A Maverick And A Half

He certainly couldn’t argue with that, Anderson thought.

“True,” he agreed. “I’m very aware that not every relationship can work out.” Painfully aware, he thought. “But that isn’t an excuse not to be there for your kid. They weren’t asked to be born, but they were. The way I see it, the people who caused that birth to happen owe that kid something.” He was referring to himself, although he didn’t say it out loud.

Marina found herself in complete agreement with Jake’s father. She also found herself wondering what had happened in Anderson Dalton’s relationship that was so traumatic that his girlfriend wouldn’t even notify him for ten whole years that they had had a child together.

It was on the tip of Marina’s tongue to ask, but she knew that it wasn’t any of her business and it had no bearing on her teacher/student relationship with Jake.

Besides, even if she was brash enough to ask Anderson about it, it might just put the man’s back up. She had to remember that the point of talking to Jake’s father in the first place was to get him to build a stronger relationship with his son, not satisfy her innate curiosity.

Her whole supposition about the relationship—or lack thereof—between Anderson and Jake’s mother was truthfully based on her thinking that the former was a nice guy. At least, he seemed that way to her, but then she wasn’t exactly the reigning authority when it came to reading men. When she came right down to it, Marina silently admitted, she didn’t just have a poor track record with men, she had an absolutely horrible one.

Gary Milton was a case in point.

She’d been utterly, completely and madly in love with the man who was Sydney’s father, convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was The One despite the fact that they hadn’t been dating all that long. At twenty-seven, with all of her friends getting married and starting families, she was more than ready to take the plunge to happily-ever-after and she was certain that Gary was, too.

Her own parents had long since been divorced, with her father hardly ever turning up in her life, but she was convinced it would be different for her and Gary.

Vulnerable, eager, she’d felt that all the stars were perfectly aligned for something wonderful to happen that July Fourth night when she and Gary had attended Braden and Jennifer’s big bash of a wedding. Indeed, romance was in the air and, unbeknownst to her and most of the guests, a spiked glass of punch—thanks to party prankster Homer Gilmore—was in her hand.

What came afterward seemed completely natural at the time—almost like destiny. She and Gary came together in every sense of the word that night.

She’d expected, thanks to the night they’d spent together, to hear a proposal from Gary. But she didn’t. Holding her breath, she watched the weeks go by, but Gary was no closer to popping the question than he had been before their friends’ wedding celebration. And then she’d discovered that she was pregnant, and a small part of her had thought that now, finally, Gary would step up. But she was sadly mistaken.

Gary not only didn’t step up, he stumbled backward and completely freaked out.

Stunned by his initial reaction, Marina had been struck utterly speechless when Gary had actually accused her of engineering her pregnancy so that she could trap him into marrying her.

Angry, Gary had loudly proclaimed that he was way too young to be “saddled” with a wife and kid. He’d broken off their relationship then and there.

An entire spectrum of feelings had gone careening through her at Gary’s declaration of independence, but she’d gone positively numb when he had gone on to tactlessly suggest that she “take care of the problem.”

The problem.

As if the tiny being growing inside her was anything other than a miracle, she’d thought.

That was when it had hit her with the force of a two-ton truck. She’d been wasting her time and her heart on a self-centered lowlife, foolishly thinking that this poor excuse for a human being was her Prince Charming. He didn’t even qualify to be a frog prince. She’d countered his suggestion by telling him in no uncertain terms to get lost.

And he did.

So completely lost that after Sydney had been born, he’d never come by to see his daughter even a single time.

His loss, Marina had silently declared, and from that point forward, she’d eliminated all thoughts of Gary, all memories of their time together, from her mind. She had better things to do than to spend even a single moment reliving the past, or pining for a future that wasn’t in the cards.

And while she was actually eternally grateful that their paths had crossed long enough to gift her with the greatest present of her life—her daughter, Sydney—at the same time, the whole traumatic interlude with Gary had definitely scarred her. In a nutshell, it had shaken her faith in her own ability to know whether or not a person was actually a decent human being or just a deceptively charming rat on two legs.

In his own way, Gary had taught her one hell of a lesson.

“Ms. Laramie, is something wrong?”

At the sound of Anderson’s deep voice, Marina roused herself. She realized that she’d allowed her thoughts to take her attention hostage, which was, as far as she was concerned, completely inexcusable behavior.

Clearing her throat, she flushed. “What? No, nothing’s wrong. Sorry, something you just said started me thinking.” Which was true, but undoubtedly not in the way that Anderson might have thought. So before he could ask her any further questions, she quickly redirected the conversation. “I agree with what you said.”

“Great.” The enthusiasm went down a notch as he asked, “What part?”

“The part about you not wanting Jake to feel as if you were pressuring him,” she told him, glad that Anderson was at least partially intuitive. “Being pressured definitely wouldn’t help bring your son out of his shell.”

“What would?” he asked, curious to hear her take on the matter.

The blanket covering Sydney’s legs slipped and she moved it back into place. Her daughter, mercifully, went on dozing but she knew that wasn’t going to last for long. She needed to wrap up this conversation. “I was thinking along the lines of some TLC.”

“TLC?” Anderson repeated quizzically.

Marina nodded. “That stands for tender loving care,” she explained.

“I know what it stands for,” he retorted, insulted. Did she think he was entirely backward and clueless? “What I’m trying to figure out is how would I go about expressing that? Are you telling me you think I should hug him and stuff?”

She hadn’t been thinking along those lines, but she gave it some thought now. “An occasional hug wouldn’t hurt,” she acknowledged, then qualified her answer. “But in general, eleven-year-old boys aren’t really into that. They’re not big on that sort of parental display of affection. At least not on a regular basis.”

“Then what?” Anderson asked impatiently. “I’ve already got him signed up for some after school sports activities,” he said, “so that Jake can be around other kids participating in some bonding sports.”

“All that’s good,” Marina agreed tentatively, not wanting to shoot down the man’s fledgling enthusiasm so early in the game. “But I was thinking of something along the lines of a more personal, fulfilling activity.”

He looked at her uncertainly. He wasn’t sure just what she was suggesting. So far, they just seemed to be going around in circles. “Just what is it you have in mind?”

Since she wasn’t sure how open he would be to her suggestion, Marina proceeded with caution. “How would you feel about Jake helping me after school a few days a week?”

Anderson had a feeling that her question wasn’t as straightforward as it sounded, so he tried to get her to clarify it. “You mean like cleaning paintbrushes in the art room and stuff like that?” he asked.

Marina shook her head. “No. Jake’s a sensitive, caring boy. Those sort of traits should be nurtured,” she told Anderson. “I was thinking that Jake might make a perfect mother’s helper.”

“A mother’s helper?” he repeated uncertainly, somewhat stunned and taken aback. “Isn’t that something that, you know, girls usually do?” he asked, wondering if he should be insulted on Jake’s behalf. Just what was she saying about his son?

Marina was quick to set Anderson straight. The man was stereotyping and she couldn’t allow that to get in the way of Jake’s development as both a student and a boy-in-progress.

“Not necessarily. All that’s required to be a mother’s helper is patience—and of course the desire to help. From what I’ve seen, Jake’s equipped with both.” She became more impassioned as she spoke. “There’s no reason why a boy can’t help out as well as a girl and I could really use a hand at home—and even here at school,” she added for good measure, thinking that might help tip the scales. She was paying someone to watch Sydney while she was teaching, but she could barely afford that.

“I don’t know,” Anderson said after giving the whole matter less than thirty seconds of thought. “I really don’t think it’s a very good idea,” he confessed with conviction. “Jake and I are doing okay just the way things are.”

Marina banked down her growing impatience. She knew she couldn’t push this. Anderson—if he was going to come around—was going to have to come around on his own. If she pushed in any manner, she had the distinct impression that he was the type to dig in his heels and resist until his dying breath left his body. The bottom line there was that she’d never get anywhere with him.

This way, by maintaining an open mind and an equally open door, there still might be a small chance that things would go her way. With Jake’s well-being in mind, she had to take it.

She wanted to argue about it—to discuss it, actually—but the idea of arguing with the man seemed counterproductive in its own right. So for now, and the sake of peace, she went along with what Dalton suggested.

“All right,” she told Anderson gamely. “But if you do happen to change your mind about this, please let me know,” she requested with a large smile. “You know where to find me.”

He nodded, ready to terminate the conversation. He knew the value of quitting while he was ahead.