River’s End

pastries on a Sunday morning.
    He started out. rolled his eyes and went back for a T-shirt. She’d never let him chow down bare-chested. Since he’d gone that far, he brushed his teeth and splashed some water on his face.
    Coffee was just scenting the air when he walked out.
    “You know, you’re a very creative young man,” Celia began. “It baffles me that you didn’t take a little more time, a little more care in furnishing your home.”
    “I just live here.” He slid onto a stool at the counter. “And this stuff suits the place.”
    “Actually, it does.” She glanced back at the simple, straight lines and dark blue cushions. “There’s just not much of Noah around here.”
    “I lost a lot of stuff.” He lifted his shoulder. “I’ll pick it up here and there, eventually.”
    “Hmm.” She said nothing more, and turned away to get out mugs and plates until she could bank some of the fury. Every time she thought about what had been done to him, she wanted to march over to wherever that Caryn creature lived and wade in.
    “So, what’s Dad up to?”
    “A basketball game, what else?” She poured the coffee, arranged the pastries on a plate. He’d already grabbed one when she turned and opened the fridge. “You know, you’d be so much better off using your juicer than buying this processed stuff.”
    His answer was muffled around Bavarian cream and only made her shake her head as she poured orange juice into a glass for him.
    Leaning on the counter, she watched him eat. His eyes were heavy, she noted, his hair tousled and his T-shirt torn at the shoulder. Love, wonderfully warm, spurted through her.
    He grinned a little, licking cream and chocolate off his thumb. She was so damn pretty, he thought, her hair bright as polished copper, her eyes an all-seeing blue. “What?”
    “I was just thinking how good-looking you are.”
    The grin widened as he reached for another pastry. “I was thinking the same thing about you. I get my good looks from my mom. She’s a beaut. And right now, she’s got something on her mind.”
    “Yes, she does.” Taking her time, Celia moved around the counter, took a stool. She propped her feet on the stool between them, lifted her coffee and sipped. “You know how I’ve made it a policy not to interfere in your life, Noah?”
    His grin faded. “Ah . . . yeah. I always appreciated that.”
    “Good. Because with that foundation between us, I expect you to listen to what I have to say.”
    “Uh-oh.”
    She let that pass, tossed back the hair she still wore long enough to wrap into a fat braid. “Mike called me this morning. He told me what happened last night.”
    “Biggest mouth in the west,” Noah muttered.
    “He was worried about you.”
    “Nothing to worry about, and he shouldn’t have bothered you with it.”
    “Like he shouldn’t have bothered me when you were twelve and that pimply-faced bully decided you’d make a nice punching bag every day after school?” She cocked an eyebrow. “He was three years older and twice your size, but did you tell me he was pounding on you?”
    Noah tried to sulk into his coffee, but his lips curved. “Dick Mertz. You drove over to his house and went head-to-head with his Neanderthal father, told him to send his little Nazi out and you’d go a couple of rounds with him.”
    “There are times.” Celia said primly, “when it’s difficult to remain a pacifist.”
    “It was a proud moment in my life,” Noah told her, then sobered. “I’m not twelve anymore. Mom. and I can handle my own bullies.”
    “This Caryn isn’t some playground misfit either. Noah. She’s proven she’s dangerous. She threatened you last night. For God’s sake, she talked about burning your house down around you.”
    Mike, you moron. “It’s just talk, Mom.”
    “Is it? Are you sure?” When he opened his mouth, she merely stared until he shut it again. “I want you to get a restraining order.”
    “Mom—”
    “It’s basically all the police can do at this point, and it might very well intimidate her enough to make her stop, go away.”
    “I’m not getting a restraining order.”
    “Why?” A trickle of the genuine fear she felt broke through in the single word. “Because it’s not macho?”
    He inclined his head. “Okay.”
    “Oh!” Frustrated, she slammed her coffee down and pushed off the stool. “That’s unbelievably stupid and shortsighted. What is your penis, your shield?”
    “It’s about as effective a