“I really do have to get home,” Renae said, rising to her feet.
Now she really was running, he figured. From the memories their mention of the motorcycle had stirred. From the conversation that was becoming more inevitable every time they were together—and which they both dreaded for reasons of their own.
Though they had said little of substance while they’d eaten, he was glad that they had at least taken that small amount of time for conversation. He wanted to make it clear that sex wasn’t the only reason he had invited her to join him today—though he wouldn’t blame her for doubting that, since they seemed to fall into each other’s arms now every time they were alone together.
On an impulse, he said, “Maybe next week we could meet at a restaurant? You know, for a nice meal?”
It must have been too much, and maybe too soon after the oblique reference to Jason’s accident. He could almost see Renae draw back even further. “I, uh—”
“Or we could meet here again,” he said smoothly.
Renae ran a hand
over her hair though it was already immaculate. She looked at him gravely, all vulnerability hidden now, her expression hard to read. “I don’t know what we’re doing here, exactly. But I do know we’re playing with fire.”
He shook his head. “I’m not playing.”
Like her, he didn’t know exactly what was happening between them. Where it might lead, other than to more regrets. But he wanted to make it very clear he wasn’t toying with her. That he was as much a prisoner to this magnetism between them as she seemed to be. Maybe just as much an unwilling captive.
He hadn’t been looking for an entanglement with anyone—certainly not a woman who came with as many obstacles as Renae. The past. Her kids. Her mother-in-law. He’d be crazy to even think about getting mixed up with her in more than this superficially physical way.
And yet he heard himself saying, “I’ll be here next week.”
She blinked, then lifted her chin and moved toward the door. Was she not even going to say good-night?
He caught her arm to stop her. She looked composed and confident, but when he studied her eyes, he saw just how misleading that impression was. Sighing a little, he brushed a kiss over her mouth.
“Just think about it,” he said when he released her and stepped away.
She nodded and let herself out without speaking, leaving him to wonder once more if he would see her again.
And why he wanted so badly to do so, considering the pain she had caused him in the past.
* * *
In response to an emailed request from Tate, Renae flipped through an old photo album Thursday evening looking for an appealing shot of Jason to use on the scholarship website. They didn’t want a formal, posed photograph, but something casual, laughing—something very representative of Jason.
She chose a snapshot she had taken of him only a few months before his death. In it, he stood on a boulder at the top of Petit Jean Mountain on a clear summer day with blue sky above him and the green-and-blue Arkansas River Valley spread behind him. A breeze tossed his dark hair and his polished-ebony eyes had sparkled with amusement and energy. The shot had captured Jason perfectly. She had the photo stored in her computer, so it would work well for the website.
Leslie sat on the living room floor, looking through another old album. Lucy was on the couch with her knitting and Daniel played with an elaborate building-blocks set while Boomer snored on the hearth of the small, gas-flame fireplace. It had been a rare, quiet evening at home, the type Renae usually savored. She was enjoying it now, but would find it even more relaxing if she could just keep random thoughts of Evan from popping erratically into her head.
“Who are these people, Mama?”
Pushing her worries about Evan to the back of her mind, Renae motioned to her daughter. “Let me see.”
Leslie set the album in Renae’s lap, then leaned over the arm of the chair to point. “That’s you. And that’s Daddy.”
“Yes, that’s right.” The twins had seen many photographs of the father they’d never met, and had been told many stories about him. Both Renae and Lucy wanted them to feel that they knew him as much as possible.
Leslie pointed to another photo. “Who is this girl?”
“That’s my friend Jeannie. She moved to Colorado when you were just a baby.”
Turning the page, Leslie asked, “Who are these guys?”
“Um...” Renae cleared her throat, looking at the photo of three young men posing humorously for the camera, laughing and looking happy just to be hanging out together. “That’s your daddy, of course. And those are his friends Tate and Evan.”
From the couch, Lucy made a disgruntled sound. It made Renae think of Evan’s question about whether Lucy spat on the ground when she heard his name.