A Mom for Matthew

Jorge picked up her tanks with a shrug.

“I spent every spare minute over the past year making sure I had every piece of documentation I needed to search for this plane. Our angry Kemper rep will just have to cool his heels until I find my grandfather’s plane and prove to the navy that he didn’t purposely go AWOL, but gave his life in the line of duty,” she explained, although she’d already told Jorge this more than once. “Grandmother battled the navy for years. Her big fear, Jorge, is that she’ll die before reinstating my grandfather’s honor. I will find the plane and give her peace of mind,” Grace said with steely resolve.

GAVIN DAVIS MET Zeke at the slip. He helped guide the runabout into its moorage and lashed the line thrown to him by Zeke around a T-cleat buried in the dock. “So, boss, that didn’t take long. You set her straight in a hurry, I guess.”

Zeke’s snort told the real story. But he elaborated anyway. “It was a wasted trip. Why didn’t Norm say she tossed around words like ‘historic’ and ‘government sanctioned’?”

“No kidding?” Gavin stopped in his tracks. “She didn’t mention government to me. Although, I did tell you she claimed to be hunting for a WWII plane.”

“I know. I didn’t figure out the significance then,” Zeke said testily.

“So, what are we gonna do now? We can forcibly remove her, can’t we?”

Zeke shifted on the gently swaying dock. “Maybe, but I don’t know that for sure, Gav. And I’d rather not take that route if we can avoid it. I’ll check at the courthouse first and see if I can find out how tight her permit is. Will you phone David Decker and tell him we need to delay renting his barge? He’ll whine about lost time and money and try to put the screws to us to pay extension fees. Remind him that until Kemper got here, his barges sat empty.”

“What excuse do I give Dave, Zeke?”

“Tell him the truth. We’ve got a problem sitting in the bay. If Ms. Stafford’s got the backing of the Pentagon as she claims, her story will circulate. Think of the hammering we’ll take by the press if she says Kemper’s uncooperative. She’ll have every historian and environmentalist in the state rallying around her and the flag. So, until I get the real skinny, let’s keep a low profile.”

“PK’s gonna be so pissed. Did you call him?”

Zeke gave a shake of his head. “Not yet. Grace could be running a bluff.”

Gavin grinned. “Grace, is it? You two got chummy pretty fast if you’re on first-name basis.”

Zeke’s second snort surpassed his first in fury. “She’s not my type. I thought you saw her, Gavin. Hell, the game hen I had for dinner last night had more meat on its bones.”

“Who knows what your type of woman is, buddy-boy? No one’s seen you out on the town in the three-plus years you’ve worked here.”

Zeke’s sudden scowl had his co-worker backing off. “I sowed my wild oats over in Kingsville before coming to Galveston. Learned a valuable lesson the hard way, Gavin. Came away with a motto: why be miserable with a woman when I can be happy without one?”

“We all figured you got burned, Zeke. You’re not alone there. Rick Foster has a daughter in New Orleans he only sees once a year ’cause his ex keeps going to court. I’m shelling out double alimony. Half the time I can’t scrape up funds to go on a date. Yet we all keep trying to find Ms. Right. Shoot, don’t you miss cuddling up to a soft, warm body on these cool spring nights?”

“No. And if I ever do I’ll get a dog,” Zeke said emphatically.

“I don’t reckon God meant for man to live his life alone,” Gavin muttered.

“I’m not alone,” Zeke said more testily than he usually spoke to a member of his crew. “I’ve got my son and my mom to fill that void in my life.”

“Kids and moms don’t fill the empty bed I’m talking about, man. Are you claiming you don’t miss sex?”

“Of course I do. I’m human. But liking sex with Trixie Lee Wilson led to getting careless one weekend when I rolled into town after three months’ wildcatting in West Texas. Me being careless led to Trix getting pregnant, which led to us getting married. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you the worst reason for gettin’ hitched is a pregnant girlfriend?”

“Can’t say he did. My old man’s the reason I did stick around and do right by Trixie Lee. My fine, upstanding daddy took a powder the minute my mom told him she was going to have his baby. This conversation’s going nowhere, Gavin,” he said abruptly. “Especially since I wouldn’t trade Matthew for anything. Go call Decker. I’ll see you after I check out Ms. Stafford’s story.” Without another word, Zeke sprinted to his pickup. He slid behind the steering wheel and slammed the door. A knot the size of Dallas took up residence in his stomach. Damn, but he ought to know better than to get drawn into conversations about women and marriage. It was a subject he did fancy footwork to avoid. As a rule, Zeke didn’t care if the crew razzed him about his lack of dates—not even when they talked behind his back. They were aware that he’d been married and divorced. Until now, he’d never admitted his split had been a messy one. But since he’d come clean about the divorce and brought up his dad, maybe they’d leave him the hell alone. Zeke got tired of making excuses about why he didn’t want to go drinking and carousing with the other guys on payday weekend. He believed a man ought to keep his home life separate from work.

Well, crap, he’d blown that, and Gavin tended to be a blabbermouth. Zeke didn’t doubt that his life story would soon circulate through the bar at Willie G’s the next time the crew hooked up there for happy hour.

He sighed. Maybe it didn’t matter. The crew might take pity on him and quit having their wives and girlfriends dig up spare friends on Friday nights.

Zeke swung into the parking lot at the courthouse, thinking it seemed unusually busy. That forced him to concentrate on finding a parking space. When one suddenly opened up in front of the building, Zeke grabbed it, vaulted from his vehicle and pocketed his keys.

Inside, he went to the information desk.

“The best place to begin is probably in records,” a receptionist said, taking time to flirt a little with Zeke as she hauled out a map of the courthouse and leaned close to show him the most direct route to the records room.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Even though Zeke ignored her efforts to attract his attention, he remained unfailingly polite. He knew how hard it was for male and female singles in small towns to connect. Because of a steady tourist trade, Galveston had a greater turnover of singles than a lot of places he’d landed when he’d been in the market to date. Back then, though, he’d only been in the market for a good time.

To give Trixie Lee some credit, he’d mistakenly thought their goals had matched. It was only later that he discovered what she really wanted—a one-way ticket out of Kingsville. Zeke blamed her for not having enough substance to stay for the sake of the child they’d made together, however unintentionally. Instead, she’d disappeared like a thief in the night with all the money in their joint account, leaving only a note on the kitchen table saying she wasn’t cut out to be a mother.

Zeke might have accepted that if she’d left it there. She didn’t. She hooked up with a girlfriend in Dallas, who’d referred her to a lawyer, who was determined to make Zeke pay and pay big. It wasn’t the money Zeke cared about. What he hated was how Trixie and her lawyer kept putting Matthew in the middle of an ongoing war. Every time Trix ran short of money, she played the custody card. Zeke found it easier to shell out dough than take a risk on her maybe winning.

Wrenching the doorknob to the records office, Zeke again vowed to put his personal headaches aside while he dealt with a potential company problem.

“The receptionist out front said you’d probably have what I’m looking for. I need to verify that a new salvager in town has the proper permits. My company, Kemper Oil, is fixin’ to sink a well in the same locale. I requested our permit three weeks ago. I assume it was approved. At least, I wasn’t notified to the contrary.”

The woman sat down at a computer and typed in the basic information Zeke provided. “Oh, I see what happened, Mr. Rossetti. Someone should’ve sent you a letter. Wait—it says here a letter went out.”

“I didn’t get any letter. About what? Have we been denied access?”

“Temporarily, yes. I see this letter went to Mr. Pace Kemper. Perhaps you should discuss the issue with him, Mr. Rossetti.”

“Yes, but he’s in Dallas. I’m the guy coordinating the local drill site and I have subcontractors on hold. Would you make me a copy, please?”

She gave a shrug, then smiled. “Since you ask so nicely, I guess that’d be all right.” The clerk turned and punched a few keys. She rose when a communal printer whirred, and came back carrying a single sheet.

Zeke scanned the page quickly. He saw immediately that the reason for temporary suspension was listed as the state having issued a prior permit to the salvager. The letter cited the navy’s interest in the salvage. Attached was a recommendation from the Pentagon expressing a desire to locate a supply plane piloted by an MIA from World War Two. Zeke’s headache increased exponentially.

“Kemper has a huge investment being threatened by this decision. Is there someone here I can see about reversing this order?” The hole in his stomach grew because his visits with judges left him in a perpetual state of tension.

“Not really, Mr. Rossetti. Judge Mooney processed the permit. He’s not on the docket again until Friday. I suppose you could stop by his office and either make an appointment for next week, or if you have a company attorney, you may want him to file an appeal. A lawyer can request an assignment to Judge Mooney’s caseload. He’s really busy, but with luck you might get a hearing as early as mid-July.”

“What? We can’t delay drilling that long. We’ll go bankrupt waiting for Ms. Stafford to bring up her blasted plane. Providing it even sank where she’s diving.”

The clerk shrugged again. This time it was accompanied by an expression of helpless sympathy. She seemed relieved when her phone rang.

Zeke realized that the poor woman had no more control over the situation than he did whenever Trixie’s lawyer and the Burnham woman yanked him into court. What choice did he have but to phone his boss? Zeke doubted Pace had received the letter yet; otherwise he would’ve contacted Zeke at home.

He left the records office, returning to his pickup to make the call. “Pace, hey, this is Zeke. I’m glad I caught you at your desk. I’m at the Galveston courthouse. You may not have received it yet, but you’re going to get a letter putting our next well on hold.”

Zeke moved the phone away from his ear as his boss vented steam before even asking particulars. Zeke read the short edict, then added, “I spoke with the salvager. First of all, it’s not any well-known outfit. We’re talking one woman diving off a leaky fishing boat.”

Kemper swore at length. “How in hell did she get authorization for that spot?”

Leaving his pickup, Zeke stalked up and down the sidewalk. “I think she has connections in D.C. She’s confident about her permits. The local judge who rubber-stamped the state permit is out until the end of the week. Don’t you have clout in Washington? I mean, we’ve got a government oil exploration contract, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Kemper muttered. “And I have got the ear of a couple of senators. Don’t know if they’ll lock horns with the military, though.”

“Well, you’ve got lawyers. Let them earn their keep.”

“I’d rather you took this salvager out to dinner tonight. See if you two can’t come to an agreement before involving our legal team. That can get messy.”

Zeke didn’t want to take Grace Stafford to dinner. “I think it’d go better coming from you, Pace. Can’t you fly down and handle negotiations? We’re up against one determined female.”

“You’ve got charm to spare, Rossetti. Use it.”

“Like hell! I’m the least able man for the chore, boss. How about if I pass the job to Gavin?” Forced to chuckle when Pace literally roared that he wanted the woman charmed into an agreement, not seduced into bed by a guy hunting wife number three, Zeke decided Pace knew their crew chief pretty well. Gavin did fancy himself a ladies’ man.

The two signed off, with Zeke reluctantly agreeing to invite the salvager out to dinner, and with Kemper promising to make inquiries at the energy commission.

All in all, this wasn’t an assignment Zeke relished. But Pace paid him well to keep the Galveston operation on track, and this happened to be the disadvantage of being at the top of the heap.

What he couldn’t decide was whether to go back to the office, where he’d have to confide in Gavin and the others, or just head back into the lobby where he’d seen a phone book and take a stab at calling waterfront hotels where the Stafford woman might be staying. She’d indicated she was in a small historic hotel. That narrowed the field. He’d leave her a message to call him on his cell so they could arrange to meet for dinner.

Zeke settled on that plan because he wanted time to swing by his house and change into something more presentable…although he had a hard time shaking the image he’d taken away of Grace Stafford’s godawful bathing suit.

On his third attempt to find where the blasted woman was registered, Zeke connected with a clerk at Seaport House who agreed to leave a message for Ms. Stafford. The man added that Grace generally returned to the hotel around four o’clock.

Zeke checked his watch and saw that he’d wasted more than half a day already, between boating out to her salvage site and digging around the courthouse. He suggested meeting in her hotel lobby at 5:00 p.m. There were any number of casual restaurants within walking distance of her hotel. Zeke had no idea what her preference might be in food. Damn, he was rusty at this, and he hated feeling inept.

Hoping he hadn’t stammered so badly that the clerk considered him some kind of demented loser, Zeke hung up and stormed back to his pickup.

Revving the engine, he headed home to dress for what would surely be the worst evening he’d spent in heaven only knew how long.

CHAPTER TWO

OF ALL THE POSSIBILITIES that ran through Zeke’s mind between 4:45, when he rushed off, leaving his mom for the second time that day to deal with a crying child, and exactly 5:00 p.m., when he arrived in the lobby of Seaport House, not one of them was that Grace Stafford would flat-out ignore his request to buy her dinner. Not just ignore, either. When he gave his name, a smirking clerk said, “Yes, sir, we delivered your message. Ms. Stafford wadded it up and tossed it in the trash. Right in that bin.” The skinny dude blinked behind owlish glasses and took pleasure in showing Zeke the relevant waste container.

Drumming his fingers on the counter, Zeke hesitated only briefly. “Where’s your courtesy phone? If she hasn’t gone out, I’ll just have to change her mind.”

For a minute, Zeke wasn’t sure the clerk would direct him to the phone. He wanted to ask what the guy’s problem was, but maybe he hankered after Grace Stafford. Yes, it was possible. Zeke wanted to tell the man that he, Zeke, wasn’t competing in the romance department over some loser who’d go out in public in that horrible frog bathing suit. But he held his tongue and crossed the lobby to a house phone the reluctant clerk had pointed out.

Zeke listened while it rang and rang. For a minute, he wondered if the clerk was stonewalling him by ringing an empty room. Just as he was about to hang up, a breathless woman answered. “He…ll…o.”

“Ms. Stafford?” Zeke gave her a moment to catch her breath.

“Yes,” she returned hesitantly.

“It’s Zeke Rossetti. We met out in the bay today? I represent Kemper Oil Explorations.”

“Oh! I, ah, received your message. I’m sorry if you made a trip into town for nothing. Really, there’s no need for us to meet. I won’t be persuaded to give up searching for my grandfather’s plane. And as I only recently got to my room, I’ll say goodbye. You interrupted my shower. I’m dripping all over the carpet.”

Zeke followed her stilted, choppy response—which in essence told him to buzz off. He envisioned the soggy woman he’d glimpsed earlier, now resembling a sunburned prune and the image left him unable to speak for a moment. Sensing she was going to hang up, Zeke’s sluggish brain connected with his mouth. “If you just got in, that means you haven’t eaten. My employer’s springing for dinner. Isn’t that a fair exchange for listening to our side?”

The silence went on so long, Zeke grew tense. “If I recall, Ms. Stafford, you offered to let me look over your permits. Why not have dinner at the same time? There are plenty of good restaurants nearby.”

Zeke heard her swift intake of breath. “We can walk to a restaurant?” What did she think, that he’d drive her to the bay and drown her?

“Sure thing. I’ll even let you choose. We’re early enough to get in almost anywhere without a reservation.”

“All right, then. But I’ll need fifteen more minutes. And it’s your city, so you choose. Except…nowhere fancy, please. Diving’s hard work. In the evening I prefer casual and relaxed.”

“Works for me. I’ll wait in the lobby, Ms. Stafford.”

“Uh, if we’re dining together, perhaps you should call me Grace. And your name is…Zeke. Correct?”

“Yes.” As his name fell softly from Grace Stafford’s lips, shivery fingers of an almost forgotten anticipation marched up Zeke’s spine. His well-conditioned reactions kicked in, however, and slammed on the brakes. Tonight’s meeting with this woman was business. Zeke wanted it kept on that level. Clenching his teeth, he said, “I’ll wait. Fifteen minutes.” He didn’t care that he probably sounded rude.

After hanging up, he sat in an easy chair and sorted through the Dallas newspaper someone had left on a coffee table. Zeke fully expected her fifteen minutes to stretch into half an hour. In his experience, a woman needed at least fifteen minutes to dig through her closet. And twice that to apply makeup.

He was pleasantly surprised when, ten minutes later, the elevator bumped to a stop across from where he sat and opened. Out walked Grace Stafford. Zeke almost didn’t recognize her. The hair he’d seen in a soggy ponytail that had reminded him of a dead rat now curled in a reddish-gold halo around an oval face. She wore khaki slacks and a peach-colored blouse that complemented the golden tan she was beginning to acquire. No prune effect, after all. She’d tucked the blouse into the narrow waistband of her slacks. She also carried a shoulder bag and a dark-brown sweater, which told Zeke she was aware that Galveston evenings near the waterfront were cool this time of year.

She approached him the same way she’d spoken on the phone, tentatively.

Zeke rose at once and set the paper aside. “Wow,” he exclaimed. “That didn’t take you long. I didn’t mean to rush you, Ms., uh…Grace.” Rattled, Zeke buried his hands in his pockets and clinked his loose change.

“You didn’t. I’m starved, and I assumed you must be, too, after working all day.”

Zeke realized he was famished. As she halted beside him, her light fragrance, reminding him of spicy cinnamon, shot straight to his stomach. And suddenly, the prospect of sharing a meal with her held more appeal than he’d ever imagined it would. Up close, he saw she’d worked a little magic on her previously sunburned nose, too. Her soft freckles knocked Zeke off kilter enough to have him stammering, “How—ah—what would you like to eat?” He shuffled to his other foot and withdrew a hand from his pocket long enough to rake it through hair he suddenly discovered needed cutting.

But Grace barely glanced at him. She grew thoughtful as they moved toward the door. “Really, I’d rather defer to you. I must admit I haven’t taken time to check out what’s available. I’m not here on vacation but to find my grandfather Dugan’s plane. I’ve been grabbing whatever fast food is handiest.”

For a whole minute there, Zeke had forgotten their purpose in eating together. Brought back to earth, he held open the door to let her pass. “Still, I need to know what your idea of a satisfying meal is.”

When Grace shot him a puzzled glance, he shrugged and blurted, “Are you a woman who picks at a salad and claims she’s full, or do you eat real food?”

Grace laughed, and Zeke noticed that it changed her into a different person. She had a mouth full of pretty white teeth. And he realized he hadn’t noticed her lush pink lips before. Natural. No artificial color. Some guys were leg men. Some ogled women’s butts. Zeke gravitated toward a kissable mouth. Unfortunately, Grace Stafford possessed one.

At the moment, Zeke was trying hard to shake off his attraction and dismay. He needed to hear what she was saying—and he had to ignore that tinkling, delightful laughter.

“I know you wouldn’t think it from looking at me, but I fall in love with almost any food I set eyes on. My grandmother used to complain that when I was growing up, I threatened to eat her out of house and home. An active metabolism accounts for my staying thin. I’m warning you, Zeke Rossetti, your employer won’t get off easy when it comes to feeding me. Sure you wouldn’t rather reconsider?”

Now it was Zeke’s turn to laugh. “Nope. So, if that was a challenge of some sort, I accept. I have just the place, then. Guaranteed to fill a hungry stomach. An Italian restaurant on the Strand. I swear, if you leave Luigi’s hungry, it’s your own fault.” He took her elbow. “Let’s cross the street here. It’s a few blocks. That’ll give us a chance to walk off their huge servings of spaghetti or lasagna on the way back.” Zeke rubbed a hand over his flat belly, drawing Grace’s eyes to his rangy physique.

Up close, Zeke Rossetti was even more dangerously disarming and formidable than she’d guessed as she watched him motor away from Jorge’s boat. “I should’ve known,” she threw out quickly to cover her staring, “with the name Rossetti, of course you’d know where all the best Italian restaurants are. I read that Galveston was settled by families from the New York banking industry. Can you trace your roots back to the birth of the city?”

“No.” Zeke immediately pulled back from her eager personal inquiry. He also dropped his hand from her elbow as they were well across the street, down the block from where they’d cut over. Zeke never understood why women always wanted to delve into a man’s history five minutes after they’d met. “Turn here,” he said, feeling a need to slide some inconsequential remark into the uncomfortable silence swirling around them. “It’s not far.” He started walking faster.

Grace lengthened her stride to keep abreast. Before long, she found herself puffing up the steady sidewalk incline. She had no breath to ask further questions. And although she considered herself to be fairly good at reading people, they’d reached his proposed destination before it struck her that a desire to silence her questions was precisely what had led to Zeke Rossetti’s hundred-yard uphill sprint. It served to make Grace even more curious. But she’d get her answers eventually.

At the coffeehouse where she stopped for breakfast each day, everyone was local and they seemed willing to chat. Someone would give her the lowdown on Kemper Oil’s operating chief.

Holding the door, Zeke stepped aside to let Grace pass into the restaurant where music, muted laughter and mouthwatering odors enveloped all hungry arrivals. The hostess greeted Zeke by name and subsequently whisked them to a corner table. Even as Zeke accepted menus, he pulled out Grace’s chair, and waited patiently for her to be seated before handing her one.

Feeling awkward, she turned her attention to the many choices listed under entrées. “Goodness, how will I ever choose one thing? It all sounds fabulous, and everything looks and smells delicious.”

“If you want to sample more than one dish, I can always take the leftovers home. Anything they make here is great reheated,” he said enthusiastically.