"But you will teach me."

"Yes, I said so."

"Good."

While he took off his helmet, she walked toward the small pond. A family of ducks were taking their nap on the grassy slope. She walked close to them, stopping only when one of the large birds opened its eyes and glared at her.

"I won't hurt you," she promised, bending toward the ducks. "It's okay."

Her red shorts pulled tight across her derriere. As Kyle walked toward her, his palms itched to cup those curves and pull her against his arousal. He was so hard, it hurt. He welcomed the pain. He liked that Sandy turned him on. In a strange way, he liked knowing they couldn't make love today. The anticipation would make the consummation sweeter.

He placed his hand on the small of her back. She straightened and smiled at him. A headband held her light brown hair off her face. It had grown in the last few weeks and now fell about an inch below her shoulders. He liked the way her hair moved easily and caught the light. Hell, he liked everything about her.

He gazed into her eyes. "You're very beautiful," he said quietly.

"Kyle, I thought we agreed no lines."

"It's not a line."

He continued to stare at her, memorizing her features, grateful she hadn't changed much in the time she'd been gone. For a moment, he thought about confessing his sixteen-year-old crush, but he decided against it. He didn't want her to think this was only about the adolescent desires of a fourteen-year-old boy.

Slowly, so she could pull away at any time, he slipped his hand down her back, over the curve of her derriere to her hip, where he captured her fingers in his. Her gaze never left his. She didn't move at all, except to tremble slightly and catch her breath.

"Come on," he said, tugging her hand.

They walked over to the picnic tables and straddled them, facing each other. With his legs spread apart, it was impossible to hide his physical reaction to her closeness and his own erotic thoughts. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to notice or not. He liked the idea of her knowing she turned him on, but only if it didn't embarrass her too much. He wanted to get to know the adult Sandy and that wouldn't happen if he scared her away.

She raised her chin slightly and stared at the trees above them. "It's lovely here. I'm surprised the park is empty."

He motioned to the open field across the road and the wooded area behind the pond. "There isn't anything around here, and most people don't want to make the drive. At night we have to patrol the area though. Teenagers come here to park."

"Oh? I never did." She raised her eyebrows. "But I'm sure you were a regular."

"Every weekend." He grinned at the memories. "I had my first encounter with paradise right here in the back of a '68 Ford Mustang." He rubbed his lower back. "There wasn't a lot of room to maneuver. Of course, I was pretty inexperienced, but very enthusiastic. The first time."

"How many times were there?"

"That night? About five. I was just getting the hang of it when it was time to go home."

She leaned one elbow on the tabletop. "There is something to be said for the enthusiasm of youth."

"I prefer the skill of experience."

She straightened and folded her hands in her lap. "Yes, there is that, too. Well, now that we're here, what do you want to talk about? Is there a specific type of conversation when one is having fun?"

Why had she changed the subject? If he didn't know better, he would think she was suddenly nervous. But at what? It couldn't be the fact that they were alone. Maybe he shouldn't talk about his sexual past. It was probably not the smartest thing to do. Although he doubted she'd been threatened by his romantic escapades at the age of seventeen.

"We don't have to talk about anything if you don't want to," he said. "The point was to break out of the regular routine. I see you convinced Lindsay to go to camp."

Sandy wrinkled her nose. "She agreed to try it for a day. If it's horrible, I promised she doesn't have to go back. I realized the other day that she hasn't had a chance to make any friends since we moved. Nichole has Mandy, and Blake is hanging out with Robby. Lindsay is pretty much stuck around the house."

"Or haunting me," he said grimly.

"Oh, Kyle, she's just a little girl."

"She's a barracuda. The only good thing about your being mad at me was that I didn't have to worry about an ambush every time I left the house. She was always waiting for me, wanting to do things."

"Do you want me to tell her to leave you alone?"

"No." He scooted forward until their knees were touching, then he stretched back on the bench and rested his head on his hands. "That would mean explaining why I'd like her to lay off and I still want to avoid hurting her feelings if I can."

"You're being very nice about this."

"Never tell a man he's nice. It doesn't do a thing for our egos. Look, that cloud looks like a dragon."

He stared at the sky because looking at Sandy was driving him crazy. Her breasts seemed to thrust forward in invitation and he couldn't stop wishing her nipples would get hard. He was horny and disgusting, but mentally beating himself up wasn't doing anything about reducing his state of arousal. Maybe if he stared at something other than her, he could calm down.

"It's not a dragon, it's a teapot."

"No way. That part sticking out at the back is the tail," he told her.

"It's the handle. See." She leaned forward and pressed her right hand on his thigh. With her left hand, she pointed up. He swallowed hard. Her nipples were getting hard, dammit. He could see the faint outline of them through her T-shirt. And she was burning him, the heat of her fingers searing through his jeans to his skin. If she moved her hand a little higher and touched him, he would explode.

He had to change the subject and fast. Talk about something nonsexual, he told himself. Something that would make her stop touching him.

"I never knew your mother was an alcoholic," he said.

His statement got the desired result. Sandy pulled back and straightened. "I didn't talk about it much."

"Do you want to now?"

"There isn't anything to say."

He continued to stare at the sky and let the silence of the peaceful afternoon surround them. "That one looks like a race car," he said, pointing. He glanced at Sandy. She stared at the picnic tabletop.

"I don't remember much about her," she said, tracing initials that someone had carved in the wood. "I suppose I've blocked it all out. I was pretty young when I figured out something was wrong. Sometimes she would be fine, but other times she would be asleep and I couldn't wake her up. I remember one time, crying for her to cook dinner. I must have been about five. She had passed out on the sofa. Finally, I made myself a peanut-butter sandwich. The next morning, she was sorry and promised it would never happen again. It did, of course. It never stopped."

Kyle sat up. Sandy turned toward the tabletop, swinging her outside leg over the bench and pressing her knees together.

"She dried out a few times. At first, I kept hoping it would work, but after a while I didn't expect anything to change. While she was gone, I stayed with friends. I spent the summer here, once, with my aunt, before I moved in with her permanently. I suppose that's where the control thing started. I remember being so afraid all the time. I couldn't count on her to take care of me, so I had to take care of myself. I know that's why I need to be in control now."

"You never saw your dad?"

"He didn't care about us." She looked at him, then away. "At least that's what my mom told me. I'm not sure I believe that anymore, but I never wanted to look for him or anything. There wasn't any point."

Kyle wanted to pull her close and comfort her. Not the adult Sandy. That woman didn't want to admit weakness. Instead, he ached for the child who had been left alone and abandoned by an alcoholic mother. He wanted to comfort the five-year-old who didn't have any dinner, and the second-grader who would have wanted someone to see her in the school play, but who probably hadn't told her mother about the event in case she showed up drunk.

"And then Thomas let you down," he said.

"I don't blame him for disappointing me," she said. "I'm beginning to see I was the one with the illusions. I wanted more than he could give. It's not his fault he wasn't responsible and together."

"But it is his fault he hurt his son."

She glanced at him. "How much did Blake tell you?"

"Enough for me to put the pieces together. Remember, I had a jerk for a father, too. I know what it's like."

"I worry about Blake. He seems to be doing better here, though. I'm glad he's friends with Robby. And I'm glad you've been there for him."

The praise made him proud and uncomfortable all at the same time. "Yeah, well, he's a good kid. They all are."

"Even Lindsay?" she teased.

"It's not that I don't like her."

"I know," she said. She angled toward him. "She's confused. I'm sure this is a phase that will pass. Right now, she's caught between being a child and being a teenager. She doesn't fit in either world. She's terrified of moving forward, but she's too grown-up to return to the past. Plus, Lindsay misses her dad a lot."

"She mentioned they did a lot of stuff together."

Sandy smiled sadly. "Lindsay always had spirit. Thomas admired that. I probably shouldn't have let him favor her, but I didn't know how to stop it. Nichole was the baby and had me, so she didn't really notice, but I know it bothered Blake."

She rested her left arm on the tabletop. He placed his hand on top of hers. "If your marriage was so unhappy, why did you stay?"