The Mommy Quest Read online

  “Not forever. You’re back.”

  “But I won’t be for long.”

  A warning—as if he’d needed another.

  “Don’t you remember?” he asked.

  Something flickered in her eyes, but he wasn’t sure if it was anger or pain. Why did he keep picking at this sore?

  He couldn’t help himself. This was the first time he’d felt alive since she’d left.

  “I didn’t,” she said. “Until I came here.”

  She plunged into the cornfield, almost immediately disappearing from view amid the thick stalks. Dean hurried after.

  “Nostalgia is a powerful thing,” she said.

  Nostalgia. Was that what this was?

  “The first time is important to a woman,” Stella continued. “We never forget.”

  For some reason, her answer bugged him. As if it didn’t matter who her first time was with, just that it was the first time.

  “What about the hundred times after that?” he demanded.

  “Some of those I forgot.” Stella glanced at him and sighed. “Relax, Dean. You were the stud of Gainsville. Every time is a gilded memory I’ve never let go. There’s never been another man like you. There never will be. Feel better?”

  Not really.

  When had she become so angry, so brittle? Was it because of what he’d done? Or was it something else?

  Stella reached the other side of the cornfield and burst into the front yard, leaving Dean behind. He stood still, trying to figure out what he’d done besides tell the truth—or at least what she thought was the truth. Then he caught sight of her heading for the car and he ran.

  Thankfully his family was nowhere to be seen, because he really didn’t want them to see this.

  She got into the car, slammed the door, forgot to shut the window, started the engine. He reached in and switched it off.

  She smacked his hand. “Who do you think you are?” Anger flashed in her eyes. At last, a hint of the old Stella.

  “What are you smiling about?” she snapped. “You look like a goon.”

  He hadn’t realized he was smiling, but since he was, he smiled wider. “I wondered where you’d gone.”

  “To L.A. Your attention span hasn’t improved.”

  “Why did you leave there and come back here?”

  The anger fled. The mask returned.

  Aha, he thought. Something happened in L.A.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She reached for the key again.

  He clamped a hand on her arm and she flipped out.

  Maybe flipped wasn’t the right word because she didn’t thrash, or scream or slug him. Instead she froze, fear darkened her eyes and she started to breathe in tiny, terrified gasps.

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  Dean withdrew his hand, but he continued to lean into the window. Stella had always been the most confident person he knew. She hadn’t been the prettiest girl, but she’d been the smartest, the most interesting, the nicest—at least to him.

  Now she seemed lost, unsure, frightened—of what he couldn’t quite figure, because she couldn’t be frightened of him.

  Could she?

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “I—I—” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t like to be grabbed. Especially in a closed place where I can’t get away.”

  “Since when?”

  She just shook her head and reached for the key again. He made an involuntary movement to stop her and she flinched.

  “Hey,” he murmured. “I’d never hurt you.”

  She gave him a dirty look.

  “I mean physically.”

  “I know.” The stark pools of her eyes made him want to take her into his arms and hold her tightly until the fear went away.

  “What happened in L.A.?”

  Her lips trembled, and for a second Dean thought she might tell him. Then a shriek from the house made him jump, and he banged his head on the roof of her car. Cursing, he straightened and turned.

  The new puppy shot out the screen door, followed by Tim, then Dean’s mother. She had a spatula in her raised hand.

  “Hell,” he muttered.

  Stella started the car. Dean swung back, but she’d closed the window, probably locked the doors. Hitting the gas, she spun gravel and disappeared in a cloud of dust down the lane that led to the highway.

  STELLA STOPPED THE CAR when she was out of sight of the Luchetti farm. She couldn’t drive much farther with her eyes tearing and her chest aching.

  She was such a wimp.

  How was she ever going to return to L.A. and the job she loved, the job she was good at, if she fell apart every time someone grabbed her arm?

  And that wasn’t the only thing that sent her over the edge. If she was startled when she was alone, or if anyone taller and stronger than her got too close, if someone made a fast, unexpected move in her direction, Stella dissolved into a frightened, stuttering fool.

  But she hadn’t thought she’d be frightened of Dean. That she had been for just an instant only proved she wasn’t getting better, she was getting worse.

  Stella leaned her forehead on the steering wheel and strove for calm. What if she was never able to go back to working with high school kids? What would she do with the rest of her life?

  “I’ll find something,” she said.

  But what?

  Concerned that a local police cruiser might stop to see what was the matter—they didn’t have much else to do—Stella forced herself to put the car into gear and drive home. Then she sat in front of her parents’ house and tried to think of somewhere she could go. She didn’t want to talk to either one of them about anything, especially this.

  Her family didn’t know why she’d come back. No one did, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  Since she had nowhere to be, no one to visit—all of her high school honor roll pals had fled Gainsville and they hadn’t returned—Stella dragged herself out of the car and into the house.

  “Stella?” her mother called from the kitchen.

  A quick glance into the den revealed her father wasn’t home. Yippee. The rush of relief made her wonder if renting an apartment while she was here might not be a bad idea. Living with her parents was upping her stress level higher than a riot in the cafeteria.

  “Hey, Mom.” Stella stopped in the doorway. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Work.”

  “On a Saturday?”

  Carrie O’Connell shrugged. “He can’t seem to catch up on his paperwork.”

  “Oh.” Her father had never gone into the office on Saturdays when she was a child. But the world had changed, and probably banking had, too. Though you’d think with the advent of computers there’d be less paperwork rather than more.

  “Where did you go?” her mother asked.

  “The Luchetti farm.”

  Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?”

  “A problem with one of the kids.”

  “I didn’t realize any of the Luchettis had children old enough to be in school.”

  Carrie had never kept up with the intricacies of Gainsville as Stella’s father had. She spent a lot of time in the garden. She knitted layettes, which she donated to a home for single mothers in Chicago. She took care of the house, shopped, made meals and, every so often, played bridge.

  Stella had been as desperate to escape a repeat of her mother’s life as she’d been to escape Gainsville itself.

  “Dean’s adopted—or rather adopting—a little boy, and he attends Gainsville Elementary.”

  “Dean?” Her mother’s eyes widened. “Isn’t there someone else at the school who can deal with him?”

  “It’s my job, and, anyway, why would I do that?”

  “Your father and Dean—” She shook her head. “They don’t get along.”

  “Still?”

  “He had no business touching you.”

  Stella flashed on the earlier scene in Dean’s yard, when he’d touched he
r and she’d gone nuts. She doubted he’d be touching her again. Which was a good thing.

  So why did she feel so bad?

  Then she realized her mother wasn’t talking about today—how could she be?—but rather fourteen years ago.

  “He had every business touching me, Mom. I wanted him to.”

  Hell, she still did. Her freak-out that afternoon notwithstanding.

  “You really shouldn’t get involved with him again, dear. Your father’s heart isn’t good. Upsetting him now like you upset him then—”

  “I’m thirty-two years old, Mom. I’ll see who I want, when I want.”

  Although it wasn’t going to be Dean, but she didn’t have to tell her mother that.

  “Your father isn’t going to stand for that man coming around here.”

  Stella thought about the conversation she and Dean had just had.

  I didn’t love you. I’m sorry.

  Why did that hurt as much now as it had then? She’d moved on. Or at least she’d thought she had until she’d moved back, seen him, remembered everything.

  Hell. “Stella?”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I doubt Dean Luchetti will ever come here again.”

  “DADDY!”

  Tim’s shout kept Dean from jumping into his pickup and chasing after Stella.

  Something had happened in L.A. to make Stella return to Gainsville—something that had made her eyes sad, her manner beyond nervous. He didn’t care for any of the scenarios he was imagining. He also didn’t care for the rush of anger that warred with a feeling of helplessness. She’d been hurt, and there was not one thing he could do about it.

  Tim threw his arms around Dean’s waist, then climbed his body like a monkey until he had a stranglehold on Dean’s neck.

  “She’s going to kill Brett.”

  Dean’s gaze met his mother’s as she lowered the kitchen utensil. “Mom, what did we say about the K-word?”

  She scowled. “The little monster ate the birthday cake right off the table!”

  Dean peered at Tim. “Why would you do that?”

  Tim rolled his eyes. “Not me. Brett.”

  “I take it Brett is the name of the new puppy.”

  Tim looked sheepish. “Is it okay if I name him after Brett Favre?”

  Dean winced. “Do you have to?”

  Favre had been tearing up Soldier Field for the past several years. It was embarrassing.

  “I guess I could call him Cubby. Like the Cubs. Then he’d fit in, right?”

  Dean glanced at the scraggly, spotted hound, which had brains enough to hide behind the pigpen. He doubted his mother would chase the beast there.

  Then again, it depended how mad she was.

  “I’m not sure he’ll fit in anywhere, kid, but he does seem more like a Cubby than a Brett.”

  Tim peered at the dog, which gave a low woof then ducked behind the building when Eleanor glanced his way.

  “I guess,” Tim said.

  Something sticky slid down Dean’s cheek and he wiped it off.

  Frosting. Tim seemed to have quite a bit in his hair.

  “Maybe you should give Cubby a bath, and yourself, too, while you’re at it.”

  “’Kay.” Tim wiggled until Dean set him down. The kid ran off to corral the dog, and Dean was left to deal with his mother.

  “Whoops?” he said.

  She smacked him in the forehead with the spatula. “Hey! What was that for? I didn’t get him a dog.”

  “Bobby’s not here. What did you get him?”

  “I’m taking him to Bloomington to buy football cleats.”

  “Football?”

  She glanced at the dog and the boy, who appeared to be using the hose to create a pig wallow. They were going to be covered in mud by the time they finished washing off the frosting. To give her credit, his mom didn’t bat an eye. Eleanor Luchetti had dealt with bigger messes than that every day of her life.

  “Do you think football’s a good idea, Dean?”

  “He wants to play.”

  “You wanted to fly, as I recall, but that didn’t mean I let you jump off the barn roof.”

  “I just did it when you weren’t looking.”

  The spatula twitched as her eyes narrowed. “I’m finding out way more than I ever wanted to know now that you guys think you can talk to me like adults.” She tilted her head, and her heavy, white braid swayed. “Did you fly?”

  “Sure. Until I fell. I think I broke a rib.”

  “And why did I never hear about this?”

  “You’d have popped a blood vessel.” Dean shrugged. “Why beg for trouble?”

  “I want to go back to the days when you hid things from me.”

  “Really?”

  “No. Tim’s too little for football.”

  “He’s quick and he’s tough.”

  “So he’s going to outrun the Neanderthals?”

  “That’s the theory.”

  “I don’t like it. And I don’t like that mutt. I walked in and found the beast buried to its eyeballs in chocolate cake.”

  “We could send him back. Let Tim have a pig instead. I don’t think a pig could climb onto the kitchen table.”

  “You are so funny. Ha-ha. I’m going to bust a gut laughing.”

  “I thought you’d like that.”

  “Fine. He can keep the puppy, but make sure it stays out of my way.”

  Eleanor stalked back into the house. Dean glanced at Tim, who was as wet and muddy as his new pet. The kid was staring at him with a forlorn expression that turned to utter joy when Dean gave him the thumbs-up.

  Tim began to dance in the mud, and Dean’s chest tightened. He’d never thought he could love again after Stella. Then Tim had shown up and everything had changed—including Dean. He wanted to be a dad. He wanted to have a family, a home, a life. Loving Tim had started to make Dean wonder if he could love another woman besides Stella.

  Dean glanced down the road. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “THIS WAS THE BEST DAY ever.” Tim threw his arms around Dean and clung.

  “I’m glad.”

  His dad sat on the side of Tim’s bed. Tim had taken a real bath. The one with the hose hadn’t worked so good. Both he and Cubby had ended up messier than when they’d started. Stuff like that happened to him a lot.

  But now he was scrubbed with soap—head to toe—and Cubby was, too. Tim would never admit it, but he liked bein’ all fresh and clean and tucked into bed by his dad.

  No matter how long he hugged Dean, Dean never pulled away first. That was one of the nicest things about him. It was almost as if he understood Tim needed to be the one to let go. Knowing Dean, he probably did.

  Tim released his dad’s neck. Dean ruffled Tim’s damp hair with his big, hard hand. Tim loved those hands. They were so wide and rough and strong. They could hurt, but they never, ever did.

  “Can Cubby sleep with me?”

  “Not until he knows better than to pee on the bed.”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  “Yes,” his dad said, “he would.”

  When Dean spoke like that, Tim gave up while he was ahead.

  “Gramma said he could stay, right?”

  “Right. Just keep him out of her way.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen.”

  “I know.”

  “Tomorrow are we goin’ to Bloomington to get my shoes? You gonna call the football coach and see if I can play on the team?”

  “You bet.”

  Tim smiled. His dad hadn’t broken a promise yet.

  There was still one thing about today that bothered Tim, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he didn’t ask.

  “What did Ms. O’Connell want?”

  His dad hesitated, and Tim held his breath, trying to remember what he’d done that might make the principal come to his house. But he hadn’t done nothin’.

  Lately.

  “She said you don’t have any friends.”

  �
��Is that weird?” Tim’s voice trembled, and he bit his lip, then glanced at his dad to see if he’d noticed.

  He had. Dean always noticed stuff like that.

  “I never had friends, either.” He tweaked Tim’s nose. “And weird is only weird if you let yourself think you’re weird. Does that make sense?”

  “No.”

  “What you think about yourself is what matters.”

  Tim squinted at Dean through his bangs. “Were you ever in second grade?”

  Dean laughed and brushed Tim’s hair out of his eyes. “I know it seems like what other people think is important, but it really isn’t. I guess I didn’t learn that until I was out of school.”

  “You didn’t need no stinkin’ friends,” Tim said, “you had the uncles.”

  “True.”

  “I need brothers.”

  Dean sighed and Tim felt kind of bad about complainin’. His dad was doing the best that he could.

  “Even if I got married tomorrow,” Dean said, “had a baby next year, by the time he, or she, was old enough to be any fun, you’d be too old to care. I think you’re going to have to make some non-Luchetti friends, Tim.”

  “I don’t wanna.”

  “Tough tootsies.”

  Tim giggled. Now that his dad had stopped swearing, he was starting to make up all sorts of goofy words to take the place of the curses, which was almost as much fun as listening to him swear.

  “Lights out now, okay?” Dean leaned over and kissed Tim’s head.

  Dean might be big and strong—a manly man he said, and then made he-man noises and flexed his muscles—but Dean always kissed Tim good-night, and goodbye and good morning, as well as a few more in between. And Dean never turned out the lights until Tim told him it was okay.

  “’Kay,” Tim said, and the room went dark.

  For some reason his dad thought he should be scared of the dark, but Tim never had been. Sure, bad things happened in the night, on the street, when you were all alone. But those days were gone. Besides, he’d always promised himself that if he ever had a place to live, if he ever found a family, he’d never have to be afraid of the dark again.

  And he wasn’t.

  Tim loved falling asleep to the sounds of his dad watching TV, or doin’ the dishes, or just movin’ around. When Tim heard those noises he knew he was home, that he wasn’t alone, and fallin’asleep was easy.