Gina Wilkins: Dateline Matrimony

A sweet-faced matron, who was almost as avid a matchmaker as Marjorie and twice the gossip, patted his arm and told him how natural he’d looked holding a sleeping child. “I always thought you’d be a good father,” she added.

Riley made a hasty escape, then changed his course from the press box to the parking lot. The Eagles could carry on without him to cheer them, he decided.

He needed some time alone.

Long after the kids were sleeping in their beds, Teresa sat staring blindly at the flickering television in the living room of the small house she’d been renting since she’d moved to Edstown. She kept remembering the expression on Riley’s face when he’d left her at halftime—bolted, actually. It was a look she’d seen on the faces of other men during the past four and a half years—nearly every time they learned that she was the single mom of two preadolescents.

Something about her appearance obviously gave men the wrong impression about her. She usually kept her hair pulled off her face, wore a minimum of makeup and selected her clothes for comfort and practicality rather than sex appeal—but still men looked at her and saw a slender, blue-eyed blonde rather than a busy mother of two. Once they found out—well, they saw her differently then.

Riley O’Neal, of course, was no exception. Nor had she expected him to be.

She was still reeling from the shock of having her children greet Riley by name and then proceed to climb all over him as if they were longtime friends. Granted, her kids were gregarious—too much so at times. And she knew they were aware of the absence of a man in their lives—especially Mark. But couldn’t they tell when someone wasn’t entirely comfortable with children?

She’d asked Mark on the way home why he’d never mentioned meeting Riley at the park. Looking rather guilty, he’d replied that he hadn’t wanted to get in trouble for talking to strangers again—even though, he had added with a touch of defiance, Riley was a very nice stranger and not a bad one. She hadn’t had the energy to get into another circular discussion with him just then; she would start again on her precautionary lessons tomorrow.

Poor Riley had looked as though he hadn’t a clue what to do when Maggie had crawled into his lap. Teresa had tried to rescue him, but he’d politely allowed Maggie to stay—even though he’d acted as if he were afraid she might grow a second head or something equally bizarre.

He couldn’t seem to get away from them fast enough at halftime. Teresa supposed she couldn’t blame him for that.

It had only been chance that she’d been at the football game with her kids. Mark had heard about the game from some of his friends at school, and he’d asked to go. Because she thought it might be a way to get more involved in the community—a little at a time—and because it was a fairly inexpensive form of family entertainment, she had agreed. She’d certainly never expected to end up sitting next to Riley.

At least one thing had been accomplished tonight, she mused. The man who had told his friend that he wanted nothing to do with children had discovered that Teresa came with two of them. That would probably put an end to him asking her out. Maybe he would even find a new place to have breakfast for a while.

It wasn’t as if she’d expected anything to develop between them—or even wanted it to—but she would miss his flirting. A little. It had been amusing and maybe a little flattering. But she had other things to concentrate on, she thought, glancing at the apologetically worded eviction notice lying on her coffee table. This little rent house had been sold, and the new owners wanted to move in as soon as possible.

Teresa’s first order of business was to find a new place for her and her children to live. She would talk to Marjorie at work in the morning. If there was anyone who knew everything about this town, it was Marjorie Schaffer.

“It’s so nice of you to come with me to look at your friend’s place,” Teresa said to Marjorie Saturday afternoon. They had left the diner, which was open for breakfast and lunch six days a week, and were headed for a nearby neighborhood in which a friend of Marjorie’s had a duplex apartment for rent.

Teresa didn’t work Saturdays, and she had been able to hire Jenny to baby-sit for a few hours that afternoon to give her a chance to do some apartment hunting. At Marjorie’s suggestion, they’d met at the diner at closing time, leaving Marjorie’s car there.

Teresa couldn’t believe this had all happened so quickly. She’d merely mentioned to Marjorie on the phone that morning that she needed to find a place to rent. Within a few minutes, Marjorie called Teresa back with the news that she’d made arrangements for Teresa to look at her friend’s place.

Looking rather smug that she’d set things into motion so quickly, Marjorie replied, “You’re welcome, dear. I hope you like the duplex my friend owns.”

Teresa braked for a red light. “I’m sure I will, if you recommend it. You’ve never guided me wrong before.”

Marjorie cleared her throat. Teresa might have sworn the older woman looked vaguely guilty—but the light changed before she could ask if anything was wrong.

“Take the next left,” Marjorie advised. “It’s the last house on the right in the cul-de-sac.”

“This is a good location,” Teresa mused, admiring the neat lawns of the small houses and duplexes on the street. “Close to the diner and the school, not too much traffic, and the rent you quoted is certainly reasonable. There must be something wrong with the apartment.”

“Nothing at all,” Marjorie answered a little too quickly. “It’s very nice. Small, of course, but big enough to suit your needs for now.”

Following Marjorie’s instructions, Teresa turned into the second driveway in front of the red brick duplex. She took a moment to study the place, approving of what she saw. Two stories. White shutters at the windows. Matching front doors with small covered stoops. Fenced yards with tidy if minimal landscaping. Marjorie explained that a fence divided the backyards, and that each unit featured a small patio.

It looked ideal. Ever the skeptic, Teresa couldn’t help worrying that there would be some major drawback. Maybe it was all facade and the inside was a dump. Or maybe, she thought when the landlord opened the door in response to their knock, the problem wasn’t with the house—but with its owner.

It appeared that this duplex belonged to Riley O’Neal.

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