Yours, Mine & Ours (7 page)

Still, seeing him invariably provoked some icky memories. Discovering all Thom's cheating had been a blow—but the worse blow had been his explanations. He actually believed that he was entitled. That casual sex with others “didn't take anything away” from her. He believed they had a terrific life, including a great sex life, so what he did in his spare time would never have mattered, if she just hadn't found out.

Oh, yeah. He'd also mentioned that becoming a mother had made her less physically attractive, less attentive, less adventurous and fun.

He must have thought she needed that extra kick in the teeth.

Now she thought…maybe she had. Because that fight had given her the momentum to kick him out.

She waved goodbye to Molly until the black car turned the corner, then whipped around. She had tons
to do today. Drapes. Closet organizing. Rug issues. All the kinds of new-home projects that were boring for Molly, and Amanda could accomplish twice as fast if she were alone.

She'd just reached for the front doorknob when a car pulled into Mike's driveway. Two people emerged from the steel-gray Volvo. The woman, stepping from the passenger side, was a stunner. Salon blond. Tall and sleek, doing the safari linen and khaki style thing. A toned figure that made any normal woman want to slap her.

Mike's ex, Amanda assumed.

But the car's driver was the shocker. The man climbing from the driver's seat was sneezing into a handkerchief. He was a little guy with a sweet face and a comb-over. He wore an immaculate white polo, with creased shorts that unfortunately revealed bony, ropy legs. Possibly he weighed in at one hundred and fifty pounds, after a stuffed dinner. Possibly.

She wasn't
staring.
She'd have gone right back in her house, except that Mike's front door opened, and out zoomed the hound, the cat, Teddy and finally Mike.

The hound and cat looked excited to see the visitors. Teddy was hanging on tightly to Mike's hand.

The driver of the car took one look at the animals, and dove back in the car, sneezing several times in succession. Mike, who had a disreputable look to
start with, looked even less shaved, less brushed, less kempt than usual. More sexy. But he definitely had made a point of looking just-woken-up and didn't-give-a-royal-fig.

The blonde crossed the walk, bent down, took Teddy's hand. The squirt was holding back tears, but he talked to his mother and was eventually coaxed into the backseat of the Volvo.

“I'll have a cell phone on all day,” Mike told her.

“He'll be fine with me.” To Teddy, in a sugary voice, she said, “We're going to have a great day, honey, I promise. And George is really looking forward to our day together.”

When the Volvo backed out of the driveway, Mike was still standing there, flanked by the hound and the cat. He spotted her when he turned.

Amanda had a flashback of fireflies and a wild, erotic mating dance…but she tamped that memory down. “
What
was that?” she asked.

“You mean, the guy?”

“Yeah.”

“He's one of the main reasons I gave up sex after the divorce.”

She'd done a fine job of steering clear of him for almost a week, but shoot. There were some things she could resist. This wasn't one of them. “I'm bringing fresh coffee,” she said, went into her house, refilled her mug, filled one for him and crossed the driveways to his front porch.

He was sitting on the front step, with his critters. Cat wasn't about to budge, but the hound made room for her.

He accepted the mug, took a long deep slug of it. Said, “George is a germ freak. He's afraid of dirt and germs. Or about everything important in a little boy's life. Teddy can't do anything right when he's over there—and I'm going to worry about him the whole damned day.”

“I would, too.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” he said firmly, and then, “She's not pushing for custody. Good thing. Because I'd fight her to the wall. But I can't deny her time with Teddy. I mean, she's his mother, for God's sake.”

“I understand.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” he said again, took another gulp of coffee, hunched elbows on his knees and then went on. “I couldn't believe it when I found out she was cheating. I know this sounds damned egotistical, but I honestly believed that part of our lives was fine. Better than fine. So the worst part was finding out she was cheating with
him.
”

Since he'd already finished his mug, she handed him hers. She wasn't drinking more coffee anyway. She tried not to breathe. She didn't want anything diverting him from telling her more of the story.

He shot a gesture to the sky. Not the middle-finger gesture. Just a frustrated gesture. “If she was going to
cheat, at least it could have been with a better-looking guy. A richer guy. Someone who had some appeal, I could see. But Mr. Dork there? Talk about a kick in the nuts. Not that I want to talk about it.”

“I can see you don't.”

“But then and there, I voted for celibacy for the rest of my life. I mean, I admit, I worked long hours. But I also made good money. When Teddy was born, I brought in help for her, with the baby and the house. Made sure she had private time to see her friends, take on projects, not always feel tied down. And she was a good mom. I thought. And I thought I was making time for the two of us. We still went out. Did things. Hell. I didn't even know she was unhappy. She just said out of the blue that she was leaving. For George. And told our son that we hadn't gotten along, but Teddy never
saw
us not getting along. So he keeps saying he knows it was because he was too much trouble.”

“Yikes,” she said gently.

“He's
not
too much trouble. But that bozo makes it all worse, because Teddy can't please him. He really, really tries, but sooner or later, a glass of milk is going to spill. Or he'll forget to flush. Or he'll pick up something he's not supposed to touch. Or he'll do something wrong, on George's terms. Nobody yells at him. He just hates it there. You know what he tells me?”

“What?”

“That going there makes him sick to his stomach.
That's
why I did the worm farm. And dug the water garden in back. I just wanted to let him do certain things—make messes, get dirty. If he spills some water, putting water in the dish for the dog and cat, it's like, so what? He's learning to take care of pets, to look out for them. He's four. How is he supposed to do anything perfect when he's four?”

“Mike?”

“
What?”

“It kills me, too. When I have to give up my kid for the day. And I had a huge list of stuff on the day's plate, from curtains to wallpaper to organizing closets. I still have dishes in boxes. And—”

“Good grief. I could get tired, just imagining you trying to accomplish all that.”

“I'm tired, just thinking about it. Which kind of sparked a new thought.” She hesitated, certain a bad idea was about to surface, yet for that precise second she couldn't analyze why it was so bad. “How about if we spend a few grown-up hours together? Have lunch out. Someplace you'd never take four-year-olds. Then see a movie. Something—
anything
—that's not a cartoon or has Disney anywhere in the credits.”

He looked at her. She looked back. He said, “I'll change shoes and get my wallet.”

“I have to take the dog out.”

“Speaking of which—”

“No, she hasn't been to the vet yet. The whole
thing got kind of complicated. I had an appointment, then their office called and said the vet had a family emergency. But she's seeing Darling in two days. The appointment's made. So that's not a problem on the table today.”

“Okay, then. Five minutes. Back here. My car?”

“Fine by me.”

S
ix hours later, Mike left the Dan Ryan—the expressway where faint-of-heart drivers were tortured at rush hour, a uniquely Chicagoan sport—and turned into the curve toward the western suburbs. They still wouldn't be home for another twenty minutes.

He didn't want the day to end.

He glanced at his passenger. Amanda had never said a word about riding in the pickup, but she was obviously comfortable. Even strapped in, she'd managed to curl her legs under her, had slipped off a sandal.

“This has been the best day,” she murmured.

“You're not kidding.” He'd been both wary and willing of playing hooky with her. Wary, because
she already inspired too many wrong ideas and hormones. And yet willing, because…well, because after his ex-wife drove off, he'd still felt the rug burns on his ego.

Nancy had never said the exact words, but her opinion of him was clear. Lawyer or not, great education or not, he was still hopelessly rough-edged. Too earthy. Too physical. Too sexual. Her choosing ‘George' pretty obviously underlined everything she'd found wrong with him. Maybe he'd achieved stature in a notable law firm, but that didn't give him elegance or taste by her standards.

Amanda was distinctly a woman of elegance and taste. So chances were she'd discover those rotten qualities and back off…or his own rug burns would make him too wary to get further involved.

All of which was to say…he'd been able to relax with her today.

Maybe even more than relax. They'd had just plain old ordinary fun. She'd picked the lunch spot, a place where she got to choose lobster bisque and he could vote for a raw red steak. Their entrees echoed how different they were, but that didn't seem to matter. The restaurant was packed with a professional lunch crowd. All adults. No spills, no screams, no, “I don't want this!” or “Are we done yet?” or “I'm bored, Dad!”

The movie was even better. She'd picked the restaurant, so he'd picked the movie. It was the first flick
he'd seen in ages that had some skin, some blood, some action. She could eat the chocolate she wanted. He could have his own popcorn. No one whispered in his ear. No one claimed they had to go to the bathroom three times. He actually got to see a movie from start to end.

It's not as if this were a date….

He wasn't aware he'd spoken aloud, until Amanda chuckled. “Of course it wasn't a date. We're not
dating.
We just had a grown-up afternoon.” She sighed with contentment. “No Bambi. No comic-book characters. And I had the whole chocolate bar.”

He laughed. “You had two, I believe.”

“Yeah, I admit I went overboard—but I haven't had a whole chocolate bar to myself in…well, in years. I'm always trying to think about setting the right example.” She smiled at him again. “That's the best part. A whole afternoon without any ‘shoulds' or ‘have tos'.”

Damned, if he didn't feel exactly the same way. It was funny, but he hadn't been easy in his own skin for a long time now. Certainly not when he was married. There always seemed to be something he was doing or saying wrong, something that was going to get analyzed and criticized.

It seemed unbelievable—if not downright crazy—that he could feel that rare sense of easiness with her.

By the time he pulled in his driveway, she was still
smiling…and so was he. “We have a couple of hours before the kids are due home,” she said.

“Yeah. Both of us might even catch a nap or some reading time.” He climbed out at the same time she did, stretched. Cat and Slugger burst out of the pet door as if they hadn't seen him in a decade. Cat slapped Slugger with a paw when the hound tried to reach him first. Slugger immediately howled, but he couldn't have been hurt too badly, because he kept galloping, ears flapping in the wind.

Amanda laughed and then kept on laughing. “I'm afraid I'll be greeted the same way when I walk in the door.”

And she turned that way…but she didn't seem in any rush to race home. They both seemed to linger. Just standing there. He'd tried not to pay attention, but the warmth of late-afternoon sunshine brushed her shoulders, turned her hair into fire, and her eyes—he swore—were as emerald-green as the jewel.

“Well…thanks for a great afternoon,” she said, and bounced up—as if she intended to give him a friendly, neighborly hug.

He thought that fast hug was a great idea—a way to underline how easily they were going to maintain the friendship thing. Only…once she lifted up on tiptoes, she seemed to hesitate. The shine in her eyes seemed to darken. He felt the brush of those sassy high breasts, the graze of her pelvis, the scent of her skin take over his air space.

In that spare second, he couldn't seem to breathe—except for her. Couldn't seem to move—because basic touches ignited a maelstrom of furious wants and noisy needs. Couldn't seem to control the hunger—to kiss her again.

He didn't.

She didn't.

For a good, long three seconds.

It was her fault things changed, he was pretty sure, because she was the one who swung her arms around his neck. But then…hell. He couldn't keep his mouth off hers, and the kiss became a banquet of tasting, taking, wooing. He had to touch her. Had to. He stroked down her spine, the route not familiar, just familiar enough so that he knew the curve in her knew a palm on her fanny brought a groan…and encouraged her to lean even tighter into him.

Invitations hung in the air, unseen, invisible, but real as the sunlight.
Maybe
suddenly seemed the longest word in the English language, analyzed between her lips and his, between the silken brush of her hair in the breeze, between the heat he could feel rising in her skin, through her skin…into him.

She lifted her head, opened stunned-soft eyes, looked straight at him.

She swallowed. He got his breath back. She remembered to drop her hands from around his neck. He remembered to drop his hands from around
her back. The flush on her cheeks—there was no changing that.

There was no changing the brick inside his jeans, either.

But suddenly she turned her head, said out of the complete blue, “We really do need a fence between our yards, to keep our pets separated.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that before.” Since she created the diversion, he was more than willing to embellish it. “Instead of a barrier kind of fence…what would you think about an electric one?”

“What a great idea. Then your dog and my dog can't cross over. But then it won't be an unfriendly fence. It'll just…you know. Help.”

Exactly what he thought. Maybe their dogs didn't need it—but he sure as hell did. He needed something that would zap him—electrocute him if necessary—when he felt the urge to touch her again.

The electrocution idea seemed to gain momentum all on its own, because when he heard the sound of a car pulling in his drive, he jumped back from Amanda as if the foot between them was electrically charged.

The man climbing down from a tan SUV was a complete stranger. He was short and plump, sweating under his golf tan. He wore the usual suburban uniform of polo shirt and shorts, and approached them with a waxy smile and a hand raised to shake. “Hello. I live in the first house at the top of the cul-de-sac. I
know you're Amanda Scott and Mike Conroy. I hope you both got a note from me when you first moved in.”

If Mike had, he didn't remember it. Amanda did. “From the Home Owners' Association?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“I thought it was nice of you to welcome a newcomer to the neighborhood that way,” Amanda said warmly.

“I thought we'd better have a little talk before there were problems,” Warren White said cordially.

“What problems?” Mike said warily.

“We have some rules in the neighborhood. Ordinances. Policies to keep the neighborhood to a standard we all like.”

“Exactly what rules?” Mike's spine was instinctively stiffening. If this guy was going to try playing law games with him, he should have done his homework.

“I'm afraid you can't put a water garden in your backyard without permission.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“And, Amanda, I'm afraid you need permission to plant trees, as well.”

“What? You mean, the little dogwood I planted yesterday—?”

Warren kindly shook his head. “I'm afraid you needed permission. I'm sorry you didn't get it ahead of time.”

Warren promised to put a list of the rules in each of their mailboxes. There were rules about what time a person could water their grass. Rules about recycling. Rules about noise. Rules about dandelion control. Rules about the length of grass allowed. Rules about no parking on the street overnight, no RV parking, no sheds put up in the yards—without permission. “Many people want fences, but we don't want the look of the neighborhood to deteriorate, so before putting in a fence, that's another thing you need to have permission for—”

“When exactly are these Home Owners' Association meetings, and where are they held?” Mike interrupted abruptly.

“Every third Thursday of the month. 7:00 p.m., after dinner. Because I'm president this year, I usually hold them in my family room. You're both welcome to attend. But I do assure you that the covenant rules are all legally binding.”

For no apparent reason, Amanda suddenly snugged her hand in his, pressing hard, and stepped just a bit in front of him. “Thanks so much for stopping by, Mr. White. I suspect we're both likely to attend your next meeting. Thanks for filling us in.”

When the superficial, supercilious jerk backed out of the driveway, she dropped his hand. “Okay.
Now
you can froth at the mouth. But try not to bellow at least until he's out of sight.”

“Why would you think I was angry?”

“A wild guess,” she assured him. “Although seeing you exhale fire was probably the first clue.”

“Well, who elected him God? Did we suddenly land in a dictator state, or is this still America? What possible reason can there be why I can't have a water garden? And if he thinks I'm taking it out, he's about to find out why I made law partner when I was still in my twenties.”

“Mike.”

“What?”

“Try and remember that we're in a foreign country. I think they call it the suburbs.”

Okay, okay, so she made him laugh in spite of himself.

And right then, Nancy and her George drove up—almost two hours earlier than planned. Teddy peeled out of the car faster than a criminal just granted parole.

Mike still wanted to finish his conversation with Amanda, but abruptly her hot-shot ex pulled in next door with Molly.

There was no more time to worry about sex or embraces or how damn much she was starting to mean to him.

From the look on his son's face, it was going to be a ticklish evening. And from the look on Molly's… Amanda was going to have her hands even more full.

 

Amanda didn't want to leave Mike. She knew the neighborhood “representative” had rubbed him the wrong way. Warren White struck her as the kind of ineffectual person who had no power in his real life, so he got a thrill out of imposing rules on others about their water-sprinkling schedules. Still. Mike should realize the guy was just a pompous wannabe bully…not a real problem.

In the meantime, though, she couldn't be the one to calm him down.

She definitely had her hands full with Molly.

Her daughter submitted to a bath, willingly changed into pink baby-doll pajamas, but after that, she folded her arms across her chest with a major diva scowl. “I want some mommy time and I want it
now.
”

It wasn't as if Amanda hadn't been through this before. She put a fluffy blanket on the deck. Brought out the tray of nail polishes. Molly brought her doll-size tea set. The teapot was filled with milk.

“Daddy tricked me!” was the dramatic opening to Molly's tirade.

“How, honey?”

“He was real nice and real nice and real nice. Only, then we got to his house. And there was a lady there. A
stupid
lady.”

Across the way, Amanda could see lights popping on and off at Mike's house. Her attention was on her
daughter, but a thick clog seemed to have settled in her stomach. Mike was probably doing exactly what she was. Dealing with a child wounded by their divorce. Through no fault of their own, his Teddy and her Molly were both still reeling from the mistakes of their parents.

Molly, temporarily, stopped her rant to study her hands, which had been soaked and filed and were now ready for the fun part. Color. “Can we do our toenails after our hand nails?”

“Sure.”

“I want yellow for my toenails.”

“I'm pretty sure we have yellow.” Amanda didn't actually look at the basket of polishes, but since color was always a major issue for her daughter, she was almost positive they had the whole crayon set of choices.

“And I want different colors for every hand nail.”

“Okay.” Amanda had learned a long time ago never to sweat the small stuff. “Now tell me more about your day.”

“She had on this big fakey smile. Like grown-ups use for kids. And she says, ‘How would you like to go shopping with me?' And I say, ‘No, thanks, I'm here to see my dad.' And she says, ‘If we go shopping, I thought I'd get you an American Girl doll.' And I say, ‘No, thank you, my mommy gets me all the American Girl dolls I could possibly want.'” Molly looked up with stormy eyes. “Okay. So that was a lie. And
it was really hard to say no, because I
really, really
need another American Girl doll. But she was being a pain.”

“Honey. Sweetheart. Now, think a minute. It doesn't sound like she was being a pain. It sounds as if she was trying very, very hard to be nice to you.”

“No. She just wanted to give me a doll so I'd like her. And I'm never going to like her. She had three boxes of games. And grape Kool-Aid. So fine. I played some games with her. But you know what?”