MARRIAGE MATERIAL Page 17

  And in her rut Tamara might have stayed forever if not for the bold, blindingly bright presence of Lance Forrest, blowing into town like a carnival, exciting and full of laughter.

  Smiling, Tamara thought he was also as inconstant as a carnival, but there was nothing wrong with that. It wasn't a quality a woman wanted in a husband, but he never made any pretenses about that.

  Which made it possible to love him as he was.

  If she were truly honest, she had to admit she also wanted Lance Forrest. Part of her discontent this morning had to do with the fact that she wanted more than breath to have gone with them to the lake. Just to hear him laugh. Just to see that glittering mischief in his eyes. Just to touch his strong forearm one more time.

  "No," she said aloud. The facts were, he wasn't husband material and she wouldn't try to make him so. There were things you couldn't do to a person. He was as free as a hawk in the sky. It would be cruel to cage him.

  With bittersweet resignation, she knew she would get over him. Someday.

  In the meantime, she would accept the gift he'd brought into her life. She would break this dull routine. She would claim the life she wanted.

  On the table were her loathed accounting books. Very slowly Tamara smiled.

  No more accounting, not another single minute. She didn't care if it messed up her grade-point average. She loved history and poetry and literature, and she intended to spend her life immersed in them, teaching or researching or whatever she could find. There was no law that said she had to spend her life at a university. She was only a few credits away from her degree. She could make arrangements to study three days a week in Denver to complete them, especially now that she knew Cody had family in town.

  Then she could teach. At the high school or the junior high, or even at the community college. They went through teachers like spring snowfall in this climate—people always thought living in the mountains would be glamorous and thrilling, but the reality was, the winters chased a good many of them away within a year.

  Feeling exhilarated, Tamara slammed her accounting books closed, picked them up and put them in the trash. As she did it, she laughed.

  And inexplicably, found herself in tears at the rush of emotion in her breast. "Oh, Lance," she whispered. "Why can't you be the marrying kind?"

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  « ^ »

  On the shores of Lake Rosalie, Lance taught Cody to fish. The weather was as gorgeous as he had anticipated, well into the fifties by noon. Coupled with the high-altitude sunlight, fierce even at midwinter, they were warm enough to shed their jackets before long, and Lance worried that Cody's fair skin might burn. Lance found a baseball cap in his trunk and popped it on Cody's head.

  And all morning, Lance thought about his own father. When the two of them had come out here, Olan became a different man—patient, kind, quiet. In all the times they'd gone fishing together, Olan had only lost his infamous temper once, when Lance fell out of the rowboat and nearly drowned because he'd been showing off.

  The memories made him miss Olan deeply. "You know," he said to Cody, "my daddy used to bring me out here sometimes. He taught me to fish, just like I'm teaching you."

  "He did? How come he doesn't fish with you now?"

  "Well, he was old," Lance said, even though he hadn't been. Not really. "He died a couple of months ago."

  Cody looked up at him solemnly. "Are you sad?"

  "Yeah, I am sometimes." Lance felt a tug on his line. "Hey, I think I got something."

  He reeled in a little, and sure enough, the fierce weight of a fish tugged back. "Hold on, Cody. We got us a live one." It might be a big one, too, by the feel of it. Lance carefully reeled in a little, then let it fight and pull out the line, feeling the quick, familiar excitement of a fighting fish on his line. His mouth filled with the anticipation of lemon-drenched rainbow trout.

  And beside him, Cody was filled with questions. Why didn't he pull the fish out of the water? Why did the fish fight? Would the fish die?

  Tough questions, but Lance believed in the honor of fishing. He had respect for the creatures, and respected their fight, but he had also grown up on fresh-caught trout. It was a lot more honorable, at least in his view, to come out here and face the fish himself than let somebody else butcher it for him.

  Holding carefully to his pole, he knelt next to Cody and helped the boy close his hands around the polo. "Feel that tugging?" he said.

  "Yeah."

  "Now we're going to bring him in." Slowly he reeled the trout, letting Cody help him turn the reel, feeling by the fight and tension on the line that it was going to be an admirable fish indeed.

  When at last Lance felt the fish near the surface of the lake, he gently took the reel from Cody's hands and said, "Watch this. He's gonna come out of that water and be more beautiful than anything you ever saw."

  With impeccable timing, Lance tugged—and the trout came flapping out of the water, suspended for a moment against the sunlight, silver and flashing and furiously fighting. In exhilaration, Lance whooped. The fish landed on shore. Mercifully, he hit his head on a rock and lay still immediately. Lance knelt and put his hand on the cold fish. He looked at Cody, whose bright blue eyes looked uncertain. "One thing you can do, if you want," Lance said, "is to tell the fish thank you for giving his life to feed you."

  He waited. Cody finally knelt with fierce concentration. "Thank you," he said, patting the trout's silver body.

  And there in the clean, crisp morning, with a ten-pound trout at his feet and a beautiful, sweet little boy at his side, Lance was struck with a fierce, all-encompassing sense of fatherhood. The emotion was so deep, Lance almost could not breathe. Love, uncomplicated and clean and somehow healing, filled him like soda in a glass, effervescent and foaming.

  "Good work, kid."

  Cody beamed at him. "What do we do with him now?"

  "We'll put him in this bucket over here, and then we'll take him home and cook him for supper. You ever had trout baked with lemon?"

  "No."

  "Mmm. You'll love it."

  "I'm hungry."

  Lance chuckled. "Well, we have to wait on the fish, but I did bring some sandwiches and cookies. How about that?"

  "Okay."

  They sat on the rocky shores of the lake, looking out at the water. Lance was surprised by the length of Cody's attention span. He didn't seem to need to rush and run, just sat quietly eating peanut butter and jelly. Lance was used to Curtis, who couldn't sit still for three minutes.

  And finally, it felt like the right moment to tell him. Lance had been worrying about it all day, but now his mouth just opened and he said, "Cody, what if I told you I'm your dad?"

  Cody looked up. "I don't have a dad."

  "Well, yes you do." Lance lifted his eyebrows. "I'm your dad."

  "But I don't have a dad," he said again, a frown tugging his brows down thunderously. "I only have a mom."

  This wasn't going the way he'd expected. "You haven't had one until now," he said. "But that's because I didn't know you were my little boy until now. I would have come sooner if I'd known."

  "You're my dad?" Cody said in a little voice.

  "Yeah. Is that okay with you?"

  Cody took a bite of his sandwich and looked at the lake for a long minute. Or maybe it only felt long because Lance was afraid he'd screwed everything up. At last, Cody said, "Curtis has a dad, but he doesn't have a mother."

  "I know. You know what? Curtis's dad is your uncle Tyler." He smiled. "And Curtis's grandmother is your grandmother."

  That got his attention. A blaze of joy covered the little boy's face. "My real grandma?"

  Lance chuckled. Mothers were good. Dads were okay, but grandmas were the ultimate. "Yep."

  Cody leapt up and gave Lance a huge, encompassing hug. "Oh, boy! I love my grandma!"

  Lance closed his eyes, smelling peanut butter and sunshine on the soft, round little body of his son. He felt almost dizzy with love
. "She loves you, too, kiddo. Let's go ask your mom if you can go see your grandma now."

  Cody pulled back and nodded vigorously. Before Lance entirely let him go, Cody put his small hand on Lance's cheek. "You're my daddy?"

  "Yes."

  "Can I call you Daddy?"

  Lance found his throat didn't work. He nodded.

  * * *

  Life changed with blinding speed for Tamara over the next few weeks. Money and time—the two most strained commodities in her life for four years—were suddenly plentiful. Besides, for Lance's generous sum for back child support, between Ty and Curtis, Louise, and Lance himself, Tamara found she never had to worry about finding a baby-sitter.

  With the money, she was cautious. She invested most of it in a high-yield savings account. She bought Cody new clothes, and herself a new pair of jeans. And one Saturday morning, right after Lance came to pick up Cody, she went to Denver for the day. She brought home two things, a modest but powerful computer setup, and a winter catalog for the University of Colorado at Denver.

  The boxes were still sitting in the living room when Lance brought Cody home. She was cooking supper when they came in, chattering about trucks, and Tamara gathered they'd been to the warehouse where Forrest Construction kept their heavy equipment.

  "Mom!" Cody cried, running into the kitchen. "I got to ride in a tractor!"

  "Good for you," she said, and kissed him. "Are you about ready to eat?"

  "I'm starving!"

  "Good. Go wash your hands and get ready."

  He ran off. Tamara heard Lance in the living room, grunting over the computer, but she felt oddly frozen at the stove, her hand permanently attached to the wooden spoon in her hand.

  Three weeks, and not one night had passed that Tamara didn't stay awake long after she should have been sleeping, thinking of Lance in her bed. Her pillows smelled of his hair, and the mattress held the notes of his skin. It was probably her imagination, but it felt real enough. She couldn't climb under the covers without remembering the searing night they'd spent together there. She thought often that it would be easier to just sleep on the couch.

  Instead, she somehow slept there again and again, sinfully spinning erotic pictures of his mouth on her neck, his hands gliding over her body. Over and over again, she thought of him coming into the kitchen that morning, and planting that single kiss on her mouth.

  The vivid imaginings spilled over into her waking life, making it hard to look Lance in the eye when he came to get Cody, or dropped him off. She was afraid he'd see the longing in her eyes. It would be humiliating beyond words.

  Because he seemed to accept this new, platonic relationship without any trouble. He was polite and distant, in order to give her dignity, she supposed. One night, when she was coming home from work, she'd seen him in his car with a laughing brunette, very elegant and slim. Obviously out on a date.

  She tried not to think about it.

  Tonight he was lingering longer than usual. Generally, he simply walked Cody to the door, came in for a moment and left again. She wondered what was keeping him tonight.

  The computer. Of course. Maybe he might even know how to set it up. Putting the spoon down, she hurried into the other room.

  But coming onto him suddenly was not a good idea. He knelt before the boxes, one strong hand on the computer box. His coat was shed carelessly on the couch, and the sleeve of his shirt was rolled three quarters of the way up, showing that beautiful, vein-ridged forearm. His hair had still not been cut since his return, and it was starting to spill over his shoulders the smallest bit, thick and golden and touchable.

  A wave of such violent desire struck her that Tamara couldn't remember what had brought her into the room. She stopped in the archway, breathless with want.

  He looked up, and for one wishful moment, Tamara thought she saw the same hunger in his eyes. It disappeared in an instant, replaced by a smile that held not a trace of guile or seduction. "You got a computer. Good move."

  His voice, sounding so normal, broke the heated spell. Tamara lifted her eyebrows ruefully. "It seemed like a great idea at the time, but you know me and machines—now I'm afraid to set it up."

  "Well, ma'am, it just so happens that I know a little about it. Would you like me to do it for you?"

  No. Yes. Both answers rose in her mind. If she said okay, she'd have to endure his company for much longer than she thought she could bear it. If she said no, the computer might sit in its boxes for weeks while she developed enough nerve to tackle it.

  She couldn't decide.

  Lance carefully put the instruction booklet aside. "I guess you'd like a little time alone with Cody, huh? I understand." He rose and reached for his coat.

  "No. I mean, that's not it." She felt an embarrassing blush rise in her face. "I would like your help, but I'm reluctant to ask anything more of you." She lifted a shoulder. "You've been so kind already."

  "Well, how about a trade?" He cocked his head. "You feed me some of that supper that smells so good, and I'll set up the computer right afterward."

  "It's just spaghetti," she said. "But you're more than welcome."

  "Just spaghetti," he echoed. "Sounds excellent. I'm so sick of canned green chili I could die."

  "Canned green chili? Yuck."

  He shrugged. "Exactly. I'm dying for home-cooked food, and unfortunately, my mother will not take pity on me every single night. I'm only allowed once or twice a week." He gave her his dazzling grin. "She says I'm plenty old enough to have learned to cook for myself."

  Tamara chuckled, her nervousness easing with the conversation. "She's right."

  "I can cook. It's just boring to cook for yourself. You ever notice that?"

  There was a hint of loneliness in his words, and Tamara was suddenly glad to be able to provide something small to ease it. "Come on. We'll eat in the kitchen."

  * * *

  Lance couldn't take his eyes off of her. Tonight she wore a dark green sweater that had seen better days. He liked the way the old threads shaped themselves to her body, cupping her breasts, molding her gorgeous rear end, even giving him a glimpse of soft white breast peeking over the V neck every now and then. Instead of her usual jeans, she wore a simple full skirt, warm and long, with socks on her feet. It made her look feminine and sweet.

  As they ate, his wretched imagination kept giving him alluring visions of the body below that sweater, of those jade-green eyes heated to twice their intensity when she was filled with desire and him. He kept imagining the way it would feel to kiss her, slip his hand inside her sweater, make her cry out again. He kept remembering how responsive she was, so richly accepting of her body's demands that she had come apart against him.

  He wanted to do it again.

  But he kept his conversation light, telling jokes about the job they were doing for a fussy suburbanite who'd changed her mind about the position of light fixtures three times. He played straight man to Cody's knock-knock jokes. Tamara laughed easily, and filled his plate twice, and seemed completely unaware of the effect she had on him. It drove him crazy.

  Cody, worn-out after the long day, was cranky through most of the meal, and Tamara picked him up firmly after he'd drank a cup of milk. "I think someone needs an early bedtime," she said to Lance. "If you want to get started on the computer, I'll be back in a few minutes."

  Lance stood up, smiling, and bent close to kiss Cody's cheek. He did it partly for Cody, but partly to get close to Tamara, as well, close enough he sensed her warmth. Close enough her hair brushed his cheek. Close enough he found himself instantly, painfully hard.

  "Night," he said.

  "Night, Daddy," Cody replied, laying his head on his mother's shoulder. Lance turned away, hiding himself behind the table. Maybe she wouldn't notice. But maybe she would.

  "I'll be back in a minute," she said. Her voice was perfectly even.

  He scraped and stacked the plates and wiped off the stove and counter. He wouldn't take the time to do the dishes because
it was going to be tough enough to get out of here without making an idiot of himself as it was. She'd made it perfectly plain she didn't want him—that he wasn't her kind of man, and Lance had enough sense to know it was true. He'd get the computer together and get the hell out of here.

  By the time she returned, he'd opened all the boxes and taken the components out, examining each one for any sign of trouble or tampering. It was a good machine—not fancy, but very good. When she returned, he said as much. "You must have done your homework."

  "Actually, I don't know very much about it." She sat in a chair by the lamp and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "The guy in the store was very helpful. He even gave me a fifteen percent discount on the price."

  Lightly, to fight the rise of jealousy he felt, Lance said, "Must have thought you were cute." He looked up to gauge her reaction.

  She smiled, and it was a very womanly, knowing smile. "I think you could be right."

  Lance fought the wild, dark emotion that rose in him at the thought of some other man with his hands on her. He tried to summon a devilish comment or wicked smile, but they both deserted him. "Well, I'm glad you got a good deal." He shifted his gaze from her eyes and halted.

  The sweater she wore was made of some kind of open weave, with little holes that didn't mean much—until the light was behind her. As it was now.

  It illuminated everything, coming from behind to highlight one breast perfectly under the loose fabric. He felt electrified as he absorbed the simple beauty of the light touching her that way, washing down her slim side, curving around her ribs, kissing the edge of a nipple. A nipple, he noticed with a wave of dizziness, that was unmistakably aroused.

  He looked up. Before she could hide it, he saw a naked yearning on her face, an expression of such furious hunger that it knocked the wind out of him. Slowly he put down the instruction packet in his hands.

  Deliberately this time, he let her see him look at her—at her face, at her beautiful, seductive mouth, at her throat and at her breasts. She didn't move, and the air was so thick with the promise of their passion that Lance felt dizzy. "You know," he said quietly, "the light comes right through that sweater. I can see your breasts like you were naked."