neck to hold them up,” she mused.
He actually laughed. He put the boy down on the bed, hesitating as he stood watching him sleep. His dark eyes narrowed. “Nine going on ten,” he said softly. “He’s a hell of a boy.”
Maggie caught her breath at the quiet affection in that statement and wondered if he realized how much emotion he was betraying. But after a minute he moved, frowning, and went toward his own room as if he was preoccupied.
She got Blake out of his flannel shirt and into the pajama top just as Tate came back with a pair of cotton trousers that looked new in one lean hand.
“Oh, you shouldn’t let him have your newest ones….” she protested.
He gave her a faintly mocking smile. “Honey, I don’t wear anything in bed. I keep a couple of pair in case of fire.”
She flushed beet-red without understanding why. After marriage and a child and despite his admitted lack of experience, he could so easily reduce her to shyness.
“Sorry,” she said, then added as she backed toward the door, “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
He turned toward Blake, still smiling.
Minutes later, he was back. He eased down onto the sofa beside her and lit a cigarette while the fire crackled and wind occasionally whistled down the chimney.
“Does he miss not having a father?” he asked with studied carelessness.
“Sometimes I think so,” she confessed. She tucked her feet under her, bare below the hem of her jeans, and folded her arms over her cotton top. It was the same shade of blue as the one Tate was wearing, and she wondered if he’d noticed that their taste in color seemed to match. “It’s especially hard on him at school, although a number of the boys have divorced parents. Most of their mothers seem to have remarried or at least have boyfriends who come to the events at school.”
He leaned a long arm over the back of the sofa and studied her face openly. “And there aren’t any men in your life.”
She smiled, not embarrassed. “I’m hopelessly old-fashioned,” she explained. “I guess Blake thinks I’m a dinosaur.”
“I’d bet you that he doesn’t,” he replied, surprising her. “He told his grandfather that he thinks you’re the best mother a boy could possibly have.”
Her breath caught, and she smiled. “He said that, really?”
“That’s what Jeffries told me,” he agreed. He took a draw of the cigarette. “I used to spend a lot of time at his place, when you and the boy were in Tucson. I heard about you until I felt as if I knew you. But I didn’t, of course. Not at all. I had a totally different picture of you. I thought you probably went out a lot, but were very discreet,” he added with a faint smile.
“I wouldn’t know how,” she sighed. “If I were involved with someone, Blake would know it instantly. I can’t hide how I feel.”
“Thank God,” he said and meant it.
Her eyes came up, curious.
“I hate lies,” he said unexpectedly. “I hate social convention and subterfuge and polite verbal warfare. I say exactly what I think, and I appreciate it when other people do. You and I got off to a rough start, but after what we said to each other back at your house, I think we’re on the way to something good.”
“What kind of…something good?” she asked, still a little wary of an intensity in him that she didn’t quite understand.
“You tell me, Maggie,” he replied quietly. He bent then and brushed his mouth very softly over hers. “Sleep tight.”
He got up in one smooth motion, leaving her staring after his broad back.
“It’s only eight o’clock,” she said to the room at large.
“I get up before dawn. Cattle don’t keep city hours,” he added with a slow smile. “Turn out the lights when you’re sleepy.”
“OK.”
She sat a little longer by the fire, spinning dreams, thinking about how it would be if they were a family, she and Tate Hollister and Blake. But they were only dreams, she reminded herself, and soon enough
He actually laughed. He put the boy down on the bed, hesitating as he stood watching him sleep. His dark eyes narrowed. “Nine going on ten,” he said softly. “He’s a hell of a boy.”
Maggie caught her breath at the quiet affection in that statement and wondered if he realized how much emotion he was betraying. But after a minute he moved, frowning, and went toward his own room as if he was preoccupied.
She got Blake out of his flannel shirt and into the pajama top just as Tate came back with a pair of cotton trousers that looked new in one lean hand.
“Oh, you shouldn’t let him have your newest ones….” she protested.
He gave her a faintly mocking smile. “Honey, I don’t wear anything in bed. I keep a couple of pair in case of fire.”
She flushed beet-red without understanding why. After marriage and a child and despite his admitted lack of experience, he could so easily reduce her to shyness.
“Sorry,” she said, then added as she backed toward the door, “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
He turned toward Blake, still smiling.
Minutes later, he was back. He eased down onto the sofa beside her and lit a cigarette while the fire crackled and wind occasionally whistled down the chimney.
“Does he miss not having a father?” he asked with studied carelessness.
“Sometimes I think so,” she confessed. She tucked her feet under her, bare below the hem of her jeans, and folded her arms over her cotton top. It was the same shade of blue as the one Tate was wearing, and she wondered if he’d noticed that their taste in color seemed to match. “It’s especially hard on him at school, although a number of the boys have divorced parents. Most of their mothers seem to have remarried or at least have boyfriends who come to the events at school.”
He leaned a long arm over the back of the sofa and studied her face openly. “And there aren’t any men in your life.”
She smiled, not embarrassed. “I’m hopelessly old-fashioned,” she explained. “I guess Blake thinks I’m a dinosaur.”
“I’d bet you that he doesn’t,” he replied, surprising her. “He told his grandfather that he thinks you’re the best mother a boy could possibly have.”
Her breath caught, and she smiled. “He said that, really?”
“That’s what Jeffries told me,” he agreed. He took a draw of the cigarette. “I used to spend a lot of time at his place, when you and the boy were in Tucson. I heard about you until I felt as if I knew you. But I didn’t, of course. Not at all. I had a totally different picture of you. I thought you probably went out a lot, but were very discreet,” he added with a faint smile.
“I wouldn’t know how,” she sighed. “If I were involved with someone, Blake would know it instantly. I can’t hide how I feel.”
“Thank God,” he said and meant it.
Her eyes came up, curious.
“I hate lies,” he said unexpectedly. “I hate social convention and subterfuge and polite verbal warfare. I say exactly what I think, and I appreciate it when other people do. You and I got off to a rough start, but after what we said to each other back at your house, I think we’re on the way to something good.”
“What kind of…something good?” she asked, still a little wary of an intensity in him that she didn’t quite understand.
“You tell me, Maggie,” he replied quietly. He bent then and brushed his mouth very softly over hers. “Sleep tight.”
He got up in one smooth motion, leaving her staring after his broad back.
“It’s only eight o’clock,” she said to the room at large.
“I get up before dawn. Cattle don’t keep city hours,” he added with a slow smile. “Turn out the lights when you’re sleepy.”
“OK.”
She sat a little longer by the fire, spinning dreams, thinking about how it would be if they were a family, she and Tate Hollister and Blake. But they were only dreams, she reminded herself, and soon enough
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