Chapter 1 #3
Hendrix watched her as he did some calculations. She’d paid for the summer rental in advance, but the payment didn’t include December, plus rent would be due again in January.
So...now what?
When he spotted Ryder in the doorway, watching them with worry that no seven-year-old should ever feel, he gestured for her to precede him. “Your son is waiting. Let’s go.”
She blinked in confusion. “But –”
“It’ll wait.” Glancing at her, he said, “For now.”
Joey wasn’t sure what to do. True, if she hoped to survive the holiday season, she wanted – needed – to stay at the RV park. With any luck, she’d even be able to get Ryder a few gifts.
That last look in Hendrix’s eyes though... Damn it, she wasn’t looking for him to solve her problems. She just needed a little leeway, and maybe some time to figure out a solution. She wanted to fight her own battles, to make it entirely on her own.
Why did Hendrix have to be so appealing? Not just physically, though man, could he get a woman’s heart racing. He was also controlled, the exact opposite of Ted. And proud, but not arrogant. Friendly, but never over the top.
In so many ways, he appealed to her – and he wanted her long gone.
After the holidays, when Ryder was back in school, she’d be able to get another job. With that added to her private tutoring, she should be able to make ends meet.
As long as nothing went wrong.
Stepping into the cabin ahead of Hendrix, she greeted Ryder with a smile. “Sorry we took so long, honey. We got busy chatting.”
Ryder wilted with relief. “It’s okay. I washed my hands. See.” He held them up, fingers spread, so she could do a quick inspection.
“Nice job. You even got under your nails.”
“I got the food ready, too.” He grabbed Hendrix’s hand and hauled him toward the kitchen counter. Peanut butter, jelly, and bread were set out with butter knives, plastic plates, and napkins.
There were only three pieces of bread.
And of course, Hendrix’s frowning gaze took in everything at once.
She’d noticed that about him many times, how aware he was of everything and everyone.
Like a guard dog keeping watch, even when most people relaxed.
Her response to that vigilance was what surprised her most. She found it comforting, as if nothing bad could ever happen around Hendrix Becker, camp owner, businessman, unofficial guard on duty.
Super-hot man.
She liked other things about him, too. How he looked at Ryder with affection, and spoke to him with the type of respect usually only afforded adults. He didn’t dismiss him as a kid, and he didn’t ignore Ryder’s presence while ogling her.
Oh, he sometimes ogled, or rather, he catalogued everything about her. There were times when his attention felt almost tactile. But never at the expense of her son.
Other men would ignore Ryder when he spoke because they only wanted her attention. As if she’d ignore her own son. Not likely.
Hendrix was totally different, and there’d been a few lonely nights when she’d imagined him asking them out to dinner. Ryder would love it – and so would she. But Hendrix never asked. He was too much of a loner for that.
Now he was in the tiny cabin with her and Ryder, taking up a lot of space with his height, his wide shoulders, and his take-charge presence.
And all she could offer was three pieces of bread with peanut butter and jelly.
The cabin, exactly like the others in the park, was meant for two, so three left it crowded – and all the Christmas decorations didn’t help.
Still, Hendrix spotted the food – or lack of it – on the narrow counter right away. Actually, looking at her meager offerings was easier than all the red and green and shiny stuff.
Accidentally, Hendrix bumped into Ryder. The boy grinned at him. Then Joey ran into his back, causing a sizzling second of heated awareness. She apologized and squeezed around him.
Dragging his gaze off the mostly empty jar of jelly, Hendrix forced himself to look around.
The place was as pristine as a tiny cottage could be.
The pine walls, ceiling, and floors gleamed, almost blindingly so, especially with the reflection of multi-colored lights on the small Christmas tree set on a pedestal table crammed in the corner.
Just inside the door was a futon to his right with the tiny kitchen nook on the left.
A narrow refrigerator and two-burner stove took up precious wall space.
The front of the fridge sported hand-cut snowflakes made from white paper and sprinkled with glitter.
A miniscule strip of countertop – holding Santa and Mrs. Clause salt and pepper shakers – led to a double bowl sink.
Beyond that, the counter extended to create a bar top for eating.
Two pine chairs were there, each with red cushions.
All along the ceiling, construction paper garland hung in swags. More homemade snowflakes were on the windows.
Hendrix’s head started to throb.
This was the homey shit he didn’t want to see. How could Christmas be anywhere near cheery when Joey’s circumstances were so dire?
Were the bathroom and small bedroom also afflicted with Christmas? Probably. It seemed these particular unwanted park guests spent all their free time crafting.
It was damn near mesmerizing. Or nauseating. Possibly something in-between.
His attention returned to the food Ryder had set out. No wonder Joey hadn’t wanted him to join them. She didn’t have enough to go around.
With an absurdly bright voice, she said, “You two take a seat.”
“Come on, Mr. Becker.” Ryder urged him to a chair.
He resisted. “There are only two.” Maybe that could be the excuse he needed to dodge out.
“I’ll get the chair from my room!” Ryder sprinted off.
“No, wait.” Hendrix went after him, in part because he couldn’t imagine Ryder hauling a chair. He was only seven and on the scrawny side. But also out of curiosity. As he stepped into the eight-by-eight bedroom, Ryder turned with a kid-sized plastic chair in his hands.
It was perfect for a little boy, but it wouldn’t reach the counter.
From the kitchen, Joey called out, “I brought in a chair from the porch. Problem solved.”
Great. Freaking great.
Ryder returned the chair with all the energy of a boy his age. It barely fit at the end of the bunk beds, next to a small dresser, but that didn’t bother him. With a lot of pride, he announced, “This is my room.”
“Nice,” Hendrix said, trying to sound impressed. After looking around, he moved closer to the pictures on the wall. “Did you draw all these?”
The chair was forgotten. Puffing up, the boy said, “Yup. Mom says I’m a artist.”
“An artist,” Hendrix corrected, without thinking about it. “I agree.” He’d drawn trees, the shoreline, elk, and...” Leaning in and squinting, Hendrix surmised that the pole-skinny person with a tornado of yellow hair and a black bathing suit must be Joey. “This is your mom?”
“Yup. I like her curly hair.”
He liked it, too. “Any pictures of you?”
“Right there. I’m with her.”
Oops. Now he noticed the kid, who initially looked like a rock in red shorts, beside her. Portraits were not Ryder’s strong suit, but otherwise his talent was obvious. “This is the cabin, right?”
“It’s our house.” Ryder came closer and confided, “Mom sleeps on the couch but sometimes I can still hear her snore.”
“Ryder Collins,” Joey said with a laugh.
Grinning, Ryder ran out. “You do snore, Mom. Not real loud, though. I don’t mind.”
While he was alone, Hendrix closed his eyes and wished he could stay right here for a few minutes more.
Tune out the sounds of a doting mother joking with her well-loved son.
Just forget that these two people seemed content with their lack of means.
Maybe he could also forget that Christmas had thrown up all over their tiny lodging – a lodging that Ryder considered home. Ignore the season altogether.
And ignore the fact that Joey needed to stay, not only because she obviously couldn’t afford to leave, but also because he didn’t trust her ex.
The way she looked whenever she mentioned Ryder’s father left him uneasy. He felt it in his guts that there would be trouble. Never again would he discount that feeling, especially not when Joey and Ryder were involved.
From the kitchen area, Ryder said, “Mom sleeps on the couch cuz she said a boy needs his privacy.”
And a loving mother would want to be near the door, to place herself between her son and possible danger because she didn’t trust her ex. Joey didn’t need to say it; he already knew it was true. He would have done the same.
Whispering came from the kitchen area, probably Joey urging Ryder to be patient.
But he couldn’t stay in Ryder’s room contemplating possible problems any longer. He was thirty-four, not seven. He’d have to face it all sooner or later.
“Mr. Becker?” Ryder loudly called, as if a great deal of space separated them instead of a few feet. “Time to eat.”
He heard Joey whisper again, this time an admonishment about inside voices.
While he was still bracing himself, Joey stepped in behind him. “Everything okay?”
Wasn’t easy, but he got his lips to move in a semblance of a smile. “Just admiring the artwork.”
“Captivating, I know, but seven-year-old boys are endlessly hungry.”
So now she felt free to admonish him, too? Hendrix gestured for her to go on, then he followed, which gave him the advantage of admiring her figure from the rear. And a very nice rear it was.
Damn it, how could he go from brooding to sexually aware in a nanosecond? It wasn’t healthy.
“Right here, Mr. Becker.” Oblivious to Hendrix’s distraction, Ryder indicated the chair beside him where a glass of milk and a plastic plate holding a whole sandwich waited.
Ryder had half a sandwich. There was nothing on Joey’s plate.
Meaning there wasn’t another loaf of bread anywhere. She really only had enough for one and a half sandwiches. Feeling like an ass but also determined, Hendrix stepped past her to retrieve the butter knife she’d removed from the table.