Читать книгу Dating a Single Dad - Kris Fletcher - Страница 12
ОглавлениеCHAPTER FOUR
BRYNN HAD ALWAYS felt that Sunday afternoons in winter were meant for curling up with a good book and a bottomless cup of peppermint tea, but she could count on one hand the number of times that life had decided she’d earned that reward. Which was undoubtedly why she was spending this particular Sunday talking about work and men—not necessarily in that order—with Taylor.
“I stopped at the park on my way over,” she said as Taylor frowned at the pile of Ian’s clothes spread across her bed. “Something about it doesn’t feel right to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know it’s the center of town and everything, but I don’t think it’s right for the festival. This is all about the dairy. It should be held someplace with a Northstar connection.”
Taylor shrugged and plucked a sweater from the stack. “Well, we could hold it in the parking lot beside the offices, but I think the park has nicer ambiance.”
“There has to be something.” Brynn frowned at the collection of clothes and grabbed an old sweatshirt emblazoned with a Northstar Dairy crest. “Here. Wear this.”
“Not that. It won’t make me think of Ian.”
“Why not? It’s his, it’s got his smell on it—”
“And it’s for the dairy, which is where I work with Carter.”
Oh. Good point.
“Anyway,” Brynn continued, “if you have any legitimate suggestions for another venue, I’m all ears.”
“I’ll think about it, but Brynn, we have the permits already and the flyers and ads are almost ready to print. Changing now would be a pain in the patoot.”
“So? I’m the queen of pain.” She grabbed a navy fleece that sported the word Coach in gold letters. “How about this one?”
Taylor glanced at it, appeared to think, then shook her head.
“Why not?”
“Ian used to coach peewee hockey. But his assistant was—”
“Don’t say it.” Those damned North brothers were freakin’ inseparable. Hank seemed to be the only one who didn’t share their pack mentality.
Brynn ran her finger over the lettering on the fleece and remembered, just for a second, that moment when she caught Hank checking her out. She wasn’t used to quiet men. In her experience, all males were a walking assortment of bad jokes, clumsy—if sweet—gestures and copious amounts of gas, so it had almost been a relief when she caught him staring at her boobs. Nice to know he was capable of the Neanderthalesque qualities she associated with most men. And, if she were being totally honest, it was nice to know that he had been trying to scope out what was beneath her loose jersey.
Not that she planned to act on his apparent interest. She had two jobs here, and neither would be made easier by indulging in anything with a member of the family that was involved in both those endeavors.
Still, she hadn’t quite been able to stop herself from brushing her arm against his shoulder when she passed him the salad, sending the loveliest vibrations running through her....
With a start, she realized that Taylor was talking.
“...Moxie dropping hints about weddings.”
“Oh. Wow.” Hoping to hell she’d given an appropriate response, she plucked blindly from the pile, emerging with a cranberry-colored sweater so soft it begged to be fondled. “How about this one?”
Taylor’s nose wrinkled and she backed away. “Crap! How did that get in there?”
“What?” Brynn rubbed the luxurious softness between her fingers. “Is it poison?”
“Bad memories. Turns out I’m allergic to cashmere.” She shuddered. “A very nice night ended up being a whole lot less pleasant.”
“Damn. The color would be great on you.”
“Yeah, but it would clash horribly with the hives.” Taylor ran a hand over the pile of clothes on the bed, patting them almost wistfully. “Brynn, I don’t know if this is going to work. It’s getting so I can hardly be in the same room as Carter without falling apart, and since I see him all day, you can imagine how well that’s going. I think he knows something is wrong.”
“Of course he does. Your fiancé is away and has been gone for months. That’s all he knows.”
“I don’t know.... Sometimes I get this feeling that he’s watching me. Not in a creepy way, but like...like the way I know I look at him when no one else is around.”
Brynn’s hands froze despite the fleece surrounding them. “You think he might— Oh, Taylor. No. Don’t say you think he feels it, too.”
“I hope to God I’m wrong. But it’s... I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading things into it that are totally wrong. You know, projecting my own secret wishes and all that Psych 101 crap.”
“Look. You have that social marketing conference coming up in spring, remember? He’s not going. That will give you days and days away from him, and when you come back, it will be just a few more weeks until Ian comes home. Once he’s here, you’ll remember how much you love him and everything will be wonderful again.”
Taylor shook her head. “I hope you’re right,” she said softly. Then she looked at the fleece in Brynn’s hands and smiled sadly. “Not that one, either.”
Brynn didn’t dare ask.
“Carter has the same one. Their mom gave them all matching fleeces for Christmas last year.” She ran her hand over the fabric. “It’s what he was wearing when I realized I wanted him instead of Ian.”
* * *
HANK PULLED INTO his parking space at Northstar Dairy, killed the engine on his old pickup and let out a sigh that was equal parts frustration and anticipation.
“Stupid damned meetings.”
The frustration was easy to figure out. Hauling Millie out of bed, having to abandon the wiring job he’d been working on when he realized he was going to be late, driving through February snow... The morning had been a perfect storm of irritation, and it was only a little past ten.
But he would rather focus on his annoyance than on the little jolts running through him at the thought of watching Brynn marshal them through another session. Or, more accurately, the thought of watching her in her business clothes while remembering how she had looked with her jersey dipping and the spaghetti steam making her hair curl around her face. He’d been trying to push the picture from his memory since Friday night. Thus far it had insisted on staying there, which annoyed him all the more.
And now he had to sit through a meeting with his mother doing her best eagle imitation. Son of a—
A muffled bang to his right caught his attention. Carter was climbing out of his Saab. Huh. Carter was never late.
Hank grabbed his gloves and his files, opened his door and winced as a metallic skreeeek cut through the snowy silence. Oops. He had planned to take care of the door last night. And the night before, come to think of it.
Sure enough, the noise was enough to draw Carter’s attention.
“You ever gonna give up that bucket of bolts and drive something that can be seen in public?”
Hank shrugged. “Look who’s talking—a man who drives a compensation-mobile. At least my truck has character.”
Carter snorted. “Sure it does. A character that’s begging for a serial killer to come and put it out of its misery.”
Hank fell into step beside Carter, both of them bending slightly forward against the bitter wind swirling snowflakes around their heads.
“I can’t believe they had school today. Millie was pissed.”
“Can’t say I blame her.”
Saying that Millie had been reluctant to get on the bus that morning was like saying that snow was a little cold. It had been getting progressively more difficult to drag her out of bed each day. Her teacher assured him that all the kids were tired. His mother reminded him that when he was a kid, she had to wake him by firing stuffed animals from the other side of the room, because he woke up smacking at anything he could reach. All of which reassured him until the next time he saw the dread on Millie’s face as she mounted the steps of the big yellow bus, and his gut told him there was more at play here than simple fatigue or loneliness.
Especially today, when, at the last minute, she had yanked off her lab coat and tossed it on the floor. He should have counted it a victory. He’d been telling her to leave it at home for weeks now. But the vicious way she had tugged at it left him suspicious that his suggestions had nothing to do with her last-minute abandonment.
He would talk to her again tonight. Maybe this time, he’d find the magic words to get her to open up.
“Hello? Earth to Hank?”
He looked up in surprise. Carter’s fist hovered in front of his face, undoubtedly ready to do the old knock-knock on the forehead.
“Sorry. I was distracted.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I asked you the same question three times. You sure you’re awake?”
“Right. Because if this was a dream, of course I’d plop us in the middle of a blizzard.”
The doors to the office building were dead ahead, shining like the pearly gates. He couldn’t wait to slip inside their warmth. Just a few steps to go.
“So what were you asking?”
“Forget it.”
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve got a lot on my mind these days.”
By way of apology, he held the door for Carter.
“Age before beauty,” he quipped. A guy had to take his fun where he could find it.
“So.” Carter stamped snow from his feet. “How is it having Brynn in the cabin?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine? I thought I’d get more of a reaction than that.”
“Why?”
Carter shrugged. “Because, blind one, she’s a good-looking woman.”
Hank stopped midstomp. “Did Ma put you up to this?”
“To what?”
Pointing out Brynn’s assets and proximity. Pushing me to start dating. Reminding me that I’m turning into a grumpy old man and I’m not even thirty.
“Nothing.”
“God, aren’t you all sunshine and flowers this morning.”
Hank waved to the receptionist and hustled down the hall toward the conference room. “You earned it fair and square when you burned the last Pop-Tart.”
“What the— That was twenty years ago, Hankie.”
“Yeah, but you did it on purpose because we were out of your blueberry ones, so you didn’t want me to have any, either. And they were strawberry-frosted, man. With sprinkles. Best Pop-Tarts ever.”
“You know, most people let go of the past at some point.”
“Lucky I don’t have that problem.”
Carter snorted and shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that, bro.”
Hank pulled open the door to the conference room and deliberately walked in ahead of Carter this time. He subjected everyone to the kind of look he would give Millie when she pushed him beyond his limits and dropped into his seat without once making eye contact with Brynn.
All he could say was that it was a damned good thing he loved his family.
* * *
BRYNN WATCHED THE assorted Norths carefully as they straggled into the room, trying to gauge the emotional climate of the group before she started. She could and had handled hostile, indifferent and present-in-body-only groups in the past, but each situation required a different approach. Last week the Norths had been mostly curious. This week would be the real test of how they felt about working with her.
As expected, Moxie arrived first. She nodded at Brynn, took her seat at the head of the table and launched into a loud recap of that week’s Dancing with the Stars. Janice and Cash entered next, deep in a discussion of schedules. They barely glanced at her, but a wave and a quick smile let her know that they were on board. Mr. North—“Call me Robert”—trailed behind with his typical bemused look, as if he had been dragged from his research and had yet to reenter the real world, but he was the first to actually talk to her, asking how she was doing and if she needed anything. She had a feeling his genes were the ones that had asserted themselves when it came time to mold Hank’s personality.
Taylor scuttled in on the dot of ten. The worry lines on her forehead gave Brynn pause, but her cousin tugged on the collar of the shirt peeking out from beneath her argyle sweater and winked. Brynn recognized both items as ones that belonged to Ian and her happy meter zipped up a couple of notches.
Carter and Hank walked in together, five minutes late. Correction: Carter walked in, paused to survey the room and slipped into the empty chair beside Moxie. Brynn breathed a small sigh of relief. She had feared he would take the seat next to Taylor.
Hank stalked into the room with a chip on his shoulder so huge, she could almost see an indentation mark.
Oh, hell. He was not going to be happy by the time this meeting was over.
“Sorry,” Carter said. “Someone went into the ditch right in front of me. I had to give him a push.”
Moxie waved a hand, which Brynn interpreted as something along the lines of a papal dispensation. Taylor shot him a quick smile that made Brynn’s stomach clench, then reached up and rubbed her collar. Whew.
All eyes turned to Hank. He met them without blinking.
“I was late. So fire me.”
Moxie sighed. Janice gave him the kind of stern, one-fingered point that Brynn recognized as a universal gesture of motherly reprimanding. Cash rolled his eyes.
“Shall we begin with a rousing chorus of ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It’?” The words were out of Brynn’s mouth before she realized it, the rote reply born of years jollying her brothers through marauding catastrophes. Just in time, she stopped herself from wincing over the blunder. Better to have everyone think she’d said it on purpose.
Fake it ’til you make it.
Hank stared at her like he couldn’t believe what she had said. The disbelief slowly faded into something resembling respect mixed with humor, laced with chagrin. Underlying it all was a hint of something else, something that brought a flush to her cheeks.
He quickly resumed the bland-indifference act, but now she saw it for what it was.
Hank was trying to fake out someone, and it wasn’t her. She probably shouldn’t be curious. And he definitely wasn’t going to like what she was about to propose.
But she had to admit that things had just become a lot more interesting.
“Let’s hear how everyone has progressed this week. Mrs. North?”
“Dammit, girl. I told you to call me Moxie.”
Reports were given. Items were checked off the agenda. Brynn filled them in on her progress, noting with satisfaction the looks of approval being sent her way. There were few things she loved more than attacking a to-do list and bringing order out of chaos. Another week and she would have this group purring like a finely tuned kitten.
There was just one bump in the road to navigate first.
“Okay folks, we’re making excellent progress. There’s one last item I want to raise. You might not agree with me. That’s fine. But I feel very strongly that the festival should not be held in the village park, charming as it is, but someplace with stronger ties to the family.” She offered her best smile, feigning a confidence she sure as hell didn’t feel as she looked straight over her glasses at Hank. “I propose that the festival be held at the Northwoods Cabins.”
The color drained from his face. So did any traces of warmth.
“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?”
“Quite probably,” she said with all the cheer she could carry off. “But it’s still on the table.”
“What, uh, what brought you to this conclusion?” Janice glanced at Hank.
Brynn ticked off the points on her fingers. “A stronger family connection. A gorgeous location, filled with trees and the river and plenty of places to park. The cabins would make perfect staging areas for the activities—there can be a kids’ cabin with face-painting and games, a craft cabin for the milk-bag crocheting, a history cabin, et cetera. If it rains we won’t need a tent because the activities are already inside. We can do the closing fireworks over the river and use the central area for the stage and picnic tables.” She smiled again. “Plus, it would be a fabulous grand opening for the cabin business.”
“I don’t need—” Hank stopped, seeming to struggle to collect himself before continuing. “Look. It sounds really great, I know, but I— No. Just no.”
“It sounds pretty good to me, Hank.” Moxie sent him the evil eye. “What’s your problem?”
“Other than the fact that Millie and I have to live there while all these strangers traipse through our front yard?”
“You mean the way they’ll be doing once you are officially in business?” Robert’s quiet comment brought a halt to the whispers and mutters that had begun.
Hank looked slightly taken aback, but only for a moment.
“That will be different.”
“How?” Janice spoke with the authority that only a mother could muster. “I think this would be an excellent way to get you accustomed to the comings and goings.”
“I don’t—” He stopped again. Brynn waited. She could convince him to do this, but it had to come from him.
Moxie spoke up. “Henry, when your great-uncle built that house and those cabins, he was as proud of them as he could be. He used to have the whole family out there every year for Halloween. He’d fill the woods with ghosts and pumpkins, have a bonfire, make it a party place. We loved going there.” She shook her head. “Then your uncle Lou took over and it all went to hell. Used to break my heart to see how he let it go to pot. Me, I’m mighty proud to see you bringing it back to life. Lou would have been too dumb and lazy to grab this chance. You’re not either of those. So for the love of Pete, boy, don’t pretend you are.”
Hank closed his eyes. Brynn saw the lines in his face, saw the way his fingers tightened on his pen, and felt a flash of guilt. Was she asking too much?
“Fine.” He pointed the pen at Moxie. “I’ll do it. But you have to swear you’ll have everything and everyone out of there within two days of it being over. I have folks checking in Thursday night and I’ll need time to get ready.”
“I’ll help with that.” Brynn spoke quickly. “I’d be happy to do it. And anything else you might need.”
He arched an eyebrow in her direction. “Gee, thanks, Brynn. But I think you’ve done plenty already.”
* * *
SATURDAY MORNING FOUND Hank exactly where he’d been for days: in the Carleton cottage, pounding the hell out of floorboards that needed replacing and sending dark thoughts in the direction of the Wolfe cabin, home of the woman who had made it necessary for him to speed up his timetable by a full week. More, really, since folks would need to get into the cabins ahead of time to set up.
His schedule was a mess. His mood had been launched into permanently foul. He was juggling catch-up and Millie care. And, because life wasn’t exciting enough, his daughter seemed determined to do everything in her power to make his job even more time-consuming.
Like taking off when his back was turned.
“Millie?” He poked his head into every room of the cottage, even though he’d checked each space twice already. It wasn’t like there were many places to hide. Remembering one of her favorite tricks from toddlerhood, Hank opened all the cupboards, hoping to hell he’d hear her familiar giggle with each creak of the hinges.
No go. She wasn’t in the cottage. And since she would have told him if she were simply running home to grab a new toy, he had a pretty good idea where to find her.
He shoved his hands in his pockets as he tramped through the piles of rapidly melting snow toward Brynn’s. He’d been avoiding her since Wednesday’s meeting, not certain he could look at her without his blood boiling. Or, worse, without wanting to take her up on her offer of help. Not because he needed it. Or because he wanted to spend time with her. Just because...well, because she should see, firsthand, the extra work she was causing him.
Yeah, that was it.
He rapped sharply on the door, ready to dispense dire warnings and punishments to his offspring and anyone else who might deserve it. All of the words died on his tongue the minute Brynn opened the door.
She was in a bathrobe. Not a serviceable terry-cloth robe, but a thin one made of something purple and shiny, dotted with red lips, that hugged and clung in so many places that she might as well have been naked. She must have been dripping wet when she yanked it on.
And, God help him, he wanted to yank it off her, right then and there.
He felt like someone had kidnapped all his senses, stripped them of every other memory or association and replaced them all with Brynn. He saw nothing but her curves and the damp patches on her chest where her hair dripped on her robe. He smelled nothing but a slight hint of orange. He felt only the heat surrounding her, tasted nothing but his own sudden lust and heard nothing but—
But his daughter’s muffled squeak.
Millie. Crap, for a minute there he’d forgotten his own kid.
He shook himself like the dog he was and scraped up something that resembled a brain cell. “Hi. Sorry to interrupt—” that was a lie if ever he’d told one “—but I couldn’t find Millie.”
“Funny thing, that.” She stepped back and walked into the room, which he took as an invitation to follow her. Not that he had much choice in the matter. She was the Death Star and he was caught in the tractor beam that was the picture of everything he imagined beneath that purple haze. “It just so happens that I found a Millie. I was about to text you and ask if you were looking for her.”
He glanced at his daughter, huddled on the corner of the sofa, looking like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to burst into tears or celebrate her rebellion. All of a sudden he dreaded her adolescence in a way he never had before.
“Mills? What’s going on?”
She stuck out her bottom lip. “I wanted to play with Brynn.”
“I know, but you can’t take off like that, kiddo. Do you have any idea how scared I was when I couldn’t find you?”
Yeah, you were terrified until you caught one gander at Brynn in her robe and your brain took a hike south. Real Father-of-the-Year material there, North.
“I’m sorry,” she said, but he could tell she was mostly sorry she’d been caught.
“Sorry alone doesn’t cut it, Mills. You need to...” What? He had no idea where to start. He couldn’t tell if he was simply out of his league, or if his thought patterns had been scrambled even worse when Brynn sat on the edge of the couch and her robe parted, giving him a glimpse of knee and calf and, holy shit, was that her thigh?
She pinched her robe closed and sat straighter, the picture of primness. “You only missed her by a little while, at least as far as I can tell. She wasn’t here when I got in the— I mean, she’s only been here a few minutes.”
Wait a minute. Something wasn’t being said here, probably because Brynn didn’t want to get Millie in any more trouble than she already was. But parenting was a job that quickly taught a man how to read between the lines.
“Don’t tell me she let herself in while you were in the shower.”
Brynn bit her lip, sighed and nodded. “I’m afraid so.” Her cheeks flamed almost as red as the lips decorating her robe. “And, I’d better tell you up front, I wasn’t expecting company when I walked out of the bathroom, so Millie might have received a bit of an anatomy lesson.”
He closed his eyes, but it was too late. His brain was doing an excellent job of filling in the blanks. Worse was the fact that he was suddenly and intensely jealous of his misbehaving daughter.
“Millie,” he said. “Did you let yourself into Brynn’s cabin?”
“I knocked first.”
“Oh, good to know you remembered something. So you knocked and then waltzed on in?”
“No, Daddy. I knocked again. A lot. But I was cold and she didn’t open the door and I knew she was home because her car was right there, so I opened up the door and I waited.” She glanced down, eyes hidden behind her glasses. “But then I had to pee.”
If he got through the next ten minutes of his life, he could get through almost anything.
“Please tell me you didn’t march into Brynn’s bathroom while she was in the shower.”
“You know, maybe I’ll put on some clothes while you guys talk about this.” Brynn rose but Hank slowed her flight.
“Hang on. We’ll get out of here. Millie, you need to apologize. Now.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I really had to go, Daddy.”
“Mills, it’s more than that. Tell Brynn you’re sorry you let yourself into her place and invaded her privacy. Now.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. Tears ran down her cheeks. But she said nothing.
He glanced at Brynn, who was watching them with a mix of compassion and embarrassment that struck him as so endearing that he was brain-dead once again. Or maybe that was because the top of the robe had gaped a bit when she stood, and now he could see a lot farther down. The top of the sweet hollow between her breasts was plainly visible.
Forget Millie. He was the one who needed to get out of there fast.
“Mills. Say you’re sorry and let’s go.”
“But I’m not.” The words were barely more than a whisper, clogged with tears and thick with emotion, but they came through loud and clear.
“Amelia Jacobs North—”
“I told you I was bored, Daddy.” Her voice cracked. “But you didn’t talk to me. You just kept working. So I left. Because I wanted someone to play with me.”
“It’s not Brynn’s—” he began, but a movement from the other side of the room caught his attention. Brynn was waving in a universal time-out motion.
“Could I talk to you for a moment?” She jerked her head toward the back of the cabin. “In private?”
He probably should make Millie speak before he left her, but on the other hand, this way she’d have more time to feel guilty. Stewing in her own juices, as his mother would say.
’Course, he couldn’t remember a single time when that had worked on him, but maybe it was different for girls.
He was so filled with irritation at his daughter that he barely registered the fact that Brynn had led him down the short hall. They stood in the small alcove between two doors. One stood open. The one to the bedroom, of course, with the giant sleigh bed draped with clothing—probably the things she’d planned to don when she came out of the shower. He caught a glimpse of jeans, something blue and sparkly and a bit of blue lace that he knew had to be a bra.
He closed his eyes, but that which had been seen could never be unseen.
She tugged the door closed, her cheeks pink once again, but her gaze was steady as she looked at him.
“I might be way out of line here, but I have a proposition for you.”
He couldn’t help it. She said proposition, and his mind jumped to the precise place it had no business going. Lucky for him, Brynn seemed to have a lot more class than he did. She continued talking as if she hadn’t said some of the most provocative words he’d heard in years.
“I know you’re insanely busy, mostly because of me. I meant it when I said I’d like to help. Since I’m right here, and Millie seems to like me—which is totally mutual, by the way—well, instead of repeating this scenario, why don’t we set up something official. Have scheduled times when she can hang here with me so you can work without interruption.”
Her words worked the miracle he’d thought impossible as his interest went from sixty to zero in no time flat.
“No.”
“Why not?”
He would have barked out something about not needing help, being fine, coping on his own—but she wasn’t accusing, he could see. She was genuinely curious.
That was a new one. His family brushed off his need to do things himself as Youngest Child Syndrome. To have someone actually want to know his reasons—well, it made a difference. Almost as much as the fact that she had crossed her arms and now her breasts were pushed higher and there was more cleavage visible at the opening of her robe and if he didn’t look away in the next three seconds he was going to do something really insane instead of merely stupid.
“When I said that you’re our test case, I wasn’t kidding. Millie needs to learn boundaries. That won’t happen if she’s visiting you all the time. You might have no problem with it, but the next person to stay here might not be as understanding.”
