"How long have you been single? When was your husband killed?" She glanced up at him in surprise. "One of the neighbors told me when I moved in," he replied to her unspoken question. "I didn't ask. The information was volunteered."
Because he seemed so sincere, she didn't find it awkward to share with him the facts surrounding her husband's death. "John was killed two years ago. Automobile accident. He was pronounced dead at the scene."
"Were you and the children with him?"
"No."
"Thank God."
"It happened on his way to work. Two policemen came to the house that morning and asked me to go to the hospital with them." She returned her half-eaten hot dog to the paper plate. "I was changing the shelf paper in the kitchen cabinets. I'll never forget that. When I got home that afternoon, all the dishes were still stacked on the table and the cupboard doors were standing open. For a minute, I couldn't remember why."
"A sudden death like that, it must have been rough on you."
"It was like having the world pulled out from under me." Willfully shaking off her reflective mood, she looked at him. "Have you ever lost anyone close to you?"
"No. Not that way," he said shortly. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Please."
He left the table and headed for the booth where beverages were being dispensed. Elizabeth watched as he made halting progress through the crowd. He had lost someone, but not by death. Who? How? Had he been rejected by someone he loved?
Heads turned; eyes followed him. He captured the attention of nearly every woman his shadow fell on. What woman wouldn't be attracted? Physically, he had a rugged, hard-hat appeal. But his personality was incongruous with his physique. He was sensitive and soft-spoken. He wasn't out to prove how macho he was. His masculinity spoke for itself.
She had never seen a woman at his house, but it was obvious that he didn't live like a monk. He had perfected a method of being sexy and courteous at the same time. He knew how to treat a woman like a lady. And he knew how to treat a lady like a woman.
He wasn't an octopus with groping hands, but he didn't shy away from taking her elbow and guiding her through a crowd. Several times she'd felt his hand at the small of her back, giving her a gentle nudge forward. These mannerly touches had never failed to elicit a thrill.
No, around a woman, he wasn't awkward at all. Why, then, was he single? Had he had a disastrous marriage and messy divorce that turned him off marriage forever? Did monthly alimony payments make a second marriage economically unfeasible? Or did he simply enjoy the sexual freedom of a bachelor's life? Why hadn't she seen any women around his house?
He set the Styrofoam cup of coffee in front of her. "Cream or sugar?"
"Sugar." He passed her a packet of sugar, which he'd had the foresight to bring back to the table with him. She absently opened the packet and stirred the sugar into her cup with a plastic spoon. "Have you ever been married, Thad?"
"No." He sipped his coffee, staring at her through the rising steam.
"Oh." She had hoped for some elaboration, but apparently his private life was just that.
"I'm straight, if that's what you're wondering."
She burned her tongue on her coffee. Embarrassment stained her throat and face with vivid color. "I wasn't."
"Sure you were."
She couldn't quite meet that teasing gaze. "Maybe I was. Subconsciously."
"No offense taken. Unfortunately, if I had set out to prove to you that I am heterosexual, you would have been offended." Mischief turned his eyes an even deeper shade of blue. "Although I'd be more than happy to accommodate you if you want proof."
Her previous blush was mild compared to the one that suffused her now. "I believe you." She cleared her throat. "It's just that by the time a man gets to be your age, he's usually been married at least once."
"By the time a man gets to be my age, he's done just about everything at least once," he said, teasing her again. He smiled with her, then lowered his head and stared into his coffee. "I've had several opportunities to get married. There have been a few serious involvements that could have eventually led to marriage, I suppose, but none of them worked out before one or both of us lost interest." Lifting his head, he asked, "Why haven't you remarried?"
Her mind had latched on to his "serious involvements," so it was a moment before she assimilated his question. "I was very much in love with John. We had a good marriage. For a long time after he died, I was in an emotional vacuum. Then I got busy with Fantasy. You know what it takes for anybody to run a business single-handed. The problems are quadrupled if you're a widow with children. I had to be both parents to them. All that combined didn't leave much time and energy for a personal life. And," she said, drawing a deep breath, "I haven't fallen in love with anyone else."
"I guess that's the bottom line, isn't it?"
"Are you saying you've never been in love?"
"In lust, maybe. I've met a lot of women I liked sleeping with, but damned few I enjoyed waking up with." Even over the crowd's noise, Elizabeth heard his quietly spoken afterthought. "Maybe that'll be the determining factor. I'll know I'm in love when it's that woman I want to wake up with every morning."
For a moment their eyes locked and held. It was Matt's voice that finally broke the compelling stare. "Hey, look, Thad."
The boy's face was a mask of red and black paint, broken only by his wide, gap-toothed grin. Megan had had her face done like a pierrette doll with eloquently tearful eyes and a red heart for a mouth.
"Megan, you look great!" Thad exclaimed. "But where the devil is Matt?"
The boy lapsed into a fit of giggles and cannoned into Thad's chest. When the hilarity had died down, Megan asked, "Have you finished your coffee yet?"
Thad glanced at Elizabeth and shrugged helplessly. "Yes, we're finished," he told the impatient children. He helped Elizabeth out of her chair. Bending his head close to hers in order to make himself heard, he said, "Should we take in the outdoor events?"
"I suppose so. If for no other reason than to justify Matt having to bring his jacket."
Laughing, Thad put his arm across her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. The gesture was friendly, not seductive. There was no reason for her heart to skip several beats. None whatsoever. A man didn't mention the women he slept with to one he wanted to take to bed. He discussed past affairs with a buddy, a pal. If this relationship developed into anything, that's the direction it would take. They would be friends, not lovers.
But apparently Thad didn't know that. "Careful," he said when she stumbled on uneven pavement in the playground. He slid his fingers between hers and linked their hands. Her arm became sandwiched between his arm and his side. His elbow pressed an indentation at least an inch deep into her breast. Occasionally, and she was certain accidentally, the back of his arm grazed her nipple. Its invariable response shot to hell the palsy-walsy theory.
"Can we go on the hayride, Mom?"
"Sure." Her voice was reedy and thin.
The two children scrambled aboard the horse-drawn wagon. The driver said, "Sorry, but I can't take responsibility for the kids unless at least one parent goes too."
"No problem," Thad said. "We were going anyway."
He stepped up into the wagon and extended a hand down to Elizabeth. She had lost control of the situation and couldn't quite decide when or how it had happened. The people already sitting in the wagon and all those standing in line behind her were watching her expectantly. Her choices were to create an unpleasant scene, or to grasp Thad's hand and let him pull her up beside him. Taking the easy way out, she opted for the latter.
Thad made certain that Matt and Megan were safely sitting down before finding Elizabeth and him a spot in the hay. She tucked her skirt around her legs, careful not to rub thighs with him.