A Little Loving by Gael Morrison

Author:Gael Morrison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2014-02-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Maybe Sam did need a father. He and Matt seemed to share a rapport, to connect in a way that blew her away.

Jenny pulled her house key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock of her front door. She and Matt could have gone around the back to the door that was never locked, but she didn't want Matt to know about that door, didn't want him to think he could come in at any time.

"Is he home yet?" Matt asked, his breath fluttering her hair as he stood close behind.

"Sam," she called.

Music suddenly boomed from Sam's bedroom upstairs and crashed through the ceiling into their ears.

"He's home," Jenny said. She could feel the tension in her throat, and it was starting to spread to the rest of her body. She started down the hall toward the stairs.

"Wait a minute," Matt said. "What's your plan?"

"I don't have a plan." She kept on walking.

He caught her up. "You need a plan. Let me talk to him."

"No."

"Yes." Matt touched her arm, his fingers tingling when they met her skin, and her scent was as clear as the stars outside. "Yes," he said again. "I'll go get him." He ran his hand down her arm and ended at her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

She sucked in a breath, her blue eyes smoky-dark.

"Why not make some hot chocolate or whatever Sam likes and I'll bring him down to drink it," Matt suggested. "Then we'll talk to him together."

For a moment he thought she would protest again, but she swiped her eyes and gave a swift nod.

He started up the stairs, his hand on the railing, his fingers warmed by the smooth polished wood. The house wasn't fancy, was inexpensively decorated, but everywhere he detected Jenny's touch.

She had done a lot with very little, and without any help from him.

Something else he intended to rectify.

At the top of the landing he paused and listened, directing his gaze to the closed door before him. The music was louder now. He would have to knock, but no sound of knuckles could penetrate that din.

Matt stifled a grin. When he was a teen, he'd played the radio just as loudly, could remember his mother shouting at him to turn it down. If the color and shape of the boy's eyes wasn't already a sign, the way he liked his music showed Sam was his son.

Matt knocked on the door. No answer from within. He knocked a little louder then turned the knob.

Sam lay sprawled across his bed reading a baseball magazine and had wires dangling from buds in his ears.

What the hell?

The kid was listening to something else entirely than the music pounding from the speakers next to his bed.

Posters covered every inch of Sam's walls: baseball players swinging and basketball stars dunking. No football, Matt noticed, although that didn't necessarily preclude an interest in the sport. The boy's small stature would make it tough for him to find success in most of the positions on a football team.

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