The dull drumming behind his eyes took on a mean edge.
Connor wanted his daughters to have a woman’s influence in their lives, a mother figure even. But Olivia Scott?
He’d never thought of her that way.
Well, except that one time he’d forced himself to forget, because there had been nothing to remember.
Or so he’d told himself.
But, now, looking back, he wondered...
He’d been in his senior year at University of Colorado, home for a short visit before final exams. Sheila had just given him an ultimatum: Propose or let her go.
She’d been the love of his life, the only girl he’d ever dated. He’d never intended anything other than marrying her. But his plan had been to finish medical school before settling down.
Sheila hadn’t wanted to wait.
Confused and angry at being pushed into a decision before he was ready, Connor had stopped by the Scott home to speak with Ethan. He’d needed his friend’s perspective.
Ethan hadn’t been home.
Olivia had. She’d been sixteen at the time, maybe seventeen, still a girl. But there’d been a moment when Connor had seen the promise of the woman she would become. It hadn’t been attraction, not exactly, but it hadn’t been indifference, either.
More like a...hmmm.
He’d felt the same shocked wonder again just now in the kitchen.
How did he reconcile the shift from mild curiosity to—
Samson scrambled into his lap, sufficiently averting his attention. The animal’s paws were covered in wet, sticky mud, as now were Connor’s khakis. He picked up the squirming bundle of tawny fur. The puppy’s legs pumped hard.
Connor tightened his grip.
“Sorry, Daddy.” Megan frowned at the dog. “He sort of fell in a mud puddle.”
Connor gave a soft, humorless sigh. Samson sort of fell into a lot of mishaps. The dog was a walking, yipping disaster magnet.
Straining against Connor’s hold, the mutt leaned forward and licked Connor’s face. “Not cool.”
Samson gave him another lick, followed by a big puppy grin.
“Really not cool.”
Olivia slipped her head out the back door, saving the dog from a good scolding. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Be right there.” Connor set the puppy on the ground, held him steady with a hand on his back. “Can one of you toss me a towel from the mudroom?”
“On it,” Molly announced, shuffling past him.
“I’ll get Samson’s dinner ready,” Megan offered.
“That’d be great.”
The door slammed behind the girls. Then swung back open a second later. “Here you go, Daddy.”
A rag sailed through the air. Connor caught it with one hand and immediately went to work wiping the mutt’s paws.
Once Samson’s feet were dry, and Connor’s pants were relatively mud free, he brought the puppy in the house and set him in front of his dish.
He dove in snout-first, all but inhaling the food.
Shaking his head at the little glutton, Connor went to wash his hands, then stopped as he caught sight of the table off to his left. “I only count three place settings.”
“That’s right.” Hands full with a bubbling casserole, Olivia glanced over her shoulder. “One for each family member.”
“Aren’t you eating with us?”
Setting the dish down on a hot pad, she turned to face him directly. “Does Carlotta eat with you?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not eating with you, either.”
Probably for the best. Yet her response didn’t sit well with him. She’d worked hard making dinner for him and the girls, without being asked. The gesture had been a kind one, a thoughtful one. She should enjoy the spoils of her efforts. “Carlotta doesn’t eat with us because she prefers to dine with her husband in the evenings.”
“I see.”
Did she?
Apparently not.
He was going to have to be more specific. “Join us for dinner, Olivia.”
He waited for her response. When she simply stared at him, he wondered if she had another commitment. His shoulders bunched at the thought, but again, he couldn’t explain the odd reaction. “Unless you have other plans?”
“No.” She gave a short laugh. “No plans.”
The knot forming between his shoulder blades released. “Then it’s settled.”
They smiled at each other, neither moving, neither speaking. For a single heartbeat, Connor allowed himself to stare at her, to see her as a woman separate from his friend’s kid sister. Strangely drawn to her, he reached out, but then dropped his hand as old loyalties tugged and twisted inside him.
The air between them grew thick with tension, and something else, something that went beyond words. A silent promise of things Connor had long ago forgotten to hope for?
Stunned by the direction of his thoughts, he transferred his weight from one foot to the other.
Olivia shifted to her left.
They broke eye contact simultaneously.
“I’ll put the drinks on the table,” she said, hurrying around him.
The odd moment was gone. Nothing but a memory now, and Connor couldn’t have been more relieved.
* * *
Dinner turned out to be far more relaxed than Olivia had expected, especially given the earlier strain between her and Connor. The awkwardness between them made an odd sort of sense. Although they shared a history and their families had been friends for generations, they were veritable strangers.
Determined to keep the mood light, Olivia told stories about her life in Florida. She skimmed over the part about her job loss and breakup with her boyfriend. Instead, she focused on what she did when she had a rare day off.
“I lived in Atlantic Beach, a small town just east of Jacksonville. My house was one block from the beach, so I spent a lot of time there.”
“We’ve never seen the ocean,” Megan said on a sigh. Molly agreed with a solemn head bob, then asked, “Can you surf?”
Olivia laughed. “Very poorly, but I can boogie-board.”
“What’s that?” the girls asked at the same time.
“A much simpler way to catch a wave. You lie flat on a short, foam slab and ride along on your belly. It’s sort of like...” she searched for a Colorado equivalent. “...sledding.”
“Fun.”
“Very.”
“All right, girls, that’s enough questions for one night.” Picking up the near-empty casserole dish, Connor stood. “Time to clear the table and load the dishwasher.”
Olivia hopped to her feet and reached for the dish in Connor’s hand. “Allow me.”
“Absolutely not.” Connor held up a hand to ward off an argument. “You cooked. We clean.”
“That’s the rule in the Mitchell household,”