Little Matchmakers. Jennifer Greene
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I send into a college fund for Will. I don’t know if that’s true or not. I just know that Will’s happy with me, and there’s no trouble as long as I keep sending the full quota of child support.”
The picture Garnet formed of his ex-wife wasn’t pretty … not that it was any of her business. “Will knows this? That she actually has physical custody even though he really stays with you?”
“Not exactly. I don’t like lying to a kid, any kid … but I can’t see telling Will something that would only hurt him, and for no possible purpose. She schedules four weekends or so a year to see him. And some holidays. She loves him. But … well, I think she was in a hustle to get married and have kids, but once the ring went on her finger and we had a kid, she was like a snail without a shell. The new role didn’t fit. She never grew out of wanting to be a full-time Southern belle.”
Garnet mulled how much he’d revealed of his life, and how easily. But he was already talking again.
“I didn’t want to bore you to death with all that background. But I figured you might need to know … if you’re inclined to go along with my plan.”
“A plan?” she echoed.
The mottled cat leaped to the ground, washed another paw and then, as if she’d been asked, leaped up on Garnet’s lap. Garnet firmly ignored her.
“I didn’t hear all of what Mrs. Riddle had to say about your Pete. But I heard some. And I got this idea … that we could try trading kids, a few afternoons a week.”
“Say what? Trade kids?!”
Chapter Three
Tucker had to grin. She looked pretty startled at the idea of swapping kids. At least he’d gotten her attention.
For darn sure, she’d gotten his. The business she’d set up was amazing. The shop, the grounds, the house. He’d never thought of her as a lightweight, but what she’d created here was downright remarkable.
And so was she.
“I didn’t mean literally trade kids. But I got this brainstorm of how we could help each other. Starting with my Will … Just looking around here, I can see you’ve got plenty of manual work. He loves messing with dirt. And he’s too young to have a ‘real’ job, but maybe you could find something helpful for him to do a couple afternoons a week?”
She didn’t immediately answer, but he could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind as she considered the idea. She had to be concentrating mighty hard, because her right hand was instinctively stroking the cat on her lap—the cat she’d claimed wasn’t hers and never would be. Finally, she came through with a worry. “Tucker, I’m not sure I’m the kind of feminine influence Mrs. Riddle thinks your Will needs.”
“Are you kidding? You’re perfect.” He leaned forward, serious now, just struggling to find the right words to explain. “You’re not froufrou. You’re common sense. You clearly don’t mind hard work. You’re creative and interesting and smart, but not threatening. I think Will just being around you would help smooth out some of his current rough edges. Give him some confidence that all women aren’t like his mom. That everyone without that Y chromosome isn’t petrifying.”
Hell. He’d said something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. The warm glow in her eyes turned abruptly cool. She stopped rocking. “Well, in some ways you’re certainly right,” she said swiftly. “I’m not remotely a froufrou kind of woman. Much less the kind of girl who’d fit into a sorority at Ole Miss.”
That was the thorn? He thought he was giving her a major compliment. But he never had a chance to respond, because she took the conversational ball. “I’d be happy to have Will around here … but what if he doesn’t want to? Maybe he won’t like me, or the things I’m doing here.”
“Well, I put a question to him at dinner. I’ve always had a heavy work schedule in the summer, and he’s always spent those summers with me. We have a good time. But I just asked him if he’d like a change, like a chance to spend a few afternoons a week somewhere else. Do something different, learn something different. Help someone out. I didn’t put your name out there, I just put out the general idea. And he leaped on it. I think he’d really like it.”
Before she could say no—and Tucker could smell when a woman was about to tell him no … God knew, he’d heard it enough—he added, “And I’ve got a plan for your Pete. And for you.”
There. Mention her kid, and her face lit up with warmth again. Tucker tried to remember the last time he’d been this captivated by a woman … and couldn’t. Talking to her only snared his attention more. For darn sure, he couldn’t stop looking at her.
She was wearing a sort-of-white linen shirt, not sheer, but still light as sunlight, a soft caress of a drape on her shoulders, her breasts, a long, low V-neck revealing a delicate expanse of neck. She wore a tiny gold chain. Nothing glitzy or blingy, nothing like formal jewelry. The chain was just the thinnest collar of gold that glinted when she moved, drew attention to her sun-kissed skin beneath.
And then there were legs. For a pipsqueak, she had amazing legs. Slim calves, shapely thighs … Hell. Her knees were even cute.
Naturally he was attracted to her boobs and fanny—he was a guy. But her mouth revved his testosterone switch, too. Her lips looked vulnerable, bare, softer than satin. Maybe her mouth was a little wide, but that just made her smiles and laughter bigger, showed off those pretty teeth. It was a kissable mouth. Probably, on a scale of one to ten, it rated a fifteen-plus for kissability.
Not that he still played those immature scale games.
It was just … he hadn’t let a woman close enough to think of those old immature scale games … in a blue moon.
“About my Petie …”
He straightened up. “Yeah. Here’s my thought on Pete. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard part of what Mrs. Riddle said to you. She thinks Pete needs a sport, something outside of academics—”
“It’s not that he doesn’t get along with the other kids,” Garnet interrupted, immediately defending her son. “She was just making a point that middle school is tough on all kids. And she thought he’d fit in better with the boys … if he had some kind of athletic skill.”
Tucker nodded, then wedged a little closer. “I heard from somebody—probably another parent—that you were a widow?”
Her voice picked up a careful cadence, making him pretty sure—damned sure—she was giving him the spruced-up version of the story. “Yes, that’s right. Johnny and I ran off, got married right out of high school. It’s no secret I was pregnant at the time. He thought the best way to earn a living was to go into the service. Unfortunately, only a few months later he was sent to the Middle East. He came home on every leave, it’s not as if we never saw him, but he died when Pete was barely three. He just wasn’t around to be a male influence.”
“I take it there’s no other family close? Your parents? His grandparents from the other side?”
“John’s family moved to Oregon years ago. They send presents, cards, but otherwise haven’t tried to be part of Petie’s life. And my family’s originally from Charleston. Two sisters. No brothers.”
When she didn’t add anything further about her family, he thought, ho-kay. Obviously there was a sore spot … which made Tucker conclude that she’d never had much backup coming from family.
“So,” he said slowly, “I don’t care what Mrs. Riddle said. What do you think? About whether Pete needs a sport, or to develop some kind of athletic skill, or just some guy time?”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t see why every boy should be inherently great with sports … any more than every girl plays with dolls. Pete’s smart as a whip. He can cook better than I can. He built his own computer. Sometimes he’ll come