the three of them stared out at the ocean, content with the world. She didn’t have anywhere to go or anything to do. She savored the calmness of it all. Although she couldn’t say that the man sitting next to her was relaxing company-John was too big a presence and there was too much painful history between them for that-this house on the coast went a long way toward making up for the strained moments when he did his best to provoke her.
The peaceful sounds and the soft breeze lulled Georgeanne to sleep, and when she awoke, she was alone. A handcrafted blanket with shells on it covered her legs. She pushed it aside, stood, and stretched the kinks from her bones. Voices from the beach rose on the breeze, and she moved to the rail and leaned over the edge. John and Lexie weren’t on the beach. She pulled her hand back and a sharp sliver stabbed the soft pad of her middle finger. Her finger throbbed, but she had a more pressing concern.
Georgeanne really didn’t think John would take Lexie anywhere without talking to her about it first. But he wasn’t the sort of man who would think he needed her permission. If he’d left with her daughter, then Georgeanne figured she had a right to kill him and consider it justifiable homicide. But in the end, she didn’t have to kill him. She found both Lexie and John downstairs in the weight room.
John sat on a fancy exercise bike in the corner, pedaling at a steady pace. His gaze was lowered to Lexie, who lay on the floor, her hands behind her head and one dirty little foot resting on her bent knee.
“How come you gotta ride that so fast?” Lexie asked him.
“It helps my stamina,” he answered above the soft whirring of the front wheel. He still wore the olive T-shirt he’d worn earlier, and for one short second, Georgeanne let her gaze travel to his strong thighs and calves, and she took in the pleasure of watching him.
“What’s stamina?”
“It’s endurance. The stuff a guy needs so that he doesn’t run out of steam and let the young guys kick his ass all over the ice.”
Lexie gasped. “You did it again.”
“What?”
“You swore.”
“I did?”
“Yep.”
“Sorry. I’ll work on it.”
“That’s what you said last time,” Lexie complained from her position on the floor.
He smiled. “I’ll do better, Coach.”
Lexie was quiet for a moment before she said, “Guess what.”
“What?”
“My mom gots a bike like that.” She pointed in John’s direction. “ ‘Cept I don’t think she rides it.”
Georgeanne’s exercise bicycle wasn’t like John’s. It wasn’t as expensive, and Lexie was right, she didn’t ride it anymore. In fact, she never really had ridden it. “Hey,” she said as she stepped into the room, “I use that bike all the time. It has a very important job as a shirt hanger.”
Lexie turned her head and smiled. “We’re working out. I rode first and now it’s John’s turn.”
John looked over at her. The bicycle pedals stopped, but the wheel kept spinning. “Yes. I can see that,” she said, wishing she’d brushed her hair before she’d found them. She was sure she looked scary.
John didn’t agree. She looked tousled and flushed from sleep. Her voice a bit lower than normal. “How was your nap?”
“I hadn’t even known I was that tired.” She combed her fingers through her hair and shook her head.
“Well, keeping up with the twists and turns of a certain little mind is exhausting,” he said, and wondered if she was doing that hair-shaking stuff on purpose.
“Very.” Georgeanne walked over to Lexie and held out a hand to help her to her feet. “Let’s go find something to do and let John finish.”
“I am finished,” he said as he stood, keeping his eyes above chest level and trying not to stare like a schoolboy at her cleavage. He really didn’t want her to catch him ogling her body and think he was some kind of perverted bastard. She was the mother of his child, and although she never really said anything specific, he knew she didn’t have a very high opinion of him as it was. Maybe he deserved her low opinion. Maybe not. “Actually, I wasn’t going to do this today, but Lexie and I got a little bored waiting for you. It was either ride the exercise bike or play Barbie Beauty Parlor.”
“I can’t see you playing Barbies.”
“That makes two of us.” But there was just one problem with his good intentions; the halter top she wore was sapping his willpower. Kind of like Superman and kryptonite. “Lexie and I have been talking about finding some oysters for dinner.”
“Oysters?” Georgeanne turned her attention to Lexie. “You won’t like oysters.”
“Yeah-huh. John said I would.”
Georgeanne didn’t argue, but an hour later as they sat in a seafood restaurant, Lexie took one look at the picture of oysters on the menu and wrinkled her nose. “That’s yucky,” she said. When their waitress approached the table, Lexie ordered a toasted cheese sandwich on “fresh” bread, fries on a separate plate, and Heinz ketchup.
The waitress turned her attention to Georgeanne, and John sat back and observed the power of her southern charm and megawatt smile.
“I know you’re very busy, and I know from experience that your job is thankless and extremely hectic, but you look like a sweetheart, and I was so hoping I might make just a few little changes,” she began, her voice oozing compassion for the woman and her “thankless” job. By the time she was finished, she’d ordered salmon with a “lemon-chive brown-butter sauce” that wasn’t even on the menu. She substituted new potatoes for the rice, with “no butter, just a dash of salt, and a pinch of chives.” She ordered her cantaloupe served on a separate plate because “cantaloupe should never be served warm.” John half expected the woman to tell Georgeanne to go to hell, but she didn’t. The waitress seemed only too happy to change the menu for Georgeanne.
Compared to his two female companions, John’s order was extremely easy. Oysters on the half shell. Nothing extra. Nothing on the side. As soon as the waitress left, he looked across the table at the two females with him. Both wore light summer dresses. Georgeanne’s matched the green of her eyes. Lexie’s matched the blue of her eye
“Are you gonna eat those?” Lexie asked once their food arrived. She leaned forward, fascinated yet repulsed by his dinner.
“Yep.” He reached for a half shell and raised it to his lips. “Mmm,” he said, then sucked the oyster into his mouth and down his throat.
Lexie squealed, and Georgeanne looked a little squeamish and turned her attention to her salmon with lemon- chive brown-butter sauce.
The rest of the meal progressed fairly well. They chatted with a bit less tension than usual, but the ease of the evening ended when the waitress set the check next to him. Georgeanne reached for it, but he stopped her with his hand. Her eyes met his across the table, and she looked like a woman who wanted to drop the gloves and fight for the check.
“I’ll get it,” she said.
“Don’t make me get rough with you,” he warned, and squeezed her hand. He wasn’t opposed to the match, just the arena.
Rather than argue, she let him win, but the look she gave him said she clearly meant to discuss it again later when they were alone.
On the way home from the restaurant, Lexie fell asleep in the backseat of John’s Range Rover. He carried her into the house, feeling her warm breath on the side of his neck. He would have liked to hold her longer, but he didn’t. He would have liked to stay while Georgeanne got her ready for bed, but he felt a little funny about it and left.
Georgeanne watched John leave and reached for Lexie’s shoes. She dressed Lexie in her pajamas and put her to bed. Then she went in search of John. She wanted to ask him about tweezers for the sliver in her finger, and she needed to talk to him about the money he was spending on her and Lexie. She wanted him to stop. She could pay for herself. And she could pay for Lexie, too.
She found John standing at the bank of windows, staring out at the ocean. His hands were shoved in the front
