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Summer huddled underneath the umbrella and longed for a hot bath, a glass of wine, and a roof over her head. As the rain slashed her ankles, she reconsidered. Walls would be nice, too. And maybe a place to sit. In his haste to make the meeting with his attorney, Craig had neglected to mention she’d need a chair since the field the teams used had no bleachers or benches of any kind.
Not that she’d consider this warzone a field. Parents huddled behind a battered low chain link fence on a torn-up scrap of weeds that ran the length of the football field, but only about six feet across at its widest. No buildings buffered the wind except a black rental storage container that housed the football equipment when not in use. There was no concession stand, not even bathrooms. Twice now, she’d seen kids leave the practice area to duck into the woods beyond them, then return a few minutes later, tucking their jerseys into their pants. Summer didn’t need to be that Madden guy to figure out what the kids were doing back there.
She shivered, from a combination of disgust and the effects of standing too long in the rain. The air was so heavy and wet that after the first twenty minutes here, her lungs struggled to breathe without sucking in the moisture. She didn’t know how Nate could run around in his heavy football gear, made even heavier thanks to the deluge of rainwater, without passing out. In the last ninety minutes, the children had only taken two breaks. Both times, Nate had collapsed on the muddy grass near his mini cooler, popped out his mouth guard, removed his helmet to reveal wet hair plastered to his head, and gasped for breath before chugging water from a sports bottle.
And on her game tally, score another point for the wrong shoes. With every step, her heels sank into thick mud, and then required Herculean effort to pull them back out. Her best summer sandals, pale pink suede with short spiky heels that did wonders for her legs, were now ruined beyond redemption. In hindsight, she should have opted for boots, or those hip-waders fishermen wore.
As she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, she studied the hundreds of little boys—and a few girls!—scrabbling around the muddy field. Broken into groups by age, and then again by physical ability, the children began practice by running laps. After they’d huffed and puffed their way around the gridiron’s entire perimeter, one group hit their shoulders into a bizarre steel structure that resembled a farmer’s thresher. Several lines of children crashed into each other, shoulder pads crunching, again and again. Yet another cluster of players crawled like crabs on the ground.
She couldn’t tell which team Nate belonged to. They all looked the same: black helmets emblazoned with large silver stars, black mesh practice jerseys, shiny tight white pants. Who on earth decided football pants should be white? A marketing executive for the bleach industry? Because as she looked at all the mud and grass stains across the knees and backsides of the children, she despaired that those pants would never know white again.
Only their shoes varied—no, not shoes. Nate had called them cleats. Some kids wore black cleats with white trim, some had more white and less black, and one kid even had traffic cone orange cleats. No doubt his parents knew where he was every second on the field. Lucky them.
Everywhere around these clusters of children, coaches urged them on with quick blasts of whistles and orders of “Harder,” “Faster,” “Get up and do it again.” Dozens of loud, overweight dads seemed to relive their own dashed fantasies through these poor soggy youngsters. Did their wives dare to argue against their children participating in such a violent sport?
In the circle nearest where she stood, two players crashed into each other with a heart-wrenching crack. Summer winced. Why on earth would a mother willingly sign up her child for potential injury? Some of the boys and girls were so young, nearly babies.
On a sigh, she glanced at her watch. 6:45. If Craig showed up at this very minute, she’d have just enough time to run back to the house and change her clothes before meeting the girls at Riff’s Grill. Her hair, no doubt a sodden disaster by now, would have to air dry during the car ride.
“Well, hello there,” a deep voice said from behind her.
She turned to find a stocky bulldog of a man in hooded clear plastic raingear smiling at her. His eyes held a wolf’s gleam. A groan rose to her lips, and she tightened her jaw to keep the noise in check. Really? A pick-up artist on the peewee football field? Dressed in her mother’s couch covering?
“I don’t remember seeing you at the parents meeting. I’m Paul. Paul Hobart. My son, Mark, is on the nine-year-old A team. You?”
She looked down at him, not difficult since she topped him by a good six inches. The nine-year-old A team. Nate’s team. Fabulous. She sighed her defeat. Okay. For Nate’s sake—and his father’s—she’d be pleasant to this man. But if he didn’t stop staring at her chest, she was going to deck him.
“I’m Summer,” she said blandly.
“A lovely name for a lovely woman.”
Ick. The groan would have escaped if Summer hadn’t tightened every muscle in her face. “Thank you.”
“Whose mom are you, Summer?”
No one’s. She almost clasped her belly as she always did when she remembered the hysterectomy. Instead, she gripped the umbrella handle with both hands. She’d never be anyone’s mom. Case closed. “I’m here with Nate Hartmann.”
“You’re Nate’s mom?”
“No, I’m his...” She paused. What was she exactly? Not a babysitter. Not a maid. Not really a caregiver. Technically, she was all of those and yet, none of those. “I’m helping out the family until Craig’s father is back on his feet.”
“So, what? Like a nanny?”
“No. Like a very good friend.” At the sound of Craig’s intrusion into the conversation, Summer relaxed. Finally, her white knight had arrived.
“Hey, Craig.” Paul greeted him with a quick head jerk.
“Paul.” Craig stepped closer to Summer and ducked his head under the umbrella. “Got room in here for me, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart? A few days ago, she was “just an employee.” Now she was his “sweetheart?” But since his new term for her suited her desire to fend off Mr. Hobart, she’d play along.
“For you?” She beamed and pulled him closer to shield them both from the storm’s deluge. “Of course.”
“Sorry I’m late,” he told her.
“That’s o—” Before she finished the statement, his mouth crushed her lips.
His kiss was soft, tender, and wow. Delicious. Inside Summer, the woman who’d gone without affection for such a long time roused from her post-divorce coma. She lost herself in the whirl of sensations: the warmth that rose in her cheeks and throat, her suddenly pounding heart, the comfort of his arm around her waist.
Too soon, he released her and winked. “How’s Nate doing?”
Nate? Oh, right. A dense fog muddled her senses. “Umm... fine.” She couldn’t seem to calm her racing heart or find her balance.
Meanwhile, all the confidence fled from Paul’s tone as he kicked a clod of weeds at his feet. “Okay, then. Nice talking to you, Summer.”
Craig hauled her close until her butt fit nicely into the curve of his hip and abdomen. Every nerve ending in her body jumped and twitched, short-circuiting her brain. She practically melted into his arms.
“Say something, sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath hot against her nape.
Her knees shook, and if he hadn’t held her so tightly, she might have sunk into the mud. Somehow, she managed to find her voice, shaky as it was. “N-nice to m-meet you, Paul.”
“See you around, Paul,” Craig said while his face nuzzled her neck.
“Yeah,” Paul muttered. “Right.” He turned and strode away.
Once they were alone, Craig took a step back. For a moment, Summer stood like a mannequin, unable to move or breathe. At last, awareness returned in small ticks of time. Holy moly, what just happened? She blinked, trying to regain focus.
Craig still stood under the umbrella, but barely. “Sorry about the frontal assault, Summer. The thing is, that guy? Hobart? He’s a letch.”
She inhaled, welcoming the heavy moisture as deep and cleansing. Thank God, his sudden show of affection was just a ruse. She could deal with a ruse better than with the alternative.
“Don’t apologize,” she blurted. “You handled that well.”
“I did?” He sounded surprised. “Hmmm... maybe I should accost pretty ladies more often. Double bonus if I managed to get Paul outta here and gain your appreciation at the same time. I feel kinda like Superman.”
She widened her eyes and furiously batted her lashes. “My hero.”
“You’re welcome.” With his hand curled, he blew on his fingers, then pretended to buff them on his shirtfront.
“How was the meeting with the lawyer?”
He stiffened instantly, and his expression darkened. “Later. Not here.”
Of course. How stupid of her. He wouldn’t discuss anything so personal in such a public place. Neither would she. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t react to her apology. Instead, he jerked his head toward the parking lot. “You should go. I hope I didn’t make you too late.”
Too late? Oh, shoot. April’s bridal party dinner.
♥
CRAIG WATCHED SUMMER sprint toward her car, rain pelting her like buckshot on a deer. She’d insisted he keep the umbrella, not just for himself, but for Nate. His gaze strayed to the field, and he shook his head. Ridiculous. Nate was already covered head to toe in mud. In fact, he might have to hit the boy with the garden hose before letting him inside the house. Forget his minivan. The upholstery was doomed.
Summer had insisted, though. So, he’d given in.
He’d give her just about anything right now. Anything that would convince her to stay with them until Chelsea’s threat couldn’t come to fruition.
Thank God he hadn’t blown the whole setup when he kissed her. Lucky for him she’d understood his subterfuge, if not the full reason behind it.
Yes, Paul Hobart was a letch. But Paul Hobart was a letch with a particular fondness for nannies. He and his wife had divorced when he’d been caught having an affair with the babysitter from next door. Six months later, he dumped the neighbor for his ex-wife’s new au pair, a young student from Russia who barely spoke English but openly worshipped Paul.
No way would Craig allow Hobart within ten feet of Summer. Not that he had any say over who Summer dated. She could date anyone she wanted. After Chelsea saw reason. And not Paul Hobart. Ever. She was too good for that weasel.
Too good for me too, he thought ruefully.
Which really sucked wind because he had definitely enjoyed that kiss. One more glance in her direction as she climbed into her Escalade. He sighed, then turned his attention to his son sliding across the field face-first on his chest. A muddy wall of water rose up around the boy like a tsunami. The kid’s uniform pants would be permanently tan by the time they left the field tonight. He cast one last look at the parking lot. The Escalade’s taillights lit up the dark as Summer drove away.
My hero. She’d been teasing, but if an opening popped up to fill that position, he’d leap at the opportunity to be her true hero. When he thought about how she’d wound up in his life, under his roof, he’d consider her more like his miracle. Her arrival had made his life easier, less stressful, and more fun. Forget employee. Summer was, as he’d told Paul, a very good friend.
A friend he desperately needed to stick around for a while, at least until Chelsea came to her senses.
You’re in big trouble, pal. It’s not like you’re married to her. Face it. Someone as perfect as Summer would never be interested in a nine-to-five schlub with three kids and a live-in dad for baggage. You better come up with a reason to make her stay. Fast.
♥
WHAT WAS KEEPING SUMMER?
April cast another worried glance at the entrance to Riff’s Grill. A stickler for punctuality, Summer was never late.
“Hell-o?” Becky, seated beside her, waved a hand in April’s face. “Mom, are you listening to me?”
“Huh?” She refocused on her daughter and the other ladies at the table: her sister, Lyn, and Jeff’s sister, Lauren. A college student, an innkeeper, and a captain of industry. No doubt about it, she’d amassed a very diverse group of women for her bridal party.
“I asked if we have room at the house for Ace to stay until after the wedding,” Becky said with enough impatience to cut diamonds.
April frowned as she considered the logistics. Lyn already had the spare bedroom. And honestly? She really didn’t want Ace Riordan, professional snowboarding’s Aerial Snowball, under the same roof as her smitten daughter for three days.
“I think he’s fine at Doug’s place,” she replied.
Lyn’s sweetie had a two-bedroom on the Upper East Side. And since Ace and Doug were already friends, neither felt put out by the idea.
Becky, on the other hand, couldn’t hide her disappointment. “All the way in Manhattan? We don’t get to spend enough time together.”
Exactly.
A flurry near the restaurant’s entrance cut off her reply. About time Summer showed up. Sure enough, the maître d’ pointed at their table. April rose to wave her over. But as Summer stepped into the bright lights of the dining room, April’s jaw fell. “Summer?”
In thirty-plus years, April had never seen her sister appear in public without the perfect hair, the perfect outfit, the perfect accessories. Until now. Wet cats looked sleeker. Her normally fluffed and gorgeous hair stuck out in damp, spiky curls. Mascara ringed the area under her eyes and spotted her upper cheekbones. Her pink-and-white-striped ruffled blouse lay against her body like a wet towel, limp and lifeless. Brown spots flecked her pale pink skirt.
Mud? On Summer? Even as a child, Summer never got dirty.
“Oh my God, are you okay? Did the car breakdown?” She gasped. “Were you in an accident?”
“Don’t fuss, April,” Summer scolded. With a huff, she dropped into the nearest empty chair. “No accident, no breakdown. I just ran late at football practice with Nate and didn’t have time to go home and change.”
Lyn sat up and leaned into view. “You were at a football game? In this weather?”
Summer’s expression turned sour. “First of all, it was practice. And secondly, as I became acutely aware this evening, unless there’s lightning, the show must go on.”
“You poor thing,” Lauren exclaimed as she rose. “Here. Take my seat. It’s farthest from the air conditioning vents.”
April shot her future sister-in-law a grateful look. Before their first meeting, she’d been prepared for an entirely different woman. Based on Jeff’s comments about his only sister, heir to the family’s vast corporate entity, she’d envisioned someone brash, masculine, and pushy. Lauren, to her surprise, was none of those things. At least, not with her. She did show a competitive streak with Jeff, who always took the barbs in stride. The consummate psychologist wouldn’t rise to sibling rivalry.
She studied her sisters with jaundiced eyes. The Raine girls had always thrived on jealousy and vying for favored nation status with their parents. Only in the last two years had they put aside their pettiness. In dealing with their own issues, each woman had learned to appreciate her sisters for their strengths rather than harping on their differences.
While Lauren and Summer switched seats, the waiter approached. “Miss, can I get you something to drink?”
“Hot t-tea,” Summer told him through chattering teeth. “W-with lemon. Thanks.”
“Here, Aunt Summer.” Becky shrugged off her hooded college sweatshirt jacket. “Take this.”
A wave of guilt washed over April. Summer had called earlier to say she couldn’t make it to their appointment with the florist, and she’d praised Summer for putting the Hartmanns’ priorities before her own. Was she responsible for the way Summer looked right now: wet, chilled, and miserable? Had she somehow guilted Summer into spending time out in the rain for a man who didn’t have the sense to properly care for his kids?
Before her conscience could swamp her, she turned to her sister. “I’m sorry, Sum.”
Huddled in Becky’s bulky gray hoodie, Summer looked up, eyes wide. “What on earth for?”
“I shouldn’t have pushed to involve you with Craig Hartmann. At the time I thought, since you needed a place to live and he needed a live-in caretaker, you were perfect for each other.”
Summer offered a weak smile and picked up an artfully folded napkin from the place setting beside her. “We are. Craig’s a good man, his kids are sweet, I like his dad, and they all need me.”
April shook her head. “I didn’t expect you to become a slave to the household, Sum.”
“I’m not.” Once she draped the napkin on her lap, she leaned forward, hands clasped on the tablecloth. “For the first time in eons, I feel needed. Do you have any idea how much that means to me?”
“Not at the expense of your health and well-being,” April retorted. “First thing tomorrow, I’m going to officially pull you from that job and—”
Her palms hit the table with so much force, the silverware clattered. “Don’t you dare assign someone else to my family. You got that? This has nothing to do with you. Stop trying to control everyone and everything, April.”
“Yeah,” Lyn chimed in. “That’s Summer’s job. And she’s darn good at it, by golly.”
“Look who’s talking,” Summer rejoined with a grin. “The girl afraid of her own shadow.”
“Not anymore,” Lyn replied. “Falling in love with a reporter got me over my fear of the press in a big way.”
“And falling in love with a psychologist gave her a new outlook on life,” Summer added with a jerk in April’s direction. “Lucky for me, I’m perfect the way I am, thankyouverymuch. I don’t need a man to help me see the problems in my life.”
“Oh really?” Lyn arched a brow. “I wouldn’t sound so smug if I were you. I’d be willing to bet something else besides being needed makes you want to stay with your family, snookums.”
Summer’s gaze dropped to her lap, and her fingers fussed with the napkin. “Like what?”
“Like a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he’s in the same room?” Lyn suggested.
Of course. Leave it to Lyn to pick up on a possible attraction between Summer and Craig Hartmann. As the idea took root in her fertile brain, April couldn’t resist adding fertilizer to this seedling. “Is that why you have a goofy smile on your face whenever Craig’s name comes up?”
Summer’s head shot up like a rocket at blastoff. “I do not!”
“Wow,” Lauren interjected. “That was a pretty quick denial. Tells me they’re either on to something or you really hate the guy. Which is it?”
“Craig and I have an ideal employee/employer relationship. Nothing more,” Summer replied.
The waiter reappeared, and she grabbed the china teacup before he could place it on the table.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Lyn said with a grin. “‘Methinks thou doth protest too much.’”
“Tell us, Summer. Do the stupidest things remind you of him?” Lauren pressed. “You know. Rain on a window, puppies playing in the grass, a cool breeze on a hot day...?” Her eyes took on a dreamy quality.
Well, I’ll be darned. April suddenly realized that, despite Jeff’s beliefs to the contrary, Lauren was romantically involved with a person, and not just the family business.
Once again, April’s gaze circled the table. Lyn loved Doug. Summer might be falling for Craig Hartmann. Lauren definitely had someone in her radar. And Becky had a thing for Ace. Apparently, in this henhouse, love was in the air. Wonderful, wonderful love.
Summer sipped her tea before replying, “You’re all being ridiculous.”
Maybe, April thought as she studied the bloom rising in her sister’s cheeks. Then again, maybe not.
She’d bet her business that the fresh color on Summer’s face had nothing to do with hot tea.