CLAIRE RECOVERED quickly, but not quickly enough. Roger had seen her moment of weakness and he pounced.
“Who would guess you’d be back in Monroe?” he continued, sneering. “I didn’t think we were good enough for you.”
“You certainly weren’t,” she retorted, her voice crisp.
He flushed with anger, and she had to stop herself from cringing away from him. She was no longer twenty years old and married to him, she reminded herself sharply.
“This must be Janice’s son,” Roger said, measuring Nick with his eyes.
“Nick Kendall, Roger Vernon,” she said, her voice cold. “Sorry we can’t stay and chat, but we’re busy.”
Stepping past Roger, she grabbed Nick’s arm and dragged him around the corner.
Nick stared at her, astonishment in his eyes. “Wow,” he said. “Who was that dude? You shut him down big-time.”
“Roger Vernon isn’t worth the time it takes to talk about him,” she said. “Here’s the store. Let’s get your gear.”
They emerged from the store forty-five minutes later, Nick clutching the bag of equipment close to his chest. Back in the store, picking out shoes and practice clothes, he’d been the happy, sweet kid she remembered from her last brief visit with Janice. Five years ago, she reminded herself, guilt washing over her in a hot wave.
A lot can change in five years.
As they went by, Nick glanced into the window of the town’s small restaurant. The Dixie Diner had been a fixture in Monroe for as long as she could remember.
“Did you eat here when you lived in Monroe?” he asked.
She gave him a sharp glance. He never initiated conversations. But she saw no sarcasm in his eyes, just the painful longing of a child gazing at a denied treat.
“Not very often,” she said in a neutral voice. “My parents couldn’t afford to take us to a restaurant.”
That wasn’t the complete truth. Even if they’d had the money, neither her mother nor her father would have thought of spending it on a family outing. The idea would have been completely foreign to them.
“Did you and Janice eat here before…” She couldn’t force the words before the accident out of her mouth.
Nick didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. “Nah. Mom always said it wasn’t our kind of place.”
But Nick desperately wanted to go to the diner. She could see it in his eyes. And suddenly she understood.
When she was in high school, all the kids had hung out at the diner, and that probably hadn’t changed. When she’d been Nick’s age, she’d secretly hungered to go there, too. But there’d been no money for Cokes and French fries after school. So she’d walked past it every day, pretending she had no interest in the gathering at the diner.
“Let’s have dinner here,” she said impulsively. “We both need a break from cooking.”
“Really? Are you sure?” He glanced at the modest menu posted in the window. “The prices seem kind of high.”
Another wave of shame washed over her. She could have made Nick’s life, and Janice’s, so much easier. Janice hadn’t wanted charity, but she could have found some way to help them. The trust fund she’d set up for Nick’s college education now seemed pitifully inadequate.
“Let’s splurge,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “Including hot fudge sundaes for dessert.”
Nick was already pushing open the door to the restaurant. A tinny bell rang and the hostess looked up. “Table for two?” she asked brightly.
“Please.” Claire looked around, remembering her desperate longing to be included in the gatherings here after school. She was pretty sure that the landscapes and lake scenes decorating the walls were the same ones from years ago. The chairs and tables looked old, as well, but the restaurant held an air of vitality. Apparently it was still the nerve center of Monroe.
The hostess led them to a place in the middle of the diner, and Claire followed Nick into the booth. The air smelled of fried food and the turquoise vinyl seats were cold and stiff against her legs. Nick pored over the menu, his bag of football equipment tucked under his arm.
Maybe, for one evening, they could pretend to be a normal family.
They were halfway through dinner when Nick looked up. Wariness flickered in his eyes, then he glanced at her.
Claire turned around to see what had disturbed him. She was dismayed to see Roger Vernon and a young woman standing by the door. Roger had his hand on the young woman’s back, a proprietary stance Claire remembered all too well.
Coldness spread deep inside her. Had Roger married again? Or was he thinking about it?
Roger spotted her staring at him and gave her a smug smile. He held her gaze as he followed the hostess through the restaurant, maintaining his contact with the woman’s back. The triumph and satisfaction in his eyes sparked a flare of anger inside her.
He slowed as they passed her booth, and impulsively Claire jumped to her feet. She held out her hand to the startled young woman and said, “Hi. I’m Claire Kendall. I don’t think we’ve met.”
The woman looked puzzled, but she held out her hand obediently. “I’m Andrea Vernon. Nice to meet you.” She studied Claire’s face. “Do you live in Monroe?”
“I just moved back here.” She glanced at Roger, who seemed furious, then back at Andrea. “I’ll see you around town.”
“Sure.” Andrea gave her another bewildered look, then Roger steered her away. Claire slowly slid back into the booth.
Nick watched her with curiosity in his eyes. “You haven’t talked to anyone since you got to Monroe,” he said. “Why did you introduce yourself to her?”
She stared at him, startled and surprised. Apparently he’d been watching her more closely than she realized. She struggled to frame her answer carefully. “Impulse.” She shrugged. “I thought maybe she could use a friend.”
With the unselfconscious curiosity of the young, Nick turned around and looked at Roger and Andrea. “Why?”
Roger caught his glance and glared at him. She saw Nick’s shoulders hunch, then he turned back to face her.
Before she could answer his question, Roger was standing next to their booth. He put his hands on the table and leaned toward her. “You stay away from Andrea and keep your nose out of my business,” he warned her, his voice full of venom. “Do you understand?”
Claire stared right back at him. “No, I’m not sure I do.” Her voice was steady, but she was shaking inside. Stupid, cowardly reaction, she told herself. But the instinctive response was too powerful, too ingrained to be ignored.
Roger leaned closer. “I think you know what I mean,” he said. If she didn’t back away, he’d be touching her. Revulsion crawled over her skin, and he smiled with satisfaction.
Before she could react, another voice spoke over her shoulder. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Hello, Nick, Ms. Kendall. Vernon.” The soft southern drawl was completely neutral in tone.
It was Tucker Hall. Roger straightened and gave him an angry stare, then returned to his table. Claire watched his young wife, who gave her husband a frightened look. Claire vowed to call Andrea Vernon at the first opportunity.
The football coach took Roger’s place next to the table. “Looks like you got some gear there,” he said.
Nick glanced over his shoulder at the Vernons, then looked back at Tucker. His eyes brightened. “Yeah. We got everything on the list. I’ll be ready to go tomorrow.”
“Great. You’ve got some catching up to do. But you’re a smart kid. You’ll pick it up right away.” Tucker’s smile swept over both of them, and Claire felt as if she’d been punched in the gut.
Tucker glanced at Claire. “You two come here for dinner often? I don’t remember seeing you.”
“It’s our first time,” she said. “How about you?”
“I eat dinner here most nights,” he said with an easy smile. “Best way I know to keep tabs on what my kids are up to.” He nodded at Roger’s table. “Looks like you’ve met our esteemed lawyer already.”
Was that a hint of contempt she heard in Tucker’s voice? “I knew him years ago,” she said, expressionless.
She gave him a polite smile and prepared to dismiss him. She didn’t like the way her stomach reacted when he smiled at her. But before she could say anything, Nick leaned across the table. “You want to have dinner with us?” he asked eagerly. “We’ve got plenty of room.”
Tucker didn’t hesitate. “Sure. Thanks for the invitation.” He gave Claire another smile, and her stomach dipped again. “If that’s okay with you, Ms. Kendall?”
“Of course,” she managed to say. She tried to signal Nick to move over so Tucker could slide in next to him, but the coach was already easing onto the bench next to her.
One side of his mouth curled up in a grin as he nodded at the bag of football gear clutched under Nick’s arm. “You going to sleep with that equipment tonight, Kendall?”
Claire tensed, waiting for the explosion from Nick. She’d learned quickly that any hint of teasing only resulted in sarcasm, sneering or anger.
To her surprise, he grinned at his coach. “Maybe I will. Do you think it would help me learn faster?”
“You never know.”
Tucker glanced over at her. She recognized the spark of interest in his eyes, the appreciative flash of male approval. An involuntary response shivered through her.
Apparently he’d taken a shower after practice, because his short, sun-bleached blond hair now gleamed dark gold with water. The crisp scent of his soap seemed to surround her, and the heat of his body burned into her. His leg was inches from hers, and the conservative khaki slacks he wore did nothing to hide his powerfully muscled thighs. She felt ridiculously small sitting next to him.
In spite of the signals her body was giving her, she was not interested in Tucker Hall, she told herself firmly. He was too big, too male, too cocky, too overwhelming.
And he lived in Monroe.
That fact alone was the death knell of any possible relationship. She wouldn’t stay in Monroe a second longer than absolutely necessary. No matter how attractive she found the man sitting next to her.
“…one of the conditions of being on the team,” Tucker was saying to Nick. “You avoid contact with the other team, as much as possible.”
Nick frowned. The mulish glint of resistance she’d come to know so well over the past three weeks flared in his eyes. “You’re supposed to get hit in football. You’re supposed to hit the other team.”
“Not the kicker,” Tucker answered. He leaned back in the booth and draped his arm over the top of the seat. His forearm brushed against the nape of her neck in a fleeting caress, then was gone. Sensation crashed through her, and she snapped her head around to look at him. Engrossed in his conversation with Nick, he appeared not to notice.
Apparently the contact had been accidental.
She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. Heart pounding, she pretended she hadn’t noticed, either.
“The kicker is off-limits to the other team,” he was explaining to Nick. “When his leg is in the air, he’s completely defenseless.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Nick grumbled.
“The fun is in contributing to the team,” Tucker answered, holding Nick’s gaze. “Knowing that you’re playing as a team. That’s what football is all about.”
He sat back and gave Nick another easy smile, and her stomach did a flip. “Besides, a good kicker is vital in football, and you’re going to be an important part of Monroe’s success this year. I don’t want you to take any chances that will hurt the team.”
Nick glowed, and Claire felt a rush of gratitude. She suspected it had been a long time since Nick had heard praise like that. He was too prickly, too defensive. Tucker was saying exactly what Nick needed to hear.
Tucker’s dinner arrived and he ate quickly, as if he only swallowed the food because he needed fuel. Nick talked about football while he ate, and Claire marveled at the difference in her nephew.
“You’ve been here for a few months now. How do you like Monroe?” Tucker asked as he pushed his empty plate toward the center of the table.
Nick shrugged. “Monroe is okay, I guess.”
His eyebrows rose. “Just okay?”
Nick looked away. “There’s not much to do here.”
“There’s plenty to do, if you’re interested in finding it,” he said, his voice mild. “The parks commission organizes all kinds of stuff for kids during the summer. Did you check that out?”
Nick hunched his shoulder and scowled. “Nah. It all sounded pretty lame to me.”
“Suit yourself.” Tucker leaned back against the seat, and Nick glanced at him, surprised. Claire knew he’d expected the coach to give him the stock speech about making his own opportunities.
“How about you?” Tucker turned to Claire.
“How do I like Monroe?” she asked. “I can’t wait to get back to Chicago.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s where I live. Where I work. And Monroe—” She clamped her mouth shut, shocked that she’d almost blurted out her reasons for hating the town to this stranger.
“Monroe…” he prompted.
“I don’t fit in Monroe,” she said coolly. “I’m much more comfortable in the city.”
“I see.” The cheerful, uncomplicated smile in his eyes was gone, replaced by a bland gaze that hid everything he was thinking. “What is it that you do in Chicago?”
“I own an accounting business.”
“Sounds interesting.” His tone said he thought otherwise.
“It is,” she said with a tiny emphasis. “I’m very happy in Chicago.”
“I told her she didn’t have to stay here,” Nick said from across the table. He glared at her, frowning.
“Nick, you know I wanted to stay,” she replied. “I can work from Monroe almost as easily as from Chicago.”
“You can’t wait to get out of here.”
“That’s right. My home is in Chicago,” she said, struggling to keep her voice level. “Naturally I want to go back there. But I already told you we’ll stay here until you’re ready to leave.”
“I’m not ready to leave,” he said defiantly.
“I know that. And we have a lot of work to do on the house,” she said briskly. “That’s going to take a while.”
“Why bother to work on the house if we’re going to leave?” Nick challenged.
She felt Tucker’s gaze on her but didn’t look over at him. “We’ll need to sell the house,” she said gently. “It looks like your mom started to fix it up. We’ll finish what she started.”
Nick flicked a stray French fry off the table. “She would have done more,” he said defiantly. “She was just busy with her job.”
“She worked over at city hall, didn’t she?” Tucker rested his elbows on the table and gazed at Nick.
“Yeah. She had some big job over there.”
“What did she do?” Claire asked, curious.
“I don’t know.” Nick shrugged. “She worked in an office.” After a moment, he muttered, “She liked it, the work and the responsibility. She said it was the first decent job she’d ever had.”
“It sounds like your mom was glad she’d come back to Monroe,” Tucker said gently.
“She was.” Nick’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “She said it was a new start for both of us.”
“I’m so sorry about her accident,” Tucker said.
Nick stared at them, the challenging, angry look back on his face. “It wasn’t an accident,” he said, his voice thick. He wiped his arm across his eyes to catch any tears that threatened to fall. “My mom was killed.”