FATHER IN TRAINING Read online

  "Then what happened?"

  "Gary started chasing Robby. I tried to protect him. Gary hit Robby, then he turned on me." He shrugged. "You saw that part." He sighed. "Lindsay's right. Mom's gonna kill me. She hates fighting."

  Kyle knew it was wrong, but at this moment in time he wanted to get his hands on Gary and shake him until the kid's teeth rattled. He wouldn't, of course, but he would do the next best thing. When he went on duty, he would pay a visit to Gary's parents and have a talk with them. He knew the Warners and suspected they would be as angry as he was at their son's behavior.

  "You weren't fighting," Kyle told him. "You didn't even raise your hands to defend yourself. Someone hit you. It's not the same thing."

  Blake looked a little brighter. "Yeah?"

  Kyle grinned. "Yeah." He moved closer to the boy. "How's that cheek?"

  Blake lowered the bag of frozen peas. "It doesn't hurt so bad."

  It might not hurt, but it sure looked ugly. A large bruise had formed on the left side of his mouth. The skin was puffy and discolored. At least the bleeding had stopped. Kyle touched the tender area.

  "You'll live," he said, then stared at Blake. "Did your dad ever teach you how to defend yourself?"

  Blake shook his head.

  Figures, Kyle thought. He was probably too busy with his own life to notice how he was ignoring his son.

  "Do you know why Gary hit you?" he asked.

  "'Cause I said he'd thrown the ball at Robby."

  "That's only part of the reason. Gary hit you because he thought he could get away with it. Bullies pick on people who let them. If you stand up to a bully, he usually backs off. At heart, they're cowards."

  Blake frowned. "Gary didn't act like he was scared."

  "He was. Trust me. Did you see how fast he ran off when I showed up? Also, he hit you when you turned toward me. It was a cheap shot, when he knew you couldn't fight back. What you need to do is learn how to defend yourself. I'm not saying you should start a fight, but if one finds you, you have to be able to keep from being taken advantage of. Do you understand?"

  "I guess." Blake looked doubtful.

  "It's not that hard. I'll show you." He took the bag of peas and set them on the counter, then he grabbed Blake under his arms and lowered him to the floor. He heard the sound of a car going past. Sandy was home. Lindsay would tell her what had happened and she would come right over. He couldn't wait to tell her how well her son had behaved. She was going to be proud of the kid for defending another boy.

  "Stand like this." Kyle demonstrated the stance, with his feet apart and his weight balanced. "You need to be able to move quickly in either direction. There's no shame in ducking a punch."

  Blake mimicked the action. "I wanna duck for sure, because it hurts to get hit."

  "You're telling me." Kyle grinned. "So you want to make sure the other guy doesn't get a clear shot. Next, keep your arms up. You want to protect your face and body. Hunch over a little, giving him a smaller target." Blake bent in half. "Not so much. Like this."

  Kyle hunched down, drawing his chest in. "Keep your head low, but watch what he's doing. Try to anticipate the move."

  Blake lowered his arms to his side. "I can't remember all this."

  "It's hard at first. We'll practice. In a couple of weeks, you'll be able to stand up to Gary and feel confident that he won't get in another sucker punch."

  The back door jerked open. Sandy tore into the room. From the look on her face, Kyle knew she'd spoken to Lindsay. She didn't even glance at him. She rushed to her son's side and dropped to her knees.

  "What happened?" she asked frantically. "Are you okay? Lindsay said you were bleeding. Oh my God, look at your face." She clutched his chin and stared at the darkening bruise. "You've been fighting."

  Blake tried to smile, then he winced. "Kyle's been teaching me to do better, so next time Gary won't get in a cheap shot."

  "A what? Never mind. Are you hurt anywhere else?" She ran her hands along his chest and sides, then down his legs. Blake giggled when her fingers tickled him. "Nothing's broken?"

  "He's fine," Kyle said. "The other kid got off one good hit. That's all. I saw it happen."

  The back door opened again. Lindsay came in. She wouldn't look at him. Sandy stood up and pushed her hair out of her face. "Lindsay, take your brother back to the house and put some ice on his face. I'll be right there. After I speak with Kyle."

  He didn't like the sound of that. "Look, Sandy, it's not what you think."

  She ignored him. "Now, Lindsay." Her daughter grabbed Blake by the hand and led him out the door. Sandy followed them and stood by the screen, watching until they were out of earshot. Then she turned on him.

  "What the hell were you thinking? I leave my child in your care for a half hour and he gets in a fight. He's bruised and bleeding and I walk in on you trying to teach him how to do it again. Are you crazy? Where was your brain in all this? Your common sense? I don't want Blake starting fights."

  He held up his hand to stop her. "Sandy, it wasn't like that."

  "Sure it wasn't. Let me guess. You weren't thinking at all. You were too busy playing daddy."

  "I was trying to teach him to defend himself."

  "Against whom? You let him go play with children who are dangerous? I trusted you, Kyle. You said it was okay, and I believed you. You have to be more responsible than that. This isn't a game. The well-being of my children is at stake here."

  She paced across the kitchen and back toward the door. "I can't believe this."

  He couldn't believe it, either. She wasn't giving him a chance. "If you would let me explain."

  She stopped in front of the door and spun to face him. Her chest heaved with each breath, anger darkened her eyes. "Explain what? That you were too busy with your car or your tan to supervise Blake? My ten-year-old son is bleeding and bruised from a fight. You're the one who let him go off with those other boys. You even admitted you saw what happened. Did you try to stop it?"

  "Of course I did."

  "Not hard enough."

  "Dammit, Sandy, if you would shut up and listen to me, I can tell you what happened. You're jumping to conclusions."

  "No, I don't want to hear it." She approached him and raised her arm until she was pointing at the center of his chest. She stopped when she was less than a foot away. "Your problem is you won't take responsibility for your actions."

  He couldn't believe she was being this unreasonable. Maybe it was a parental thing he couldn't understand. He tried to hold on to his temper, although she was making it damn hard. "Your problem is you spend so much time being responsible, you've forgotten what it's like to live."

  She glared at him. "Maybe I have. So what? I've learned the hard way that I can only depend on myself. My dad walked out before I was born. My mother was an alcoholic. I spent the first twelve years of my life looking after her. When she died, I moved here to be with my aunt. It was the first time I got to be a child. Maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe I couldn't stop acting like a grown-up, but I'm glad. Because I'm going to make it work. Despite you, and despite Thomas, who instead of being a husband was worse than any kid I could have had. Do you know how he died? Do you?" Her voice was shrill.

  He shook his head. He didn't know anything anymore. He'd never had a clue about Sandy's mother.

  "He fell off a mountain. He'd gone away, like he did every summer. He usually disappeared for two months at a time. He'd wanted to take Lindsay, but I wouldn't let him. Thank God. He was careless, or unlucky, and he fell to his death. Now there's only me. I've got a mortgage and three kids. They're depending on me. So don't you tell me that I've forgotten how to live. Just getting through the day is a victory for me. My children are happy, healthy and warm every single night. The bills are paid and I'm keeping it all together."

  He reached toward her and touched her face. "I'm sorry."

  She jerked away from his hand. "Sorry doesn't cut it. You're used to getting what you want without having to work
for it. Nice for you, but not realistic for the rest of the world. I don't know what kind of game you've been playing with me, but it has to stop. I don't want to get involved with you. I can't afford to be one of your conquests."

  He felt as if she'd stabbed him in the gut. "It's not like that. I haven't been playing a game with you. Just because I'm not like you doesn't mean I'm a jerk like Thomas. You're judging me on my reputation and what you remember about my brothers. I've been here for you, Sandy. From the moment you arrived in Glenwood, I've made it easier."

  Emotions chased across her face. He watched as she wrestled with the truth of that statement. Her mouth straightened and he knew he'd been judged and found guilty.

  "So you've been neighborly. I appreciate that. But it doesn't mean I want you in my life. You're not Thomas, but you're just as dangerous."

  "How?"

  "Have you ever once had a long-term relationship?"

  She had him there. "Define long-term."

  She sighed. Her shoulders slumped. "That's the whole point, Kyle. I shouldn't have to. I don't want to have to deal with any more adult children, Peter Pan types or charming flirts. I'm tired of being in charge. I want someone to take care of me for a change. We both know you're not that person. I want you out of my life." She walked to the door. "I hope you understand, and even if you don't, I hope you'll respect my wishes."

  * * *

  Chapter 9

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  Sandy left without giving him a chance. Kyle walked to the window and watched as she strode purposefully to her house. Once there, she climbed the three stairs, crossed the porch and went inside, all without once looking back at him.

  She'd told him to stay away from her. Just like that. No explanations, no second chances. She'd made her decision and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

  He crossed over to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. Several steaks sat on the second shelf. The vegetable crisper was filled with corn. So much for the barbecue. He told himself he didn't care. Sandy and her family had been taking up too much of his time, anyway. Now he would be able to do what he wanted, instead of hanging around with them. The words sounded great, but he knew he didn't mean them. He liked her, he liked her kids. With them, he was able to pretend it was real—that he had a chance at a family of his own.

  After twisting off the cap of his beer, he took a long swallow. Was she right? He didn't want to consider that, but he had to. Was he irresponsible and immature?

  "Hell, no," he said aloud, then wondered if he was just whistling in the dark.

  Sandy was right about one thing. He didn't have a record of long-term relationships. He'd never been willing to risk committing before. In the back of his mind had been the fear that the woman he gave his heart to would walk out the door. People he cared about left. It was a fact of life.

  But he wasn't a charming flirt who got by on his looks. At least he tried not to be. As a teenager, it had been convenient to take the easy way out. Most things in life had come to him without a lot of work. But that didn't mean he was irresponsible. He usually didn't care about the things that came easily. What he remembered the most was what he'd had to work for. Or what he'd never gotten. Like Sandy. Sixteen years ago, she'd trampled all over his male pride, and here she was, doing it again.

  He walked into the living room and sat in the large chair in front of the fireplace. The leather was cool against his bare back. He closed his eyes. He knew for a fact he didn't act like a kid. He had a responsible job. He'd worked hard at the police academy, graduating third in a class of a hundred. He'd taken a job in San Francisco for a year, and he'd been the top rookie. But he'd missed life in Glenwood, and when Travis had offered him a job in the county sheriff's department, he'd been glad to come home. He knew deep inside that he could have made it in San Francisco, or in any other big city, if he'd wanted to.

  He shifted on the chair and tried to look at it from Sandy's point of view. She'd been gone less than an hour and had come home to a bleeding kid. That would be enough to send anyone into a tailspin. She'd overreacted. He was pretty sure she would see that she'd been unreasonable and apologize. He'd been trying to help Blake by teaching him how to protect himself. Could a woman understand that? He smiled. He doubted Sandy would appreciate that particular question. Walking in on him teaching Blake to defend himself had only made it worse for her. In time, she would see that lesson was important to the boy.

  He took another swallow of beer and settled the bottle on the floor. He was rationalizing because he didn't want to face the truth. Sandy could be right about everything. After all, he was a Haynes. Four generations of failed marriages and broken families were hard to argue with. So far, the only brother that was making his relationship work was Travis. He wondered how he'd gotten so lucky.

  Kyle didn't know what a happy marriage looked like. His old man had been gone more than he'd been home. His father's idea of good parenting was to smack the boys up the side of the head every now and then, whether or not they needed it. He always said, if they hadn't gotten into trouble, they would. To consider it punishment in advance.

  His mother had been physically in the house, but emotionally just as distant. Now that Kyle was an adult, he couldn't blame her for her bitterness. Being married to Earl Haynes had to have been a living death. Her husband hadn't believed in fidelity, or seen the wisdom in being discreet. He'd flaunted his affairs, excusing them by pointing out he always woke up in his own bed. Kyle grimaced. Yeah, like the old man had been a saint.

  His mother had finally left the summer he, Kyle, had turned fifteen. He wondered if she'd waited until he was old enough to be on his own, or if her patience and sanity had finally cracked. Whatever the reason, she'd disappeared. There hadn't even been a note.

  For Kyle, life had gotten worse. Jordan had been his only brother still at home, but he'd been a senior and had arranged his schedule to be gone a lot. Craig and Travis already had their lives. He couldn't count on them. It was just him and the old man. He'd had three stepmothers in three years, each one younger than the previous one. The last one had walked into his bedroom one evening and hit on him. He'd been too shocked to do anything but duck out the window and spend the night in the tree house. He'd moved in with a friend for the rest of the summer, then had left for college in the fall.

  He opened his eyes and stared at his living room. He'd tried to be different from his father. They all had. No one wanted to mess things up that badly. For Kyle, that meant leaving before getting left. He wondered if that was just another description of running away.

  A hand-drawn picture pinned to the wall fluttered in the breeze from the open window. Nichole had made it for him. It showed a group of butterflies in a field of flowers. At least he thought they were butterflies. They could have been birds. One of Lindsay's books sat on the coffee table next to a baseball puzzle he'd been working on with Blake. In a few short weeks, Sandy's children had become a part of his days. He wanted to be a father, so he'd tried to be a father to them. It was temporary, perhaps even foolish. Now the thought of being without them made his bones ache.

  He knew they would miss him, too. So where did that leave him? Was this a blessing in disguise? If they broke things off now, if he stepped out of their lives, they would recover quickly and get on with things. If he continued to be there for them, they would start to depend upon him. Was he willing to risk that? For the first time, Kyle began to see there was more at stake here than himself. Three other lives would be affected by his actions. Walking away from a woman was one thing, walking away from kids was something much worse.

  Up until today, he'd been playing a game. Sandy was right. With her, he'd been toying with the past, teasing them both with sparks they felt when they were together. He didn't want to hurt her or the kids. He didn't want to get hurt himself. If it was just a game to him, he needed to walk away now. Before it got ugly.

  Simple enough, he told himself. He would walk. Because it was just a game, rig
ht? Sure he liked her. How could he not? She would do anything to protect those she cared about. She had a giving heart. He'd seen it years before when his mother had walked out and Sandy had come by to pick up the pieces. She wasn't afraid of doing the right thing, even if it made her unpopular.

  Okay, he could handle liking and respecting her. So what? His feelings weren't serious. He didn't want to risk it all and get involved. Because Sandy would leave. Everyone left eventually. The price of being wrong was too high. He didn't need her or the kids.

  He finished the beer and picked up a book he'd been reading. But the silence filling the room made it impossible to concentrate. He missed the laughter. He missed them. It wasn't that they'd been gone so long, it was knowing he might not see them again. Or Sandy.

  Since she'd come back, she was all he thought about. For a while, he'd thought it was an adult manifestation of his adolescent crush. But what if it was something more? What if she was the one and he let her get away? What if she wasn't the one and she left him broken and bleeding? He'd thought her marriage to Thomas had been perfect. According to her, it hadn't been. She'd made a mistake. What if he was making a worse one?

  Sandy adjusted the sheets around her son's shoulders. There was a light blanket folded at the foot of the bed. It was warm during the day, but always cooled off at night. She glanced at the open window, then back at Blake.

  "Are you going to be all right?" she asked.

  "Mo-om," he said. "I told you, it doesn't even hurt."

  Her gaze moved to the bruise next to his mouth. It was about the diameter of a baseball. The swelling had gone down some, but it still looked ugly. By morning, the red would darken to purple.

  "I saw you wincing at dinner."

  "The soup was too hot."

  "Sure it was." She brushed his hair off his forehead. The rest of the family had had tacos for dinner, but she'd fixed something easier for Blake to eat.

  She still couldn't believe her son had gotten in a fight. Just thinking about it made her furious. The problem was, she didn't know if she was angry with Kyle or herself. She wanted to blame him for not taking better care of Blake, but ultimately the responsibility was hers. When she was around him, she didn't think—she just reacted.