After that awkward scene, she doubted it would be an issue in the future. She didn’t expect Riley would ever ask her out again, even teasingly.
That was good, of course. Exactly the way she wanted it. Which didn’t at all explain why she was just a teensy bit depressed as she joined her children in the kitchen for ice cream.
Riley wasn’t annoyed. He was royally teed off.
He’d been on his best behavior all day. He’d acted no differently toward Teresa than Cameron had—friendly, teasing, platonic. Almost brotherly.
Sure, he’d noticed things about her. Like the way her blue eyes sparkled when she laughed. The way she wrinkled her nose when she concentrated on something. The sway of her hips when she walked. The glimpses of creamy abdomen revealed when she’d raised her arms to place items on high shelves.
But had he acted on any of those observations? No. Had he said anything to make her uncomfortable? Absolutely not, even though he’d had to bite the words back occasionally. The only time he’d given in to impulse had been when he’d reached out to brush that strand of hair from her face as they’d said good-night.
And what had his hours of restraint gotten him? A lecture about landlord-tenant relationships. Ground rules.
He was the one who usually set the rules. He didn’t date women with kids. He wasn’t interested in long-term commitments. He carefully guarded his time, his space, his privacy. And if that made him selfish, well, that was just the way he was.
In other words, he should be relieved rather than irritated by Teresa’s little speech. But for some reason, he wasn’t. Maybe it was because he preferred to be the one to draw the lines.
Sitting on Riley’s couch with a canned ginger ale in his hand and the TV playing in front of him, Bud looked up when Riley entered the room. “That’s a glum look for a guy who just left a pretty girl.”
“I was just saying a friendly and neighborly good-night to my tenant,” Riley corrected with a scowl.
Bud’s grin was wicked. “Shot you down again, did she?”
“She didn’t shoot me down. I didn’t even try anything.”
Motioning toward the ginger ale he’d brought in for Riley, Bud was still smiling when he took another sip from his own. “Obviously not your choice.”
Riley plopped down on the couch and opened the soda can, letting its hiss symbolize his frustration. “C’mon, Bud, be reasonable. Do you really think I would make a play for Teresa?”
“Well, let’s see. She’s pretty, nice, intelligent. Why wouldn’t you want to go out with her?”
“Two reasons. Their names are Mark and Maggie.”
“Oh. You don’t like her kids?”
“Sure, I like them. They’re okay—for kids. But I don’t get involved with single mothers.”
“It’s a lot smarter than getting involved with married mothers.”
Ignoring Bud’s lame quip, Riley took a gulp of his beverage, swallowed without tasting it, then set the can aside. “I don’t date women with kids. I have no interest in being anyone’s stepfather.”
Bud’s gaze was on the football game playing on the television, but his attention was obviously focused on their conversation. “How about being someone’s father? You aren’t getting any younger, you know. Thirty-one may seem young to you now, but trust me, you’ll be staring at sixty-five before you know it.”
“It has nothing to do with age. I’m just not cut out for marriage and parenthood and long-range planning. I’m the first to admit I’m much too self-centered.”
“You don’t want to end up like me, do you? Washed up, worn out? Living in a trailer with not much to look forward to except getting older?”
Taken aback, Riley turned to study his uncle’s profile. He’d never heard Bud talk that way. He’d always thought Bud enjoyed his life. Recently retired from a long career as an electrician, Bud had always seemed to have the time and money to hunt, fish, hang out with his friends—whatever he wanted to do. Bud had been divorced twice, confirming his assertion that he simply wasn’t marriage material. Riley had gotten the impression that Bud had been fond of both his wives, but not deeply in love with either of them. It was a bit disturbing to learn that Bud lived with regrets and unfulfilled dreams. “Uh…”
His uncle seemed to shake off the rare moment of melancholy. “Hey, I was the lucky one. When I wanted a kid around, I just borrowed you. When I got tired of you, I gave you back to your folks. Being an uncle’s the best way to have kids. But since you’re an only child, you’re going to miss out on that particular pleasure.”
“So I’ll find other pleasures.”
“Yeah, well, just remember—you ain’t going to be young and pretty forever. You’d better start thinking now about what you want when you’re my age.”
Bud looked at his soda can as he spoke. For the first time, Riley thought his uncle looked old. He sensed that something was haunting Bud, and again he wondered if it was connected to Truman Kellogg’s death. But before he could think of any way to ask, Bud hauled himself to his feet. “I’m going to head home. I just stopped by to say hello and mooch a free soda.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to stay awhile? We can watch the rest of the game.”