She didn’t think for one minute he honestly believed she was chasing him, because she hadn’t flirted even once. Sure, she’d appreciated his physique a time or two. Who wouldn’t? But unless he had eyes in the back of his head, he hadn’t caught her looking, so that didn’t count.

      He had to have been trying to avoid Rhett, and since she and Rhett were practically joined at the hip…annoying her meant avoiding his half brother.

      She’d decided she’d have to follow through with her plan—regardless of Mitch’s irritating comments—if she wanted the males to get to know each other better. With a thirty-something-year age gap between them, Mitch and Rhett would never have the close bond Carly had shared with Marlene. But the brothers had to start somewhere.

      A salt-scented breeze blowing in from the water lifted the skirt of the simple peach sundress she’d donned for dinner. She smoothed the fabric back in place. Dresses. Ick. Give her a tracksuit or running shorts and a tank any day. Carly had been the jock in their family. Marlene had been the girly girl.

      A wave of sadness swamped her. Carly lifted her chin and inhaled deeply, trying to alleviate the emptiness. The mouthwatering aromas of grilling swordfish with citrus salsa and marinated vegetables filled her nostrils. Her stomach growled with hunger. Mitch would be home soon and they’d have their first family dinner.

      She dug her bare toes into the thick grass. So she’d dressed up. Big deal. The evening sun burned down on them, and her outfit would be cooler than pants. If Mitch wanted to make something out of it, fine. Time would prove him wrong. She wasn’t looking for a lover, or a sugar daddy or anything remotely resembling either one. Her broken engagement had left her too raw to think about another romantic entanglement.

      She caught the ball and rolled it back to Rhett. Rhett needed her. Sure, having someone depend on her for everything both frightened and overwhelmed her, but she wouldn’t let down Rhett or Marlene. Or herself. This time she wouldn’t let anyone convince her to take the easy way out. This time she would be the parent she should have been twelve years ago.

      The sound of the back door gliding open drew her gaze to the house. Mitch stepped onto the patio. With his eyes narrowed against the setting sun and his hands parked on his hips, he scanned the backyard like a lord surveying his property. He zeroed in on them and her pulse did something wonky. What was up with that?

      She touched Rhett’s shoulder. “Look who’s here.”

      Rhett beamed and shouted, “Bubba. Ball.”

      Mitch grimaced and Carly didn’t even bother to smother her grin as her nephew chugged forward. Mitch clearly hated the nickname—which is probably why Carly had practiced it with Rhett since she’d picked him up from day care.

      “Evening, Mitch.”

      Mitch’s lips flatlined and his attention returned to her. A breeze off the water lifted his glossy dark hair. “Where is Mrs. Duncan?”

      “I gave her the day off.”

      His scowl deepened. “Carly, that wasn’t your decision.”

      “Ball, bubba,” Rhett said before hurling the red sphere.

      Mitch caught it and tossed it back—gently, Carly was surprised to see. He fisted his hands by his sides. “I won’t tolerate you interfering with the household staff.”

      “Why shouldn’t the woman have time off?”

      “She has scheduled days off.”

      “Sorry, but her younger sister didn’t conveniently need emergency gallbladder surgery on Della’s scheduled day off. Della wanted to be there and I thought she should. They need to spend time together while they can.” Because you never knew how much time you had left with a loved one.

      The stiffness eased from his rigid face and shoulders. “Why didn’t you say her sister was ill?”

      “You didn’t ask.” She transferred the fish and vegetables from the top rack of the grill to a platter, then covered it.

      “What is that?”

      “Our dinner. We’re eating outside. The weather is too gorgeous to be cooped up inside.”

      “It’s eighty-five.”

      “But the humidity is low for a change and there’s a great breeze blowing in off the water. Shed your jacket and you’ll be comfortable.” She set the platter in the center of the wrought-iron and glass table and pulled the shrimp cocktails from the cooler she’d tucked underneath.

      She’d never known there were special bowls or forks to serve the appetizer. This morning when Mrs. Duncan had produced the stemless martini-ish glasses that rested inside crystal globes filled with ice, Carly had had to ask what they were. The special dishes were just one of the many contrasts between the Kincaid’s überrich world and her working-class ways. When she had shrimp cocktail, it came on a black plastic deli tray from the grocery store.

      “Have a seat and help yourself.” She flicked a hand toward a chair.

      Mitch laid the folded newspaper he carried beside the plate on the opposite side of the rectangular table from Rhett and hung his suit coat over the back of his chair. “You cooked?”

      “Yes. But don’t worry. That’s parsley on the squash and zucchini, not arsenic. There’s wine if you want it.”

      Mitch lifted a dark eyebrow. “You’re not drinking?”

      She shook her head. “We’re going running later.”

      He didn’t open the bottle, but instead filled his and her water goblets from the insulated pitcher on the table.

      She buckled Rhett into his high chair, wiped his hands and then served his diced grilled cheese sandwich. She added a spoonful of green peas and some of the grilled veggies so he could practice his fine motor skills.

      Rhett attacked his food as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.

      Mitch eyed his half brother and then pulled out her chair, showing he did have some manners. “You shouldn’t have waited.”

      She shrugged and sat. “Rhett only looks like he’s starving. He had a snack two hours ago. And for him to get a sense of family, we should eat together whenever possible.”

      Mitch’s expression closed like a slamming door.

      “No matter how hectic things were when Marlene and I were growing up, my mother insisted on family dinners. It’s a great way to unwind and catch up on what everyone else is doing.”

      Suspicion entered Mitch’s eyes. “Carly—”

      “Shut up and eat, Mitch, before the ice under your shrimp melts. Contrary to your high opinion of yourself, this is not a date.”

      Wincing, she reached for her napkin. So much for maintaining peace. She’d just bonked him over the head with the olive branch she’d hoped to extend. But his distrustful glares really rubbed her the wrong way.

      “I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for me being rude. But it’s just dinner. Della already had most of the meal prepared before her sister called. Cooking it was no big deal.”

      Mitch stared at her in silence as if weighing the truth of her words, and then he nodded and started on his shrimp. Carly dug into hers, savoring the citrus tang of Mrs. Duncan’s marinade. She caught herself watching the absurdly sensual sight of Mitch’s straight white teeth biting into the shrimp and his lips surrounding the meat.

      Get a grip. Kincaid is not on tonight’s or any other night’s menu. Remember how he treated Marlene?

      She polished off her appetizer and reached for the main course. Mitch followed suit, piling large helpings of fish and vegetables on his plate. He devoured his meal almost as ravenously as Rhett had, but with the perfect form of one who’d had etiquette lessons. She wondered who’d taught him the fine art of eating politely.