Tea and Destiny

Chapter 2

Ann was horrified. The serene, in-control woman she had always thought herself to be did not yell at the top of her lungs in anger. She did not consider using a shotgun to settle an argument. For that matter, until this afternoon, she’d never lifted a butcher knife except to slice a turkey. What was Hank Riley doing to her?

Bewildered and still fuming, she felt a tug on her skirt and looked down into Tommy’s dark, troubled eyes. She was promptly overcome by guilt on top of everything else. She knew how much violence Tommy had endured in his first three years in war-torn Afghanistan. For the two years that he’d been with her, she’d tried very hard to protect him from irrational outbursts. Even with seven very different people in the house, she’d been able to maintain an atmosphere of relative calm. Her own temper was blessedly even.

Until today, she reminded herself. In less than an hour Hank Riley had shaken her normal aplomb to its very foundations. That made her very nervous. She knew perfectly well that any man who aroused that much fury could probably arouse an equal amount of passion.

When hell freezes over, she declared, just as Tommy tugged again and asked in his softly accented voice, “Is he the plumber?”

“No, he is not the damn plumber,” she snapped irritably, then immediately felt contrite. She hugged the dark-haired boy who was watching her with eyes that were far too serious.

“Sorry, baby,” she said to Tommy as Melissa happily singsonged, “Bad word. Bad word.”

Ann considered uttering a whole string of them. Instead she patted the child on her blond head and admitted, “That’s right. That is a bad word and I don’t ever want to hear any of you using it. You two go on to your rooms and put on some dry clothes.”

“Want to swim,” Melissa protested, her face screwing up in readiness for a good cry.

“You will not swim for an entire week if you two are not in your rooms by the time I count to three,” Ann said very quietly.

They recognized the no-nonsense tone. Melissa’s pout faded at once. Tommy was already scampering down the hall, favoring the leg that had been shattered two years ago by guerrilla gunfire. Ann sighed as she watched them go. Another crisis averted. Barely.

“Ann.” Tracy’s plaintive voice reached her. “I can’t stay like this much longer.”

“Oh, good heavens!” She ran into the bathroom and found Tracy exactly as Hank had left her, with her finger stuck at an awkward angle in the leaking faucet.

“Didn’t the man even have sense enough to cut off the water?” she grumbled, turning back toward the door. The man in question was standing in her way, arms folded across a chest that could have blocked for offense on the Miami Dolphins.

“The water’s off,” he said, apparently unperturbed by her scowl or her denigrating comment.

“Oh.”

She glanced at Tracy. “You can let go now.”

Tracy shook her head. “That’s just it. I can’t. My finger’s stuck.”

With an impatient, you-should-have-known glance in Ann’s direction, Hank stepped through the remaining puddles and sat down next to Tracy on the edge of the tub. Using a bar of soap, he worked Tracy’s finger loose from the faucet. Ann was astounded by his teasing reassurances. She was even more startled by his gentleness. When Tracy’s swollen finger was freed at last, he wiped it with a damp cloth, inspected it for cuts, then thanked her.

“You did a great job. Without your quick thinking, this could have been a lot worse.”

Tracy beamed. Ann felt an odd fluttering in her chest. She hadn’t seen a smile like that on the girl’s face in all the years she’d lived there. Usually Tracy was far too quiet and unresponsive, except when she was taking care of the littlest kids. Her inability to get through to Tracy worried her. The ease with which Hank had astonished her.

“Honey, are you okay?” Ann asked, kneeling down in front of her, oblivious to the fact that her skirt was dragging in the puddles.

Tracy turned the radiant smile on her. “Sure.” She held out her hand. “Not even a scratch.”

“Great. Would you go check on Melissa and Tommy for me? After that try to get Paul and David to start cleaning up the kitchen. It’s almost time to start dinner. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sure, Ann.” She looked hesitantly at Hank. “Are you sticking around?”

“Yep.” He shot a challenging look at Ann. “At least through dinner.”

When Tracy had gone, Ann got to her feet and quickly began mopping up the floor, her soaked skirt slapping soggily against her legs. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at Hank, who was still perched on the edge of the tub fiddling with the faucet.

“You were very good with her,” she finally conceded. “Thanks.”

He didn’t look up. “She seems like a good kid,” he murmured, then began working a snakelike device down into the drain.

“Beware of calling an eighteen-year-old a kid. That’s an offense considered on a par with listening to phone calls or denying use of the car.”

“Umm.” He gave a tug on his probe, which emerged with a small plastic dinosaur. Ann recognized it as one of Tommy’s collection from the zoo. Hank shook his head, tossed the toy aside and went back to poking around. “Sounds like you know her pretty well.”

“I know teenagers pretty well. I’m not so sure about Tracy.”

“She’s not yours?”

Ann shook her head, instantly feeling a familiar defensiveness steal over her. “None of them are mine, not in the biological sense. I thought Liz explained.”

“Only in the vaguest terms. She said you had several children you’d taken in. I assumed that some of the others might be yours.”

“No. I’ve never been married.”

That brought his head up, eyes twinkling. He gave her a grin that was only one quirk of the lips short of being a leer. “From what I hear that’s not a requirement.”

“It is for me,” she said stiffly.

He studied her intently. “I see.”

“I doubt it.”

“Is your sexual hang-up something we should explore?” he inquired in a tone that teased and infuriated.

“I do not have a sexual hang-up,” she said with slow emphasis, her temper reaching an immediate boil again. “And don’t try playing psychologist with me, Mr. Riley. I’m the expert, remember?”

The grin faded. “How could I forget.”

She listened for an edge of sarcasm, but couldn’t detect one. An irrational part of her wished that grin were back, though.

“Tell me about Tracy,” he said.

The ease with which he switched from provocative teasing to less dangerous turf irritated her almost as much as the teasing itself. Okay, she’d be the first to admit that she’d gotten out of the habit of taking sexual banter in stride, but she wasn’t exactly the prude he’d implied. She was inclined to tell him just that, but reminded herself that she owed him no explanations. Instead she took the safe out he’d offered and said succinctly, “Tracy had some problems at home.”

That was like saying World War II had been a small military skirmish. At the memory of the psychological and physical pain Tracy had suffered at the hands of an abusive father and a lousy system, Ann felt a familiar weariness steal through her. Apparently Hank caught her shift in mood.

“Bad, huh?” he said with quick understanding and a level of compassion that surprised her.

She stared into eyes that invited confidences and offered strength. “Lousy,” she admitted. “Though I confess at times I forget just how bad it was for her. She tends to keep it all bottled up under a tough facade. Nothing I’ve done seems to get through to her.”

“Was she a runaway?”

“I never thought I’d say this, but I wish she had been. Maybe there would have been fewer scars.”

“You know that’s not true,” he said, glancing up. Blue eyes rebuked her. “All you have to do is ride around a few areas in Miami to see what happens to kids on their own too young.”

She sighed. “I know you’re right. Loss of innocence is pretty crummy at any age, but I doubt if Tracy ever had any innocence. She had a father who…well, I’m sure you get the idea. He wasn’t fit to raise pigs. He cast a long shadow. She’s been away from there for nearly five years now and she’s still not very trusting around men. In fact, she’s pretty wary of all adults, probably because she thinks we all failed her.”

“Can you blame her?”

“Not for a minute. That doesn’t make it any easier when she’s treating me like I’m the enemy, when all I want to do is help. Occasionally it wears me down.”

“She’s stuck around, hasn’t she? You must be doing something right.”

“Maybe,” she said, though she was pleased by his observation. If he could see it, maybe she had been slowly winning Tracy’s trust, after all. Though the girl often stormed out with a chip on her shoulder, she always returned and she always abided by the rules. Of all of them, in fact, Tracy was the one who seemed most in need of the reassurance that someone cared what she did—or didn’t do. How odd that it had taken this virtual stranger with the penetrating gaze and quicksilver mood changes to make her realize that.

Suddenly the bathroom seemed too confining. Or perhaps it was simply that Hank’s body seemed too masculine, too overwhelming, in the intimate space. It reminded Ann in an unrelenting way that she was a woman, something she all too often allowed herself to forget during jam-packed days of counseling and surrogate mothering.

“Why don’t you go on and get settled?” she suggested, feeling a sudden need to reclaim some of her own space. “I’ll finish cleaning up in here.”

“I want to check out these pipes first.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll call the plumber in the morning.”

“Why should you do that? I’m here now.”

“Then I’ll pay you.”

“You will not.”

Ann’s temper flared irrationally at his stubborn insistence. “Dammit, I will not have you coming in here challenging my independence!”

To her chagrin, Hank laughed. The sound echoed off the tile walls. “Is that what I’m doing? It must be on shaky ground.”

Fury teased at her insides before she, too, finally chuckled. The tension in her shoulders eased. “Okay. That’s a slight overstatement. But you do need to understand that I’m used to being on my own. It’s important to me.”

“I’ll try not to trample on your pride, but you need to understand that for as long as I’m here I want to do my share. The kids have chores. Why shouldn’t I?”

She lifted her chin to a defiant tilt. “The kids are staying,” she pointed out. “You’re not.”

The words were spoken flatly, with absolutely no hint of feeling, but Hank took one look at Ann’s expression and realized that a whole world of emotion was behind them. In the depths of her eyes he saw stark evidence of feelings he couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Abandonment. Hurt. Betrayal. Had they been her own? Or had she just seen too much in her life, too many innocent children wronged, too many hearts trampled on? Being a psychologist might equip her with a depth of understanding of human foibles, but the nonstop listening and advising had to take its toll. As he watched, she visibly withdrew, gathering her strength, shrouding her vulnerabilities.

The ease with which she did it saddened him. For a fraction of a second Hank wanted to take the tall, stoic woman in his arms. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to challenge her easy acceptance of the fact that he was here today, but very likely gone tomorrow. He wanted to promise her a life filled with warmth and love and commitment. He wanted to tell her that the world really wasn’t such a lousy place. Ironically, he wasn’t sure he believed that himself. Maybe, in the end, he and Ann Davies were two of a kind, both too cynical to believe in happily ever after.

So he didn’t argue. He didn’t hold her. He didn’t do a damn thing, except what he did best: he ran. He turned away from her emotional needs and tackled the practical ones. He went to work on the drain again.

After several minutes of thick, increasingly awkward silence, she left the room. Hank didn’t look up. He said nothing.

When she’d gone, the faintest scent of strawberries lingered. It taunted his senses in a way that expensive French perfumes never had. He wondered if the taste of strawberries was on her lips. The possibility was provocative. Maddening. He had the oddest feeling, now that she was out of reach, that he’d made a terrible mistake in not acting on impulse and kissing the woman senseless. Maybe once he’d done it, her odd grip on him would loosen.

His hand slipped and his knuckles scraped along the jagged inside edge of the drain. He cursed as blood welled slowly. He ransacked the medicine cabinet for antiseptic and dumped it on, grateful for the pain. For an instant, anyway, it blocked out his unexpected, inexplicable sense of loss.

It was going to be a very long couple of months.

It was a very long evening. There was absolutely no gracious way Hank could think of to get out of joining the whole unorthodox, noisy family for dinner on his very first night. He figured it was a test contrived by an irritated Maker. He barely passed. His nerves were so tightly wound by the time they finished saying grace and passed the heaping platters of food that his shoulders felt as if he’d been lifting weights for an hour.

He discovered that there was no such thing as conversation, much less seductive intimacy, at a table with six children. There were pokes. There were grumbled complaints about vegetables. There were muttered gripes about the choice of baked rather than fried chicken. There were threats of banishment if one single spoonful of mashed potatoes was actually flung across the table. There were promises of dessert for those who finished their glazed carrots. And there was intense bargaining over dishwashing duties. Ann presided over it all with Madonna-like serenity.

Hank watched her and marveled. While his muscles knotted at the confusion, she seemed to thrive on it. Her cheeks glowed. Her blue eyes sparkled with laughter. She was as adept as an experienced referee in the midst of a goal-line pileup. She knew exactly what everyone needed at any given second and provided it. Platters and bowls came and went with the precision of a banquet caterer. No argument was allowed to erupt into anger. She teased. She soothed. She tolerated spilled milk and gravy stains with equanimity, but drew the line at food fights.

“Enough,” she said, unable to hide a grin as David—or was it Jason? Nope, Jason was the one who never talked—promised to stuff cold potatoes down Tracy’s throat if she dared to reveal some secret he’d entrusted her with. Ann moved the potatoes safely out of reach.

“You are such a jerk,” Tracy countered with a look of supreme disgust for the red-haired boy beside her. “Why would I want to tell anyone that you—”

“Tracy!” he threatened, stretching to try to get a grip on the bowl that Ann had just moved. An embarrassed flush spread beneath his freckles.

Tracy grinned back. “Gotcha.”

“Mom, make her promise,” David implored.

“Not me,” Ann said, getting up and beginning to clear the table. “You two work it out or leave the table.”

David moved his chair with a thump. Tracy propped her elbow on the table and settled her chin in her hand. Her expression of exaggerated innocence amused Hank. He waited for David’s next move.

“What’ll it cost me?” he said resignedly, sinking back in his chair.

Tracy reacted indignantly. “I am not blackmailing you, you little twerp. Jeez, what’s wrong with you? I was only teasing.”

Ann paused behind Tracy’s chair and put a warning hand on her shoulder. Hank watched as the girl struggled with her anger. “I’m sorry,” she muttered finally.

David blinked at the apology, then stared at the table. “Yeah, me, too,” he mumbled.

“Now how about dessert?” Ann said cheerfully, ending the brief moment of tension. “Who wants strawberries with ice cream?”

“Me.”

“Me.”

The chorus came from around the table. Hank found himself chiming in, though the thought of strawberries brought all sorts of dangerous memories to mind. “I’ll help,” he said, feeling a sudden need to move, a surprising desire to be an active participant, rather than an observer.

“Not tonight,” Ann said, her gaze pinning him where he was.

“You told me everyone helped,” he reminded her, wondering if this was yet another attempt to set him apart, to remind him that he wasn’t a permanent fixture.

She grinned. “We have another rule. No one helps on the first night here.”

“Yeah, but after tonight, watch out,” Jason warned in a sullen tone. They were the only words he’d spoken since the start of the meal. “Mom’s schedules make the army look like summer camp.”

“Who’d like Jason’s share of dessert?” Ann queried lightly.

Though he’d been slouched down in his chair, feigning disinterest, Jason immediately scrambled to his feet and reached for the bowl.

“Hey, hand it over.”

A grin on her face, Ann held the bowl just beyond his reach. Wiry and swift, he tried to grab it, but she made a move as smooth as any quarterback could have performed and passed it over to David at the table. Jason didn’t waste time bemoaning the loss. He simply nabbed the one remaining bowl on the counter, and clutching it securely to his chest, went back to his place at the table. The lightening of his mood surprised Hank.

“That’s mine,” Ann said.

“Oh, really,” Jason said with exaggerated innocence.

“Give that back this minute.”

“Gee, Mom, are you sure you should be eating all this rich food? There’s gotta be cholesterol in this stuff, right? We wouldn’t want to watch you die of clogged arteries or something,” he said in a way that brought a laugh bubbling up from deep inside Hank. She glared at the two of them, though he was sure he detected a hint of delight as she watched Jason interacting like the rest of them.

“It’s really frozen yogurt,” she admitted with a look of supreme satisfaction.

“Oh, yuck.” David groaned.

“What do you mean, ‘oh, yuck’?” Ann retorted. “You ate every bit of it.”

“I wouldn’t have, if I’d known.”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you. Next time I take you all out for frozen yogurt, I expect a few less protests.” She scowled at Hank and Jason, who were still laughing. “As for you guys, tomorrow the two of you are on KP and I expect something healthier than hot dogs.”

“Hamburgers,” Hank suggested hopefully.

She gave him a wilting look that relegated hamburgers to the same junk heap that contained corn curls and potato chips.