Laurie Paige - Wanted - One Son

Nick cruised the two-lane section of the highway until the traffic flow was a smooth sixty-five. As soon as he exited, he knew it would speed back up except for a few pokies who would bunch up and irritate drivers who were trapped behind them and wanted to zip ahead. He took the last Off ramp into town.

His regular duties didn’t include highway patrol, but he filled in for vacationing deputies during the summer. He headed for the station. His shift was over, but he wanted to check out a misdemeanor reported earlier.

No one was in except the dispatcher. “The sheriff’s gone to talk to the mayor. He won’t be back unless it’s an emergency,” the old man, a semiretired deputy, told him.

“Who was on the misdemeanor reported this afternoon?”

“Thurman.”

“Who’d he pick up?”

“Nobody. Two boys were trying to grab some tires outside a garage. They scattered when Thurman showed up.”

“They were on foot?”

“Yeah. Thurman figured they needed a set of tires to get back in action. Said they looked about sixteen or seventeen.”

Nick didn’t acknowledge the sense of relief that made him feel ten pounds lighter. Steph would have grounded her son for life if he’d been involved. “I’m heading out. See you in the morning.”

The old deputy waved to him while he answered a call. Nick lingered to see if he would be needed. The dispatcher shook his head to tell him it wasn’t an emergency.

In the cruiser once more, Nick drove slowly along the main street of the town. Most of the shops were closed. Thursday evening wasn’t a big night on the town for the local folks.

There was one shop whose window displayed a Closed sign, but a light burned in the back. Stephanie’s compact sedan was in the parking lot next door. She was working late. He drove past and turned down a side street.

At a turn-of-the-century Victorian, Nick saw Doogie sitting on the steps, his chin in his hands, his elbows on his knees, waiting for his mom. Two much younger children chased each other in the yard. Mrs. Withers sat on the porch swing and watched them.

A car stopped at the curb. The two kids rushed to greet their father, who scooped them both up into a hug. He talked to the baby-sitter for a minute before leaving to pick up his wife at the county courthouse where she worked.

Nick headed back for Main Street and the heart of town, hoping to catch Stephanie before she left the office. He had a thing or two to say to her and, by damn, he was going to say them.

Steph’s car was still parked in the lot next door when Nick arrived. He wheeled in beside it and headed for the back of the store. With his fist balled, he banged on the door.

“Who is it?” Stephanie’s voice called out a second later.

“Nick.”

He resented the cautious way she opened the door, as if she expected a trick or maybe an attack.

“Yes? Is something wrong?” She glanced out at her car.

“Not as long as you cooperate. We need to talk.”

She appeared confused. “Well, I suppose I can. I just finished the books. What do you want to talk about?”

He took hold of the door and pushed his way inside. She didn’t resist, but her eyes changed from questioning to wary in a blink. She should be wary. He was damned irritated.

“About Doogie,” he added, going into her office and sitting in a wing chair across from her desk.

She followed more slowly and took her seat. “What about him?” It was clear she didn’t want advice.

“I want him on the team.”

Hooking her hair behind her ear, she stared at him as if unable to comprehend his words.

“The soccer team,” he clarified. “I want him to join the soccer team that I coach.”

“Why?”

“Because he needs it.”

“Really?” Her tone chilled. She picked up a pencil and tapped the eraser end on the desk.

“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?”