Between Love and Duty (6 page)

“I don’t think anyone is perfect,” she said, and felt weariness. If only she could feel shining faith in someone. Anyone. “I do believe Tito’s father is his best hope.”

MacLachlan swore and finally—finally!—swung away from her. She held herself straight, resisting the temptation to sag with relief. He swung around as quickly to face her, but this time he was five or six feet away.

“Expect company, Ms. Brooks, when you supervise those visits. You want your solution to work. I don’t trust you to recognize that it isn’t. I’ll expect to be kept apprised of each and every appointment. Is that clear?”

Anger rolled over her, starting with a hot glow beneath her breastbone and spreading with stunning speed. “Certainly,” she said. “If Judge Lehman instructs me to include you, I’ll do so. Otherwise… If Tito doesn’t invite you, it isn’t happening. Is that clear?”

They glared at each other. After a moment, she gave a sharp nod, turned and walked out of the courthouse, refusing to hurry.

She was a little surprised, as she unlocked her car, to hear herself growl. A passing man, carrying a briefcase, gave her a startled glance. She was probably blushing as she got into her car and bent to rest her forehead on the steering wheel.

She couldn’t remember when anyone had made her as mad as he did.

The only gratification that she could find—and it was tiny, barely a seed of pleasure—was a suspicion that she made him as mad,and that the experience was no more common or welcome for him than it was for her.

THREE DAYS LATER, Duncan found himself stalking along in the wake of Hector and Tito Ortez and Jane Brooks. Jane was chattering to Hector as if they were best friends. Hector responded occasionally with a nod or comment. Tito, to his credit, was the only one who seemed aware of the weirdness of the situation. Slinking along, trailing his father by a step or two, he was halfheartedly kicking his soccer ball. His head was bent, his thin shoulders hunched. He had, earlier, given Duncan one desperate glance and nod.

He and his father were apparently going to play soccer in the field at the middle school. Duncan didn’t like anything about this father/son happening. He especially didn’t like the father. He was annoyed that Hector had chosen an activity that was one of the things Duncan usually did with Tito.

Most of all, he did not want to be physically aware of Jane Brooks. In the three days since the court hearing, Duncan had made up his mind that he wouldn’t be. She was attractive. So what? She irritated him. He didn’t like her. Dislike trumped a pair of great legs or breasts that would nestle like small birds in his hands. A throat so long and pure he could only imagine how it would taste to his open mouth. An elegant back and subtle curve of hip. A perfect ass…

He tore his gaze from just that and let loose a string of silent profanities. He didn’t make a habit of letting his dick do his thinking and he wasn’t going to start now. The fact that he was semiaroused because he was following her from the middle school parking lot and she walked like a dream was no excuse.

When they reached the sideline, Jane stopped, letting Tito and his dad go on toward the soccer goal and well-worn ground in front of it. Gaze fixed grimly on the duo, Duncan stopped a few feet from her.

Hector stole the ball from his son, raced ten yards and kicked it resoundingly into the goal. His teeth flashed white as he grinned at Tito, who was staring in astonishment. Hector gesticulated; Tito said something, maybe asked a question. Within minutes they were talking, then playing in earnest.

Without even looking at him, Jane said, “Lighten up.”

“What?”

“I can feel you. You’re a thundercloud.”

“I can think of things I’d rather be doing this morning.”

“Then do them,” she said tartly. “Please.”

“I told you I’d be here.”

She made a huffing sound. “Do you really think I’m going to let anything bad happen to Tito? I may not carry a gun—” she aimed a pointed look at the one he conspicuously wore at his waist “—but I am quite capable of chaperoning, I assure you.”

Duncan crossed his arms. “Cheering them on, you mean.”

Tito whisked the ball by his father and scored a goal. Evidently delighted by the timing, Jane clapped and whistled. Her sidelong glance met a glower. Duncan clenched his jaw.

“Haven’t you been playing soccer with him?” she said cheerfully. “You should be proud of him. Why aren’t you cheering, too?”

Because I should be playing with him, not his father.
Duncan believed that, but was also discomposed by the realization that he was feeling a pang of jealousy. He sure as hell wasn’t admitting that to Jane Brooks.

“How often are we going to be doing this?” he asked, sounding grumpy even to his own ears.

“We?
I
will be doing this as often as I can. We’ve agreed to aim for twice a week, and Hector will be having dinner with Tito, Lupe and her kids a couple of additional evenings. I understand Tito’s big brother, Diego, is around for a few weeks, too.”

Duncan grunted. Tito had told him as much. The boy had sounded…wistful. He loved Diego and perhaps felt slightly in awe of him, but had said enough for Duncan, reading between the lines, to guess that Tito was also disappointed that his brother wasn’t making more money or doing something important. Duncan had let the conversation drift so that the connection wasn’t obvious before talking about how important Tito’s grades in school were.

“You’ll never get a really good job without going to college or getting training in a trade,” he’d said with a shrug. “No employer wants to hire a screwup. Someone who can’t finish what they start.”

Tito had looked thoughtful, for what that was worth. He was only twelve, not an age when he was likely to deeply contemplate life choices. Duncan knew that he was unusual in having set his eyes on his goal by the time he was ten or eleven. He had known he wanted success, respect, authority. He’d been determined to make good money so life wasn’t uncertain. He’d been willing to sacrifice to get where he wanted. So it was possible. Tito probably didn’t like feeling insecure, not knowing what the future would bring, any more than Duncan had at that age.

“I should have brought a lawn chair,” Jane remarked. “I’ll have to think of myself as a soccer mom. Snacks wouldn’t be a bad thing, would they?” She pursed her lips. “A book, maybe.”

She couldn’t seem to resist needling him. Duncan said sardonically, “I thought you were being paid to keep your eyes on the father/son bonding process.”

“I try to keep some distance when I do this kind of court-ordered supervision. I’m here, but not intruding on their time together. Fortunately, I’m really good at doing two things at once.” Her smile was like a glint of sunlight catching a gun sight, serving as the same kind of warning. “I’ve been known to do three or four things at a time. I’ve read that women tend to be better at that. Probably because we’re biologically programmed to watch the kids even while we’ve got dinner simmering on the fire and we’re hanging the laundry out on the bushes to dry. Men, apparently, have tunnel vision in comparison. The studies are interesting, don’t you think?”

“I can chew gum and walk at the same time, Ms. Brooks.”

“Do you?”

At his fulminating stare, she widened her eyes innocently. “Chew gum, I mean. I hardly ever see adults chewing on gum.”

What an unbelievably aggravating woman. “No,” he said. “I admit I don’t. I was speaking metaphorically.”

“Oh.” This smile was even sunnier. “And I had the loveliest picture of you in your uniform blowing a great big pink bubble.”

He actually wanted to laugh. Duncan managed to focus instead on the soccer players; at the very moment Hector swept his laughing son into a hug. Any desire to laugh died.

“I’m going to sit,” Jane announced, and lowered herself gracefully to the ground. She crossed her legs and bent to pluck blades of grass.

Duncan found himself wondering if she could do the splits. The way her knees relaxed open as she leaned forward made him suspect she could. Not many women in their late twenties or early thirties remained that flexible. Had she been a gymnast rather than a dancer?

He moved uncomfortably. He didn’t think he’d ever made love to a woman as limber as this one. He imagined lifting her legs over his shoulders as he…

Oh, hell. In self-defense, he walked away from her along the sideline, pacing almost to the end of the field before he turned and came back. She was watching him, he saw, although he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. By the time he reached her, she’d turned her head and appeared to have put him out of her mind as she stuck her two middle fingers in her mouth and whistled her approval of something Tito had done with the soccer ball. Damn it, even
that
was sexy. How many women could whistle like that?

Spending time with Jane was not a good idea, Duncan was forced to realize. Annoying as she was, he did want her. But he was a man who lived by the rules he’d set for himself, and one of them was to make sure to never get involved with a woman whom he’d have to keep seeing when they were done. Jane’s involvement with the court definitely put her on the other side of the line. But the alternative to spending time with her in the coming weeks was giving up on Tito, and he wasn’t prepared to do that.

He could move ten feet away and pretend she wasn’t there.

And look like a socially maladroit idiot, he thought ruefully.

With a sigh, he dropped to the ground a few feet from Jane and sat with one leg outstretched, the other knee bent.

“The kid’s not bad, is he?”

“No, and neither is his father. Hector was telling me that he kept playing at Monroe. He says he was on his village team when he was growing up. He was good, but not quite good enough to go professional, to his regret.”

“Tito and I have played more basketball than soccer.” Man, did that sound defensive. Like he didn’t have the guts to compete head-to-head with Hector. Angry with himself, Duncan continued, “I think maybe they’re spending more time on basketball in phys ed. Tito obviously felt lacking.”

She wrinkled her nose. “He’s awfully short.”

Duncan made a sound of agreement. “He’s taken to shooting baskets for hours every evening. He’s got determination, I’ll give him that.”

“It’s a good sign.”

“Yes.”

Without turning his head, he could feel her gaze. He was reluctant to meet it. Sitting this close, he didn’t like to think how he’d react to the rich, deep blue of her eyes.

“Why a dance shop?” he asked abruptly. “If you weren’t a dancer.”

She turned her head, began plucking grass again so that her shiny brown hair swung down to shield her face. Duncan waited patiently. It had to be a full minute before she said, “Because I wanted to be one.”

“Then why weren’t you?”

Jane straightened and tucked her hair behind her ear. If she’d been feeling something she didn’t want him to see, she’d hidden it now. “Not all kids have those kinds of opportunities. I doubt Tito’s sisters did, for example.”

Was she saying her parents hadn’t had the money to pay for classes? Duncan supposed that made sense. Those kind of extras were undeniably a luxury for a lot of families.

“By the time I was…free to do it on my own, I was too old for dance to be anything but a hobby.” There was a tinge of something that he couldn’t quite read in her voice. Regret? Or was it more acid? Bitterness? “I actually take classes now,” she admitted, and this time she sounded a little shy. “For fun. And for exercise, of course.”

“What kind of classes?”

“I started with ballet. Now I continue that at home. I have mirrors, a bar and mats. So I take other stuff. Jazz. Tap. Modern dance. Even belly dance.”

Duncan heard the air escape his throat. He really wished she hadn’t told him that.

“Although I’m not exactly the sultry type.” She gave a one-sided shrug. “I guess I’m too skinny. And, well, not what you’d call exotic. I’m more girl-next-door.”

“You?” He gave her an incredulous look. “I never had any girls next door that looked like you.”

She blinked. Her eyes really were beautiful, emphasized by long, thick lashes only slightly darker than her hair. Which meant she hadn’t had to use mascara.

“I… Thank you?” she said hesitantly. “If that was a compliment?”

“It was.” He had to clear his throat to relieve the gruffness.

“Oh. Well.” There was a pause before she murmured, “Who’d have thunk?”