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She took off at a slow jog. Instead of taking the hint, however, Hank fell into step beside her. She heard the clank of a can as he tossed it in the direction of the porch. Soda? For breakfast? Good God, the man would be dead before his fortieth birthday.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
“Would it matter if I did?”
“It might. Try me.”
“Stay,” she ordered as authoritatively as if he were a resistant puppy. He’d obviously had no obedience training. He stayed right beside her.
“I guess that answers that,” she said with a sigh. She glanced sideways and noted that he was wearing a University of Miami Hurricanes sweatshirt that had clearly been through several seasons. The neckline had been stretched, the sleeves cut out. His cutoff jeans revealed powerful legs, corded with muscles. For a man who ate garbage, he looked awfully solid. And strong. And tempting. She dragged her gaze away.
“How far do you usually run?” Hank asked.
“Five miles.”
He uttered a choking sound. Ann grinned. Despite his awesome physique, she doubted if Hank Riley ever ran farther than the corner grocery to grab another six-pack. She deliberately picked up her pace. He easily lengthened his stride to match hers.
“Do you do this every morning?” he asked.
“Just about.”
“Ever do a marathon?”
“I used to. Now I don’t have the time to train properly.”
Hank muttered something that sounded like, “Thank God.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t run,” he said, confirming her suspicion. She figured that gave him maybe another mile before he started huffing and puffing.
“I do work out at the gym every day, though,” he said, sending her hopes plummeting. “I was going to look for a place down here, but maybe I’ll just go running with you instead. I hate to exercise alone, don’t you?”
Actually Ann had always considered the solitude the height of heaven. To declare that now, though, would only lead to all sorts of speculation on Hank’s part. She could tell he was grinning at her. She glanced over. Yep, the smirk was in place all right. There was also a disconcerting gleam in his eyes as he surveyed her from head to toe, lingering an unnecessarily long time on her bare legs.
“You have great legs,” he observed with the authoritative tone of a connoisseur.
Ann could feel the heat begin to rise and it had nothing to do with the exercise. If he expected her to thank him for the compliment, he could wait from now till she won the Boston Marathon.
“Why do you always cover them up with those long skirts?” he persisted.
She frowned at the implied criticism. “I happen to like long skirts.”
“Why?”
“Do I need to have a reason?”
“In the overall scheme of life, probably not. As a psychologist, though, I’d think you’d be a little curious about your motivations.”
“Long skirts are comfortable.”
“And concealing.”
“I am not trying to conceal anything,” she said adamantly.
“I hope not. With legs like yours…”
“I do not want to talk about my legs.”
“So it does make you uncomfortable when men find them attractive?”
“It does not!”
He was laughing at her again. “I thought so,” he said with that infuriatingly self-satisfied tone that made her want to rip the hairs of his beard out one by one.
Ann finished her run ten minutes faster than usual. She’d run, in fact, as though she were being chased by the devil himself. All in all, she figured it was an apt analogy.
Hank was late. In fact, he’d been running late ever since he’d gone jogging with Ann. He’d skipped breakfast to try to catch up, but that lost half hour in the morning plagued him the rest of the day.
It had been worth it, though. The discovery that the woman had an absolutely knockout body under all those layers of clothes had practically taken his breath away. He hadn’t been able to get the image of those slender, well-shaped legs, the smooth white skin and the subtle bounce of her breasts out of his mind. He’d lost a good ten minutes of every hour daydreaming about her. He’d wasted another five cursing himself because of it.
Now he was running behind for his fishing date with Jason. He’d promised to meet him at four, but at three-thirty the construction crew started balking over the quality of some of the materials that had been delivered that morning. Hank went with them to check up on the complaints and found they were valid. The materials were obviously an inferior grade. Whether it was a simple mistake or an outright attempt to defraud the company, it meant a waste of time and money to correct. Had it not been caught, it could have been disastrous down the line. It was the sort of corner-cutting he and Todd had never tolerated on one of their jobs.
Furious, he spent the next hour on the phone trying to reach the supplier, whose assistant was amazingly adept at evasion. No doubt she’d had a lot of practice. He slammed the phone down for the fifth time, then glanced at the clock. It was already four-thirty. He picked up the phone again and called Miami, this time for Todd.
“Do me a favor, would you, and see if you can straighten this mess out,” he requested when he reached his partner.
“I’ll try, but you’ve dealt with this guy before. Can’t you get anywhere with him?”
“I might be able to if I spent the next hour hanging around waiting for him to get back to me, but I have an appointment.”
“One that’s more important than this?”
Hank hesitated. He could understand Todd’s amazement. In all the years they’d known each other, Hank had never walked out in the middle of a fight. He actually enjoyed sparring with the more difficult personalities.
Before he could think of an adequate response, Todd demanded, “Okay, buddy, what’s up down there?”
Hank evaded. “Nothing.”
“Let me guess. You’ve got a heavy date at five in the afternoon.”
“Not exactly,” he mumbled. He was used to the teasing about his active social life, but today it made him even more irritable than usual. He’d have hung up if he hadn’t known that Todd would only call back with more amused taunts. As a recently reformed ladies’ man himself, Todd’s wit could be particularly barbed and uncannily accurate.
“What, then?” he was asking now.
“I’m going fishing.”
Todd’s hoot of laughter could have been heard clear to Marathon without benefit of the phone line. Hank bristled. “What’s so damn funny about that?” he growled.
“The last time you went fishing, you got seasick. You swore you’d never go near a boat again unless it was the size of the biggest liner in Carnival’s fleet.”
“I’m not going in a boat. I’m going to stand on a dock.”
“Ah-ha,” Todd said slowly. “It’s all beginning to make sense. As I recall, Ann loves to fish. Did she talk you into this?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you would never decide to spend the evening this way on your own, but with a woman involved, now that’s another story entirely.”
“Actually, it was not Ann’s idea. Not exactly anyway. I’m in charge of dinner tonight. Since she turned down hamburgers and we had chicken last night, that left fish and if I don’t get out of here in the next ten minutes, it’s going to be too dark for me to see to bait the damn hook.”
“You could stop at the fish market.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. Besides, I promised Jason.”
“Jason?”
“One of the kids.”
“I see. Sounds domestic.”
“Cut it out, Todd. Will you call the supplier back or not?”
“I’ll call him.”
“Thanks.”
“Hank?”
“Yes?”
“The fish market’s right on the highway. You can’t miss it.”
“Go to hell, buddy.” He slammed the phone down on another hoot of laughter. He was still muttering about Todd’s uncalled-for glee when he pulled into the driveway at the house. Tracy was sitting on the steps watching Tommy and Melissa play on the swings that hung from the branches of the banyan tree.
“You’re late,” she announced.
“I know. Where’s Jason?”
She shrugged. “He got tired of waiting.”
“Damn.” For some reason, Jason’s attitude the night before had made him nervous. He’d been counting on this time alone with him to see if his uneasiness was justified.
“He took a fishing pole with him, though. Try across the street. There’s a dock over there.”
“Any more poles around here?”
“Ann’s is by the kitchen door. Right over there,” she said, pointing behind her.
“Thanks.” He found the pole and was halfway around the house when he looked back and saw Tracy staring dejectedly at the ground. He realized then that she’d looked just as down when he’d driven up. With Ann not due home for quite a while, he couldn’t bring himself to walk off and leave her that way.
He came back, dug around in the tackle box for a minute and asked casually, “You okay?”
She glanced up, looking surprised by the question. Then her gaze shifted down again. “Yeah, sure.”
“No school today?”
“Yeah. I went.”
There was an odd, flat note in her voice. He couldn’t quite recognize it, but it disturbed him. He sat down beside her. Uncomfortable at being cast in the role of confidant, he searched for the right question to ask a sensitive teenager who was practically a stranger. He opted for being direct. “Did something happen?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
He recognized the evasion. “Which means something did, but you don’t want to talk about it?”
That drew a slight smile. “I guess.”
“Okay, fair enough,” he said, respecting her need for privacy, even though her mood worried him. “Sometimes things don’t seem quite so awful once you’ve talked them out. Keep that in mind, okay? Ann’s a pretty good listener from all I hear and I’m willing to give it a shot, too, if you need somebody as a sounding board.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Reluctant to leave her and still hoping that she might unburden herself, he sat there for another couple of minutes watching as Paul came racing out of the house and started shooting baskets. David hovered in the doorway.
“Hey, David,” he called out. “Why don’t you get out there and challenge him? I’ll bet you’re every bit as good at basketball as he is.”
David shook his head.
“He doesn’t play much,” Tracy explained. “Ann says it’s because he got kicked out of so many foster homes for being too much trouble. He was always getting hurt and stuff.”
Hank was shocked. “But that’s what boys do.”
“I know, but some foster parents don’t want to be bothered. Now I guess he’s scared Ann will make him leave, too.”
“That’s…” He couldn’t even think of a word to describe an adult who’d beat down a child’s spirit that way.
“Awful,” Tracy supplied. “I know. Sometimes Jason can get him to do stuff, but most of the time he doesn’t bother, either. Ann figures we just have to keep trying. Sooner or later David’s gonna realize that it’s different here.”
Hank’s respect for the challenges Ann faced with these kids increased tenfold as he studied the wistful expression on David’s face. His heart ached for him. While he was trying to figure out if there was something he could do, Tracy cast a sidelong look at him. “You’d better go catch those fish. Ann will be home soon. She’ll never let you forget it if she has to cook that chicken tonight.”
Reluctantly he got to his feet. “Never fear,” he said, then leaned down to whisper, “I know where the fish market is.”
Tracy giggled at that and, for an instant anyway, her somber expression vanished, replaced by that glorious smile that would turn her into a heartbreaker in another couple of years. An unfamiliar stirring of tenderness welled up inside him and he got the first inkling why some adults got so hooked on parenting. It was the first time he’d experienced the impact that youthful, carefree laughter could have on a jaded heart.
The water was calmer on the gulf side of the key. The setting sun was hovering at the edge of the horizon, a huge orange ball ready to dip below the endless sea of blue. Already there was a chill in the air, which made Hank glad he’d thought to grab his jacket from the truck on the way over. When he spotted Jason, however, the teenager was huddled at the end of the dock wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He could practically see the goose bumps standing out on his skinny arms.
Hank walked to the end of the dock and put down his gear. Jason didn’t acknowledge his presence with so much as a glance. Only a slight stiffening of his shoulders indicated that he was even aware that Hank had joined him.
“Catch anything?” Hank asked.
