A Perfect Love

“Oh, and I guess you know lots of pretty women.”

He got really quiet after that. Satisfied that she’d shut him up, Summer stared off into the distance, the buzz of hungry mosquitoes reminding her it was summer in Texas.

“Not anymore,” he finally said. “I used to know lots of women, back in Austin. But I’m on a self-imposed bachelor’s hiatus right now. No women, no complications. And I’m happy as a clam about it.”

“Well, that’s nice. I’m glad you’re so happy. So you decided to give up women for…senior citizens?”

“I like old folks, and the pay is good.”

“That’s wonderful, a real win-win situation. I guess somebody had to take care of all these flowers and shrubs.”

“Yep. Don’t you feel closer to God in a garden?”

“Not really.” Summer turned to go inside, where she’d be farther away from Mack Riley.

“Hey, I don’t bite.”

“I’m not worried about that. I’m just tired.”

“So come and sit with me. Relax and enjoy the night.”

“I can’t relax with you around. Don’t you get it? You’re not exactly on my A list.”

“How can I remedy that?”

“By going away.”

“I was here first.”

“Then I’ll go away,” Summer said, her hand reaching for the door.

He was there, his hand holding hers. “Look, I’m sorry about…the farm. I lost my own grandparents when I was young, so I know it’s tough seeing yours in a different place. Grandparents represent home and love and all that stuff. I hate you had to come back and find all of that gone. But…your grandparents are still right here, and anyone can see they love you.”

Summer refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge the heated warmth of his hand over hers, or the sincere kindness in his words. “Well, there is no place like home, unless of course someone comes along and takes it all away.”

“I didn’t take anything. I received a very nice old house and some land, and gave your grandparents a chance to rest and have some fun in a good place.”

“How can I ever thank you?”

“By forgiving me. By understanding that I’m not at the root of all your problems.”

“No, but you’re right there in the thick of things.”

He dropped his hand away, but she could feel his fierce gaze on her. “How’d you get so sarcastic and cynical, anyway? Does living in New York do this to a person?”

Summer managed to open the door even though her hands were shaking. “No, but dealing with battered women does. I’ve seen it all, Mack. I don’t believe in love or faith anymore. I’ve learned that I can depend only on myself.”

“Well, you’re doing a lousy job of that, too, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you, but thanks so much for your compassion and understanding,” she said, just before she slammed the door in his face. Then she made sure all the curtains and blinds were closed and shut. If only she could shut her mind down and close it up tight, too.

But she couldn’t. So Summer lay in the crisp white sheets of the comfortable bed and thought about Mack Riley out there in that swing. And she thought about what he’d said to her. After pouting with each toss and turn, she wondered if maybe he wasn’t right. Maybe she wasn’t handling things so well on her own.

She punched her fluffy pillow. “And that ain’t the half of it, buster.” She would never tell him the whole sordid story. Summer was having a hard time dealing with all the details of that herself. Which, she imagined, is why she’d tucked tail and run home to Texas. She just couldn’t face her cousins or her coworkers right now. She’d failed everyone, including all the women she’d tried so desperately to help.

“But I’m not telling you a thing, Mr. Mack Riley—Mr. Golden Vista Poster Boy, Mr. This Old House and Curb Appeal all rolled into one.”

She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right, of course. And she wasn’t ready to set him straight by giving him all the intimate details of her sad life. So she slammed at her pillows and told herself she was just fine, thank you. Then she got up and checked her e-mails, pouring her troubles out to her cousins until she was exhausted and bleary-eyed.

But Mack Riley still stood out like a thorny blackberry bush in her buzzing, confused brain. And she had to wonder if there wasn’t more to his story, too. That nagging inside her gut told her to keep digging, to find out what flaws lay beneath that outdoorsman appeal and lethal smile.

Everybody had secrets. Mack Riley was no exception.

Chapter Five

Summer woke up to the smell of bacon frying and coffee brewing. Her stomach growled hungrily. Rolling over, she glanced at the clock. Eight o’clock. After tossing and turning for part of the night, she’d finally fallen into a deep sleep. Stretching, she had to admit this bed was comfortable and this little apartment had wrapped her in a cozy cocoon.

Now the sun was streaming through the white blinds of her window. Time to start her day. “What now, Lord?” she asked as she rolled out of bed. “Do I go make crafts or play a mean game of Scrabble in the rec room?”

Right now, she just wanted to find that coffee.

After taking a quick shower and blow-drying her hair until it was just damp, she put on fresh jeans and some lip gloss, then headed up the carpeted hallway toward the dining room. It was crowded with a variety of senior citizens, some smiling and chatting, some sitting alone, cranky and cantankerous.

Since Summer felt like the latter group, and since she couldn’t find her grandparents, she poured herself some coffee and grabbed a fiber-filled banana bran muffin, then headed to the brooding corner of the room.

“Who are you?” a white-haired man asked as she passed his table. He wore a Texas Rangers baseball cap and a big scowl.

Summer tried to smile. “I’m Summer Maxwell. I’m here visiting my grandparents.”

“Who are they?”

“The Creswells—Martha and Jesse.”

He nodded, then leaned forward. “Hey, wanna go out with me Saturday night?”

Shocked and appalled, Summer shook her head. “No, thanks. I might not be around that long.”

He thumped his chest. “Hmph. Me neither.”

Sliding as far away as she could, Summer thought maybe he was just lonely. “You always eat alone?”

“Nah. Sometimes I have family come to visit. When they can find the time, that is.”

He looked sad for a minute, until the next available female came by, this one much closer to his age.

“Hey, Gladys. Wanna go out with me Saturday night?”

Gladys was carrying a wonderfully aged Louis Vuitton purse which she held very tightly to her middle. Fingering her double strand of pearls, she gave him a look that would have flattened lesser men, then huffed a breath. “I don’t think so, Ralph. Especially since I heard you took out Bullah Patterson last Sunday night.”