A Maverick And A Half. Marie Ferrarella
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had silently declared, and from that point forward, she’d eliminated all thoughts of Gary, all memories of their time together, from her mind. She had better things to do than to spend even a single moment reliving the past, or pining for a future that wasn’t in the cards.
And while she was actually eternally grateful that their paths had crossed long enough to gift her with the greatest present of her life—her daughter, Sydney—at the same time, the whole traumatic interlude with Gary had definitely scarred her. In a nutshell, it had shaken her faith in her own ability to know whether or not a person was actually a decent human being or just a deceptively charming rat on two legs.
In his own way, Gary had taught her one hell of a lesson.
“Ms. Laramie, is something wrong?”
At the sound of Anderson’s deep voice, Marina roused herself. She realized that she’d allowed her thoughts to take her attention hostage, which was, as far as she was concerned, completely inexcusable behavior.
Clearing her throat, she flushed. “What? No, nothing’s wrong. Sorry, something you just said started me thinking.” Which was true, but undoubtedly not in the way that Anderson might have thought. So before he could ask her any further questions, she quickly redirected the conversation. “I agree with what you said.”
“Great.” The enthusiasm went down a notch as he asked, “What part?”
“The part about you not wanting Jake to feel as if you were pressuring him,” she told him, glad that Anderson was at least partially intuitive. “Being pressured definitely wouldn’t help bring your son out of his shell.”
“What would?” he asked, curious to hear her take on the matter.
The blanket covering Sydney’s legs slipped and she moved it back into place. Her daughter, mercifully, went on dozing but she knew that wasn’t going to last for long. She needed to wrap up this conversation. “I was thinking along the lines of some TLC.”
“TLC?” Anderson repeated quizzically.
Marina nodded. “That stands for tender loving care,” she explained.
“I know what it stands for,” he retorted, insulted. Did she think he was entirely backward and clueless? “What I’m trying to figure out is how would I go about expressing that? Are you telling me you think I should hug him and stuff?”
She hadn’t been thinking along those lines, but she gave it some thought now. “An occasional hug wouldn’t hurt,” she acknowledged, then qualified her answer. “But in general, eleven-year-old boys aren’t really into that. They’re not big on that sort of parental display of affection. At least not on a regular basis.”
“Then what?” Anderson asked impatiently. “I’ve already got him signed up for some after school sports activities,” he said, “so that Jake can be around other kids participating in some bonding sports.”
“All that’s good,” Marina agreed tentatively, not wanting to shoot down the man’s fledgling enthusiasm so early in the game. “But I was thinking of something along the lines of a more personal, fulfilling activity.”
He looked at her uncertainly. He wasn’t sure just what she was suggesting. So far, they just seemed to be going around in circles. “Just what is it you have in mind?”
Since she wasn’t sure how open he would be to her suggestion, Marina proceeded with caution. “How would you feel about Jake helping me after school a few days a week?”
Anderson had a feeling that her question wasn’t as straightforward as it sounded, so he tried to get her to clarify it. “You mean like cleaning paintbrushes in the art room and stuff like that?” he asked.
Marina shook her head. “No. Jake’s a sensitive, caring boy. Those sort of traits should be nurtured,” she told Anderson. “I was thinking that Jake might make a perfect mother’s helper.”
“A mother’s helper?” he repeated uncertainly, somewhat stunned and taken aback. “Isn’t that something that, you know, girls usually do?” he asked, wondering if he should be insulted on Jake’s behalf. Just what was she saying about his son?
Marina was quick to set Anderson straight. The man was stereotyping and she couldn’t allow that to get in the way of Jake’s development as both a student and a boy-in-progress.
“Not necessarily. All that’s required to be a mother’s helper is patience—and of course the desire to help. From what I’ve seen, Jake’s equipped with both.” She became more impassioned as she spoke. “There’s no reason why a boy can’t help out as well as a girl and I could really use a hand at home—and even here at school,” she added for good measure, thinking that might help tip the scales. She was paying someone to watch Sydney while she was teaching, but she could barely afford that.
“I don’t know,” Anderson said after giving the whole matter less than thirty seconds of thought. “I really don’t think it’s a very good idea,” he confessed with conviction. “Jake and I are doing okay just the way things are.”
Marina banked down her growing impatience. She knew she couldn’t push this. Anderson—if he was going to come around—was going to have to come around on his own. If she pushed in any manner, she had the distinct impression that he was the type to dig in his heels and resist until his dying breath left his body. The bottom line there was that she’d never get anywhere with him.
This way, by maintaining an open mind and an equally open door, there still might be a small chance that things would go her way. With Jake’s well-being in mind, she had to take it.
She wanted to argue about it—to discuss it, actually—but the idea of arguing with the man seemed counterproductive in its own right. So for now, and the sake of peace, she went along with what Dalton suggested.
“All right,” she told Anderson gamely. “But if you do happen to change your mind about this, please let me know,” she requested with a large smile. “You know where to find me.”
He nodded, ready to terminate the conversation. He knew the value of quitting while he was ahead.
“Just like I found you this time,” he replied, already edging his way out.
Marina spoke up just as he was about to reach the door. “I just suggested Jake being a mother’s helper because I think it might help him if he puts himself out in order to help someone else.”
“Someone else,” Anderson repeated, then knowingly added, “like you.”
She saw no reason to pretend that Jake’s father had guessed wrong. Marina certainly wasn’t embarrassed by either the fact that she needed help nor that she would have accepted it from one of her students.
“Like me,” she replied, then hurriedly tacked on, “And Sydney.”
“Sidney?” Anderson questioned, suddenly lost. “Who’s Sidney?”
“This lovely young lady here,” Marina told him, her voice teeming with affection and pride, albeit quietly, as she indicated the car seat.
“Oh.” Chagrined over his misunderstanding—and concerned about the odd sort of attraction he was experiencing—attraction to his son’s teacher for heaven’s sake—Anderson was practically inaudible as he mumbled, “I thought you were talking about some guy.”
“An understandable mistake,” she said, the corners of her mouth curving in what Anderson could only describe as an appealing smile that seemed to communicate with some inner core of his. He did what he could to block it, or at the very least, just ignore it.
“Well, it’s usually a guy’s name,” Anderson protested in his own defense, trying to backtrack from his error.
While Marina didn’t exactly contradict him, she expanded on his answer. “It’s both.”
She had a feeling that Jake’s father was in somewhat of a combative