With a Little Luck (6 page)

“In a little bit.” The heat of the sun burning into his exposed flesh made him lazy.

A red beach ball bounced on the sand near him and rolled onto his towel. Luck started to sit up and made it halfway before the ball’s owner arrived.

“Sorry,” a breathless female voice apologized.

Turning, he leaned on an elbow as a shapely blonde in a very brief bikini knelt on the sand beside him and reached for the ball. Her smile was wide and totally beguiling.

“No harm done,” he assured her, and noticed the amount of cleavage that was revealed when she bent to pick up the ball.

His gaze lifted to her face and observed the knowing sparkle in her eyes. Wisely he guessed that it had all been a ploy to attract his attention. It was an old game. Despite the beautiful packaging, he discovered he wasn’t interested in playing.

The blonde waited for several seconds, but he didn’t make the expected gambit. Disappointment flickered in her expression, then was quickly veiled by a coy smile. Rising in a graceful turning motion, she ran back to her friends.

“That blonde was really a knockout, huh, dad?”

Amused, Luck cast a glance over his shoulder at his son, who was still staring after the shapely girl. “Yes, I guess she was,” he agreed blandly, and looked back to the trio playing keep-away. Then he pushed himself into a full sitting position, his attention leaving the scantily clad blonde.

“She thought you were pretty neat, too,” Toby observed, a hint of devilry in his smile. “I saw the sexy look she gave you.”

“You see too much.” Luck gave him a playful push backward, plopping him down on the sand.

Toby just laughed. “Why don’t you marry someone like her?”

Luck sighed. He’d thought that subject had been forgotten. He shook his head in a mild form of exasperation. “Looks aren’t everything, son.” Rolling to his feet, he reached down to pull Toby up. “Let’s go for that swim of yours.”

“Race ya!” Toby challenged, and took off at a dead run.

He loped after him, his long strides keeping the distance between them short. Wading into the lake until he was up to his knees, he then dived in. Powerful reaching strokes soon carried Luck into deeper water, where he waited for Toby to catch up with him.

“What do you think, pretty lady?” Luck murmured in a voice that was audible only to himself. “Have you ruined me for anyone else?”

The image of his wife swirled through the mists of his mind, her face laughing up at him as she pulled him to their bed. Her features were soft, like a fading edge of a dream, her likeness no longer bringing him the sharp stabbing pain. Time had reduced it to a beautiful memory that came back to haunt him at odd times.

Although he still possessed a man’s sexual appetite, emotional desire seemed to have left him. Except for Toby, it seemed that all the good things in life were behind him. Tomorrow seemed empty, without promise.

A squeal of female laughter from the lakeshore pulled his gaze to the beach and the cavorting blonde. Her bold bid for his attention had left him cold, even though he had liked what he had seen. He found the subtle approach much sexier — like the time Eve had licked the chocolate from her lips. Strange that he had thought of her instead of the way his wife, Lisa, used to run her finger around the rim of a glass.

A hand sprayed water on his face. Luck blinked and wiped the droplets from his eyes as Toby laughed and struck out, swimming away from him. The moment of curious reflection was gone as he took up the challenge of his son.

THUNDER CRASHED AND ROLLED across the sky, unleashing a torrent of rain to hammer on the roof of the cottage. A rain-cool breeze rushed in through a window above the kitchen sink, stirring the brown silk of Eve’s hair as she washed the luncheon dishes,

Lightning cracked outside the window. “My, that looked close,” her mother murmured, always a little nervous about violent storms.

“The baseball game in Milwaukee has just been postponed because of the rain,” her father sighed in disappointment and switched off the radio atop the refrigerator. “And they always have doubleheaders on Saturday, too.” If her father had one passion besides fishing, it was baseball. “Maybe it will clear off later this afternoon and — ” He was interrupted by the ring of the telephone in the front room. “I’ll get it.”

“If it’s Mabel and Frank, tell them to come over,” her mother called. “It’s a good day to play cards.”

On the third ring, he answered it. “It’s for you, Eve.” He had to raise his voice to make himself heard above the storm.

Grabbing a towel, Eve wiped the dishwater from her hands as she walked to the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello, Eve. This is Toby. Toby McClure.”

A vague surprise widened her eyes. “Hello, Toby.” Warm pleasure ran through her voice and expression.

“I’m trying to make some chocolate-chip cookies,” he said, and she smiled when she remembered this was the first rainy day since he and Luck had been over. “But I can’t figure out how to get cream from shortening and sugar.”

“What?” A puzzled frown creased her forehead as she tried to fathom his problem.

“The directions say to ‘cream’ the sugar and shortening,” Toby explained patiently.

Eve swallowed the laugh that bubbled in her throat. The directions probably didn’t make sense to him. “That means you should blend them together until they make a thick ‘creamy’ mixture.”

A heavy sigh came over the phone. “I thought this was going to be easy, but it isn’t.” There was a pause, followed by a reluctant request, “Eve, I don’t suppose you could maybe come over and show me how to make them?” There was so much pride in his voice, and a grudging admission of defeat.

“Where’s your father? He should be able to help you,” she suggested.

“He didn’t get home until real late last night, so he’s lying down, taking a nap,” Toby explained. “Can you come?”

It was impossible to turn him down, especially when she didn’t want to. “Yes, I’ll come. Where exactly do you live?” Eve knew it was somewhere close from other comments that had been made. Toby gave her precise directions. After she had promised to be there within a few minutes, she hung up the phone. “Dad, were you or mom planning to use the car this afternoon?”

“No. Did you want to use it?” He was already reaching in his pocket for the keys.

“I’m off to the McClures to give Toby his first lesson in baking cookies,” Eve explained with a soft laugh, and told them the boy’s problem understanding the directions. Their amusement blended with hers.

“Never mind the dishes. I’ll finish them,” her mother volunteered. “You’d better take an umbrella, too, and wear a coat.”

In her bedroom, Eve brushed her hair and freshened her lipstick. She didn’t allow herself to wonder why she was taking so much trouble with her appearance when she was going to see an eight-year-old. It would have started her thinking about his father, something she was trying to pretend not to do at this point. She hesitated before taking the brown coat out of her closet, but it was the only one she had that repelled water.

The sheeting rain was almost more than the windshield wipers could handle. It obscured her vision so that, despite Toby’s excellent directions, she nearly missed the turn into the driveway. The lake house was set back in the trees, out of sight of the road. Eve parked her car behind the Jaguar.

The umbrella afforded her little protection from the driving rain. Her coat was stained wet by the time she walked the short distance from the car to the front door. Toby must have been watching for her, because he opened the door a second before she reached it. He pressed a forefinger to his lips and motioned her inside. She hurried in, unable to do anything about the rainwater dripping from her and the umbrella.

“Dad’s still sleeping,” Toby whispered, and explained, “He needs the rest.”

The entry hall skirted the living room, paneled in cedar with a heavy beamed slanted ceiling and a natural stone fireplace. Toby’s glance in that direction indicated it was where Luck was sleeping. Eve looked in when Toby led her past. There, sprawled on a geometric- patterned couch, was Luck, naked, from the waist up, an arm flung over his head in sleep, It was the first time Eve had ever seen anyone frowning in his sleep.

In the kitchen, Toby led her to the table where he had all the ingredients set out. “Will you show me how to make cookies?” he asked, repeating the request he’d made over the phone.

“No, I won’t show you,” Eve said, taking off her wet coat and draping it over a chair back. “I’ll tell you how to do it. The best way to learn is by doing.”

Step by step, she directed him through the mixing process. When the first sheet came out of the oven, Toby was all eyes. He could hardly wait until the cookies were cool enough to taste and, thus, assure himself that they were as good as they looked.

“They taste just like yours,” he declared on a triumphant note after he’d taken the first bite.

“Of course,” Eve laughed, but kept it low so she wouldn’t waken Luck in the next room.

“I couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t helped me,” Toby added, all honesty. “You’re a good teacher.”

“That’s what I am. Really,” she emphasized when he failed to understand. “I
am
a teacher.”

“What subject?”

“Music.”

“Too bad it isn’t English. That’s my worst subject,” he grimaced. “Dad isn’t very good at it, either.”

“We all have subjects that we don’t do as well in as others,” Eve shrugged lightly. “Mine is math.”

“Dad is really good at that, and science, but he has to use it all the time in his work.”

“What does he do?”

“He works for my grandpa.” Then realizing that didn’t answer her question, Toby elaborated, “My grandpa owns North Lakes Lumber. Mostly my dad works on the logging side. That way we can spend more time together in the summer when I’m out of school. He had a meeting with grandpa last night. That’s why he was so late coming home.”

“I thought he had a date.” The words were out before Eve realized she had spoken.

“Sometimes he goes out on dates,” Toby admitted, finding nothing wrong with her comment. “We like going places and doing things together, but sometimes dad is like me. I like to play with kids my own age once in a while; so does he. I imagine you do, too.”

“Yes, that’s true.” She silently marveled at his logical reasoning. He was quite a remarkable boy,

Without being reminded, he checked on the cookies in the oven and concluded they were done. He took the cookie sheet out with a pot holder and rested it on the tabletop while he scooped the cookies off.

“We’ve been talking about dad getting married again,” he announced, and didn’t see the surprised arch of her eyebrow. “Dad gets pretty lonely sometimes. It’s been rough on him since my mother died six years ago. Three weeks ago it was six years
exactly
,” he stressed, and shook his head in a rueful fashion when he looked at her. “Boy, did he ever go on a binge that night!” He rolled his eyes to emphasize the point.

Three weeks ago. Eve did a fast mental calculation, her mind whirling. “Was…that on a Thursday?”

“I think so. Why?” Toby eyed her with an unblinking look.

The night she’d bumped into him outside the tavern. He had wanted someone to talk to, Eve remembered. A man can talk to a brown mouse, Luck had said. But she had refused, and he had gone back inside the tavern.

“No reason.” She shook her head absently. “It was nothing important.” But she couldn’t resist going back to the subject. “You said he got drunk that night.” She tried to sound mildly interested.

“I guess,” Toby agreed emphatically. “He even had hallucinations.”

“He did?”

“After I helped him into bed, he claimed that he had talked to a brown mouse.” He looked at her, laughter suddenly dancing in his eyes. “Can you imagine that?”

“Yes.” Eve swallowed and tried to smile. “Yes, I can.” Her suspicions were confirmed beyond question. Now she wanted off the subject. “I’ll help you spoon the cookie dough on the tray,” she volunteered, letting action take the place of words.

When the last sheet of cookies came out of the oven, Eve washed the baking dishes while Toby wiped them and put them away. He leaned an elbow on the counter and watched her scrub at the baked-on crumbs on the cookie sheet.

“I don’t really mind helping with dishes, or even making my bed,” Toby said, and propped his head up with his hand. “But I’m going to like having a mother.”

She didn’t see the connection between the two statements. “Why is that?”

“Because sometimes my friends tease me when I have to dust furniture or fold clothes,” he explained. “Dad told me that mothers clean and cook and do all those kinds of things.”

“That’s true.” Eve tried very hard not to smile. It had to be rough to have your manhood questioned by your peers when you were only eight years old. Reading between the lines, she could see where Toby had acquired his air of maturity. Responsibility had been given to him at an early age, so he didn’t possess that carefree attitude typical of most children his age.

She rinsed the last cookie sheet and handed it to Toby to dry. Draining the dishwater from the sink, she wiped off the counter, then dried her hands. She glanced at the wall clock and wondered where the afternoon had gone.