Mistletoe Bay (8 page)

Coop didn't see what Felicity was complaining about. The girl had barely touched her dinner. The teenager was too busy making eyes at her boyfriend, Sam. Ah, young love.

He turned his attention to Chase. The six-year-old wasn't quite acting like himself. Maybe the kid was coming down with something. “Hey, buddy, you feeling okay?” Chase was definitely the quiet one, but he usually managed to ask about a thousand questions.

“Yeah.” Chase gave a half-hearted smile and shoved half a meatball into his mouth.

Coop refused to look at the boy's mother. Jennifer Wright was trouble with a capital
T
. So why hadn't he realized that particular fact before joining her in the basement and almost kissing her? As it was, he had nearly beaten Dorothy to the top of the steps as he raced to get out of there.

He didn't kiss single mothers, especially if they had three boys. No way. No how.

The look of pure dismay that had been on Jenni's face earlier as she had raced down the steps only to find a soaking-wet Dorothy sitting on top of the washer, and him surveying the damage, was enough to tug at his conscience for the rest of his afternoon run. Since the only thing he had waiting for him back at his apartment was a mediocre book and leftovers his mother had given him from Sunday dinner, he had decided to stop at the hardware store in Sullivan on his way home. The new hose had set him back a whole nine dollars.

It had been worth every penny just to see the look on Jenni's face when he had first shown up carrying that piece of hose. The one thing his apartment didn't have was a washer and dryer. He hated going to Sullivan's one and only laundromat. He couldn't imagine what it would be like sitting there doing laundry for six people, instead of just himself. He would rather take ballet lessons.

Usually he would show up a couple hours early for his mother's Sunday dinner, and while his clothes turned and spinned, he would do a couple chores around the place that his father no longer could do. It seemed like a reasonable trade-off, one his father didn't fight too hard against.

His father, Fred Armstrong, at one time had been the most stubborn man alive. Now it seemed his mother held that honor. Fred had suffered a heart attack eight months ago, and it had given everyone, especially his mother, a real scare. Lucille Armstrong had immediately put her husband on a low-fat, low-carb, low-calorie, low-everything diet. As his father so eloquently put it, if it smelled like a horse's behind, tasted like crabgrass, and had the consistency of a shoebox, he was now allowed to eat it.

Sunday-night dinners at his parents tasted nothing like they used to.

Dorothy's dinner invitation was a godsend. If he hadn't been fighting his sudden attraction to a certain dark-haired, mop-wielding witchy woman, he might have thought twice about accepting the invite. He didn't want to give Jenni or any other member of the Wright family the wrong impression.

He had already made the decision that he was not interested in Jenni.

The blasted woman was making his decision hard to keep. How she looked cute and adorable while cleaning up the basement in her ridiculous boots and baggy, ratty sweatshirt was beyond him. But as soon as she made that ridiculously innocent comment about kissing him, his mind had shut down and his hormones had gone into overdrive. Jenni had meant nothing by that remark, besides being extremely thankful that he had given her the names of two handymen.

So why in the hell couldn't he stop looking at her lips?

“Hey, Coop,” Sam said. “Coach told the team that you would be stopping by Thursday after practice to talk to us.”

“That's right.” It wasn't something he was looking forward to doing, but it was a talk that needed to be had. The sad truth was, he was the perfect guy to give that particular speech. He had done it half a dozen times or so out in California. He just had never had the opportunity to give it at his old high school. He wasn't looking forward to Thursday.

“Are you going to give us some pointers?” Sam was sitting next to Felicity, but he obviously wasn't paying her enough attention. Felicity was pouting.

“What's pointers?” asked Tucker. The boy pointed at Sam, and then at his brother Chase.

Coop tried not to laugh. The boy obviously didn't get the connection.

“Not pointing, Tucker—pointers. Pointers are helpful hints.” Jenni teasingly pointed back at Tucker.

“Like when we play hide-and-seek and someone says ‘You're getting warmer, or colder.'”

“Something like that.” Jenni smiled. “But in this case Coop will be giving the football team helpful hints about playing the game.”

Tucker looked at him. “Why can't you give me pointers?”

“What would you like a pointer in?” Tucker was a little too young to be playing football. But how hard could the subject matter be? The kid was four, maybe five years old.

“Why's it easier to climb a tree than to get down from one?”

“You haven't been climbing trees again, have you?” Dorothy looked pale at the mere thought.

Jenni studied her son. “Tucker?”

“No.” The boy's pout matched Felicity's.

Coop didn't want to know how high Tucker must have been in a tree before he realized he had to climb back down. It was a wonder Jenni wasn't totally gray. There wasn't a gray hair on her head, but having Tucker for a son, she probably dyed it that rich dark brown color every week. Either that or she drank heavily.

“When you're climbing a tree, Tucker, you're looking up reaching for the next branch. Your mind is concentrating on that nearby branch. When you get as high as you want, you look down, and then you realize how high you've climbed and you get scared. Those branches don't seem so close by then, and your brain is telling you that if you fall, you will get hurt.” It seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation to him.

Tucker seemed to be mulling that one over.

“How come my mom was real nice to me when I was up there, but once she got me down she whacked my bottom and made me sit in the corner for the whole day?”

“Mom said a bad word and Grandmom cried that she wanted to call the fire department again.” Chase joined the conversation.

“I could imagine.” He ignored the “again” and looked at Jenni. “How high was he?”

“Let's just say I passed an eagle's nest on the way up to retrieve my son. A couple feet higher and he would have needed oxygen.” Jenni gave Tucker a stern look. “It won't happen again, right?”

“Right.” Tucker gave his mother a pure, innocent smile. “Birds fly, boys don't.”

“Right,” Jenni said.

“Peter Pan flies,” Corey said.

“Peter Pan isn't real, Corey.” Jenni seemed to press that point hard. “Boys can't and won't fly, so don't even try it.”

“Can girls fly?” asked Tucker.

“Do you think if I could fly I'd be sitting here listening to this?” Felicity obviously wasn't enjoying herself.

Coop wasn't sure what upset the girl more—the fact that Sam was paying him more attention, or the boys' ten thousand questions.

“Felicity,” scolded Dorothy, “that's not nice.”

“Well, they always ask stupid questions.”

“They are your nephews. Very young nephews.” Dorothy stared down her daughter. “Maybe you would like to enlighten us with an intelligent question.”

“Sure.” Felicity smiled. “Why is the earth round instead of something more aerodynamic, like a bullet shape? Wouldn't we avoid a lot of that wind resistance as we go spinning around in space?”

Jenni smiled at Felicity. “There are no aerodynamics in space. Space is a vacuum. It wouldn't matter what shape the earth was, it would still orbit the sun at the same speed.”

“Geek,” Felicity said. Her small smile took some of the sting out of the word.

“Thank you.” Jenni looked pleased.

Coop was impressed. Not only was Jenni beautiful and smart, but she wasn't allowing the seventeen-year-old to rattle her. Felicity looked like if she set her mind to it, she could rattle a lot of people's cages. “I thought ‘geek' was an insult?”

Back in college, he would have decked anyone who had called him that—not like that would ever happen. He had been a jock, a dumb-ass jock who had thought brawn beat brains every time. He had been proven wrong many times over since that ripe old age of twenty.

“Only to non-geeks,” Jenni replied with a smile to Felicity. “There's nothing wrong with using your brain.”

“Felicity's real smart, Coop.” Sam puffed out his chest with pride. “She's only a junior but she's taking the top college-prep courses. Next year she'll be eligible to take some college courses while still in high school.”

“Impressive.” He gave Felicity a nod of approval and was gentlemanly enough not to stare at the fiery red blush sweeping up her cheeks.

Tucker stuck his tongue out at his aunt.

“I'm smart too,” Corey said. “I can count to one hundred. Wanna hear me?”

A chorus of “no's” was heard around the table. The only “yes's” came from him and Jenni.

Corey started to count. “One, two, three, four . . .”

“Mom, make him stop,” Chase pleaded.

Tucker shoved half a meatball into his mouth and then covered his ears.

“Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen . . .”

Dorothy and Felicity started to argue about Sam and her going into town after dinner. Dorothy was against it. Felicity obviously didn't like the answer—no.

Sam started making funny faces at Tucker, who nearly choked on a meatball.

“Want to hear the song we learned in school today?” asked Chase in a loud voice. All of a sudden the kid wanted some attention.

“After your brother is done counting.” Jenni was leaning closer to Corey to hear him over the other conversations. “That's right, hon, keep going. You're doing great.” Jenni gave her youngest son a smile of encouragement.

“Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one . . .”

“It's about a turkey named Tom.” Chase wasn't giving up and he started to sing, “Gobble, gobble, gobble went Tom the Turkey.”

“Sixty-seven, sixty-eight . . .” Corey was using his fingers and speaking louder to drown out his brother.

“I don't see why we can't just run into Bailey's for a few minutes,” Felicity said. “They have the best sundaes. All the other kids will be there.” If Felicity's pout grew any more pronounced her lower lip would land on her plate.

“Pick me a pumpkin, pick me a pumpkin, said Priscilla Pilgrim.” Chase sounded like he was singing rap, not a children's Thanksgiving song. The boy was really getting into the song.

“I said no. It's a school night. You should be doing homework.” Dorothy took a drink from her wineglass.

“All the other kids . . .” Felicity's voice carried on.

“Seventy-two, seventy-three . . .”

“Tucker, I bet you can't fit an entire meatball in your mouth.” Sam egged Tucker on.

Tucker took up the challenge before Jenni could stop him.

Chase's next line in the song had something to do with a chopping block, and Coop had to wonder what they were teaching kids in school nowadays.

He couldn't decide if he was developing a headache from all the noise or from holding back his laughter. The nice family dinner was now in total chaos.

Tucker looked like a demented chipmunk.

Jenni was congratulating and hugging Corey as he shouted, “One hundred!”

“Felicity, I don't mind spending the evening here.” Sam patted her hand. “You can do your homework and I can catch
Monday Night Football.
”

Felicity looked like she wanted to deck Sam.

Dorothy smiled pleasantly, but Coop noticed her wineglass was now empty. He should have taken up her offer to have wine with his meal instead of water.

Chase finished the last line of the song, just as everyone at the table finally fell silent. “And that's when the Indian chief said, ‘Pass me a drumstick.'”

“You haven't forgiven me yet for laughing, have you?” Coop asked.

Jenni finished wiping down the counter. “You fixed the washer; I'll call it even.”

“You have to admit, it was funny.” Coop straightened the last chair at the table. “I haven't laughed like that in months.”

“I'll admit it was, let's say, awkward.” Jenni shuddered as she tossed the dishcloth into the sink. “Who teaches a first-grader about eating a poor turkey named Tom?”

“That's what you do on Thanksgiving, eat turkey and watch football.”