Wild Honey (9 page)

“At the hospital, you mean,” she said with a note of disapproval.

Travis’s sheepish grin was disarming. “Yeah,” he said, “but don’t go gettin’ all huffy on me, huh? C’mon, admit it. You’d’ve done the same.”

She gave a noncommittal shrug, then a thought struck.

“But the staff at Johns Hopkins wouldn’t have been able to tell you where I’d gone on vacation. How’d you learn that?”

Travis heaved a sigh. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and studied her. He had a strong feeling she wasn’t going to like this. Still, in for a dime, in for a dollar. He’d determined to be honest with her; he might as well be completely honest.

Still, it was easier said than done. Despite her calm of the moment, Randi reminded him of a skittish filly. As if, with one wrong word from him, she’d bolt and run—as, in fact, she almost had. He’d sensed an odd sort of vulnerability in her from the beginning. He’d felt it, lying just beneath the surface of that professional facade, and wondered what was behind it. There were those years of therapeutic counseling she’d had….

Well, he’d make it his business to find out more about that. Meanwhile he had some owning up to do. “You’ll recall my mentionin’ I went into government service when I left medicine?”

She nodded warily.

“Well, in my line of work, I have, uh, access, shall we say, to some computer data banks, and—”

“Data banks? You mean computerized files like—Are you with the IRS or something?” She was familiar with the Internal Revenue Service’s use of such files. What taxpayer wasn’t? Just the thought of his having access to everything from her social security number to the amount of her net earnings got her dander up. Weren’t they supposed to be confidential? Limited to use in tax matters?

Travis was looking more sheepish than ever. “Uh, not the IRS…”

“Well, what exactly?”

“Uh, the CIA.”

“The…the Central Intelligence Agency?” She looked incredulous.

He shrugged. “‘Fraid so, sugar.”

“Oh…my…God,” she breathed as several things fell into place. The gunshot wound, the VIP treatment from Bethesda and Johns Hopkins, helicopter and all. Even his cavalier attitude toward the wound. As if such things were commonplace with him—which they probably were! “Yyou mean spying and…and all that?” she asked in an unsteady voice.

Another shrug. “These days, not so much. Matter of fact, it’s mostly a desk job.”

“Desk job! No desk job got you your shoulder shot up!” She eyed the injured shoulder, now covered by a blue knit sport shirt, and there was no indication that anything was amiss. She felt embarrassed; as a professional, she should have at least asked how it was. But she’d been too shocked when she first saw him on the beach yesterday, and—good God!—he’d been swimming! And tossing a ball! What was he, some kind of superhero or something?
No,
a small inner voice reminded.
Just your routine, average, superspy tough guy. God in heaven—the CIA!

“Um…how’s your shoulder?” she managed, despite the unnerving thoughts swirling in her head. It was too much to think about right now. Maybe later.

“You should have that arm immobilized,” she added in her best professional voice. “Where’s your sling?”

His slow grin was pure devilry. “Is that concern I hear, sugar?”

“This ‘sugar’ is a nurse, McLean,” she managed over the ragged rhythm of her pulse. Lord, how was she supposed to sound professionally detached when he grinned like that?

He chuckled softly. He loved to watch the color of those eyes deepen, when he teased her, to that unique shade that reminded him of wild honey. “The shoulder’s fine,” he told her. “Relax, sugar. I have a degree from Harvard says I oughtta know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

Sally Ann arrived, asking if they’d care to order anything else. Randi shook her head, and Travis asked for the check. Minutes later they were out the door.

“Looks like it’s coolin’ off some,” Travis observed as he escorted her to the Jeep. An offshore breeze had swept away the humidity, and patches of blue sky were visible in the east.

His comment was just small talk while he tried to think of a way to steer their conversation back to meaningful ground. She seemed more comfortable with him, but she was still wary. He needed to get beyond that. More importantly, he needed to engineer some time with his son.

“Look, Randi,” he said as she took her keys from her purse, “I sure do ‘preciate the time you’ve given me.” He took the keys from her and unlocked the car door, then caught her hand; placing the keys in her palm, he sandwiched it between his. “But I think you know we haven’t half covered everythin’. How ‘bout a repeat, say, dinner tomorrow night?”

She tried to ignore the way she felt as her hand was enveloped by his. The way her heart beat an irregular tattoo with the sense this imparted of his masculine strength—a strength that was somehow gentle. Utterly nonthreatening, despite his size. He had long graceful fingers, she noted, their backs dusted with tiny hairs bleached white against the tan of his skin.

“Haven’t—” She had to clear her throat, start again. “Haven’t covered everything?” she asked, withdrawing her hand and the keys. She already regretted her admission of Matt’s parentage. Travis had sworn he meant no harm, but his idea of harm and hers might be two entirely different things. “What, for instance?”

“Have dinner with me tomorrow night ‘n’ I’ll tell you.”

“I—I’m sorry, but I have plans.” Jill and David were coming tomorrow night to fetch Matt and take him to Disney World. She was suddenly glad she’d let Jill talk her
into it. Matt would soon be hundreds of miles away from Travis—and whatever he had in mind.

She explained about the visit to Disney World, hoping he’d see the futility of hanging around. Hoping he’d give up.

If he was disconcerted, he didn’t show it “Okay, then how ‘bout a picnic on the beach tomorrow?”

Tomorrow? On the beach? But that would mean Matt…

As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “I know—Matt’ll be there. Look, Randi.” His voice gentled, becoming a soft-spoken plea. “I’m not an ogre. I’m just a man. A man who’s hopin’ to be allowed some time to observe, close up, the child he didn’t even know he had till just days ago. And that’s all I’m askin’ for—a chance to spend some harmless time with the boy. Please?”

It sounded so simple, yet she knew it had to involve more than that. “What else, Travis?” she asked carefully. “What about those ‘things we haven’t half covered’?”

He sighed, wanting to save it for a place better suited to serious talk than a parking lot. But there was one burning question that had been plaguing him. Not only through lunch, but since the beginning. Before he had time to think better of it, he found himself blurting it out.

“Well, for starters, there’s the fact that Matt doesn’t have a—Forgive me, Randi, but I’ve gotta ask. Why would an attractive woman like you choose single parenthood? Why decide to bring a kid into the world with no man—no husband, hell,
no father—to
help raise him?”

He knew it was a mistake the moment the question was out. He sensed her withdrawal. A yawning chasm suddenly grew between them, far greater than the small backward step she took.

“Mr. McLean,” she said icily, “there are some questions I may be willing to answer, given your honesty so far
and your need for certain…reassurances. But there is one question I won’t allow. Never,
never
ask me about my decision to do it alone. I absolutely won’t discuss it.”

R
ESISTING AN URGE
to slam the refrigerator door, Randi carried a jug of lemonade to the table. With a glance at Matt, she also refrained from banging the jug down, instead setting it quietly beside the pile of fried chicken she’d made last night. Banging it, she told herself, probably wouldn’t vent enough steam, anyway.

Already dressed for the beach and oblivious to his mother’s pique, Matt was busily pushing his last Cheerio across the milk in his bowl with a spoon. Thoroughly engrossed, he made serious motorboat noises in his throat as the lone Cheerio sped around a curve. Randi smiled, momentarily forgetting her annoyance with herself.

And with Travis McLean.

Telling Matt he could finish packing the cooler if he was careful, Randi stalked to her bedroom, her thoughts of McLean no less charitable than when she’d risen—early—to make the miserable lemonade. From scratch, no less!

“Face it, Terhune,” she muttered as she removed her robe and flung it on the bed. “Where that man is concerned, you’re a spineless jellyfish!”

The bald fact was, Travis had somehow managed to talk her into that picnic on the beach today. She still wasn’t sure how it happened. But the man had a way about him, and he’d used it to get past her defenses. By the time she left Ollie’s yesterday, she’d even offered to bring the picnic lunch.
Offered!
She must be losing her mind. But it had
seemed reasonable at the time, what with him treating at Ollie’s.

That was just the trouble, she thought as she discarded her pajamas and stepped into the shower. He made everything seem so reasonable. Had she really accepted his revelations about working for the CIA so readily? A desk job, he’d called it. Hah!

And yet she’d meekly decided to shelve her questions until later. Of course, as she’d reviewed everything while lying—sleepless for a good two hours—in bed last night. she’d determined such inquiries moot. After today she’d be rid of Travis McLean, so what he did for a living was immaterial.

But then there was that promise he’d made. That he wouldn’t let a hint of his connection to Matt touch her son when he saw him today. That had seemed reasonable, too. At the time.

Only, as she’d lain awake last night, the doubts had crept in. What if Matt picked up vibes, as children often do, of something more than casual in their meeting? Travis had suggested he’d simply “bump into” Matt and her again, as he’d done the other day. But Matt was an observant child. So even if McLean pulled it off—which he might; weren’t intelligence men trained in subterfuge?—she might not. Matt knew her far better than McLean, after all.

She heaved a sigh as she stepped from the shower and reached for a towel. Wrapping it about her hair like a turban, she grabbed another and absently dried herself as more doubts crowded her mind.

Her worst fear was that Travis wouldn’t be content with this single day with Matt. What if he began to demand more time with him? Didn’t he say he wanted to be actively involved in the parenting of
any
children he had?

His description of his relationship with his own father, she had to admit, was a persuasive argument for Travis’s point of view. His story had moved her, and she appreciated
his honesty and his openness in sharing it with her. But that didn’t mean she was responsible for accommodating him. She had Matt to think about.

But Matt’s begun to notice families with fathers,
a small voice niggled,
and you can’t deny the looks of longing you’ve seen on your son’s face when he does. Not to mention his fascination with McLean during that brief encounter on the beach. Remember? He talked about his “friend Travis” all through supper!

With a huff of exasperation, Randi flung her towel over the bar, refusing to give ear to her traitorous thoughts for one more second. Travis had elected to be a
biological
parent, nothing more. So he’d just have to live with the consequences. Huh, ten days ago, he didn’t even know Matt existed! Why should she let him upset their well-ordered lives because of a chance encounter? He had no right!

Ripping the towel off her head, she grabbed her comb and turned to the mirror. It was fogged, so she wrapped the towel around her like a sarong and opened the door a crack to let the steam out. She could hear Matt’s sweet boyish soprano from the kitchen. He was again singing the Barney song…about love and a happy family.

Closing her eyes, she swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat.
Dear God, I love him so! Please help me do what’s right by him. If I ever let him down, even unintentionally, I couldn’t bear—

“Hey, Mom,” Matt called from the kitchen, “the cooler’s all packed! Can we go now?”

“In a few minutes, honey. Why don’t you collect your beach toys from your room while I finish up, okay?”

Hearing her son’s cheerful affirmative, Randi made a special effort to dispel her doubtful musings. Matt was such a positive upbeat child. The least she could do today was dredge up some cheer on her part. This was their vacation, after all. Their long-awaited hunk of quality time together. And tonight Jill and David would be coming to pick Matt
up for the Disney World trip. She owed it to her son to make this last day special, McLean or no McLean!

She quickly blew her hair dry, then reached for the yellow bikini hanging on a peg behind the door—and stopped. Did she really want to wear Jill’s skimpy selection from Victoria’s Secret today? With Travis McLean and his thousand-megawatt masculinity within sizzling distance?

She was all too keenly aware she wasn’t blind to the man’s devastating looks or the sexuality he exuded. For the first time in her life, she knew what people meant when they spoke of chemistry between male and female. Yet that kind of attraction to a male was the last thing she wanted in her life. She had no intention of disturbing the carefully wrought peace she’d fashioned for herself.

With a decisive nod, she headed for the chest of drawers in the bedroom. Good thing she’d packed that modest onepiece, despite Jill’s objections!

“M
OM, LOOK
—it’s Travis!” Matt dropped his pail and shovel beside the blanket and waved at the figure who’d just appeared on the beach. Grinning, he started off in Travis’s direction. Suddenly he halted, pivoting toward his mother, who’d made a quiet but firm point about not talking to strangers when they’d come in from the beach two days before. “Can I go talk to him, Mom?” he asked anxiously. “He’s not a stranger anymore, is he?”

“No, honey, I guess he’s not, but—”

“Thanks, Mom!” With a whoop, Matt bounded off, making a beeline for the man, who’d paused to watch the boy, a broad smile on his face.

Randi chuckled, although she still had reservations about the wisdom of this “chance” encounter. Matt was full of energy as usual, but fairly jumping with excitement today. Despite the fact that Jill had called to say, just as she and Matt were about to head out the door for the picnic, that she and David would be delayed a day and would come
for Matt late the next afternoon. Something about a last-minute snafu with a worried client at David’s firm.

But it didn’t matter because neither sister had told Matt about the Disney World trip yet. It had long been a policy between the sisters not to raise the child’s expectations too far in advance of a treat—just in case something happened and plans had to be abandoned. But on the phone they’d decided it was now safe to tell him. As Jill had put it, “Come hell or high water, that nephew of mine’s gonna meet the big mouse this weekend, no matter what!”

Matt had gone wide-eyed with astonishment at the news. He’d danced around the kitchen table, singing the Mickey Mouse song Randi and he had learned from television reruns of the “Mickey Mouse Club” recently. Randi had promptly decided “M-I-C…K-E-Y” was a welcome change from the Barney song.

“Mom, here’s Travis,” Matt announced importantly as the pair approached the blanket. “An’ look—his swimsuit’s just like mine!”

Randi did look—and had to swallow as some nameless emotion threatened. It wasn’t just that they were wearing similar navy trunks, although that added to the impact. Standing side by side, her son and his father were so clearly father and son a person would have to be blind not to see it.

The sun had lightened their blond hair in precisely the same fashion. Identically thick unruly locks shot with flaxen strands, she thought with a painful tightening of her throat. And twin pairs of blue eyes crinkled at the corners in just the same way as they both grinned at her, revealing identical sets of dimples.
Oh, God, this was a mistake. I never should have agreed. Never!

“Hi, Ms. Terhune. Pleasure meetin’ y’all here again.” Travis’s voice cut across her regret with resonant charm. Her own voice held only the slight Southern inflection common to the D.C. area; his suggested lazy afternoons on
shady verandas, indolent strolls along sun-dappled paths lined with live oaks dripping Spanish moss.

Randi could only nod, not trusting her voice as she stared up at him. She had to bend her head back to do so, and that big muscular body seemed to go on forever, towering against the sky. Perhaps, she thought, it was simply her disadvantage of being seated while he stood. Unfortunately this did nothing to calm her hammering pulse.

Matt giggled. “You called her Miz Terhune.” He turned to his mother. “But she’s Randi most all the time, aren’t you, Mom?”

“Well,” she began, grateful for the distraction as her gaze swung to her son, “I think—”

“Aunt Jill always calls you Randi, right, Mom?” Matt grinned at her, crinkling blue eyes swinging merrily to Travis, then back again.

The imp!
she thought.
He’s making sure we’re on a firstname basis. Travis and I. That we’re not…strangers.

She chuckled as she met her son’s not-quite-guileless gaze, feeling her tension melt away. “Randi, it is,” she agreed. She gestured at Travis and the thick rolled-up towel he carried, then at their blanket. “Won’t you join us, uh, Travis?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Travis murmured just for Randi’s ears as Matt let out a whoop of approval. His wink was also for her alone as he hunkered down beside her to spread out his towel; Matt was busy exclaiming over the football that had dropped on the sand when the towel was unrolled.

“Wanna throw some passes, Travis?” Matt chirped eagerly. He was trying to position the ball high above his shoulder, just as he’d seen on television. “Can we? You ‘n’ me?”

“Sure can, Tiger.” Travis adjusted the four-year-old’s small fingers for a better grip on the pigskin, helping him mime a pass. “That’s the stuff,” he said approvingly, then
ruffled his son’s curls, grinning down at him. “But how ‘bout we get wet first? That water looks mighty invitin’.”

“Yeah!’ Matt exclaimed. The football fell to the sand, forgotten, and he seized Travis’s hand. Without a trace of self-consciousness, Randi noted, as if he’d been doing it all his life. “C’mon!” he said with a tug.

“Whoa, there, Tiger,” Travis said with a chuckle. He glanced at Randi. “Could be your mom wants to join us.”

“Yeah, Mom! You said you’d go in when the sun got all hotted up.” Matt squinted at the sky. “Sure is hotted up now—” his glance fell on the man beside him “—right, Travis?”

Randi laughed, trying not to mind the way her son turned to Travis for approval. “Okay,” she managed cheerfully, and McLean extended his free hand, pulling her to her feet. As if she weighed nothing at all, she couldn’t help noticing.

Just as she couldn’t help noticing the way his eyes moved admiringly over her long-limbed figure in the pale green swimsuit. Her gaze skittering away from his, she quickly released his hand and shouted, “Let’s go!”

The three of them ran toward the water, Matt’s joyous laughter bringing smiles to the faces of the dozen or so others on the beach.

“M
OM MAKES
the bestest picnic in the whole world!” Matt exclaimed a few hours later. He was opening the cooler as he sat on the blanket between the two adults. Two adults who, if not utterly exhausted, were giving a pretty good imitation of it.

“I bet she does.” Travis slanted a glance at Randi. Flopped on her back, she had her eyes closed and was panting as hard as he was. “Y’know,” he told her as Matt began to pull things from the cooler, “I read somewhere that little kids can run circles around adults.”

“Huh, tell me about it,” she replied, remembering the three hours of wave hopping, serious swimming and touch
football they’d just shared with a four-year-old who wasn’t even out of breath.

“The article said—” Travis paused as Matt handed him a flattened foil-wrapped parcel “—that some folks once ran a study to prove it.”

“Do tell,” Randi put in with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Which wasn’t much, given the urge she felt to sleep for ten hours right there on the beach.

“Yup,” he went on as Matt handed a similar squashed parcel to his mother. “They asked Jim Thorpe, regarded by many as the greatest athlete of all time, to match the actions of a baby, move for move, to see how they compared.”

“What happened?” Matt asked, suddenly interested.

Travis chuckled. “Believe it was only a couple hours till ol’ Jim gave up—worn to a frazzle.”

“Yeah?” Matt asked. “An’ what about the baby?”

Travis chuckled again and affectionately ruffled his son’s hair. “The baby, Tiger, was still goin’ strong.”

“I believe it,” Randi muttered as she pushed herself to a sitting position to help Matt pour lemonade into a paper cup.

“Here, let me do that.” Travis took the heavy jug from her. “It’s the least I can do after y’all went to so much trouble.”

“Mom got up
real
early to make this,” Matt said as he accepted his lemonade.

“Did she now?” Travis noted the sudden blush beneath Randi’s tan.

“Yep,” Matt said, “but she made the chicken ‘n’ stuff last night.” He began unwrapping one of the flattened pieces he’d buried under the jug of lemonade when he’d packed the cooler. “I helped, too.” He glanced at his mother. “Um, a little bit.”

“Let me guess.” Travis grinned as he eyed his squashed chicken breast. “You packed the cooler, right?”