A Mom for Matthew

“How’d you find me? Galveston isn’t that small.”

“No. But Jorge said he thought you went sightseeing. Unless you took off in a car, I thought it was logical that you’d hit the Strand.” His grin widened as her scowl deepened.

She might have said something unkind had the clerk not called out the number on Zeke’s slip. He rose and collected their order.

“How can you drink a double espresso?” she asked, gazing into the thick black depths of his small cup. “That looks strong enough to eat holes in the lining of your stomach.”

Taking a sip, Zeke smacked his lips. “This stuff will keep me going for another six hours. Long after your sissy drink lets you down.”

“I’m already upset over lost worktime, especially since I rent Jorge’s boat by the day. So rather than trade meaningless insults, Zeke, how about if you tell me why you were looking for me?”

Zeke cast a glance around at the nearly full room. He was glad now that he’d found her here. She seemed too ladylike to pitch a fit in front of innocent bystanders. “My boss decided you could use an extra pair of eyes in your search. Now don’t jump for joy, but I was elected. I’m gonna help you out.”

“Pardon? No. No way!” Grace rose from her chair, bumped into the table and watched her almond latte spill across it—and into Zeke’s lap.

He, and the people at the tables on either side, leapt forward to mop up the mess. Grace grabbed her handbag and tossed it over her shoulder. “That is the most preposterous idea you’ve come up with yet, Rossetti. I know what I’m doing. I have a plan. I have a grid I work methodically. I don’t need or want anyone else down there stirring up sand.”

“You are the most unreasonable female I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering. On the one hand, you stand here bitching about how much it costs to rent Jorge’s boat. Yet when Pace Kemper offers you a way to cut your costs and shorten your search, all you worry about is me stomping on your ego.” To keep from hopping about or yanking off his pants right there because the hot coffee was burning tender parts, Zeke lashed back while trying to ease the steaming denim away from his skin. And did sweet little Grace apologize for attempting to emasculate him? No!

“My ego?” she shouted. “Yours is monumental. I don’t have to listen to your insults, either.” She started to sweep past Zeke.

He reached out and grabbed her bare arm. Grace’s wince told Zeke that he was holding her too tightly. He immediately relaxed his grip—but not before he glanced up and straight into the eyes of Bonnie Burnham, the social worker from hell. The gleam in her eyes didn’t bode particularly well for Zeke’s next scheduled home visit the following week.

“Ezekiel Rossetti!” she exclaimed. “Who is that poor woman you’re manhandling? And why aren’t you working at this hour? I wonder if your boss in Dallas knows you’re goofing off?”

Grace dashed for the door the moment Zeke dropped his hand. On hearing the woman speak to him, Grace looked over and mouthed Ezekiel?

Zeke’s head whipped between the two. “Shit,” he muttered, his eyes lingering on Grace’s lips. The expletive slipped out. Grace thought he’d sworn at her; apparently, so did those nearby. The kind patrons who’d helped him mop up the spilled coffee suddenly glared at him.

“Wait! Grace,” Zeke called futilely. Each step he took rubbed hot denim against his stomach and below, slowing him to a hobble. Grace made good her escape, and in the time it took him to wad up the wet napkins and toss them in a trash container, a new group of people had swept through the door and she vanished completely.

Feeling Bonnie Burnham’s eyes boring into his back, Zeke turned to face her. She was a large woman with shoulder-length brassy hair. The social worker always wore dark clothes, layered to minimize her size. And big, flashy rings drew attention to her hands. If she ever smiled, she wouldn’t be unattractive. But Zeke had never seen her smile, and he was in no mood to parry with her today. “Miz Burnham,” he drawled, assuming a jocular air he was far from feeling. “Did I ask if your agency head knows you’re having coffee instead of doing your usual job of micromanaging some poor family’s life?”

She clutched a large gold medallion that hung around her neck. “Young man, it’s that attitude that gets you negative points. In spite of what you believe, our agency advocates for children. And I care very much about Matthew’s welfare. You’re the one who’s being difficult. I could get Matthew into that school.”

Zeke heaved a massive sigh, but because people were listening in, he lowered his voice. “You can’t care as much as I do, Miz Burnham. I love my son more than anything in the world. And…I am—was—working when Ms. Stafford’s coffee tipped over. As you can see, most of it landed on me. You’d show some attitude, too, if you’d just been burned by hot coffee. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll run home and change. I’m sure we’ll both have plenty to say at our next visit.” Giving a stiff, dismissive jerk of his chin, Zeke left. He duck-walked to his pickup. The cool breeze blowing off the bay was almost too cold when it hit his wet jeans, but it also cleared his head. Enough so that he groaned when he thought about how he’d once again let his temper control his mouth—when it came to dealing with Grace Stafford and Bonnie Burnham. The child welfare people weren’t all bad. There were families who needed their help. But Zeke wouldn’t be one of their cases if Trixie Lee hadn’t discovered that it was a surefire way of getting him to cough up money.

Revving his engine, he backed out and recalled his mother chiding him about his attitude last night. It made him spare a moment to contemplate the happy-go-lucky guy he used to be. Oh, he’d always had rough edges. Basically, though, he made friends easily. And women liked him. During the last few years, his outlook had changed. Although he might want to lay his surliness at Trixie Lee’s feet, Zeke knew that was just too convenient.

The big question was, how did he put an end to his useless squabble with his ex-wife? As he swung into his driveway at home, he reached the conclusion that no one could solve the problem but him. And there was no time like the present to start.

Matthew was still napping. Zeke told Celia what had happened and why he was home in the middle of the day, rummaging in the medicine cabinet.

“If your skin is burned, Zeke, don’t put salve on it. Use ice.”

“Ice?” He came out of the bathroom.

“Really. Read the first aid book you bought. It’s the recommended treatment for burns. If the skin isn’t blistered, just cover your privates with a clean pair of soft, white cotton underpants.”

“Ma, I don’t think I want to have this conversation with you. I’m thirty, not three.”

She shrugged and returned to watching TV.

Zeke went to his bedroom and followed her recommendation. He found a pair of knock-around pants with a drawstring waist and put them on instead of another pair of jeans. “I’m leaving again,” he called, after looking in on his sleeping son. “I’ve still gotta run Grace to ground. I’ll try to be home in time for dinner. She’s being stubborn about letting me help with her salvage, and I need to change her mind. Even if I manage, today’s virtually gone. We won’t be able to start until tomorrow.”

“I almost forgot. Norm Steel phoned and said Ms. Stafford called your office a few minutes before you showed up here. He wasn’t sure if you wanted him to give her your home or your cell number.”

“She called the office? For me?” Zeke buttoned in his wallet. “From where, I wonder?”

“Her hotel. At least that’s the number Norm gave me. I wrote it on the pad by the kitchen phone.”

Zeke retrieved the number and called her from his pickup.

“I did call,” Grace said in a low, quiet voice. “I was almost back at my hotel when it dawned on me how much that hot coffee must’ve hurt. Are you all right? It was my fault, and I’m so sorry. I feel awful. And…I shouldn’t have reacted so badly to your offer of help. It’s just…that kind of behavior is so typical of the male teachers in my district, like women can’t handle chairing projects or committees. Like we aren’t capable of being in charge of anything. It’s my problem, not yours. But, I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

“You can forgive me for grabbing you.”

“I will. Did…that woman in the coffeehouse make trouble for you? Who is she? Someone from your headquarters? And…is Ezekiel your real name?”

“No trouble. She’s nobody to worry about. What’s wrong with Ezekiel?”

“It sounds sort of religious, like…Grace. But you don’t strike me as—well, never mind.”

Zeke chuckled. “I get the picture. My mother liked the name. She said it had strength of character. But enough of that. I’d like to try again to negotiate with you. In a more civil manner this time. I’m not far from your hotel. Would you walk down the pier with me? We can try coffee again—or maybe a beer this time.”

“Yes. All right. Beer’s fine. I have a confession to make, though. The dive shop phoned. They have to order a valve for my air tanks. And you, uh, apparently rented the last tanks of a size they think I should dive with. If you’re agreeable, I’d like to, well, sublet your tanks.”

For the first time in hours, Zeke found something to smile about. So he finally held a trump card. “See you in five minutes, Grace. We’ll discuss it.” Zeke clicked off before she could present any other roadblocks. He imagined they’d both be a lot mellower after a beer or two.

CHAPTER FOUR

ZEKE NEEDED MORE than the five minutes to reach the hotel and locate parking. He was pleasantly surprised to find Grace seated in the lobby.

Zeke smiled as he pocketed his keys. “Always prompt, are you?”

“I hate being kept waiting, so I try not to make anyone wait on my account.”

Zeke noticed the owl-eyed clerk keeping tabs on them. He lowered his voice. “What’s with the guy behind the counter?”

“Russell?” Grace glanced around and waggled her fingers at the man in question. “Russ checked me in when I first arrived. He’s been so helpful and sweet.”

“I’ll just bet he has,” Zeke muttered, not liking the surprising and decidedly unwanted stab of jealousy he felt toward the unknown man.

Grace turned back, her smile fading. “Do you know something about him I should know? Are you saying he’s not nice?”

“Forget I said anything.” Zeke clamped his hand around Grace’s elbow and propelled her toward the doors.

“You can’t do that and leave me wondering,” Grace sputtered, digging in her heels.

“I’m sure he’s perfectly fine. On the other hand, he could be a closet killer with a penchant for gullible women guests.” The door swished shut behind them.

Zeke scowled so fiercely, Grace had to laugh. “If that was your idea of easing my mind, you failed miserably. Now anytime I come in and Russ isn’t behind the counter, I’ll have to check under my bed and in my closet, for sure.” She paused. “I get the distinct impression you don’t like me, so why not hand me over to Russell Tredway if you think he’s apt to do me in?”

Zeke wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He did so now, only it was too obvious.

“Great! Clam up. I hate when people do that. It’s so immature.”

“No. The conversation wasn’t relevant to us. You and me.” He released her arm. “I shouldn’t have said a word about someone I’ve never met. Forget it.”

“Fine.” Grace hugged her purse to her chest. “Where are we going? To a fire? I’m having a hard time keeping up with you.”

“Sorry.” Zeke immediately cut his stride in half. “There’s a bar and grill down the street.”

“We passed several places with lounges.”

Zeke knew the ones she meant. Spots frequented by guys who worked for Kemper. He didn’t like his new assignment and preferred not to take any added flak over it from his men. “Those are touristy,” he lied, although he sounded lame.

“I see. By that do you mean they pad their drink prices? If so, I’ll want to avoid them in the future.”

“No. Jeez! I don’t recall you being this inquisitive the last time we met.”

Grace grinned. “Maybe I’m getting to feel we’ve become friends.”

Zeke couldn’t help laughing then. The weight of this meeting seemed to slide off his shoulders. Ducking his head, he massaged the side of his neck. “Too tense, huh? Guess my manners could use a serious overhaul. The truth is…it’s you, Grace. I almost never go to a bar with a woman. Not almost never. Never,” he finished emphatically, but looked chagrined about discovering he’d been snappish again.

“Really? What’s wrong with the women in Galveston?” Grace exclaimed unexpectedly. “I should think they’d beat a path to your door.” As if realizing how that probably sounded, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I…I—I just mean where I live, and especially where I work, single guys are besieged. In elementary school teaching, women outnumber men five to one.”

“Around oil rigs it’s the exact opposite.”

Grace noticed Zeke rarely gave out any personal information; it was always general, like this. She’d led with the perfect chance to open up about himself. Maybe she hadn’t been direct enough. She didn’t want to be intrigued by Zeke Rossetti, but the man did interest her. She found him popping into her thoughts at odd hours. In her experience, limited though it was, men who looked like Zeke didn’t reach his age without acquiring plenty of history with women. And he had a way about him that made a woman feel…well, like a woman. A slow, sexy drawl. Impeccable manners. Although, Grace mused, as she let him place a warm hand on her waist to guide her into a little hole-in-the-wall bar, her past brush with a lying, cheating, polite married man had left her skeptical of manners.

“I see you brought your sweater again. Shall we nab a table on the patio? It’s a nice night,” he said, gesturing out a window that showed a glimpse of the bay. “I guarantee the patio will be half as smoky as it’ll get in here.”

“The patio, by all means,” she agreed. “Is there a side that’s better for seeing the sun go down? I’ve only been here a week, but I’m addicted to your sunsets. There’s something so fabulous about the red, peach and purple colors layered all the way down to aqua waves that’s…indescribable.”

“Hmm. To me, sundown signals the end of our most productive hours out on the rig. Even with as much wattage as we use to light the platform, there’s much more danger to our workers after dark.”

“Goodness,” Grace exclaimed as she settled into the wrought iron chair Zeke pulled out. “If it’s so dangerous at night, why not shut down like most businesses do?”

Zeke looked indignant, while simultaneously signaling to a waitress moving among the outer tables. “How many ways can you spell money? We’re an oil-dependent society. Until we unearth new pockets of black gold, it’s all outgo and no income for our companies.”

The waitress arrived then to take their orders. Zeke requested a dark ale, and she ordered a popular south-of-the-border light beer with a twist of lime. After the waitress had gone, Grace traced the logo on one of the napkins the woman had set out. “I never stopped to consider everything you had at stake, Zeke. I guess you must view me as worse than a sunset, huh?”

He snorted with laughter. “That’s one way of putting it, Gracie.”

Her head came up fast. “My grandmother’s the only person who ever calls me Gracie.” Hearing it delivered in Zeke’s gravelly voice caused a curl of pleasure to spread through Grace, and for a moment she looked at him differently.

Ignoring her heartfelt comment, he continued speaking. “As I said, we work at night despite an increased risk of injury. But now—thanks to you—we’re not working at all. Not only have I laid off a number of qualified men, many of them with families, but Pace is shelling out big bucks daily in fines because we’re running beyond the start time we promised our subcontractors.”

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