Child by Chance Read online

  “Did you ever think about talking to me about it?”

  “What for?”

  “Because you’d have found out that I have been looking, Kent. Every week. For the past two years.” He went to his own computer. “See,” he said, bringing up different sites he’d bookmarked, and files he’d highlighted.

  Kent stepped back, and Sherman saw the boys exchange a surreptitious glance.

  “I found a blog,” he continued, telling Kent about the woman in Santa Barbara whose son had left home that same night and never come back.

  “I had a call from the police a couple of days ago,” he added, feeling that to do so was appropriate given the circumstances. “The boy had packed a bag and stolen his mother’s credit card that night, too. She hadn’t put that detail in her blog. He used the credit card at a highway diner at the exit just up from where Mom had her accident, an hour before the accident. And he’d definitely been driving a car because the manager remembered him shining his headlights in the front window for a long time.”

  He’d remembered because he’d noticed the kid lighting up a joint and smoking the whole thing before he’d come into the restaurant. He’d almost asked him to leave without service but it wasn’t very busy inside and he didn’t want any trouble.

  “Was he the one who hit Mom?” Kent’s voice was the complete antithesis of seconds before. Subdued. Almost frightened.

  “Probably not. The manager didn’t see the kind of car it was, but he was headed for LA, the opposite direction. And remember, the person who hit Mom had to have come from the paved turnaround in the median because there weren’t any tracks. And she hadn’t had time to react...”

  They’d discussed this once. With Dr. Jordon present. Because Kent had had questions.

  “So you really think it was on purpose? That someone pulled out in front of her to cause the accident?” Jason asked, coming closer to the two of them, looking at Sherman.

  Sherman shrugged. “It seems that way,” he said honestly. “We just really don’t have an explanation.”

  The boys shared another glance.

  “But the police—and I—aren’t giving up,” he said, looking his son in the eye.

  Kent nodded. Jason elbowed him and motioned toward Sherman.

  “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to yell,” he said.

  “Thanks for the apology,” Sherman said. “Now let’s go have that fire.”

  He gave Jason a good show with lots of pyro. Made ice cream sundaes for the boys. And tucked them both into Kent’s double bed.

  But he couldn’t forget the anger in his son’s voice. Or the speed with which it had come on.

  He couldn’t settle down after the boys were in bed, either. Just kept pacing, hands in the pockets of his jeans, from room to room, indoors and out.

  Eventually he dropped down to his chair at the still-burning fire, putting another log into the kiva fireplace.

  And the only thing that seemed natural for him to do at the moment was to pick up his phone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  TALIA WAS HOME writing collage reports Friday night. She’d heard from Kent that afternoon that Jason was going to be spending the night.

  And had been trying all evening not to picture Sherman there, alone with the two boys. He’d do fine. She had no doubts about that.

  They were going to be having another fire. Another pyro demonstration. She wanted to be there.

  Giving up on a rather unusual collage a boy had made that consisted entirely of tea cups, Talia dropped her pen and went inside to run a bath. She’d waded in the ocean earlier that evening and wanted to wash the salt off her skin before she climbed between her sheets.

  She wanted to soak away the tension in her body, to be alone with her nudity and come to terms with the sexuality that Sherman Paulson brought to life within her.

  She couldn’t seem to concentrate on much of anything else.

  Except for Kent, of course.

  But tonight her son was fine. With his father at home, having a sleepover with his friend. Being a normal, happy, well-adjusted boy.

  Tonight, she was the woman who would most likely be spending the rest of her life by herself. Or, at least, the next foreseeable phase of it.

  She stripped slowly, almost as though she was treating herself to the show she’d put on for hundreds of men over the years, feeling the slide of the fabric on her skin. Really feeling it. Not just pretending to be aware of the slide of the silky fabric against nerve endings that were long ago deadened to sensation by a shut-off switch in her brain.

  She bared her breasts. Rubbed her hands across them as she’d done many times before, pushing them together, up and then hugging them to herself. The latter was something she’d never done onstage. Her breasts were hers. And if it felt good to touch them, that was for her, too.

  Stepping into the water, she kept her hands on her breasts, her fingers touching the nipples that had been so sensitive the past few weeks. Rubbing them lightly. Shocked to feel an answering sensation down at her core. Her breasts had always just been a way to get men to part with their money, a toy, a plaything for the opposite sex. She’d had no idea they could give her pleasure, too.

  She had seriously thought that the idea of a woman giving herself pleasure was all just a bunch of make-believe created to turn men on. The sex industry was all about playacting.

  Curious, she touched her nipples some more. Flicked her thumbs against their tips, her fingers lightly pinching the sides. They were hard and taut and—

  Her phone rang.

  Jerking in the tub at the interruption, Talia splashed water on the floor as she grabbed a towel, wiped her hands and reached for her phone.

  She didn’t know anyone who’d be calling just to chat at that hour. Which meant the call was important.

  Her heart thudded a hard and heavy beat as she saw the name of her caller. Had something happened to Kent?

  “Hello?”

  “Talia? It’s Sherman. Did I wake you?”

  He didn’t sound worried. Or upset. “No.” He sounded tired. Lonely. “I just finished my collage reports for the night,” she told him, feeling incredibly naked in the tub.

  “You said you’re a night owl so I hope it’s okay I called.”

  It was after ten. “Of course.” But why? He hadn’t called all week.

  She’d waited for the first night or two. Just in case. So she could tell him that they couldn’t have dinner together anymore. Because she was just too busy.

  And then she’d quit waiting. Knowing that his not calling her was for the best.

  “I know this is complicated, but...Kent blew up at me tonight.” He told her about an altercation in the computer room, not the details, but that it happened.

  “I’m afraid that Kent and I might have done more damage to Jason’s already fragile psyche,” he said.

  Talia felt moisture in her eyes. The man was so kind. So good. So perfect, if only she’d met him eleven years ago.

  But then that would put her at sixteen and him at Rex’s age and that wouldn’t have worked, either.

  Odd how Kent was adopted by a man the same age as his biological father, who’d gone to jail for fathering him.

  Another one of life’s little cruel ironies.

  “To the contrary,” she said softly after hearing the whole story. “I’d say you two probably just sped up his healing process by months. Anger isn’t a bad thing,” she said, parroting what she’d learned during more than a year of volunteering at the Stand. “It’s a normal human emotion. It’s how it’s sometimes handled that makes it evil.”

  “You...talk like you know. More than just from your work.”

  She couldn’t go there. Not tonight. Not while she was naked in her tub, still buzzing with sex... />
  With her free hand, she reached up and teased her nipple. Then the other. And smiled as the sensation shot downward again.

  So life had some little pleasures in store for her. It was...nice.

  “I need to see you, Talia. Alone. Just me and you. As two adults.”

  Oh, God, she needed that, too. With her fingers still at work on her breasts, she slid deeper in the water, letting her legs fall open against the sides of the tub.

  “I know this is difficult, with you being so busy and my being a single dad, but you’re very quickly becoming a big part of my life.”

  Her thumb pressed into her nipple. Her other hand held the phone. She was wet and hot all over. “I’m hardly in your life at all,” she said, wishing the words weren’t true and, at the same time, glad that they were.

  She was making the right choice, not seeing Sherman Paulson.

  “Are you kidding me?” His incredulousness made her smile. “I seem to be taking you with me everywhere I go.”

  Which brought up some exciting possibilities. Her overstimulated breasts wanted to be squeezed harder. She spread her legs wider. Did he take her into the shower with him in the morning? Into bed at night?

  As she had him?

  “It’s just sex.” The words were strangled. And desperate.

  “Maybe. It’s been a while, for sure. But I don’t think so. It’s not like you’re the only woman I’ve been around in a year. But you’re the only one who, in my mind, follows me into the office where I’m being offered a promotion just to smile and congratulate me.”

  “I did that?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  And then his words hit her sex-fuddled brain. “You got a promotion?”

  He told her about it. She congratulated him. He thanked her.

  She wanted to give him pleasure like he’d never known before.

  But more, she wanted him to give her the same kind of pleasure.

  She couldn’t.

  “Let me come over tomorrow night,” he said. “I don’t care how late. I haven’t had a sitter all week. Sandy has to work, but I know Ben will stay as late as I need him.”

  One night. Tatum had told her to take one night of happiness for herself.

  She’d been talking about a simple date. Not sex.

  But Tatum hadn’t lived in Talia’s world, where sex, or the build-up to it, were pretty much all that existed.

  She sat up.

  “Are you down at the ocean?” His tone had dropped to a sexy growl. And she almost said yes. Just because it would be safer. Kinder.

  “No.”

  “I heard water.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re in the bathtub?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve been lying there naked this whole time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “While I’ve been sitting outside at a Boy Scout fire, wasting the moment?” His groan made her chuckle.

  “If I show up at your door tomorrow night are you going to let me in?”

  “Probably.”

  “Would I be pushing my luck to hope you’ll have a bottle of chilled wine waiting?”

  He’d mentioned Tanner’s wine a couple of times since the night he’d tried it. Had even told the waitress at the Italian restaurant on the beach about it.

  “I still have a bottle in the refrigerator so I’m guessing not.”

  Her free hand moved down her body to come to rest between her legs. She closed them against it. Pushed her fingers against the throbbing that was growing more intense.

  “It’s a date, then.”

  Talia’s head was slightly dizzy. Her body thrummed. And her heart...

  “There are things about me you don’t know.”

  “I’m not asking you to marry me, Talia. Just to—”

  “Sleep with you?”

  “Maybe. If that’s where our night leads us. But only if that’s where it leads both of us.”

  Trouble was she didn’t have much doubt that it would.

  “You said it might just be sex between us,” he reminded her.

  She was clean. Sexually. Most of Talia’s years pleasing men hadn’t included sexual intercourse. And when it had been introduced, so had condoms. She’d used them every time. She’d also been tested. Regularly. More so over the past year, just out of her own paranoia to feel clean. Unscathed by the years she’d spent in hell.

  “I think we should talk first.” She had to set her ground rules while she could still think. If, after he found out she’d once been a stripper, he still wanted to take her to bed, she’d go.

  “Let me in the door when I knock and we’ll see how it goes.”

  She didn’t have the will to argue with him any further. Like he said, it wasn’t as though they were getting married.

  And lots of nice guys slept with hookers. Not that she’d really been a prostitute. Not a streetwalker, at least.

  No. She wasn’t going to think about her past tonight. What was done was done. And tonight, Talia was getting out of the tub before she found out whether or not she could actually experience an orgasm.

  She wasn’t waiting for Sherman.

  But just in case...

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DRESSED IN JEANS, a tank top, blouse, sweater and tennis shoes, Talia was waiting when Sherman pulled into the driveway Saturday evening. She’d buried her womanly parts as many layers deep as she could. She wasn’t going to have sex with him.

  But man, he looked good. In jeans that hugged his thighs and perfectly showcased his delectable backside, a button-down white shirt with the cuffs rolled up and sandals, he was health and virility personified.

  She was not going to have sex with him.

  “Hello,” he greeted, taking her arms to pull her forward—not until their bodies touched. But until their lips did.

  Then their bodies touched. Met. Stuck. And they pretty much had sex. While Talia stood there fully dressed.

  * * *

  SLOW DOWN. THE words came from the back of beyond to speak to Sherman. Words. They were just words. Ones he’d vowed, on his way over to Talia’s, that he’d listen to. They could have sex. And he was completely convinced it was going to be pretty damned miraculous when it happened.

  But he didn’t just want a sexual partner.

  “How about that wine?” He pulled away from her, dropped his arms to his sides and took a deep breath.

  “Sure.” Talia’s tone gave no indication to what she was thinking as she went into the kitchen, poured the wine and handed him a glass.

  “How about a walk on the beach?” she asked. He had the strange feeling that she’d already had the suggestion planned.

  And was curious as to the rest of what she might have up her sleeve for their evening. Curious and willing to be patient while the hours unfolded.

  He took her hand as they set off. Holding his wine with the other hand. She told him about the private stretch of beach, the other homes, all a bit larger than hers, that shared the beach. Talked about a little boy who used to torment her sister-in-law’s little dog. Pointed out his house.

  They sipped wine and breathed in the salty air.

  “How long have she and your brother been married?” he asked. He wanted to meet them. And the rest of her family. To know everything about her.

  He wanted to lie with her in the sand and be consumed by the hunger between them. To listen to the soft swell of the waves against the shore until dawn.

  “A year.”

  “What are the chances of Kent and me meeting them?” he asked lightly. “And I’d like to meet Tatum, too. Kent talks about her almost as much as he does Jason.”

  She stumbled. “Um, Tanner...and Sedona...asked
me to invite the two of you to dinner tomorrow night.”

  Sunday dinner. A family thing. “What time?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  He walked slowly beside her in the dark, sand filling his sandals. Processing. Choosing his words. “You weren’t going to ask,” he finally came out with.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She stopped. Let go of his hand, turned to the ocean and then sat. She pulled sand into a pile between her feet with her free hand and took a sip of wine. Seemed to be content to sit there alone for the rest of her life.

  Sherman joined her, lying on his side, propped on an elbow, his glass resting in the sand between his hands. She reminded him of a documentary he’d seen years before about the training of a wild horse. If you pushed too hard, it would turn on you.

  Trust took time.

  “Last night, in the office when Kent lost it on me...” He looked out to the ocean, relaxing. “He’d been showing Jason pictures of Brooke.”

  Her pile of sand lay unattended.

  “He accused me of doing nothing to find the person who killed his mother. The depth of his anger was...tough to take.”

  “What can you do? It was a hit-and-run with a stolen car, right?”

  “The guy ran, yeah. Just disappeared.”

  She turned to look at him, her face half-shadowed in the moonlight and still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “You think he was picked up by someone else?”

  “It’s a theory. But then you’d have to ask yourself why.”

  “Do you think someone killed her deliberately?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what I think. He had to have come from the paved median turnaround that was almost parallel to the crash site. He’d have to have had enough time to turn so that they were facing each other head-on, but that’s it. The coroner said Brooke was definitely awake when she crashed. But she’d had no time to put on the brakes, swerve or react in any way. There were also no tire marks in the grassy median itself, so they know the other driver didn’t fall asleep or lose control and cross over from the other side of the freeway.”