The Mommy Quest Read online

She was blond, short and flat. He knew exactly what his dad had meant by that—Tim was young but he wasn’t clueless. Except for the ring in her nose, she could be a hometown girl.

  The lady turned and saw him hovering in the aisle. Her scowl confused him. Until he bounced too much, talked too much, broke something, ladies liked Tim. He was cute and little. Cuddly.

  Tim glanced at the floor, dug the toe of his sneaker into the nonexistent dirt, then peered up at her from between his too long bangs and smiled.

  Nothin’.

  “You aren’t supposed to be in here alone.”

  “My dad’s back there.” Tim jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Don’t touch anything. Don’t tease the dogs in the cage. Don’t pick up the kittens out of the pen.”

  “’Kay.” Tim hadn’t planned to.

  He wasn’t sure if he should ask her about being his mom. That hadn’t gone too well the last time he’d tried it with the delivery lady. In fact, when he’d asked guys if they wanted to be his dad, they’d always acted real weird, backing up and sometimes even running away.

  Except for Dean. Dean had said yes.

  Eventually.

  Before Tim could decide what to say to the lady to get her to marry his dad, her eyes lifted, and she smiled for the first time since Tim had seen her.

  Tim craned his neck. Dean was behind him.

  He turned to look at the lady, who was smiling and shoving out her chest, what there was of it, as she patted her hair.

  Maybe Tim didn’t have to say nothin’ at all.

  But his dad just tossed the collar on the counter and reached for his wallet. Sometimes he was so lame.

  “Hello,” the lady said.

  “Yeah.”

  Tim stifled a groan.

  “I’ve seen you around before.”

  “Uh.”

  Tim smacked himself in the forehead.

  “I’m kind of new in town,” she continued. “What’s your name?”

  Dean glanced at her, and Tim’s heart stuttered. Here we go, he thought. Just one look and—bam— they’ll fall in love.

  “What difference does my name make?” Dean growled.

  Tim moaned and his dad put a hand on his shoulder. “Almost done, kid.”

  “This your boy? What a sweetie!”

  Tim beamed. That was more like it.

  Dean paid for the collar and grabbed the bag. He started for the door, and Tim had to do something.

  “You wanna go out with him?” Tim blurted.

  Dean froze, half in and half out the door. His fingers clenched the bag and it made a loud crackling noise in the sudden silence.

  “Sure.” The lady popped her gum. “When?”

  “What time do you get off?”

  Dean’s glare would have frightened a lesser child. But glares didn’t mean nothin’. It was the fists you had to watch out for, and Dean would never use his anywhere near Tim.

  Besides, he was doing the right thing. They needed someone to take care of them.

  “I’m off at five-thirty.” The lady smiled. “You wanna have dinner?”

  Dean cleared his throat. Tim nodded so fast his head hurt. Dean sighed. “Okay. I’ll be back at five-thirty.”

  He shoved out the door.

  She glanced at Tim. “What’s his name?”

  “Dean Luchetti.”

  “Really? I didn’t think there were any Luchetti brothers left in town.”

  “Just Dad.”

  The lady stared out the window and licked her lips. “Lucky me.”

  “GROUNDED,” DEAN SNAPPED as soon as Tim hopped into the car.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “I do not need help getting dates.”

  Dean was mortified. Now he had to take that gum-popping, nose-ring-wearing child to dinner. Maybe if he drove to Springfield, he’d avoid running into anyone who knew him.

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I do what?”

  “Need help. You ain’t had a date since I got here, Dad.”

  “Haven’t had,” Dean corrected.

  “That isn’t healthy.”

  Dean blinked. “Who told you that?”

  “Uncle Evan.”

  “He would.”

  “He said you could have some of his girlfriends, but none of ’em wanted to date you. How come?”

  “You asked them?”

  “Uncle Evan did.”

  Dean’s fingers ached, and he realized he’d been gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He forced himself to relax and to breathe. “When was this?”

  “When he was home.”

  Evan had come back to Gainsville the previous year. Depressed because the love of his life wouldn’t love him back, he’d been overjoyed when Jilly had shown up and proposed. Dean hadn’t seen Evan since the last Luchetti family wedding, which was going to be the very last one at the rate Dean was dating.

  “No wonder all the women in this town have been refusing to look me in the eye. They think I’m desperate.”

  “You are.”

  Dean ground his teeth as he started the truck. “You will not ask women out for me anymore. Is that clear?”

  “Yep. But you’ll never get married this way. Even I know you gotta date before you can hit a home run.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Dean narrowed his eyes. “What do you think a home run is?”

  “Gettin’ married.”

  Dean let out the breath he hadn’t realized he held. Sooner or later someone was going to tell Tim more than he wanted him to know. It was the way of the world—and locker rooms everywhere.

  What he should do is beat the oversexed brats to the punch and tell Tim himself. But he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. The kid was eight, for crying out loud!

  Dean pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the farm. “A home run is not getting married.”

  “Then it must be sex. I wasn’t sure. But you kind of need that, too, don’t ya?”

  Dean nearly drove off the road. “What? No.”

  Tim wrinkled his nose and didn’t comment.

  Maybe Dean didn’t have to tell Tim the facts of life after all, and that upset him more than the thought of telling him had.

  “How much do you know about men and women?”

  “Guys have penises, and girls have vaginas.”

  “You’ve been watching Kindergarten Cop again.”

  Tim giggled. “It’s funny.”

  And violent.

  “I thought we were cutting back on the Arnold movies.”

  Tim rolled his eyes. “I can remember things.”

  “Then why can’t you remember math?”

  “Because I don’t care about math.”

  Ask a stupid question…

  “So getting back to what you know,” Dean said.

  Tim slid an uncomfortable glance in Dean’s direction, then away. “I saw stuff, Dad, when I was in Vegas. I kind of figured a few things out.”

  Dean winced. He could imagine.

  “But sex is better when you love someone.”

  “Who told you that?”

  Tim’s face scrunched. “Aunt Kim I think.”

  Dean needed to have a talk with his sister.

  “Is that right?” Tim asked. “Is sex better when you love someone?”

  Dean thought of Stella. When would he stop?

  “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  DEAN’S MOTHER was so damned thrilled Dean had a date he barely made it out of the house. She couldn’t quit giving him advice.

  “Don’t be rude. Don’t be sarcastic. Don’t burp.

  Don’t scratch.”

  “What about picking my teeth with the steak knife?”

  “Don’t do that, either.”

  “Mom, I’m not a complete social reject.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Thanks. Great. That helps.”

  She followed him onto the porch a
nd cupped his face in her calloused hands. Until a few years ago, his mom hadn’t been much for huggy-kissy. She’d had all she could manage just keeping six kids fed, clothed and out of trouble. Lately, she overdid herself trying to make amends.

  “You’re a catch.” She kissed him on the mouth. “Always were.”

  “Thanks, Mommy.”

  Ellie swatted Dean on the butt as he walked away, a lot more lightly than she used to.

  Dean picked up his date, who turned out to be older than Dean had thought—twenty-four instead of seventeen—in his truck. He didn’t have anything else.

  Tammy wasn’t impressed. Not with that or with his jeans, clean blue shirt and good shoes.

  She’d managed to change into tight black pants and a red blouse, which ended well above her belly button—also pierced. Dean had to wonder where any other jewelry might be hiding.

  “Where would you like to go?” he asked.

  “Paris, but since that ain’t happening—” She lit a cigarette without asking if he minded.

  Dean hit the automatic button on the windows. “How about Perth’s?”

  “Sure.”

  The restaurant was a good one—rustic setting on the creek outside of town. Since it was Sunday, they didn’t have any trouble getting a table, although the odd looks they received while walking to it made Dean squirm.

  “You come here much?” Tammy asked.

  “No.”

  “They seem to know you.”

  “Everyone knows everyone here.”

  “Doesn’t that suck?”

  Dean blinked. “I think it’s nice.”

  Tammy rolled her eyes and ordered a vodka gimlet on the rocks. Dean wondered how fast he could eat and get rid of her.

  Pretty fast, it turned out. Since he couldn’t be rude or sarcastic, his conversational skills were pretty damn slim. Dean knew about animals and farming. Tammy, even though she worked in a pet store and lived in Gainsville, couldn’t have cared less about either one.

  “Why are you here?” Dean asked.

  “This was as far as the bus would take me on the cash I had.”

  “You don’t plan to stay?”

  She made a face. “Are you nuts?”

  Why did every woman Dean met want to get out of town, and subsequently away from him, as fast as she could? Must be his charming personality.

  “I like it here,” he said. “I’d never live anywhere else.”

  “Good for you.” Tammy slammed back the rest of her drink. “Ready?”

  Since saying “definitely” was probably rude, though it would be honest, Dean paid the check and drove Tammy home. She lived in an apartment directly over the pet store, which explained how she’d been able to change clothes before he picked her up.

  Instead of getting out of his truck and going away, something Dean had been looking forward to the entire night, Tammy climbed right into his lap, which wasn’t easy considering the steering wheel.

  “Um, the other door works,” he said, his words becoming muffled when she kissed him, using a lot of tongue. He tasted vodka. He’d never cared for it.

  “I bet a lot of things work in this truck.” Her hand strayed below his belt and he jumped.

  “Wait a second.” Dean grabbed her wrist. “Why?”

  “I didn’t think this date went too good, did you?”

  “So?”

  “I don’t think we’ll see each other again.”

  “So?”

  They seemed to be having a communication problem, so Dean just got to the point. “Why are you jumping me?”

  “You’re the cutest guy in town, even if you are just another farmer.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Dean jerked his mouth away from a second juicy kiss. “I’ll pass.”

  “What?”

  She sat back, which only served to align her body to his in an area that had no intention of passing. The part of his anatomy that did not have a brain was very interested in whatever Tammy wanted to give, regardless of her scorn for him, his lifestyle and the town that he loved.

  “No, thanks, Tammy. I need to get back to my son.” She frowned. “You don’t want no-strings-attached sex?”

  “Amazingly, no.”

  She shifted. “Seems like you do to me.”

  “I’m a guy. My body doesn’t always know what’s good for it.”

  Tammy scowled. There was an insult in there, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

  “Whatever,” she said, and slid off him at last. “Thanks for dinner.”

  Dean opened his mouth to say “Anytime,” then snapped it shut again. Why lie?

  Tammy got out the passenger side and walked away without a goodbye. Dean put his truck into gear and drove toward home. It wasn’t until he’d passed the woman standing in front of the coffee shop with a suitcase in her hand that he recognized Stella. Dean gaped and hit the brakes.

  But when he glanced in his rearview mirror, all he saw was the tail end of her coat as she hurried inside.

  Dean frowned. Had she seen him and Tammy? Most likely. And what she’d seen had probably looked like a whole lot more than what it was.

  His gaze lifted to the lit window above the shop. Obviously Stella had done what she’d promised and moved out. He considered banging on the door, explaining things, but why? They were friends. What difference did it make if he was making out with the pet shop girl on Main Street?

  None. Dean lifted his foot from the brake and continued home.

  So why did he feel so guilty about it?

  STELLA COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d stood on the street and watched Dean kiss another woman. Even worse, the sight had upset her more than anything had since—

  Stella slammed that door in her mind. She was not going there again. Since returning to Gainsville she’d refused to think about what had happened to her in L.A. and she’d begun to feel better and better. Maybe not thinking about the attack was the cure, instead of constantly rehashing it. Who’d have thought?

  She realized she was staring at Dean’s truck, and when the brake lights flared, she fled.

  Stella hurried up the stairs and into her apartment, carrying all that she’d brought to town stuffed into a single, albeit large, suitcase.

  “Idiot,” she muttered. “You read too much into a kiss.”

  Obviously, since Dean appeared to kiss a lot of women the way he’d kissed her.

  And who could blame him? He was a handsome, single man in a town with far too few of them. The real question was why hadn’t he accompanied the woman inside? From the appearance of things his date had wanted to extend their time together until sunrise.

  Stella set her suitcase in the bedroom, walked into the living room and stared out the window.

  She wasn’t going to be able to watch Dean dating other women, kissing other women, sleeping with other women—not that she’d watch that, except in her nightmares—and not be hurt. But how was she going to avoid it? Start walking around with her eyes closed?

  She’d asked him to be her friend; a friend was what she wanted. Which meant he was going to date other women, and she’d just have to get used to it. But Stella wasn’t sure if she could.

  She pulled out her cell phone and checked the time—7:00 p.m. in L.A. So she dialed her boss.

  “Stella,” he boomed. “How are you?”

  Ken Abacore was a big, bluff, hearty man who, she’d been surprised to discover, had spent his twenties and thirties teaching first grade. He’d been very good at it. Then, like Stella, he’d decided he wanted something different and had worked his way up the administrative ranks.

  “I’m terrific, Ken,” she said. “In fact, I’m wondering if I could come back to work soon.”

  Over the nearly two thousand miles separating them, Stella heard Ken’s good cheer deflate.

  “Have you been cleared by your doctor?”

  Stella hadn’t seen her doctor, since the woman practiced in L.A., and she certainly wasn’t going to see another one here. She cr
inged at the thought of explaining, again, what had happened to her.

  “Not yet,” she answered.

  “Get back to me when you are.”

  “But—”

  “No, buts, Stella. You weren’t able to do your job. We both know it. In truth, I’m not sure I’ll be able to put you back in the same school.”

  “What?”

  Stella winced at the loud, shrieky quality of her voice. That would certainly convince Ken she was mentally ready to return to work.

  “The kids know you were attacked. They know you couldn’t cope. I’m not sure they’ll respect your authority anymore.”

  “I’ll just have to make them.”

  “Can you?”

  Stella went silent. She wasn’t sure. Any type of confrontation since “the incident” had paralyzed her. Except confrontation with her dad, her mom, Dean, the kids in the school here, which didn’t bother her. How odd.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “‘Maybe’ isn’t good enough. Law of the jungle, kiddo. Only the strong survive. Those kids will eat you alive on a maybe.”

  Ken was right.

  “Okay. I guess I need a little more time.”

  “There you go. What are you doing during your vacation?”

  Stella was tempted to point out that an enforced vacation really wasn’t a vacation, but she refrained.

  “I’ve taken a temporary job as the principal of an elementary school in my hometown.”

  “Really?” His voice became guarded. “How’s that going?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Do you like it?”

  Stella considered the question, then answered honestly. “I don’t hate it.”

  “I’m sure you’re wonderful at the job, Stella. A smaller town, smaller problems. A calmer, saner, more peaceful world. Maybe you should stay.”

  “Are you telling me my job is gone?”

  “Of course not. I’m just telling you to think about doing something else. I’ve seen it happen before. When people are physically attacked, it’s very difficult to get their chutzpah back.”

  “Chutzpah?”

  “Yiddish. Great word. It means—”

  “I know what it means, and I’ll get it back. You’ll see.”

  “I hope so.”

  After the appropriate goodbyes, Stella disconnected the call, then she sat in her rented apartment and thought about her temporary job, the rift with her father, the odd relationship with Dean. Why had she come back here again?