Free All Shook Up by Susan Andersen Page A

your eye, sport.”
    They brought their drinks out into the yard and sat on the grass in the sun. J.D. took a deep swig from his bottle, then lay back and closed his eyes, cradling the cool glass against his bare stomach. He felt Tate do the same and couldn’t prevent the wry smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
    They lay quietly for several moments. Then Tate said, “J.D.?”
    He was aware that the kid had sat up and was now looking at him, but he kept his eyes closed. “Yeah?”
    “Are you a bastard?”
    J.D. jackknifed to a sitting position, cold anger coursing through his veins. He pinned Tate in the cross hairs of his displeasure. “Is that what your mother says I am?”
    “No!” Tate scrambled back. His pop bottle tipped over and rolled twice, root beer glugging out into thegrass. His eyes grew huge, but although his chin trembled once, he thrust it out in a way that reminded J.D. of the kid’s mother. “It’s w-what I am, and I just thought maybe, uh, you were, too.”
    J.D. froze. Good going, Carver. Maybe you oughtta take that temper down to the swimming area, where there’s a whole bunch of little kids you can terrify.
    “I’m sorry,” he said gently and reached out to right the pop bottle. He winced when Tate flinched away, and carefully extended the drink to him. “I am sorry, Tate. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
    “’Kay.” A beat of silence went by; then Tate said tentatively, “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”
    “Huh?”
    Tate settled himself cross-legged and took a sip of his root beer, visibly regaining his usual ebullient confidence. “That’s the first time you’ve called me Tate. Usually you say ‘kid.’”
    “Is that a fact?” J.D. studied the boy. “What the hell makes you think you’re a bastard?”
    “I heard Kathleen Harris say it once to Marylou Zeka when I was down at the Pack ’n’ Save in town, and when I asked Mom what it meant, she said that was just a rude word for ignorant people to label me because she wasn’t married when I was born.” He tilted his head to one side. “So are you? A bastard like me?”
    “I’ve been called one often enough, but my folks were actually married.” And he was still reeling that Dru hadn’t been. “For about five minutes, that is,” he amended. “You know, don’t you, that there are a lotworse things you could be? Your mom’s crazy about you, and so are your grandma and grandpa.”
    Tate shrugged, as if that were a given. “Sure.”
    “Well, I hope you appreciate it, because that’s not exactly small spuds, kid. I might as well have been a bastard, because my father is just a name on a birth certificate to me. He and my mom were both drug users and he disappeared before I was even old enough to remember him.”
    “Yeah, my dad did that, too. He left when he found out Mom was going to have me. Mom says he was just a kid himself, and that sometimes kids panic at the thought of that kinda responsibility.”
    Pretty damn generous of her to make excuses for the guy, considering the jerk had left her high and dry to shoulder the share of both parents.
    Tate wiggled his butt into the grass. “Uh, J.D.?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Don’t tell Mom I told ya that, okay? When I told her what Mrs. Harris said, she explained about my dad leavin’ because he was scared and all, but she looked kinda sad.”
    “Your secret’s safe with me, buddy.” J.D. rose to his feet and extended a hand to pull Tate to his. “I saw a glass-recycling container in the mudroom. Let’s go toss our bottles in it. Then what d’ya say we take a few measurements, so we can get down to the serious business of cutting wood?”

6
    D ru rose from one of the leather love seats bracketing the fireplace and shook hands with the delegates from the dentists’ association. She calmly watched as they filed past the long, timber front desk and out through the front door, but the minute it swished closed behind them an exultant