Wanted: One Son

“Yes, really.” He took a breath and suppressed the sarcastic remarks he wanted to utter. “He’s not a six-year-old. He needs to be with kids his own age. He needs action…and rules, the safety of the sport to work out his aggressions—”

She flung down the pencil and stood. With her knuckles hitched on her hips, she demanded, “Who are you to tell me what my son needs?”

He stood and straightened to his full six-one height, which didn’t intimidate her one whit. “I’m a man. I’ve gone through puberty and all the frustrations and upheavals that brings.”

“But you’ve never been married or had children. You’ve never had to raise a child on your own.”

“No,” he agreed. “I haven’t.”

The office was tiny and held her scent—a sweet, breezy perfume with a hint of sultry passion and tangy bite in it. He wanted to gather her into his arms and rediscover all the secret places she touched it to her skin.

“Well, as they say, until you’ve tried it, don’t knock it, or in this case, don’t tell others how to do it.” She pulled her mouth in at the corners when she was angry, causing her lips to sort of bunch together. It reminded him of Nikki puckering up for a kiss. Only the kiss wouldn’t be anything like his niece’s if Stephanie did it. Heat broke loose in him.

He hooked his thumbs in his belt. “I took a master’s degree in psychology along with law enforcement. I’ve worked with youths for ten years. I’ve seen how they get in trouble. Doogie is headed for trouble.”

“That’s why he’s at Mrs. Withers’s.”

“That’s why he’s going to get in deeper.”

She glared at him. He held the look.

At last she unfolded her hands and let them slide from her hips. When she sank into the chair, he sat in the wing chair again, his forearms resting across his knees as he leaned forward. “Let me work with him for a while. He needs boys his own age to wrestle with and maybe talk to. He might tell me what’s bothering him.”

“How do you know something’s bothering him?” She pushed a hand through her hair in an agitated manner.

Nick shrugged, but said nothing. He wondered why he was there. She’d made it plainer than a mean cow with a sore tail she didn’t want him butting into her life. A man would be a fool to get involved with a woman who’d already cast him aside once. Her voice brought him back to the matter at hand.

“When we had the quarrel over the video, I reminded him of how terrible his father would have felt if he’d known. Doogie said he didn’t care and stormed out. How could he not care? He adored his father. Clay adored him.”

Nick stood and went to the small, barred window at the back wall, shutting out the pain and confusion in her beautiful eyes. He watched the sun rays dance on the drops of water misting up from the car wash behind the shopping center.

“It isn’t enough.” He turned to Stephanie. “Memories aren’t enough to live on.”

She lifted her chin. “No one said they were.”

“You act like you’re trying. It’s been two years, Steph. You’ve got to loosen the apron strings on the boy.”

She looked so affronted, he half expected her to slap him. Instead she asked, “How?” Her lips trembled.

He wanted to cover them with his own and make her forget that she’d ever preferred another man to him.

He jerked back, startled at the thought.

“He can stay with the baby-sitter in the mornings,” he suggested. “I’ll pick him up at three on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday for practice. Our game is on Saturday. He can do some work at my place on the weekend. I’ll pay him—”

“He can work here at the shop.” She eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of work do you have for a boy?”

“Riding fences. Checking on the llamas I’m boarding for some dude from the city.” He grinned. “Interesting critters, those llamas. Did you know they can spit just like a camel?”

She looked rather dazed at the change of subject.

“Well, how about the team? Make up your mind. I’m hungry. You want to go out to dinner?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got to pick Doogie up and go to the grocery. We have chores at home, the horses, the calves.” She waved her hand vaguely.

“Are you going to let him on the team?” He carefully kept any trace of impatience from his voice.

“I…yes, I suppose it’ll be all right. If he wants to.”

“He does.” He tipped a finger to his forehead and headed for the door. No use pushing his luck with her. He’d got what he’d come for. He knew when to leave.

Stephanie sat in the chair, gently rocking back and forth for a few minutes after Nick left. Her mind was on her son and the estrangement between them for the past month. He seemed to resent everything she said to him, no matter how trivial.

Maybe Nick was right. Being around boys his own age might be the very thing he needed. She would see how it went. If his attitude didn’t improve, it was back to Mrs. Withers with him.

After locking up, she drove the short distance to pick him up. He was sitting on the steps as usual. He sprang to his feet as soon as he saw her turn the corner and was ready to go when she stopped at the curb. Stephanie waved to Mrs. Withers and started off.

“I have some news,” she commented.

“What is it?”

“I, um, talked to Officer Dorelli this afternoon. We have agreed that you can join the soccer team. If you’re interested.”

“I am,” he said at once, as if afraid she’d change her mind if he didn’t jump on it. “You said it was okay?”

Stephanie nodded. “Yes. I thought it sounded like fun.”

“Yeah. He’s the best coach in the county. His team wins the playoffs nearly every year. When do I start?”

“He’s going to come by for you tomorrow. I’ll call Mrs. Withers when we get home and tell her you’ll stay with me.” She paused. “I thought you could help out at the store for a couple of hours each day. You volunteered to do the vacuuming and dusting.” She grinned. “The pay is minimal and you have to bank half your earnings.”

“I will,” he promised, a big grin on his face. Like his father’s, his smile made her heart ache.

At the house he changed his clothes and went to the barn without a reminder. She heard him whistling as he fed calves and mucked out stalls. She felt something curiously like envy. She wished life was as simple as a soccer game.

Maybe it was. Maybe she’d lost.

Nick feinted right, then went left. Doogie stayed with him. When Nick let the ball drift in front of him, the kid was on top of it. He stole it and headed back down the field toward his goal.

“Good,” Nick called. He glanced at his watch. Almost five. He’d been working with the boy for two hours. “You have sound moves. Good instincts, too.”

Doogie nodded modestly, his attention trained on Nick as if he were delivering the wisdom of the ages. It made a man humble to be around kids.

“I played at school last year,” Doogie explained.

“I’ll keep you on the bench tomorrow afternoon, but you can suit up with us if you’d like.”

“Sure.”