A Texas-Made Family

“I’ll get right to the point, if I may,” she said, refocusing her attention. “Your son seems to be a good kid, but he’s all wrong for my daughter. Perhaps I wasn’t clear, but she’s a junior and this year is very important. If she has any shot at scholarships, her grades must remain exemplary. I’ve had no luck convincing her to stop seeing Ryan. I thought that, as another single parent, you might understand and help by persuading Ryan to move on. Lisa has to focus on school. That’s all there is to it.”

“At their age, shouldn’t they have a say in how they spend their free time and who they spend it with? I mean, she sounds like a wonderful girl. One a father would be happy to have his son date.”

“You don’t get it at all.” Rebecca twirled her cup around and around. “She’s spent money she can’t afford on a pass for Ryan’s ball games. Money that should be going into her college fund.”

“Why isn’t she doing what you ask?”

Rebecca’s eyes flashed. “I suppose because she’s flattered by his attention. She’s not used to it. The new boy. An athlete. All of that gives her social standing, according to my son.”

“How old is he? Doesn’t he have any influence with his sister?”

“Apparently not.” Rebecca held her cup so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I honestly thought I’d taught Lisa the importance of a good education.” Sipping her coffee, Rebecca shook her head sadly.

“Choosing to watch a high school ball game isn’t the end of the world. So she gets a little off-track. Don’t all kids do that at least once? Or have you planned for every contingency and lived a perfect, orderly life?”

“Hardly. Which is why I want more for my children. But this isn’t about me. It’s about making sure our teens stay on the right path.”

Grant shrugged.

“Is that your answer? Maybe this doesn’t matter to you, but it matters to me.” Rebecca slid out of the booth, dug in her purse and slapped two one-dollar bills down on the table. “Thanks for nothing.” She stormed out of the café, got in her car and pulled into traffic, all the while muttering under her breath about what a jerk Grant Lane was.

GRANT WATCHED Rebecca leave in a huff. He sat glaring after her. She had some nerve trying to manipulate him into a confrontation with Ryan when her own daughter wouldn’t listen to a word she’d said. Although maybe she’d inadvertently handed him a way to bond with his son. If Ryan liked the girl, and she liked him, why shouldn’t they date? It was what normal teens did.

He paid for his coffee, and followed in Rebecca’s wake. She’d already gone through the light at the corner by the time he climbed into his car.

The flash of her ocean-colored eyes haunted Grant as he eased the Boxter into traffic. The hell of it was she’d managed to garner his sympathy, too. He thought about Brandy. If he were in Rebecca’s position and it was his daughter getting into a romance with her son, Grant had to admit he might feel differently. He knew well enough that sometimes a young man was ruled by baser instincts. Rebecca probably knew, too.

But didn’t she trust her daughter?

Adjusting his sunglasses, Grant stopped to wonder why Mrs. Geroux didn’t just ground her daughter, the almost-genius, if she was really that concerned.

It irritated Grant all over again as he replayed their conversation and realized Rebecca had made it seem as if Ryan was totally to blame for leading the brilliant Lisa astray. What if Rebecca had a skewed vision of her daughter?

By all reports his son was a good student, although if truth be told, Grant couldn’t claim much credit for it. Still, Lisa wasn’t the only one who’d be going to college.

This full-time-dad role also meant Grant ought to concern himself with what kind of friends Ryan hung out with. Who knew better than he how easily a young man could screw up his life?

Did Lisa Geroux look like her mother? Rebecca was attractive. Especially when she was passionately standing up for her daughter. Grant hadn’t exactly processed all of Rebecca’s complaints, because he’d been distracted by her pretty eyes and lush lips. She made quite the picture with her shoulder-length red hair curled in wild disarray around her face. Grant found he’d been most drawn to Rebecca’s eyes. They held fire and life, yet he saw a hint of tragedy in their luminous depths.

For the first time in a long while, a woman—a slightly brusque one who didn’t care for him at that—had provoked a yearning Grant had thought was dormant, if not dead. He’d purposely avoided serious relationships since his ordeal with Teresa.

Why had he let Rebecca leave so abruptly? His day now stretched before him like all the lonely days he’d experienced since he’d moved his family to San Antonio. He needed a hobby. Something more than writing a new technical strategy manual as an old friend now in the Pentagon had asked him to do. He’d thought retirement would let him connect with his kids, but they seemed remarkably self-sufficient.

What would Rebecca have said if he’d asked her to go out with him some night? Nothing to do with their kids.

He could guess. She’d already blown up at him. Grant grinned at the thought of what it’d be like to intentionally stoke her fire.

She’d also given up on him too fast. After his years in the military, Grant took his time to make an informed decision. If she wanted his help, she should’ve given him more information. He needed to talk to her again.

But he supposed he’d have to get her phone number from Ryan.

Grant swung his car into his driveway and impatiently punched the garage door opener that hung on his visor. The problem with having to question his son, as Grant knew only too well, was that Ryan barely spoke to him.

Rebecca of the captivating eyes and the protective love for her daughter clearly expected him to be able to influence his son’s choices.

What were the chances of that?

For too many years he’d left raising Ryan to Teresa. With all the ups and downs in their marriage, it had seemed easier. The result hadn’t turned out well for anyone.

Considering his lack of rapport with Ryan, Grant knew he couldn’t open a conversation by repeating Rebecca’s accusations. Especially when he’d been clueless when it came to Ryan’s friends. Or girlfriends, for that matter.

He wasn’t ready to admit the girl was a problem, but wasn’t keeping tabs on stuff like that an important part of parenting? He hadn’t been good at it in the past, but had vowed to be better after their move. It seemed he had a lot of catching up to do.

Thank God Brandy still thought he was an okay dad. But with Ryan he’d have to tread carefully. Very, very carefully.

But he didn’t intend to wade into those waters alone. Rebecca Geroux’s daughter made up the other half of the so-called relationship. Becca—Grant thought that name fit the firebrand better than starchy Rebecca—yes, Becca could damn well get her feet wet right alongside him.

If she hadn’t mentioned it on the phone yesterday, Grant wouldn’t have known his son was playing ball until he overheard Ryan let something slip this morning to his sister.

It was usually Ryan’s job to pick up his sister from school. Lately, though, he’d gotten into the habit of leaving notes on the fridge asking Grant to collect her several days a week. Grant hadn’t asked why. All the reports he’d ever had on Ryan in Germany said he was a good, studious kid. Grant had assumed, apparently incorrectly, that changing schools during Ryan’s senior year required extra work in the library. Grant hadn’t pressed for answers because he was glad of the additional time to bond with the daughter who’d been raised too long by nannies. Yet another mistake.

Just today, Ryan had told Brandy where he’d be after school. At a home baseball game. It hurt to learn that Ryan had deliberately kept this a secret.

What better place to begin catching up on his son’s life? Ryan probably wouldn’t be thrilled to see him, but having the element of surprise on his side was an advantage.

Grant focused on his ideas for the manual, killing time until he needed to get Brandy from school.

“Hi, kiddo,” he said, his heart lighter when she hugged him after tossing her pink backpack in the backseat. Grant was driving the SUV, preferring its side airbags whenever he had his kids with him. The Porsche was an indulgence. A guy thing, although Ryan referred to it as an upside-down bathtub. A pretty pricy bathtub even with the deep discount he’d got by purchasing it at the factory in Germany.

Brandy fastened her seat belt, and turned her big blue eyes on Grant. “Daddy, can I get a clarinet? The band teacher came to our homeroom today. He tested everybody in my grade on flute, clarinet and two horns. One with a slidy thing, the other with three buttons on top. Mr. Gregg—that’s the teacher’s name—said to tell you I have the perfect embouchure to play clarinet.”

She said it so proudly Grant couldn’t help smiling, even though he had no earthly idea what she meant. “That’s great, Brandy. Did Mr. Gregg suggest renting a clarinet to see if it’s something you really want to do?”

“Uh-huh. But most kids are going to have their parents buy new ones. Who wants to use someone else’s mouthpiece? Gross!”

“I see your point. I’ll look into it next week and see what they have at a music store. Right now, how would you like to go to the high school to watch your brother play baseball?”

Brandy’s eyes grew wide. “Does Ryan know you’re going to watch him pitch?”

“So he’s a pitcher. I’ll be…” Grant let the expletive fizzle on his tongue. “You knew he was playing ball?”

“He played in Germany, too. He’s good, Daddy.”

“Then there’s no reason for us not to go watch him, is there?”

She brushed blond curls off her face. “I don’t want him to think I ratted on him.”

“Honestly, Brandy.” Grant blew out a frustrated breath. “Parents are entitled to know what activities their kids are into.”

Her little pixie face fell, and Grant immediately softened his tone. “Maybe he won’t spot us. But if he does, I’ll make sure he knows we’re there because he mentioned it this morning.”

“I guess it’ll be okay, then.”

Grant located the ball diamond and parked a distance from the gate. As he and Brandy walked along the fence, Grant peered through the mesh, trying to get the lay of the land, so to speak. It appeared the home team was at bat. There were already a lot of people in the stands, making it easier to pay and slip in unnoticed.

“There’s Ryan, Daddy! He’s coming up to bat.” Brandy spoke so loudly several people turned to look at them. Grant’s gaze lit on an attractive strawberry-blonde. Her hair was as curly as Brandy’s, but shorter. Finding seats in the second row from the top, Grant eyed the girl, who appeared to have her hands full with two younger children. Twins, would be his guess. Tough, active little boys. Their antics made Grant smile. But he also felt sorry for the girl, who must be their sister or babysitter. When two older boys raced up and flung their arms around her neck, he wondered how on earth she managed to handle all four.

Grant was intrigued by the way all four boys and the blond girl had their attention on Ryan, who was indeed at bat. Ryan slugged a home run on the second pitch. The quintet in the front row clapped madly and yelled Ryan’s name. Even more intriguing was what happened two seconds after Ryan jogged triumphantly across home plate. The twins charged right over to him. Grant watched his son scoop both boys up, then, grinning like a hyena, join the blond girl on the sidelines.

Grant muttered under his breath. The girl had to be Lisa Geroux. Her flashing aquamarine eyes reminded Grant of her mother. And there was no mistaking the chemistry she and Ryan shared. The joy vanished from Ryan’s face the instant the girl turned and pointed to him and Brandy.

Busted, Grant thought guiltily. She must have heard Brandy’s loud comment when they arrived. His stomach bottomed out the way it did when he pulled too many Gs in flight. Ryan was involved with a girl. And her mother was dead set against the relationship. What a mess. He could’ve retired any number of places, but he’d picked San Antonio. It’d been his first duty station and held some happy memories. He’d hoped his kids would like it here, and that maybe he and Ryan could heal old wounds.

Now it appeared they could be facing more problems than ever. It was evident they needed to talk about a lot of things. Not here in front of a crowd, but soon.

Standing, Grant took Brandy’s hand. Ignoring her protests, he led her to the side of the bleachers farthest away from where Ryan stood glaring at them. Grant jumped down and held up his arms for Brandy.

“Why are we leaving? We never got to watch Ryan pitch.”

“Turns out this wasn’t a good idea, Brandy. How about we go get ice cream instead?”

“Rocky road?”

“Sure.” It would no doubt ruin her appetite for dinner. Here he went again, being far too easygoing. But he couldn’t have both his kids hating him. Maybe he should get a few pointers on tough parenting from Rebecca Geroux.

Chapter Three

RYAN LANE stormed into his house around five o’clock, radiating belligerence. Grant had anticipated the outburst, which was why he’d made arrangements for Brandy to play at the home of a new school friend.

Grant looked up from the couch and marked his place in the Dale Brown book he was reading.

“What the hell were you doing this afternoon?” Ryan threw his duffel bag on the couch, barely missing his dad.

“Watch your language, and I suggest you rethink using that tone with me, Ryan.”

The angry teen showed no inclination to back down. Hands splayed on his hips, Ryan ignored his father’s suggestion. “You haven’t given a damn about anything I’ve done for seventeen years. I don’t want or need you poking your nose in my business now.”

“You’re wrong about my not caring.” Setting his book on the lamp stand, Grant stood. He still had three inches and a few pounds on his gangly, six-foot son. He recognized the show of testosterone, but Grant was determined to remain cool and in control.

“Right!” Ryan raised his voice. “You paid housekeepers and nannies, and that means you cared?”

Grant scraped a finger over the stubble on his chin. “I made sure I hired the most qualified caregivers I could find. My job made it impossible to be a full-time dad. You know, son, I don’t think that’s what’s bugging you now. Why don’t you tell me what you’re really upset about?”

“I want you to get off my back.”

“Coming to see you play ball is being on your back? Did you win, by the way?”

“No! My pitching went to hell after Lisa pointed you out in the stands.”

“About her…” Grant hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “She and her brothers were certainly excited about your home run.”

“They aren’t her brothers. Lisa babysits them.” Ryan acted as if his father was short on brain cells. “Their mother works with Lisa’s,” he snapped. “Lisa’s only sixteen, but she’s in all my honors classes. Her brother’s a freshman. Not that I have to explain anything to you about my friends or their families.”

Grant slid his fists deep in his front pockets. Belatedly he remembered Rebecca mentioning that her daughter babysat. “Ryan, I realize our family isn’t the most conventional. At Ramstein, because it was a closed community, I knew the parents of all your friends. Living off base is an adjustment. I’d hoped it would give us the chance to…get more in touch with each other, for lack of a better term. That’s why I bought a house with a patio and a pool. I want us to do things together.”

“Like, you suddenly think we’ll have barbecues and be best buds?”

“For starters, you could invite your friends over some weekend…with their parents,” he added as an afterthought. “I assume your friend Lisa has parents.”

Ryan scowled. “Lisa works most weekends. And Mrs. Geroux isn’t overly friendly. It’s a bad idea, all right?” He snatched up his duffel. “Besides, it’s just Lisa, her mom and her brother, Jordan. So drop it, okay?”

Grant heard Ryan clomp down the tiled hall to his room. His door slammed, and instantly the house pulsed with the sounds of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Grant shut his eyes, took a deep breath and reminded himself that Ryan was still just a kid. A kid who’d had too much autonomy for too long. That was Grant’s fault.

In sudden need of air, he fled to the patio. He’d hired a pool service, but brushing off the day’s accumulation of dust from the pool’s pebbly sides helped clear his mind. He didn’t think he could be of any use to Rebecca Geroux. Not without widening the rift between him and Ryan. Grant had been aware of their rift even before Teresa died. His dilemma had always been that he didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to explain his and Teresa’s marital problems to a boy who worshipped his mother. And was it too late to explain it all now?

Crap! Let Rebecca Geroux solve her problems by herself. Lord knew he had enough of his own. Problems that dated back to when he wasn’t much older than his son.

Teresa had come into his life at a bad time. They shouldn’t have stayed married, but she didn’t want a divorce. And her mental and physical health had been fragile, or so Grant assumed. Too late he discovered a lot had been manipulation.

Whether she meant to or not, Teresa had let her histrionics drive a wedge between father and son. And after her untimely death, Grant’s guilt kept him even farther from Ryan. He’d floundered, and that wasn’t the military way. So, he’d put the problem out of his mind.

Grant hung the pool brush on its pegs and headed back to the house. He should probably find Rebecca and explain why he couldn’t help her break the kids up. He also wasn’t happy with the way he’d let her leave the café.

After more internal debate, he decided to phone her. Since asking Ryan for the number wasn’t an option now, he turned to the phone book. Only no Rebecca or R. Geroux was listed in the San Antonio telephone directory. Thank heaven for the Internet. It was a little scary to see how easily he turned up her supposedly unlisted number.

Grant shut his bedroom door to make the call in private—not that Ryan would hear anything over the blaring music. On his first attempt, Grant misdialed. On the second try, a boy answered. Grant remembered Ryan’s saying Lisa had a brother. “May I speak with Rebecca?” he asked.

“She’s at work. Who’s calling, please?”

“A friend. I suppose I could drop by and see her there.”

“Yeah, sure. Anyone can eat at the Tumbleweed. But she’s always busy.”

Grant heard someone in the background ask who was on the phone. The boy obviously covered the mouthpiece before saying, “Some dude wants Mom. Okay, okay, Lisa. Uh…I’ve gotta go,” the kid said. And he hung up.

The Tumbleweed wasn’t hard to find in the directory. The place was open until ten, which gave Grant plenty of time to get the kids some takeout once Brandy got home. He just had to come up with a good excuse for leaving after dinner.

Greeting her at the door when her friend’s mother dropped her off, he took in his daughter’s smiling face. “Did you have fun with Kiley?”

“Uh-huh. She has a puppy. He’s so cute. Can I get one?”

“We’ll see. Puppies need a lot of care and attention.”

“I know. Kiley’s mama said puppies are like babies. The vet gave Kiley a book that’s got everything a pet owner needs to know. She said I can borrow it. I’ll bet Ryan would help me.”

“Help you what?” Brandy’s brother suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“My friend Kiley has a new shih tzu. I’m trying to talk Daddy into getting me a puppy from the same breeder.”

“I’d rather have a real dog. Like a shepherd,” Ryan said. “I came out to see when dinner is. I’m starved. What are we eating tonight?”

Grant reached for a folder of take-out menus. “I thought pizza. You two decide what kind.” He hesitated. He ought to eat with the kids. But then what excuse could he give Rebecca for going to the Tumbleweed? “I’ll place the order and give you the money to pay the delivery boy. I have an errand to run. I’ll grab something while I’m out.”

“What kind of errand?” Ryan asked, sounding suspicious. “You haven’t gone out at night by yourself since we moved here.”

Ignoring Ryan, Grant passed the pizza menu to his daughter.

Brandy wrinkled her nose. “Why can’t we have real food, Daddy? Kiley’s mom was baking chicken and it smelled so yummy.”

“That’s what moms do, kid,” Ryan said, plucking the menu from her hand. “Dads are pretty much worthless in the kitchen.”

“I beg your pardon. Some of the world’s greatest chefs are men,” Grant protested.

“You, then,” Ryan stressed. “Why don’t you hire a cook like you did in Germany?”

Brandy climbed onto one of the breakfast-bar stools. “I don’t want a cook. I want a mom.”

“Brandy, don’t be a dork. Moms aren’t as easy to get as puppies.”

“I am not a dork, Ryan,” Brandy said huffily. “Our room mom, Mrs. Sanchez, is supernice, Daddy. I’ll bet you’d like her. Manny Sanchez says it’s awful not having a dad to help at home.”

Ryan smacked his sister lightly on the head with the menu. “You are so lame. For parents to hook up they have to meet, hold hands and kiss. Can you picture Dad kissing your room mom—or anyone else?”

“All right, you two,” Grant said loudly. “Enough with trying to arrange my love life. What kind of pizza will it be tonight?”

“Hamburger and tomato,” Ryan said. “And I wasn’t arranging anything. I was explaining to Brandy how low the chances are that any woman would want to date you.”

Grant glared at his son as he dialed the pizza parlor’s number. “I’d like to place an order. One large tomato-hamburger pizza for delivery.” When he hung up, he realized Ryan’s declaration had shaken him. Grant had never considered himself vain. However, as he set out money for the pizza it was all he could do not to recheck his appearance in the mirror. How would Rebecca Geroux see him? But he refused to admit any interest in the woman beyond explaining that he really couldn’t help her.

“I’ll be back before Brandy’s bedtime,” he muttered, his hand on the doorknob.

“Will you look at puppies while you’re out?” Brandy pleaded. “Oh, and remember you said you’d look at clarinets.”

“Not tonight, honey. We’ll make time for that soon, though.”

Ryan glanced up from returning the menu to the take-out folder. “I have plans for the last weekend next month. Saturday afternoon and evening,” he said. “I thought I’d tell you in advance since you didn’t bother to ask if I was busy tonight. You just expect me to watch Brandy anytime it suits you.”

“I’m sorry, Ryan. If you have plans, I can do this another night.” Grant, who was partway out the door, turned back.

Ryan was obviously spoiling for a fight, and his flustered backtracking was almost comical. “I’m staying in tonight,” he mumbled. “But from here on, you’d better check with me first, all right?”

“That’s fair, Ryan. I want us all to get along.”

“Well, okay then,” the boy said, sounding surprised.

AFTER REVERSING his car out to the street, Grant massaged the tension from his neck. He shouldn’t have waited so long to start being a father to his kids. Work had always been his excuse. Now he had to feel his way through the minefield that Ryan, especially, delighted in laying down.

At the first turn, Grant punched the address for the Tumbleweed Steakhouse into his GPS, and he thought about seeing Rebecca again. How long had she been on her own? he wondered. Long enough to be back to dating? For all he knew she might already be seeing someone.

He found the restaurant easily enough, but hesitated about going inside. He wasn’t at all confident as to how he’d be received.

The minute he crossed the threshold, he spotted her. She didn’t see him, so he helped himself to a table near the door and noted what had attracted him earlier. The fiery hair had all but crackled in the sunlight that streamed in the café window that morning. Now, under the overhead lights, it was more muted, but still shone.