Break On Through Read online

  “What?” She yanked her thoughts back to the park, to motherhood, to June’s near-ominous tone. I have something I need to tell you. “What’s wrong?”

  “Maybe it’s nothing, but I thought you should know,” the older woman said. “Don didn’t want me to worry you, but I…”

  Cleo’s shoulders bunched into knots. “A mother knows what a mother knows.”

  “Yes,” June agreed. “Here’s the thing…Pete’s moved out of his apartment.”

  Some of Cleo’s tension seeped away. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe he’s sharing with one of his old high school buddies. Isn’t Mike Harvey single again?”

  “He’s not with Mike,” June said. “And he quit Tulare Motors.”

  Her ex had found a position working in a used car lot, thanks to an old friend of the family. “Did he tell Irv about a new job?”

  June hauled in an audible breath. “The truth is, he didn’t actually quit. He just quit showing up.”

  “Oh.” Oh, God. Cleo kept her gaze on her boys as if they might disappear if she blinked. “But he doesn’t know where we are, right?”

  “That’s right. He doesn’t know where you and the boys moved to, Cleo. Nobody here is going to tell him.”

  Pete didn’t care anyway, Cleo reassured herself. The PTSD that had changed him so radically had also, finally, removed any feelings he’d had for her and the boys. There had been those harrowing months, but then once she’d filed for divorce, he hadn’t contested it. He’d looked through her, practically, when they’d met in the attorney’s office the final time.

  She’d wished him luck.

  He’d wished her in hell, but that had been said dully. Without affect.

  Sad, though, that she’d celebrated the fact that the man who’d promised to love her forever had sworn he never wanted to see her again. It was enough to give anyone trust issues. And that was before the two occasions when he’d visited post-divorce.

  Putting those from her mind, she wrapped up the call with Pete’s mother after fond goodbyes were exchanged.

  Tucking her cell back in her purse, she walked toward Eli and Obie. They were monkeying on the climbing bars now, as carefree as any little boys should be. Her little son shot her a thumb’s up as he watched his brother swing from one handhold to the next. Pasting on a grin, she returned the gesture, then turned to Reed. “I can take those now,” she said, holding out her hands for the books. “I’m sure you want to be on your way.”

  “I want something,” he murmured.

  Her heart skipped. He didn’t mean—? Ignoring the thought, she put her hands on the top and bottom book in the stack, tugged.

  Maybe her action was a little desperate, because instead of taking them into her grip, she merely managed to tug them out of his. The volumes tumbled to the ground. Groaning, she bent to scoop them up.

  But Reed did too, and they bumped heads, the connection making a solid thwack.

  “Sorry,” they said in unison.

  His fingers at her elbow, he pulled her to a stand, steadying her. His free hand brushed her hair from her brow. A frown on his face, he inspected her skin. “You’re going to have a bump,” he said, rueful. “Ouch.”

  “What about…” The words came out breathless, as if she’d just run up stairs. His toes were nearly touching hers and she could feel the warmth of his body at her breasts, her belly, her thighs. She swallowed. “What about you?”

  “Me? I have a hard head.” He squeezed her elbow. “Now I’m going to gather the books and you’re going to stay where you are, okay?”

  She felt stupid that she missed his touch when he moved aside to gather them again. She also felt stupid that she noticed how nice it was for someone else to do even this small a caretaking task. Then he straightened and he was studying her with that strange intensity of his.

  “The way you look at me like that…” Did her smile appear as nervous as she felt? “Am I going to be a character in one of your stories?”

  Instead of answering, he balanced the books between one arm and hip. “Let me walk you and your boys home.”

  She blinked. “How do you know I didn’t drive?”

  “Obie.” He glanced at her son and then looked back at her. Reaching out his free hand, he cupped her cheek and ran his thumb along her cheekbone. “What do you say?”

  “I…” As she fought a shiver, her indecision came roaring back. What was for dinner? Should she panic over Pete’s disappearance? Was it wise to accept the offer of an escort home?

  “I don’t know what to do…” she whispered.

  “Leave it up to me,” Reed said, the words, from such a sexy man, surely the pathway to sin. He raised his voice. “Eli! Obie! Time to hit the road.” As they scampered over, with his hand on her shoulder Reed turned her in the direction of the sidewalk. His touch didn’t linger, but when he lifted it away she felt the heat of each individual finger on her skin. Five pulsing lines that raised goose bumps on the back of her neck that fled down her spine.

  He leaned close to her ear. “Did you hear of the new diet everyone’s talking about? It’s glutton-free.”

  “Glutton…” Gluten-free. She had to laugh.

  It made her forget the devilish glint in his eyes.

  Chapter Four

  Reed had never dated a woman with kids. It wasn’t as if he rejected mothers on principle or anything, but the way he usually met someone new was at a local bar, during the hours when a mom would probably be home with her children. Payne also introduced him to pretty ladies, but the other man’s black book would likely spit out any female whose breasts had ever had a function beyond, well, fun.

  He gave Cleo the side-eye, wondering if she’d nursed her babies and then instantly squashed the thought as his dick gave a twitch at the notion. Jesus, who knew that suckling infants could be a turn-on? But there you go, the notion of her bare breasts was just that powerful.

  He glanced their way, noting the delectable shape of them beneath cotton knit. She wore the long strap of her purse bandolier-style, which caused the fabric of her shirt to press more tightly to her curves. The outline of her bra was even visible to him and he dropped back to study her with narrowed eyes, trying to determine if the closure was at the back.

  It had taken him a while to get adept at undoing the hooks. He blamed it on his early teen years when the pool and hot tub teemed with eager female Lemons fans. When other boys were learning the intricacies of front and back brassiere latches, he’d only needed to know how to pull the tie of a string bikini top—if the woman was wearing any kind of top at all.

  Cleo glanced back at him and he ran a hand over his mouth to hide his grimace. Ruminating about his corrupt times at the compound would not send out the kind of vibe this woman would appreciate. Trailing her like a hungry wolf while her kids were in tow was not the way to win her confidence.

  He’d need that to get her into bed.

  Stepping up so they were shoulder-to-shoulder, he tried to think of something neutral to talk about to put her at ease.

  “This neighborhood doesn’t seem to be your kind of place,” she said, beating him to a conversation starter.

  She wasn’t the first person to mention that. He took in their surroundings, absorbing all the suburban splendor. The houses ranged from big to very big, some of the sprawling ranches having been remodeled to add a second story. Most were set back from the street and a few were shielded from the sidewalk by thick, tall hedges like his was. Others had Western-styled railed fences or white pickets. Nearly all of them had a pumpkin or two on the porch, this being October. More elaborate Halloween decorations were displayed here and there, like ghosts hanging in the trees or witches with brooms resting on the roofs.

  “What do you think would suit me better?” he asked.

  She studied him a moment and a little Mona Lisa-smile curved her mouth.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “Alexa was surprised to find I don’t have a Gothic mansion buil
t into a seaside cliff, complete with a severe butler dressed in a dull black suit.”

  Her smile deepened. “That sounds more like Batman.”

  Obie, just a few steps ahead, swung around, his action taking him and his sneakers into the street. “What about Batman?”

  “Get back on the sidewalk,” Cleo said, then she shifted her startled gaze to Reed.

  He was startled too, because he’d said the exact same words—Get back on the sidewalk—at the exact same moment. He shoved his free hand in his pocket and strolled onward, pretending as if he threw out parental warnings as a matter of course. But the little fake didn’t mean that inside he wasn’t disconcerted by the rise of that odd protective instinct.

  Maybe pursuing Cleo wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  But then a breeze came up and tousled her hair, tossing it around the pretty features of that face he wanted to trace with his hands and then with his tongue. He wondered if she’d taste as peachy as she looked. Her juice would be sweet going down his throat, he was sure of it.

  When she glanced at him, wary, he realized he’d fallen down on the job. Dispatch her disquiet! he ordered himself. Resettling his ball cap on his head, he tried looking moral and upright and wholesome, and as if his imagination wasn’t twisted and his sexual appetite slavering. “What kind of place do you come from, Cleo Anderson? Skyscrapers? Country clubs?”

  She laughed. “Neither, of course. I grew up in the Central Valley. Tulare.”

  “I’m not familiar with it.”

  “We’re very well known for our dairy cows.”

  “A farmer’s daughter then.” He grinned. “Which reminds me of a bunch of great jokes.”

  This time it was Eli who turned around. “A joke? Tell me one.”

  Oh, shit. “Uh…” Cleo was looking at Reed, aghast. “Okay, let me think.”

  “Reed,” she whispered, her voice scandalized. “You can’t—”

  “I can, I can,” he said. “Trust me.”

  “They’re eight and seven,” she hissed.

  “Eight-and-a-half,” Eli corrected. “I want to hear a joke.”

  “Okay.” Reed adjusted the books under his arm, mentally thumbing through a file. Surely he knew one that was semi-clean. “There was a traveling salesman—”

  “What did he sell?” Eli wanted to know.

  “Uh…encyclopedias.”

  “You look at those on a computer,” Obie said. “Don’t you know anything?”

  Reed hung his head. This was a tough crowd. “You’re right. He was selling, um, a special kitchen gadget.”

  “What kind of kitchen gadget?” The expression on Eli’s face was suspicious and it made Reed want to laugh.

  “A pineapple corer.” He’d found one left in the kitchen drawer at his house when he moved in and its ingenuity still humbled him. Yeah, his imagination was powerful, but whoever had invented that corer… “You twist the slicer down the center from top to bottom and it makes perfect rings, peeled completely and ready to eat.”

  Obie jumped up and down. “I love pineapple!”

  Reed realized he was losing the narrative drive. But still, he had to grin. To be honest, he’d considered Cleo’s kids as accessories of sorts…generic Boy 1 and Boy 2. But clearly they had wills and wishes and tics all of their own—making them much more entertaining and engaging than he’d ever expected.

  “I want to hear the joke.”

  Eli again. Clearly a single-track mind.

  Cleo jumped in, obviously still worried. “I don’t think—”

  “So the salesman,” Reed began again, ignoring her. “He was driving during a snowstorm in Tulare—”

  “It doesn’t snow in Tulare,” Eli said and his expression revealed he didn’t think much of Reed at the moment.

  Yeah, tough crowd.

  “On this day, it did,” he said, his voice firm. “And uh, the salesman couldn’t see through the windshield and drove his car into a snowbank. So, armed with only a couple of corers, he headed out to find help. After many long hours of trudging through piles of white stuff, he came upon a farm. Half-frozen and near death, he knocked on the door.”

  “And a monster answered it,” Obie said, hopping around again.

  Okay, clearly the point of the joke genre was lost on the kid. “No,” Reed answered, “that would be a different kind of story. In this one, it’s the farmer who pulls it open.”

  “And he says, ‘Boo!’”

  “Shut up, Obie,” Eli said, weary.

  “Let Reed finish,” their mother put in, apparently now willing to give him a chance.

  He hauled in a breath. “The salesman, shivering from the cold, begs to come in and spend the night. The farmer, a gray old guy, takes pity on him. ‘You can have a bed, young man,’ he says. ‘But unlike all them jokes, I ain’t got no daughter for you to sleep with.’”

  Obie stopped walking and was looking at Reed with big eyes. “The salesman would rather have the bed to himself anyway.”

  Before he could figure out how to respond to that, Eli was talking again.

  “What happened next?” he demanded. “What happened after he told the salesman he didn’t have a daughter?”

  There was a sinking feeling in Reed’s gut. They weren’t going to get it, of course, and he was an idiot for starting this. He cleared his throat, then uttered the punchline because he didn’t see an alternative. “The salesman had to think a moment. Then he asked the old man, ‘Just how far is it to the next farm?’”

  Eli and Obie only stared at him in disappointed silence. “That’s it?” the older boy asked. “It’s not even funny.”

  “Yeah.” Reed rubbed his hand over his mouth, hating that he’d bombed with the elementary school crowd. “Sorry, guys.” Then he chanced a glance at their mom to see how she’d taken his failure. Her gaze was down, her lashes covering the expression in her eyes, but maybe there was a smile hovering on her mouth.

  As he watched, she took a peek at him. Yeah, obviously amused.

  He winked.

  She laughed.

  They continued on their way after that. Reed tempered his minor triumph with the knowledge that while their walk felt companionable, she was still keeping a rigid distance between them. No bumped elbows or back of fingers brushing. Sure, the sidewalk was wide, but her body posture was very self-contained. It occurred to him that perhaps his emissaries had done more when they visited Cleo than merely return the pans.

  He cleared his throat. “So…did Cilla and Alexa tell you something they shouldn’t have about me?” He’s a hermit. A horny hermit. With an imagination like the one he has, who knows what kind of filthy adventures he might dream up? He wouldn’t think either Cilla or Alexa’s minds would run to such impurity, but now that they’d affianced themselves to such randy men as Ren and Bing, all bets were off.

  “You mean besides being the son of one of the Velvet Lemons?” Cleo asked. “I admit to having a hard time wrapping my mind around what that must be like.”

  Relief eased the little knot in his belly. “Yeah, being one of the end results of the few short years when the Lemons got a collective hair up their—” his gaze settled on the towheads ahead and he self-edited, “—noses and made babies with practically whoever happened by has been something else.” But hell, that sounded whiny, so he changed the subject. “What about you? You got an aging rocker as a daddy? A star-struck, barely legal fan as your mother?”

  She shook her head. “My father worked at a feed store. My mother was the receptionist at my elementary school. Pretty ho-hum stuff.”

  Except they weren’t around anymore, he remembered. “What happened to them?” he asked in a quiet voice, in case she didn’t speak of such things in front of her kids.

  “Car accident right after my high school graduation. It was a shock.”

  He allowed his hand to drift up and ghost over her hair. “What did you do then?”

  She flashed him a glance. “Married my high school boyfriend. Moved i
n with his parents. Had two kids between his deployments.”

  “He was in the military?”

  “Popular choice around where we lived.”

  The boys turned off the sidewalk and started skipping down a driveway that passed a big place with beige walls and a red-tile roof.

  “This is us,” she said, pointing to a smaller dwelling place, in a matching style, sitting at the far end of the drive.

  “How did you end up here?” In all the gin joints in all the world… Just on the other side of the back fence was his office, where he’d been lured from his dark, isolated den by the smell of sweetness and cinnamon.

  “After my divorce, I thought it best to get out of town. Start fresh.”

  Reed wondered what kind of man could let Cleo and her long legs, lush breasts, and beautiful blondeness walk away. “It wasn’t a good marriage?”

  She sighed and watched her sons rush toward the front door of the small house. It was painted a fuchsia pink and looked cheerful, but not the kind of entryway for two growing sons. Boys didn’t like pink.

  “We were so young, eighteen and twenty,” Cleo said. “I didn’t know myself all that well and Pete…” She shrugged. “When my divorce attorney had a friend who was looking for someone to stay on their property and do a little light overseeing for a spell, it seemed ideal.”

  They’d reached the pink entry. She dug out keys, unlocked the door and pushed it open so the boys could scamper inside.

  “What will you do when the owners return?”

  “Try to find something in the area. The school is good. The boys like their teachers. I worked in the front office of a construction firm the last few years so I have experience.”

  Reed instantly thought of Bing and Brody Maddox, two of the other Lemon kids, twins, who owned a construction business. I could make a call, he thought.

  He wanted to make a call. Help her out.

  She could help me out in my office. Bake me cookies every afternoon.

  Okay, this was weird, he decided, this urge to step in. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her grit, her self-awareness, her kids—but he liked them too much. Somebody could get hurt.