The Second Time (7 page)

Once Dawn would have agreed with that, because Randy had always been well-mannered and considerate of others. But, since Simpson had died, there had been a couple of isolated incidents when Randy had been deliberately uncaring of the inconvenience he had caused others. She didn’t know whether it was a phase he was going through or if he was testing her authority now that Simpson wasn’t around to enforce the rules.

“We’ve already waited supper almost an hour for him,” Dawn reminded her mother. “It will be ruined if you try to keep it hot any longer. You two go ahead and eat. I’m going out to look for Randy.”

“There’s no need for that,” her father inserted. “Sooner or later, he’s going to come home. When he does, he’ll have to eat a cold supper. That will be a good lesson for a boy with Randy’s appetite.”

But if it was discipline he was unconsciously seeking by staying away—proof that Dawn cared enough for him—then the passive punishment of a cold supper would not accomplish anything. She couldn’t begin to guess the motive behind his absence, if there was one, but she intended to find out.

“Maybe so, but I’m going out to look for him just the same,” she stated.

“Aren’t you going to have supper with us first?” her mother protested as Dawn started out the door.

“No,” she paused long enough to answer. “And
don’t bother to save anything for Randy and me. I’ll fix us something to eat when we come back.”

The three most logical places where Randy might be tarrying were the beach, the marina, or the area of Old Town. All of them were within walking distance, but Dawn decided she could cover the areas more quickly by car.

The first two were easy. She drove slowly past the public beach areas. Most of the bathers had forsaken the sand now that the sun was hanging low in the sky and the dinner hour had arrived. The same was true at the marina. The fishermen had already come in with their day’s catches and dispersed. Dawn didn’t find Randy among the few people still lingering in the two areas.

Old Town proved to be too congested with foot and wheel traffic. The sidewalk restaurants were crowded with customers combining the outdoor dining experience with people-watching. There were too many directions to look at the same time and still keep her attention on the road.

Giving up, Dawn parked the car and continued her search on foot. The more she looked, the more irritated she became. Always the thought was at the back of her mind that Randy might already be home while she was out here walking the streets looking for him. It didn’t improve her temper.

Intent on some boys Randy’s age engaged in horseplay across the street, Dawn didn’t see the tropically dressed pair of tourists until she had
bumped into the man. At the last second, she tried to avoid the collision by stepping sideways, but she careened off the bikestand right into the man.

The impact staggered her. She stepped all over the man’s toes as she attempted to regain her balance. Finally his steadying hands managed to right her and get her sandaled feet off his toes.

“I’m sorry,” Dawn apologized profusely to the middle-aged man. “I’m afraid I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No harm done,” he insisted with only a trace of a wince from the injury to his exposed toes in the leather beach thongs. The lovely sight before him seemed ample compensation for any harm she had done to him. His onlooking wife was forgotten as the male tourist got an eyeful of Dawn in her white shorts and clinging knit tanktop.

“Come on, Herb,” his wife snapped in irritation at the way he was ogling Dawn.

With a shrugging smile of regret, he stepped to the side to let Dawn pass by, stealing a glance at her rear view before his wife tugged him forward.

Her shin throbbed from its collision with the bikestand. Dawn paused to rub it and glance at the guilty object that had bruised it. Her gaze fastened on the old bike parked in the rack. It looked just like the one Randy had been using. Surely no two bikes would have matching dents and that funny rust pattern on the front fender. A
closer look at the lock securing it to the stand confirmed that it was Randy’s. Her father’s initials were engraved into the base.

She straightened, looking intently up and down the street. Randy was around here somewhere, and not on his way home. But where? She’d looked in nearly every shop and walked all the streets.

Dawn had barely asked herself the question when she came up with the answer. “Mallory Pier, of course,” she murmured.

It had become the evening gathering place and center of activity until the sun went down. She struck out for the pier, certain now that she would find Randy there.

When she reached it, the pier was already crowded with people. There was an almost festival atmosphere about the place. Everyone came to watch the sun make its daily spectacular descent into the Gulf of Mexico. It was an ideal setting with a backdrop of all water and sky.

The mood of the revelers didn’t touch Dawn, too intent on finding her errant son to care about the party atmosphere. All sorts of amateur entertainers were displaying their talents to the assembled crowd. Passing a juggler, Dawn continued looking into faces. There were so many young people around that their features seemed to blur together, making her wonder if she’d be able to recognize Randy in this sea of teenagers and pre-teens.

Her patience had nearly worn thin when she finally saw him. He was standing at the end of a
group, munching on a conch fritter and laughing at the antics of a mime. Randy said something to the man beside him, drawing the sparkling impatience of her gaze to him.

The anger drained from her with a rush as she recognized Slater. For an instant, he was all she could see. As if sensing he was being watched, his gaze suddenly scanned the crowd around him and came to a stop on her. She could almost feel the boring thrust of his gaze impaling her.

A thousand questions whirled around in her mind, all centered on finding the two of them together. There was only one way she could learn the answer. Dawn started forward, circling around the mime to approach them.

Randy wasn’t aware of her presence until he happened to look up and noticed Slater staring at someone. He turned, seeing her when she was nearly to him. Surprise flickered across his face.

“Mom. What are you doing here?” Randy voiced it, then seemed to suddenly realize who else was standing with him, and looked anxiously from one to the other.

The gray of Slater’s eyes was as hard as flint-stone. It was difficult for Dawn to reply normally when she was so aware of the bitter anger that had marked the end of their last meeting. There was a prickling sensitivity along her nerve ends.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, Randy. Your grandparents waited supper for nearly an hour,” she informed him, capable of only a mild rebuke now that she saw the reason that had detained him.

“Gosh, Mom,” Randy frowned in sincere contrition, and looked guiltily at the half-eaten conch fritter that had taken the edge off his appetite. “I didn’t realize it was that late. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are,” Dawn conceded. “The next time you need to keep better track of the time.”

“I will. It’s just that—” he paused to throw a glance at the silent man beside him, “—we’ve been talking. . . about things,” he finished lamely.

“I know.” It was a noncommittal answer, but it finally turned her attention to Slater.

All the while she had been talking to Randy she had been conscious of the angry vibrations emanating from Slater. She was conscious, too, of her slightly disheveled appearance. She wasn’t the picture of sophistication and confidence that she had been this afternoon.

Wisps of hair were curling damply against the sides of her face and along her neck. Her skin was glowing with a fine sheen of perspiration after the blocks she’d walked looking for Randy. The brevity of her white shorts showed the shapely length of her tanned legs and the slim curve of her hips. The loden green tank top did more than expose her golden-brown shoulders. The knit material clung to her skin, outlining the points of her breasts that had hardened under his regard.

Instead of being proud that her figure hadn’t sagged and lost its firmness after childbirth, Dawn was self-conscious of her definitely female
shape. It wasn’t as if she had dressed this way in an attempt to lure Slater’s interest. She hadn’t even known Randy was with him. Yet, after his accusation this afternoon that she wanted him back, her scantily clad appearance might be interpreted as an attempt to arouse his prurient interest.

“I hope you weren’t worried about me, Mom,” Randy said anxiously.

Dawn didn’t respond to that directly because she knew she had been unjustly angry. It hadn’t been a ploy to gain her attention that had kept him from coming home, but the excitement of finally meeting his natural father and being with him that had made Randy forget the time.

“I knew you didn’t have lights or reflectors on your bike,” she said as an excuse for her concern. “I didn’t want you riding it after dark.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” He shifted uncomfortably, shrugging his shoulders as he glanced down at his feet.

Through the entire conversation, Slater had remained silent. Now he turned slightly at an angle that brought him near to Dawn and facing Randy.

“The sun is on its way down. You’d better get your bike and start for your grandparents’ house,” he advised Randy in a calm, even voice.

His attention was focused entirely on Randy so there was no warning as his fingers clamped themselves around her wrist. Her pulse skittered wildly under the firm grip of his hand. She stiffened in raw tension, but didn’t pull away.
She understood the silent message conveyed by his detaining hand. Randy was to leave, but she was to remain. She felt hot and cold all at the same time, dreading the conversation that was to come yet hoping at last he would listen to her.

“I told them not to wait supper for you,” she said to Randy, fighting to keep the nervousness out of her voice. “So when you get home, you’ll have to fix yourself something to eat. Don’t let your grandmother do it for you either.”

He had started to take a step, then stopped, reading between the lines of her remarks. “Aren’t you coming, Mom?” Randy frowned.

“I’ll be home a little later on,” she said. “You just be sure to go straight home.”

“I will,” he promised, but he looked at her a little uncertainly before finally trotting away.

For long, charged seconds, she watched the point where Randy had disappeared into the crowd on the pier until she finally saw him exiting the dock. All the while, she was conscious of the clamp of Slater’s strong fingers keeping her at his side.

When she was satisfied Randy intended to obey her directions, she let her glance slide to Slater’s profile etched against a purpling sky. He, too, was observing Randy’s departure. The questions she had wanted to ask when she’d first seen them together came rushing back.

“Why—?” Dawn stopped and chose another. “How did Randy find—”

“He saw my car parked in the driveway of the Van de Veere house. He was waiting for me when
I drove back to the office,” Slater answered her question before she had a chance to finish it. “He’d already looked the address up in the phone book.”

“But how did he know—” She was frowning.

“He overheard you making the appointment with my secretary to meet me there.” Again, he accurately guessed what she had been about to ask.

“So he had been listening,” Dawn murmured to herself, remembering her uncertainty at the time. Instead of relaxing his hold on her wrist, he tightened it and started forward, forcing her to come with him. “You’re hurting me,” she protested and twisted her arm, trying to force him to loosen his grip rather than actually attempting to break it.

The pressure eased slightly, letting the blood flow again. “We’re going to my office—where we can talk in private,” Slater announced in a voice that was deadly flat.

There was no opportunity to voice her agreement with his desire for a less public place to hold their discussion. He obviously took it for granted. Dawn quickened her steps to keep pace with his longer strides as he led the way through the crowd of evening revelers.

It was a relatively short distance from Mallory Pier to his office. When they reached it, he released her wrist to unlock the door. In a show of her own free will, Dawn barely gave him a chance to open the door before she was brushing past him to walk inside so he would know this
was a conversation she sought, and not one that was being forced on her.

She paused inside the small reception area, unsure which door opened into his private office. Slater extended a hand, indicating the one directly in front of her. She walked to it and went inside. Her curious glance inspected the room, Key West in flavor with its trophy-sized marlin mounted and hanging on a wall. There was an airy openness to the room with its whitewashed walls and unshuttered windows. She noted, too, the framed plaques and awards scattered around that attested to his success and contributions to the community.

The top of his desk was cleared, except for a stack of telephone messages in the center of it. Slater ignored them and walked to a rattan table that concealed a small, counter-high refrigerator. He removed a container of ice cubes and dropped two into a glass, then splashed some bourbon over the top of them. Turning, he glanced at Dawn, a raised eyebrow inquiring whether she wanted a drink.

“No, thank you,” she refused and remained standing when Slater showed no intention of taking a seat.

He downed half the bourbon in one swallow, then studied the rest. The continued silence produced a heightening tension that became harder to break the longer it lasted. Dawn didn’t feel it was her place to speak first. He had refused to listen to her when she had tried to tell him about
Randy this afternoon. Pride insisted he had to ask for the explanation this time.

Slater gave her a long, measuring look. “Don’t you think you’re a bit old to go running around in public like that?” he criticized.

Stung, Dawn retorted, “Since when is a woman old at thirty?” But she reached up to unconsciously loosen the string binding her hair in its ponytail and combed it free with her fingers.