“Heck, I’m not sure they’re kids at all,” Troy said, using the hem of his T-shirt to wipe the top layer of dirt from Scotty’s forehead. “Mud puppies, maybe. Hard to tell until I hose them down.”
The boys giggled; then, hanging onto his hands, they launched into the we’re-gonna-starve-to-death moans, and Troy looked down into two sets of trusting blue eyes, and his chest twinged, as it did at least a dozen times a day. When he met Karleen’s gaze again, however, the clouds had rolled back across her expression. Heavy, leaden things that promised days and days of unrelentingly miserable weather.
“I think Nate and I had more issues than differing musical tastes,” she said, and her eyes touched his, and a great, big whoa went off in his brain.
A whoa he’d only heard once before, when a certain sleek-haired brunette had glided across his path in front of Northwestern’s library, nearly two decades before.
A certain sleek-haired brunette who wouldn’t have been caught dead with bleached hair, or her midriff exposed, or a belly-button stud, or listening to country music.
“Go feed your babies,” Karleen said softly, jerking Troy back to Planet Earth.
“Uh…yeah. Would you like to—?”
“We’ll talk about the garden when it gets warmer,” she said, then turned her back on him, ramming the shovel into the dirt so hard he could have sworn the ground vibrated underneath his feet.
At 6:00 a.m. three days later, Karleen had stumbled out of bed, slammed shut the window against the din of birdsong and stumbled back to bed. Where now, at eight, daylight sat on her face like an obnoxious cat, prodding her to get up.
Then she remembered that Troy still lived next door and she grabbed her pillow and crammed it over her head, only to realize it was impossible to suffocate yourself.
She tossed the pillow overboard, frowning at her beamed ceiling. Of all the houses for sale in Albuquerque, Troy Lindquist had to buy the one next door to hers. Was that unfair or what? Good-looking, she could ignore. Sweet, she could ignore. Sexy…she could ignore. But all three rolled into one? Lord, she felt like she was running to stay ahead of a raging wildfire—one trip, and she’d be barbecue.
Oh, sure, she could go on about her resolve to stay unattached until her tongue fell out, but neither history nor biology were on her side. Because the whole reason Karleen had ended up with the three husbands—not to mention an appalling number of “gap guys” in between—was her complete and total inability to resist a handsome, sweet-talking, testosterone-drenched male. Especially considering her very healthy sex drive. Which had been sorely neglected for far longer than she’d thought was even possible.
Yeah, it was definitely easier to keep replacing the hamsters. But now she wondered if her singlehood had less to do with any resolve on her part and more to a lack of any real temptation.
And that, she decided as the sun continued its relentless ascent, must’ve been why Mr. My-Mouth-Says-One-Thing-but-My-Eyes-Are-Saying-Something-Else-Entirely had moved in next door. You know, to test her. See if all her talk about reforming was only so much hot air. Still, maybe she couldn’t undo the past, but she sure as heck could learn from it. Although the neglected-sex-drive thing could be a problem.
Especially if it got too close to Troy’s neglected-sex-drive thing.
Karleen kicked off the wadded-up floral sheets and dragged herself out of bed, tugging at her boxer pj bottoms as she padded to the bathroom. Her cheek was creased, her eyes were puffy and her hair stuck up around her head like it’d been goosed. Lovely. She grabbed her toothbrush and squeezed out enough toothpaste for an elephant—
Wait. Was that a knock? She stepped out of the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth.
Rap, rap, rap.
Karleen quickly spit and grabbed her robe, yelling, “Who is it?” as she stomped down the hall, pulling the sash tight. One of these days she was really going to have to do something about fixing the doorbell—
“It’s Troy,” came from outside.
She made a silent Lucille Ball face, rammed her hands through her nutso hair and opened the door. And yep, there he was, even taller and more solid and—dammit—cuter than she remembered. And here she was, looking like a half-molted canary with overachieving hooters. The Volvo was parked in her driveway, full of twins. Who both waved to her, the little buggers. She waved back.
“Oh, hell,” the father of the twins said, “did I wake you?”
“Uh-uh,” she said, yawning, searching his face for signs of revulsion. Revulsion would be good. Revulsion had a way of dampening libidos. And things.
“Sorry to bother you,” Troy said, not looking terribly revulsed, “but I’ve got a huge favor to ask…no! Not to take the kids,” he said when her eyes darted back to his car. “But I’ve got an appointment to check out the Bosque View Preschool and the Home Depot guys were supposed to deliver the new washer/dryer this afternoon, only they called about five minutes ago and said they were coming this morning instead, and I don’t know if I’ll be back by the time they get here. So I wondering if you could possibly let them in…?”
Then a breeze made her shiver, and two layers of thin jersey were no match for the Twin Peaks on her chest, and Troy didn’t even try to avert his gaze and Karleen didn’t even try to pretend not to notice, and his eyes lifted to hers and things got real quiet for several seconds while everybody contemplated what was going on here.
“It’s—” She cleared the dozen or so frogs out of her throat. “It’s okay, scandalizing the Home Depot delivery-men isn’t on my list this morning,” she said, and he said, “Their loss,” and she said, “I don’t have any appointments until after lunch, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Silence. Then: “You’re a lifesaver.”
“So I’ve been told,” she said, and they stared at each other until one of the kids yelled, “Dad-deeee!” and Troy seemed to shudder back from wherever men go when their blood has shifted south and said, “I just didn’t want to rush things. Checking out the school, I mean.”
He glanced back at the boys, totally reverted to Daddy-mode. The mixture of worry and adoration in his expression made her tummy flutter. Or maybe that was hunger. Then his gaze returned to hers. Nope. Not hunger. Not that kind, anyway. “This will be their third day-care situation in six months,” he said, reeking of guilt. “I’m hoping this one will be the last until they start kindergarten. They’ve been real troupers, but I know it’s been rough on them, constantly having their routine disrupted.”
A philosophy to which Karleen’s mother had obviously not subscribed, she thought bitterly.
“Did you say Bosque View?” she now said. “Joanna’s got her youngest there, he loves it. If that makes you feel any better.”
“It does. It sucks, being the new guy in town.”
Tell me about it, she thought as Troy dug a house key out of his pocket and handed it over. “I’ve left a note on the door that you’ll let them in,” he said, backing away. “The machines go in the garage,” he called out, then ducked behind the wheel, and she waved, and then they were gone and she stared at the Troy-warmed key in her hand and felt that wildfire about to singe her pj bottoms right off her butt.
The Home Depot truck was still in Troy’s driveway when he returned, sans children, around ten. Meaning that, he presumed, Karleen was still there, as well.
One of those good news, bad news kind of things.
Troy sat in the car for a good ten seconds, his chin crunched in his palm, mentally ticking off all the reasons why he needed to get over this idiotic attraction to the woman. Why acting on some chemically induced urging was pointless. If not downright stupid.
He