Mom In Waiting

“Oh, sure, I acted all insulted,” Tracy said. “It was awful the way I used to freckle up after a couple of hours in the sun. Meg always got such a great tan and I looked, well, dreadful.”

“Apparently, you’ve grown out of that,” he pointed out, noticing again her pale golden tan.

“Not completely,” she admitted. “It’s just that the freckles don’t pop out on my face anymore.”

Instantly, Rick imagined seeing those mysteriously hidden freckles for himself. His body quickened and he bit back a groan of discomfort. Hell, who would have guessed that little Tracy Hall could set his hormones in an uproar?

“But when you called me Spot...”

“Not very nice,” he said in his own defense, “but I was a kid.”

“I loved it.”

He slowed down to match the pace of the produce truck ahead of them. “You did?”

“Oh, yes.” She shoved her fingers through her hair, raking the curls back from her face and exposing the long elegant line of her throat. Those silver earrings twinkled in the sunlight. “Don’t you see?” she asked. “For me, it was the first time you ever really noticed me.”

He was noticing her plenty right now, but she appeared to be unaware of it.

“Oh,” he said, “I noticed. Hard not to when you were walking your dog back and forth in front of the house every half hour.”

She dipped her head and looked up at him, a smile curving lips that looked full and ripe and totally delicious.

“Again with the not subtle,” she said, chuckling. “When your mother made you stop calling me Spot, I thought my heart would break. My misery took up three whole pages in my diary.”

He forced a rueful laugh from a too tight throat. “I wish you’d told me that. Could have saved me a week’s grounding.”

“Hey,” she said, echoing his earlier excuse, “I was a kid.”

Not anymore, he wanted to say, but somehow managed not to. Good God, he hadn’t felt like this since he was a kid himself. His palms were sweating, his heartbeat thundered in his ears and he had to wonder if there was some sort of celestial irony in all of this.

Ten, fifteen years ago, he’d been the unwilling object of Tracy’s desire—at least for a little while. Now, it seemed the tables had been neatly turned.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he steered the car into the exit lane.

“We need gas,” he explained. “Might as well get something to eat while we’re at it.” Plus, he needed to get out of the car and move around. Try to walk while he still could.

It was only late afternoon, and they could drive several more hours before stopping for the night. At that thought, he gave a heartfelt, though silent, groan. A motel. With Tracy.

Man. He hoped somebody somewhere was getting a good laugh out of this.

“Okay,” she said, “and for our first night on the road, dinner’s my treat.”

He stopped at the end of the exit and gave her a smile he hoped didn’t look forced. “At least seventeen fifty’s worth.”

“Deal.”

Three

The coffee shop was crowded, indicating to two hungry travellers that the food was better than the decor. As she surveyed the room with wide eyes, Tracy desperately hoped so.

Dark wood paneling covered the walls and garishly colored baskets, containing long, trailing arms of plastic ivy, hung from the ceiling. Improbably colored sombreros were tacked to the walls and wagon-wheel chandeliers studded with candle-watt bulbs kept the place as dark as a cave.

But the waitress was friendly and took their order quickly. As she moved off to the kitchen, Tracy took the opportunity to—all right—stare at Rick.

Even after several hours in his company, she hadn’t looked her fill of that face. Strong jaw, sharp, straight nose, piercingly green eyes dotted with tiny gold flecks near the irises and a smile that had her insides screaming for mercy.

Amazing. She’d thought her feelings for him were safely buried years ago. Instead, here she sat, feeling that torch fan into flame again. The only difference between then and now was that the sensations were stronger, more raw. After all, she was grown up now. She had a lot more detailed—if still strictly theoretical—information to draw on for her fantasies.

Their waitress set glasses of iced tea down in front of them before disappearing back into the kitchen. Needing something to do with her hands, Tracy grabbed the oversize plastic container like a drowning man reaching for a life ring. She twirled the glass between her palms, making a chain of water rings along the Formica surface of the table.

She could only hope that the icy chill of the tea would help toward cooling off the blood rushing through her veins.

“So,” he said.

“So,” she said right back. Strange, they hadn’t had any trouble talking in the car. Why so strained now? Because sitting opposite each other in a restaurant seemed too much like a date for comfort? Hah. Her on a date with Captain Rick Bennet? Not likely, despite what her imagination would like to think. Just to prove it to herself, she asked, “You said Andy and Jeff are still single. What about you?”

He took a sip of tea, set the glass down and said, “The same.”

Tracy hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until it slipped from her in a gust at his answer. A ripple of pleasure ran up her spine. As much as she knew she was indulging in a fool’s paradise, she hadn’t wanted to hear about his gorgeous girlfriend and/or live-in lover. Not to mention, God forbid, a fiancée.

“Mom’s been making all of the traditional whining noises about grandchildren for the last few years,” he said with a rueful laugh, “but at least for the foreseeable future, she’s out of luck. I can’t see either Andy or Jeff as daddies.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You don’t want kids?” she asked, then caught herself and added, “Oops. None of my business.” Though the thought of seeing Rick’s handsome features in a tinier version brought her all sorts of warm fuzzies.

He smiled and shook his head. “Traditionally speaking, you should be married to have kids and since I don’t plan on doing that, I guess not.”

She buried the quick flash of disappointment that shot through the pit of her stomach. For heaven’s sake. Why should she be disappointed? What did she care if Rick wanted children or not? She didn’t, she told herself, although she was curious about why he was so set against marriage.

Before she could think better of it, she heard herself ask that question out loud. “As long as I’m being nosey, why are you so against marriage?”

“I’m not against the general idea of it,” he said. “Just as far as it concerns me.”

“How come?” she asked.

“Lots of reasons,” he answered, then added glibly, “maybe I’m just too old.”

To Tracy’s admittedly biased eye, Rick had aged just like good wine. He’d gotten stronger, and more fully developed. At that gooey thought, she felt a flush of heat steal up her neck and bloom in her cheeks. Oh, this was getting out of hand, she told herself. Didn’t she have enough to think about without reigniting a nearly fifteen-year-old torch?

One more time, she tried for objectivity. A casual conversation between two old—if not friends—acquaintances.

“You’re thirty-two Rick, not exactly Methuselah.”

He gave her a small smile. “Thanks, I think.”