LITMIR.BIZ

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the woman, Nick had the distinct feeling it went beyond shyness.

      A challenge and a mystery. Now if only he could get the lady to talk to him, he just might stand a chance. “I heard you got married.”

      She glanced over her shoulder toward her father. “Yes, I did.”

      Nick frowned. That wasn’t the right answer. She was supposed to tell him she was divorced. “I also heard you got divorced.”

      Surprise lit her eyes as she looked back at him. “Did you?”

      Not exactly an answer, but Nick never gave up easily. “I also heard you’re a journalist for a New York newspaper. With your own column even.”

      That brought a lift of one finely arched eyebrow. “You heard all that.”

      “So are you?”

      “A journalist?”

      “Divorced.”

      “Oh. Yes.”

      He took a step closer. Damn, but she smelled good. “Maybe we could go out for dinner sometime. Catch up on what we’ve been doing for the past twelve years.”

      She took a step back. “I don’t think so, Nick. I’m just here to help take care of my dad for a few weeks. I won’t really have much time.”

      “Coffee, then.” He moved in closer again, drew the scent of her deep into his lungs. “Tomorrow night.”

      Something caught her ear, the faint sound of laughter, Nick thought. She paled, then grabbed hold of his arm and nearly dragged him into the living room. “Why don’t we go say hello to my father?”

      Her abrupt change of behavior surprised him, but since she was actually touching him, he decided they were making progress. “How’s the leg, Mr. Smith?” Nick asked the back of the sports page.

      The paper came down. Boyd Smith still looked the same, though he was bald now over a rim of silvergray hair. He still had the same scruffy eyebrows and penetrating stare. “You still riding those motorcycles, Santos?”

      “Only for pleasure now, sir.”

      “Got any whisky?”

      “Not on me.”

      ‘How ’bout a cigar?’

      “’Fraid not.”

      “Next time you come over, see that you bring both.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      The paper went back up, and Nick assumed that their talk was over. Not exactly a long conversation, but a productive one. He’d already been invited back. He grinned at Maggie, but she merely frowned. When she realized that she was still holding his arm, she quickly dropped her hand.

      “Excuse me.” She backed away. “I need to...check on something. Why don’t you just have a seat and I’ll be back in a—”

      “Mommy, my movie’s over!”

      The flying tackle from a pair of small arms caught Maggie around the knees from behind, sending her sprawling forward into Nick’s arms. He caught her smoothly, fully enjoying the feel of her soft body and full breasts against his chest. Much to Nick’s delight, she struggled to disentangle herself, which only increased the friction of their bodies.

      Her body still flush with his, Maggie looked up at Nick, a mixture of shock and horror in her eyes. She finally managed to wrench herself free, then turned to face the three-foot-high, dark-haired dynamo who’d knocked her off her feet.

      “Drew!” Maggie gasped. “I’ve told you not to do that.”

      “I forgot.” The youngster stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans and glanced down contritely. “Sorry. I just wanted to hug you.”

      Nick knew a con job when he heard one. This kid was good, he thought with amusement. And cute, too. Nick knew nothing about children, but he’d guess the boy to be around five or so, with dark, almost black hair nearly the same color as his big, thickly lashed eyes. His oversize feet were encased in thick-soled tennis shoes, and Nick could only imagine he’d be tall as a doorway by the time he was sixteen.

      So little Maggie Smith had a kid. How ’bout that.

      He watched her kneel beside her son, saw the struggle on her face to remain stern. “Hugs shouldn’t hurt, sweetheart. You have to be more careful.”

      The child nodded, then glanced up. His dark eyes turned wary at the sight of a stranger, but he didn’t look away or step back.

      Maggie stood stiffly behind her son, her hands on his shoulders as she faced Nick. “Drew...” She hesitated, then pulled in a breath and continued, “This is Nick Santos. Nick, this is my son, Drew.”

      Nick stuck out his hand, which the child promptly accepted. Nice grip, Nick thought. “How’s it going, Drew?”

      “You drive a truck?” the boy asked.

      Did everyone in this family answer a question with a question? Nick wondered. “Yes, but mostly I ride a motorcycle.”

      “Motorcycles are cool,” Drew said with all the authority of a child, “but I want to drive a truck when I grow up.”

      “Maybe we can go for a ride sometime, if your mom says it’s okay.”

      “Really?” Drew’s eyes brightened. “On the motorcycle or the truck?”

      “Either. Both.”

      “Wow. Really? Can I, Mom?”

      Maggie had been vigorously shaking her head, but she went still when Drew looked up hopefully at her.

      “I don’t think so, honey. You’re not big enough for motorcycles yet.”

      “I’m almost five,” Drew complained. “Tommy Fuscoe rides on his daddy’s motorcycle all the time, and he’s littler than me.”

      “You’re not Tommy Fuscoe,” Maggie said firmly. “But we’ll see.”

      A definite no, Nick realized. But with the two of them working on her, Nick was confident they’d change her mind...one of several things he intended to change her mind on.

      “Wanna see my bike?” Drew looked at Nick. “My grandpa got it for me just to have here. Didn’t you, Grandpa?”

      “Needs new tires,” Boyd mumbled with a flip of his newspaper.

      “C’mon.” The youngster sprinted through the front door. “It’s in the garage.”

      “After you.” Nick swept his hand out and Maggie moved past him, though she was careful not to brush against him. But the warmth of her body where she’d been thrust against him only a few moments ago still lingered on him, and he was anxious to feel that warmth again.

      And next time she fell into his arms, he intended that they be alone.

      He caught her arm on the porch, took it as a good sign when she didn’t immediately pull away. “Cute kid,” he said, wanting a moment alone with her now. “He must look like his father.”

      She shrugged, then glanced in the direction her son had run, but not before Nick caught the flicker of pain in her eyes. Damn, he thought. She must still be hung up on the guy.

      “You see him much?”

      Frowning, she looked back at him. “See who?”

      “Drew’s father. Your ex.”

      “Oh.” She shook her head. “He lives in Vancouver.”

      He thought of his own father, a man he never knew, then thought of the stepfather he wished he’d never known, and felt an instant kinship with Maggie’s son. “That must be hard on Drew.”

      “He was only a year old when we divorced. He doesn’t remember him.”

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