A convenient proposal

“I’m worried, too,” Mick confessed.

“Then, why don’t you do something about it? I can’t have my own grandkids turned into street urchins. Can you imagine how that would look to all my bleeding-heart voters?”

Mick had never liked Max Strongman, but in that instant, he hated him. The man didn’t care about Billy’s and Amanda’s welfare. He was concerned about his public image.

A public image that Mick, in his weekly editorial, did his best to challenge whenever the facts would allow—which wasn’t often, because Max was wily and smart and not prone to making mistakes.

For a time, Mick had wondered if he wasn’t wrong about the mayor. But then Rose Strongman had been murdered, and his suspicions were renewed.

He had a soft spot for Strongman’s deceased wife. Years ago, when she’d still been married to her first husband, she’d been at the elementary school as a volunteer helper and had noticed Mick languishing out in the school yard.

He could still remember how cool her palm had felt when she placed it to his forehead, and how sweet she’d smelled when she’d bent low to take his hand.

“You’re sick, aren’t you? What’s your name, son?”

He’d told her, and immediately seen by her reaction that she’d connected him to his mother. He was used to people pulling away when they realized who he really was.

But Rose McLean—as she was then—had asked the principal for permission to take him home. She put him in her own son’s bed, served him broth and gave him medicine. Never in his life had he received so much attention.

Then she’d phoned his mother and asked for permission to keep him overnight. She’d said he was good company for her own son, Dylan, although in truth the older boy had barely deigned to notice him. The next day, unfortunately, his fever had broken, and after lunch she’d driven him back to school. He’d had a bath and was wearing a new pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. His mother never asked him about the clothes, and he’d never forgotten Rose Strongman’s wonderful act of charity.

So watching the changes in her character during her long marriage to Strongman had torn at his gut. Several times over the years he’d gone to her, offering to help if she’d let him. Every time she’d pretended that she was ill, that Max was a caring husband, that he shouldn’t worry.

And then suddenly it was too late. She was dead, murdered in her own living room. After weeks of investigation—focused primarily on her son, Dylan—the evidence had begun to point to Max Strongman’s son, James. Before the police could question him, James disappeared following a one-way flight to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Not only was Mick convinced that Max was behind his son’s disappearance, he also suspected he may have had a hand in the crime itself.

Of course, he dared not print a word of his suspicions in the paper without evidence. Evidence that probably didn’t exist.

Now Mick glared at the man in front of him, and wished he had the nerve to tell him to go to hell. But Max’s biological ties to the children made him nervous. “What, exactly, do you expect me to do?”

Strongman seemed to take a perverse pleasure in Mick’s hostility. He smiled, satisfied and confident, as he leaned back in his chair. “I expect you to take custody of those kids and see to it they’re raised right.”

“What about their mother?”

“She’s trash. Forget about her.”

Mick doubted it would be that easy for Billy and Amanda. “The situation’s a bit more complicated, don’t you think?”

“Tell you what.” Strongman leaned over his legs, shortening the distance between their faces. “Either you take control of those kids or I will.”

Mick went silent in his shock. Was Strongman serious? Would he apply to the courts for custody of his grandchildren? One thing Mick knew for sure—he couldn’t stand to see Billy and Amanda raised by this man.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

“Good.” Strongman got to his feet and dusted off his pants as if he’d been sitting in something soiled. “I expect you to live up to that, or you’ll be hearing from me.”

“WOULD YOU LIKE DESSERT, ABBY?”

Mick glanced at his watch as he took a sip of water. Nine-thirty. He hoped the kids were in bed and that Sharon was sticking to her promise not to drink. He’d taken her to an AA meeting yesterday, after her doctor’s appointment, but she’d attended reluctantly and that wasn’t a good sign.

“I’m not sure.” His date surveyed the choices on the menu. “Are you in a hurry?” Her gaze shifted to his watch, and he realized she’d noticed him checking the time.

“No. Absolutely not. I was thinking I might like the mixed berry crisp.”

Abby smiled. “Sounds good.”

Mick held in a sigh and signaled the waiter. “Two crisps, please. And a coffee for me.”

“And you, miss?” the waiter asked. “More wine, perhaps?”

“Oh, no. I’ll have coffee, too. Only make mine decaf.”

Mentally, Mick ticked off a point in her favor. This was their fifth date and so far he hadn’t seen her drink more than one glass of wine in an evening.

Really, on all counts she was perfect. He credited his screening process for that. He’d asked her out because she was a kindergarten teacher. That had to mean she liked small kids, he’d figured. And sure enough, every time she discussed her work, her face took on a warm glow. He’d noticed she also had a soft spot for animals. They couldn’t pass a dog on the street without her stopping.

As far as Mick was concerned, he was ready to propose right this minute. The visit from Max Strongman had increased the pressure on his need to marry—and quickly. If it came to a custody showdown between him and Strongman, surely the fact that he had a wife and could offer a two-parent home would stand in his favor.

But although he sensed Abby liked him a lot, he did think she’d consider that moving a bit too quickly.

“Are you worried about something, Mick?”

Her hand felt warm and gentle on his arm, reminding him of the one minor problem with this courtship. He wasn’t really attracted to her, had never felt the urge to go beyond their tender but brief good-night kisses.

That would change with time, he was sure. Abby was cute and blond, with generous curves in all the right places.

“A little, I guess.” He smiled and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry I’m not being very good company.”

He watched as rosy color filled her cheeks. “That’s okay. I just hope I haven’t been boring you with my stories.”

“Not at all,” he said, meaning it. More than anything, he enjoyed her vignettes about the children in her class. It was so obvious how much she cared for all of them.

“It’s just that some of my past boyfriends haven’t been that interested. But I guess you must like kids.”

“I do.” Two in particular.

Abby must have read his mind. “How old are your niece and nephew?”

“Amanda’s the baby. She’s only three. Billy just turned five.”

“Does he go to kindergarten?”

Mick frowned. “Not that I know of.”

Abby shook her head. “He should have registered this fall. I suppose his father’s death…”

Mick wondered if that was why Sharon hadn’t enrolled him. But Danny had died mid-September, several weeks into the school year.

“I’ll look into it, Abby. Is it too late for him to start this year?”