Tall, Dark and Fearless: Frisco's Kid

“She’s good,” Frisco said.

Mia smiled. “I know.” She raised her voice. “How’s it going in bubbleland, Natasha?”

“Okay.”

“While she was out playing in the dirt, she gave herself a Russian princess mud bath.” With a wry smile, she led Frisco into the tiny kitchen. It was exactly like his—and nothing like his. Magnets of all shapes and sizes covered the refrigerator, holding up photos of smiling people, and notes and coupons and theater schedules. Fresh fruit hung in wire baskets that were suspended from hooks on the ceiling. A coffee mug in the shape of a cow wearing a graduate’s cap sat on the counter next to the telephone, holding pencils and pens. The entire room was filled with little bits and pieces of Mia. “I managed to convince her that true royalty always followed a mud bath with a bubble bath.”

“Bless you,” Frisco said. “And thank you for bringing her home.”

“It was lucky I ran that way.” Mia opened the refrigerator door. “I usually take a longer route, but I was feeling the heat this morning.” She looked up at Frisco. “Ice tea, lemonade or soda?”

“Something with caffeine, please,” Frisco told her.

“Hmm,” Mia said, reaching into the back of the fridge and pulling out a can of cola. She handed it to him. “And would you like that with two aspirin or three?”

Frisco smiled. It was crooked but it was a smile. “Three. Thanks.”

She motioned to the small table that was in the dining area at the end of the kitchen, and Frisco lowered himself into one of a pair of chairs. She had a napkin holder in the shape of a pig and tiny airplanes for salt and pepper shakers. There were plants everywhere in here, too, and a fragile wind chime directly over his head, in front of a window that looked out over the parking lot. He reached up and brushed the wind chime with one finger. It sounded as delicate and ghostly as it looked.

The doors to her kitchen cabinets had recently been replaced with light, blond wood. The gleaming white countertop looked new, too. But he only spared it half a glance, instead watching Mia as she stood on tiptoes to reach up into one of the cabinets for her bottle of aspirin. She was a blinding mixture of muscles and curves. He couldn’t look away, even when she turned around. Great, just what she needed. Some loser leering at her in her own kitchen. He could see her apprehension and discomfort in her eyes.

She set the bottle of aspirin down in front of him on the table and disappeared, murmuring some excuse about checking on Natasha.

Frisco pressed the cold soda can against his forehead. When Mia returned, she was wearing a T-shirt over her running gear. It helped, but not a lot.

He cleared his throat. A million years ago, he had been so good at small talk. “So…how far do you run?” Cripes, he sounded like some kind of idiot.

“Usually three miles,” she answered, opening the refrigerator again and taking out a pitcher of ice tea. She poured herself a glass. “But today I only went about two and a half.”

“You gotta be careful when it’s hot like this.” Man, could he sound any more lame? Lame? Yeah, that was the perfect word to describe him, in more ways than one.

She nodded, turning to look at him as she leaned back against the kitchen counter and took a sip of her tea.

“So…your mother’s an artist.”

Mia smiled. Damn, she had a beautiful smile. Had he really thought that it was goofy-looking just two days ago?

“Yeah,” she said. “She has a studio near Malibu. That’s where I grew up.”

Frisco nodded. This was where he was supposed to counter by telling her where he came from. “I grew up right here in San Felipe, the armpit of California.”

Her smile deepened. “Armpits have their purpose—not that I agree with you and think that San Felipe is one.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion,” he said with a shrug. “To me, San Felipe will always be an armpit.”

“So sell your condo and move to Hawaii.”

“Is that where your family’s from?” he asked.

She looked down into her glass. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure. I think I must have some Hawaiian or Polynesian blood, but I’m not certain.”

“Your parents don’t know?”

“I was adopted from an overseas agency. The records were extremely sketchy.” She looked up at him. “I went through a phase, you know, when I tried to find my birth parents.”

“Birth parents aren’t always worth finding. I would’ve been better off without knowing mine.”

“I’m sorry,” Mia said quietly. “There was a time when I might’ve said that you can’t possibly mean that, or that that couldn’t possibly be true. But I’ve been teaching at an urban high school for over five years, and I’m well aware that most people didn’t have the kind of childhood or the kind of parents that I did.” Her eyes were a beautiful mixture of brown and green and compassion. “I don’t know what you might have gone through, but…I am sorry.”

“I’ve heard that teaching high school is a pretty dangerous job these days, what with guns and drugs and violence,” Frisco said, trying desperately to bring the conversation out of this dark and ultrapersonal area. “Did they give you any special kind of commando training when you took the job?”

Mia laughed. “No, we’re on our own. Thrown to the wolves naked, so to speak. Some of the teachers have compensated by becoming real drill sergeants. I’ve found that positive reinforcement works far better than punishment.” She took another sip of her ice tea, gazing at him speculatively over the top of her glass. “In fact, you might want to consider that when you’re dealing with Natasha.”

Frisco shook his head. “What? Give her a cookie for running away? I don’t think so.”

“But what kind of punishment will possibly get through to her?” Mia persisted. “Think about it. The poor kid’s already been given the ultimate punishment for a five-year-old—her mommy’s gone. There’s probably nothing else that you can take away from her that will matter. You can yell at her and make her cry. You can even frighten her and make her afraid of you, and maybe even give her worse nightmares. But if you reward her when she does follow your rules, if you make a really big deal about it and make her feel as if she’s worth a million bucks, well, she’ll catch on much more quickly.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “But I can’t just ignore what she did this morning.”

“It’s difficult,” Mia admitted. “You have to achieve a balance between letting a child know her behavior is unacceptable, and not wanting to reward the child’s bad behavior by giving her too much attention. Kids who crave attention often misbehave. It’s the easiest way to get a parent or teacher to notice them.”

Frisco pushed his mouth up into another smile. “I know some so-called grown-ups who operate on the same principle.”

Mia gazed at the man sitting at her kitchen table. It was amazing. He looked as if he’d been rolled from a park bench, yet she still found him attractive. What would he look like, she wondered, shiny clean and dressed in that uniform she’d found in his closet?

He’d probably look like someone she’d go out of her way to avoid. She’d never been impressed by men in uniform. It wasn’t likely that she’d be impressed now.

Still, all those medals…

Mia set her empty glass down and pushed herself off the counter. “I’ll get Tasha out of the tub,” she told Frisco. “You probably have things to do—she told me you promised to take her shopping for furniture for her bedroom.”

“Yeah.” Frisco nodded and pulled himself clumsily to his feet. “Thanks again for bringing her home.”

Mia smiled and slipped down the hall toward the bathroom. Considering their rocky start, they’d actually achieved quite a nice, neighborly relationship.

Nice and neighborly—that’s exactly where they were going to leave it, too. Despite the fact that this man had the ability to make her blood heat with a single look, despite the fact that she genuinely liked him more and more each time they met, she was going to be careful to keep her distance.

Because the more Mia found out about her neighbor, the more she was convinced that they were absolute polar opposites.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT WAS PINK. It was definitely, undeniably pink. Its back was reminiscent of a scallop shell, and its arms were scrolled. Its cushions were decorated with shiny silver buttons that absolutely, positively could not have been comfortable to sit upon.

It was far too fancy to be called a couch or even a sofa. It was advertised as a “settee.”

For Natasha, it was love at first sight.

Fortunately for Frisco, she didn’t spot it until they were on their way out of the furniture store.