“Out of state, last I heard. She has visitation but has never exercised that right, nor do I expect she will anytime soon.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Not really. Most women become mothers the day their children are born. It never happened to my ex-wife.”
“So you’ve been taking care of Katie all on your own? What about when you’re working?”
“There hasn’t been much of that. My attention was drawn elsewhere when my family started disintegrating.” He wouldn’t tell her he’d become a brooding, isolated recluse. And by the time he’d realized it, his business was almost in ashes. He’d pulled himself out of it and was now ready to get things back on track.
“My crew disbanded. I’ve been doing odd jobs here and there. A neighbor has been caring for Katie sometimes. I don’t like this arrangement. She needs stability and consistency. And a woman’s loving touch.”
He sneered to himself. Something he, personally, would never need again in his lifetime.
Abby considered what he’d said. How bad could a man be with that line of thinking? He would probably be very good for the boys. And they definitely needed a gentle yet immovable force in their lives. Lately she’d found herself giving in too easily to their demands because she felt she had to make up for them not having a father.
“Do you drink or smoke?”
Again his grin was quick, his look one of toleration. Without hesitation, he answered easily. “I’ve been known to suck down a cold beer or two after mowing the grass and light up a good Havana late at night when I’m sitting on the porch or to keep the gnats away. But I also can grill a heck of a stackburger, toss hoops till I drop and I know all the secrets of successful fishing. I’ve pulled some good eating out of Molly’s Hole over in Sharpsburg.”
He winked at her, and Abby found the intimacy of the gesture sweep clear through her. She brushed the back of her warming neck, pushing damp curls back into the ponytail.
“Okay, this is a quiz.” She smiled at him and sat back. “If one of the boys came home from school with a black eye, given to him by the school bully, how would you handle it?”
Once more, his answer was instantaneous and without doubt. And delivered with a sparkle in his eye. “I’d explain that talking is sometimes better than fighting. Then I’d take him into the backyard and teach him the good ol’ sucker punch—just in case the words didn’t work.”
Abigail hid a smile. “Your views on homework? TV before or after?”
Jack pulled his daughter back on his lap after she slid to the floor and reached out for a china doll that sat on the coffee table.
“Television? Kids should be outside doing things. It’s probably best they get their homework over with so the evening is free.”
“Would you help them with their homework or expect them to figure it out on their own?”
His gaze met hers directly. “I hate homework, but I’d help to a point. I’m sure you do.” He waited patiently for her to deny it. She couldn’t.
“I hope this never happens, but what if you all come home from the store together and you find that one of the kids hasn’t paid for something?”
“Lifted it? Easy. They take it back, apologize. All that Opie Taylor stuff. I’m an honest man, Mrs. Roberts, and I plan on raising honest kids.”
If she had met this man at a party—before her bitter experience with her deceased husband, that is—she would have been fascinated by him immediately. Humor lurked in his eyes, and his easy good nature and confidence were nice to be around.
Little Katie sighed, yawned and leaned back against her dad, her eyes drifting closed. Jack shifted her so she was in a more prone position and added a little bounce with his knee. Abby didn’t miss how natural the movement came to him.
Abigail let the offer roll off her tongue before she could stop it. “I have a couple of spare rooms. You could put her down on one of the beds if you like.”
“Thanks.” He stood up and picked up the dozing child.
Abby led the way, pausing as he headed into one of the spare rooms. Watching from the doorway, she became absorbed in the way this huge man bent, laid the little sleep-limp body down and pulled her shoes off. He glanced around the room and, finding a chair, pulled it over and jammed it against the side of the bed to keep her from rolling off. He pulled a corner of the bedspread over her.
He glanced up just in time to catch Abby staring at him. She couldn’t pull her gaze from his quickly enough. What was this awareness that danced between them? Something so bright…like some bright orange sunspot. Perhaps it was simply a level of understanding about what the other was going through. A familiarity. That was all. Wasn’t it?
The timer went off in the kitchen. Saved by the bell. Abby had forgotten all about the cookies. She scooted toward the back of the house, glad something had jerked her attention back to the here and now.
Jack caught up to her and wound his way through the huge house behind her, recognizing expensive Oriental rugs and Queen Anne furniture. The house smelled of lemon-scented polish and wildflowers.
He liked the way she was dressed. A white sleeveless top was tucked into her well-worn jeans. She wore white sandals that accented her tanned tiny feet. He thought those feet might just fit right in the palm of his hand. Her reddish brown hair swung in a long ponytail that reached to her belt and was tied off with a green ribbon, teasing him to touch it. He wondered what all that gorgeous hair would look like swinging free, falling around her shoulders. She smelled of honeysuckle. Jack Murdock breathed deeply.
The kitchen was bright and spacious, and Jack found himself looking around with genuine interest. There were pictures drawn by the kids pressed to the refrigerator with cartoon-character magnets. Two lunch boxes waited on the countertop to be filled. A tennis racket leaned against the wall, a few strings curled loose. A broken remote-control car was in numerous pieces on one end of the long table that sat in the center of the room. A lone daisy drooped from its perch in a jelly glass converted to vase. An apple, with one small bite taken out of it, teetered near the edge of the countertop.
Home. The word shouted at him.
Jack watched as she bent down to pull the cookie sheet from the oven. She picked up the fresh, hot cookies with a spatula and transferred them from the aluminum onto a piece of wax paper to cool. The aroma made Jack’s mouth water. Her movements made his mind wander.
He appreciated the room. Like a page from Good Housekeeping, it was a lived-in space. Oak furniture. A long, rectangular table with claw feet was surrounded by eight ladder-back chairs. Gleaming copper pots hung in a circle over the bright orange island center. Dark green ivy grew in shiny brass pots suspended from the dark-stained wood beams overhead. The glint of silver, the glisten of china and the sparkle of crystal winked at him from the grand antique mahogany sideboard.
He had never been poor but he knew what kind of money it took to build and maintain a home like this. And what kind of care.
A glass wall looked out over the backyard. He moved to it and watched as three kids and a woman splashed around in the Olympic-sized swimming pool. Lucky kids. There was abundance in this house. And love. He could almost feel it, hanging in the air like mist after a rain. Whatever Abigail Roberts was doing, she was obviously doing it right.
When they had discussed the interview on the phone, she had revealed it was a single-parent home. Widow. But unlike his daughter, the brothers had each other.
Abby sensed a harmony. A strange addition. A man in her kitchen. It was a split thing; part of it was uncomfortable and part of it was like the scattered pieces of a puzzle falling right smack into place. His simple presence added something to the formula here. Assurance. Safety. Consistency.
Anticipation?