Free Stand-In Father (Intimate Moments) by Pat Warren Page A

male adult when his father hadn’t been available. And Ryan’s father would never again be available. He should by all rights finish updating his file, read the others. Instead, he dropped the stack of papers into his open briefcase. “You want to toss a few?” he asked, indicating Ryan’s ball.
    The boy’s face lit up. “Yeah, sure.” He scampered up and walked out a ways on the grass. “I don’t have another glove.”
    Estimating the approximate distance between bases, Alex paced it off. “That’s okay. Come on. Throw me one.” The throw was loopy and fell short. Alex scooped it up, ignoring Ryan’s embarrassed face. “Ready? Here it comes.” He tossed one to him, slow and easy, and Ryan managed to grab it, but just barely. “Good. Now throw it to me, only put your arm into the pitch.” Assuming the stance, he waited.
     
    Grace stood at the kitchen window looking past the rows of flowers to the grassy area where a small boy and a tall man were playing catch. Through the screen, she heard Ryan’s whoop of delight when he caught one on the skid, followed by Alex’s cheer. Well, well, she thought, smiling.
    Megan straightened from basting the second batch of chicken with barbecue sauce and returned the pan to the oven before walking over to the sink. “What’s so fascinating out there?” she asked, then felt her spine stiffen when she realized her son was playing catch with one of the guests. The meddlesome guest, as she’d come to think of Alex Shephard. “What is with that man?” she asked softly, almost to herself. “First the weeds, then the watermelon, then the chickens and now Ryan. Why doesn’t he know his place like our other guests? Does he stay at a Hilton and offer to do the dishes or change the sheets?”
    Crossing her arms over her chest, Grace shifted her gaze from outdoors to the woman beside her. “Remember the McPharlins? They brought you fresh peaches from their orchard in Georgia the last time they stayed with us, and she insisted on baking up a couple of pies right here in this kitchen. And what about that traveling salesman from San Francisco who entertains all the guests by singing in the lounge at least one night of his stay? These are folks who pick this place because they feel comfortable and at home here, and they don’t at a Hilton. So why do you suppose this one guy bothers you so much?” Her long friendship with Megan involved many such questions through the years, and Grace felt no qualms asking now.
    Megan narrowed her gaze, watching as Alex stood behind Ryan now, showing him the proper way to wear his glove, how to hold his hands waiting for the throw. The blond head bent to the dark-haired boy. The question was, why was he being so nice to her son, so anxious to please? She couldn’t pigeonhole the man. Handsome to a breathtaking fault, undoubtedly as rich as Trump, yet here he was, playing catch with Ryan. Go figure.
    So, why did he bother her so much? “He’s different, Grace,” she said quietly. “It’s as if he wants something and I don’t yet know what that is. He’s so confident, so sure he’s right, so...so...”
    “Handsome and sexy?”
    Frowning, Megan turned. “That’s not at all what I was thinking.” Liar , said that small inner voice.
    “Maybe it should be. Maybe he’s interested in Ryan’s mother and that’s what scares you.”
    Interested in her? She doubted it. A man like that could have most any woman he wanted. He certainly didn’t need a small-town woman who came with a child attached. “I have to think of Ryan.” She swung her gaze back to the unlikely twosome and watched her son leap into the air to try to catch a fly ball. He caught it though he fell to the ground with the effort. Alex gave him a thumbs-up. “He’s going to be here at least a week, he said. Two days and Ryan’s already getting attached. How will he feel when the man leaves?”
    “Honey, you can’t wrap that boy in cellophane and keep him from reaching