Jesse sat behind the wheel of his truck, watching the animated expressions of Mary Clare’s ex. He was obviously angry and that made him a weasel after the afternoon his son had endured. Jesse wanted to jump out and give Chip a throat punch, but realized that wouldn’t exactly be productive or a good example for Henry.

Was it even Jesse’s place to intervene?

Jesse reached behind the seat and grabbed the few groceries they had picked up on the way home at the same time they filled Henry’s prescription. Jesse pushed open the door and heard Henry yell, “It’s not a crap bike.”

Henry bent down and tried to right the bike Jesse had given him, but he couldn’t quite do it with one hand.

Jesse set the groceries on the edge of the lawn and helped a one-armed Henry with the bike.

“My dad called your bike crap. It’s not crap.”

Jesse struggled to contain his smile. Man, he loved this kid’s loyalty. He patted the seat of his bike. “Well, it is a little old and funny looking, but I suppose you’re right. It’s not crap.” He lowered his voice. “Are you supposed to say crap?”

It was Henry’s turn to smile. “No.” Henry looked out of the corner of his eye. “My mom will probably give me a pass because of my arm.”

“How about I put it away in your aunt’s garage until you’re better? Why don’t you run in and show your splint to Zach?” Henry nodded and ran into the house. Jesse gritted his jaw as he pushed the bike past Chip. Why did he feel a bit envious of a guy who couldn’t even get past his anger to help his son pick up a bike? A guy who’d had Mary Clare and threw her away.

“Thanks, Jesse,” Mary Clare said, still rooted in place, clearly ready to have it out with her ex.

Jesse scooped up the handles on the plastic bags in one hand. He straightened and gave Mary Clare an assessing gaze, letting his eyes travel the length of her, taking in her long legs, her shapely hips and long red hair. He knew it was juvenile, but he couldn’t help himself. He already hated this guy.

Jesse extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Jesse Thorpe. I gave your son the crap bike.” He tried to refrain from mirroring the jerk’s smirk, but he couldn’t help himself. Something about this guy raised his hackles.

“Chip Livingston.” His grasp was firm, but his hands were smooth. The guy certainly didn’t work with his hands. “Mary Clare’s husband.”

“Ex-husband,” Mary Clare chimed in. “I believe it was official last week.”

“You don’t need to get into our personal business with the grocery delivery guy.”

Jesse laughed.

“He’s not the delivery guy. Jesse is a friend of Bill’s.”

Jesse slanted a quick look at Mary Clare. “Bill and I go way back. I knew Mary Clare before”—he looked her up and down again—“she hit puberty.”

Mary Clare’s face turned a deep shade of red. He didn’t know why he was doing this to her. Maybe because their initial relationship back in their childhood days had been founded on a mutual desire to tease one another. And maybe because this guy bugged the piss out of him. Chip had the greatest kid and wife and he hadn’t fought to keep them. Sure, Mary Clare had confided in him that she was the one who left. But he was the one who let them go. Just like his mother had let Jesse go.

“Well, Mary Clare and I are talking here, Jesse,” Chip said dismissively, “so we’ll catch you later.”

Jesse glanced at Mary Clare, then at Chip. “I’m only going in if Mary Clare says she’s okay.”

“Mary Clare is fine.” Chip ground his teeth. His forehead shone in the hot evening sun.

“I will talk for myself, thank you very much.” Her punishing glare pinned both Jesse and Chip. “I’m going into the house. I am starving and I have a headache. If you’d like to come in and check on your son, feel free.”

Jesse smiled brightly, feeling a little smug. He strolled up the path and into the house, leaving Mary Clare and her ex outside. He set the groceries on the table. Amanda busied herself getting plates and drinks. Jesse noticed Henry sitting on the couch with a sullen look on his face.

“Your arm hurt?” Jesse asked, sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

Henry shrugged but didn’t say anything.

“Kind of tough dealing with your dad out there?”

Henry looked up with watery eyes and nodded.

Jesse swallowed his pride and took a deep breath. “Your dad loves you. That’s why he came when he learned you broke your arm. I don’t think he really thought my bike was crap. Do you? Sometimes when people are worried, they say things they don’t mean.” He gently tapped Henry’s leg. “You have to admit, my bike is a little old. The seat is held together by duct tape.”

Henry lifted his good hand and covered his mouth, laughing. “I like your bike.”

“Good to hear,” Jesse said. “Promise me something, though.”

Henry looked up at him with expectant eyes.

“No more crazy stunts. Injured riders don’t ride. You have to be smart. Got it?”

“Got it.” Henry placed the palm of his hand on his splint.

Jesse tipped his head toward the hot dogs. “You better grab a plate before your Uncle Bill gets home and eats all the food. He’s been known to do that. Here, let me help you.” He was aware of Mary Clare and Chip’s tense conversation as they entered the house.

Henry scooted off the couch and walked toward the kitchen, holding his arm close to his body.

Mary Clare appeared followed by Chip. Jesse caught her eye and smiled tightly. “I’m heading out.” His presence was only pouring gasoline on the lit fire and he wanted Henry to be able to relax after the day he’d had.

“Are you sure?” A confused look crossed Mary Clare’s face, a look that made him want to believe she needed him to stay. That she wasn’t just being polite. But this wasn’t about him.

“I’m glad to see Henry’s okay. I’ll check in with you later.”

“I thought you were going to have some dinner.”

Chip touched her arm in a possessive manner. “If he says he has to go…”

Jesse didn’t bother looking at Chip. “Dad will be getting restless. Lynne needs a break.” It was his excuse, even if it was true. Jesse lifted his hand and waved casually to everyone. “Have a good night.” He pointed at Henry. “Take care, okay?”

Henry took a step toward Jesse as if to give him a hug, then stopped abruptly. He held his good arm stiffly by his side. “Bye, Jesse.”

* * *

Mary Clare wasn’t enjoying her dinner, and from the expression on Henry’s forlorn face, neither was he. She sighed heavily. “Are you in pain? Do you want medicine?”

Henry shook his head. “No, thank you.” His hot dog sat uneaten in front of him.

From his seat at the kitchen table, Henry watched his father standing next to the kitchen island. Chip took a long sip of his beer and set it down on the counter with a clank. “Henry’s tough.” Chip’s condescending voice grated on Mary Clare’s nerves.

Amanda had ushered Billy upstairs for his bath and Zach retreated to his room after wolfing down two hot dogs.

Mary Clare pushed away from the kitchen table and approached Chip and spoke under her breath, “If he needs the pain medication, it’s okay if he takes it. Don’t make him feel like he has to be in pain because you don’t think he needs to take the medicine.”

Chip hiked his beer and his chin. “Don’t be a drama queen.”

Mary Clare’s pulse roared in her ears. She fisted her hands, but bit back the zinger she was ready to unleash on her ex-husband. She had vowed to not let Henry see her and his father argue.

Mary Clare drew in a deep breath, reminding herself that despite many regrets, Henry was not one of them. For that reason alone, she’d do what she could to maintain a cordial relationship with Chip.

She walked around the table and planted a kiss on Henry’s smooth cheek. She caught her son watching his father’s face for a reaction. Mary Clare ignored it. “I’m glad you’re okay, little man. Just let me know if you become uncomfortable.”

Henry glanced up at her with warm blue eyes. “Okay, Mom. I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful.”

“We’ll talk more about that later.”

“Actually—” Chip flicked off the cap of a second beer and sat down next to Henry. “I’d like to talk about it now.”

“Can it wait? He’s had a tough day.” Mary Clare kept her hand on her son’s shoulder.

“I need to hit the road. It can’t wait.” A muscle ticked in Chip’s jaw. Any remaining color in Henry’s face drained. He looked much younger than his nine years.

“Let’s go outside on the deck.” Mary Clare kissed Henry again and whispered, “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

Henry shuffled his sneakers across the deck and plopped down on the bench, holding his splinted arm. Chip hovered over him, resting his elbow on the railing above his son’s head. Mary Clare wished he could see the pained expression on his son’s face, reminiscent of Chip’s when he was worried.

Chip hadn’t shown her that vulnerable side in a long time. It was a shame, really, that he had closed himself off emotionally. And then he became more controlling. That was their undoing. Mary Clare probably could have survived the financial issues with her ex. It was dealing with the emotional bankruptcy and his compulsive need to control every little thing that she couldn’t handle. She’d had enough of that growing up.

“Listen, Henry, you’re going to have to use your head,” Chip said.

With downcast eyes, Henry nodded and toed the gap between the deck planks.

Chip leaned over and then seemed to think better of thumping his son on the head. “Use your brain.”

Mary Clare’s pulse roared in her head. It was one thing for Chip to talk to her like that, but to talk to Henry? “Henry didn’t do anything wrong.”

Chip swung around and crossed his arms over his chest. “He was jumping ramps.” He jabbed his finger toward Henry. “The kid can barely ride a bike.”

“Henry absolutely can ride a bike.” She had an overwhelming urge to tell him about Henry’s dirt bike riding, but decided that would be their little secret. Mary Clare swooped in and took Henry’s good hand in hers. He was trembling. “Go find Zach and play. I want to talk to your father.”

Henry nodded. He got up and practically ran to the sliding glass door and opened the screen and let himself in. Mary Clare closed the glass door for privacy.

“You wouldn’t believe the changes in Henry. He’s come out of his shell. He’s a different kid.”

Chip shook his head. “You’re letting him run wild here.”

Mary Clare pushed back her shoulders. “He’s nine years old. He needs to spread his wings. I can’t hover over him every minute of the day.” Oh, how far I’ve come.

“And you’re okay with this? He broke his arm.”

She took a deep breath. “He’s okay.” He is okay. She had to remind herself.

“Are you sleeping with Grocery Boy?” Chip’s dark gaze landed squarely on her.

Mary Clare gritted her teeth, but refused to give him the satisfaction of the lashing he deserved. “Where did that come from?”

“I saw how he looked at you. Is that what this is about? You’re getting caught up in some guy and you’re neglecting our son? And now you have some lamebrained idea to move here.”

Mary Clare leaned in close. “I am not neglecting my son. I’ve been there with our son since the day he was born. Don’t try to turn this around on me.”

Chip’s gaze darkened. “You are sleeping with Grocery Boy.”

“Seriously, Chip. Is that your biggest concern here?” She shook her head.

His jaw twitched.

“I am staying here. And you are not going to fight me on this. I’m looking forward to teaching. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.” At this point, she prayed the salary they offered would allow her to make ends meet. It had to. She was determined.

“I can’t imagine the high school that would hire you. You don’t even have your certification.” Chip seemed to take a perverse delight in pointing out her weaknesses.

She wanted to slap the smug expression off his face, but then she’d be a bigger jerk than her ex. “I’ve got it under control.” She didn’t owe him an explanation.

Chip’s condescending laugh scraped across her nerves. An all-too-familiar sound. “Oh, that’s rich.” He arched a pale brow. “Teaching at a private school? How do you plan to live? The pay has to be garbage.”

“I’ll manage.” A pain stabbed her between the eyes.

Chip shook his head. “I want to be able to see Henry.” Her heart thumped slowly as she waited for the other shoe to drop. The man she had once promised to love and cherish forever looked off in the middle distance. Slowly he turned to look at her as if he had come to some final conclusion. “You’ll have to come back to Buffalo as planned. I won’t agree to changes in our custody agreement and I’m not traveling here to pick him up every weekend.”

“Ha! Every weekend?” She glanced toward the door and quickly lowered her voice. “You haven’t been here once all summer.”

Chip narrowed his gaze. “Things have been busy. I’ve been rebuilding my client list after a downturn in the industry.”

“You’re always busy.”

“Do I need to remind you that you were the one who walked away?”

She jabbed a finger at him. “You pushed me away.”

“We have a son together. I still have a say. I can have our custody agreement amended.” Chip paced on the deck, a vein throbbing in his temple. “I’ve let you have primary custody. But that can be changed.” He lowered his voice in the threatening way he tended to do when trying to strong-arm her into doing whatever he wanted. “If I feel this is no longer a healthy living environment for Henry…”

A hot, prickly flush washed over Mary Clare. Her vision narrowed into a tunnel. Somewhere in the distance she heard a squirrel scrabbling to gain purchase on the fence. “You did not let me have primary custody of Henry. We both agreed that it would be better for Henry. You travel too much. You’re never around.” She took a step closer to him and narrowed his gaze. “You are not going to fight me on this.” She was not going to pacify him. She had done that too many times in their marriage. “If you do, I will have my lawyer dig into your financial dealings more closely. If you mortgaged our home without telling me, I’ve got to believe you have been dishonest in other financial dealings. With me.” Chip’s eyelids began to twitch, his big tell when she had hit a bull’s-eye. “Or perhaps in your business.” She shrugged. “Even if you haven’t, the publicity won’t look very good, will it? You won’t be able to shake the stink of the accusations.”

Chip stuffed his hands in his pockets, a casual gesture that seemed awkward on her ex. “I’m not going to let you move to Mills Crossing. I don’t care what you say.”

Mary Clare took a step toward him and jabbed a finger, inches from his chest. “I think you do care. Try me.” Her pulse whooshed in her ears.

“I have a say in everything that has to do with my son,” Chip sputtered, a vein bulging on his forehead. Mary Clare had never seen Chip on the defensive. She had always been agreeable. She’d worked hard to maintain peace.

Not anymore.

Mary Clare drew in a deep breath through her nose. “I want you to be involved in your son’s life. I won’t do anything to interfere with your relationship with Henry. All I ask is that you stop interfering in my life.” She tried to reason with him. “Mills Crossing isn’t that far. You can visit. He can visit you. He’ll get to grow up with his cousins. It’ll be great for him.”

Chip’s eyes flashed angry, but something about his expression suggested he was considering what she had to say. “Why did you have to ruin everything?”

“I’m not part of some window dressing—nice house, pretty wife, a kid. I’m a person. I have my own dreams and goals. I lost sight of that when I was with you.”

“You were happy.” Chip sat down on the bench along the deck rail. He plowed his hand through his hair.

“I was at first. But then I didn’t like being told what to do and how to do it.” Mary Clare sat down next to him. “We’re both different people now. I need to follow my dream. I promise you can see Henry as much as you’d like. And I need you to honor our divorce agreement and make right the money you owe me from the house and my alimony.”

He flashed a half-smile. A glimpse of the man she fell in love with sparked in his sad eyes. “Or you’ll ruin me by airing our dirty laundry?”

“That’s on you.” Then she lowered her voice. “Buffalo’s not that far. I can even meet you halfway sometimes to drop him off.”

Chip pushed off the bench. “This is not how I planned my life.” Shaking his head in disgust, he yanked open the glass slider and went inside.

Billy’s ball glided across the surface of his little pool and bounced off the side, then coasted across to the other side. Absentmindedly, Mary Clare picked up the ball, held it over the pool, then released it. Tiny droplets of water sprayed her bare feet. “It’s not exactly how I planned my life either.”