Deadline

“No Mickey’s tonight?”

“I’m bushed.”

“Same here. Sleep well.”

Stef hesitated on the threshold. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Realizing how snappish that sounded, she softened her tone. “I’m fine.”

“Are you mad at me for encouraging Dawson to hang out with us?”

“I can’t be mad. The boys had a wonderful time. Being in male company was good for them.”

“That was my thinking. But this particular male bugs you, doesn’t he?”

She turned toward the younger woman, ready to take umbrage. Instead she ducked her head, admitting quietly, “A bit.”

“His crooked tooth is awfully cute.”

Amelia had noticed his slightly overlapping incisor. It actually made his smile more interesting.

“And I’d like to take a bite out of his biceps.”

“You’re incorrigible, Stef.”

“Well, wouldn’t you?”

If pressed, Amelia would have to admit that Dawson Scott was physically attractive. More times than she was comfortable with, her eyes had strayed from the novel that she was reading in the shade of the umbrella to the surf where he played with the boys. They had vied for his attention all day. He had seemed to be enjoying himself, too. But…

“There’s something wrong with him.” Amelia didn’t even realize she’d spoken the thought out loud until Stef moaned.

“Oh, shit. He’s married?”

Amelia laughed. “No. I mean, I don’t know if he’s married or not. I haven’t—”

“Shh! Here he comes.”

Amelia turned to see him approaching the porch. When he reached the bottom step, he said, “I saw you out here. Thought I’d bring a peace offering for monopolizing your sons all day.” He had the neck of an uncorked wine bottle and two glasses clasped in one hand. Noticing the wineglass she held, he frowned. “But I see I’m too late.”

“I’m going to bed. ’Night, you two.” Stef went inside and closed the front door. Half a second later, the porch light went out.

Amelia and Dawson looked at each other through the sudden darkness, and when she saw a grin tugging at his lips, she had to laugh also. “She’s got romantic notions.”

“Would you rather I go?”

She considered it, then asked, “What color wine?”

“Red.”

She extended her glass toward him. “As long as you bothered, you can top this off.”

“I found the bottle in a cabinet. I can’t vouch for the vintage.”

“I can vouch for this one. Blending it with another will be an improvement.”

He climbed th

e steps, refilled her glass, then poured one for himself. As he sat down in the rocker beside hers, he groaned. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow. Hunter and Grant gave me quite a workout.”