A Wife Worth Waiting For

“Would Wallis Revere send his only grandson down to the public pool?”

“No, but I should have insisted he do so.” She sighed and dropped her gaze, carefully extracting her hand from his. That was when she saw the bruise. “Bolton!” He attempted to close his hand, but she grabbed his wrist and pried his fingers down. The center of his palm—his left palm, not the right, which was the one he’d shown Trenton—was a purplish red.

“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed.

“I hardly think it’s worth bothering Him about,” he quipped, gently indicating his disapproval of her choice of words.

“I’m sorry, but you’re hurt!”

“It’s just a bruise.”

“Your hand could be broken! Of all the idiotic—”

“It’s not broken,” he said, suddenly gripping her fingers to make his point. “See? It doesn’t even hurt. And I don’t want Trent thinking it’s his fault. That wasn’t the first time I’ve pulled that particularly stupid stunt. I knew better, and I did it anyway, but if he sees or hears of this bruise he’ll blame himself, so not another word, you hear me?”

She nodded, so profoundly sorry and yet grateful at the same time that tears gathered in her eyes. Bolton laughed and gently smoothed his thumbs over her cheekbones.

“Well, now I know who he gets the guilts from,” he said teasingly, then he added in a soft voice, “as well as his good looks.”

Her mouth fell open again. He shook his head and chucked her under the chin. She snapped it shut just as Trenton ran up to the table. Bolton made the transition as smoothly as buttering bread. “Ready to go?” he asked the boy.

Trent nodded, and Bolton piled their refuse on the tray. Trent went to dump it in the trash can, and Bolton turned to follow, but Clarice grabbed his arm before he could get away.

“Thank you,” she said, “for lunch and…” She couldn’t think how to finish the sentence without embarrassing herself.

He smiled and waved her in front of him. “You’re welcome.” With that, he ushered her out after her son.

Chapter Three (#ulink_fe99e6ae-a72d-53c6-97b9-44e95b56a87f)

“What’s the matter, pal? Want to talk about it?”

Trent hunched one shoulder in reply, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

Like mother, like son, Bolton thought, gazing up through the dark green tree leaves overhead. He wondered if she knew just how much like her Trenton was. He smoothed his hand over the boy’s nape and waited. Finally Trent looked up.

“Did you know my dad?”

Bolton leaned forward on the hard bench, elbows on knees. “No. Why do you ask?” He got that shrug again.

“I just wondered. I thought maybe if you knew him, then that’s how you’d know what I like and…maybe that’s why I like you so much. I mean, maybe I remembered you from before, only I don’t know it. Kinda stupid, huh?”

“It’s not stupid at all,” Bolton told him. “Good friends, even if they’re new friends, often feel as if they’ve known each other all their lives.”

“But what makes it that way?”

Bolton clasped his hands together. “I’m not sure I know. Maybe it’s what they have in common.”

Trenton screwed up his face. “What’s that mean?”

Bolton sighed inwardly. He wasn’t doing a very good job at this. He spread his hands and tried again. “Well, let’s take us for instance. We both like sports, so that’s something we have in common.”

Trent’s face lit up. “Oh! And hamburgers and fries.”

“What?”

“We both like burgers and fries!” he said excitedly.

Bolton grinned. “Right. That’s something else we have in common.”

“And chocolate milk shakes!” Trent went on excitedly. “And driving with the top down, and blue! Our favorite color is blue! Oh, and General! Don’t forget General.”

Bolton laughed from sheer pleasure. “Now how could I forget that scraggly old tomcat? You know what else? There’s that red wagon you’ve got, too.”

“Yeah! You had one when you were a boy!”

“I sure did. But it’s even more than all that, Trent. You and I, we think alike, even feel alike in lots of ways.”

Now the boy seemed genuinely intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve noticed a few things about you that remind me of myself when I was your age. For example, you’re a little shy around new people. You don’t always know what to say or do to make them like you. You haven’t learned yet that the thing to do is just to be yourself. I was exactly the same way when I was eight.”

“You were?” Trent’s eyes were big and round, and his voice was imbued with awe.

Bolton chuckled. “Yes, I was, and the next time you feel like swallowing your tongue, I want you to remember it.”

Trent’s mouth was hanging open. “That’s just how it is! You’re so afraid you’re gonna say something dumb, you practically choke!”

“It gets better,” Bolton promised him, “and the more you just try to be yourself, the quicker it happens. Remember that, okay?”

The boy nodded solemnly. “I’ll remember.”

Bolton clapped his shoulder affectionately, then glanced at his watch. “Mmm, time we headed back, I guess.”

They got up and ambled across the grass toward the car. Bolton noticed wryly that when he hooked his thumbs in his hip pockets, Trent did the same. He wondered if the other people in the park would assume they were father and son. Trent craned his head back to look up at him.

“Hey, Bolt?”

“Hmm?” That nickname still made him want to snicker, but he did his best not to let Trent know that.

“Do you think you would’ve liked my dad?”

What a question. Would he have liked Wallis Revere’s only son, the son Wallis had been determined to mold into a likeness of himself? He cleared his throat. “I would have if he was anything like you.”

“That’s what I thought,” Trent said. “Grandpa says I am like him.”

“Oh?” Somehow Bolton had his doubts, but he kept them to himself.

“Yeah,” Trent went on, “and you’d have other things in collman.”