Free Mom in the Middle by Mae Nunn Page A

bearing several slowly spreading grease spots. Guy reached for the passenger’s door of the SUV as he imagined the havoc the days-old cooking oil would play with his digestive system.
    But the look of pure pleasure on Abby’s face when she climbed inside clutching the sack made him feel like a heel for his selfish thoughts. She just wanted a little fun away from her life being sandwiched between two demanding generations of family. He returned her grin before he closed the door, feeling the excitement of the moment.
    He gave the man rightly dubbed the Texas Turbo a friendly wave as the H&H truck headed down the blacktop road that threaded through acres of Bermuda grass and ended in a small parking area behind the private waterfront home. Guy was impressed to find a thirty-eight-foot tournament fishing boat powered by triple Mercury 275s. Burnt-orangescript across the stern declared the vessel christened The Jean Horn.
    A Chris-Craft Woody Speedster waited in the next slip. The classic teak pleasure craft should have been preserved in a showroom, not floating serenely in the waters of Lake Travis. Guy hesitated, wondering if he should remove his boots before climbing onboard.
    Abby didn’t appear too concerned as she tossed the sack of food on the leather bench seat and then headed for the boathouse where she seemed to know her way around.
    â€œYou’ve done this before, I see,” he called as she ducked into the structure large enough to completely enclose several well-appointed boats, plenty of equipment and sported a deck on top with patio furniture and a professional-grade outdoor grill.
    Looking for all the world like a female version of Tom Sawyer, she fairly skipped across the wooden planks with one fist clutching a couple of rods, the other swinging a bait well and dip net.
    â€œYeah, Daddy and Patrick used to get on like a barn ablaze. We’d drag our little bass boat up here and stop for a bite to eat and before you knew it he’d have us fishing off the dock, visiting with his family or taking the Jet Skis out for a run. He’s quite a business success in these parts but believes in a lot of playtime, too.”
    â€œAnd his primary business these days is fine fast food? ” Guy crooked an eyebrow in skeptical question.
    Abby’s laugh was a charming melody that carriedacross the slick surface of the water. “That’s just what he does to stay plugged in to casual visitors. Patrick is the major shareholder of the largest marina on the lake.”
    Guy whistled appreciation. “Nice to see a great Olympic athlete parlay his fame into a substantial living.” Glancing at the name of the larger boat again, he snapped his fingers. “Hey!” He made a mental connection. “Did he have anything to do with that plastic gadget that broke all the eBay records?”
    â€œYep, still does thanks to those late-night infomercials.” She made a quick search of her shoulder bag and produced a key ring sporting a longhorn-shaped object. “See?” She tossed it to him.
    He shook his head over the unique invention. “The man was always destined for greatness, and he certainly is creative.”
    They settled into the beautifully restored boat; Guy cranked the powerful well-tuned engine and eased out into open water. He glanced to his left where Abby hugged her side of the craft as she’d done in the truck. Again he got the sense she was putting as much physical distance as possible between them.
    â€œWhere to?” He looked to her for directions.
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    Her skin warmed beneath the focus of his gaze and she pressed closer to her side of the woody, torn between the excitement of accepting Patrick’s generosity and the silly nervousness of being alone on thelake with a man. Not a boy. A man. One who seemed more appealing every day. The prickle of gooseflesh shimmied up her spine. She was twenty-four for goodness sake. Hardly a schoolgirl who needed