“But I want more than that,” he repeated, stubbornly.
“Without notice.”
“Because there was no notice to give. I decided to do this …” he glanced at his watch “… ten hours ago. Ten hours, Belle. I changed my life in the last ten hours because I miss my son. And I think spending the next few weeks with me will be better for Michael than sending him off into some program.”
Even if it was an excellent program, letting Michael spend time with his dad was the better situation. No argument there. And having Cade here would be wonderful for Michael. Still, one of the reasons she’d chosen to move to godforsaken Big Badger was to be close to Dr. Amanda Robinson. Sure, the town had made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, but it was one of three amazing offers that had come at her. The decision had come down to Amanda’s excellent reputation in autism. She worked miracles with kids no one expected miracles from, and to be so close to all that was why she was working in a town that didn’t want a lady doctor, and being on call to a bunch of hostile ranch hands. Yet nothing Amanda could or would do would substitute for the fact that Michael needed his father, and that’s what ultimately changed Belle’s mind. Not Cade’s need, but Michael’s. “OK. If you’re really going to stay here, I’ll pull him out of the program. But there’s a three-day trip he’s been begging to go on, and I’m not cancelling that, no matter what you say. Dr. Robinson is doing good things for Michael and I don’t want to cause problems with that.”
“You think that highly of the good doctor’s program?”
“I do. Michael needs that kind of professional guidance and I need that kind of personal support. With Amanda, we get both.”
“Good. Then I can live with that.”
But could she? Big Badger was a small town, there wasn’t much to do here. And she could envision herself bumping into Cade every time she turned around for the next six weeks. Bumps she didn’t want to be making. “It’s not about what you can live with,” she snapped. “It’s about what’s best for Michael. Dr. Robinson’s part of it, but you’re a bigger part.” He’d spent their married life staying away, and she’d got used to it. Got used to the distances in their divorce, too, and she wasn’t sure what having him around all the time was going to do to her. But for Michael … “And you’re not staying with me.”
“Didn’t intend to. I took a room at the boarding house. Paid for the full six weeks.”
He smiled, arched ridiculously sexy eyebrows—the whole Cade effect that had always been her downfall.
“Cade Carter, staying in a boarding house and not some luxurious hotel suite?” Belle raised her eyebrows over that one, because it told her, whatever his reason, he was dead serious about spending more time with Michael.
“Find me a luxurious hotel in Big Badger, and I’ll check in.”
“And you’re still not going to tell me what this is really about?” There wasn’t a casual explanation. Knowing Cade, there couldn’t be. But Cade honestly loved Michael, even though Michael didn’t give much back to his dad. So maybe it was about Cade feeling excluded or unloved? Certainly, that’s how she would feel if Michael was as unresponsive to her as he was to Cade. So she hoped that was the simple explanation after all.
But there’d been a time when she’d hoped so many things about Cade, and look where that had got her.
“I can tell you a thousand times a day for the next six weeks. My being here is about spending more time with Michael. That’s all, Belladonna.”
Nope. She knew Cade, and she didn’t buy it. But, as they said, forewarned was forearmed. Only she didn’t know against what. “Fine. You’ve got your extra six weeks. And don’t call me Belladonna.” Meaning beautiful woman, or deadly nightshade, take your pick. It used to be his pet name for her, used when he’d wanted to get his way. Which he’d just done, hadn’t he?
The charmer grin grew larger as Cade tilted his hat back down over his eyes. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a real pushover, Belle Carter?”
Nobody had to tell her. When it came to Cade Carter, she always had been. Looked like that hadn’t changed too much either. “All the time,” she said, opening her office door and gesturing him to leave. “All the time.”
Belle watched him amble down the hall and out the back office door, admiring that same swagger she’d always admired. “So, what are you up to, Cade?” she asked, under her breath, as she shrugged into her white lab coat and headed off to see her first patient of the afternoon. “What are you really up to?” And how was she going to stay resistant to it? That was the big question.
“How would you like to spend more time with your dad this summer, Michael?” Kicking her shoes to the other side of the room, Belle dropped back onto the sofa and lay there, flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Michael,” she said again, without glancing over. She knew what he was doing. Playing video games. The love of his life. Lately, though, he hadn’t been playing them so much as creating one of his own, doing preliminary sketches, working out the story details. “Did you hear me? I asked if you’d like to spend more time with your dad this summer.”
“Yeah,” Michael said, his rapt attention still fixed on his game.
“Well, he’s here. In Big Badger.” Not that telling him would make a difference, but he did process the information. Just not always on the spot. “And he wants to spend the summer with you. So you’ll have to start thinking about all the things you’d like to do with him, maybe make a list. OK?”
“Yeah,” he said.
Belle was sure he was simply telling her what she wanted to hear, and paying absolutely no attention to her at the same time. Complex mind. So complex that it scared her sometimes. Most of the time, though, she didn’t think about it. Because to Michael she was only Mom, doing the mom things she was supposed to do. Like making dinner. Her next chore. “What do you want to eat?” she asked him, then added, before he answered, “Not pizza. We’ve had that two night in a row now. So, what else?”
“Pizza,” he said anyway.
She wasn’t sure if that was because pizza was truly his favorite food or if it was simply what came to mind first, turning it into the easiest way to respond to her yet still stay focused on what he was doing. “No pizza,” she said emphatically.
“OK.” He turned to her, grinning. “Fried chicken, mashed potatoes without lumps with white gravy without lumps, corn on the cob and homemade biscuits. With honey.”
Belle moaned, then laughed. He did this on purpose—his sense of humor. Michael knew she couldn’t cook, at least not that kind of meal. And he teased her about it. “You mean hamburgers, don’t you? On the grill?”
“Can I cook them?” he asked.
“Do pigs fly?” she asked, teasing him.
“Only in another universe, Mom,” he said, then turned back to his game.
“When you say something cute like that, you know what I’m going to have to do, don’t you?”
“No!” he squealed, curling himself into a ball. “Not that!”
Belle rolled off the couch then crawled on hands and knees across the floor to Michael, who was rolling away from her. “Yes, that! The cuddle game. You know how much I love the cuddle game.” Her cuddle game was a form of hug therapy used on children who had an aversion to being touched, like Michael had had when he’d been younger. It was one of several sensory issues she’d been dealing with, along with loud noises and