Just the sound of his name made Maggie’s heart skip a beat. “I suppose he wouldn’t have to wear a bag over his head in public.”
“Not to be insensitive, Maggie. After all, I’m a widow, too. Also not blind. Take it from me, a man who looks like he does would have an almost nun thinking twice about taking final vows. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
“Of course I did.” And even if she were blind, there would be no way not to notice the gravelly sex appeal lingering in his deep voice. “But you watched TV with him. What was that like?”
“He’s not just a pretty face. I can tell you that. Seems to know his stuff and, quite frankly, he took a lot of the joy and mystery out of what those TV construction guys do.”
“So it was like watching a medical show with a doctor who tells you how they’re doing CPR all wrong?”
“Exactly.” Josie grinned. “Still, he seems like a nice man. I wouldn’t believe all that stuff about him in the tabloids.”
“I sort of liked that story about him owning houses all over the world and swimming naked with the model.”
“It does give one an image,” Josie admitted.
“Did you ask him? Hanging out watching a house-flipping show seems like the perfect time to find out what inquiring minds want to know.”
“It didn’t occur to me, what with him talking about all the ways those TV guys could have reduced waste, pollution and environmental degradation.”
A piercing wail from the high chair interrupted the fascinating conversation. What Josie had just said made Maggie even more curious than she’d already been, but now wasn’t the time to pursue it. Danielle needed attention.
“Are you thirsty, baby girl?” She grabbed a sippy cup from the cupboard and filled it with milk. She handed it to her daughter, who eagerly stuck the spout in her mouth and drank. “So he’s a green builder?”
“Who?” There was a twinkle in Josie’s blue eyes as she stirred up eggs, veggies and seasoning in a bowl.
“Sloan. Unless there’s a man you’re hiding under the bed, Miss—”
“Good morning.”
That gravelly, deep, sexy voice belonged to the man they’d just been talking about. Maggie exchanged a guilty glance with Josie but couldn’t manage to come up with anything to say to him.
The sippy cup hit the wooden floor, interrupting the awkward silence. Maggie quickly stirred the potatoes before hurrying to her daughter, who was starting to squirm against the belt holding her in. Along with the high-pitched whining, it was clear the little girl wanted out. Maggie undid the strap and lifted the child from the high chair then tried to put her down. Danielle was having none of that and the screech kicked up a notch.
Please, not today, little one, Maggie silently begged. The man was accustomed to five-star hotels, and a two-year-old’s temper tantrum wasn’t the optimal way to put their best foot forward.
“Mommy has to finish cooking breakfast,” she whispered. But Danielle shook her head and clung for all she was worth.
“I’ll take her.” Josie walked over with her arms outstretched, but the little girl buried her face against Maggie’s shoulder.
She looked at Sloan. “I’m really sorry about this. I’ll get her settled down and food will be on the table in no time.”
“There’s no rush. Although I’d love some coffee.”
“It’s made. I’ll just put some in a carafe and you can have it in the dining room. Cups and saucers are already out—”
“A mug is fine.” He walked over to the coffeemaker and grabbed one of the mugs hanging from an under-the-cupboard hook. After pouring the steaming dark liquid, he blew on it, then took a sip. “Good.”
Danielle had lifted her head at the sound of the deep voice and was intently studying the stranger. Her uncle Brady visited regularly, but other than him, a man in this house was a rare occurrence.
Maggie tried to put the little girl down again and got another strong, squealing protest. “Well, it’s not the first time I’ve cooked with this little girl on my hip, and it probably won’t be the last.”
“Maybe I can help.” Sloan set his mug on the granite island beside them and held out his arms.
“She doesn’t go to strangers,” Maggie said.
“It’s worth a try.” He held out his arms. “Hey, Shorty, what’s up?”
The little girl silently stared at him, probably didn’t know what to make of a man in the kitchen. Maggie braced for an earsplitting protest, but after a moment’s hesitation, Danielle went to him and settled her chubby little arm around his neck. Then she touched the collar of his white cotton shirt. Obviously the man had a way with women of all ages. The shock had Maggie blinking at him, until she remembered that her daughter’s hands were unwashed and still grubby.
“Oh, no—she’s dirty. I’ll get a washcloth—”
Sloan looked down at the banana streaks on his white shirt and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll wash it for you.”
“Whatever.” He grinned when the child put her hands on his face and turned it to look at her. “You rang?”
She pointed in the general direction of the backyard. “Go ’side?”
Sloan met Maggie’s gaze. “Is it okay if I take her out?”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know. But I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. Is it all right with you?”
“Yes,” she said helplessly.
“Okay, then. Let’s go, Shorty.”
Maggie’s heart melted at the sight of the big man carrying her little girl out of the room.
“I don’t remember any story in the tabloids about him having kids,” Josie said. “But he sure is good with yours.”
“I noticed.”
Charming, good with kids and not hard on the eyes. Sloan Holden was a triple threat. But he must have a flaw. Every man did.
In Sloan’s opinion, Danielle Potter was the spitting image of her mother, minus the wariness in her big brown eyes. Or maybe it was sadness. Losing a husband must have been rough, especially the part where she was raising a child on her own. He set the little girl down on the patio and her feet had barely touched the ground before she headed for the grass, still wet with morning dew. It was early March, not quite spring, and a bit chilly. But the sun was shining in a clear blue sky that promised a beautiful day ahead.
He’d never before been responsible for a child. Ever. How hard could it be? Glancing around the big yard made him glad it was fenced in and the wrought iron bars were too close together for the toddler to squeeze through. He knew because that was the first thing she tried. After a quick check, he was satisfied that the gates on either side were secure and there would be no escape that way.
Sloan watched her squat and touch something with her tiny, probing finger. Bug? Snake? In two long strides he was beside her. “Whatcha got there, Shorty?”
She pointed to something he couldn’t see and a stream of unintelligible sounds came out of her mouth. The expression on her face said she was looking for an appropriate response from him, but he had nothing. That happened when the party with whom you were conversing spoke a