“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. “Youdosnore, 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.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting this.” Using the knife he found in the sink, he cut his sandwich and offered her half.
She tried to refuse, but he insisted.
Ryder, being a kid and not understanding the gravity of sparse food, said, “I’ll take it!”
“Perfect.” Smug, Joey handed it over to her son. “I wanted mine on crackers anyway.”
“Crackers?” She had to be joking. No one ate peanut butter and jelly on crackers.
“Yes, it’s delicious.” She got out a pack of saltines.
Dubious, he asked, “You’ve tried it before?”
