by Judy Duarte
The police? Jillian crossed her arms. “What is it this time?”
“Apparently, he had an angel decoration in his front yard, and now it’s missing.”
“And he thinks Tommy took it?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
Jillian let out the breath she’d been holding. “Tommy is angry with his father, and I’ll admit that he’s been acting out and is difficult at times, but he wouldn’t have taken anything that didn’t belong to him.”
“I’m sure you know the boy better than anyone.”
“Just for the record,” she added, “Mr. Iverson has been picking on Tommy. And I’m not saying that because, as he told me a couple of days ago, ‘every old crow thinks her baby’s white as snow.’”
Mac smiled. “Would you mind if I talked to your son?”
“No. Not at all.” Maybe it would be good for Tommy to talk to another adult—and a male for a change. She nodded toward the doorway that led to the rest of the house. “Come on. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
As Jillian led Mac through the entryway and into the living room, she spotted a pile of Barbie clothes Megan had left in the center of the area rug. She stooped to pick them up, hoping Mac didn’t think she was a lousy housekeeper as well as a negligent mother.
To be honest, though, she had to accept at least a bit of responsibility for the divorce. After all, she’d gotten so caught up with her dad’s failing health, with baking cookies for the P.T.A., and driving on field trips that she’d slowly stopped thinking of herself as a wife and lover. But she’d always been a good mother, and when Mr. Iverson had implied otherwise, she’d bristled.
She held the doll clothes close to her chest, like a shield to protect herself from anything Mac might hurl at her. “The divorce has been a big adjustment for all of us.” Well, at least it had been for her and the kids. Jared hadn’t seemed to lose a wink of sleep over it.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mac said.
She’d been sorry, too. “The breakup was completely unexpected, although, in retrospect, it shouldn’t have been. It was more than a little unsettling at first, but I think, with time, we’ll all be better off.”
Her ego had taken a beating when Jared had left, and while she knew his affair had been more of a reflection on his lack of morals than on her personally—or the twenty-some pounds she’d gained since they got married—that didn’t keep seeds of doubt from sprouting every now and then.
“I imagine your father is happy that you moved back into his house,” Mac said.
“Actually, my dad passed away a little more than a year ago, so it’s just the two kids and me living here now.”
Mac raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about your dad. And divorces are tough. It sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”
The way he’d said divorce made her suspect that he’d experienced one, too. So she yielded to temptation and asked, “Have you…?”
“No, I’ve never been married. But with my job, it’s just as well.”
Now there was another topic they could discuss and stay on neutral ground. She shuffled the tiny clothes in her arms. “What line of work are you in?”
“Law enforcement. I’m a homicide detective with the San Diego Police Department.”
“Oh, really? That’s a…”
“Surprise?”
“Yes, I guess it is. Dad would have been…” She paused, realizing she’d veered right back to a touchy subject. “Well, to be honest, he always figured you’d be riding in the backseat of a patrol car, not in the front.”
Mac tossed her a wry smile. “I guess there weren’t too many people in Fairbrook who expected me to make something out of my life.”
“I knew you would.”
“Did you?” His gaze locked on hers, demanding complete honesty.
She had believed in him. But she had to admit that even though she’d tried to sing his praises to her father, there had been a niggling fear that Mac would always have an edge about him, that he’d never kick his rebellious streak. That if she’d married him, she’d end up…
…in the same boat she was in now.
She chuffed inwardly at the irony.
Still, she suspected it had been Mac’s bad-boy reputation and the slim prospects for a law-abiding future that had been part of his appeal back then.
Before she could conjure a response, Megan skipped into the living room, her blond ponytail swinging from side to side. “Mommy, have you seen my…” The six-year-old froze in mid-step when she spotted Mac. “Oops.”
“Megan,” Jillian said, “this is Mac. He’s an old friend of mine. We went to high school together.”
Mac reached out his hand to her daughter. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The child seemed a bit perplexed by the adult greeting, but she nibbled on her bottom lip and smiled at the same time, then took the big hand he offered.
“You look a lot like your mommy,” Mac said, straightening. “She used to wear her hair long like yours, too.”
Megan shot a glance at Jillian and smiled, her shyness abating some.
Jillian took the opportunity to hand over the doll clothes. “Now that you’re here, young lady, I have a job for you to do. You forgot to put these away when you were finished playing with them.”
“Sorry.” Megan reached for the clothing, but an evening gown, a tiny wedding veil, and a bathing suit dropped to the floor.
“It might be easier to make two trips,” Jillian told her. “And by the way, lunch is almost ready. Where’s your brother?”
“He’s in the backyard making a fort. As soon as I put this away, I’ll tell him to come in.”
After Megan left the room, Jillian turned to face the man whose visit had momentarily shaken her world. “Have you eaten yet? I’m afraid the pickings are slim since I need to go grocery shopping. But I can offer you all the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you can eat.”
He chuckled, the rich timbre of his voice tilting her world further yet. “I might take you up on that. I worked through breakfast and my cupboards rival Mother Hubbard’s.”
She led him into the kitchen. While he sat at the table, she sliced several apples and poured two glasses of milk. Then she took a pitcher of tea from the fridge and a tub of ice from the freezer. Before preparing a drink for herself and for Mac, she turned and leaned her denim-clad hip against the counter. “Let’s get back to Mr. Iverson and his angel. I really can’t believe Tommy took it.”
“It might have been a childish prank. When I was a kid, I was involved in more than my share of those.”
“I suppose it’s possible. Tommy seems to have been hit harder by the divorce than Megan. That’s probably because the woman his father got involved with has a son who used to sit across from him in school. And right now, that boy, his mother, and my ex are…” She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Well, they’re probably sunning themselves on the deck of their cruise ship as we speak.”
“Does Tommy know that?”
“I wish he didn’t. Before we moved back to Fairbrook, the boy was telling everyone in class how his mother’s new boyfriend was taking them on a Disney cruise out of Orlando.” Jillian tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And, just for the record, Jared was the classic workaholic who never had time for school programs, dance recitals, or family vacations.”
“No wonder your son is hurt.”
“Before the divorce, Tommy was a happy, loving child.” She straightened and stepped away from the cabinet. “So, needless to say, I’m in uncharted water when it comes to dealing with hurt and angry little boys.”
She couldn’t read Mac’s expression, although she searched carefully, looking for skepticism or disbelief and finding neither. She suspected that holding his thoughts and reactions close to the vest had been part of the skills he’d garnered at the police academy and later on the job.
Still, she couldn’t help but add, “In spite of what Mr. Iverson may have told
you, I’m a good mother.”
Mac got to his feet and closed the gap between them. He placed a hand on her shoulder, sending her reckless pulse rate soaring again. “No one could convince me otherwise, Jilly.”
“Thanks.”
His touch lingered long after he removed his hand, and his musky, mountain-fresh scent taunted her even as he returned to his seat. She struggled not to take in another heady whiff, but before she could regroup, the back door swung open.
“What’s for lunch?” Tommy asked.
“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” she answered, before introducing Mac to her son.
Again, Mac addressed the child respectfully, taking the small, dirt-stained hand in his.
Since Megan had yet to come into the kitchen, Jillian decided to lay the latest problem on the table. “Mr. Iverson had an angel in the nativity scene in his front yard, but now it’s missing. Do you know where it might be?”
“I saw it when we moved in,” Tommy admitted. “And it was there a couple of days ago, I think.”
“Mr. Iverson seems to believe that you might have taken it,” Jillian said. “I hope you aren’t playing a trick on him to annoy him.”
“I didn’t take it. Why would I want a dumb ol’ angel?” Tommy crossed his arms and frowned. “And I don’t try to annoy him. It just happens. But he tries to mess with me all the time. And he does it on purpose.”
“Oh, yeah?” Mac asked. “How does he mess with you?”
Tommy furrowed his brow, scrunched his face, then shrugged. “Like the other day. I was playing with my little parachute guy and throwing him up in the air, but he accidentally flew over the fence and landed in Mr. Iverson’s yard. Any nice, regular person would have thrown it right back over the fence. But not Mr. Iverson. He kept it instead. And he still has it.”
Jillian eased closer to her son. “Did you tell him the parachute guy was yours and ask him to give it back?”
“I tried. I knocked a bunch of times, but he didn’t answer. Then I rang the bell. But he never came to the door. I knew he was home, though. I could hear the TV on some news show. So I looked in the window and accidentally bumped into one of the big plants on his porch. It fell over, and the pot broke. I knew he would be super mad, so I ran away. But then he came over and yelled at my mom instead.”
“He didn’t yell at me,” Jillian said in the old man’s defense. But he certainly hadn’t been happy about it.
Again, Tommy shrugged. Then he used a dirty index finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his freckled nose.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your little parachute man?” Jillian asked. “I would have gone next door and asked Mr. Iverson to please return it. And rather than run away when you broke the pot, you should have told me about it.”
“But what if it cost a whole lot of money? I heard you talking to Dad on the phone, and you said that you didn’t even have enough money to buy a tree and presents this year. So how could I tell you about the pot?”
Jillian took in a sharp breath. She hadn’t meant for Tommy to overhear the financial discussion she’d had with his father. Nor had she wanted Mac to be privy to that same piece of news now, but it was too late.
“My dad is a jerk,” Tommy told Mac.
For once, Jillian didn’t correct him.
Megan entered the kitchen, and Jillian sent the children to the bathroom to wash their hands.
She probably ought to have said something to Mac, like, “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Or maybe even, “See what I’ve been up against?” But she bit her tongue instead, hoping the frustration wouldn’t well in her eyes.
But, hey, if it did? Maybe Mac would disappear as quickly as Mr. Iverson had.
“You know,” Mac said, “I’ve got an idea.”
He did?
Jillian had run through every idea she’d had when it came to dealing with Jared’s selfishness and Tommy’s anger. And she hadn’t had much luck. So she was game for almost anything.
“After lunch, why don’t I take you guys for an ice cream cone at The Creamery?”
Jillian hadn’t stepped foot in that place since the day before she and Mac broke up.
Why would he suggest they go there?
And why did she later go to get her purse and grab jackets for the kids?
Chapter Three
It was mid-December, but the air was still a bit crisp and chilly for a southern California beach community.
Mac probably should have suggested taking the kids to Happy Donuts, which was only a few shops down from The Creamery. But the ice cream cone invitation had just rolled off his tongue, and the kids and their mother had been okay with it.
So here they were, parked in his black Ford Expedition on the shady, tree-lined street, where The Creamery was flanked by Specks Appeal, an eyeglass store, and Café Del Sol, a trendy eatery that offered both indoor and sidewalk dining.
While Mac slid out of the driver’s seat, Jillian and the kids climbed from the SUV.
Most children had a natural sweet tooth, so he figured he’d get on Tommy’s good side by buying him a treat. And maybe, if he was able to connect with the boy on some level, he could help Jillian put an end to the cold war that seemed to be brewing between her son and Charlie.
As they entered the shop, a bell—probably the same one that had announced new customers years ago—tinkled, alerting an older man who was reading behind the counter.
The sixty-something man, who wore a red-and-white-striped shirt, stood and made his way to the freezer display case. A black plastic badge said his name was Ralph. “Can I help you folks?”
“We’d like some cones,” Mac said.
The gray-haired man grinned. “You betcha.”
Megan and Tommy approached the freezer display case and peered at twenty or more flavor options, while Ralph awaited their decision.
“This place certainly hasn’t changed much,” Jillian said, perusing the interior.
Mac had to agree, noting the black and white checkerboard flooring, the chrome-trimmed, white Formica tables, and the red vinyl chairs. Several matching booths still lined the back wall, including the one in the far corner, where he and Jillian used to sit whenever they’d found it empty.
“Oh, cool,” Tommy said. “Look, Meggie. Bubble gum ice cream. It has chunks of gumballs in it, and when you’re all done eating it, you end up with a mouth full of chewing gum.”
“Ooh, yuck,” Megan said, scrunching her face. “I want strawberry.”
Mac nudged Jillian’s arm as though not a day had passed since they’d met here regularly. “How about you?”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“You didn’t eat anything except apples at lunch,” he said. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“A little. But I just started a diet.” She offered him a smile, then glanced at the small bulletin board behind the cash register, where a snowflake-trimmed flyer had been posted.
He’d noticed that she’d put on a bit of weight over the years, which was probably why she was dieting, but it didn’t matter to him. There’d always been something special about her that had caught his eye and gripped his heart.
Her dark brown hair, which had once hung to her waist, curled at the shoulders now. The style suited her, he supposed.
“Mac?” The way she said his name, her voice as soft and lyrical as he’d remembered, stirred up all the good memories he’d ever had. She pointed to the announcement. “Did you see that? They’re having another Christmas Under the Stars. It’s this weekend. Apparently, it’s become a community tradition.”
As the children gave their ice cream orders, and Ralph prepared their cones, Mac’s thoughts drifted back fifteen years to the day Fairbrook readied for the very first outdoor holiday event.
That particular December afternoon, the sun had been sinking low in the western sky, and Mac had been hanging out in Mulberry Park with a couple of friends. They’d been discussing what they were going to do that night for
fun, while several men on ladders ran extension cords and connected a sound system. A few women had set up tables and were covering them with red and green plastic cloths.
Mac had been looking forward to joining his friends for another aimless night on the city streets, when he noticed Jillian’s car pull up. And suddenly, his interest shifted.
He’d never been shy around girls before, but Jillian had been different. She’d been a college-bound senior, and he was a year younger and a grade behind, wondering if a high school diploma was all it was cracked up to be. So their paths had rarely crossed, but on those few occasions when they’d spotted each other in the cafeteria or down the hall, Mac had sensed that the attraction had been mutual.
Jillian had parked along the curb that afternoon, and as she was trying to get a platter of brownies out of her car, Mac had gotten a burst of testosterone-laced courage.
So, after telling his friends he’d catch up with them later, he’d made his way toward the girl who was clearly out of his league, figuring he’d bite the bullet and introduce himself.
Jillian, who was still studying the flyer behind the register in The Creamery, interrupted his thoughts. “Do you remember the first Christmas Under the Stars?”
“Yeah.” Being with her again had brought it all rushing back to him.
“I’ll never forget that night,” she said, her tone soft and wistful.
Neither would Mac, but he didn’t want her to know he’d been waxing nostalgic, so he made light of it. “I believe that was the first and only time I’d ever heard you say a bad word.”
She batted his arm the way she’d done when they were teens on the verge of adulthood and he’d teased her about something. “The word I said wasn’t so bad. And it just slipped out. I’d baked four dozen brownies earlier that day, and I was supposed to drop them off with the refreshment coordinator. And then you called my name.”
And when she looked up, she’d dropped both plates, frosting side down, in the dirt.
He grinned, remembering it all clearly. “Hey, I helped you pick them up.”
