Roz Fox - A Mom for Matthew

Loading the equipment took a while. Gavin got too-small flippers, so Zeke had to exchange them. As he finally turned around, headed back to Kemper’s to collect the runabout, he noticed what looked like Boudreaux’s boat berthed at the pier. Squeezing into a parking space, he jogged to the boat. Sure enough, the leathery old Cajun was dozing in a deck chair. Zeke cupped his hands to his mouth and called, “Ahoy there, Jorge. Jorge Boudreaux.”

The old man came stiffly awake.

“It’s Zeke Rossetti.” He leaped from the dock to the deck. “Where’s Ms. Stafford? Isn’t this earlier than you normally knock off?”

“Miss Grace had trouble with an air tank. We be finished for today.”

“I just came from the dive shop. Didn’t see her. Was she going to her hotel?”

Jorge shrugged. “Maybe gone to see the sights. Hasn’t seen much of Galveston yet.”

Zeke’s anger surged. He’d put important work on hold and busted his balls so he could lend her a hand, and she went sightseeing? “If Grace comes back to the boat, tell her I’m looking for her,” he ground out.

Hell, if she and Jorge had free time on their hands, it’d be better spent patching holes in this leaky boat.

He decided to hike along the Strand. Last night she’d shown interest in the shops. Although quite a few tourists roamed the city’s best-known street, his sharp eyes spotted Grace crossing up ahead. She wore a pink sundress that clashed with her hair, and was making a beeline for the coffeehouse.

Zeke broke into a jog, smiling when he saw the coffeehouse door close off his view of Grace’s dress.

She was next in line, and Zeke was out of breath when he skidded to a stop behind her. “Isn’t this a coincidence?” he said near her ear, giving her an obvious jolt. “Our afternoon breaks coincide.”

“What do you want, Rossetti?”

“Caffeine,” he murmured, edging closer as if they’d planned to meet. Meeting the eyes of the harried clerk, he said, “I’ll have a double espresso. Grace, what’s your pleasure?” Zeke dug in his tight jeans and extracted a silver money clip. He peeled off a ten-dollar bill and dropped it on the counter.

Grace plunked down her own money. “I believe I was here first,” she said sweetly. “I’ll have a coffee latte with a double shot of almond extract.”

“Put hers on my ticket,” Zeke insisted. His irritation over her stubbornness barely controlled, he shoved her money back into her hand.

The clerk, who must’ve had a trying day, muttered, “So which is it, lady? Should I let him pay?”

“Why not?” Grace magnanimously gave in. Clearly, she was less happy when Zeke latched on to her elbow and steered her to an empty table for two. “I didn’t say I’d share a table,” she hissed.

“Truce?” Zeke said as they plopped down on opposite chairs. “I needed to talk to you anyway. I was on my way to the office to get the runabout so I could meet you in the bay when I saw Jorge’s boat tied up at the marina.”

“How’d you find me? Galveston isn’t that small.”

“No. But Jorge said he thought you went sightseeing. Unless you took off in a car, I thought it was logical that you’d hit the Strand.” His grin widened as her scowl deepened.

She might have said something unkind had the clerk not called out the number on Zeke’s slip. He rose and collected their order.

“How can you drink a double espresso?” she asked, gazing into the thick black depths of his small cup. “That looks strong enough to eat holes in the lining of your stomach.”

Taking a sip, Zeke smacked his lips. “This stuff will keep me going for another six hours. Long after your sissy drink lets you down.”

“I’m already upset over lost worktime, especially since I rent Jorge’s boat by the day. So rather than trade meaningless insults, Zeke, how about if you tell me why you were looking for me?”

Zeke cast a glance around at the nearly full room. He was glad now that he’d found her here. She seemed too ladylike to pitch a fit in front of innocent bystanders. “My boss decided you could use an extra pair of eyes in your search. Now don’t jump for joy, but I was elected. I’m gonna help you out.”

“Pardon? No. No way!” Grace rose from her chair, bumped into the table and watched her almond latte spill across it—and into Zeke’s lap.

He, and the people at the tables on either side, leapt forward to mop up the mess. Grace grabbed her handbag and tossed it over her shoulder. “That is the most preposterous idea you’ve come up with yet, Rossetti. I know what I’m doing. I have a plan. I have a grid I work methodically. I don’t need or want anyone else down there stirring up sand.”

“You are the most unreasonable female I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering. On the one hand, you stand here bitching about how much it costs to rent Jorge’s boat. Yet when Pace Kemper offers you a way to cut your costs and shorten your search, all you worry about is me stomping on your ego.” To keep from hopping about or yanking off his pants right there because the hot coffee was burning tender parts, Zeke lashed back while trying to ease the steaming denim away from his skin. And did sweet little Grace apologize for attempting to emasculate him? No!

“My ego?” she shouted. “Yours is monumental. I don’t have to listen to your insults, either.” She started to sweep past Zeke.

He reached out and grabbed her bare arm. Grace’s wince told Zeke that he was holding her too tightly. He immediately relaxed his grip—but not before he glanced up and straight into the eyes of Bonnie Burnham, the social worker from hell. The gleam in her eyes didn’t bode particularly well for Zeke’s next scheduled home visit the following week.

“Ezekiel Rossetti!” she exclaimed. “Who is that poor woman you’re manhandling? And why aren’t you working at this hour? I wonder if your boss in Dallas knows you’re goofing off?”

Grace dashed for the door the moment Zeke dropped his hand. On hearing the woman speak to him, Grace looked over and mouthed Ezekiel?

Zeke’s head whipped between the two. “Shit,” he muttered, his eyes lingering on Grace’s lips. The expletive slipped out. Grace thought he’d sworn at her; apparently, so did those nearby. The kind patrons who’d helped him mop up the spilled coffee suddenly glared at him.

“Wait! Grace,” Zeke called futilely. Each step he took rubbed hot denim against his stomach and below, slowing him to a hobble. Grace made good her escape, and in the time it took him to wad up the wet napkins and toss them in a trash container, a new group of people had swept through the door and she vanished completely.

Feeling Bonnie Burnham’s eyes boring into his back, Zeke turned to face her. She was a large woman with shoulder-length brassy hair. The social worker always wore dark clothes, layered to minimize her size. And big, flashy rings drew attention to her hands. If she ever smiled, she wouldn’t be unattractive. But Zeke had never seen her smile, and he was in no mood to parry with her today. “Miz Burnham,” he drawled, assuming a jocular air he was far from feeling. “Did I ask if your agency head knows you’re having coffee instead of doing your usual job of micromanaging some poor family’s life?”

She clutched a large gold medallion that hung around her neck. “Young man, it’s that attitude that gets you negative points. In spite of what you believe, our agency advocates for children. And I care very much about Matthew’s welfare. You’re the one who’s being difficult. I could get Matthew into that school.”

Zeke heaved a massive sigh, but because people were listening in, he lowered his voice. “You can’t care as much as I do, Miz Burnham. I love my son more than anything in the world. And…I am—was—working when Ms. Stafford’s coffee tipped over. As you can see, most of it landed on me. You’d show some attitude, too, if you’d just been burned by hot coffee. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll run home and change. I’m sure we’ll both have plenty to say at our next visit.” Giving a stiff, dismissive jerk of his chin, Zeke left. He duck-walked to his pickup. The cool breeze blowing off the bay was almost too cold when it hit his wet jeans, but it also cleared his head. Enough so that he groaned when he thought about how he’d once again let his temper control his mouth—when it came to dealing with Grace Stafford and Bonnie Burnham. The child welfare people weren’t all bad. There were families who needed their help. But Zeke wouldn’t be one of their cases if Trixie Lee hadn’t discovered that it was a surefire way of getting him to cough up money.