Crossroads (5 page)

Tess sensed his sudden, almost imperceptible withdrawal.

“I saw a lot on the street,” he said carefully, his words slower and more guarded. “Almost always too
late for prevention. I wanted to find a way to intervene earlier. This kind of work seemed to offer that opportunity.”

Tess's job had taught her to be attuned to nuances, and there were plenty here. There was something very important that he wasn't revealing, and she was both curious and intrigued. But pushing usually just made a wary subject back off more. And she didn't really need to go any deeper for this interview. So, regretfully, she moved on. “What brought you to St. Louis?”

She could sense his slight easing of tension. “My uncle. He has a farm about an hour south of St. Louis, and a little over two years ago he had a bad fall that left him with a limp. I came that summer to help, and when it was obvious that he'd need ongoing assistance with the farm, I got a job here.”

“You must have been there this weekend,” she said with a smile.

He looked at her in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Your tan. When I saw you Thursday, your face didn't have nearly as much color.”

He grinned. “Your powers of observation are admirable, Ms. Lockwood. You're right. We worked in the fields this weekend. I spend most of my free time there, especially in the nice weather.”

“Any other family locally?”

“No.”

“How about back in Chicago?”

An intense flash of pain ricocheted across his eyes. “No. My parents are both gone and my…my wife died seven years ago.”

Mitch frowned. He hadn't meant to say that. Hadn't intended to reveal anything about Dana. Wasn't sure why he had.

“I'm so sorry,” Tess said softly, taken aback by that fleeting glimpse of anguish. “I had no idea….” Her voice faltered. She'd wondered about a wife, found it difficult to believe someone like Mitch would have remained single all these years, had speculated there might be a divorce in his past. But she hadn't expected this. “I didn't mean to bring up painful memories,” she apologized.

He took a deep breath. “It's okay.” And surprisingly, it was. It didn't hurt nearly as much to talk about it as he'd expected. “It was cancer. It hit out of the blue and, mercifully, took her quickly. But it was still a terrible thing to watch. For a long time afterward I was…lost.” For a lot of reasons, he thought, his gut twisting.

“I can understand that,” Tess empathized. “I went through something similar with my father five years ago.” She paused and took a deep breath. “It's awful to watch someone you love slip away.”

“Yes, it is. But it helps to have a support system. I had my mother and Uncle Ray. How about you?”

“I had Bruce. And my faith, which was a great comfort.”

“What about Bruce's father?”

Tess looked at him in surprise. She almost brushed aside the question, but for some reason decided to answer it. “We divorced six years ago.”

His gaze softened in sympathy. “I'm sorry, Tess. Divorce can sometimes be as painful as death.”

“More so, in some ways,” she said sadly. “And
don't be sorry. The divorce was long overdue.” She tilted her head and forced herself to smile. “Now, how did things get turned around? I thought we were talking about you?”

He grinned. “You already know the story of my life.”

Hardly, she thought. The man across from her had secrets, which he clearly didn't intend to reveal, she realized. Besides, she had plenty of material for her story. It was time to wrap things up.

Tess smiled and closed her notebook. “Well, at least enough for my story,” she amended.

“You know, this wasn't nearly as bad as I expected,” Mitch admitted as they both rose and walked toward the door.

“I'm glad to hear it.” She paused on the threshold and turned to hold out her hand. “And thank you. My editor will be very pleased.”

He smiled as he took her hand in a firm grip. “I hope your readers will feel the same way. I'm afraid they might be bored by the story of a dull school principal.”

At first Tess thought he was kidding, but as they said their goodbyes she realized he was dead serious. Dull? she thought incredulously. Mitch Jackson? No way. Intriguing would be a more apt description, she decided as she walked down the hall. She'd thought that by the end of the interview she'd know all the important things about the principal. But she had a feeling that she'd barely scratched the surface of this fascinating man. Instead of satisfying her curiosity, today's interview had made her want to find out more.

Unfortunately, there wouldn't be much opportunity
for that, she admitted with a pang of regret. Any future contact with the principal would be related to Bruce. Because to Mitch, she was just another mother dealing with a problem child.

Except at the end of the interview he had called her “Tess,” she realized suddenly, stopping abruptly. That was a good sign. Wasn't it? Didn't it mean he thought of her as a person in her own right, not just as a mother?

Tess wasn't sure. Wasn't even sure if she
wanted
him to think of her that way. It was too scary. And complicated. And probably unwise.

She knew all that intellectually. And accepted it.

But for some reason, her heart just wasn't listening.

 

“So how was your day?”

“Okay.”

Tess sighed. So far the new dinner-hour-together rule hadn't spurred the conversation and sharing she'd hoped for with Bruce. It was the old “You can lead a horse to water…” scenario. And Bruce wasn't drinking. But she wasn't going to give up.

“Did you look into the art club?” she asked, trying again. Chris Stevens had run through a list of supervised after-school activities at the meeting, and Tess had suggested the club to Bruce, who'd always shown strong artistic aptitude and interest.

“They're a bunch of geeks.”

“How do you know?”

At his disgusted look, she let it drop.

They ate in silence for a few moments before she worked up the courage to introduce a new subject. “Guess who I interviewed today?” she asked, her
tone a little too bright. When he didn't respond, she plunged in. “Mr. Jackson.”

That got his attention. “Why?”

“He just received the governor's award for excellence in education.”

“You're kidding!”

“No. He's doing good work at the high school.”

Bruce gave a disdainful snort. “Right.”

“So you don't think he's a good principal?”

Bruce shrugged. “He's too ‘in-your-face.'”

“Meaning?”

“He's always hanging around with the kids. And watching what we're doing. I thought principals were supposed to stay in their office and run the school.”

“Maybe he's trying to change the rules.”

“Why?”

“I asked him that in the interview.”

“Yeah?” Bruce looked interested. “What did he say?”

“He said that when he was a cop, he saw a lot of kids on the street who were in trouble. But by the time the police got involved, it was usually too late. He said he wanted to find a way to help kids before they got to that point. That's why he became a principal. And why he's changing the rules, I expect.”

“He was probably a better cop than he is a principal,” Bruce said.

“Do all the kids think so?”

He shrugged. “The geeks seem to like him. The guys I hang around with don't. Except maybe Tony Watson. But he's got problems. I think he figures Mr. Jackson can help him.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Stuff at home. His parents don't get along. I think his dad drinks, and his mom's never around. She travels a lot for her job.”

“Doesn't sound too great,” she agreed. “So what does Mr. Jackson do?”

“He just talks to him. After school sometimes. Tony seems to be okay for a while after that. But it never lasts long. I feel sorry for him.”

“Maybe you could invite him over some time.”

Bruce gave her another disgusted look and changed the subject. “I saw your name on the sign-up sheet for the food booth at the school carnival. Did you really volunteer?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I thought we could spend some time together there.” Which was true enough. But she'd hoped it would also give her a chance to meet some of his elusive friends.

He looked appalled. “Mom! Even if I go, I was going to hang around with the guys.”

“I don't expect you to spend the whole day with me, Bruce. But I thought we could have a hot dog and soda or something when I finish working. And what do you mean,
even
if you go?”

“I'm not sure about it. I have to check with the guys.”

“But what do
you
want to do?” she pressed. “You used to like carnivals, especially the rides.”

He shrugged. “That's kid stuff.”

But that's what you are!
she wanted to cry out.
Just a kid.
Instead, she reached for his empty plate. “I
don't know.
I
still like carnivals, and I'm no kid,” she said, striving for a conversational tone.

He considered that. “Well, I might go. For a while.”

“I hope so. It would be fun. And you know what else I was thinking? Maybe this weekend we could go to the art museum. I hear it's great, and there's an exhibit right now that I thought you might especially like. It's on the—”

“I'll have a lot of homework this weekend,” Bruce cut her off.

“You have to have some time for fun, too.”

“Joe's having a party Saturday night at his house. Maybe I could go to that,” he said hopefully.

“Maybe. Will his parents be home?”

“Oh, Mom!”

“Yes or no?”

“I don't know.”

“If you give me his phone number, I'll call and check.”

“Forget it.” He shoved his chair back and stood. “Can I dry the dishes later?”

“Sure.”

Tess sighed as he disappeared down the hall. So far, she didn't seem to be making much progress. But things would change eventually. She was sure of it.

She only hoped the change would be for the better.

I
f she never saw another funnel cake in her life it would be too soon, Tess concluded, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she poured the batter through the namesake cooking implement and watched it coil around unappetizingly in the hot grease. After making the fat-laden sweets for the past hour, Tess couldn't believe that anyone would actually eat them. But they'd been selling like the proverbial hot cakes to the students at the school carnival.

Tess lifted the golden, cooked pastry onto a paper plate and liberally sprinkled it with powdered sugar before handing it to the parent who was filling orders at the front counter. She glanced at her watch, noting with relief that her shift was almost over. In ten minutes she'd be free to have the agreed-upon hot dog and soda with Bruce.

If
he showed up, she amended, her worried gaze scanning the school grounds. So far he'd made himself scarce. Since their arrival she'd caught only a
fleeting glimpse of him in the distance, and his friends were nowhere to be seen. So much for any hopes she'd harbored about meeting his elusive companions, she conceded with a resigned sigh.

“How's business?”

The familiar, husky voice close to her ear made her jump, and she dropped the funnel into the vat, gasping in pain as hot grease splattered and sizzled on the back of her hand. She heard Mitch's startled oath, and a moment later he ducked under the rail and took her hand, cradling it in his as he frowned at the shiny red patch of burned skin.

“This needs attention.” His gaze met hers, contrite and troubled. “I'm sorry, Tess.”

There was something about the way he said her name, his voice roughened with some emotion she couldn't identify, that made her own voice quaver.

“It—it wasn't your fault,” she assured him. “If I'd been paying more attention this never would have happened. And I'm fine, really.”

Instead of responding, Mitch called over her shoulder, “Hank, Tess burned her hand. She needs to go to first aid.”

The older man in charge of the booth joined them, a concerned look on his face. “A casualty already?”

“It's nothing, really,” Tess insisted, trying to tug her hand free. But when it was obvious that Mitch didn't intend to release it, she stopped struggling.

Hank peered down at the injury with a troubled expression and seconded Mitch's diagnosis. “That's a bad burn. You go on, Tess. We have plenty of help. And your replacement will be here any minute.”

Tess glanced down at her hand. The burn did look
nasty. But she found herself focusing more on Mitch's strong, capable fingers and his tender touch, which were playing havoc with her respiration. She forced herself to take a long, steadying breath before she spoke. “All right. You both win. Where's the first aid station?”

Mitch's hand dropped to the small of her back and he guided her out of the booth. “I'll go with you.”

Tess knew she should protest. She was perfectly capable of finding her own way. And Mitch was a busy man. But she liked the feel of his hand at her waist, even if it was just a polite, impersonal gesture. Tess couldn't remember the last time she'd been touched in such a protective way. And whatever Mitch's intent, his touch satisfied a need deep inside her, one that often surfaced during the long, solitary nights, or when the demands of single parenthood overwhelmed her. It was a touch that made her feel as if she wasn't quite so alone. As if someone cared. That feeling, long absent from her life, was one to be savored, if only for a brief moment.

“Here we are. It's not exactly the Mayo Clinic, but they should be able to handle this,” Mitch said with a smile, putting an end to her momentary flight of fantasy.

The school nurse quickly saw to the burn, and within a couple of minutes Tess was free to go.

“Can I buy you a soda?” Mitch asked as he lifted the flap for her to precede him out of the tent.

Tess's heart gave a little leap, and an inexplicable feeling of happiness washed over her. “You don't have to do that,” she protested halfheartedly.

He flashed her a crooked grin. “True. But I'd like
to. After all, you were hurt, in part, because of me. It's the least I can do.”

So his offer was just part of the job. Tess's spirits quickly nose-dived, but she forced her lips into a smile. “I'm sure you have other things to attend to, Mr. Jackson. But thank you.”

Mitch almost accepted her answer at face value—as a brush-off. He wasn't the type to force his company on anyone, man or woman. But for some reason he hesitated. Her refusal somehow didn't ring true. In his gut he sensed that she
wanted
to spend more time with him. So what was holding her back?

For a long moment he studied the woman across from him. Today she was dressed in form-fitting jeans and a cotton T-shirt that softly hugged her curves. She had the body of a twenty-year-old, Mitch noted appreciatively—not to mention gorgeous eyes. A man could drown in their delicious green depths. But there was hurt in them, too, and wariness. Tess Lockwood struck him as a woman who had learned through adversity to be strong and capable and independent, who was used to tackling the challenges of life single-handedly. But he also sensed that somewhere deep inside she yearned to be less alone. Not that she needed a man to lean on. Just that she would welcome someone with whom to share the triumphs and tragedies of life. Yet something—or someone—had made her cautious. Unsure. Even a little skittish. It was uncertainty, not unwillingness, that was holding her back from accepting his invitation, Mitch suspected. So he decided to make one more attempt.

He stuck his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and gave her his most persuasive smile. “First
of all, the name is Mitch. I believe I've been calling you Tess for quite some time, so turnabout is fair play. And second, I don't have anything else to attend to. So would you reconsider?”

Tess's breath caught in her throat, and her spirits rebounded. He really did want to spend more time with her! He wasn't just being polite! The warmth and sincerity in his disarming smile convinced her of that. She drew a deep, unsteady breath and nodded. “All right. Thank you.”

His smile broadened. “Good. I hate to drink alone.”

A couple of minutes later, sodas in hand, they found a table in the sun. Tess closed her eyes and lifted her face to the balmy rays, enjoying their caressing warmth.

“Mmm. This is great,” she said, her lips curving into an appreciative smile.

Mitch took a sip of his soda and let his gaze rest on those lips—soft and supple and made to be kissed. She was more relaxed than he'd ever seen her—and far more appealing than was healthy for either of them, he realized with a start as his gaze swept down the slender column of her throat and lingered on the bare expanse of creamy skin at her collarbone. He swallowed with difficulty and looked away, firmly reminding himself that he wasn't in the market for romance. And neither was the lady, from all indications.

When he glanced back she was looking at him, her chin propped in one hand, her slender fingers playing with the soda straw. “You got lucky, you know that?” she remarked with a smile.

Her words jolted him momentarily, until common
sense kicked in. Tess couldn't possibly be talking about the fact that they'd met—even if that was the first thought that had come to
his
mind. “How so?” he asked, striving for a casual tone.

“The weather,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Mid-March can be awfully nasty in Missouri. It takes a lot of courage to plan an outdoor carnival for this time of year.”

He let his breath out slowly, willing his racing pulse to slow down. “Not courage,” he corrected her. “Tradition. Southfield High's been having this carnival on the same weekend for years. And I think they've only had bad weather once.”

“Well, someone's doing something right. But I was surprised to see you here. I thought you went to your uncle's on weekends.”

“I do. I'm heading out there as soon as I leave here. But I had to put in an appearance.”

Tess's fingers stilled and she frowned. “So I
am
holding you up.”

He shook his head. “I wasn't going to leave until after—”

He broke off abruptly to look over Tess's shoulder, and she turned to find Bruce glaring at her.

“I waited by the food booth for ten minutes,” her son said accusingly, shooting a venomous glance at Mitch.

A crestfallen look swept over Tess's face. “Oh, honey, I'm sorry!” she apologized contritely. “I burned my hand and Mit…Mr. Jackson walked me over to first aid. We stopped to have a soda on the way back. I just lost track of the time.”

He shrugged stiffly. “It doesn't matter. The food
here stinks, anyway. I'd rather go out with the guys for pizza. If that's okay.”

Mitch saw the distress on Tess's face and stood. “I was just leaving,” he said easily. “Why don't you stay and have something to eat with your mom, Bruce?”

Bruce glared at him. “I don't have to do what you say when I'm not in school.”

“Bruce!” Tess reprimanded him, shocked by his defiant tone. “Apologize to Mr. Jackson!”

“Why? I didn't do anything wrong,” he countered sullenly.

Tess rose, bristling with anger. “You most certainly did. You were rude and insolent. There was no call for that tone. I raised you better than that. Now, apologize.”

Their gazes locked for a moment in a silent battle of wills. But though they were equal in height, he was no match for her maternal authority. At last his gaze fell and he studied the toe of his sport shoe.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled begrudgingly, refusing to meet Mitch's eyes. Then he looked at Tess. “So can I go with the guys for pizza?”

Tess debated silently. She'd blown it just now by not showing up on time for the “date” with her son. And she'd added insult to injury by allowing Bruce's nemesis to be the cause of her tardiness. She needed to make it up to him, and this might be the way. After all, his request wasn't unreasonable. And she had been keeping him on a pretty tight leash. She longed to turn to Mitch, ask his advice, but that would only make things worse with Bruce. She was on her own.

“Where are they going?” she stalled.

“Just down the street. To Little Italy.”

Tess knew the place. It was a popular—and safe—hangout for high school kids. “Okay. But I want you home by seven.”

“Seven! But Mom, it's Saturday night!”

“And you're fourteen.” She ignored his dirty look. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

His expression said, “Get real,” but his spoken words were different. “I can walk.”

The restaurant was only a few blocks from their apartment and the area was safe, so Tess nodded. “Okay. I'll see you at seven. No later, Bruce. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

Tess watched as he disappeared into the crowd, then turned to Mitch, her shoulders drooping. “So did I blow it?” she asked heavily, clearly distressed by the confrontation.

He shook his head. “You can't keep kids under lock and key all the time. And you can't always be there to watch over their shoulder. Little Italy is okay. And you set a clear curfew. You did the right thing, Tess.”

She wanted to believe him. Desperately. She'd made a lot of mistakes in her life, but she was determined not to make any more when it came to Bruce. Mitch's reassurance was comforting. But more important, it was credible. He wasn't the type to lie just to make someone feel good. Especially when a kid's future was at stake. She'd learned enough about him to know that. The knot in her stomach eased slightly and she slowly exhaled. “Thanks.”

Mitch glanced at his watch, and Tess took the cue.
She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “Thanks for the soda, too. I'm sure you're anxious to get on the road.”

Her statement was true enough. Mitch had planned to arrive at the farm before dark. He could still make it if he left now.

“Actually, since your meal plans fell apart, I thought maybe we could grab a bite first. The food here isn't quite as bad as Bruce implied.”

Judging by the faint flush that rose on her cheeks, the invitation surprised her as much as it did him.

“I don't want to hold you up,” she said hesitantly.

She'd given him an out. Which he should take, he told himself firmly. Spending time with an attractive mother of a problem student wasn't in his plans. Nor was it safe. He knew that at some intuitive level. The logical thing to do was grab a carryout and take off. But somehow his heart wasn't listening to logic.

“We both have to eat anyway. Unless you make a habit of cookies for dinner.”

She smiled. “No. That was a rare exception. I much prefer real food.”

“Two orders of real food coming up, then. What would you like?”

“Surprise me.”

“No hated foods I should steer clear of?”

She grinned. “Only funnel cakes.”

He chuckled, a deep sound that resonated pleasantly in her ears. “I don't blame you. Okay, sit tight and I'll be right back.”

When he returned a few minutes later laden with bratwurst, potato salad, coleslaw and brownies, Tess
arched her eyebrows. “So did you invite everyone in line to join us?” she teased.

“Hey, we eat hearty on the farm,” he countered as he divided up the food. “You need a lot of energy to drive tractors and mend fences and pitch hay.”

“So what excuse do
I
have for eating all these calories?”

His gaze swept over her, swift but discerning. “I don't think you need to worry.”

Though his tone was matter-of-fact, his words caused an odd flutter in her stomach. She watched him surreptitiously, admiring his strong profile as he squeezed mustard onto his bratwurst. He was a man who could easily let his good looks go to his head, could take advantage of his innate charisma. Instead, he was down-to-earth and genuine. Though he was clearly used to being in charge, his authority was tempered by kindness—and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. But it was there, in his eyes. Something had happened to Mitch Jackson somewhere along the way that had changed him irrevocably. Tess knew that as suddenly and surely as she knew that for the first time in years she actually found herself attracted to a man.