Protecting The Single Mom. Catherine Lanigan

had the impression she’d given this same explanation many times before. She was treating him like a prospective client.

      At the booth, Mrs. Beabots had rearranged half the goods on the tables and made room—in the very front, of course—for her pastries. Trent couldn’t hide his smile. Mrs. Beabots was the take-charge woman he’d heard so much about. This proved it.

      “I’ll take those blueberry pies, Cate.” Mrs. Beabots put them on the table. “Then the brownies next to them. I brought some paper plates so we could arrange them in groups of half a dozen. After all, no one eats just one.”

      “Don’t say that,” Cate said, putting her hands over Danny’s ears in mock fashion. “I tell him one is plenty.”

      Danny pulled her hands away. “She’s right, Mom. One for each hand. Right, Mrs. Beabots?”

      Trent crossed his arms over his chest and shot a stern look at Danny. “I’m pretty sure your mother knows what’s best for you, Danny.”

      Mrs. Beabots nodded. “I said a cookie for each hand, Danny. And those were my small Snickerdoodles. My brownies are very rich.”

      Danny hung his head. “Aw, gee.”

      Cate’s gaze again clamped on Trent. He wished he was a mind reader. Or that she would drop her guard. He had to hand it to her. She’d learned how to mask her emotions like a highly trained actress. He couldn’t tell if she was angry, concerned, curious or pleased. He had to wait for her comments, but unfortunately, she thought long and hard before speaking.

      Looking away from Cate, Trent saw Sarah and Luke Bosworth, Annie and Timmy.

      “Mrs. Beabots!” Sarah called and waved. “We got here just in time. I want that apple pie before anyone else buys it.”

      Mrs. Beabots looked over Sarah’s shoulder at Luke. “Really? No objections from you, Luke?”

      “Me? Object to you? Never.”

      “How goes it, Luke?” Trent asked, placing his left hand on Luke’s strong shoulder and shaking his right hand with a firm grip.

      “Great. You working out tomorrow?”

      “I was planning on it,” Trent replied. “I’ll meet you at the Y. One o’clock?”

      “Great,” Luke replied and looked at Timmy, who was trying to get his father’s attention by grabbing his belt. “What is it?”

      “Dad. Mrs. Beabots made brownies. The really good ones. Can I buy some? I have my allowance.”

      Luke rolled his eyes.

      Trent laughed. “Think of the kids he’s helping. It’s a good cause.”

      “Okay.”

      Timmy’s jaw dropped. “You mean it?”

      Sarah’s eyes shot to Luke. “What are you saying?”

      Luke shrugged. “I caved.”

      The tented booth was filling with patrons buying jewelry and jams, pies and what was left of the brownies.

      Trent saw Danny as he watched his friend, Timmy, leaning against his father’s leg, eating a brownie. Luke was talking to Sarah and Mrs. Beabots, absentmindedly running his hand over Timmy’s thick hair, then down to the boy’s shoulder. Timmy barely made any sign that he felt his father’s endearing touch; he was used to love and comforting caresses.

      Danny’s expression showed sadness sifted over jealousy. And yearning.