Her husband shook his head and rolled his eyes but gathered his spirited wife into his arms and kissed the top of her golden head. Tricia was still amazed by the transformation Charity had undergone when, first, she’d met Rick and, more importantly, she’d met the Lord close up. Even now the couple were still acting like newlyweds after more than two years. Charity gazed up lovingly at her husband before turning back to Tricia.
“Don’t listen to him. He hates it when I set people up. He thinks I’m bad at it.”
“Especially when you set up a friend with some guy somebody tried to set you up with a few years back.”
“Jealous?” Charity gave him a sidelong glance. “Ignore him. I never went out with Brett. It’s just that Jenny is dying for her brother to meet someone nice.”
At the look of constrained curiosity, Tricia took pity on her matchmaker. “Sorry, there’s not much to say. I met him, but we didn’t go out yet. We had to reschedule.”
Brett probably wouldn’t have told the same story, but Tricia had given the gist of it. And no matter how uncomfortable it would be to go out after their embarrassing meeting, she’d resigned herself to going through with it. She owed him that much.
“Oh, that’s too bad. When are you going? Have you decided what the two of you are going to do? Do you need us to watch the kids?”
Peppered by Charity’s questions, Tricia felt a direct hit from the last one, which probably would have required her to tell the rest of the story about the date that didn’t happen. “No,” she answered too quickly. “I mean…I already asked Hannah.”
Charity’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to say something else, but Rick put his arm around her again. “Remember, sweetheart, matchmaking doesn’t give you rights to all the details.” He pressed his wife against his shoulder and turned to Tricia, his expression serious. “You’re probably not into this stuff, anyway.”
Once again, Rick had come to her rescue, the same way he’d been doing since Rusty died—both emotionally and financially. As much as she hated continuing to rely on him when she should have stood firmly on her own two size seven-and-a-half narrows, she appreciated the support. Losing Rusty had devastated them both. And Rick was probably no more prepared to watch her date other men than she was to begin a social life. His loyalty to his best friend’s memory was still too strong.
“It’s okay,” she said when Rick seemed to expect Tricia to agree with his assumption about her reluctance to begin dating. “We haven’t made firm plans yet.”
Charity nodded. Tricia waved as the couple moved past her toward the exit. Finally, she let go of the breath she’d been holding. Didn’t anyone understand that she was happy? Maybe not ecstatic, but she was content. How many people could say that? She had a nice home, a good church family, three beautiful children and a good start on a self-supportive future. It was enough for her. She just wished it was enough for all of her friends.
Brett took a deep, calming breath as he shuffled up the walk to the tiny white house, more nervous than he’d ever been for a date. A dozen times in the last six days, he’d considered canceling, worried that he was way out of his league dating a widowed mom. He’d even phoned Tuesday to call it off, but at the first sound of her voice, and the corresponding shiver in his spine, he’d heard himself firming up plans for their Friday date instead. Later, he’d scrambled to make sure his dad hadn’t offered the tickets to someone else.
As he reached the front door, it flew open and a barefoot Max zipped out onto the porch. Then the boy stopped himself and extended his hand, as if he’d been carefully coached. “Hi, Mr. Brett.”
“How ya doing, Max?” Brett gripped his hand. “Isn’t the cement cold?”
“It’s April now. That’s almost summer. When it’s sunny, we’ll go swimming.”
He returned the boy’s grin but doubted his logic. Around chilly southeast Michigan, he didn’t see any point in putting on a swimsuit until at least mid-June. Even now, his lined jacket felt no warmer than a wind-breaker. He hauled the boy into his arms and opened the storm door.
A trim blonde with a long ponytail hurried across the living room and jerked to a stop in front of Brett. “Maxwell Thomas Williams, I told you not to go out that door in bare feet. What will your mother say?”
The smile on the young woman’s lips took some of the steam from her firm tone. “You be good, or we won’t watch movies and eat popcorn when your mom leaves.”
Too busy to listen, Max tore to the kitchen table, where his brother and sister were playing a board game. A chorus of moans filtered back to the living room.
The young woman glanced over her shoulder before turning back and extending her hand. “You must be Brett. Hi, I’m Hannah Woods, the baby-sitter.”
“Good to meet you.” As Brett shook her tiny hand, he wondered if she would be strong enough to handle the three Williams kids. But then he remembered that their mother was far smaller than this woman.
“Tricia will be out in a minute.”
“Great.”
He scanned the living room where a sofa, a television and an easy chair shared space with a smattering of framed family photos and snapshots on side tables and walls. All but the most recent shots featured a rusty-haired man with a friendly smile. Brett tried to keep a cool, mental distance from the pictures, only observing that he’d found the origin of the boys’ hair color. But he couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.
“That was my daddy. He died,” Lani said, pointing out the obvious, as she showed up beside him wearing fuzzy pink pajamas and smelling of baby shampoo.
“They’re nice pictures.” He hoped it was enough because he could find nothing better to say.
It must have been because the child then skipped around the partial wall that separated the living room from the eat-in kitchen, and rolled the die for her turn, adding a leg to her bug’s body in the game. Next to her, Rusty, Jr. pointedly refused to glance at the guest in the living room.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brett saw movement from the hall, and when he would have expected a petite brunette, he saw only an even tinier Cindy Lou Who look-alike with blond ponytails and huge, dramatic green eyes.
Something in his gut clenched. Four? He was having a hard enough time reconciling the idea of going out with a woman who had three kids. But four?
“She’s mine,” Hannah said quickly. “That’s Rebecca.” The child looked up at her name being spoken but scrambled off to play under the kitchen table.
“Oh.”
He wondered how he could have missed the resemblance now that she’d clarified it. Relief must have registered in his expression because Hannah smiled. He would have taken time to study the young woman, who couldn’t have been old enough to be that child’s mother, if not for the second person who appeared in the hallway.
Tricia wasn’t dressed particularly fancy, just a pair of fitted jeans and a prim, turquoise sweater set. It pleased him that she had taken extra effort with her makeup—which she didn’t need—and had clipped her hair back at her nape. Her hairstyle revealed a long expanse of perfect, fair skin on her neck.
Brett’s mouth went dry. Until she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, he wasn’t even aware he’d been staring. What was he doing, acting like an infatuated teenager? He was neither, so he’d better get a grip before people started making mistaken assumptions.
She cleared her throat and glanced at the children playing in the kitchen before turning back to him. “Am I dressed okay? I’ve never been to a hockey game.”
Okay enough to turn every male head at Joe Louis Arena, he figured. But he only said, “Sure, that’s fine, unless you have a Steve Yzerman or Gordie Howe jersey.”