I’ll switch to carbon-fiber bikes. They’re a lot lighter.”
“They’re also the most expensive.”
“True,” he conceded.
She gave him an incredulous shake of her head. “Your money, I guess.”
“But remember, if this invention flies,” he teased, pulling off his heavy welding gloves, “I’m likely to be a millionaire. You know, the Alexander Graham Bell of pedal power.”
That brought the tiniest suggestion of a smile to her lips, and he noted how full they were and how perfectly shaped. He wondered idly if they would taste as good as they looked and decided that would be a subject worth pursuing in infinite detail.
“Have you done much mountain-bike riding, Kris?”
“A little. I entered the races at Mammoth this summer.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You did?”
“I placed in the top twenty in my age group. If I’d had more time to train, I probably would have done better.”
“I’m impressed.” Her smile told Kris he’d won her approval. “But I have to tell you, if you had a day job I’d recommend you not give it up just yet. I’m having a real problem seeing how this new bike of yours will be any better than a regular tandem bike.”
“If nothing else, it’s a hundred times more romantic. If you’re out with your favorite girl, you’ll be riding side by side and can talk better.”
“An inventor who’s a romantic?” Her smile broadened. “You definitely don’t fit the mold.”
“I never have,” he confessed. In fact, he’d always been the odd man out—far younger than his academic peers, never allowed by his parents to participate in sports with boys his own age and often at a social disadvantage with the women he met. Being different was a burden that had rested uneasily on his shoulders as long as he could remember. At the moment, he’d give every dime he’d ever earned—something over twenty million dollars worth—to have this one particular woman see him as just an ordinary guy. He supposed that was too much to hope for and hated that in the romantic arena he lacked the selfconfidence that had been his mainstay in every other aspect of his life.
Joanna fidgeted self-consciously under his intense scrutiny. Kris had the most unsettling way about him, as though he was determined to slip past her defenses by the sheer power of his intellect. And he was intelligent, she was sure. Beyond that, she was having a great deal of trouble calibrating the man. That meant he always had her a little off balance. She wasn’t at all sure she liked the unfamiliar feeling. Normally, she placed a high value on being in control.
“Well, if the building isn’t burning down,” she said, “I guess I’d better be on my way and let you get on with your inventing.” She turned to leave, only to discover Tyler coming in the wide-open door. She frowned. “What are you doing home so early?”
“Aw, the coaches canceled practice. I think they had another one of their fights. Man, they’re always arguing ’n’ stuff.” He spun the football he perpetually carried up into the air and caught it again. “Mrs. Scala brought me home.”
“Thank goodness someone gave you a lift.” Imagine the coaches leaving the kids unsupervised, Joanna thought, fuming. Paul and Isabel Currant had become increasingly irresponsible about their volunteer duties. It seemed unlikely the team would make it through the season intact, and football was a sport Tyler dearly loved. She’d hate to see him lose out because of a marital riff between his coaches.
Tyler circled the bike Kris had been working on, touching the newly welded section.
Kris didn’t offer any objection, but allowed him free access. The two of them seemed to have developed a comfortable relationship, man-to-man.
“I wish you’d coach us, Mom.”
Her gaze whipped toward her son. “Me? What do I know about football?”
“A heck of a lot more than Mrs. Currant does. She doesn’t even know what an end around is.”
Joanna remembered. Vaguely. Tyler’s father had been the star high-school quarterback. She’d helped him memorize the playbook his senior year, no minor accomplishment. “I’m a little rusty these days, tiger. I think it would be best if I left the coaching to someone else.”
“What about you, Kris?” Tyler tossed him the football. “You wanna take a shot at coaching?”
He caught the ball awkwardly, then studied it as if it was a foreign object that had fallen into his hands from outer space. “I don’t think so, kid. Maybe your coaches will get their act together again and everything will be okay.” He returned the pigskin with a wobbly throw.
“Yeah, I suppose. Guess they usually kiss and make up.”
A painful knot formed in Joanna’s throat. If things had gone as she had dreamed ten years ago, Tyler would have had a father to coach his football team and teach him the finer points of quarterbacking. But as an eighteen-year-old, she’d had no idea how quickly a dream could be shattered. Pregnant, she’d been abandoned by the boy she’d thought she loved. He’d told her in no uncertain terms that a man would be a total lunatic to want to marry into her eccentric family.
Tyler peered down at the weld Kris had just completed. “So what are you doing with these bikes?”
“I’m trying to create an independent suspension system for a smoother ride,” Kris replied. “You want to see how it’ll work?”
“Sure.”
Their blond heads close together, the two males bent over the bikes, talking enthusiastically about things Joanna didn’t understand. From a cluttered workbench, Kris picked up one of several books, flipping through the pages as he explained heliarc welding and suspension systems.
She felt like a fifth wheel and slipped out the door without either of them noticing she was gone.
It was better that way. She knew Tyler needed male role models in his life. But she didn’t want to get attached to Kris herself. There was no future in it for her, only heartache and ultimate rejection.
As the week progressed, Joanna concentrated on inspiring twenty-eight fourth graders with the rudiments of American history, comparing Indian culture to recent efforts at ecology, thus combining the prescribed science unit with social-studies requirements. A couple of meetings with the principal were thrown into the time-and-stress equation, along with an irate parent who didn’t believe in homework, much less the value of regular school attendance.
Joanna barely gave any thought at all to her new tenants until Saturday arrived and Agnes announced the evening’s plans.
“I think Kris is totally cool, Mom.” Tyler perched on the edge of a kitchen counter and tossed his football from hand to hand. With so much high-voltage energy, he couldn’t always sit in a chair.
“That may be so, dear, but your grandmother had no right to invite him to dinner tonight without asking me first.” To emphasize the point, Joanna brought her knife down hard on the potatoes she was slicing to cook with the roast that was already in the oven. She had not intended to spend what little free time she had on a Saturday cleaning house and cooking a formal meal.
Of course, she could have refused to participate in this charade. But her mother had become so upset when she threatened not to be at home that Joanna had relented. Agnes’s emotional state often seemed on the brink of hysteria, particularly since Joanna’s father had died. Grief apparently intensified peculiar behavior.
“Grandma told me she’s just trying to be neighborly.”
Matchmaking was closer to the truth.
“She invited the other two guys, too. Ol’ pinchnose Percy—”
“Don’t call him that, Tyler. Percival is