With her hair caught up in a bandana, Nixie was stripping bedsheets, and the children were performing their Saturday morning chores when the doorbell rang.
“Close the door. Tarzan’s loose,” Brad shouted.
Nixie opened the door to find Boone on her front porch.
Wearing a teal Henley shirt with the sleeves cut out and jeans that were sliced at the knees and frayed on the thighs, he looked like the most scrumptious vagabond she’d ever seen.
She was glad to see the lump on his forehead was almost gone. Only a pink scrape remained.
“The scarf is a nice touch,” he said.
Suddenly self-conscious, Nixie touched a hand to the bandana. Why did he make her feel like an insecure teenager?
“Mom! Tarzan!”
Remembering the parrot, Nixie grabbed Boone’s elbow and pulled him into the foyer.
“I didn’t realize you’d be so glad to see me.” He glanced pointedly at his elbow where her hand still rested.
Hurriedly slamming the door shut behind him, she said, “The bird is out.”
“I beg your pardon?”
A raucous jungle yell reverberated from the living room. Boone startled and stepped back. “What the heck?”
“Oh, that’s just Tarzan,” she explained. “He’s swinging on his vine.”
Boone stared at the woman who was even more beautiful now than she had been at sixteen. That was the last time he’d seen her before going off to college and to make his mark in the world.
“Won’t you come in?” Nixie led him to the living room, where Brad dusted the television set, and Bethany picked up back copies of the Bliss Crier and stacked them in a bin; a yellow cat cowered under the couch, and a green-and-red bird dangled at the end of a Venetian blind cord, its wings flapping almost in rhythm to a popular tune blaring from the radio.
“Hi,” said Bethany. “Welcome to our zoo.”
Brad dropped his dust rag. “Did anybody answer our ad?”
Nixie shot them both a quelling look.
Boone grabbed the boy and pretended to punch him in the stomach. “Not yet, sport. The ad only came out today.”
He let go of the laughing boy and turned to Nixie.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your chores. I stopped next door to return your uncle’s shirt.” Boone withdrew three tickets from his pocket and handed them to Nixie. “And to bring these to you. They’re tickets to the Cub Scout play tonight. Your aunt and uncle said they’d be there.” He watched the wariness skitter across her delicate features. “I hope you can come, too.”
“Are you going to wear that pink dress Uncle Jay told us about?” asked Brad.
Boone rumpled the boy’s blond hair. “Sure, and if you want, you can try it on after the play.”
“No way, José.”
“Boone, if this is payment for our rescue and taxi services yesterday, a donation to the squad would be more beneficial.”
He hadn’t intended the tickets as payment for her help. He’d merely wanted her seated in the audience. He wanted her to be his good luck charm again.
Every time the dark-haired lovely had accompanied his sister to the school football games, Bliss High had taken the trophy. Boone remembered scanning the crowd for her face and playing his best after he’d found her. If only he’d been able to tell her how much her presence had meant to him. Or how much it had hurt when she’d brought a date.
But, even if he’d been able to express his feelings, she wouldn’t have given him a second glance. Phoenix Cordaire had been pretty and popular. She was known for being a giver and spent much of her spare time tutoring others, visiting at the nursing home, and helping organize the annual local walkathon for spina bifida.
Boone, on the other hand, was known as “Boone the Goon,” the jock who was involved in every sport from football to wrestling. He’d been convinced she’d never give him a second look. Maybe his relentless teasing had been a subconscious effort to push her away before she had the chance to reject him.
“I’ll send a check next week, but I still want you to come tonight.” She hesitated, so he decided to play dirty. “I’m sure Bethany and Brad would like to see it, especially since they missed the rehearsal last night. Wouldn’t you, kids?”
“Say yes, Mom. It sounds like fun,” Bethany pleaded.
Brad was more direct. “Yeah, I want to see Mr. Shelton dressed like a girl.”
A buzzer blared in another room. Nixie seized the opportunity to leave the room and collect her thoughts before answering. She wasn’t sure she was ready for the feelings that surfaced whenever she was around him. “Excuse me a minute,” she said and headed for the stairs. “My washing machine’s off-balance.”
Bethany waited until her mother had left the room and directed a meaningful look at her brother. “That’s not the only thing around here that’s off-balance.”
Boone sat down on the couch and was startled when the forgotten parrot demanded behind him, “Did you brush your teeth?”
Preparing to scold the bird, Brad shook his finger at it. Tarzan beat him to the punch and yelled, “Shut up, stupid!”
The boy seemed surprised, but he quickly covered his embarrassment by admonishing, “You’re supposed to be on my side.” Then, in explanation, he added, “Tarzan came to us with a lot of bad habits.”
The bird flew across the room and landed on top of the wall clock. “Cuckoo,” said Tarzan.
Bethany giggled and told the bird, “I’m sure Mr. Shelton knows that already.”
Boone laughed out loud, and the parrot followed with a giggle that sounded remarkably like Bethany’s.
“How old are you?” Boone asked the girl. He was amazed that, even though her hair was honey-colored instead of auburn, she looked so much like her mother.
Brad answered for his sister. “Mom said she’s eleven, going on forty.”
“Hmm,” said Boone. “That’s even older than me.” He liked the kids, probably because their spirit reminded him of Nixie. Despite their contrary comments, he could tell they really liked each other. Maybe he could recruit the boy into his Scout pack. With a lot of rationalizing, he could even convince himself that his motives for doing so were purely altruistic.
He listened patiently while Brad described a martial art technique he’d seen on a television cartoon.
Downstairs in the utility room, Nixie deliberately dawdled with the laundry while her kids raked this latest male visitor over the coals. They weren’t bad children, but their high-spirited antics had been known to chase away more than one gentleman guest. She considered them her human litmus test. She’d even cross-stitched a pillow that indicated her opinion on the matter. Love Me, Love My Kids.
Nixie had restarted the washer and was going up the steps when she heard Brad yell, “Hiii-yah!” Immediately after, Boone’s voice rang out, and Nixie heard a loud thump. Uncertain what her son had done this time, she ran to the living room.
Boone lay flat on his back, and Brad’s eyes were wide with excitement. “I flipped him, Mom. All by myself!”
Bethany rolled her eyes. “Brad, you’re such a dork sometimes. Couldn’t you tell he let you do it?”
Boone grinned, the action reminding Nixie of the many times he’d looked at her in just that way before delivering a verbal gibe.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He rose from the floor and stood in front of her in a fluid motion not normally expected from a man with his bulk. “I’m fine. We were just horsing around.”
“Mom doesn’t let us horse around in the living room,” Bethany announced.
His eyes never leaving Nixie’s, he asked, “Does she allow it in the bedroom?”
“Sometimes,” said Brad, “if we don’t play too rough.”
He grinned at Nixie. “Oh, I don’t believe in playing too rough in the bedroom, either.”
Nixie swallowed. She wasn’t sure whether it was the way he pinned her with his gaze or the double entendre of his words, but either way, she was feeling quite warm. She had always been the loser in their verbal wrestling matches. She dared not speculate about a bedroom wrestling match, no matter how intriguing the idea.
“Be ready at six thirty,” he said, moving toward the door.
She was ready now.
She ran a hand across her brow and brushed aside the wispy fringes that had suddenly grown damp.
“I want us to get there early so Brad can watch the backstage goings-on before the play.”
Nixie abruptly came back to reality and followed Boone outside. He flashed her a smile and jogged across the yard on the footworn path between her house and her aunt’s and uncle’s, where his car was parked. She couldn’t help admiring how the shirt emphasized the broadness of his back or the way those tattered jeans clung like a second skin to his muscular buns and thighs.
He was in his car and gone before she remembered she hadn’t agreed to attend the play.
Tonight was bingo night at the squad building. It was also Nixie’s turn to call the numbers, but another volunteer had agreed to fill in for her.
While the kids bickered about whose turn it was to clear the dinner table, Nixie concentrated on making herself look perfect. Whenever she was feeling less than composed inwardly, she took extra pains with her outward appearance to help bolster her confidence.
She kept the jewelry simple so she wouldn’t look out of place at the gathering of Cub Scouts and their families. The tulip-shaped yellow-and-black dress accentuated the curve of her waist and hips, stopping at a flattering level just above the knee. She wished she had more curve for the top part of the dress but quickly rejected the urge to fill that area by other means. Even so, she’d achieved the effect she wanted. Being flawless on the outside helped cover a multitude of cracks in the armor underneath.
When Boone arrived at the Thomas home for the second time that day, he was presented with a sight so breathtaking all he could do was stare. Gone were the jeans, sweatshirt, and scarf. She was the girl of his dreams, only much more grown-up. He let his eyes drink in the sight of her, committing the picture to memory.
He wanted to tell her how stunning she looked. How the light floral scent of her perfume taunted him and made him want to kiss her until those doe-like golden-brown eyes closed from the pleasure of it. But he didn’t know how to put those impressions into words. Instead, he reverted to his past behavior and changed the subject.
“Are Brad and Bethany ready?”
Nixie blinked. She’d been caught up in the intensity of his gaze, immobilized like a deer dazzled by headlights. Then, abruptly, his words had brought her out of the spell as surely as if he’d snapped his fingers.
Perhaps she had imagined the strange force that had seemed to pass between them. As Bethany would say, she needed to take a reality check.
At the elementary school, the reality was that Boone Shelton was quite popular with the children. The young boys flocked around him, begging to see how many he could lift with one arm. With three of the smaller children dangling from his flexed limb and two clinging to his back, he caught Nixie’s eye and grinned. “It’s one way to keep fit.”
Nixie smiled back. Most men who’d been as large as Boone had been in his teens would have become soft and overweight by their thirties. But not Boone. He put too much stock in his body to let it lose its tone. Nixie remembered the exuberance with which he had thrown himself into high school sports. With his superior build and single-minded determination, he became the star of every athletic event he entered.
As the boys’ excitement level rose, so did their volume, but Boone easily brought them under control with a quiet admonishment and set each to a particular task. Nixie was pleased at how smoothly he involved Brad with the rest of the boys and solicited Bethany’s help in arranging the props onstage. No child was favored over another, but each was made to feel special.
Even Nixie was made to feel useful, handing out photocopies of the typed script and coaching the youngsters on their lines. She was engrossed in helping one forgetful youngster when a wave of giggles swept through the classroom where they had assembled.
Looking up, she saw Boone in that notorious pink dress. With a neck like a tree stump, broad shoulders, hairy arms, narrow hips, and thick legs, he looked anything but girly.
The tacky red wig that sat askew on his head seemed incongruous with the hard, chiseled lines of his face and faint shadow of beard on his jaw. The stuffing in the front of the dress had migrated to form two asymmetrical lumps. And the white leggings he had put on—and managed to run—clearly defined the flattened curls of leg hair that liberally covered his shins and calves. Large-size sneakers finished the ensemble.
“Look,” exclaimed Brad, “it’s Boone Hilda!”
The room exploded with good-natured laughter.
A scowl grew on Boone’s face. It was a look that could make a street gang member tremble in his shoes. Walking slowly and deliberately to Brad, he clasped the boy under each arm, lifted him to eye level, and gave him a stern glare.
The room grew deadly silent, and all eyes turned to stare at the pack leader and the new kid. Brad’s expression was a mixture of confusion, fear, and curiosity.
Bethany timidly tugged the lace ruffle at Boone’s elbow. “He didn’t mean it, Mr. Shelton. He was just kidding.”
Nixie opened her mouth to demand that he put her son down, but he spoke first, his voice deep and menacing.
“The name is Dorothy,” he growled at the boy. “Dorothy Priscilla Lillywhite.” For emphasis, he gave Brad a gentle shake. “And don’t you forget it!”
Brad’s face split into a broad smile. The rest of the boys gathered around the pink giant, clamoring, “Scare me, Boone, scare me.”
Nixie slowly let out her breath. From the time she was seven—when the Sheltons had moved to Bliss—until she was sixteen and Boone moved away from home, she had never seen or heard of him using his size to bully or intimidate anyone. She knew he’d never harm or even frighten anyone intentionally. Nixie chalked up her reaction to a mother’s protective instincts.
“Did you see that, Mom?” Brad’s face was flush with excitement. “He almost scared the pudding out of me!”
“Me, too.” That was at least partly true.
Boone disengaged himself from the tangle of boys who swarmed around him like gnats. He crossed to where Nixie stood with her family and, after play-boxing with Brad, draped his arms around the shoulders of both Bethany and Nixie.
“It’s almost time for the show to start. I’ve reserved front row seats for you ladies. And your aunt and uncle.” With a light tug of Bethany’s hair, he added, “I expect you to lead the applause for us.”
Bethany blushed under his flirting wink, reminding Nixie of the many occasions on which he’d made her blush and then teased her about her pink cheeks. “What about Brad?” the girl asked.
“If he’d like, he can help out backstage and watch the play from there.”
Judging from her son’s reaction, she would have thought he’d been invited by the president to have dinner at the White House. She gave her consent after making the boy promise not to touch anything unless specifically instructed. Boone flashed her a questioning glance but remained silent.
Uncle Jay and Aunt Lauren waited for them in the front row. The play was much more entertaining than Nixie had anticipated. From missed cues to forgotten lines to dropped props, the boys happily fumbled their way through their parts. They actually seemed to enjoy the hysterical laughter coming from the audience. Occasionally, Nixie and her family could see Brad, offstage, helping a boy change costumes or handing another his prop.
“Look, Mom,” whispered Bethany, “Brad’s not playing tricks on anyone.”
Nixie crossed her fingers and, satisfied that her son would behave himself, focused her attention on Boone. Although his entrance had been met with swells of laughter, he seemed perfectly at ease playing the part of a young girl who had moved to a new neighborhood and was shunned by the previously all-boy residents.
Despite his comical appearance, Boone played the part with great sensitivity. He was so convincing that the Scout who was Dorothy’s main tormentor actually apologized for being so mean. Action stopped for a moment while Boone reassured the boy and whispered instructions so he could pick up in the script where he’d left off.
Nixie was amazed that, no matter who forgot a part, Boone was able to prompt the child with the correct line. He must have memorized the entire script.
The play ended shortly after Boone, still acting the part of Dorothy, came onstage with a BMX bike and performed a series of awesome stunts. Even in a dress, his was an incredible body to watch.
For their parts, the Cub Scouts didn’t have to act out their amazement at Boone’s performance. The emotion was genuine. Nine mouths gaped open at once.
When Nixie realized her expression matched the boys’, she snapped her jaw shut. A familiar feeling swept over her, and she recognized it as the same one she’d felt every time Boone had scored a touchdown or pinned a wrestling opponent to the mat.
Back then, she’d considered her possessive pride in his achievements to be related to her connection with him via his sister. Since she and Ellen had been close, Nixie had been happy for him in his accomplishments, just as she would for a brother … sort of.
The play ended with the boys befriending the girl and Dorothy offering to teach them some of her stunts.
The curtains closed, and Nixie was left with a warm, comfortable glow deep inside. She attributed the feeling to the production’s happy ending, but honesty forced her to admit, even if only a little bit, that her reaction was much more personal than that.
“Wasn’t he terrific?” said Aunt Lauren.
“Yes,” Nixie agreed. “I couldn’t get over how well he played his part.”
“Played his part? I was talking about what a terrific job Brad did handing the actors their props and closing the curtains at the right time.”
Nixie faltered. Of course Aunt Lauren had been talking about Brad’s ability to concentrate on his assignment and do a good job of it. Nixie had been so enthralled with Boone that she’d forgotten to look at her own son.
Aunt Lauren watched her with undisguised speculation. Embarrassed by her faux pas, Nixie groped under the seat for her purse. Finding it, she stood and led her family backstage before Aunt Lauren started with any probing questions.
The hall leading backstage was crowded with parents and well-wishers. After the crowd thinned and they congratulated Brad on his role as stagehand, Boone broke away from another group and came over to join them.
“Weren’t these boys great?”
“They were wonderful.” Nixie couldn’t help adding, “And you were very believable as Dorothy.”
He’d changed out of his costume but easily slipped back into his role. He slanted a saucy grin at Nixie. “A girl does what a girl has to do.”
Nixie decided that he was one of the most unique men she’d ever known. So secure was he in his own masculinity, he was comfortable donning a dress for the Cub Scout play and even joking about it. She felt certain that should someone try to goad him about his part, he would refuse to take offense.
Come to think of it, he’d been much the same way in high school. Despite the energy and enthusiasm he had poured into sports, he hadn’t seemed to care what others thought of his athletic accomplishments. If he had fumbled a ball and was chided about it, he’d shrug and say, “I missed. So what?” He had been equally blasé about praise he’d received for pushing his team to victory. Whereas the attention might have unsettled other boys during those traumatic teen years, Boone had seemed unaffected by it all.
One fringe benefit of being the star player was that he never lacked for a date with a pretty girl. But he was even low-key about that. More than one of Nixie’s friends who had been interested in him—but too shy to let him know it—remarked how lucky she was to see him almost every day. Right, Nixie had thought at the time, I’m so lucky to have him torture me every time I visit his sister.
An hour later, after the Scouts had cleaned the school auditorium and her aunt and uncle had taken Nixie’s children home, Boone locked the school door and led her to his car in the rear parking lot. The car, like its owner, was big yet understated. A quality machine, but not flashy.
The night was cool. There were no clouds to hold the day’s warmth close to the earth. Stars glimmered brightly, competing with the moon for top billing, and the blinking lights of an aircraft passed high overhead.
Boone slowly walked past the sole car in the parking lot toward the fence that enclosed the football field. He seemed remote, as if in a trance.
Nixie walked up behind him. Her eyes followed his to the muddy playing field. She remembered the times he had played in conditions such as this. No matter how many layers of mud he’d worn, she’d never had any difficulty spotting him. And no matter how ruthlessly he’d teased her—even on the day of the game—she’d always cheered him on from the stands.
Boone broke the silence. “Sure brings back memories.”
From the tone of voice, Nixie knew that even though he’d pretended only a mild interest in the game, it had meant much more. It had been as if much more than winning or losing a game had been riding on how well he played.
He opened the gate and waited for her to step through. They walked together in silence. When they reached the bleachers, Nixie sat primly on the lowest bench and hugged her arms.
He was used to seeing her near the top row, giggling with his sister. Her movements, though more refined with practice and the confidence that came from growing older, were the same, however. Yes, indeed, he thought, it sure brought back memories.
Boone jerked his thoughts back to the present. If he didn’t keep his mind on target, he’d forget the reason he’d asked to speak to her tonight. Quickly, before his mind wandered back to the way her hair shone in the moonlight, he described Brad’s interest in joining the Scouts and the benefits of membership. He was surprised when she resisted the suggestion.
After all Scouting had done for him—helping him grow from the shy, awkward new kid in the community to someone confident in his own abilities—he couldn’t imagine anyone turning down the opportunity for her child to join. Unless, of course, she had problems getting him to the weekly den meetings.
“If transportation is a problem, I’ll be glad to give him a ride.”
Nixie paused before answering. She wondered how to explain the protectiveness she felt toward her son—her baby. Unless someone had been through what she had with Brad, she doubted he would understand the tight bonds she felt for him. Uncle Jay had called those bonds apron strings, but she couldn’t bear to think of anything bad happening to her child after all he’d been through already.
“The transportation isn’t a problem. I just … don’t think it’s safe to let him do some of the risky activities that are required.”
“Risky activities?”
Nixie stiffened, preparing to be ridiculed yet again for her protectiveness. Or, as Uncle Jay called it, “overprotectiveness.”
“Yes. I consider camping, woodworking, rough sports—that kind of thing—too risky for Brad.”
She was glad she couldn’t discern his expression, for she was sure he thought her silly, just as everyone else did.
Instead of ridiculing her, however, he started describing the activities and ways in which the leaders safeguarded against injury. She could see he wouldn’t let up until he had convinced her Brad would be safe in his care … or until she explained why she still couldn’t take the chance.
“Brad was born after a difficult delivery. The doctor didn’t think he was going to make it, but the little rascal pulled through, anyway.” Even now, it still amazed her that he’d ever made it through those first few days. “Just when we thought the crisis was over, he stopped breathing in his sleep. The first few times, Paul was there to help me revive him. Then after Paul died, it was up to me to go to Brad every time the monitor alarm went off. I guess you could say he has ‘died’ a half dozen times already.”
Nixie fought to still the trembling that had little to do with the evening’s chill.
“As a rescue volunteer, I’ve seen enough victims to know that no activity is completely safe,” she said. “I couldn’t forgive myself if either of my children were involved in a preventable accident.”
After a moment of silence, Boone asked, “Could you forgive yourself for depriving your children of opportunities to grow?” He wouldn’t push too hard, but he couldn’t give up, either. “Let him come to the den meeting Wednesday after school. The most strenuous activities they’ll do is memorize pledges and make crafts from the handbook. Give him a chance to focus that energy of his on something that interests him. You might even find he’ll be less inclined to harass his sister if he has something else to occupy his mind.”
At that, Nixie’s temper flared. How dare he imply that her son’s mischief-making was related to her protectiveness?
“Tell me … how many children have you parented?”
He didn’t seem the least put off by her defensiveness, which only disconcerted Nixie even more.
“Not counting the Scouts, none. But not for a lack of wanting.”
She peered at him through the darkness. She could tell that, this time, he wasn’t teasing.
Somehow this latest revelation didn’t rest well with Nixie. It was as though an object she’d always seen as round suddenly turned out to be triangular.
If he’d claimed to be a womanizer or even an Olympic contender, she’d have had no trouble accepting that information. But she’d never seen him as domestic material, perhaps because his competitiveness made him seem like an unsuitable candidate for the give and take of everyday family life.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Don’t you think Boone the Goon would qualify as a family man?”