A Maverick And A Half. Marie Ferrarella
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happy just the way you were, then you found out about Jake and suddenly you wanted him to be a permanent part of your life. You still do,” she pointed out, remembering how dejected Anderson had been when Lexie had denied him custody or even visitation rights.
“Don’t try to confuse me with your logic, Paige.” He was only half kidding.
“It’s not ‘my’ logic,” his sister pointed out. “It’s just logic.”
Anderson blew out an impatient breath. There was just no arguing with his sister once she got going like this. He didn’t want to say something to her that he would wind up regretting, but he didn’t want her thinking that she was going to emerge the victor in this argument, either.
And then the cavalry arrived in the form of a lanky eleven-year-old boy. Spotting him, Jake was striding toward his truck.
“Sorry, Paige, I’d love to talk some more, but Jake just turned up. Basketball practice must be over. Time to take him home and put him to work,” Anderson announced cheerfully. “We’ll talk later,” he promised, terminating the call before she could say another word.
Or you’ll talk later and I’ll have to listen, he silently added, tossing the cell phone back into the glove compartment.
Leaning over, Anderson opened the passenger door for his son.
“Hi, how was it?” he asked Jake cheerfully. Then, just in case that sounded a little too vague to his son, Anderson clarified the focus of his question. “How was basketball practice?”
Jake slid into the passenger seat and dutifully buckled up his seat belt.
“It was okay.” The reply was completely devoid of any enthusiasm.
Starting up the truck, Anderson pulled out of his parking spot, his eyes trained on the rearview mirror until he put the transmission into Drive.
“Did you play a game?” he asked in the same cheerful voice.
Settling into his seat, Jake kept his eyes forward. “Yes.”
He was not exactly a conversationalist himself, but for the sake of trying to draw his son out, he gave it his best shot.
“And then what?”
“We stopped,” Jake said matter-of-factly. Then, as the word just hung alone in the air, he explained, “It was time to go home.”
This was not going well. “Do you like playing basketball?” Anderson prodded.
His thin shoulders carelessly rose and fell in response as he continued looking out of the front windshield. “It’s okay.”
That was not exactly a ringing endorsement of the sport. Maybe he’d pressured the boy into playing something he had no desire to participate in.
“Would you rather have me sign you up for something else? Baseball maybe, or football?” Anderson suggested, glancing at Jake’s face for a response.
That was the extent of the after school sports activities that were available and he wasn’t really sure about the baseball part. The actual baseball season, he was only vaguely aware, was over and he wasn’t sure if anyone was available to coach boys in the off-season. He’d never been one to enroll in any of those sports himself when he was a kid. All he’d ever been interested in were things that had to do with ranching.
“You know, it’s not a bad idea to try to broaden yourself a little bit,” Anderson told his son. He hadn’t been critical yet, but maybe a small bit of pressure wasn’t a bad idea. “Sitting in your room all day playing video games isn’t healthy.”
“I don’t play all day,” Jake answered, finally turning toward him. “I go to school.”
It wasn’t a smart-aleck answer, but it didn’t exactly leave room for a warm exchange. Determined to get through to Jake, he tried another approach.
“You need to socialize, Jake. To get to know people. You need to make some friends.”
“Why?” Jake wanted to know. He wasn’t being belligerent; he was just asking a question.
It was a question Anderson wasn’t prepared for and he had no answer ready, so he fell back to an old tried-and-true response parents had used since time began. “You just do.”
“Oh.” Jake went back to looking out the windshield, watching the desolate scenery go by.
Maybe, Anderson thought as silence descended within the vehicle’s cab, that teacher he’d seen today did have a point.
And then again, he thought rebelliously in the next breath, maybe not.
“Something bothering you, Jake?”
Ever since his meeting last week with the redheaded teacher, Anderson had been more attuned to Jake’s silence. All during dinner tonight his son had been even quieter than usual, but for the duration of their trip into town the boy hadn’t said a single word. Anderson was taking Jake with him to the town meeting that was being held tonight and they were almost there.
Granted, his son had looked less than happy about having to make this trip when he’d initially suggested it, but he would have thought that the boy would have said something by now. Kids his age talked, if only to complain.
But Jake didn’t.
Jake was really a hard kid to figure out, Anderson thought wearily.
A heartfelt, mighty sigh preceded Jake’s reply when he finally spoke. “I was just about to get to the next level.”
“The next level of what?” Anderson asked, puzzled.
He had no idea what his son was talking about. He and Jake shared a house and they shared bloodlines, but at times it was as if they were from two entirely different worlds. Trips to and from school might hear a word or two exchanged and mealtimes were hardly a hotbed of verbal exchange, either, if it was just the two of them at the table instead of occasionally one of his siblings.
But even so, something was usually said, some nominal conversation that lasted a couple of minutes. But not this time. Jake hadn’t said a word from the time that he had stepped out of his room for the trip to town.
That was right after Jake had looked at him, clearly confused as to why he was going to this meeting and what he was going to do once he got there.
“I thought it might be a good idea for you to see how people in a small town get things done,” Anderson had told his son.
But that was only part of the reason he was taking Jake with him. He was also trying to get the boy to feel more involved in what was going on. He was hoping that if his son felt more a part of Rust Creek Falls, he’d open up a little more.
Jake hadn’t protested going to the meeting the way a lot of boys his age might have. For that matter, he hadn’t dragged his heels, or thrown a tantrum, or mouthed off. Instead, offering no resistance, Jake had just silently come along—but the boy definitely hadn’t looked happy about it.
But then, Jake wasn’t exactly the definition of a happy-go-lucky kid to begin with.
Still, the silence had really gotten under Anderson’s skin and when his son hadn’t uttered a single word the whole half hour trip to the town hall, he’d finally decided to initiate some sort of a conversation. The only trouble was, once Jake had answered him, he didn’t understand Jake’s response.
“The next level in ‘Mighty Warriors,’” Jake explained quietly.
“‘Mighty Warriors,’” Anderson repeated slowly, as if tasting the words as he uttered them.
What he was really doing was stalling until he could remember exactly what “Mighty Warriors” was. He really was trying to