the air—barehanded. His glove lay on the asphalt at Clarice’s feet, where it had fallen when he’d darted after the ball. Clarice didn’t know which was more unbelievable, the satisfied look on Bolton’s face when that ball smacked into his bare hands or the force with which her own small son had hurled it heavenward. She was so caught up in those two interconnected mysteries that she at first did not register Trenton’s howl of remorse when that ball connected loudly with Bolton’s hands. Only when the boy hurtled past her, catapulting himself at Bolton, did she realize anything was wrong.
“I’m sorry!” he cried. “I’m sorry! Your hands!”
Bolton’s expression instantly sobered. He went down on his knees, pulling the boy into his arms. “Hey, pal, what’s this? You didn’t hurt me.”
But even Clarice could see that her son’s eyes were big and filled with horror. She threw off her shock and started forward, instinctively squelching the desire to run.
Bolton rolled the ball up onto his fingertips and showed it to Trent. “I’m fine,” he was saying. “Besides, it wasn’t your fault. Nobody made me go after that ball. I knew what I was doing, and I wouldn’t have gone after it if I hadn’t thought I could catch it safely. Here, I’ll show you.” He pushed the ball into Trenton’s trembling hand and turned his own palm up, his other arm wrapped snugly around the boy’s waist. He wiggled his fingers. “See. Right as rain.”
In his relief, Trenton slumped against Bolton’s shoulder, and Clarice’s heart turned over as Bolton gave him a comforting hug. Her steps slowed, and she came to a halt. Bolton obviously had the situation under control, but it was more than that. Suddenly she felt like an interloper. Oddly, Bolton seemed to sense her feelings for he looked up then and smiled at her. His smile had the same comforting aura about it as that hug. She swallowed down a lump that had risen unexpectedly in her throat. Bolton shifted his arm to support the boy, then got to his feet and pushed up to a standing position, lifting the boy with him as easily as if he weighed no more than the ball. He walked toward her, carrying the boy against his shoulder. Trenton’s arms were around his neck, and Bolton spoke softly to him as they drew nearer. Trenton nodded and lifted his head, bestowing a smile upon his mother.
“We’re ready for lunch, Mom,” Bolton announced, “and we want hamburgers.”
“And fries!” Trenton added happily.
Clarice gulped. “A-all right.”
Bolton pushed on toward the car. It was a sleek, two-door white convertible with a candy-applered interior, her one attempt at recapturing a carefree youth she’d never actually had. After the impulsive purchase of it, the car had served merely to embarrass her on occasion. She bit her lip, wondering what the good reverend would think of it, and fell in beside him as he strode toward it.
“Uh, you might want to take your own car,” she said, but he shook his head.
“Nope. You can drive. I’m tired.”
“Oh. Fine.” She couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t look tired. He looked like he could carry Trenton downtown and back without breaking into a sweat.
He went around to the passenger side, opened the door, pulled the seat forward and gave Trenton a little shove into the back, claiming the front seat for himself. He slid down into place and buckled himself in. Clarice got in and did likewise, then adjusted the steering wheel to her liking and started the engine.
“I imagine you’d like the air conditioner turned on,” she said.
He lifted his arm around the back of her seat and grinned. “Actually, I’d rather put the top down.”
“Yeah, Mom, put the top down,” Trent echoed.
He liked to ride with the top down, but she usually felt, well, silly. She opened her mouth to say that she’d just come from the beauty shop and didn’t want her hair blown around, when Bolton leaned over and crooned plaintively into her ear, “Come on, Mom, a little wind and sun never hurt anybody.” She closed her mouth and reached up to release the catches that anchored the top to the windshield, then depressed the button that automatically lowered the top. Trenton cheered, Bolton grinned and she felt her own mouth curving into a smile.
“Okay, guys, where do you want to go for those burgers?”
Trenton made a suggestion, but Bolton immediately countered it, reminding the boy that another place had a playground. “Oh, yeah,” Trenton said, as if he’d never considered that particular benefit before. Clarice felt a pang of guilt. She had never considered it before, either. What was wrong with her? No wonder her son didn’t know how to be a child! She put the car in gear and headed toward the fast-food place with the playground.
They couldn’t go very fast in town, of course, especially with all the stop signs and lights between the church and the Bypass. Nevertheless, the wind felt wonderful on her face and in her hair. Her passengers seemed to enjoy it, too, judging by their laughter and smiles. She made a right hand turn onto the highway 81 bypass, and the pace slowed further. The whole county seemed to have come into town that day.
Bolton shook his head. “Traffic’s as bad here as in a big city, don’t you think?”
Clarice shrugged and glanced into her rearview mirror. “I wouldn’t know, frankly. The last time I was in a big city was, oh, six or seven years ago. It was the first time we’d left Trenton overnight. His father had business in Tulsa, and I went with him. My mother-in-law was alive then, and she looked after Trent. He was still in diapers.” She saw from the corner of her eye that Bolton gave her a speculative look, but he said nothing, and she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. She dismissed the matter and concentrated on her driving.
Eventually they reached the fast-food place Bolton had suggested. Clarice parked the car and turned the mirror down to see what damage the wind had done to her hair. “You two go on in,” she said. “I’ll be along in a minute.” But nobody moved. She stopped combing her fingers through her hair and looked around. Bolton was looking at her, and Trenton was looking at Bolton. She couldn’t read either expression. “What?” she asked, her gaze working back and forth between them.
Bolton lifted a shoulder. “Nothing. We just prefer to wait. It can’t take long. You already look great.”
Her mouth fell open. He thought she looked great? The very idea did odd things to her stomach, and she shifted a nervous look over her shoulder at her son. Trenton was looking at his lap, a knowing little smile twisting his lips. She didn’t even want to think about the implications of that. What she wanted to do, in fact, was run. She slapped the mirror back into place and fumbled for the door handle. “Uh, I—I’m ready!”
She hopped out of the car and practically ran for the restaurant, the heels of her oh-so-sensible pumps clacking on the pavement. Bolton and Trenton caught up with and passed her. When she got there, Bolton was holding the door open for her and Trenton’s face was solemn to the point of silliness. She marched past them and breezed into the restaurant, her cheeks burning red. What was wrong with her?
She got in line at the registers and composed herself, pulling deep, silent breaths to still the wild thumping of her heart. His was not the first compliment she’d ever received for pity’s sake. Besides, he hadn’t really meant anything by it. He’d just wanted to hurry her because he was a gentleman and didn’t want to leave her alone in the car. And Trenton? He was confused. Yes, that was it. Trenton was confused and…She was the one confused. That was the whole problem, and what a pathetic statement it was about the condition of her mind, not to mention her nonexistent love life. Good grief, she was feeling attracted to a minister!
When the minister eased into line behind her and laid a companionable hand on her shoulder, she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Hey, hold on there,” he said quietly. “Nobody’s going to bite you.”
“I—I know that! You just startled me.”
“I wanted to tell you that lunch is on me.”
“Oh,