In This Town (20 page)

She took a sip of the ginger ale in her cup to soothe her dry
throat. “I’d made the decision to get married and to keep my baby. But I wasn’t
ready to love him, wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready. But then, one night, Greg went
out with his buddies before they all took off for college and it was just me and
Brandon. And he wouldn’t stop crying. The sound seemed to amplify my doubts and
fears, seemed to vibrate through my body. He was so stiff, so pissed off. I had
no idea what was wrong with him, what to do.”

Walker stretched his legs out, leaned back slightly so that his
elbow nudged her calf. “Babies cry. Parents learn how to handle it.”

“I didn’t want to learn, didn’t want to handle it. I was angry
at Greg for deserting me. I knew he was out having a good time while I was stuck
in our apartment with a screaming baby. I couldn’t call anyone. Greg’s parents
hated me, blamed me for ruining their son’s life, and I knew Layne would only
lecture me on how I needed to learn to take responsibility for my actions. For
my mistakes.” Tears pricked Tori’s eyes. She blinked them back. “That’s what I
thought of my son, even after he was born. A mistake. My biggest one. I felt
trapped and helpless. I couldn’t do anything right. I couldn’t even make my own
baby stop crying.”

She swallowed, tucked her hair behind her ear. “Then I said his
name and he sort of hiccupped, went quiet, for the barest of seconds so I said
it again. I talked to him, told him everything would be all right, though I
wasn’t sure I believed it. But he stopped crying and just…looked up at me. Like
I was the most important thing in his life. I was so worried, so scared I was
going to screw up, worried I’d screw
him
up.” She
forced herself to meet Walker’s eyes and admitted what she’d held in her heart
for twelve years, what she’d never admitted to anyone before. “It’s still my
greatest fear. That I won’t be enough for him. That I’ll make a mistake and
damage him.”

“Is that how you feel?” Walker asked softly. “Damaged because
of the mistakes your mother made? Because she left you?”

“No. But I pity her for not having that love for her children.
Because after that night, this love for Brandon filled me and I knew I’d do
anything and everything to make sure he was always safe. Always healthy and
happy.”

She’d been relieved, so very relieved to have those feelings.
To finally love someone, fiercely, fully.

“You’re not your mother,” Walker said, taking her face gently
in his hands so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “You’re Tori Sullivan
Mott. You would never leave your child.”

“But I almost did. I almost left him and what would’ve happened
to him then? He was so angry with me. How would he feel if I’d died and the last
words he’d said to me were in anger?”

“Tori,” Walker said in slight exasperation, “Brandon knows you
love him. You tell him and you show him. He’s a kid. They get angry, they say
things they don’t mean.”

She sighed. Leaned back, her head starting to ache again.
“You’re right.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Glad you finally realize that.”

She couldn’t help it. She smiled. “I can’t believe you actually
made a joke.”

“Who’s joking?” he asked in his gruff way, but the corners of
his mouth twitched. He stood. “It’s getting late.”

It was. She was tired. But she didn’t want to be alone. Not
yet. “Would you… Do you think you could stay? Just for a few more minutes?”

He seemed ready to decline, to make up some excuse. But then he
exhaled heavily and sat back down. “I could stay.”

* * *

B
RANDON
WAS
HOVERING
.

Tori had been released from the hospital yesterday to much
fanfare—well, as much fanfare as one single mom could expect. She’d been
discharged before lunch and had spent the rest of the day surrounded by her
loved ones. Brandon, of course, had stayed by her side, as if reassuring himself
she really was okay. Greg and Colleen had come, and Colleen had even offered to
bring her and Brandon dinner.

That woman really was too good to be true.

Luckily her sisters had been there and had told Colleen her
offer—while sweet—wasn’t necessary. They’d ordered in Chinese since neither
Layne nor Nora cooked. Or at least, cooked often, or, to be honest, particularly
well.

Celeste had come with Tori’s father and they’d stayed most of
the day, not leaving until Uncle Ken and Aunt Astor arrived, which put quite the
strain on the day. Tori worried the rift between them would remain for the rest
of their lives. And poor Nora was smack-dab in the middle of it. Fortunately her
baby sister was handling it well but Tori reminded herself to speak to Layne
about ways they could help mend their father and uncle’s relationship.

Even Anthony had showed up but had only stayed a few minutes
when he saw that Jess and her boyfriend, Tanner, were playing a board game with
Brandon.

Yes, Tori certainly was lucky to have so many people concerned
about her welfare, so many people who loved her. She hadn’t had five minutes to
herself since she got home.

She wondered if she could somehow sneak back into the hospital.
Just so she could get a few hours of rest in peace.

Her body hurt and the ache in her head seemed to be constant;
she wasn’t sure it’d ever go away. And Brandon kept asking if she was okay. If
she wanted more soda or a sandwich or a pudding snack or anything else.

Peace and quiet seemed a harsh answer to that last question
when her boy was so worried about her, was being so solicitous.

The movie they’d been watching—the movie Brandon had been
watching as she’d dozed on and off because she couldn’t stand one more viewing
of
Transformers
without wanting to do some serious
damage to Shia LeBeouf—was only half over when someone rang the doorbell.

Brandon paused the movie and answered the door as Tori
struggled to sit up on the end of her couch.

A moment later, Brandon reappeared in the living room. “That
guy’s here to see you.”

Tori looked behind her son but the foyer remained empty. “What
guy?”

He lifted a shoulder in a move she knew was reminiscent of her
own ill-natured shrug. “That cop guy who was at my football game.”

Tori’s heart stopped only to resume beating triple-time. Which
was stupid. She did not get gaga over guys, over any guy. Not even her husband.
She kept her cool, kept her wits and, most importantly, kept her heart and
emotions to herself.

If you gave someone your heart, they’d stomp on it.

“Well, did you tell him to come in?” Tori asked in exasperation
as her son stood there, the sun streaming through the windows to highlight his
hair.

“You always told me not to let strangers into the house,”
Brandon said petulantly.

And, of course, this one time he listened to her while she was
certain every other bit of motherly wisdom she’d tried to teach him over the
past year had gone in one ear, been turned into incoherent mush, and then slid
out the other the ear.

“He’s not a stranger,” Tori said. “Let the man in.”

Brandon rolled his eyes then stomped back to the door and
opened it. “She says you can come in,” Tori heard her son mutter.

So pleasant, those preteens.

And then, there he was, Walker, in her house again, all big and
broad shouldered and capable. If her stomach flipped, if she felt just the
slightest unease, if some sort of anticipation skimmed along her nerve endings,
no one had to know but her.

“Detective. Hello,” she said. “What brings you by?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” he said so solemnly she couldn’t
tell if he was serious or not, “and thought I’d see how you were doing.”

She shifted and cursed herself for pulling her hair back with a
soft headband instead of washing it. Wished she had on some cover-up or at least
mascara and lip gloss. A woman needed her armor, after all, when faced with such
a worthy opponent.

“As you can see, I’m in good hands here,” she said, gesturing
to her son, who sat down and pointedly ignored them while he resumed his
movie.

Walker glanced around, seemed so out of place in her house, so
nervous, which somehow made her own nervousness ease. “Good,” he said, shoving
his hands into his pockets. “That’s good.”

“What’s for dinner?” Brandon blurted.

Tori raised her eyebrows at him. “You just ate a peanut butter
and jelly sandwich half an hour ago.”

“I’m hungry.”

“What else is new? Isn’t there any leftover Chinese in the
fridge?”

“I ate it for breakfast.”

She’d slept in, hadn’t taken her pain meds or anything to help
her sleep because she’d been worried about being out of it when Brandon was
around but still, being back in her own bed after being surrounded by
well-meaning people all day, she’d slept like a log.

“Oh. We could order pizza or—”

“I’ll fix something,” Walker said, taking another step into the
living room.

Tori frowned. “What?” she and Brandon both said at the same
time.

“I’ll fix dinner. What do you want?”

“That’s not necessary,” Tori said. “Really. It’s just as easy
for us to order—”

“I make excellent spaghetti and meatballs,” Walker said. “You
like pasta?” he asked Brandon.

Her son glowered. “It’s okay,” he muttered.

“I’ll run to the store, get what I need,” Walker said, already
palming his car keys. “Anything else you want me to pick up?”

Tori was too stunned by both the males in the room to do more
than shake her head.

Walker inclined his head and then left. She turned to
Brandon.

“You love spaghetti and meatballs,” she reminded him. “You love
all Italian food. I should know as I’ve made some version of pasta every year
for your birthday, the first and last days of school as well as New Year’s
because that’s all you ever request.”

“I like your pasta. His will probably suck.”

“His will probably be jarred sauce which you’ve eaten before
and survived. And it’s awfully hard to screw up spaghetti—you boil water, cook
the noodles and drain them. You’ve done it yourself.”

“Why did he come here?” Brandon asked, his face flush, his tone
accusatory.

And here we go again, she thought. Back to normal. Too bad, she
was so enjoying having her sweet son back, if only for a few days.

“You heard Walker. He stopped by to see how I’m doing,” she
said with what she considered a huge amount of patience considering what she’d
been through the past two days.

He snorted and sent her such a disbelieving look, her heart
broke, just a little, to realize that part of him came from her. That inability
to trust, to always be on his guard. “Is he your boyfriend?”

She laughed, a small burst of air. “What? No. I’ve only known
him a few weeks, Brandon. We’ve never even been on a date.”

But they had been alone together, the night at his room then
here at her house. At the café when he’d kissed her. The other night at her
hospital room when he’d listened so patiently to her.

“So if he’s not your boyfriend, why’s he cooking us dinner?
What does he want?”

And there was no way she could tell him that deep inside, she
was afraid, no…she was positive…she knew exactly what Walker wanted. What all
men wanted from her.

That deep inside she was so afraid sex was the only thing she
was good for.

“He wants to cook us dinner,” she said. “What’s the matter?
Don’t you like him?”

And how weird was having this conversation? She’d been on more
than a few dates since her divorce was final. Men were always asking her out,
always had, even when she was married. But, unlike her mother, she’d been
faithful to Greg.

She took great pride in that.

Tori had never figured on having to introduce Brandon to any of
the men she went out with because she kept her relationships simple and without
strings. She never went out with the same man more than three times, always kept
things light. She didn’t want to be involved with another man, didn’t want to
count on another man to take care of her when the two men she’d counted on had
let her down.

“He’s okay,” Brandon said after a moment. “I mean, he didn’t
arrest me after the fight and he stopped Mr. and Mrs. Nash from trying to get me
into more trouble.”

“See? He’s not so bad.”

“But he’s trying to get Aunt Layne into trouble.”

“Aunt Layne will be okay because she didn’t do anything wrong.”
She hoped.

He sighed. “Fine. He can cook for us but that doesn’t mean I
have to like him.”

“No,” she said slowly, “but he’s going through the trouble of
fixing us a meal so you’ll be polite, do you understand?”

Brandon rolled his eyes.

“Is that some sort of new way you crazy kids have of saying
‘Yes, Mom, whatever you say, Mom, you’re the most awesomest, coolest mom ever,
Mom’?”

His lips twitched. “There’s no such word as
awesomest.
”

“There should be. And my face should be listed under the
definition of it in the dictionary.”

“You’re so weird,” he said, but he settled back down close to
her.

She put her arm around his shoulder, ridiculously pleased when
he snuggled close to her side. She smoothed his hair back. “Don’t I know
it.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T
HE
KID
WANTED
to chop Walker into
tiny pieces and feed him down the garbage disposal.

Or at least, kick him out of his house.

Brandon had been unfailingly polite ever since Walker
returned—if you called being laconic polite. He said “yes, please” and “no,
thank you” in a way that Walker knew he was really saying, “Eat dirt and
die!”

Brandon’s dislike for him was obvious and heartfelt. The kid
wore his resentment on his sleeve, his anger on his face. He didn’t want Walker
near his mother, watched him warily as if Walker was a jungle cat and was about
to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Brandon loved his mom. He may not like her at times, may wish
she was different and may, most times, be mad as hell at her but he loved her.
It was good to see, especially after everything Tori had admitted to Walker the
other night at the hospital.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Tori asked, standing in
the doorway in a pair of baggy sweats and a sweatshirt that fell off her
shoulders showing the wide strap of a tank top. Her hair was pulled back from
her face by a wide band and her face was clean of makeup, the scratches already
fading. Her complexion was still pale and her mouth was tight with pain when she
moved too quickly.

She was beautiful.

She made his breath catch. Made him want.

He shouldn’t be there, should never have given in to the urge
to check on her, but once he had and he’d seen that she needed help, that she’d
needed him, he hadn’t been able to walk away.

He should’ve let them order pizza.

“I’m sure,” he said, more gruffly than necessary as he
sprinkled breadcrumbs on top of the ground beef he’d put into a bowl. “I’ve been
making this since I was Brandon’s age.” He faced the kid who was sitting at the
table sulking because Tori had insisted he stay in the kitchen with them instead
of finishing his movie. “You know how to cook anything?”

“Mom cooks,” Brandon said.

“What if she’s not home and you get hungry?” Walker asked,
putting the rest of the ingredients into the bowl.

“I can make sandwiches and stuff. Besides,” he said with an
impressive sneer, “cooking’s for girls.”

From the corner of his eye, Walker saw Tori stiffen, probably
ready to lay into her son, but Walker gave her a slight shake of his head. She
frowned but kept her mouth shut.

“I’d say cooking’s for anyone who likes to eat. Or at least,
eat food that tastes good.” Walker washed his hands. “Besides, it’s nice not to
have to rely on someone to cook for you, to do everything for you.”

As he guessed, that resonated with the kid. Christ, he was so
much like his mother, so determined not to let anyone close to him, to depend on
anyone. “I guess I could learn to make a few things,” Brandon said, as if
someone was pulling the words out of him.

“It’s good to have a couple of standby meals,” Walker agreed,
stirring his sauce then tapping the spoon on the side of the pot. “I started
cooking when I played ball in high school. Both my parents worked and my sisters
were all older and out of the house either working or at college, so if I wanted
to eat I had to learn to make it myself. And as much as I loved peanut butter
sandwiches, I got tired of eating six of them every day.”

“Six?” Tori asked, her lips curling up in that feline grin that
was so enticing. “Holy sticky mouth, Batman.”

Brandon rolled his eyes at his mom’s lame joke but Walker
noticed he hid a grin as he ducked his head.

“You burn a lot of calories playing ball,” Walker said. “By the
time I’d come home from practice, I was starving. But what really cinched it for
me was when I was in high school and my coach told us all that the best way to
get ready for a hard practice or game was to make sure we had the right fuel.”
He used a soup spoon to taste his sauce, added more salt. “Which was when I
asked my grandmother to teach me how to make her marinara sauce. Carbs are a
good thing to eat before a game so I started making pasta dinner for the
team.”

For the first time, Brandon seemed interested and intrigued
with what Walker was saying instead of glaring at him. “Could we do that, Mom?”
he asked, getting to his feet. “We could have the guys over before the game next
week.”

“Not right before,” Walker cautioned. “Since your games are
early, you might want to consider making it a post-game, victory dinner type
deal.”

“Yeah, we could do that,” Brandon said. “Can we, Mom?”

“You expect me to feed thirty boys?” She slid Walker a glance
that said she wasn’t as thrilled with the idea as her son. “Where would they
sit?”

“Boys are easy,” Walker said, knowing now that the idea had
taken root in Brandon’s head it’d be hard to get out again. “They can sit on the
floor. But you can’t expect your mom to cook for that many guys every week, not
after she puts in so many hours at the café.”

Brandon frowned. “You want me to cook.”

Smart kid. “Trust me, it’s a handy skill. And it impresses
girls.”

This time, it was Tori who rolled her eyes.

“Come on,” Walker continued. “I’m going to share with you the
secret to my grandmother’s recipe. I’ll even let you write it down if you
promise never to share it with anyone. Ever.”

Brandon still seemed skeptical. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Walker nodded. “Okay, wash up and you can chop the onion.”

Tori stepped forward as if ready to throw her body between her
son and any and all sharp instruments. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Walker sent Brandon a conspiratorial look. “Women. They don’t
understand us men have ingrained knife skills.” He nudged Brandon. “Stick with
me and later I’ll show you how to juggle a meat cleaver and two machetes, then
we’ll practice running with scissors.”

“Fabulous,” Tori said drily. “It’s a mother’s dream come
true.”

Brandon came back to Walker’s side and Walker showed him how to
hold the knife. Brandon curled his fingers under and cut the onion in half.
“Good,” Walker said, “now, see these lines? Make slices into the onion following
those lines, then we’ll just chop them into pieces.”

“Be careful,” Tori said, staring over her son’s shoulder.

“Mom,” Brandon said, obviously completely humiliated by his
overprotective mother. “I’ve got this.”

She crossed her arms. “Sure you do. Remind me you said that
when we’re in the E.R. getting your fingers stitched back on.”

“Nice imagery,” Walker said.

“Just doing my duty as a mother to instill caution into my
son.”

Luckily Brandon—and all his fingers—survived his first lesson
in onion and garlic chopping. Walker had him add them to the ground meat mixture
along with seasonings. “Okay, now you mix it up.”

Brandon eyed the bowl warily. “How?”

“With your hands.”

“Gross,” Brandon said, but dove in with the same enthusiasm
he’d had on the football field. “You played football?” he asked Walker.

“Since I was ten.”

“Walker could’ve played at college,” Tori said, sitting at the
table now that she must’ve deemed it safe for her to be a few feet away from her
son.

“Yeah? Which college?”

“Penn State.”

Brandon’s eyes widened. “No way. You got picked to play for
Penn State? Why didn’t you?”

“I decided to take my life in a different direction.”

“Man, that was stupid.”

“Brandon,” Tori said.

But Walker laughed. “A lot of people agreed with you.”

“Do you miss it?” Tori asked. “Do you ever regret it?”

“I missed it for years, being a part of a team, leading that
team, but now I lead a different kind of team and I make a difference, a real
one. Do I regret it?” He stopped, thought about it. He didn’t believe in
regrets, not in life. You made a mistake, you paid the consequences and moved
on, moved past it. “No, I don’t regret it.”

But he had a feeling if he wasn’t careful, there was one
mistake he could make in Mystic Point that he’d never be able to get past. One
that could jeopardize his career…could seriously skew his judgment when it came
to this case.

He wanted Tori. He couldn’t deny it, not when he was there,
cooking with her son, unable to stop looking at her. Wanting to touch her. Kiss
her.

Take her, again and again until they were both breathless and
satiated. Until he’d rid his thoughts of her, purged her from his system for
good.

But he couldn’t take that step, wasn’t ready to take that
chance, to risk everything he’d worked so hard for. Wasn’t sure any woman was
worth what he could possibly lose.

Not even Tori.

* * *

A
FTER
DINNER
,
Brandon tried to
get Tori to ease up on his no-video-games-no-computer-you’re-grounded
restriction, but she’d held firm. Just because Walker was there and had cooked
them a really excellent—surprisingly excellent—dinner and had managed to bring
Brandon out of his sullen shell didn’t mean she was going to forget her son was
being punished.

When he’d discovered he couldn’t play video games, he’d acted
as if his life was ruined and he was destined to die of boredom within the next
two hours. She’d suggested he read a book, which had brought on a fit of gagging
and grimacing the likes of which she’d never seen. And then, once again, Walker
had saved the day—or at least, her patience.

He’d taught Brandon how to play poker.

So with the sun set, the three of them sat around the
cleared-off table, the dishwasher humming, her kitchen clean and, despite
Brandon having three helpings of dinner, plenty of leftovers packed up and in
the fridge. Brandon studied his cards, frowning. It hadn’t taken her long to
figure out he thought frowning was a noncommittal expression.

“You in?” Walker asked him.

“Just a minute,” Brandon murmured, narrowing his eyes first at
Walker and then at her, as if he’d recently been granted X-ray vision and could
see through their cards. “Yeah,” he said slowly, sliding two green M&Ms into
the pile. “I’m in.”

“How about you?” Walker asked, holding her gaze, and something
arced between them, that damn connection she needed to ignore, to deny. “You
in?”

And she had the strangest feeling he was asking about more than
a poker game.

“Too risky for me,” she said, setting her cards face down.

Instead of seeming disappointed, understanding entered Walker’s
eyes. As if he knew exactly what she meant and couldn’t agree more—but was
willing to ignore his good sense for her.

She wasn’t sure if the idea thrilled and flattered her, or
scared her to death.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Walker said to Brandon. He
laid his cards down. “Three tens.”

Brandon scowled and showed his cards, a pair of queens.

“And that was the last hand,” Tori said, her body sore from
sitting on the hard chair, but there was no way she would’ve missed out on the
past few hours. “You need to get to bed. You have practice tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Brandon said. He stood and seemed unsure. “Uh, thanks.
For dinner and everything,” he told Walker.

“No problem.” Walker gathered Brandon’s cards. “You did a good
job for your first time playing poker, but you’ve got a tell.”

“What?”

“A tell, it’s something, a movement or expression or gesture,
that people do that tells the other players if you’re bluffing or if you’re
holding good cards. You scratch the side of your nose.”

“Nu-uh,” Brandon said, eyes wide.

“Sorry, kid, but it’s true. Work on that and you’ll be cleaning
up at the poker tables by the time you’re legally allowed to play.”

“Great,” Tori said. “Now I don’t have to worry about adding any
more to that pesky college fund.” She kissed Brandon’s cheek. “Good night.”

“Night,” he said but he didn’t move. Finally he faced Walker.
“You’re leaving soon, right?”

“Brandon,” Tori said on a groan. “Could you get any more
obvious? Or rude?”

“It’s not rude to make sure your mother is taken care of, to
protect her,” Walker said, though he kept his eyes on Brandon. “Yes. I’m leaving
soon. Good night, Brandon.”

Her son’s cheeks were red but he met Walker’s gaze, her little
boy, trying so hard to be the man of the house when it was up to her to protect
him, to take care of him. “All right. See you.”

Brandon walked out of the room and Tori sighed. “Sorry about
that.”

“Don’t apologize. He was only looking out for you.”

“Yes, but it’s my job to look out for him, not the other way
around.”

They stood and she walked him to the door. The night was warm,
the sky a blanket of stars. She went with him out onto the porch. “Thanks for
dinner and for being patient with Brandon.”

“I had a good time,” he said, and she could almost believe him,
except it wasn’t in her nature to trust a man, to trust anyone other than her
family. Besides, what guy wanted to hang out with her in her house where there
was nothing sexy about the evening, no chance of anything happening?

“You’re good at that,” she said, watching him through slitted
eyes.

“I’m good at many things, as I’ve already demonstrated,” he
said easily. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Good at coming to the rescue. At saving the day. Saving
people.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“I’m not sure.” She didn’t want to be saved, didn’t want to
change for anyone, not even her son, but some days she wondered if she’d ever be
happy, ever be truly accepted for who she really was inside. “I do appreciate
how good you were with Brandon.”

“Well, usually I just kick kids in the head a few times until
they stop bugging me, but I figured this one time I’d try a new tact.”

Her face warmed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“He’s a good kid. Reminds me a lot of my eldest nephew. His
father left my sister a few years ago and he’s very protective of his mom and
younger brother. He was pissed when she started dating but he came around
eventually.”