Читать книгу The Husband Recipe - Linda Winstead Jones - Страница 9

Cole was surprised to find his neighbor at the door. Again. He answered her cautiously friendly hello with a sigh and a “What have they done now?”

Lauren smiled, and as she did he noticed that she held a very large wicker basket covered with a red-and-white-checkered towel that looked as if it had never been used to mop up spilled grape juice or ketchup. She looked more than a little like Little Red Riding Hood, and he wanted to eat her up. Did that make him the Big Bad Wolf?

She lifted the basket a couple of inches. “I’ve brought a little something to welcome you to the neighborhood, and to thank you for getting the window taken care of so quickly.”

What choice had he had? His kids had done the damage, and he couldn’t very well have left Lauren’s house vulnerable overnight. Not that this neighborhood seemed to be unsafe. It was just common sense. Still, he supposed it would be rude to send her and her basket away, so he stepped back and invited her inside.

She hadn’t seemed at all interested in getting to know him yesterday, when he’d made a fumbling attempt at being neighborly. Maybe something had changed her mind. Then again, maybe she was just more sociable when she was wearing a bra.

Her eyes scanned the living room, and he knew very well what she saw. The laundry he’d been folding on the couch, the half-finished puzzle on the coffee table, the toys Justin had been playing with and left scattered about. If he’d known she was coming he would’ve picked up a bit, but since she’d dropped by unannounced she’d have to take what she got.

She shifted the basket a bit, and Cole realized it must be heavy. Belatedly, he reached out and took it from her.

“Lasagna and peach cobbler,” she said. “The cobbler can sit out for a while, but the lasagna needs to go in the refrigerator.” She gave him quick instructions on how to heat it up for supper, then backed toward the door.

“Wait one minute,” Cole said, and he turned toward the back of the house and called the kids’ names, one at a time. They came running, smiling and laughing, their usual boisterous selves, but when they saw Lauren they skidded to a stop and their smiles died.

“We didn’t do anything!” Justin said indignantly.

“Yeah,” Hank agreed. “We’ve been playing video games and Meredith is reading some stupid book.”

Meredith didn’t say anything, but her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Cole let them stew for a minute, then said, “Even though you broke Ms. Russell’s window and stomped all over her garden, she’s brought you supper. Lasagna and peach cobbler. What do you say?”

“I hate lasagna!” Justin said vehemently. “Yuck!”

Hank shuffled his feet and looked at the floor, and Meredith rolled her eyes in that maddening way young girls had. Twelve years old, and he could already see the woman she was going to become. Soon. That vision scared the crap out of him. He wasn’t ready for her to grow up, wasn’t ready for boyfriends and dates and short skirts and makeup. But like it or not, those things were coming.

“I was going to make chicken fingers for supper,” Meredith said.

Like frozen chicken strips could hold a candle to homemade lasagna—an observation he didn’t dare make out loud. “The chicken fingers can wait for another day. I want you all to thank Ms. Russell.” He gave them a glare his neighbor couldn’t see, since his back was to her. It was a rarely used glare that told the kids he was serious. He’d spoiled them for too long; he’d indulged them, trying to make up for the fact that he was all they had. Just last year he’d realized that he’d done that, and he was trying to undo the damage. It was a slow process.

Meredith was the first to speak. “Thank you, Ms. Russell.” Her chin was lifted a touch too high, which made her appear defiant even though her words were proper enough. Her eyes were anything but friendly.

Hank was antsy. The middle child was never still, unless he was sleeping. “I like lasagna,” he said, taking his eyes off the floor to peek up at their neighbor and give her a gentle, oddly charming, mostly toothless smile. “And I’m really tired of Meredith’s chicken fingers. Thanks.”

Justin, the stubborn one, sighed. “Thank you, Ms. Russell. For the peach cobbler.” The youngest—who would live on chicken strips and honey mustard if given the option—was doing his best not to look directly at his father.

“Why don’t y’all call me Miss Lauren,” their neighbor said. “After all, I imagine we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” She looked directly at Justin. “I’m very sorry to hear that you don’t like lasagna. Tell me, what do you like? Just in case I cook for you again, I should know.”

Justin wasn’t shy about answering. “I like chicken fingers, hot dogs and Pop Tarts and chocolate chip cookies and ice cream.” He lifted a stubby little finger. “But not butter-pecan ice cream. Yuck. That’s worse than lasagna.”

Lauren worked to suppress a smile. Her lips firmed as she resisted, but Cole could see the laughter in her eyes. It was a good—and oddly enticing—look for her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Cole dismissed the kids and they returned to their activities, leaving him alone with Lauren—and the food. She took a step back, toward the door. It was almost as if she was trying not to look directly at him.

“Thank you again,” he said. “You really didn’t have to, but we’ll enjoy it.”

She nodded, and still her eyes were everywhere but on him. Had he done something to piss her off? He couldn’t think of anything he might’ve done to make her nervous, but she was definitely uncomfortable. Out of her element. She’d been fine when he’d answered the door, okay when the kids had been with them, but now that they were alone again it was like she couldn’t wait to get away.

“You can just drop the pans off on the porch when you’re finished with them,” she said. “No rush. I have more than enough cookware.”

Cole peeked beneath the warm cloth that covered the food. Sure enough, the food had been prepared and delivered in heavy glass dishes instead of disposable aluminum foil. No wonder the basket weighed so much!

When he returned his gaze to Lauren, he found her no longer avoiding him. In fact, she stared right at him and for a moment, a long, lingering, uncomfortable moment, she looked as if she were completely and totally lost and confused. He recognized the pained expression on her pretty face because he saw it in the mirror almost every day.

It took all of Lauren’s discipline not to run home and slam the door behind her. She walked with purpose, almost positive that someone was watching her through a window or from the front porch. Tempted as she was, she didn’t run and she didn’t look back.

She should’ve just let things go. If she hadn’t decided that the family next door could use a good meal and she needed to make amends, she might not have suffered that moment of clarity. She might’ve simply resigned herself to the increased neighborhood noise and looked forward to school starting in a few weeks. Once school began she’d have several quiet hours every day.

But for a moment, a long, horrifying moment, she had suffered. Her life was perfect. She loved her job. She loved her house. She had friends and family, though in her small family only Gran lived close enough to see on a regular basis. Lauren never ever missed having a man in her life. She didn’t have time for a man, didn’t want one, didn’t miss the messy complications of a romantic relationship. She remembered too well what it had felt like to lose what she’d thought was love, to have the rug pulled out from under her. One day she’d meet a man and fall in love, though next time she intended to be more careful, to be cautious and wait until her career was more well established and then … only then …

A man with three kids was not in her plan. Not only was the time not right, she had no intention of taking on an entire family. Perhaps one day she’d have a child of her own. One, when the time was right. Preferably a little girl, but a son would be acceptable. Not that she planned to rush into anything. She wasn’t yet thirty. There was plenty of time to find the right man, wait a while to make sure she wasn’t mistaken this time around, and only then, perhaps, a child.

Her life was carefully ordered, and though she’d only admitted so to a few close friends, she had a wish list for the perfect man. Among the requirements were no jocks and no kids. Jocks were often self-centered and since she wasn’t at all interested in sports that would be a problem right off the bat. Stepchildren were always a complication. Why ask for trouble?

But she’d watched Cole Donovan as he’d spoken to his children, and her heart had done a decided flip. She’d felt a flutter in her chest. She’d also felt an unexpected flutter a good bit lower. Why was it that a totally unsuitable man who obviously loved his children made her biological clock kick into gear as if it had been jump-started with an electric jolt?

The broad shoulders, big hands and blue eyes hadn’t helped matters at all. The way his jeans fit and the fascinating muscles in his forearms had been an unwanted distraction. She’d noticed that he’d recently shaved, and the sharp line of his jaw was more than a little interesting. She’d very much wanted to reach out and touch him, just lay one finger on a muscle or that nice jaw to see how warm he was, how hard.

Not only that, the way Justin had looked into her eyes as he’d made it very clear that he didn’t like lasagna had grabbed her heart and made her fight off an inappropriate smile. Hank was absolutely charming, and Meredith was a beautiful girl with vulnerability too easily seen, in spite of her attempt at cold dismissal.

His house was a mess, his kids—charming though they might occasionally be—were uncontrollable, and the disruption of having this family next door was ruining Lauren’s once neatly organized life.

But she couldn’t deny that they possessed something she didn’t. There had been so much love in the room that it had washed over her like a tidal wave. She hadn’t expected that strong emotion, hadn’t wanted it, and she certainly didn’t want to be a part of it.

Who was she kidding? She would never be a part of anything like what she’d discovered at the house next door. It wasn’t in her plan, didn’t fit into her life, and any strange compulsion she had to cook for Justin and touch Cole Donovan had to be squelched. Now.

They hadn’t had a meal like this one since they’d moved away from Birmingham and Janet’s frequent offerings. Even though Cole had told her time and time again that it wasn’t necessary for her to cook for them, he’d looked forward to the meals his sister-in-law had prepared for them. He’d tried to learn, and he had mastered a few basics, but he wasn’t a very good cook. Meredith was going to surpass him in the cooking department in no time.

Though Justin had insisted that he didn’t like lasagna, after watching his sister and brother dive into theirs he’d taken a hesitant bite. Now he was relishing his food, just as Hank and Meredith were. The frozen stuff he’d tasted a time or two couldn’t hold a candle to this.

Hank scraped the last of what was on his plate onto his fork, shoved it into his mouth, and before he swallowed he said, “I think you should date her, Dad.”

Cole automatically reminded his middle child not to talk with food in his mouth, and then he added, “I don’t date.”

“What’s a date?” Justin asked.

Meredith answered, “It’s when a boy and a girl, or a man and a woman, go out to eat and to a movie. Sometimes they might dance, or go bowling or something.” She kept her eyes on her plate.

Hank added, “And then they kiss.”

“I want to go on a date,” Justin said. “But without the kissing. Yuck. Maybe Miss Lauren would take me to the new movie with the talking hamsters and then we could get ice cream. Would that be a good date?”

Meredith took a deep breath. “You’re too young for Miss Lauren,” she said bitterly. “She wants to date Dad, which is why she brought over lasagna and dessert and stared at him like he was one of the Jonas brothers, and do you really think this food was intended for us? No, she wants to show off what a good cook she is, and how pretty she is, and if we hadn’t been here she probably would’ve jumped all over Dad and kissed him …”

“Meredith,” Cole snapped. “That’s enough.”

Hank didn’t help matters by throwing in a series of smacking sounds. Sounds that ended abruptly when Cole gave him a narrow-eyed glare.

Meredith stared at her plate, but didn’t entirely give up the fight. “First we move away from Aunt Janet and all our friends, and now we have Miss Lauren next door trying to change everything. I’ll bet if Justin threw up on her she’d run away crying just like that other woman you dated.”

Cole started to chastise his daughter again, and then he saw the lone tear running down her cheek. “That was a long time ago, Mer. I don’t date anymore. Who has the time?” And to be honest, the memory of those few dates was enough to warn him away from trying again too soon. Being a full-time dad and trying to have a social life that didn’t include his kids didn’t mix.

“Nothing’s going to change,” he said evenly. “I know the house is different, and I’m starting a new job, and you’re going to have to make all new friends here in Huntsville, but when it comes to this family …” He knew what Meredith feared, had seen it before. Of the three kids, she was the only one who remembered their mother. Hank and Justin had been too young, but Meredith had been seven. She remembered her mother. Worse, she remembered the pain of losing her mother.

“Nothing and no one will ever come between the four of us. We’re a family, and that can’t be changed.”

“We’re the Four Musketeers!” Hank said, emphasizing the importance of this designation by standing on his chair and lifting his fork high, as if it were a sword.

Great. Another fantasy that called for a cape.

“We don’t need Miss Lauren,” Meredith whispered. “We don’t need anyone.”

“No,” Cole said, his heart sinking unexpectedly. He didn’t want to live the rest of his life alone, and he sure as hell didn’t enjoy living like a monk. There was something special about Lauren Russell, something that spoke to him in a way no woman had in a very long time. He barely knew her, but since she’d come to his door fuming mad and still in her pajamas, he’d found himself thinking about her more than he should. She was cute, she was smart, she could cook, she had a really nice ass. She made him smile. What man wouldn’t think about her? But it wasn’t enough. This was his life, for now.

“We don’t need anyone.” He ordered Hank to sit and added, “Four Musketeers is enough.”