“Daddy tricked me!” was the dramatic opening to Molly’s tirade.

“How, honey?”

“He was real nice and real nice and real nice. Only, then we got to his house. And there was a lady there. A stupid lady.”

Across the way, Amanda could see lights popping on and off at Mike’s house. Her attention was on her daughter, but a thick clog seemed to have settled in her stomach. Mike was probably doing exactly what she was. Dealing with a child wounded by their divorce. Through no fault of their own, his Teddy and her Molly were both still reeling from the mistakes of their parents.

Molly, temporarily, stopped her rant to study her hands, which had been soaked and filed and were now ready for the fun part. Color. “Can we do our toenails after our hand nails?”

“Sure.”

“I want yellow for my toenails.”

“I’m pretty sure we have yellow.” Amanda didn’t actually look at the basket of polishes, but since color was always a major issue for her daughter, she was almost positive they had the whole crayon set of choices.

“And I want different colors for every hand nail.”

“Okay.” Amanda had learned a long time ago never to sweat the small stuff. “Now tell me more about your day.”

“She had on this big fakey smile. Like grown-ups use for kids. And she says, ‘How would you like to go shopping with me?’ And I say, ‘No, thanks, I’m here to see my dad.’ And she says, ‘If we go shopping, I thought I’d get you an American Girl doll.’ And I say, ‘No, thank you, my mommy gets me all the American Girl dolls I could possibly want.’” Molly looked up with stormy eyes. “Okay. So that was a lie. And it was really hard to say no, because I really, really need another American Girl doll. But she was being a pain.”

“Honey. Sweetheart. Now, think a minute. It doesn’t sound like she was being a pain. It sounds as if she was trying very, very hard to be nice to you.”

“No. She just wanted to give me a doll so I’d like her. And I’m never going to like her. She had three boxes of games. And grape Kool-Aid. So fine. I played some games with her. But you know what?”

“What?” Amanda finished one of her daughter’s hands, then started on the other.

“Daddy wasn’t even there half the time. And he didn’t play any games with me. But when he was there, you know what he did?”

“What, honey?”

“He and that lady took me to the back of the house, opened the door and said, ‘Ta da!’ And there was this room where I’m supposed to sleep when I’m there. It had a big white chair. And a big white bed. And shelves that already had books in them. And lots of stuffed animals all over the place.”

Amanda felt her heart clutch. “It sounds very pretty.”

Molly glowered at her mother. “I know it’s pretty. That’s not what was wrong. What was wrong is that I don’t sleep there. Which I told them. Daddy said, ‘But you will.’ And the woman said, ‘And when you come and stay with us, we want you to have your own special place.’”

Molly started blowing on both hands, trying to dry the polish faster. “I didn’t say what I wanted to say. I remembered that I was supposed to be good, so I said, ‘The room’s real nice. Thank you.’ And then I said, ‘But I’m not sleeping over. Ever.’ And you know what?”

“What, sweetheart?”

“The lady called me a brat. Me. A brat!”

“Oh, dear.”

“So then I told her she was ugly. Which she is. And I said she must be stupid, too, because she couldn’t even win at Candy Land. And she didn’t even know to cut the crusts off my sandwich, either!”

Amanda had to zip her mouth closed. Obviously she couldn’t say what she really wanted to, such as that she’d like to whack Thom upside the head-and that went double for The Bitch. She’d particularly like to tear out The Bitch’s heart for trying to win over her daughter with material crap, and even more wanted to scream at her ex for not spending parenting time with his daughter himself.

But she couldn’t just agree with Molly, because that would fuel her daughter’s unhappiness with Thom.

So she just listened. And once they finished all the nail painting, she cuddled her daughter on the deck rocker until Molly was sleepy enough to fold into bed. Tomorrow, when the little one was less upset, Amanda figured she’d think of some positive, constructive things to say about the day’s debacle.

Tonight, she wasn’t up for it.

For a half hour, she cleaned up toys, threw in a wash load, wiped down the kitchen. The whole time she was building up a good serious brood.

The whole evening had exemplified-painfully-why she had to quit playing attraction games with her next-door neighbor. The divorce was still fresh for her daughter. Molly had to be her one hundred percent primary concern. And just as relevant, Amanda knew perfectly well that her marriage, and divorce, established her stupid judgment about men.

There was no trusting her feelings for Mike. The magic, the pull, the wonder…that was the fairy tale. The wanting to believe there was a hero, a knight, a good man just for her. The wanting to believe in “in love.”

The feeling that she was already in love with the damn man.

This was all exactly why she’d given up sex. Because she couldn’t trust herself. Because she wanted her daughter to grow up seeing a strong, self-reliant mother…not a dependent female who couldn’t get along without a man.

She had to show her daughter that she was strong, not just tell her.

Which meant she needed to just cool it with Mike. At least, for a much longer period of time.

That all settled in her mind, Amanda started turning out lights, closing up, locking the doors. When she climbed the stairs for bed, at the top stair she glanced out the window.

Night had fallen in a whisper of dew and stardust. Mike was upstairs, in his second-story window. He’d turned off his lights, too. He was probably enjoying just a few moments of peace and silence, probably no different than she was…but then he spotted her.

She could have moved. Could have waved. Could have…done pretty much anything.

But somehow heat transmitted across the driveways, through the closed windows, somehow past all the reasons she needed to get a serious brain.

She didn’t just feel a pull toward him. She felt a force field.

He put a hand on his window.

Like a damn fool romantic idiot, she put a hand on her window.

And then, before she could do anything more stupid, she whipped around and headed straight, no talking, no thinking, no deterrents, to her bed. Alone. The way she needed to be.

Chapter Six

Six hours later, Mike left the Dan Ryan-the expressway where faint-of-heart drivers were tortured at rush hour, a uniquely Chicagoan sport-and turned into the curve toward the western suburbs. They still wouldn’t be home for another twenty minutes.

He didn’t want the day to end.

He glanced at his passenger. Amanda had never said a word about riding in the pickup, but she was obviously comfortable. Even strapped in, she’d managed to curl her legs under her, had slipped off a sandal.

“This has been the best day,” she murmured.

“You’re not kidding.” He’d been both wary and willing of playing hooky with her. Wary, because she already inspired too many wrong ideas and hormones. And yet willing, because…well, because after his ex-wife drove off, he’d still felt the rug burns on his ego.

Nancy had never said the exact words, but her opinion of him was clear. Lawyer or not, great education or not, he was still hopelessly rough-edged. Too earthy. Too physical. Too sexual. Her choosing ‘George’ pretty obviously underlined everything she’d found wrong with him. Maybe he’d achieved stature in a notable law firm, but that didn’t give him elegance or taste by her standards.

Amanda was distinctly a woman of elegance and taste. So chances were she’d discover those rotten qualities and back off…or his own rug burns would make him too wary to get further involved.

All of which was to say…he’d been able to relax with her today.

Maybe even more than relax. They’d had just plain old ordinary fun. She’d picked the lunch spot, a place where she got to choose lobster bisque and he could vote for a raw red steak. Their entrees echoed how different they were, but that didn’t seem to matter. The restaurant was packed with a professional lunch crowd. All adults. No spills, no screams, no, “I don’t want this!” or “Are we done yet?” or “I’m bored, Dad!”

The movie was even better. She’d picked the restaurant, so he’d picked the movie. It was the first flick he’d seen in ages that had some skin, some blood, some action. She could eat the chocolate she wanted. He could have his own popcorn. No one whispered in his ear. No one claimed they had to go to the bathroom three times. He actually got to see a movie from start to end.

It’s not as if this were a date…

He wasn’t aware he’d spoken aloud, until Amanda chuckled. “Of course it wasn’t a date. We’re not dating. We just had a grown-up afternoon.” She sighed with contentment. “No Bambi. No comic-book characters. And I had the whole chocolate bar.”

He laughed. “You had two, I believe.”

“Yeah, I admit I went overboard-but I haven’t had a whole chocolate bar to myself in…well, in years. I’m always trying to think about setting the right example.” She smiled at him again. “That’s the best part. A whole afternoon without any ‘shoulds’ or ‘have tos’.”

Damned, if he didn’t feel exactly the same way. It was funny, but he hadn’t been easy in his own skin for a long time now. Certainly not when he was married. There always seemed to be something he was doing or saying wrong, something that was going to get analyzed and criticized.