A Tender Touch. Lenora Worth

this woman. But that didn’t stop him. Clay had always managed to take on a good challenge, just to show the world he could do it. And Freddie Hayes was definitely a challenge.

      “We were just going for a quick walk before dinner,” he explained, hoping she wouldn’t think he was stalking her.

      Freddie nodded, then sat on her knees to gather up their towels and Ryan’s toys. “We need to get home ourselves. Ryan goes to day care, so I have to get him up early tomorrow.”

      “I start school in this many weeks,” Ryan added, holding up one pudgy finger. “I’ll be in first—a real grade.”

      Freddie frowned down at her son. “Ryan, remember what I told you—kindergarten was a real grade, too. You learned a lot there, honey.”

      Ryan bobbed his head. “Yeah, but Uncle Todd told me kindergarten is for babies. But I’m not a baby anymore, am I, Mommy?”

      “No, sweetie, you’re growing up.” Freddie rubbed his thick hair off his forehead, a flash of mother’s love coloring her eyes a deep brown. “Too fast.”

      “Not fast enough,” Ryan replied, standing up. “Look, Samson. See my muscles. One day, I’m gonna have big muscles like my daddy and Uncle Todd.”

      The dog watched Ryan’s every movement, as if mesmerized by the little boy’s actions. He gave an answering low bark.

      “I think he’s impressed,” Clay said, wondering why Freddie was still frowning. Probably because he was still here.

      Freddie smiled then, but the smile looked forced, as if she was gritting her teeth. She finished packing up everything, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she settled back on the big beach blanket to look over at Clay. At least she wasn’t running away in a hurry.

      Reaching out to rub Samson’s furry back, she said, “Ryan, why don’t you go get your sand-castle molds? And make sure you shake the sand out.”

      Ryan hopped up, then turned. “Can Samson come with me?”

      Clay nodded. “Sure. But don’t pet him. Just let him watch, okay?”

      “Okay.” Ryan waited for the dog, one hand held out in a trusting gesture of age-old friendship. “C’mon, Samson.”

      Samson looked to his master, his eager eyes making Clay smile. “Samson, go.”

      Samson took off toward the ocean, barking at the incoming waves. Ryan giggled and followed, careful not to get too close to the prancing dog.

      “Will they—”

      “I’m watching,” Clay said in response to the worry he saw in Freddie’s eyes. “Samson knows his commands. He won’t bother Ryan. But he’ll watch over him. He’s always been especially sociable around children. We used to visit a lot of the schools around our precinct.”

      That seemed to calm her. She looked away from her son, then back at Clay, her eyes the color of dark earth. “I guess I’m being silly and overly protective, but things have been difficult since his father died.”

      “I’m sorry,” Clay said, meaning it. Getting killed came with the territory of being a cop, and lately, that had hit a little too close for comfort. “How are you coping?” he asked, wondering if the question was too forward. But needing to know.

      “I’m hanging in there,” she said with a shrug. “One day at a time and all those other platitudes.”

      He accepted the evasiveness in her eyes and voice. “But you don’t live by platitudes, do you?”

      She looked surprised, but pleased. “No. In fact, I got so tired of hearing that sort of thing after…after Gary died, that I shut myself off from the rest of the world.” She shrugged again. “That was a mistake. I didn’t think about what that would do to Ryan.”

      “Why did you move here?”

      Again, he had to know.

      She stared out at her child running in the surf, the big dog standing by, barking encouragement. “I had to get away…from the life we’d had. I needed to start over.”

      Clay nodded, glanced out at Samson. “Me, too.” At her curious look, he added, “I guess that’s why I came home. I usually take a vacation at the end of the summer, but this year, I asked for more time off, because I needed it. My captain agreed. Samson needed it, too. I wanted to be here at home, for some reason.”

      He watched her face, saw the play of emotions moving through her eyes like soft, rippling water, thought he saw a light opening up, as if she really wanted to get to know him. “Samson is healing. What about you?”

      “You’re direct,” he responded by way of an answer.

      “Well, so are you.”

      “Not usually,” he admitted. “I kinda tend to dance my way around things—unless I feel it’s important.”

      “I’m always direct,” she replied, her grin wry and full of regret. “That got me in a lot of trouble with my husband and his overbearing family.”

      Clay took in that bit of information, telling himself he’d try not to be overbearing with her. “Is that why you had to get away?”

      “Yes.” She got up, determination masking whatever else she might have said. “We have to go.”

      Clay stood, brushing sand off his hands and the back of his shorts, wishing he hadn’t been so direct after all. “You don’t like me, do you?”

      Her eyes lifted to his. “What makes you think that?”

      “You just don’t seem to want to be around me.”

      She looked down at the print of Van Gogh sunflowers on her beach bag. “It’s not that, Clay—”

      “You don’t want to be around another cop right now?”

      She looked back up at him, her eyes holding no secrets this time. “No, I don’t. I hope you’ll understand. I mean, I’m more than willing to help you heal Samson, but…I’m not in the market for dealing with another police officer right now. It was a tough life. I loved my husband, tried to be a good wife, but it was very hard. It’s all too fresh, too raw. I’m not ready—”

      “I do understand,” he said, not really understanding at all, but then, he had a lot he had to work through, too. Before he could think about it, he added, “My mother will be so disappointed.”

      “So will Ana,” she said, then she brought a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. Forget I said that.”

      Clay put a hand on her arm. “Ana? What’s she got to do with this?”

      “Nothing.” She turned toward Ryan, calling out to the boy. “C’mon, honey, time to go home.”

      “Hey,” he said, pulling her back around, the soft touch of her skin making his backbone tingle. “Tell me.”

      Freddie tossed her braid over her shoulder, then looked over at him. “Ana is playing matchmaker.”

      He let out a sigh. “Well, so is my mother.”

      She shook her head. “We have to ignore them.”

      “Yeah, right. Two of the most determined women on the island think we ought to get together, and we’re just going to ignore them.”

      “We have to,” she said again, a soft plea in the words.

      “Why? Why do we have to ignore them?”

      “Because, I told you—”

      “I know, you don’t want to get involved with another cop, right?”

      “Right.”

      “Well, what if I told you I might not be a cop much longer?”

      He had her attention