to witness its clutter, then turned left into the kitchen. “Actually, I have some iced tea if you’d prefer that.”
“Tea would be great.”
She opened a cabinet door, realized there were no clean glasses there and went to the dishwasher, hoping she’d remembered to run it. Thankfully she had, though she couldn’t remember exactly when that might have been. Taking the tea pitcher from the refrigerator, she dropped a few ice cubes into the glass and poured it full. “It’s already sweetened. Would you like some lemon?”
He shook his head, then sipped the tea and promptly nodded. “Guess I’d better have lemon, after all.”
“Too sweet?” Her mother had always told her that she made syrup, not tea.
He nodded apologetically. “A little.” Obviously it was a lot too sweet.
She rummaged in the refrigerator for a lemon, eventually finding a few dried up slices in a tiny bowl. Biting her lip, she closed the refrigerator and suggested that he might prefer water, after all.
“Oh, this is fine,” he said unconvincingly, whereupon she snatched the glass out of his hand and dumped its contents into the sink. Quickly she rinsed the glass, filled it partway with water and carried it to the freezer for a couple of ice cubes.
“Thank you,” he said when she handed him the glass of water. “May I take a seat?”
“Of course.”
He pulled out a chair at her dinky kitchen table and sat down. “Won’t you join me?”
She pulled out another chair and sat.
He ran a fingertip around the lip of his glass. “I, um, thought perhaps that if we got to know each other a little better we could, ah, get along.”
Amy passed a hand over her eyes. “I get along just fine with all my other neighbors.”
“Are any of them teenagers with only one parent and that one of the opposite sex?”
Amy grimaced. “No. Actually there isn’t another soul on this whole block under fifty.”
He grinned. “I know. It was the deciding factor in the purchase of my house.”
She gave him an openly curious look. “Want to explain that?”
He nodded. “Actually, I do.” He sipped from his glass and set it down again. “I hoped this neighborhood would have a…calming effect on my daughter. You see, Mattie was just twelve when her mother died.”
“Tough age,” Amy muttered.
“Very. She was an early bloomer, deep in the throes of puberty. We were very close, Mattie and I, from the day of her birth. I couldn’t wait to have a child. Neither could Andie. In fact, we were married in October and Mattie was born just a year later.”
“I take it there were no others,” Amy commented lightly.
He sighed. “Nope. We always intended to have another, but Mattie was just everything we could have possibly asked for, and we didn’t want her to share her early childhood with a sibling. We always had it in the back of our minds to have another when she started school, but then Andie started thinking about going to college—I think I told you that she was only eighteen when we married. Anyway, I thought she ought to have the chance to go, so when Mattie started school, so did Andie, and, well, she loved it, so much so that after she finally got her bachelor’s degree, she started in on her master’s. She always said we’d have that second baby before she hit forty. But she hardly got past thirty.” He stared at his glass, watching the condensation bead on the outside. “She was crossing the street to her car after class and some hopped-up frat pledge jumped the median and mowed her down.”
“I’m so sorry,” Amy said gently.
He nodded, keeping his gaze on his glass. “I couldn’t believe it. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but Mattie…She and her mother were practically inseparable just then. She was suddenly becoming a young lady, and Andie was so good with her. To tell you the truth, I was feeling kind of left out. They were always giggling together and trying on makeup and God knows what all. And suddenly Andie’s gone.” He shook his head and sat up straighter in his chair, finally lifting his gaze. “Mattie’s a good girl, Mrs. Slater, but she’s been through a lot. Losing her mother sort of knocked her off kilter, and she doesn’t seem to have ever really gotten back in balance. She’s going through this stage right now, rebellion, I guess, and there was this boy back in California…” He told Amy about the rocker, which explained Mattie’s rather bizarre style of fashion. “Actually, the whole scene was pretty rough out there, gangs and all. When I conceived this notion of moving her out of that climate, I went to my pastor,” Evans said, “and he agreed that it might be best. Turns out that he’s from Oklahoma, and he has a brother on the force here in Duncan, and the brother had mentioned that one of the captains here was leaving. Well, it seemed heavensent. So here we are.”
“I take it the move was rather sudden,” Amy surmised.
“Yeah, too sudden maybe.”
“School will start soon,” she told him. “Mattie will make friends.”
“I know, I know. And I’ll eventually get off this horrible shift, so we can have a real home life again. The new man always starts at the bottom of the totem pole, you know. The original captain on this shift got promoted when the guy I actually replaced left.”
“So you got the ugly shift.”
“Right. But it’s not too bad, really. Things are real calm in Duncan compared to the suburbs of L.A.”
“I can just imagine.”
He grinned. “Yeah? Have you ever lived in a big city?”
“Actually, I have. I grew up in Oklahoma City, and Mark and I lived in Houston for a while.”
“Mark?” He made the question in his voice sound utterly innocent, but those leaf green eyes were anything but. She got a taste of what a criminal suspect must get when being interrogated by Officer Kincaid. Oddly, she didn’t find the experience unpalatable.
“My husband,” she said, then heard herself adding, “my late husband.”
“Oh,” he said, shifting forward in his seat. “Then you’re widowed, too.”
“Yes,” she admitted, her tone closing the door on further inquiry. One dark brow quirked upward at that, but he was a man who could take a hint, apparently, for he said not another word, which was good. Or so Amy told herself. Her relationship with Mark was much too precious to be trotted out for examination with everyone who walked through her door. So why did she feel this niggling sense of disappointment?
Maybe she just needed to talk about Mark, but if so, she’d do her talking to Ruthie. Ruthie had appreciated Mark; she’d been half in love with him herself by the time he became ill. If no one else close to her seemed to have understood him, well, that was their loss. At any rate, she didn’t intend to discuss the matter with another man, not this one, anyway. That being the case, she decided to get the conversation back on the proper track. “What happened this morning was my fault,” she said flatly. “It’s the smoking—or rather, the not smoking.”
“I’m sure it’s very difficult,” he said consolingly.
“It certainly is.”
“But it’s a good thing,” he added quickly. “Giving up cigarettes is a very positive move.”
“I hope so,” she muttered doubtfully.
“What made you decide to quit?”
She grimaced. “I don’t know. Well, actually, yes, I do. I have a little niece named Danna, and her parents put her up to bugging me about it. At least, I think they did. They’re big health nuts these days, which is pure irony considering who her father, uh, stepfather is. His name’s Griff Shaw,