A Texas-Made Family. Roz Fox Denny
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when she hugged him after tossing her pink backpack in the backseat. Grant was driving the SUV, preferring its side airbags whenever he had his kids with him. The Porsche was an indulgence. A guy thing, although Ryan referred to it as an upside-down bathtub. A pretty pricy bathtub even with the deep discount he’d got by purchasing it at the factory in Germany.
Brandy fastened her seat belt, and turned her big blue eyes on Grant. “Daddy, can I get a clarinet? The band teacher came to our homeroom today. He tested everybody in my grade on flute, clarinet and two horns. One with a slidy thing, the other with three buttons on top. Mr. Gregg—that’s the teacher’s name—said to tell you I have the perfect embouchure to play clarinet.”
She said it so proudly Grant couldn’t help smiling, even though he had no earthly idea what she meant. “That’s great, Brandy. Did Mr. Gregg suggest renting a clarinet to see if it’s something you really want to do?”
“Uh-huh. But most kids are going to have their parents buy new ones. Who wants to use someone else’s mouthpiece? Gross!”
“I see your point. I’ll look into it next week and see what they have at a music store. Right now, how would you like to go to the high school to watch your brother play baseball?”
Brandy’s eyes grew wide. “Does Ryan know you’re going to watch him pitch?”
“So he’s a pitcher. I’ll be…” Grant let the expletive fizzle on his tongue. “You knew he was playing ball?”
“He played in Germany, too. He’s good, Daddy.”
“Then there’s no reason for us not to go watch him, is there?”
She brushed blond curls off her face. “I don’t want him to think I ratted on him.”
“Honestly, Brandy.” Grant blew out a frustrated breath. “Parents are entitled to know what activities their kids are into.”
Her little pixie face fell, and Grant immediately softened his tone. “Maybe he won’t spot us. But if he does, I’ll make sure he knows we’re there because he mentioned it this morning.”
“I guess it’ll be okay, then.”
Grant located the ball diamond and parked a distance from the gate. As he and Brandy walked along the fence, Grant peered through the mesh, trying to get the lay of the land, so to speak. It appeared the home team was at bat. There were already a lot of people in the stands, making it easier to pay and slip in unnoticed.
“There’s Ryan, Daddy! He’s coming up to bat.” Brandy spoke so loudly several people turned to look at them. Grant’s gaze lit on an attractive strawberry-blonde. Her hair was as curly as Brandy’s, but shorter. Finding seats in the second row from the top, Grant eyed the girl, who appeared to have her hands full with two younger children. Twins, would be his guess. Tough, active little boys. Their antics made Grant smile. But he also felt sorry for the girl, who must be their sister or babysitter. When two older boys raced up and flung their arms around her neck, he wondered how on earth she managed to handle all four.
Grant was intrigued by the way all four boys and the blond girl had their attention on Ryan, who was indeed at bat. Ryan slugged a home run on the second pitch. The quintet in the front row clapped madly and yelled Ryan’s name. Even more intriguing was what happened two seconds after Ryan jogged triumphantly across home plate. The twins charged right over to him. Grant watched his son scoop both boys up, then, grinning like a hyena, join the blond girl on the sidelines.
Grant muttered under his breath. The girl had to be Lisa Geroux. Her flashing aquamarine eyes reminded Grant of her mother. And there was no mistaking the chemistry she and Ryan shared. The joy vanished from Ryan’s face the instant the girl turned and pointed to him and Brandy.
Busted, Grant thought guiltily. She must have heard Brandy’s loud comment when they arrived. His stomach bottomed out the way it did when he pulled too many Gs in flight. Ryan was involved with a girl. And her mother was dead set against the relationship. What a mess. He could’ve retired any number of places, but he’d picked San Antonio. It’d been his first duty station and held some happy memories. He’d hoped his kids would like it here, and that maybe he and Ryan could heal old wounds.
Now it appeared they could be facing more problems than ever. It was evident they needed to talk about a lot of things. Not here in front of a crowd, but soon.
Standing, Grant took Brandy’s hand. Ignoring her protests, he led her to the side of the bleachers farthest away from where Ryan stood glaring at them. Grant jumped down and held up his arms for Brandy.
“Why are we leaving? We never got to watch Ryan pitch.”
“Turns out this wasn’t a good idea, Brandy. How about we go get ice cream instead?”
“Rocky road?”
“Sure.” It would no doubt ruin her appetite for dinner. Here he went again, being far too easygoing. But he couldn’t have both his kids hating him. Maybe he should get a few pointers on tough parenting from Rebecca Geroux.
Chapter Three
RYAN LANE stormed into his house around five o’clock, radiating belligerence. Grant had anticipated the outburst, which was why he’d made arrangements for Brandy to play at the home of a new school friend.
Grant looked up from the couch and marked his place in the Dale Brown book he was reading.
“What the hell were you doing this afternoon?” Ryan threw his duffel bag on the couch, barely missing his dad.
“Watch your language, and I suggest you rethink using that tone with me, Ryan.”
The angry teen showed no inclination to back down. Hands splayed on his hips, Ryan ignored his father’s suggestion. “You haven’t given a damn about anything I’ve done for seventeen years. I don’t want or need you poking your nose in my business now.”
“You’re wrong about my not caring.” Setting his book on the lamp stand, Grant stood. He still had three inches and a few pounds on his gangly, six-foot son. He recognized the show of testosterone, but Grant was determined to remain cool and in control.
“Right!” Ryan raised his voice. “You paid housekeepers and nannies, and that means you cared?”
Grant scraped a finger over the stubble on his chin. “I made sure I hired the most qualified caregivers I could find. My job made it impossible to be a full-time dad. You know, son, I don’t think that’s what’s bugging you now. Why don’t you tell me what you’re really upset about?”
“I want you to get off my back.”
“Coming to see you play ball is being on your back? Did you win, by the way?”
“No! My pitching went to hell after Lisa pointed you out in the stands.”
“About her…” Grant hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “She and her brothers were certainly excited about your home run.”
“They aren’t her brothers. Lisa babysits them.” Ryan acted as if his father was short on brain cells. “Their mother works with Lisa’s,” he snapped. “Lisa’s only sixteen, but she’s in all my honors classes. Her brother’s a freshman. Not that I have to explain anything to you about my friends or their families.”
Grant slid his fists deep in his front pockets. Belatedly he remembered Rebecca mentioning that her daughter babysat. “Ryan, I realize our family isn’t the most conventional. At Ramstein, because it was a closed community, I knew the parents of all your friends. Living off base is an adjustment. I’d hoped it would give us the chance to…get more in touch with each other, for lack of a better term. That’s why I bought a house with a patio and a pool. I want us to do things together.”
“Like, you suddenly think we’ll have barbecues and be best buds?”
“For starters, you could invite your friends over