by Ginna Gray
"That's right. Eight years ago," he snapped in his coldest voice. "Houston's economy was on a downhill slide and R & R Construction was floundering. Julia couldn't stand the idea of being poor, or starting over again. She left me— and Mike—for another man. A much older man—one with money, position and power. We haven't seen her since."
Tess sucked in her breath. That a woman could walk out on her husband and child appalled her. The harshness in Ryan's voice chilled her.
Understanding, at last, the anger behind his coldness, her heart went out to both him and Mike. No wonder Ryan was so bitter and so antifemale. And that poor child; he couldn't have been more than five when his mother abandoned him.
The cup jumped and clattered in the saucer when Ryan thumped it down on the coffee table. He stood up abruptly. His face wore that cold look she had come to expect. "If you'll excuse me—"
"Ryan, wait... please ..." She struggled to her feet and hurried after him. Catching up with him at the door, she touched his arm. Ryan paused and looked down at her hand, then raised his vivid gaze to her face.
Tess looked up at him, her eyes awash with sympathy. "Ryan, I know that what your wife did hurt, but you mustn't let it sour the rest of your life. Don't cut yourself off from love, Ryan. Believe me, all women aren't like that."
"Oh yeah? Tell me something? Would you have married your husband if he'd been...say...a garbage collector? Or a fry cook?"
Tess blinked, taken aback by the attack.
A nasty half smile curved Ryan's mouth. "That's what I thought. All women have their price. Some are just higher than others."
The insult took her breath away. Sympathy dissolved in a burst of indignant anger. " That's not true! Tom wanted to provide as best he could for us, and hopefully, someday for our children, but I certainly didn't marry him for his potential as a money-maker. May I remind you, Mr. Mc-Call, that educators are not exactly on the high end of the pay scale."
She reached around him and snatched open the door before he could respond. "I won't keep you. I'm sure you're anxious to get home to Mike. Good night, Mr. McCall."
Ryan's eyes narrowed. For an excruciatingly long moment he examined her stiff expression. Finally, without a word, he walked out.
Chapter 5
"Lamaze class? You took that cute little redhead who moved in next door to Lamaze class? Oh, that's rich." Reilly whooped. "That's really rich." He threw his head back and guffawed.
Ryan watched his twin in silence, his face impassive. Braying jackass, he thought irritably, but not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did he show any reaction.
He should have known that Reilly would find the incident hilarious. When he'd learned that Tess was pregnant, he'd laughed himself silly and razzed Ryan unmercifully for assuming that she had her sights on him.
Ryan exhaled a small sigh. He supposed he had been lucky to have escaped his twin's teasing this long. It had been four days since he'd taken Tess to the childbirth class. The only reason Reilly hadn't found out about it before now was because Mike hadn't come to the construction site since that night. Saturday's ball game had been rained out, so they hadn't seen Reilly over the weekend.
"Gee, Uncle Reilly. What's so funny?" A puzzled frown puckered Mike's brow. "I think it's great that Dad coached Tess."
"Oh, it is. It is," Reilly sputtered. He collapsed into an easy chair and made a halftiearted attempt to control his mirth. He looked at Ryan, his eyes dancing. "It's just hard for me to imagine old stone face here, doing all that 'hee, hee, heeing.' "
Mike's frown deepened. "What's he talking about, Dad?"
"Nothing. Just some breathing exercises Tess has to practice. Don't pay any attention to him. As usual, your uncle is being a prize jerk."
"What I want to know, Hoss, is how the devil you got involved in the first place. I thought Amanda was Tess's coach at those classes."
"She is. But at the moment Ms. Sutherland's on assignment in the Middle East."
Reilly sobered and sat up straighter. "Where in the Middle East?"
Ryan told him, and his brother's expression darkened. "Isn't that the latest hot spot?"
"Right. That's usually where they send reporters, you know. Amanda is one of the team assigned to cover that border flare-up. I'm surprised you haven't seen her on the news. She's been reporting every night via satellite.''
"My TV's on the blink," Reilly said absently. "That's why I came over here to watch the Astros game."
"And we thought you wanted our company. I'm hurt, aren't you, Mike?"
"Arrrggggh." The thirteen-year-old clutched his chest and staggered dramatically around the living room, finally collapsing in a sprawl on the floor. "It's a fatal wound. I may not make it," he croaked, arms and legs twitching in a death throe.
"Funny. Real funny. You two are a regular barrel of laughs/' Reilly grumbled, but the beginning of a grin was already tugging at the comers of his mouth. No matter how disturbing the news or how dark a situation, it never took long for Reilly's affable spirit to reassert itself.
He nudged his nephew with the toe of his sneaker. "When you're finished emoting, Barrymore, how about fetching me a beer?"
"Okay, but it'll cost ya." Mike sat up, grinning. "Knock, knock?"
"Ah, jeez." Reilly rolled his eyes and sighed, but he dutifully responded in a long-suffering voice, " Who's there?"
"Little old lady."
"Little old lady who?"
"Gee, Uncle Reilly, I didn't know you could yodel."
Reilly groaned, and Mike dissolved in a fit of giggles. Ryan's mouth twitched.
"Out. Get out of here you miserable little twit and get me that beer."
Dodging his uncle's playful swat, Mike bounded to his feet and scampered out of the room, still chortling.
❧
They spent the rest of the evening munching popcorn and watching the Astros win against the Padres, seven to two. Afterward, Mike hit the shower while his dad and uncle watched the evening news. The lead story was the situation in the Middle East. Barely thirty seconds into the broadcast, an image of Amanda filled the screen.
In the background an overturned military vehicle still smoldered and soldiers were making a cautious door-to-door sweep through a ravaged village. The metallic chatter of sporadic gunfire could be heard in the distance. Dressed in khaki pants and shirt, her streaked blond hair whipping in the desert wind, Amanda looked straight into the TV camera lens. With her usual panache, she gave a calm and concise account of the skirmish that had taken place between government troops and rebel forces less than an hour before.
"What the hell is she doing?" Reilly demanded in a rare burst of anger. "The army hasn't even finished mopping up. Damned fool woman. Doesn't she know how dangerous it is there?"
"I'm sure she does. But Amanda Sutherland isn't the type to sit back at command central and report on a conflict from a distance. She's running on nerve and excitement. Right now she's probably too keyed up to be scared."
"Well, she's sure scaring the hell outta me."
Ryan stared at the screen, not hearing the news anchor's report on a local bank robbery. All week he'd been troubled by Amanda's broadcasts. He couldn't help but wonder what effect it was having on Tess to see her friend in such dicey situations night after night. The two women were more than just close; they were almost like sisters. As far as he could tell, Amanda was all Tess had.
A dozen times or more, Ryan had been tempted to call or tap on her door and check on her. Guilt had stopped him.
He had been out of line the other night. She had touched a nerve and he had lashed out. Had she been any other woman, he would have meant what he'd said, but he was beginning to know Tess. It was becoming more and more difficult to see her as mercenary or manipulative.
Against his will, he was softening toward her, he knew, and that bothered him almost as much as his conscience.
"Does Tess know when Amanda is due back?"
Ryan shook his head. "I doubt it. She was expecti
ng her days ago. I suppose matters like border skirmishes and political coups don't run on strict timetables."
Reilly grumbled under his breath and lapsed into silence.
When the news was over, he stood up, stretched hugely and headed for the door. "I'd better hit the road. Tell Mike bye for me." At the door, he stopped and looked back at Ryan.
"By the way, Hoss. Despite my teasing, I've gotta hand it to you for taking Tess to that class. A lot of men wouldn't have. And for what it's worth, I think it'd do you good to hang out with the lady more."
He winked. "Every man, even a dyed-in-the-wool woman-hater, needs the civilizing influence of a female. Without the little darlings we guys would probably revert into being a pack of belching, scratching animals.
"And you gotta admit, all things considered, Tess Benson is the safest woman we know. She's pregnant and probably still mourning her husband, so there's no chance of romance rearing its head. Not only that, she's easy on the eyes and pleasant to be around and a good influence on Mike. Face it, man. She's the perfect companion for you right now.
"So don't run her off. Okay?" Executing a two-finger salute, Reilly grinned and slipped out before Ryan could reply.
Though Ryan tried, he could not dismiss his brother's comments.
All right. Maybe—just maybe—for once Reilly was right, he conceded grudgingly. He had to admit, until the other night he had forgotten just how pleasant feminine companionship could be, forgotten all the enjoyable little things about them. Their softness. Their gentle ways. Their sweet, woman smell.
He'd been with women since Julia took off. Intellectually and emotionally he might have rejected the opposite sex, but his body had not gotten the message. When that restless itch could no longer be ignored there were always plenty of women willing to scratch it.
But that was merely sex. He had enjoyed just being with Tess. Once he'd gotten her to open up, she'd been easy to talk to. She was restful and pleasant and undemanding, and there was a gentle but determined quality about her that appealed to him.
Ryan's mouth twitched. And, as Reilly had so classily put it, she was easy on the eyes. Not drop-dead gorgeous like her friend Amanda, but Tess had her own unique kind of beauty. He thought about the way her face glowed when she talked of the baby she carried, and the twitch almost became a smile. At present, she reminded him of a cute, little broody hen.
Best of all though—as his twin had also pointed out—he could enjoy Tess's companionship without getting tangled up in any emotional strings. It was something to think about.
❧
Over the next few days it was something he could not seem to stop thinking about, which did not set well with Ryan at all. At odd times—when he was ordering lumber or applying for a permit at city hall or going over blueprints-thoughts of Tess kept popping into his head, interfering with his work and his concentration. After two days of being distracted, he was so irritated, he silently cursed his brother for planting the idea in his head in the first place and swore he would have nothing more to do with Tess.
Nevertheless, Wednesday evening when he sat down to read the evening newspaper, halfway through the first article he realized that his thoughts had once again strayed to his new neighbor. Making an aggravated sound, he gave the newspaper a snap and started over at the beginning of the piece. Two sentences into it, a slow but steady thump ... thump... thump interrupted his concentration.
Mike lay sprawled on his stomach on the living room floor, simultaneously watching television and playing a pocket electronic game. When the thuds continued, he looked up. "What the heck is that?"
"I don't know."
"Sounds like it's coming from outside on the stairs."
"Yeah, I think you're right. C'mon. Let's check it out." Tossing aside the newspaper, Ryan rose and headed for the door. Mike scrambled after him. Outside at the top of the stairs, father and son came to an abrupt halt. Mike gaped. Ryan bit off a curse.
On the seventh step from the bottom, Tess stoppled to catch her breath and get a better hold on the carton she was trying to drag up the stairs. The huge, flat box was not only heavy, it was awkward to handle. Even turned on its side, she had difficulty getting a good grip on the smooth cardboard.
Balancing the thing with one hand, she gripped the railing with the other and drew in several fortifying breaths. Then she splayed her hands on either side of the carton and braced for another round of tugging.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Oh!" Tess jumped and lost her hold on the carton. "Oh no!" She watched, horrified, as the large box went thumping back down the steps and toppled over, hitting the sidewalk at the bottom with a loud whump!
"Now look what you've done!" Tess whirled and glared up at Ryan. "Not only did you scare me half to death, do you have any idea how hard I worked to get that box that far?"
"You've got no business trying to manhandle the thing in the first place. Hell, the damned carton is bigger than you are. Why didn't you ask for some help?"
She gave him a speaking look. He ignored it and stomped past her. "C'mon, Mike, give me a hand with this thing."
The boy aimed a sympathetic grimace at Tess and loped down the stairs. Drawing even with her, he paused and murmured out of the side of his mouth, "Hey, Tess. Knock, knock."
"For Pete's sake, Mike, not now," his father barked.
Tess shot Ryan a quelling look and turned an indulgent smile on the boy. "Who's there?"
"UraLee."
"UraLeewho?"
"Ura Lee should ask for help if you need it?"
Tess's rueful gaze followed him as he took the remainder of the steps in two leaps. The corny joke was as much a reprimand as his father's caustic remarks had been, but infinitely easier to take. Maybe because it had been delivered with caring and affection.
"What's in here, anyway?" Hefting one end of the carton, Ryan signaled for Mike to take the other end, and they started up the stairs.
"A crib mattress."
Ryan halted with his foot on the bottom step, jerking his son to a halt four steps above him. He pinned her with a narrow look. "Where's the crib?"
"In another box in the back of my car."
"I suppose you were going to try to lug that upstairs, too."
Knowing her answer would only bring more recriminations down on her head, Tess turned without a word and led the way to her apartment, her chin high.
Mike and Ryan carried the mattress into the nursery and went back for the rest of the baby bed. When they returned with the second carton, they brought a toolbox with them.
"Oh, no, please. You don't have to put it together for me. I'm sure I can manage that on my own."
For an answer Tess received another dark look.
Within minutes the carton containing the crib was open and its contents spread out on the floor. The McCalls sat cross-legged in the middle of the jumble, reading the sheet of assembly directions. Feeling useless, Tess gave up and took a seat in the white wicker rocker to watch.
Father and son worked well together, she noticed. Ryan did most of the actual assembling while Mike handed him tools and the proper part or piece of hardware. He also took the time to explain to his son everything he was doing, and Mike absorbed it all eagerly.
Ryan really was a wonderful father, Tess thought. He was patient with the boy and treated him with respect, never talking down to him or berating him when he didn't understand something the first time. He wasn't reserved about showing affection, either. He touched his son often, ruffling his hair, patting his shoulder, giving him a playful sock in the arm. Warmth and love and a deep fatherly pride was in every look, every touch.
Watching the two dark heads bent close together in earnest conversation, Tess felt a touch of sadness. If her baby was a boy, who, she wondered, would teach him the practical skills that Ryan was passing on to Mike?
When the crib was assembled, Ryan gathered up his tools. Mike, following his father's instructions, picked up the packin
g material and cartons and carried them down to the Dumpster at the back of the complex.
"Thank you, Ryan. I really appreciate you doing this for me," Tess said, running her gaze lovingly over the white Jenny Lind style crib. She grimaced and wrinkled her nose. "I seem to be saying that to you a lot, don't I? For what it's worth, I really don't mean to be a bother."
"Yeah, I know. But it can't be helped."
Tess stiffened. She was about to remind him that she hadn't asked for his help—ever—when he snapped his toolbox shut and stood up.
"What are you going to do about Lamaze class? Your friend is still in the Middle East. I saw her on the news earlier."
"I, uh...I'm sure she'll be back tomorrow. Otherwise she would have called by now."
Barely had the words left her mouth when the telephone rang. Biting her lower lip, Tess glanced toward the living room. Oh, no, please don't let that be Amanda, she pleaded silently, but she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She gripped the rocker arms and struggled to stand, but every time she tried to heave herself out of the chair it tipped backwards, throwing her off balance again. Finally, making an exasperated sound, Ryan reached down, grasped her hand and hauled her to her feet. Momentum carried her against him and her swollen tummy bumped his lean hips. Tess blushed furiously.
"Thank you," she mumbled, and pulled her hand free and edged around him. Self-consciously tugging at the hem of her maternity smock, she waddled out the door. Ryan followed right behind her.
On the third ring the answering machine picked up the call. They reached the living room just in time to hear Amanda shouting over a cacophony of raised voices and what sounded like a convoy of motor vehicles in the background.
"Tess? Tess, it's me. Amanda. Dearest, I'm sorry—I'm really sorry—but I won't make it back this week, either. I swear to you, when I took this assignment, everyone thought it would all be over in a few days, but things are escalating over here like crazy. In fact—I hate to tell you this— but it's beginning to look like I might be here for weeks yet. Tess, I'll try to get back before junior arrives. I'll do my very best. But maybe... well... maybe you should line up a substitute coach. You know—just in case."
