Читать книгу Meeting Megan Again - Julianna Morris, Julianna Morris - Страница 12

“That was a grand game,” Grady O’Bannon said contentedly. “I’ll be out there next year, just got sidelined by this darn shoulder of mine.”

Tyler nodded, still amazed that Grady was so active at his age. “I understand you got hurt golfing?”

The white-haired man leaned closer and put a finger to his mouth. “We were racing, and I tipped my cart over on a slope. Don’t tell Eleanor, or I’ll never hear the end of it. She says I’ll never grow up.”

“My lips are sealed.” Tyler hid a smile and swallowed some more of his coffee. Some things never changed, like Grady and his childlike enthusiasm for life. As a resentful teenager, Tyler had failed to recognize that wonderful quality. As an adult he was suitably impressed.

Dinner had been a delicious Irish stew, crowded with meat and vegetables in a flavorful gravy. Homemade rolls and cornbread had filled out the menu, followed by apple pie and ice cream. Simple, satisfying and easy for a large group.

It was getting late and Grady glanced across the room to where his wife and Megan were finishing a board game with Kara. At the same time a shadow crossed his face; Grady frequently looked at Eleanor—often with concern, always with love.

Tyler had tried pumping him for information on Eleanor’s health, but it seemed Grady was as much in the dark as the rest of the family.

Worry turned in Tyler’s chest and he sighed. He’d maintained contact with the elderly couple, but always on his terms. They’d respected his wishes, and now it was probably too late to change things.

“Well,” Grady said, “I hate to be an old fogey, but we’d better follow everyone to bed.”

“Good night, sir.” Tyler shook hands with the older man.

Eleanor persuaded a yawning Kara to join them as they headed for their rooms upstairs, leaving Tyler alone with Megan. The casual way they’d been left together didn’t surprise him; Eleanor might not be feeling in top form, but she was still a matchmaker of the first order.

Megan didn’t say anything, she just busied herself with putting the game back in the box.

“That was a delicious dinner,” he said, mostly to make her look at him.

“It’s all from Eleanor’s recipe file. She taught me to cook after Brad and I were married.”

“You didn’t know how?”

“No, I didn’t.” Megan slapped the lid on the game with unnecessary force. “Believe it or not, cooking isn’t programmed into the female brain, it’s something you have to learn.”

Over the years Tyler had developed an instinct for trouble, for knowing when things weren’t exactly the way they seemed. And something told him there was more to Megan’s vehemence than a knee-jerk feminist reaction.

“I was just making conversation,” he murmured.

Across the room he could see her take a deep, calming breath. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay, I owe you one after getting uptight over the magazine article.”

“The article wasn’t so bad,” she said.

He snorted. “The Sexiest Man in America? I could strangle that writer.”

Megan thought there were worse things than being called sexy—like not being sexy. She wiggled her fingers, noting the short, practical nails and chapped skin from working in the kitchen and garden. But it wasn’t so bad, she was Kara’s mother, which counted the most. And she belonged to a terrific family, even if it was only by marriage.

“People write articles to sell magazines,” she said absently. “Kara has six copies of it stashed under her bed. And she and her friends have your picture taped to their bathroom mirrors.”

“Ohmigod. You aren’t serious, are you?”

The groaning note in Tyler’s voice brought Megan’s head up and she smiled faintly.

“Afraid so. But don’t tell Kara I told you. She’d be mortally embarrassed. And it’s no worse than boys drooling over pictures of half-naked models and actresses. Anyway, it’s the age they’re at—you know, the age between birth and college graduation?”