Hope had to flatten herself against the sink to avoid rubbing up against Chase from shoulder to thigh. “How many?” Chase asked, his eyes riveted on her son.
“Three.”
Chase nodded in satisfaction then gave Joey his laconic smile. “Well, I guess you’ll live.”
He might, Hope thought wryly. But she was going to die from lack of oxygen if she didn’t get out of there soon. Standing this close to Chase for such a prolonged period of time made it a little difficult to breathe. Fortunately Carmelita was back, ice pack in hand.
Still steadfastly ignoring Hope, Chase put the ice pack in Joey’s hand and pressed it to his eye. “You need to keep that on for twenty minutes, then off for twenty, then on again the rest of the night. Got that?” he instructed his young patient kindly. “It’ll keep the swelling down.”
“Okay.” Joey started to get up.
“Just a minute, young man,” Hope said. There was a lot more she wanted to know. “Where was your coach when all this brawling was going on?”
“Over by the fence. Why?”
“And he let you boys fight?”
Joey shrugged his thin shoulders. “Well yeah, until the end, then he broke it up.”
“I don’t believe this!” Hope said, turning on her heel. She slipped past Chase, narrowly avoiding a collision, and slipped out into the hall. As far as she was concerned, the fight should have been stopped at the name-calling stage. One punch thrown was too many.
Joey dashed after her, catching up when she reached the telephone table in the hall. “Mom, you’re not going to call the coach, are you?” he asked anxiously.
“I most certainly am. This is not acceptable behavior. And if he doesn’t understand that, then I’m pulling you off the team.”
“You’d make me quit?” Joey cried. He sounded both incensed and fearful.
“Rather than have you hurt, yes, I would,” Hope said firmly, reaching for the phone.
“Wait a minute here, Hope.” Chase put his hand over hers, using just enough pressure to prevent her from picking up the receiver. His hand acted like a bolt of lightning on her already highly charged emotions. She froze, paralyzed both by the cool, adult determination in his hazel eyes and by the extraordinarily sensual heat that radiated from her fingers, through her arm, to her chest. She didn’t want to let him, or anyone else for that matter, tell her what to do about her son. Still, Chase’s insistent male presence was as hard to fight as his low, persuasive voice. “Yes, the boys got in a brawl, but there was no real harm done. The other kids were all right, too, weren’t they?” Still touching Hope’s hand, Chase looked at Joey for confirmation.
Joey nodded. And where Chase’s hand met hers, Hope’s skin began to burn and tingle.
“Everyone lost their tempers,” Chase continued reassuringly. He looked at Hope, his intent gaze searing hers. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“You’re darn right about that,” Hope muttered. Her anger about the indignity her son had suffered returned full force. She still planned to call the coach and tell him exactly what she thought of him but Chase kept his hand squarely on hers. Hope wanted nothing more than to jerk her hand free of his light but implacably confining grip. Not about to tussle with him in front of Joey for ownership of the receiver, however, and knowing Chase wouldn’t give it to her willingly, Hope remained where she was, glaring up at Chase all the while.
Joey swallowed. “Mom, you’re not going to try to get the twins kicked off the team, are you?” he asked in abject misery, as if the possibility would be unbearably humiliating
Hope considered the call something that had to be done. Those twins had been trouble for a long time. Just because their father owned an oil company, they thought they could do anything and get away with it. Unfortunately, usually they did. Not afraid to take a stand, she said, “Under the circumstances, those Bateman twins shouldn’t go unpunished. You could have really been hurt. The next time you, or whoever else they decide to pick on, might not be so lucky.”
“Mom, there isn’t going to be a next time. Please. Don’t do anything!” Joey wailed. Hope said nothing in reply. She wasn’t about to commit to any line of action before she’d had time to think it through. Joey glared at her in mute exasperation. To her increasing aggravation, Chase looked equally pained.
“About your glasses—is there any chance they’re still at the field?” Chase asked.
“Maybe.” Joey shrugged, distracted. “If they’re not, am I gonna have to pay for new ones?”
Hope ran her free hand through her hair. She hadn’t felt so harried or distressed in a very long time. This wasn’t the worst day she had ever had, but it was certainly a close second. Chase seemed to intuit that; he kept his hand squarely over hers, more in empathy now than remonstration. “I don’t know, Joey,” Hope answered her son tiredly, aware he was still waiting for an answer. “I’ll have to think about it.” She wanted him to be responsible for his belongings, and not take them or the money it cost to buy them for granted. But was this his fault?
Abruptly Joey looked as emotionally wiped out as she felt. “Can I go up to my room now, Mom? I want to lie down.”
Hope shot a concerned glance at her son. It wasn’t like him to want to take a nap, even after practice. “You’re sure you’re okay?” she pressed.
Joey rolled his eyes. “Yes!” He shot a worshipful look at his half brother. “Thanks, Chase. For fixing me up and talking to my mom. You know, calming her down and stuff,” Joey said shyly.
Chase held Joey’s eyes and touched his shoulder with fraternal affection. “Take care of that eye now, you hear?”
“I will,” Joey promised as he moved up the stairs.
Watching him go, Hope was struck by how young he looked. Only when he’d disappeared did Chase let go of her hand. And though she’d resented the way he had physically taken control of her and the situation, Hope found her hand now felt oddly naked and vulnerable without the warm cover of his.
Telling herself she couldn’t let Chase affect her this way, especially now that he was staying there, Hope turned her mind back to Joey’s troubles. “I’m still calling that coach,” she muttered.
“Do so,” Chase warned with a daunting raise of his brow, “and that son of yours will never forgive you.”
She looked at him in surprise, shocked not only by the quiet vehemence in his voice, but by his unaccustomed willingness to inject himself so fully into her and Joey’s lives. The Chase she had known in the past had always watched family dramas from a distance, never risking personal involvement. Was it possible he had changed or matured? Or was this shift due to Edmond’s death and to Chase’s own decision to assume more responsibility for the Barrister family and business, as a whole? She had no chance to ask; Chase was already heading for the front door.
“I assume Little League still practices at the park down the street?” he asked a trifle impatiently.
Hope stared after him, her feelings in turmoil. “Yes, they do.” Her voice sounded as dry and parched as her throat felt.
“I’ll run over and see if I can find Joey’s glasses. Or what’s left of them. And Hope,” he reiterated, turning to give her a meaningful look, “I meant what I said. Don’t do anything until you’ve had a chance to calm down.” His face looked tanned and healthy in the dwindling sunlight; he fastened his hazel eyes on hers and she knew in that one fleeting instant of visual contact that she had more than met her match. He turned and left.
Hope stared after him, bewildered and confused by his actions and yet oddly and perhaps inappropriately drawn to him all the same. When had he started caring what happened