Her sister had always said he was the Romeo type, but Abby knew better. He might very well be a good-time lover to many, but he was a true love to no one. Jack Kimball was your everyday, garden variety Casanova.
Since she’d decided on her menu choices long ago, she took another opportunity to scrutinize him. There was nothing spectacular about his looks—she’d seen men more handsome who didn’t hold her attention for longer than the bat of an eyelash. But Jack had something unique.
He was lean and wiry, and his sun-kissed brown hair waved wildly around his head. His style of dress tended toward the casual. Even at the wedding he’d loosened his tie before the last “I Do.” He didn’t work too hard on his appearance.
But his sky-blue eyes were nice, and probably responsible for half his appeal.
But it wasn’t their hue she noticed, it was their expression. Thick lashes framed eyes that drank you in as if he’d never get his fill of your beauty.
If you were the one lucky enough to have caught his attention, that is. For a brief moment in time.
The waitress returned with her pad and pencil. “I see your date arrived,” she said, smiling at Abby now. “No wonder you waited so long.”
Abby looked back across the table just in time to catch Jack’s wink at the young girl. Abby snorted, and said, “He’s not my date.”
“Really?” The girl smiled brightly at Jack. “Are you ready to order?”
Abby refused to be ignored. She was the lady; she would order first. “I’ll have the roast chicken salad,” she said, breaking into their mutual rapport. “Vinegar and oil on the side, and a glass of your house white wine.”
The waitress wrote frantically. When she was finished, she grinned at Jack again.
He looked across at Abby with a thoughtful frown, then back down at the menu. After a few seconds of silence, it became obvious that he wasn’t ready to order.
Abby expected the waitress to hurry off to the kitchen to accomplish something while her prized patron made a decision, but she did no such thing. She seemed perfectly willing to just stand there, staring at Jack.
Finally, he rubbed his chin and said, “I’ll have the steak, medium rare. Loaded potato. Bring a salad with the meal, ranch dressing on that… Oh—and bring me a bottle of your best stout beer.”
“Will do. Thank you, sir,” said the girl, who was probably still in her teens. He had absolutely no business flirting with her, but he flashed her a smile when she took their menus, and kept watching as she sidled away.
After the waitress was out of earshot, Abby lifted world-weary eyes to Jack’s. “Doesn’t take you long to do that.”
“To do what, Abby?”
“To make a killing with the ladies,” she said, shaking her head. “Or do a snow job.”
“I was only being polite.”
“Uh-huh,” she muttered, picking up her water glass for the umpteenth time.
Jack sighed audibly, commanding her attention again. “Is that why you asked me to dinner? To insult me?”
She echoed his sigh as she set her glass back down. “I wanted to ask you about the hearing tomorrow.”
“What about it?”
Abby crossed her fingers in her lap. “Have you been asked to take custody of Wyatt?”
Jack picked up his own water glass and took a sip, peering at her over its frosty rim. “Are we supposed to be discussing that?”
“Come on, Jack,” she said. “It has to be you or your mother. Paige always told me your mom was busy with her second family. So that leaves you. It has to be you.”
“What if it is?”
“Stop it!”
“Stop what, Abby Rose?”
“Asking questions,” she said. “Answer my questions with answers.” Fidgeting with the lapel of her jacket, she forced herself to take a calming breath. She forced herself to wait. Again.
Jack set his glass down, contemplating it soberly. When he looked up again, the shadows were back in his eyes. “Yes, Brian named me in the will.”
Abby stretched her hand toward him, resting it on the tabletop. “But you’re not going to do it, are you?”
He covered her hand with his own, evoking a sudden heat that caused a spasm in the core of her body. She felt suddenly needy and aroused.
She slid her hand away, placing it in her lap. But it still tingled from his touch, and making a fist didn’t help.
Uncomfortable with her body’s betrayal, she forced her mind to return to the question at hand. She was rather shocked that she could think of sex when something as essential as a baby’s future was in question.
Finally, he said, “To be honest, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Abby was grateful for his candor. Truly, she was. But she needed absolute assurances. “I want custody of both twins. They need to be together,” she announced.
His troubled stare rested on some spot beyond her shoulder. “I don’t want to separate them any more than you do,” he finally said. “But I can’t just sign them out of my life. Wyatt’s my godson.”
“Wyatt is five months old,” Abby said. “He’d be better off with me.”
“He’s five and a half months old, and he’d be better off if his parents hadn’t just died.”
She flinched at his bluntness, but dived right into the fray. “I’m the next best thing, and I want him.”
Jack didn’t respond. Something past her head had caught his interest again.
The waitress had arrived with their orders, interrupting a second brawl at their table by the window. “Here you go, sir,” she said as she placed Jack’s meal in front of him. “Let me know if your steak isn’t perfection itself.”
Then she flopped Abby’s plate down and said, “Pepper?”
“Yes, please.”
The redhead pulled a pepper mill from her apron pocket and twisted it over the salad. When Abby motioned for her to stop, the waitress looked at Jack and asked, “Do you like things spicy, sir?”
Jack shook his head, so the young woman dropped the mill into her pocket, smiled at him one more time and disappeared toward the back of the restaurant.
He picked up his knife and fork to begin cutting into his steak. Abby thought it was just like him to attack his meat first, leaving his salad for later. Although she’d been around him only a few times, she knew he didn’t pay much heed to social niceties. He did what he wanted.
She worked that tidbit of knowledge around in her brain, looking for criticism. Instead, she found nothing but respect for his mettle.
She nibbled at her own salad, letting him eat in peace for a few minutes. Maybe he’d be more amenable when his appetite had been appeased.
After she’d finished most of her meal, she began to deliberate on her next words. She wanted to frame them carefully, seeking the best way of convincing him.
“Do you realize you haven’t even asked about the twins?” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but having done so, she raised her brows in challenge and waited.
Jack looked up, chewing a mouthful of food and frowning.
After he swallowed, he said, “I knew you’d taken them home, and I was trusting you to care for them until this