From Father to Son. Janice Johnson Kay

there was a good reason for her hasty move to Enid’s house.

       “Desmond having to change schools?” he asked casually.

       Rowan shook her head. “My in-laws live only about a mile away. Walking distance, really.”

       She didn’t sound altogether happy about that. Given his job, Niall was used to listening for undertones, and there were plenty here. But they weren’t his problem, he reminded himself. In no way, shape or form.

       “I need to be going. Grocery shopping,” he decided, impromptu. He hesitated, his inner jerk doing battle with nice-guy Niall, who won the tussle. He said reluctantly, “If you need me to pick anything up for you…”

       She beamed at him. “That’s really nice of you. But not today, thanks.”

       Oh, this was going to come back to bite him in the ass. They all thought he wanted to be friends now. And he so didn’t.

       He did like that smile, though. It had something in common with the bright, cheerful flowers she was planting. It was a happy smile.

       The realization that she hadn’t looked happy the rest of the time gave him momentary pause. There were as many shadows in her eyes as he saw in his own every morning when he shaved in front of the mirror. He wondered when her husband had died and how. Why she’d moved in with the husband’s parents instead of staying in whatever home she’d already had. Why she’d fled the in-laws’ the instant the opportunity offered itself.

       He was frowning when he let himself out the gate, rolled his motorcycle out of the detached garage and donned his helmet.

      Not your business. You don’t want to know.

       No. He’d have to raise avoiding them to an art form, for his own self-preservation. He didn’t get involved. Not with anybody, far less a sweet-faced young widow and her children.

       It was a shame about the children, though, and the sweet face, given how sinfully sexy her petite body was. Shaking his head with regret, he kicked the Harley’s engine to throaty life and steered out of the driveway.

      THREE DAYS LATER, Rowan suddenly realized how quiet the house was. She stuck her head out of the kitchen. “Desmond?”

       No answer.

       She followed the sound of the television to the living room, where a Disney movie played. Anna lay curled up on the sofa, sound asleep.

       Rowan smiled down at her. Anna had decided recently that she was too big a girl to nap, but long habits could be hard to break. She looked comfortable enough, so Rowan decided to leave her where she was rather than carry her up to bed.

       Had Desmond gotten bored with the movie and gone upstairs to play? She went up and found his bedroom deserted. Ditto Anna’s and her own.

       Her heart sank. He must have gone outside without her noticing. She trusted him not to leave the yard, but she didn’t trust him not to have gone knocking on her tenant’s door.

      Please don’t let Niall have been home.

       Desmond had become infatuated with the brooding police detective. She couldn’t figure it out. Niall wasn’t anything like Drew, who she knew Desmond missed dreadfully. She had hoped his grandfather would fill some of the void, but… No, she didn’t want to think about that right now. She had to find her son.

       The moment she opened the back door, she saw him. Niall had come out on his porch and was listening, head bent and arms crossed, as Desmond expostulated on some enthusiasm or other. He was bouncing on his toes in his excitement.

       With a sigh, Rowan started across the yard. Niall saw her coming. His face was mostly expressionless, but she thought there might be a plea in his eyes.

       “Desmond,” she said, “what have I told you about bothering Detective MacLachlan? You cannot come over here every time you get bored.”

       “I’m not bothering him, Mom. Am I, Niall? He says I can call him Niall,” he said as an aside to his mother, to forestall her reproof. “’Cuz we’re friends, huh?”

       Like ghosts, several emotions passed through her tenant’s gray eyes, “I did tell him to call me by my first name. ‘Detective’ is for work.”

       “He never had a dog.” Desmond sounded astonished at the concept. “Not even when he was my age. He said his mom didn’t like dogs. I’m real glad you like dogs, Mom. ’Cuz then we wouldn’t have Sam.”

       Thumping drew their attention. Sam might not be the brightest bulb, but he did know his name. She hadn’t noticed him lying on the porch, although she should have; his head was all but resting on Niall’s foot.

       His bare foot.

       He seemed often to go barefoot, she’d noticed in the slightly less than a week they had lived here. He had quite sexy feet, an observation which had taken her by surprise. Rowan did her very best not to notice men as sexual beings. And feet weren’t supposed to be sexy anyway, were they? She didn’t even know why the word had crossed her mind. His feet were long and bony, with a few copper-colored hairs curling on his toes. Even so, at the sight of them close up, she felt a funny, warm, melting sensation low in her belly.

       Of course, if she concentrated on his hands, long-fingered but strong, she had something of the same sensation. And he was very well built, she could see that; broad-shouldered, lean, powerful in a streamlined way. His hair was a beautiful color, a deep, rich auburn that in sunlight revealed itself to be composed of strands of a dozen colors. She wouldn’t have thought of him as a redhead at all, except that his jaw stubble was copper colored like the hairs on his forearms and toes. It made her wonder if he had much chest hair and whether it, too, was as bright....

       Sternly, she slapped down any such speculation. She didn’t actually want to see his chest, or to touch it. Definitely not to touch it.

       In her marriage, Rowan had learned to dread the sexual act. She had no reason to think it would be different with any other man. No, she wasn’t going there again, however much Desmond wanted a father. And she had to figure out how to keep him from bugging Niall, or she suspected she was going to lose her tenant. She hated the idea of having to find someone new. Niall might not be the friendliest man on earth, but he was safe. Plus, according to Gran he didn’t hold parties—in fact, almost never had a visitor at all—was neat, occasionally helpful and quiet. Although how Gran knew about the quiet part was a mystery. Niall could have howled at the moon without Gran hearing.

       Keeping a renter in the cottage was a financial necessity for Rowan, and she hated to imagine the possibilities if Niall left.

       “Are you going back to work soon?” she asked, trying to keep the hopeful note from her voice. His ironic look told her she hadn’t succeeded.

       “Probably next week. You should know I don’t always work regular shifts. Don’t worry if you hear me coming and going at strange hours.” When she nodded, he asked, “Do you work?”

       “I’m a para-ed at the elementary school. A teacher’s aide,” she translated. “It lets me work the same hours as Des is in school. Before, her grandparents took care of Anna, but this year she’s going to a preschool instead.”

       “Grandma is mad about that,” Desmond said.

       Rowan laid a hand on his head. “Disappointed, not mad.”

       “She sounded mad.”

       “Okay, upset.”

       Niall, she couldn’t help noticing, was listening to the conversation closely. In their few interactions, she’d become aware of how much he took in while not, if he could help it, participating. She wondered what he thought about them.

       Then she almost laughed. He thought they were a huge nuisance, that’s what he thought.

       “Please,” she said, “let me know if any of us are bugging you. I mean it.”

       Eyes widening, Desmond looked