Page 285 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

GEORGIA

Oh my stars. Those sweet, ruthless words.

“Honey–”

“What the–”

A deep bark of laughter.

All of it happened at once as all three of us grownups stared at Andy and reacted at once. The little boy was so eager. So earnest. His little face was lit from within with excitement and pure joy.

About me being his mom.

Me. His mom.

So bittersweet. So perfect. Yet, the little guy wasn’t mine.

No way. Some other woman had the privilege of being his mom.

Of being the Tooth Fairy and slipping coins under his pillow…

frequently lately since he didn’t have any top teeth.

Of trying to keep that little cowlick that popped up on the back of his head down for at least five minutes.

Or answering all of his questions. I sat next to him and his grandfather–who’d introduced himself as Drew–on the flight up from Denver and I didn’t think the little boy had stopped talking once.

Not even when he ate the in-flight peanuts.

It hadn’t been bothersome; it had been adorable.

If I was his mom, I’d get little boy hugs. I’d take him to see Mickey. And be called Mommy.

And I’d be with his Dad…

Mac.

He was… wow. Like insanely good looking and I couldn’t stop eyeing him.

He was different than any man in Calhan–or the entire state of Georgia–I ever met.

Completely different than Art, my ex, who wore seersucker suits like a Southern gentleman and spent more time at his private country club playing golf than he did in his office.

Or the green was his office, making big deals and schmoozing clients on the back nine.

Too focused on his career to make a family with me. The key words being… with me.

No. No thoughts about Art! That was why I was two time zones away at a new job I wasn’t sure I was even qualified for with my cheeks hot with embarrassment at Andy’s statement that I was his new mom.

“Son, no. This nice lady isn’t your new mom,” Mac said gently, setting his hand on Andy’s little shoulder and ruffling his hair. “She’s probably got a husband and a boy or girl of her own.”

My smile slipped, but only briefly because those words were my biggest trigger. No husband. No boy or girl. So instead of wallowing, I turned my smile up to full wattage as trained. Mac wasn’t trying to be hurtful. He didn’t even know me.

“Nope. No family,” I said, hoping they couldn’t hear the wistfulness and hurt over the loudspeaker message about not leaving bags unattended.

“Course she’s my new mom!” Andy said, undeterred. “She’s just what I asked Santa for. She’s nice and she listens to me, and she said she likes dogs and French fries.”

I did like French fries. The size of my clothes and my mother were constant reminders of that. With ranch dressing.

“If liking French fries was all it takes to be your mom, you’d have half the women in town tucking you in,” Mac replied.

Andy ignored him and came over and took my hand.

Looked up at me. I couldn’t miss the resemblance he had with his father now that they were side by side.

Same dark hair. Same chocolate eyes. “Come on, Miss Georgia. I’ll show you where you can get your suitcase.

It spins round and round on the care-sell.

But you can’t sit on it no matter how much fun it looks, or you’ll get in trouble. ”

I glanced at Mac. His intense eyes met mine, then roved over my face, settled on my lips.

God, he was handsome. I wasn’t a small woman, but he still had a few inches on me.

He was fit. Solid. Sturdy, based on the way his black t-shirt stretched across his muscular chest and biceps.

Had it shrunk or did he buy them small to have a shrink-fit look?

His dark hair was unruly and tousled. I had to wonder if he’d driven with his windows down or if he never combed it this morning.

And… he had a mustache. A mustache that would probably be soft against my skin when he kissed me. Lordy, it looked good on him along with the whiskers that covered his square jaw. This close I could see a few flecks of gray.

He looked like he was the kind of man who had more important things to do than primp in front of a mirror. From the two minutes I knew him, he seemed like the get up, shower and go kind of man. That he didn’t take stock in appearances, that actions were what mattered.

I forced my eyes away from Mac because of Andy’s tug on my hand.

“Such a gentleman,” I praised Andy. “Show me where to find my bag.” I let him lead me over to the carousel, although the bags hadn’t arrived yet.

I squatted down in front of him. “I am so glad we met on the plane.” With a soft smile, I continued, “I can’t be your mom, sweetie, but I would really like to be your friend. ”

“Why can’t you be my mom?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. He had a drink stain on his shirt and his shoelace was untied.

“Because you already have one,” I countered.

Out of the corner of my eye, Mac and Drew worked their way around the other passengers toward us.

Andy shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

The carousel alarm blared once, then again, then the belt began to move. The suitcases started to appear.

“Oh.” My gaze flicked to Mac.

He was single. A single dad. With bulging biceps, a slightly crooked nose and–

“Miss Georgia didn’t fly here to be your new mom,” Mac told him, as if knowing exactly what we’d been talking about.

I sighed, thankful he was taking over. I didn’t want to hurt the little boy’s feelings.

Drew laughed again. I glanced his way, and he seemed amused by this interaction.

He and I hadn’t spoken much on the plane since Andy had chattered away.

But I learned the two of them were returning from California from a grandfather/grandson weekend trip and was probably thrilled to let Mac take over.

The boy seemed to have endless energy.

“That’s right. I’m here for work,” I added.

Mac studied me, then nodded.

“But–” Andy looked between me and his father, confusion in his eyes.

Mac shook his head and pointed. “Go watch for Grumpy’s bag. Holler when you see it.”

Grumpy. Andy had called his grandfather that a few times on the plane, but the older man was far from a grump.

“Ladies first, though,” Andy said. “You always say I need to have shiv-ree and be a gentleman. To show girls how special they are by taking care of them. Except Mabel Drumphries.” He scrunched up his face as if he smelled something bad.

“She likes to cut in line on the way to recess and isn’t getting any shiv-ree from me. ”

I bit my lip to not laugh.

“Chivalry,” Mac corrected. “And yes, you can be a gentleman and help Georgia get her bag, too.”

“What color do y’all think it is?” I asked him–Andy, not Mac.

His little brow furrowed as he studied me. “Pink! Like your other bag.”

“That’s right. Pink’s my favorite color.”

“After you help her with her suitcase and we get Grumpy’s, then we will say goodbye to Georgia and let her go do her work.”

Andy’s little shoulders slumped. “Okay,” he said, drawing out the word for about three seconds, then ran over to the conveyor belt, although with a lot less enthusiasm than before.

“Sorry about that,” Mac said, running a hand over his head, messing up his hair some more. “He’s been a little obsessed with this mom thing for a while now.”

I waved my hand. “It’s–”

“Here’s the pink suitcase!” Andy shouted, loud enough for everyone from the ticket kiosks to the rental car counters to hear.

Mac winced and Drew chuckled again.

We turned at the same time, saw Andy tugging on my bag as it moved down the conveyor belt.

“Oh no!” I cried, noticing immediately that the bag’s zipper wasn’t closed, and bits of clothes dangled out of the opening as if a baggage handler had flipped the top shut. It looked like an omelet where all the fillings spilled out the sides. Lord, was that a bra strap?

“Shit,” Mac muttered, rushing beside me before Andy could–

Too late.

With all his little boy might, Andy tugged my huge suitcase off the carousel, and it dropped onto the hard floor, popping open, my clothes falling every which way.

I dropped to my knees in front of it and quickly grabbed my clothes that were now strewn about. Tops, sweaters, a boot. A purple bra.

“Are those girl’s underpants?” Andy asked, pointing. “How come yours have all that lacy stuff? Don’t you have any with fire trucks on them? Mine have fire trucks because I want to be a fireman like– Hey! You brought a toy. Is that a submarine for when you take a bath?”

Andy commented on my panties before I could stuff them away. And fuck me. He pointed out my big, purple, silicone vibrator. And yes, it was a toy, and I did use it when I took a bath.