Single with Kids

But the girl didn’t seem to notice the diary. “So what happened last night? Did some guy really try to break down your door?”

“Yes.” She shivered when she thought about it.

“Did he make a lot of noise?”

“N-not at first. It got louder, the more he tried.”

“Were you awake the whole time?” The girl seemed really excited. She hadn’t said this much in the entire first week of school.

“I don’t think so. Mom came to get us and took us to her room, then called the police.”

“And you just sat and listened until they came?”

Grace nodded, then swallowed the lump in her throat at the memory.

“Scary, huh? What were you going to do if he got in before the cops came?”

“My mother—” She remembered just in time. Tell nobody. Absolutely no one. “I don’t know.”

But the girl didn’t believe her. “What were you going to say? Your mother…?”

“My mother locked the bedroom door. We were safe enough until the police came.”

The girl’s pale eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that’s what you meant. I think you were going to say something else.”

She gripped her bedspread with both hands. “No, I wasn’t. That’s all.”

Now the girl did turn to the desk, and she picked up the diary. “I could keep this and give it to your little brother.”

Grace jumped to her feet. “You can’t do that. It’s mine.”

“And if you try to take it away, I’ll tell your mother you were hitting me.” The girl gave a fake smile. “Nobody likes it when you beat up on a cripple.”

“Please, give it back.”

“Tell me what you started to say.”

“I—I can’t. I promised not to.”

“Okay.” She shrugged and then wiggled to her feet, with the diary caught in her hand next to the crutch. “I’ll go see your little brother.”

“Wait. Stop.” Grace took a deep breath. It wouldn’t hurt to tell what. She wouldn’t say where. “I’ll tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I—” She glanced at the door, as if her mother could hear.

“Well?”

“My mother has a gun.” Grace dragged in a deep breath. “We sat on the bed facing the door, and she loaded and cocked the gun. If the guy had come in, she was going to blow his head off.”

“Could she do that?”

“She took shooting lessons. I think she could.”

“Wow.” The girl set the diary on the desk. “That’s cool.”

Grace reached out and grabbed the little book, hugging it close to her chest and ran back to her bed.

“But she didn’t get to shoot him, did she?”

“No.” She finished stuffing the book under the mattress, then turned and sat down on top of it. “The police came.”

“Can I see it? The gun?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

This time, she had an answer ready. “My mom hides it. I don’t know where she keeps it.”

“We could look for it.”

“She’d figure out pretty fast what we were looking for. And then we’d get in trouble.” Major trouble, since Grace wasn’t supposed to have said anything in the first place.

“Too bad.” The girl sighed. “That would have been fun.” They both sat and did nothing for a few minutes. “Does your boom box work?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have any decent music?”

“What do you think is decent?”

“Canned Tin?”

Grace couldn’t help releasing a smile of relief. “Have you heard their latest CD? It’s awesome.”

“I know. And my dad won’t get me the disk—he says it’s not good music.”

“Your dad’s crazy out of his mind.” She expected to be slapped for the words.

But the girl smiled again—a real smile, this time. “I know.”

DIXON AND ADAM got the doors hung around midafternoon, and shared a glass of iced tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies with Valerie and the kids before going back to their own families. Then Rob went to work on the locks.

After only a few minutes, he felt eyes boring into the back of his head. A glance to the rear showed Connor standing behind him. “Hey. Want to watch?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Rob turned back to his work, but the sensation of being observed didn’t go away. “Since the other door was about twenty years old,” he said conversationally, “the lock hole on a new door wouldn’t have been in the right place. So we got a door without a pre-drilled hole and I’m gonna make one that matches the old door.” He picked up his router and set the point on the door. “This’ll be loud.” The high-pitched roar of the tool took over for a few minutes.

With the hole drilled, Rob popped out the plug of wood. “That’s all there is to it.” He set the plug to his side and a little behind him, where a small hand promptly snatched it up. “Now I need another, smaller hole for the tongue to go through.”

Step by step, he talked his way through the dead-bolt installation, without ever seeing Connor face-to-face. “All that’s left is to tighten these screws.” He suited actions to words, then stepped back. “Now there’s a good strong bolt on this door, at least.” With the door shut, he locked both the dead bolt and the knob. “I bet nobody’s gonna get that door open without a key any time soon.” Gathering up his tools, he headed for the kitchen without a glance around.

But he paused in the dining room and grinned as he heard the distinct sound of a little boy rattling a doorknob.

By dinnertime, both the front and back doors of the Manion house boasted state-of-the art brass doorknobs, plus heavy-duty dead bolts.

“That’s a start.” Rob surveyed the finished back door from inside the kitchen. “No junkie’s gonna get through steel and brass before the cops get here.”

“Fantastic.” Valerie stood beside him, her dark, curly hair barely level with his shoulder. “I miss the windows in the door, though. I liked looking out onto the backyard while the kids played.”

“You still can—that’s why we’ve got the storm door, here.” He reached around her shoulder to open the inner panel. “When you’re home, you can leave the door open and look through the glass. Come nighttime, or when you’re away, this thick metal door will keep you safe.”

He followed Valerie out onto the deck, where Ginny sat with a book. Connor and Grace were climbing on the play set in the shade underneath a grove of pines, but Rob didn’t like Ginny using a swing unless he was nearby.

“What I really need is a security system, with all the doors and windows wired.” Valerie rubbed her hands up and down her arms, though the evening was far from cool. “My last two houses had one. Does your company install alarms?”

Rob blew out a deep, frustrated breath. Another potential sale he had to turn down. “No, we don’t. I can send you to a couple of good companies up in Raleigh. But there’s nobody local who installs and monitors alarms yet. I’m pushing my dad, but…” He shrugged. “Mike’s a little set in his ways.”

Valerie looked at him curiously. “Do you like working with your family?”

“Has its ups and downs.” Mostly downs, lately.

“I know I couldn’t work with my dad. He still can’t believe I actually read the financial pages and run whole departments in big companies. And whenever we go home, he tries to tell me how to parent my kids.” She made a wry face. “I don’t go home very often.”

“The grandparents think they know best, don’t they?”

“Of course. And it’s worse since the divorce. He’s sure I don’t know what I’m doing with Connor.” It was her turn to sigh. “Unfortunately, half the time I think he’s right.”

“Don’t give up yet. I imagine it’s hard on a kid, losing his dad. Does he get to see your ex often?”

She turned away to fiddle with the leaf of a potted plant. “No. Con Sr. doesn’t do kids anymore.”

Rob had a word for men like that, but he kept it to himself. The sun had dropped behind the treetops, leaving the deck and the entire backyard in shadow. Valerie lifted a hand to the nape of her neck and massaged the muscles there. He knew she had a headache, from the tiny line between her brows.

“You must be tired,” he said. “I doubt you got much sleep last night.”

“None.” She looked up, smiling. “But tonight I can sleep safe behind my strong new doors.”

That smile was a killer—sweet and saucy, with the dimple, and yet a little shy. He got hit by the strangest need to trace the shape of her mouth with his fingertip. Or to sample the taste of a kiss.

In his head, bells clanged and a siren screamed. Rob backed all the way to the rail of the deck. “I…think Ginny and I had better be getting home. Leave y’all in peace.” Even an argument with his daughter would be preferable to the wild ideas currently racing through his brain. “Ginny, time to go.”

“I really appreciate all you’ve done.” Valerie followed as he wrangled a protesting Ginny to the front door. “I expect a bill for your time and all the materials.”

“You’ll get one,” he promised. “Or my dad’ll be on my back.” He reached the car without further temptation. “’Night,” he said, as Valerie stood by his open window. He pressed the brake and shifted gears, almost escaped.

Then she placed her hand on the door—a capable hand, with well-tended nails and soft-looking skin. “Rob, we need to get together to talk about the first GO! meeting. I’ve got a general plan, but I want you to contribute. When are you free?”

He’d forgotten GO!. “Anytime,” he said, relaxing in the seat, accepting his fate.

“How’s tomorrow afternoon? Around two?”

“Fine. Shall I come here?”

“That’s good.”

“Okay, then. Y’all have a peaceful night.” He couldn’t help adding, “And call me if you need help this time.”

“Sure.” That reassuring smile meant Not a chance.

“Promise.” He glared at her. “Let me hear you say it.”

Valerie put her hand over her heart. “Okay. I promise.”

Rob nodded. “Right.” She stepped back and he made his getaway. Only for a brief reprieve, though. Tomorrow, he would come back…to a woman who inspired ideas he hadn’t allowed inside his brain for years.

Maybe by tomorrow, he’d have recovered from this temporary insanity. Tomorrow, she’d look like every other woman he’d met in the last eight years. Nice. Ordinary. Right?

Yeah, right. Sunday afternoon, Valerie met him at her new front door, wearing a light-blue sundress. Her shoulders were bare and tan, as were her long, smooth legs.

At the sudden spike in his heart rate, Rob acknowledged the fact that this woman might turn out to be the exact opposite from nice and ordinary, after all.

CHAPTER THREE

VALERIE LOOKED BEYOND him as he stepped onto her porch. “Where’s Ginny?”

Before he could answer, though, she gasped. “What a gorgeous car! Is it yours?” Leaving the front door wide open, she rushed out to the driveway. “A ’55 Thunderbird, right? I love the turquoise and white. Oh, and it’s a manual transmission. How cool is that? Aren’t those whitewalls just to die for?”

“Uh…yes.” Rob grinned and leaned a shoulder against the porch post while she circled around his car, making little noises of pleasure. He’d hadn’t seen a woman as cute as Valerie Manion in a long, long time. “Glad you like her.”

She glanced up from her intense study of the taillights. “I know, I’m crazy. My granddad had one of these, and my dad dated my mom with that car. By the time I could drive, though, they’d retired the Thunderbird to a place of honor in the garage. Never took it out, just kept it polished for nostalgia’s sake.” Shaking her head, she backed away. “I used to sit behind the wheel and pretend to drive. But I never got the chance.”

A pretty woman in a sexy sundress, driving his precious ’Bird on a sunny summer day…not an offer a guy could be expected to pass up. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and twirled them around his finger. “Well, then, let’s go. It’s a nice afternoon.”

For a second, her face brightened. “Could we?”

Then a kid’s voice called out something from the backyard, and Valerie shook her head. “No, with only two seats there’s not enough room for Grace and Connor, and I can’t leave them home by themselves. Another time, maybe?” Her hopeful expression convinced him she really meant it.

“Sure. We can park your kids with Ginny at my parents’ house, and take off for a couple of hours. Just say the word.”

She came back to the porch and opened the door again. “I’ll do that. Meanwhile, come in.”

The moving boxes stacked in the living room yesterday had disappeared overnight. Books and pottery and candles filled the shelves on either side of the fireplace, a nice rug covered the floor, and the blank walls displayed photographs of Connor and Grace, along with a couple of signed and numbered prints.

“This looks great,” Rob commented, studying the framed landscape hanging above the couch, as an alternative to staring at Valerie. “Is this one by Stephen Lyman? That’s Half Dome mountain in Yosemite Park, right?”

She came to stand beside him, which defeated the whole exercise. “You know his work?”

How long had it been since he noticed a woman’s scent? Valerie, he’d just discovered, smelled like fresh summer grass. He shifted his weight to put more distance between them. “I was really into the outdoor life when I was in high school. A friend and I had this goal to head out to California on motorcycles and spend a summer camping. I guess I came across one of Lyman’s pictures somewhere and incorporated him into the plan. Those images of firelight in the dark wilderness always appealed to me.”

“And did you get to California?”

“Nope. The friend took off before graduation, I got married and settled down. Have you been out there?”

“We spent our honeymoon in San Francisco.” To his relief, she went to sit in the armchair beside the couch. “My ex-husband wasn’t a camper, but he did agree to spend a couple of days in Yosemite on a driving tour. So I’ve seen it, at least.”

Rob dropped onto the end of the couch nearest her chair—too close for comfort, but he didn’t want to be rude. “Maybe we’ll have to get this troop experienced enough so that we can all go out to Yosemite together.”

“Definitely. Older GO! girls are encouraged to set their sights on a big project like that, develop a plan for earning the money and then follow through on the arrangements. It’s a great learning tool.”

Her smile brought the dimple into play. “In the third grade, though, we’re not quite so ambitious. Have you had a chance to look at the books I gave you? There’s some information about the general organization of a meeting.” She pulled out a clipboard and balanced it on her knee…after crossing her legs with a smooth motion that raised his blood pressure ten points.

“I…uh…paged through last night. Sad to say, I fell asleep over the chapter on Safety At The Meeting Place.”

To his relief, she laughed. “I’m not surprised. It’s all pretty basic, commonsense stuff. Let me tell you about some of the ideas I’ve been working on for this first meeting.”

In the next hour, they created a detailed meeting agenda and a rough outline of the first three months’ activities. As they talked, Valerie realized that Rob consistently understated his talents and his preparation for the role he’d assumed as assistant leader. She didn’t have to explain why she made certain choices of activities—he understood what she wanted to do, and his suggestions improved her plans.

“This looks great,” she said, surveying her notes. “A couple of hikes, two cookouts and then the overnight camp before the weather gets too chilly. When the weather changes, we can switch to more indoor activities.”

A glance at the empty coffee table in front of them reminded her that she hadn’t even offered him a cup of coffee. “You must think I’ve got the manners of a carpetbagger. I didn’t ask you if you were thirsty or hungry. I’ve still got some cookies…”

Rob shook his head as he stretched to his feet. “No problem. My mom makes a big Sunday lunch, so I’ve had plenty to eat and drink.”

“I’m well aware of the Southern tradition of hospitality, not to mention great food. I hope it’s contagious.”

Rob chuckled. “I think we figure if somebody’s stuffing their face, they can’t be disputing what we’re trying to say.” He accentuated the drawl, and then gave her a wink. “Pretty wily, us Southerners.”

“Outrageous might be a better word.” She followed him onto the porch. Her new neighborhood wasn’t quite the peaceful setting she’d hoped for—there seemed to be a lot of engine noise in the air, and more traffic than she liked in front of her house. “I guess it’s a good thing the backyard is fenced,” she said, as a car drove by at a speed considerably over the limit. “Connor would be out in the street with his ball before I could sneeze.”

“Yeah, this isn’t the neighborhood I would’ve steered a single mother and her kids to, if they had other options.” He winced as a pair of Harleys roared past. “Or maybe I’m just used to my part of town, where it’s quiet and a lot less hectic. My sister, Jenny, and I bought a big lot that stretches from one street to the next, and put a house for me and Ginny on one end and a house for Jen on the other, with a nice stand of trees between the backyards. Works really well.”

“Your wife didn’t live there with you?” The question was out before she realized what she’d said. “I’m sorry, Rob. It’s none of my business.”

He held up a hand. “It’s okay. I don’t mind telling you. Leah and I had an apartment across town. I didn’t want to live there after…” He swallowed hard. “Her labor didn’t go well, and Ginny had the cord wrapped around her neck. Just real bad luck altogether.”

She put a hand on his wrist. “You must have been devastated.”

“I didn’t get to think about that aspect of things too much. Babies take a lot of time and attention. I was pretty busy.”

“My husband left on a business trip two weeks after Connor was born. I know exactly what you mean.”

“We’re a pair then, aren’t we?” His gaze held hers, and his arm turned under her fingers until their hands closed upon each other, palm to palm. Not a simple handshake, but a deeper, warmer connection. She felt the texture of his skin, felt the strong dome of muscle at the base of his thumb, the deep valley over his life line. They held each other so tightly, a single pulse beat through both of them…or so it seemed.

In another instant, though, he had released her and dropped off the porch steps into the grass. “If you think of anything else you need before Wednesday, just call me,” he instructed, walking backward toward the driveway. “And be sure you use those new locks.”

“I will. Thanks for everything.” She waved to him as he pulled out of the drive, and should have gone inside at that point. Instead, she stayed on the porch, watching the Thunderbird drive down the street until it was lost from sight.

A very nice guy, she thought. A good friend, a great father.

And the sexiest man she’d met in…well, ever. She’d thought she preferred dark, compact professional men, until Rob. Now, tall and blond and lean was her idea of perfect. Forget the business suits and ties—give her a guy in a baseball cap, a black T-shirt and jeans faded to nearly white, with a rip across the knee and frayed hems. Let him drive a 1955 Thunderbird, turquoise and white. Her heart pounded just remembering how great he looked in that car.

Grace joined her on the porch. “Mr. Warren’s nice, isn’t he?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You could go on a date with him. Ginny said her mom died a long time ago.”

“I don’t think Mr. Warren and I will be dating, Gracie.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” She gave in to a moment of temptation and imagined Rob with her on a date. Specifically, the end of the date, where he would reach across that white leather seat, take her in his arms and lift her chin up, then press his mouth to hers…

“We work together, and that’s all. For the troop. There can’t be any other complications.” She shooed Grace into the house and followed close behind, hoping she could heed her own sensible advice.

Otherwise, she had absolutely no doubt that indulging her attraction to Rob Warren would qualify as the most colossal complication of them all.

AS SOON AS HE opened the shop door on Monday morning, Rob heard his dad’s voice rumbling in a constant stream of complaints. When he looked in the doorway of the office, he found Mike Warren standing in front of the file cabinets with half the drawers already open. A pile of folders and a messy stack of loose papers on top of the desk reversed all the progress Jen had made during the weekend.

“What’s going on, Dad?” Rob stepped into the small room and noticed—again—the dusty window and blinds, the worn paint on the walls, the outdated calendar. The place needed a serious face-lift. If only he had the time…

“I was lookin’ for the invoice from that latest order we placed for lock sets. I know I laid it on the desk here last week, but I’m damned if the whole place wasn’t straightened up, so this morning I can’t find a damn pencil, let alone the papers I need.” Mike paged through one folder, pushed it aside and started on another as the papers in the first folder slid toward the edge of the desk and then the floor.

“Jen came in to do some organizing.” Rob caught the papers just before they fell, stacked them together and put them back into the folder. “Maybe what you’re looking for is in a file.”

“Yeah, well, why do you think I’ve got this stuff out on the desk?” His dad made a helpless gesture with his hands. “But the only folder I can find with the company name on it is catalogs. I don’t need the catalog, I need the damn invoice.”

Rob went to the far right file cabinet and pulled out the top drawer. “As I recall, she files the year’s invoices by month received, and month paid. We got that shipment…what? Two months ago?” He checked the June folder, then July. “Here it is. Those locks came in at the beginning of July.”

“Well, thank God you had some idea of where to look. This whole system is just a mess.” His dad tugged the paper of out Rob’s hands. “How’m I supposed to remember what month the damn locks came in?”

“There’s a logbook, Dad.” Rob took the journal from the left drawer of the desk. “We record the deliveries.” He didn’t mention that his sister simply did what their dad had told her to with regard to the paperwork. Mike wouldn’t want to hear that the system he despised this morning was his own invention. “So what’s the problem with the invoice, anyway?”

“I keep taking down locks that don’t work right.” His dad left the office and went into the workshop. On his bench was a stack of six boxes containing brand-new locks. “Gotta send ’em back.”

“That’s a good company. It’s hard to believe they’d distribute defective merchandise. Have you tested every lock in the shipment?”

“That’s your job today.” Without so much as a glance in Rob’s direction, his dad started checking over his toolbox, getting ready for the day’s work.

Rob stood still for a minute, unwilling even to breathe for fear his temper would get the best of him. “My job?” he said, finally. “You want me to test five hundred locks?”

Mike nodded. “That’s right.”

“And I get this job because…?”

“Who else? Trent’s on call today. Smith is working on that office building project, which leaves you.”

“I’ll take call again. Let Trent test the locks.” He sounded like a whiny teenager. But he wasn’t an errand boy or an apprentice. “Or let Smith stay here and work with the locks. I should be doing the office project, anyway.”

“You weren’t able to stay until six in the afternoons, like they needed. So Smith took the job. And you test the locks.”

“Why don’t you test the locks?” Absolutely the worst thing he could’ve said.

Mike looked at him, then—Rob felt like he was staring at his older self in a mirror—and straightened up to his full height. “I run this business. I make the decisions and I assign the jobs. Nobody argues. That’s the way it is.”

And I quit, Rob said, but only in his mind. He’d had the thought a thousand times in the last fourteen years, and never acted on the impulse. Quitting his job would cause havoc in the family. More importantly, the insurance he carried through the business handled Ginny’s medical bills. He couldn’t afford to give up the insurance unless he had a better policy to replace it with. And these days, getting new insurance for a child with a preexisting condition was about as easy as changing his dad’s mind.