Playing For Keeps

She smoothed back Ryder’s wild hair, then looked up to catch Dale watching them and thought, Oh, God, no. Not the lost-soul look. A flush blossomed across her skin, from all sorts of things. Surprise and consternation and, yes, dammit, arousal.

“You’re welcome, sugar pie,” she said, unhooking both her eyeballs and hormones from Dale and hugging close the small body that belonged to her. A slightly let-down feeling that this would probably be the last “little kids” birthday trickled through. By next year, who knew what the boys would be into?

Ryder took off, leaving his warmth imprinted on her skin, underneath the cotton sweater she’d put on. Her arms folded, her gaze followed his path back to the play set.

And Dale. Who was still watching her.

Karleen sniggered beside her.

“What’s so damn funny?”

“The way you two are playing pass-the-eyeball, for one thing. And if you dare tell me you’re not enjoying having a hunk like that gawk at you, I’m calling the undertaker, ’cause you must be dead.”

A good three or four seconds later Joanna said, “I’m not dead.”

Karleen let out a sigh of what sounded like relief, only to then mutter, as Bobby came around from the front of the house, “That’s my cue to make myself scarce before I say something I’ll regret.”

With that, Karleen hustled back inside. Bobby waved to Joanna, but kept on toward the swing set and the kids—Joanna assumed Dulcy and Tori must be inside the house—where he and Dale exchanged handshakes and head nods and a short conversation she couldn’t hear. Then Bobby turned to the boys and their mouths and eyes popped wide open as she heard excited babbling intermixed with, “You’ll have to ask your mother,” and she thought, Uh-oh.

Dale glanced her way for a moment, then back to Bobby, who only laughed and shook his head. Then she saw Dale mouth the words, “You sure?” which is when Joanna decided it was in her best interest to go find out what was going on and how this affected her immediate future.

“Mom!” Matt yelled when she got a few feet away, “did you know this is Dale Muhconney an’ he used to play baseball for the Braves an’ he was real famous and Dad said if it was okay with you, could he come to our party, pleeeeease, Mom?”

Joanna’s eyes snapped to Dale’s face, hoping for a, “Sorry, guys, but I’ve already got other plans.” Or something. When no such words came forth, Joanna took the rapidly retreating bull by the horns and said, “Guys, you know not all grown-ups get off on parties with a million crazed little kids—”

“I’ve got no problem with that,” Dale said, and she felt defeat settle in for the night as the kids jumped up and down and yelled, “Yaaay!”

“But only if it’s okay,” Dale said, his gaze fixed on her in a way that no man’s gaze had been fixed on her in many moons, and Bobby said, “Of course it’s okay, she always makes too much food for these things anyway,” and suddenly the air was filled with the acrid scent of conspiracy.

She didn’t know what, and she sure as hell didn’t know why, but whatever was going on here, she somehow got the feeling Dale’s motives for accepting this invitation went beyond a penchant for cake and ice cream. Because of that many-moons-gaze thing and all.

The man wants to get into your pants, birdbrain.

She sucked in a breath, braced for the wave of outrage. She should feel…insulted. Denigrated. Incensed.

What she felt was…wet.

Karleen would be beside herself.

“Of course it’s okay if you come. To the party,” she hastily added.

“But…what about Jose?”

Five heads turned to the little man as if just remembering his presence.

“No, is okay,” he said, waving, his grin revealing the hole where his front tooth should have been. “My wife, she expects me home soon.”

So that was that.

A few minutes later, after all the bolts and fastenings had been checked and Dale had gone, promising to return in forty-five minutes or so, Joanna turned to her ex-husband and uttered a single, loaded word.

“Why?”

Bobby shrugged. “Once I told the boys who he was, they naturally asked him to stay for the party. You know how you’ve always told the kids to feel free to invite their friends to come over. I guess Matt and Ry figured this fell into that category. It’s no big deal, right?”

But it was a big deal. For reasons she could hardly go into with her ex-husband. Because she wanted to jump Dale McConnaughy’s bones and she didn’t like wanting to jump Dale McConnaughy’s bones and the whole situation was making her very crabby.

“No, it’s no big deal,” she said, turning to go back inside the house just as she heard her parents coming in through the front door, Karleen complimenting Glynnie on an outfit Karleen had probably sold her. “So where’s Tori?”

“Bathroom, probably. Listen…” Bobby glanced behind him, then lowered his voice. “I know this is really crappy of me to ask, but do you think you could, like, be extra nice to her tonight?”

“And here I’d been so looking forward to making her miserable. Honestly, Bobby—when have I not been nice to Tori?”

“I know, I know…it’s just she’s kinda feeling a little sensitive right now, and she thinks…well, she’s not real sure how she fits in, you know?”

“And somehow, it’s my responsibility to make sure she does?”

“Dammit, Jo. Couldn’t you just say ‘sure, Bobby’ for once and not make everything such an issue?”

“But torturing you is the only fun I have these days.”

“Jeez.”

“Bobby. I like Tori. In fact, I probably like her better than I do you. And I’d never intentionally do anything to upset her or make her feel like she doesn’t belong. And yes, I’ll go out of my way this evening to be ‘extra’ nice to her. But if by ‘fitting in,’ you mean she’d rather I wasn’t in the picture at all…sorry, bub, but there’s not a whole lot I can do about that. We were married. We have kids. We’re still part of each other’s lives. Them’s the facts. So if she’s feeling insecure about your relationship—”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bobby said as Tori entered the kitchen, looking a little wan, very pretty and painfully young. Like Johnson-era Cher, but without the edge. “You want something to drink?”

“Some juice or water or something, maybe?”

Joanna waited a moment—it wasn’t as if Bobby didn’t know where things were—then gave up and went to the fridge herself. From outside, one of the kids screamed, “Daaaad!” and he left. Terrific.

“So,” Joanna said. “We’ve got apple, orange or cranberry-grape.”

“Orange, I guess. I read that folic acid is good for the baby?”

“Yeah. It is,” Joanna said, chalking up the prick to her heart as something not worth considering. After all, she thought as she poured the young woman a large glass of juice, even if she felt a smidgen of envy because Tori was pregnant, that was Bobby’s child she was carrying.

Jo handed Tori the juice. “So…congratulations. On the baby.”

Tori regarded her warily over the rim of her glass, then nodded. “Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?”

That got another should-I-trust-her? glance. “Fine, I guess.” She sat at the dining table, twisting the glass around and around with the fingers of her right hand. “I just had no idea I’d be so tired all the time. It’s like if I sit still for more than five minutes, I pass out. Work’s been a real bear. And I can hardly get any studying done.”

Jo leaned back against the counter next to the stove. “It’ll pass. The tiredness. Until the last month, which makes up for the previous eight.”

The grimace tightened. “Gee, thanks.”