Chapter 5

A few hours later, Brad found Mattie in the backyard, sprawled in a lounger by the pool, an open bottle of Fat Tire Amber Ale resting on the table beside her chair. She held a worn deck of playing cards in her hands, the familiar blue-and-white pattern faded with time and use, and she shuffled them from one hand to the other. She paused, looked up when he approached, and then tapped the stack against her palm.

She still wore jeans, but she'd lost the shoes and traded the UCLA sweatshirt for a worn T-shirt that said, Teachers Do It With CLASS! Madison lay at her feet, slowly twitching her tail in sedate contentment.

His traitor dog opened one eye and glanced at him dismissively before deciding, with a sigh, to ignore him.

Mattie looked sorely tempted to follow her namesake' example. She shuffled the cards twice more, and he could sense that she was watching him from her peripheral vision. Mattie had never been able to hold a grudge and he could see her annoyance beginning to crumble.

Finally he held out the cards to him and asked, "You wanna play?"

Oh, boy, did he ever.

The way his pulse leaped at her suggestive invitation, he definitely wanted to play. But not cards. Not even poker. Something with higher stakes.

 Then he thought of how hesitant she'd been to let him stay, how hesitant she'd been to even share his company. By offering to play cards, she seemed to be extending an olive branch. He was tempted to play, but considering how his competitiveness had annoyed Ginger, he thought better of it. He didn't want to piss her off.

He lowered himself to the chair beside her. Her T-shirt hid her generous curves. Which was probably just as well. She was enough of a distraction as it was.

Still holding the deck of cards, she said, "Five-card stud. Nothing wild. Isn't that the way you like it?"

Actually, he'd like it very wild. Wild, hot, and out of control. Then he remembered she was asking about cards, not sex.

He shook his head, both in answer to her question and t clear it. "I don't play anymore."

Her curiosity got the better of her. "You don't play poker any more? I find that hard to believe."

As kids, the three of them had spent hours out by the pool playing poker. He smiled at her disbelief. "Ginger didn't like it."

"She didn't like poker? No wonder you divorced her." Mattie's smile faded. "Sorry, that was tacky of me."

It wasn't just poker Ginger hadn't liked. She'd criticized anything competitive he did. You never know when to let it go, she'd said. Over and over.

He didn't bother to correct Mattie.

When he said nothing, she swung her legs over the side of her lounge chair and sat up to face him. Bracing, her elbows on her knees, she shuffled the cards. As the cards arched against her palms and fluttered into a stack, she said, "Can I assume she didn't like card tricks, either?" She didn't wait for him to answer but fanned out the cards, facedown. "Take one."

He pulled out a card and glanced at it. King of hearts. He slid the card back into her deck without comment.

She bit down on her lip, concentration as if trying to remember exactly how the trick worked. Finally, she looked back up at him, her brow furrowing in thought, her green eyes serious.

She smiled and, closing the gap between them, she reached into his front shirt pocket and pulled out a card.

She glanced at it, then handed it back to him. "King of hearts. Interesting choice. Tough, under the circumstances, perhaps not entirely appropriate."

"Did I teach you that trick?"

She settled back onto the chaise and shuffled the cards again. "Nope. You wouldn't teach me any of your tricks."

"What would have been the point? I learned most of them just to stump you."

Her mouth parted in surprise. Then she blushed, Ducking her head, she asked, "You sure you don't wanna play?"

This time, she sounded as if she genuinely wanted to play with him. Which made saying no even harder. But if, as Ginger had said, competition made him arrogant and annoying, did he really want to risk pissing her off? "I'm sure."

"Afraid you'll lose?"

"I never lose."

Instead of being annoyed by that comment, Mattie grinned. "All this and modest, too? You haven't changed a bit."

"You have, though."

She blinked, surprise written clearly in her expression. "Really? How?"

"You never used to be this...sassy."

She laughed. "Oh, yes, I did. You're just being polite."

"I bet you still drive your father crazy."

Looking thoroughly shocked, she pressed her palm to her chest. "Me?"

"Nice try. Tell it to someone who doesn't remember what a little hellion you were."

Brad remembered well enough how Coach Wilcox would wonder out loud how one little girl could cause more problems than a whole team of football players. Always the tomboy, she'd follow her father's players around and egg them into tossing the ball to her. She'd been like the team mascot. Every guy's kid sister. Until the day he noticed her tomboy clothes hid a  very feminine body and he realized she wasn't such a kid anymore.

He forced his thoughts back to the present. "How's your father doing?" he asked, because it seemed a neutral topic.

"Good," she said. "It's a shame you can't stay longer. He'd have loved to see you. But he won't be back till August."

"He's not here now?"

She shook her head. "He's been spending his summers in Mexico to work on his Spanish. With all the Mexican-American kids in the school district, he says it makes him better teacher." She shuffled the cards again, then asked, "So what about your dad? Are you planning on seeing him while you're in town?"

"He's usually in Sacramento this time of year."

"That's not too far. You could drive down there for the day."

For her it was so simple. If family was nearby, you want to see them. Relationships in his own family had never worked like that. "He and I don't talk much." Her eyes flashed with regret, and before she could offer p any consolations, he added, "I don't think he approves of what I do."

She raised her eyebrows. "You graduated from Harvard. Own your own business. And, according to Jessica, make tons of money. I find it hard to believe he's not proud of you."

"Last time we spoke he wanted to know why I wasn't parlaying all of this into a political career."

"Ouch." She winced comically. "Well, if it's any consolation, my father's proud of you. You've become a standard part of his beginning-of-the-year pep talk to new football players."

A wave of guilt-tinged nostalgia washed over him. Why hadn't he kept in touch with Coach Wilcox? The man had been his mentor.

"Do you work at the high school with him?" he asked her.

"Huh?"

He pointed to her shirt. She looked down, clearly confused. Then she smiled. "Ah. No, I taught middle school. But I don't anymore."

"ANd now?"

"Now I run my grandmother's store." A hint of wistfulness laced her words.

Hoping she'd reveal more, he said, "I read that over fifty percent of teachers leave the profession within the first five years. Must be tough."

"It is. But it's great too. Kids have so much energy. So much hope." She pulled a rubber band from her pocket and wrapped it around the playing cards. "I still miss it sometimes."

Hiding his satisfaction, he asked, "Then why'd you leave?"

"Grandma needed someone to take over."

He thought briefly of Mrs' Wilcox, with her cap of grey hair, her bustling energy, and faint perfume of cinnamon. Even before Mattie and her father moved back to live with the Wilcoxs after Mattie's mother died, Mrs. Wilcox had welcomed the neighborhood children into her home. He hadn't realized that she'd passed away and he felt an unexpected surge of loss.

Mattie paused, then cleared her through before continuing. "She'd owned A Stitch in Time for nearly forty years. If I hadn't promised to take things over, her life's work would have been gone." She snapped her fingers. "Just like that."

"What about your life's work? You must have resented giving up a job you love."

She cocked her head to the side, seeming to consider this for a moment. Whatever regret he thought he might have seen in her expression faded. "Naw. I work with great people at a job I enjoy. I have no regrets."

"Despite her reassurance, he couldn't help asking, "None?"

She shook her head, the fading light catching the highlights of her hair. The cropped cinnamon waves weren't elegant or glamorous, but they framed her face well. More importantly, they suited her. Playful yet silky, spunky yet sensual. A powerful combination, one that lent her a sensual aura that even Ginger's leggy beauty coldn't match.

"Well, I don't think anyone has no regrets," she admitted. "But for the most part, ife's not that bad."

The thought of Ginger left a bitter aftertaste. "Things don't always turn out the way we plan."

"Goodness, no." She chuckled. "But sometimes that's for the best. What we plan isn't always what's good for us."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"Oh, I am. At sixteen I thought  knew exactly where I'd be in ten years. At twenty-six I realized there's no point in trying to plan that far ahead."

"Where did you think you'd be?"

"You really want to know?"

Surprisingly, he did. "Absolutely."

"Oookaay." She slanted him a look full of mischief.

"Well, we were married."