“I’m Max Beck,” the man said, slipping onto the seat next to hers. The scent surrounding him was unlike any cologne she recognized. It was a masculine scent. Pure male. Nothing from a bottle.
Her nostrils flared, and she felt hot even if he was a construction worker.
Jacquie sat straighter, thrusting out her breasts, hoping to emphasize curves that were barely there. “Jacquie Santini, Realty Professionals.”
“I knew who you were. I asked around.”
She arched her brows. “Should I be flattered?”
“Sweetheart, you should be glad I came over here and sat next to you. A woman who looks—” he leaned closer “—and smells like you shouldn’t have to sit by herself.”
Tingles rose across her bare arms, the plunging vee in her dress allowing cool air to caress her cleavage. She shouldn’t have had that second drink without eating. Her nipples grew to hard points; her legs began to ache.
The alcohol was flowing through her body, making her languid and careless. She threw her head back and laughed, a throaty sound that she knew drove men crazy.
“Well, I wouldn’t have been alone for long.”
“That’s why I came over.” Max rapped his knuckles on the bar. “Vodka on the rocks,” he ordered.
Casting all caution to the wind, throwing out all reason and succumbing to the anger toward Drew that lingered around the edges of her mind, she put a hand over Max’s. Their eyes met and held. “No. Don’t order a drink here. I know of a place where we can go dancing.”
He didn’t move, but his hooded gaze lowered to the bare skin at the base of her throat. “I don’t dance.”
She rose to her feet, a little unstable. She put her hand on the bar to steady herself. Squaring her shoulders, she felt more like herself now that the blood was moving through her body. “You do now. It’s my fortieth birthday,” she laughed, “and I feel like celebrating.”
Max flashed her a grin. “Well, then hell, just call me Fred Astaire.”
“We got the CAT scan report back and it looks good.” Dr. Berg stood before Lucy and Drew, giving them the news.
Relief pooled through Lucy, making her labored breathing ease to a more steady rhythm. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it ever since she saw Jason lying unconscious on the field. Everything had happened so fast. She’d been talking to Susan, had looked away for a moment, then saw Jason, and Drew running toward him.
After taking a look at Jason, Drew had reacted quickly. He’d called 911, and an ambulance was on its way before Lucy had time to think. She had no idea where the nearest hospital was, nor the quickest method to get her son there. Drew had taken care of everything, alleviating a portion of her stress by driving Matt to the hospital while she rode in the ambulance with Jason.
When Jason was brought in, he was still out cold. This wasn’t the first time one of her sons had been injured playing sports, and it would likely not be the last. But each time, Lucy was paralyzed with fear that the damage would be severe or permanent. Matt had broken both arms—and he wasn’t even a teenager yet. Jason had had two concussions prior to this one.
The team of doctors had checked him out, taken him for an image, and Lucy paced in the waiting room with Matt and Drew.
It seemed like it took forever.
Dr. Berg was reassuring, his tone soothing. “Your son will be all right. He woke up in radiology.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Lucy exhaled in relief.
“He’s going to have a bad headache, but I don’t see any serious problems. He’s lucky.”
The younger doctor wore his white coat well, and Lucy noticed he was smiling sympathetically at her…almost too much so, as if he knew something more. But he didn’t elaborate.
“Is there something else, Doctor?” she asked, almost unable to utter the question.
He paused, then said, “If I could talk to you alone.”
Tension wound tight within her, making her unable to move. Drew put his arm on her shoulder. “G’ahead. I’ll stay with Matt.”
Lucy walked behind the doctor, a knot working its way around her heart, squeezing, with unanswered questions plaguing her every step of the way. It was worse than the doctor was letting on. Jason was going to have some damage. Her son was going to be…damaged.
Oh, God…
Dr. Berg led her to a small alcove where two upholstered chairs faced one another.
“Mrs. Carpenter, take a seat.”
“It’s Miss.” Why she made the correction, she had no idea. It was an automatic response. Knitting her fingers together, she worried her thumbs. “It’s bad, isn’t it? You couldn’t tell me in front of my youngest son. What’s wrong with Jason—really?”
“Nothing but a concussion, Miss Carpenter.” His eyes were kind, a soft brown that made her feel comfortable. But the stress was still wrapping her in its taut cocoon.
“Then?”
The word echoed between them, suspended, as the doctor’s expression became regretful.
He reached into his lab coat pocket, then opened his palm. “When we took off your son’s clothes, I found this in his uniform pants’ pocket. Do you know what it is?”
Lucy wished she could have been shocked and said she had no idea what the thing was. But she knew. All too well.
“It’s for pot,” she said in a monotone.
Dr. Berg nodded, “A roach clip.”
“I thought so.”
He gave it to her and she held on to the metal clip as if it were poison. Biting her lip, she looked away.
How could Jason have disappointed her so? She had had a long talk with him about this the last time, and he’d promised her he’d stay out of trouble. They’d been through this in Boise. Things were supposed to be different here. How could he?
How dare he?
“I’m not going to report this because I didn’t find any drugs
