Wild Honey by Veronica Sattler Page B

wind carried it away.
    “Got it!” the kid crowed as he pounced on the red-andyellow sphere. He cocked his head to one side and grinned at his mother.
    Travis wanted to crow with him. His son. Oh, yeah, most definitely his son. Even the gestures mimicked his own. He had a snapshot of himself at that age, grinning, his head cocked in precisely that manner. His son. A walking talking image of himself in miniature. He swallowed thickly, overcome by an emotion so new he wasn’t certain, exactly, what it was, except that his heart seemed to somersault.
    “Here y’go, Mom!” Matt’s clear soprano carried over the sound of the ocean as he threw the ball to his mother.
    Randi made a dash for it as another gust of wind sent it toward the water. She reached the waterline and bent low to scoop it up just as a wave broke. This succeeded in thoroughly drenching her, and Matt laughed at the face she made.
    “Good catch, Mom!” Matt was still laughing as he skirted a family group on a blanket and held out his arms. “Okay, put ‘er here!”
    Travis watched the ball as it was lifted by the wind; it soared high over Matt’s head, eluding his outstretched arms by several feet and heading toward Travis’s right. Without thinking, Travis twisted, lunged and caught it. When he turned, he found himself looking into a small upturned face.
    “Sorry, mister,” said the boy.
    “No problem, son,” Travis returned with a grin.
    Belatedly he realized how he’d addressed the child. Recoveringquickly, he glanced in Randi’s direction and saw, her stooping by a colorful beach blanket to get a towel. He chivied backward in the sand. “Here,” he said, gaining what he judged to be the right distance. He threw the ball and, sure enough, Matt caught it with ease. Travis watched the boy in proud wonder.
    Matt quietly eyed the huge stranger with the friendly face. “My name’s Matt,” he said shyly:
    Travis smiled and stuck out his hand. “Glad to meet you, Matt. Mine’s Travis.”
    Matt stood still for a moment, then shifted the beach ball to one arm and slipped his small hand into his. That hesitant reaction to his outstretched hand made Travis wonder if the kid had ever been shown how to shake hands. Of course, it could just be he was shy, but that sure had looked like astonishment on his face. As if he’d never shaken hands before. Travis felt a ripple of annoyance. Didn’t his mother know a boy had to be taught these things?
    “Wanna play catch with my mom ‘n’ me?” Matt asked.
    Debating how to answer, Travis stared into the eager face of his son and swallowed around the lump in his throat. He felt that same nameless emotion he’d experienced when he’d heard Matt exclaim triumphantly about capturing the ball.
    And he remembered feeling the way Matt looked right now…
    Dad, would you play catch with me?
    Sorry, Travis, but I’m late for a meeting at the hospital.
    But you just got home, Dad!
    I know, son, but these things can’t be helped Some other time, okay?
    Sure, Dad…
    The long-ago conversation faded, and he found himself staring into the poignantly hopeful eyes of Matt Terhune. “Sure thing, Matt,” he said, and positioned his hands to receive the ball.
    “I can throw far-er than that,” Matt said scornfully.
    “Uh, sorry,” Travis said, hiding a grin as he turned and increased the distance between them. “How’s this?” he asked as he spun back to the boy—and heard a gasp.
    Randi Terhune was standing behind her son now and staring incredulously at Travis. Their eyes locked. A wealth of conflicting emotions passed between them as the parents of Matt Terhune took each other’s measure.
    Travis was keenly aware of little things as he stood there, caught in the silent tableau: the feel of the sun-warmed ball in his hands, the sound of gulls in the distance, the hue of a woman’s eyes echoed in the wild-honey shades of her hair and skin, the scent of clean sweat and sunscreen lotion carried by the