The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(93)

“Perfectly fair,” he said. “Now I have a favor to ask.”

“You want the two thousand back?”

“Nah. I want you to find me a pillow and blanket. I gotta go somewhere and I don’t know how long this is gonna take. I have to go knock on Ray Anne’s door. I have lots of amends to make and I bet she’s really pissed.”

“You didn’t tell her you were leaving, did you?”

“You’re brilliant, kid. I really like that woman, but she’s not going to be happy and I don’t blame her. You have any advice?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “Duck.”

Twenty-One

It took Ray Anne a while to answer her front door, though there was a light on inside. It took Al only a moment to assess—she had her hair wrapped in a pink cloth, tied in a bow on top of her head. She had no eyebrows. In fact, no eyelashes that he could see. She was wearing yellow silk pajamas, little feathery slippers, with heels, her face was greasy and she wore white gloves on her hands. Her mouth formed an O when she saw him. And then she slammed the door in his face.

So, this wasn’t going to be easy.

He stood there for a minute, thinking. Then he tried the door and of course it was locked. He walked around the side of the house and let himself into the garage through the side door—not locked. The door into the kitchen wasn’t locked and he walked in. She was standing in the middle of the living room and the house was very small so she saw him enter and shrieked. Her fists were clenched at her sides and her eyes were the size of hubcaps.

He thought she was the cutest little thing.

He took two long steps toward her, slipped his arms around her waist and lifted her off her little pink slippers and planted a big one on her mouth. He kept his lips there until her arms went reluctantly around his neck. After drowning her in a generous and passionate kiss for a full minute, he slid his mouth free of hers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her lips. “That was awful of me, leaving like I did. You don’t have to forgive me, but I’ll never do that again.”

“You’re a bull,” she said. “You probably just want sex!”

He smiled. “Well, yes, I do, as a matter of fact. But that’s not why I came back.”

“Then why?”

“Three reasons. I like it here. I like you. I want to see if I can do anything to help those Russell boys. They could use someone on their team right now.”

“Help them how?” she asked, reaching a hand up to adjust her head gear and bow.

“I’m going to apply to be a foster parent. They’re in a bad place right now and Justin can’t do it without help.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly let down.

“If I live and work here, I can see you.”

“If you’re a father you won’t see that much of me,” she said.

“Come on, of course I will. They’re teenagers. They need supervision—they don’t have to be rocked and burped. I’m sure I’ll get a hall pass when I want one. I missed you, Ray. We work real well together. We have some good talks, some great laughs. You’re a damn good woman and we hit it off. I’d be a fool to let you get away.”

“It’s good you want to help some kids but really, if the kids didn’t need you, would you—”

“Come back to you? I think so, yes. I’ve been stuck in a sorry old pattern for a long, long time. I wanted to get on with my life better than I had. Be warned—I’m not that smart.”

“You’re very smart,” she said. “One of the smartest men I know.”

“You’re sucking up,” he said with a raised brow and a half smile.

“Oh, sure.” She laughed. “What’s that going to get me? You can’t even fit in my car. And you have now officially seen me at my worst.”

He lowered his lips and gave her a small kiss. “I told you before, I think you’re pretty. Can we be made up now? Because I don’t have many tricks in my old bag of tricks and I’d have to go ask that seventeen-year-old for advice.”

“I want one thing,” she said. “I want you to learn to call in advance. I want eyebrows at our next rendezvous.”

“You don’t want my oath that I’ll never leave without saying goodbye again?” he asked.

She shook her head. “You do that again, cowboy, and it’s the last time you come back to me.”

“You’re a tough woman, Ray. I like that.”

* * *

Laine and Senior sat on opposite sides of his desk playing an early morning game of Scrabble. He’d lost his edge; some things just didn’t come to him with the speed that he once possessed, but he was holding his own pretty well. He made a few mistakes, some of his words weren’t words, but he’d had a good couple of days. Just a few forays into the abyss. He often asked for his wife and Laine had learned not to tell him she was dead—it was as if the grief was fresh and new each time. She just said she wasn’t home. “Excellent,” she said of the game. “I didn’t think I’d ever beat you at Scrabble.”

“I gave you an advantage,” he said. “I should get a handicap.”

She laughed at him. “One more?”

“Sure,” he said, letting her mix up the little letters again. “Laine, I’m sorry. I think I said it already, but I’m sorry. For everything.”