
She’d planned the games and baked the goodies with one thing in mind. To release the stranglehold of fear that had encircled them all. She couldn’t do anything about Mojo from here. Just wait and be careful. But she would be damned if she was going to let him squeeze the life out of her boy. Not without a fight. A fight she was winning, for now.
That didn’t mean that Mike was his old self, and would never again retreat behind his icy facade. Any minute, he could turn on her, shut her out. But seeing him like this was like seeing an old friend. He even looked like the man she’d married. The laughter took years from his face and, more importantly, swept away the haunted expression that had plagued him for so long.
It wasn’t hard to understand why this man made her think of being in his arms.
She got up, and went over to the guys. In those short seconds, the tables had turned. Sam sat on Mike’s stomach. He was trying hard to tickle his dad, but he couldn’t keep Mike’s hands out of the way. She sat down again, facing Sam and above Mike. She grinned and grabbed Mike’s wrists, pulling them to the floor.
“Hey, no fair.” Mike struggled, but not very hard.
Sam attacked with all ten fingers, and she laughed until she cried.
The sound of the phone stopped them all. She froze, with Mike’s wrists still captive in her hands. Sam sat up with wide eyes. The ring came again, high-pitched and urgent.
Mike broke out of her grasp instantly. He lifted Sam and sat him down by his side, then he was on his feet. He turned to her. “Stay here.” He ran into the living room, out of her sight.
The next ring stopped abruptly, and she began to pray.
“Who is it?” Sam asked.
She turned to him. He was still sitting where Mike had put him. His smile had disappeared, and in its place was a worried frown.
“I don’t know,” she said, trying to keep the fear from her voice. “Probably Daddy’s office.”
“What if it’s him?”
She knew who he meant. “Daddy will take care of it, honey.”
He didn’t ask her any more questions. He just stared at the kitchen doorway with unblinking eyes. She couldn’t do much more herself. She was so afraid to hope.
Time seemed to come to a crawl. She didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe. Then she heard his footsteps.
He was smiling.
She let her head drop into her hands as the relief washed over her.
“Hey, sport,” Mike said. “Why don’t you go set up the checkerboard while Mom and I clear the table?”
Becky looked up again. Sam was on his feet, worry still evident on his beautiful face. Mike put his arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay, kiddo. Don’t worry. We're gonna be fine.”
Sam’s smile came slowly. “Did they catch him?”
Becky heard Mike take a slow breath. “No,” he said. “They haven’t caught him. But they do know he’s headed north. He’s not coming this way tonight.”
“Are we going home?”
“Not yet.”
Sam sighed. What a sound coming from such a little guy, she thought.
Becky got to her feet, and walked over to her son. “It won’t take us long in here, Sam. You go set up the checkerboard, like Daddy said. We'll be there in a minute.”
He nodded, and walked out of the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, Becky turned to Mike. “Tell me.”
“It’s good news. They've picked up his trail. He’s in, or he was in, Laramie. Heading north. That was as of this morning. He’s probably in Casper by now.”
It was hard to believe it was over. That they were safe. “When can we go home?”
“There’s no guarantee that he’s not going to double back. We're not leaving till he’s caught.”
“That could take days or weeks. What if they don’t ever catch him?”
“They will. At the very least, they'll be able to verify he’s in Canada. But you’d better pray they catch him. The last thing we want is for him to get away. We would never know another minute’s peace.”
“But tonight?”
“We can breathe a little easier. Just don’t let down your guard. He could be here tomorrow or the next day. Until we know, we keep to our game plan.
“All right.” He stood by the fridge and she walked over to him. “But we do have this night. Let’s relax and have fun. Sam needs it. I need it.”
His dark brown eyes softened. “Yes, ma'am.”
She reached over and took two of his fingers in her hand, but she didn’t let go of his gaze. “It’s nice to be friends again. I've missed that.”
He nodded. “I've missed you.”
She didn’t move, and except for the light pressure of his fingers, he didn’t either. She swallowed and found her throat felt thick and her mouth dry. She captured her bottom lip with her teeth, and his eyes followed the movement as if spellbound. She knew what he was feeling. A pull as strong as the tide had her in its grip, too. What he couldn’t see under her thick sweater was that her breasts felt heavy and her nipples hard. Warmth spread inside her and her pulse quickened.
She stepped back, dropping his hand and breaking the spell.
“I've got to clean up,” she said, afraid to look him in the eye.
“Becky...”
“Don’t, Mike.” She looked up at him again. He did want her, there was no mistaking that. She knew this man better than she knew herself. “We can’t do this. You know that. Now go on out there and be with Sam. I need to do the dishes.”
She could see the strong muscle of his jaw tense and relax. “No, no. I'll clean up in here.”
“Thank you,” she said, wondering if he understood that she meant far more than the dishes.
“Go on, get out there,” he said. “I can only be noble for so long.”
She caught his gaze. The haze of desire still lingered in his brown eyes. The temptation to go to him surprised her with its strength. It was the situation, she thought. The news that Mojo was far away, and that they could all relax. She turned and took three deep breaths to clear any foolish notions from her head. Sam needed her.
He sat on the floor by the fireplace, with the checkerboard in front of him. He flipped the box top over and caught it with one flat hand, then flipped it again. When he looked up at her, it fell to the floor.
“Sorry I was so long.”
He shrugged. “I want to be red. Can I?”
She nodded as she sat across from him, the checkerboard between them. “Sure can. That means you go first.”
He studied the board, while she studied him. His dark hair was getting too long. It came down below his collar and half covered his ears. She would take him for a trim when they got home. For the first time in a long while, she felt as though they would be going home. That life would be getting back to normal.
He would go to school, and she would finish the decorating job at the hotel. He would go back to his computer generated world, and she would get busy with the PTA, or volunteering at the museum, or a hundred other little pieces of business that would help keep her mind off the lonely nights.
How long would it take her to get over Mike this time? Another year? If they made love, would she ever get over him? God, why was she even thinking that? She wouldn’t make love to him. Not tonight or ever.
“It’s your move.”
Sam’s voice startled her and she looked down at the board. It took a minute to remember what she was supposed to do. “I haven’t played checkers in a hundred years,” she said.
“A hundred?”
She smiled at him. “Maybe a thousand.”
“Maybe you played it with dinosaurs,” he said, giggling.
“That’s it. Me and Tyrannosaurus rex. I kept winning because his arms were too short to reach the board.” She put her hands close to her sides and wiggled her fingers.
Sam mimicked her and roared like a dinosaur with all his might.
Mike walked quietly into the living room and stood by the couch. Watching Becky and Sam goof
around was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. He’d better enjoy it. After all, the chance would probably never come again.
The world they were in wasn’t real, and he knew it. The fear, the close quarters, the intensity were all extraordinary. They’d been granted a temporary stay, and emotions were bound to go overboard. But he’d seen the look in her eyes. In the old days, all she’d had to do was give him that glance, and they would have headed for the bedroom.
Christ, he wanted her. He wanted to take off that damn sweater of hers and feel her beneath his tongue. He wanted to know her body again, to explore all the hidden curves he’d once worshipped.
Making love with her once would never be enough.
Many things had changed in the last few years, but her effect on him wasn’t one of them. Just looking at her now, sitting on the floor, was enough to send his pulse into overdrive. It was more than her beauty. It was the way she looked at him, the way she smiled. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. Hell, every move she made was enough to make him crazy.
“He’s killing me, Mike,” Becky said. “He’s crowned me, and he doesn’t even care that I'm his mother. You would think he would show a little mercy.”
Mike fought down the urge to pull her to him right then and there. He struggled to smile casually as he walked over to the fireplace. It was dark out, although he wasn’t sure if that was nightfall, or just the black thunderclouds carpeting the sky. It didn’t matter. Mojo was in Wyoming. And while he was there, he couldn’t see the smoke from the chimney.
He crouched and grabbed some tinder. “Sam, don’t let her trick you. She’s ruthless when it comes to checkers.”
He heard them both laugh. The sound filled him with something he’d nearly forgotten existed. Peace. He crumpled some newspaper and stuck it under the grate. “There’s not enough wood here for the night. I've got to get some more.”
“Outside?” Becky asked.
“Unless you want me to chop up the dining room table.”
That set Sam off again. When was the last time his boy had had the giggles? Years, he thought. Before Amy had gotten sick.
The thought of his little girl was a sharp jolt, bringing him back down to earth. He was a fool to think things had really changed. One night of laughter didn’t go very far to erase years of pain.
He stood up. “Is the game over?”
Becky nodded. “He won. You're next. We'll see if you have better luck.” She lifted her hand to him, and he took it, pulling her to her feet.
She stood very close to him, close enough for him to smell the soft scent of roses. Before he could back away, she touched his arm lightly with her hand. His mind went right back to where he started. Wanting her. Needing her.
He had to go outside. Now. It was as if he was back in high school, when he’d had to carry his books in front of his crotch to hide his overactive hormones. “What are you waiting for, Samson? Set up the game. I'll get the firewood, and then I'll whip your butt.”
“Not a chance,” Sam said. “Not in a billion years.”
Becky went back into the kitchen while Mike donned his parka and gloves then turned to look at Sam, leaning over the checkerboard, setting up the pieces. Mike hadn’t realized how much he missed the little things about living with his family. The quiet times, and the silly games. Watching Sam grow from day to day. How could a week in the mountains make up for years of being a part-time father? The thought of going back to the way it was hurt like hell. Maybe Sam didn’t need him, but Lord, he needed his son.
He headed for the kitchen. Becky stood by the stove, her back to him. He didn’t move for a minute, just let his gaze wander over her, feeling his heart thud as he looked at the soft curve of her bottom.
What was the matter with him? It had been a long time since he’d made love, but this was out of hand. He rushed past her to the back door. When he opened it, snow and ice hit him with a blast. It was almost enough to douse the flames.
“Damn fool,” he muttered, as he lifted the logs. “She’s off-limits. She doesn’t want you. Get over it.” He balanced the last piece he could manage, then pushed the door open with his foot. Before he went inside, he turned and looked around.
The snow was falling at a sharp angle from the wind. The trees that had been so laden were now bare, as the fierce storm kept any snow from sticking. Huge drifts had come up above the deck and against the side of the house. The windows would be buried soon. The sound of the gale was thunderous as it whipped the trees into a frenzy.
The sky itself was black and turbulent. He couldn’t make out individual clouds, just a churning mass of darkness. He pitied anyone who didn’t have a warm home tonight. Except one man. He hoped the storm went all the way to Wyoming, and that it kept Mojo far away from here.
Mike didn’t believe Mojo was heading to Canada. He didn’t care that he’d been spotted in Laramie. The man had made a promise. One thing Mike had learned—Mojo didn’t give up. He might not come after them tonight, but he would come. Mike would stake his life on that.
He went inside and kicked the door closed behind him. He couldn’t manage the lock, not with his arms so full. Hurrying to the living room, he stopped in front of the fireplace.
Becky and Sam were there to help. They each lifted split logs from the pile and placed them next to the grate. As soon as they were done, he went back to the kitchen and locked the door. Only when he heard the click of the dead bolt did he feel comfortable enough to slip off his gloves and his jacket.
“Come on, Dad. Mom’s talking about doing the puzzle again.”
Mike didn’t go yet. He grew still, and let his feverish mind calm down. Nothing was going to happen, except a nice, quiet evening. He would play checkers. That’s all. No use thinking about anything else. He breathed slowly and deeply, letting the air out in a long sigh. Then he went back into the living room.
Becky sat on the couch, with Sam bent over the armrest, his butt high in the air. Mike remembered how he’d called him Monkey Man, after Sam had just learned to walk. Sam had loved to climb. Over chairs, people, toys, it didn’t seem to matter. He fell as often as not, and Mike remembered coming to the rescue. Picking him up and holding him tight until the wailing came to a halting finish.
A lump came to his throat and he felt foolish and sentimental. What the hell was happening to him? “Hey, come help me with this fire.”
Sam was up in a blink, and by his side. Together, they fashioned a decent pile of paper, kindling and logs. Mike lit it in several places, then sat back on his haunches to watch it come to life.
“Pretty good job, Dad.”
When he looked over at Sam, he saw the boy mimic his stance exactly. His hands were on his thighs, his bottom resting on the backs of his legs. Even the smile on his face copied his own expression. “Thank you, son,” he said. He had to swallow pretty hard before he could talk again. “So, what’s up next? Checkers?”
“Yeah. I'm red.”
Mike positioned himself comfortably across from Sam. When he turned to look at Becky, he saw she’d risen from the couch. She came over to join them, and sat down, facing the fire.
“Come to watch my inglorious defeat, eh?” he asked.
She nodded, and gave him a crooked grin. The light from the fire made her look soft and lovely. “You bet. I don’t want to be the only one to go down in flames tonight. I warn you, he’s tricky.”
With some effort, he turned his attention to the game. It moved along quickly, as Sam was pretty ruthless. The fire was the perfect accompaniment to the evening, crackling away and turning the room into a warm cocoon.
He would remember every detail, he thought. Every move, every sound. He would memorize the way Sam bit on his lower lip while he concentrated. The way Becky hugged her knees up to her chest while she watched them. The warmth that came more from contentment than the fire.
In the nights to come, after they’d all gone back to the real world, he would travel back here, to this night,
and replay the scene in his mind. It would be enough. It had to be.
After the second game, which Sam won, of course, Becky made hot chocolate. When she came back, she sat closer to Mike. Close enough to touch.
He was incredibly aware of how near she was. If she leaned just a little to her left, their legs would brush. He sipped his hot chocolate and burned his tongue. That seemed to amuse his son.
“You have a mean streak,” he said, turning his gaze to Becky.
“I know,” Sam said.
Becky only smiled, and let her hand drop to his knee. The contact was hotter than the burning liquid. The electric sensation traveled straight through to his groin. He moved just enough to dislodge her hand. Then he forced himself to concentrate on the game.
A log shifted and he jumped.
She touched his arm.
He almost groaned out loud.
Sam saved him this time. He kicked the checkerboard and scattered the pieces. Mike moved quickly to retrieve them, making sure he was just out of Becky’s reach.
Was she doing this intentionally? Did she have any idea what her casual moves were doing to him? If she did, she was crueler than he’d ever imagined.
He set up the game again. He focused on the board, on his cocoa, on the fire, but he didn’t look at her. What if he saw that her touches had been a signal? That she, too, was thinking about making love? Worse, what if they weren’t?
Sam crowned his man, and Mike cursed. When Sam’s mouth dropped open, he realized he’d said the word out loud. “Sorry,” he said, risking one glance at Becky.
It was one glance too many.
She smiled at him mischievously, shaking her head at his faux pas. When she moved, the soft tendrils of hair that had escaped from her braid shimmered in the firelight. Her lips seemed moist and inviting, and her skin looked softer and sweeter than anything mortal man would ever touch.
“Don’t you mean fudge?” she said.
He nodded.
She turned to face Sam, and he let out his breath. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing. He had to get the hell out of here, that’s all.
