An Old-Fashioned Love. Arlene James

it out in his mind. “Boards? Lumber? A pile of lumber?”

      Max’s chin wobbled, and tears welled up. “Y-yes, sir.”

      Wyatt let his hands fall away from his head, his mouth dropping open at the same time. He split an enraged look between them. “Have you ever heard the word theft?” he bawled. They both jumped, but he was beyond pity. “Let me get this straight! You stole a pile of lumber from the old ice-cream shop, cut it up and somehow fashioned it into that wreck out there in the backyard that you call a clubhouse! Have I got this right?” He blared the question at Rex and was actually surprised but not necessarily pleased to see that boy recoil before stiffening and licking his lips.

      “Yes.”

      No groveling “sir” for Rex. Wyatt had to admire the boy’s spirit. On the other hand, Rex lacked Max’s sensitivity. It struck him again how very different his twins were. Wyatt pulled his mind back to the matter at hand. He had no doubt who was the mastermind of this little caper, and it was time the mastermind faced the consequences of his actions. Wyatt made a show of glancing at the paper in his hand, though in truth every word was already printed indelibly on his mind. Then he very deliberately drew himself up, stretching his six-foot frame another couple of inches.

      “That covers the theft,” he said smartly. Then he slowly leaned forward. “Now we come to the vandalism.” That last he said with his face shoved up right next to the boy’s, scant room for an eyelash between the ends of their noses. “What does it mean, Rex?” Was it merely his perspective, or did the boy’s eyes widen?

      “I…don’t know.”

      “Rex!”

      “Unless it was the doorknob.”

      Wyatt pulled back, blinking, puzzlement overshadowing meager satisfaction. “Doorknob? What about a doorknob?”

      Rex got a pugnacious look on his face, but he answered nonetheless. “It was just junk, anyway. That’s why it broke when we tried to get it off.”

      Wyatt rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “You were trying to steal the blasted doorknob and it broke?” It was as much exclamation as question.

      Rex pushed his chin to his chest, fuming. “It was junk! That place was abandoned a long time ago. Nobody steals junk. We were just going to use it!”

      “And destroyed it in the process! Of all the ignorant, idiotic—” Wyatt forced himself to stop and count, clenching his jaw. He got well past ten before he could trust himself to go on, and even then he required the fortification of a deep breath. “All right,” he said, “so you broke the doorknob. Anything else?”

      Rex lifted his head, resignation showing in the dullness of his eyes and the stern line of his mouth. “We pulmm-um some floorboards,” he mumbled.

      “What? Speak up!”

      The boy fixed him with a hard glare. “We pulled up some floorboards!”

      Wyatt balled his hands into fists, completely forgetting the paper he crumpled in the process. “Pulled up…You actually pried up the boards from the floor of that old ice-cream shop?” He threw up his arms. “What? No spray painting? No broken windows?”

      “Two,” Max said quietly, causing his father to whirl in his direction.

      “But the first was an accident!” Rex defended.

      Wyatt whirled back, too dismayed to check himself, only to hear Max give the final explanation.

      “We did it trying to take down that thing over the window.”

      Wyatt spun again. “What thing?” he barked.

      Max’s chin was wobbling, and his eyes brimmed with tears. “Th-tha blue-and-white-striped thing. W-we thought it would make a good h-hammock.”

      Wyatt’s jaw descended slowly. “An awning. You tried to steal an awning and broke the window in the process. For pity’s sake! We’re talking delinquent activity here—criminal activity.”

      “Wh-what does that mean?” Max asked.

      “It means we have to go to court, stupid,” Rex answered harshly, and it was this that fixed Wyatt’s mind.

      He struck the pose of lieutenant colonel again, quite unconsciously. “That’s right,” he said. “We are indeed going to court, and when we get there you two miscreants are going to confess everything, and I do mean everything.”

      “Will they p-put us in jail?” Max wailed, causing Rex to grimace with disgust.

      “They don’t send kids to jail,” he said. “Do they?”

      “They do,” Wyatt replied firmly, “but not in this case. Miss Temple, bless her, has filed a civil suit instead of making a complaint to the police. But don’t think you’re going to get off easy. This little escapade is going to cost me a pretty penny, thank you very much, which means I’m suspending your allowances from now until the end of the summer.”

      “The whole summer!” Rex exclaimed.

      “That’s right, the whole summer. And in addition you’re grounded until the court date, which is late next week. That means you go to school, you come home and you go to your rooms. No TV. No video games. No comic books. No telephone. And that isn’t the end of it, not by a long shot! But first, get out there and knock down that damned clubhouse! I want every board down, every nail pulled and the lumber stacked in piles according to length. After that, you can straighten this place up. This living room looks like a trash can, and I’m sick of it! The rest will come later, and you can just stew about it until then. Now have I made myself plain, misters?”

      “Yes, sir!” Max snapped, but Rex merely flipped him a weak salute.

      Wyatt glared at him and lifted a shaking finger. “Go. Now. Before I decide to take my belt to you!”

      Both turned and walked away, Max with tense, hurried steps, Rex shuffling side to side with every show of reluctance. Wyatt closed his eyes and gritted his teeth to keep from shouting at them again. It was less than they deserved, blast them, but he knew what they were thinking, what they had always thought. They were thinking that he didn’t love them, didn’t want them. What else could they think after he had neglected them so long, seen them so little? Damn him, and damn Marie, for having brought them to this. He and his ex-wife were too selfish to be parents, and he blamed her no more than he blamed himself.

      She might have abandoned the boys nearly a year ago to run back home to her beloved France, but that was no more than he’d done when they were barely six and Marie had issued her ultimatum. She had vowed to divorce him if he reenlisted, but he had signed on that dotted line, nonetheless, seeing it as a way to end the arguments and accusations. If he was dealing with the aftermath of that decision now, then so be it. It was probably less than he deserved, after all. And he did love them. Would his failures rankle so deeply if he didn’t?

      Traci smoothed the skirt of her dress, a simple sleeveless sheath with a boat neck, belted at the waist beneath a long, loose jacket. The fabric was white cotton, covered with tiny red embroidered flowers. Her navy shoes had substantial heels; to her mind, flats simply did not work with shorter skirts. To accessorize the outfit, she wore a necklace of heavy red beads strung between links of a wide gold chain and matching drop earrings. Her hair had been swept up into a thick roll from which a few stray curls escaped. The overall effect was both businesslike and emphatically feminine. It was a look she had skillfully and successfully cultivated during her four years as a legal secretary, years that had served her well, but years she would not care to repeat, owing to the workload, long hours, pressure and intensity, not to mention the less-than-overwhelming financial compensation.

      Those years had served her well, however, because she had learned a good deal about legally protecting herself and the best ways of seeking redress through the court system, which accounted in part for her decision to sue retired Lieutenant Colonel Wyatt Gilley in small claims court. True, her compensation for damages