by Cindi Myers
Movies forgotten, Troy quickly read the rest of the story, then stuffed the paper in the saddlebag with the ice cream. Marlee would want to see this.
Greg answered the door, greeting Troy with a bear hug that made Troy feel ten feet tall. How could one little boy inspire so much joy? “Hope you like ice cream,” Troy said.
“I love ice cream.”
Troy pulled the carton from behind his back. “How does mint chocolate chip sound?”
“Awesome.”
Troy chuckled. “Let’s go show your mom.”
Marlee was in the kitchen, frying pork chops. Troy paused in the doorway to enjoy a lingering look at her shapely legs.
She must have heard him come in because she looked over her shoulder at him. “What are you staring at?” she demanded.
He grinned. As if she didn’t know. “I brought some ice cream,” he said, holding up the carton.
“Oh. Thanks. Better put it in the freezer.” She turned to her son. “Greg, set the table for me, please.”
Greg hurried to a low cabinet and began pulling out plates. “Remember, the forks go on the left, knives and spoons on the right,” Marlee said.
“Mom! I know!”
She rolled her eyes at Troy and he smiled at the shared joke. He walked over to the stove and pulled the article he’d torn out of the newspaper from his back pocket. “I brought something to show you,” he said, his voice low so Greg wouldn’t hear him.
Marlee paused, spatula in hand. “What is it?”
He pointed to the photo. “This article. It’s about your dad.”
She stiffened, and her face lost all color. He waited while she read the article, which told the story of her father’s unexpected heroism, risking his life to save his elderly tenant.
“That is your father, isn’t it?” Troy asked.
She shrugged and threw the paper on the counter. “So?”
“So now you know where he is.”
“Too close for comfort.”
He glanced through the doorway to her small dining room at Greg. The boy was busy arranging silverware beside each plate. “You don’t think he’d hurt you, do you?” Maybe she knew something about Frank that Troy didn’t.
“No, of course not!” She took a deep breath and spoke in a softer voice. “He’d never physically hurt me, but I still don’t have any interest in seeing him. I don’t want to talk about it.” She moved the frying pan off the burner and began putting the pork chops on a plate.
Troy wished he could read Marlee’s mind and know what she was thinking. She had never really talked about her father; she’d told him once that her father hadn’t been around much when she was growing up because he was either in prison or hiding from the law. Did she think Troy—who’d made one mistake and knew exactly what it had cost him—would end up like her father? Did she believe he, too, would abandon her and Greg again, lured by a life that her father hadn’t been able to resist?
I’m not like that, he wanted to tell her.
But words meant nothing unless backed up by action.
MARLEE WENT THROUGH the motions of setting dinner on the table, but her mind was focused on the newspaper article Troy had shown her. Seeing her father’s picture after all these years had been a shock. He’d looked older, of course, but the thick hair and piercing gaze were the same as she remembered. He’d always been so handsome…
She shook her head. What did appearances matter when the man himself was anything but handsome? She’d sworn long ago never to have anything to do with her father again. The past was just that—the past. Better to leave it alone.
“Dinner’s ready,” she announced, taking her place at the table.
Greg said grace, and she began passing plates. Troy helped himself to pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans and rolls. “This is delicious,” he said after a few bites.
Marlee smiled, flattered in spite of herself. “You act as if you haven’t eaten in a month of Sundays,” she teased.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a meal this good,” he said. His eyes caught and held hers. “It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a lot of things.”
She looked away, the tension between them returning tenfold.
“I like it when Troy comes over, don’t you, Mom?” Greg grinned at each of them in turn.
“It’s very nice,” Marlee murmured, afraid of showing too much enthusiasm. She didn’t want Troy to get the wrong idea. He was here as Greg’s father, not because he meant anything to her.
“Can Troy come to my open house?” Greg asked.
She blinked, caught off guard. “Greg, I don’t know…”
“What open house?” Troy asked.
“Next week, at my school,” Greg said. “It’s like a party. We’re doing special projects and artwork and we’ll have refreshments.”
“It’s really just for parents,” Marlee said. She bit her lip as she caught her mistake. Troy was Greg’s father, even though they hadn’t publicly acknowledged it. How long would he be willing to go along with keeping the secret?
“Friends can come, too. Mrs. Ramirez said,” Greg announced.
“Then I think I should come,” Troy said pointedly.
Marlee nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“My friend Rachel Minor lost a tooth at school last week,” Greg said. “She was showing me it was loose, wiggling it back and forth, and all of a sudden it just came out. There was blood and everything. It fell in the sand under the swings and when we found it, it had all this dirt sticking to it, and blood and everything.”
“That’s horrible,” Marlee said.
“No, it’s cool.” Troy grinned, and Greg grinned back, two members of that male club that thought blood and dirt were excellent topics of dinner-table conversation.
Regret and more than a little guilt pinched her as she watched father and son together. This was why Greg needed a man in his life, for this kind of understanding and acceptance.
Fear had made her cautious where Greg was concerned, fear that he’d be hurt by a man who swept in and out of their lives, the way her father had done. But was she protecting Greg—or merely being selfish, keeping her boy to herself? Maybe his need for male guidance outweighed her fears.
The open house would be a good first step. They’d see where they stood from there.
After dinner, Troy insisted on helping Marlee clear the table. He followed her to the kitchen and stacked the dishes in the sink. “I meant to fix that hinge this afternoon,” he said, frowning at the broken cabinet door. “Let me get a screwdriver. It’ll only take a minute.”
While Troy tackled the hinge, Marlee returned to the dining room, where she cornered Greg. “Time to do your homework, young man,” she said.
“Mo-om! I don’t have school until Monday.”
“That’s no reason to put things off until the last minute.” She picked up his spelling book from a chair by the door and opened it on the table. “Let me help you learn these spelling words.”
Greg slumped in a chair and tapped out a rhythm on the table with his pencil. “I want Troy to help me,” he said.
“Did somebody say my name?” Troy stepped into the room, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
Greg grinned up at him. “Help me learn these spelling words, Troy.”
“Sure thing, bud.”
“Did you fix the hinge already?” she asked.
“Yup. It only needed a new screw.”
“Okay, I’ll go do the dishes.”
Marlee shoved back her chair and fled to the kitchen, not wanting Greg to see she was upset. Oh, it hurt to see her little boy choose a man who was practically a stranger over her!
Don’t be silly, it’s just homework, she told herself. She squirted detergent over the dishes in the sink and began running water, drowning out the sound of voices from the other room.
She was washing the last pan when Troy returned to the kitchen. “He’s a really smart kid,” he said.
She nodd
ed, scrubbing at the side of the pot harder than necessary.
A firm hand gripped her shoulder and she looked up into Troy’s understanding eyes. “You’re still his mom,” he said. “Nobody will ever take your place. Don’t think I’m trying to.”
She plunged her hands into the soapy water. “You don’t have to apologize. Of course he’s fascinated with you. He’s never been around many men before. I guess I should have dated more, or enrolled him in Big Brothers, or—”
“Hey, relax, you’ve done a great job. He’s a terrific kid.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m proud of you both.”
Marlee wanted to tell him she didn’t need his praise, but the warm feeling it gave her inside proved how wrong she was. Since her mother’s death, she’d had no one to reassure her she was making the right choices for her son, no one to confirm that he was turning out well. To hear Troy praise her when he could just as easily have judged her harshly made her ridiculously happy and relieved.
On the heels of these emotions came the physical awareness of his hand, heavy on her shoulder, his body close to hers. His warmth seeped into her. Having Troy back in her life—even though she kept him at a distance—reminded her of how alone she’d been for too long.
She closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure. But he must have mistaken it for a gesture of invitation, and he covered her lips with his.
The kiss was gentle, tentative even. He stilled, waiting for her to take the lead. She put her hand up to push him away, but as she rested her palm against his chest, she was distracted by the wonderful, solid feel of him. Troy was the man who’d taught her all about kissing, who’d shown her how magical the connection between a man and a woman could be. The chance to relive those memories seduced her, and she leaned into his embrace,
She opened her mouth and heat burned through her, melting her inhibitions, dissolving her fears. The passion she’d thought dead and gone flared to life once more.
A low moan vibrated and Marlee couldn’t tell if it came from her or from Troy. He pressed his body against her, his desire evident. She tore her lips from his, and let her head fall back.
He trailed hot kisses along her throat, licking and suckling until she thought she’d go mad. Her nipples strained against his chest. When he brought his hand up to fondle her, she stifled a cry of pleasure.
“Tro-oy! How do you say this word?”
Greg’s call clanged like an alarm bell in her head. Gasping, she struggled to free herself from Troy’s arms, and from the sensual spell he’d cast on her. He groaned, and reluctantly relinquished his hold on her. “I guess I’d better go.”
She nodded, still too breathless to speak. When he was gone, she sagged against the counter. What had she done, letting Troy kiss her like that? What if Greg had walked in?
Or worse, what if Greg hadn’t interrupted them when he did? She could have lost herself with a man she hardly knew, despite all that had happened in the past.
She’d been a fool to take that kind of chance. She immersed her shaking hands in the dishwater and began scrubbing the pan again.
Prison changed people—how could it not? Troy was more serious than he’d been before, but what else was different? Had he become violent behind bars? More inclined to make his own rules, regardless of what society dictated?
Yet the man who had held her just now—who’d listened to her son and helped him with his homework—didn’t strike her as violent or disorderly. If anything, Troy was gentler than she remembered, the brashness of youth replaced by a more thoughtful kindness.
At the same time, there was a seriousness to him she didn’t remember—an intensity that both frightened and attracted her. He was, as Trish had said, the kind of man who could hold his own if things got rough.
But she’d already come through plenty of rough times without his help. She’d allow him to be a part of her life for Greg’s sake, but she certainly wouldn’t let herself need him.
TROY SAT across from Greg at the dining-room table, buzzing with the adrenaline in his veins. Just as well he and Marlee had been interrupted. Troy needed time to cool off. He’d never meant for the situation to get so out of hand, but he’d looked at Marlee’s upturned face, her eyes closed, lips slightly parted, and he’d seen, not the woman who’d rejected him and thrown away his letters, but the girl he’d loved with all his being.
No matter what she said, that kiss told him Marlee still felt something for him. Physically, at least, though whether there was anything beyond lust, he couldn’t tell.
“What does this say?” Greg turned the schoolbook toward him and pointed to a word.
“Because,” Troy read.
“B-E-C-A-U-S-E.” Greg sounded out each letter. “Because.”
“Try this one.” Troy pointed to the next word on the list.
“I know that one. It’s ready—R-E-A-D-Y.”
“That’s great.” Troy listened as Greg completed the rest of the words on his worksheet. His son deserved his full attention, but he couldn’t tear his thoughts away from the woman in the kitchen.
What did it say about him that he refused to take no for an answer? After the first few months, when Marlee didn’t answer his letters from prison, he’d figured out she didn’t intend to. He’d been hurt and angry, but he kept writing anyway, alternately pouring his fury and his love for her onto the paper. Yes, she’d refused to stand by him, but he knew how much it had cost her to go with him even as far as she had—to visit him in jail and sit through the trial. The District Attorney’s case against him had sounded horrible even to his ears—how much worse must it have seemed to a girl who’d been disappointed time after time by her father’s protestations of innocence? As much as Troy raged against her refusal to believe him, part of him understood why she couldn’t, and that understanding kept him writing.
That, and hope for their child.
He got through the toughest days of his confinement by imagining their child. When he left prison, he hadn’t even known if the baby would be a boy or girl. They hadn’t picked out names.
As her due date neared, then passed with still no word, he’d resorted to calling his mother and begging her for some news of the child.
And now here he was, trying to build those fantasies and longings into what? A family—the three of them together, as they were meant to be.
BY THE TIME she finished the dishes, Marlee had regained her composure. She dried her hands, smoothed her hair, then went into the dining room. “Time to get ready for bed, Greg. Say good-night to Troy.”
“Aw, Mom.”
“Good night, Greg. I’ll see you soon.” Troy tousled the boy’s hair and Greg threw his arms around him in a surprisingly strong hug.
“Go on, now,” Marlee said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Reluctantly, Greg shuffled out of the room.
Troy stared after his son. “I used to try to picture what he’d be like,” he said. “But the reality is a lot better than anything I could have imagined.”
She had a sudden vision of him, alone in a prison cell, thinking of the son he never knew. “I thought you’d forget about us.”
“Never. But I guess you tried hard to forget about me. Isn’t that why you didn’t answer my letters?”
“I thought a clean break would be better.” She met his gaze, finding courage by reminding herself of all the reasons she’d turned her back on him after his conviction. “I grew up with a con for a father. I wasn’t about to put my child through that kind of hell.”
“I’m not your father,” he said. “I made a stupid mistake and ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I’m not going to do it again.”
He sounded so positive. For Greg’s sake, she wanted to believe him. “Maybe you won’t. But what you’ve done will stay with you the rest of your life. And if people find out, it brands Greg, too. When I was a child, my classmates talked about my father as if he was a monster. They’d see his picture in the paper when he was arrested, and could
n’t wait to tell me all about it. Parents didn’t want their sons and daughters associating with me, and teachers suspected me whenever anything disappeared from their desks or from classmates’ lockers. I couldn’t bear it if Greg had to go through any of that.”
“Of course you couldn’t. I couldn’t either. But again, I’m not your father. My arrest was years ago. It scarcely made the papers. Besides, none of Greg’s classmates were even born when it happened. There’s no reason it should ever come up again. Trust me.”
Did he know what he was asking? Marlee hadn’t trusted anyone in a long time. “Good night, Troy.”
“I’ll see you Monday, then. At Greg’s open house.”
“Right.” She followed him to the door, and locked it behind him. Then she stood at the window, watching through the blinds as he mounted the motorcycle and sped into the darkness. Only then did she walk down the hall to Greg’s room.
“Why aren’t you ready for bed?” she asked. He was supposed to be in his pajamas already; instead, he sprawled in the middle of the floor, racing a plastic motorcycle over the hills and valleys of the bunched-up rug beside his bed.
“I wanted to play with my motorcycle first,” he said. A gift from Troy, the motorcycle had become Greg’s most prized possession. He sat up. “Do you think Troy will take me riding on his motorcycle soon?”
“You have to be much older to ride a motorcycle,” Marlee told him.
“How much older?”
“All grown up. Come on. As long as you’re still awake, I think you need a bath.”
“Mo-om!”
“No arguing. Into the bathroom with you.” Bath time had been her favorite ritual when Greg was a baby. Sheltered in the little bathroom with the warm water and steamed-up mirror, listening to her child giggle as he played with bubbles, Marlee had felt far removed from the problems of her past or worries about the future. She could use a little of that comfort now, she thought as she ran Greg’s bathwater.
“I really like Troy,” Greg said as he stood first on one foot, then the other beside the tub, peeling off his socks.
