Roz Fox - A Mom for Matthew

Revving his engine, he backed out and recalled his mother chiding him about his attitude last night. It made him spare a moment to contemplate the happy-go-lucky guy he used to be. Oh, he’d always had rough edges. Basically, though, he made friends easily. And women liked him. During the last few years, his outlook had changed. Although he might want to lay his surliness at Trixie Lee’s feet, Zeke knew that was just too convenient.

The big question was, how did he put an end to his useless squabble with his ex-wife? As he swung into his driveway at home, he reached the conclusion that no one could solve the problem but him. And there was no time like the present to start.

Matthew was still napping. Zeke told Celia what had happened and why he was home in the middle of the day, rummaging in the medicine cabinet.

“If your skin is burned, Zeke, don’t put salve on it. Use ice.”

“Ice?” He came out of the bathroom.

“Really. Read the first aid book you bought. It’s the recommended treatment for burns. If the skin isn’t blistered, just cover your privates with a clean pair of soft, white cotton underpants.”

“Ma, I don’t think I want to have this conversation with you. I’m thirty, not three.”

She shrugged and returned to watching TV.

Zeke went to his bedroom and followed her recommendation. He found a pair of knock-around pants with a drawstring waist and put them on instead of another pair of jeans. “I’m leaving again,” he called, after looking in on his sleeping son. “I’ve still gotta run Grace to ground. I’ll try to be home in time for dinner. She’s being stubborn about letting me help with her salvage, and I need to change her mind. Even if I manage, today’s virtually gone. We won’t be able to start until tomorrow.”

“I almost forgot. Norm Steel phoned and said Ms. Stafford called your office a few minutes before you showed up here. He wasn’t sure if you wanted him to give her your home or your cell number.”

“She called the office? For me?” Zeke buttoned in his wallet. “From where, I wonder?”

“Her hotel. At least that’s the number Norm gave me. I wrote it on the pad by the kitchen phone.”

Zeke retrieved the number and called her from his pickup.

“I did call,” Grace said in a low, quiet voice. “I was almost back at my hotel when it dawned on me how much that hot coffee must’ve hurt. Are you all right? It was my fault, and I’m so sorry. I feel awful. And…I shouldn’t have reacted so badly to your offer of help. It’s just…that kind of behavior is so typical of the male teachers in my district, like women can’t handle chairing projects or committees. Like we aren’t capable of being in charge of anything. It’s my problem, not yours. But, I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

“You can forgive me for grabbing you.”

“I will. Did…that woman in the coffeehouse make trouble for you? Who is she? Someone from your headquarters? And…is Ezekiel your real name?”

“No trouble. She’s nobody to worry about. What’s wrong with Ezekiel?”

“It sounds sort of religious, like…Grace. But you don’t strike me as—well, never mind.”

Zeke chuckled. “I get the picture. My mother liked the name. She said it had strength of character. But enough of that. I’d like to try again to negotiate with you. In a more civil manner this time. I’m not far from your hotel. Would you walk down the pier with me? We can try coffee again—or maybe a beer this time.”

“Yes. All right. Beer’s fine. I have a confession to make, though. The dive shop phoned. They have to order a valve for my air tanks. And you, uh, apparently rented the last tanks of a size they think I should dive with. If you’re agreeable, I’d like to, well, sublet your tanks.”

For the first time in hours, Zeke found something to smile about. So he finally held a trump card. “See you in five minutes, Grace. We’ll discuss it.” Zeke clicked off before she could present any other roadblocks. He imagined they’d both be a lot mellower after a beer or two.

ZEKE NEEDED MORE than the five minutes to reach the hotel and locate parking. He was pleasantly surprised to find Grace seated in the lobby.

Zeke smiled as he pocketed his keys. “Always prompt, are you?”

“I hate being kept waiting, so I try not to make anyone wait on my account.”

Zeke noticed the owl-eyed clerk keeping tabs on them. He lowered his voice. “What’s with the guy behind the counter?”

“Russell?” Grace glanced around and waggled her fingers at the man in question. “Russ checked me in when I first arrived. He’s been so helpful and sweet.”

“I’ll just bet he has,” Zeke muttered, not liking the surprising and decidedly unwanted stab of jealousy he felt toward the unknown man.

Grace turned back, her smile fading. “Do you know something about him I should know? Are you saying he’s not nice?”

“Forget I said anything.” Zeke clamped his hand around Grace’s elbow and propelled her toward the doors.

“You can’t do that and leave me wondering,” Grace sputtered, digging in her heels.

“I’m sure he’s perfectly fine. On the other hand, he could be a closet killer with a penchant for gullible women guests.” The door swished shut behind them.

Zeke scowled so fiercely, Grace had to laugh. “If that was your idea of easing my mind, you failed miserably. Now anytime I come in and Russ isn’t behind the counter, I’ll have to check under my bed and in my closet, for sure.” She paused. “I get the distinct impression you don’t like me, so why not hand me over to Russell Tredway if you think he’s apt to do me in?”

Zeke wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He did so now, only it was too obvious.

“Great! Clam up. I hate when people do that. It’s so immature.”

“No. The conversation wasn’t relevant to us. You and me.” He released her arm. “I shouldn’t have said a word about someone I’ve never met. Forget it.”

“Fine.” Grace hugged her purse to her chest. “Where are we going? To a fire? I’m having a hard time keeping up with you.”

“Sorry.” Zeke immediately cut his stride in half. “There’s a bar and grill down the street.”

“We passed several places with lounges.”

Zeke knew the ones she meant. Spots frequented by guys who worked for Kemper. He didn’t like his new assignment and preferred not to take any added flak over it from his men. “Those are touristy,” he lied, although he sounded lame.

“I see. By that do you mean they pad their drink prices? If so, I’ll want to avoid them in the future.”

“No. Jeez! I don’t recall you being this inquisitive the last time we met.”

Grace grinned. “Maybe I’m getting to feel we’ve become friends.”

Zeke couldn’t help laughing then. The weight of this meeting seemed to slide off his shoulders. Ducking his head, he massaged the side of his neck. “Too tense, huh? Guess my manners could use a serious overhaul. The truth is…it’s you, Grace. I almost never go to a bar with a woman. Not almost never. Never,” he finished emphatically, but looked chagrined about discovering he’d been snappish again.

“Really? What’s wrong with the women in Galveston?” Grace exclaimed unexpectedly. “I should think they’d beat a path to your door.” As if realizing how that probably sounded, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I…I—I just mean where I live, and especially where I work, single guys are besieged. In elementary school teaching, women outnumber men five to one.”

“Around oil rigs it’s the exact opposite.”

Grace noticed Zeke rarely gave out any personal information; it was always general, like this. She’d led with the perfect chance to open up about himself. Maybe she hadn’t been direct enough. She didn’t want to be intrigued by Zeke Rossetti, but the man did interest her. She found him popping into her thoughts at odd hours. In her experience, limited though it was, men who looked like Zeke didn’t reach his age without acquiring plenty of history with women. And he had a way about him that made a woman feel…well, like a woman. A slow, sexy drawl. Impeccable manners. Although, Grace mused, as she let him place a warm hand on her waist to guide her into a little hole-in-the-wall bar, her past brush with a lying, cheating, polite married man had left her skeptical of manners.