Firefighter Daddy (10 page)

Downstairs, she took the DVD and the popcorn out of the bag she’d left in the living room. She tossed the DVD onto the coffee table and peeled the plastic wrapper off the popcorn package on her way to the kitchen. After she stuck it in the microwave, she spotted a nested set of blue-glazed pottery bowls on a shelf above the counter. She reached for them, discovered they were a lot heavier than they looked, and had to do some quick maneuvering to avoid dropping them.

The popping stopped and she dumped the steaming contents of the bag into the medium-size bowl and inhaled. “Smells good,” she said as she headed to the living room. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Colin.”

I
T WAS LATE WHEN
M
ITCH
drove down the block and hit the garage-door opener clipped to the visor. Rory’s van was parked in front of the house, but that didn’t mean she was here, he reminded himself. He glanced up at her dark window. More than likely she was out with her friends and would be taking a cab home.

How is that any of your business?
Whenever he was at home, he found himself speculating about where Rory was or what she was doing. If anyone else had been doing that, he’d say it sounded like an obsession. Lucky for him no one else knew about it, and he knew it wasn’t.

He pulled into the garage and stepped out of his car as the door rolled shut behind him. He took off his jacket as he climbed the stairs to the kitchen, surprised to find all the lights on. His mother was militant about keeping lights turned off when no one was in the room. He flicked off the switch and went down the hallway to the living room. The lights in there were on, too, and he could hear the television. It wasn’t like her to be watching TV on a Friday night. Or ever, for that matter.

But not even the blazing lights and blaring TV prepared him for the sight of the woman asleep on the sofa. Rory’s head rested on a small cushion and her long blond hair streamed over her shoulders, veiling what might otherwise be a breathtaking bit of cleavage. A patchwork quilt covered everything from the waist down. Everything but the red-polished toes of one foot.

He closed his eyes and struggled to take a breath. The night before Laura had died, he had played basketball with the guys and come home to find her sleeping on the sofa. He’d carried her upstairs and they’d made love. It had been the last time he’d had intimate contact with another human being, and it felt like an eternity ago. Standing in his mother’s living room, watching Rory sleep, he didn’t think he’d ever missed his wife more.

What was Rory doing here? He moved into the room, which must have startled her because she suddenly sat bolt upright.

“Oh!” She stared up at him with panic-filled eyes. “I must’ve fallen asleep.” As she brushed her hair back from her face, several plastic bracelets clattered on her wrist. Her red sweater had slipped off one shoulder, exposing a thin white shoulder strap and the upper curve of one spectacular breast.

“Sorry,” he said, using his jacket to hide his reaction to her bare skin. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was expecting to see my mother.” Then it dawned on him that maybe he should be concerned. “Where is she? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Thomas scored some free theater tickets and I didn’t have plans so I said I’d stay with Miranda.”

He’d been afraid this sort of thing might happen. “You know, just because you’re living upstairs doesn’t mean you should feel obligated—”

“Don’t worry about it. It would have been a shame for her to miss the play and since I wasn’t going out, I was happy to help. All I’d planned to do tonight was watch a movie, so I brought it with me.” She swung her legs off the sofa and sat up.

He tossed his jacket over the back of a chair, relieved to have regained most of his self-control. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked. He hoped she’d say yes. After this unexpected encounter, it’d be a while before he’d be able to sleep.

“As long as it’s decaf. Otherwise I’ll never get back to sleep tonight.”

“Decaf it is.” Although he knew what might cure her insomnia. And his. “I’ll be right back.”

She grabbed the bowl from the coffee table and followed him into the kitchen. “I made myself some popcorn. I’d better wash this and put it away.”

She waited while he filled the coffeepot, and he was intensely aware of her standing behind him. After he moved away from the sink, she dumped a few stray kernels into the trash, washed the bowl, and dried it while he scooped coffee into the filter basket and turned on the machine.

Rory stood on her toes and tried to heft the bowls back onto the shelf. They were heavy—he had no idea why his mother kept them up there.

“Let me help.” His hand collided with hers and they both jerked away, tipping the bowls off the shelf.

He grabbed for them. She grabbed them. Their arms ended up tangled together and somehow the pottery was caught within them.

“Don’t let go,” she said. “I don’t have a very good grip.”

He didn’t seem to have a grip on anything, least of all the damn bowls.

She laughed up at him as she freed one hand and placed it under the largest. “There. That’s better.”

She was already too close for comfort and her sweet, citrus scent tugged at him like a magnet. Her shoulder was exposed again, and he’d never really paid attention to her eyes before, except to note that they were blue, but now he noticed the tiny flecks of black and silver.

Her smile faded and her gaze became more cautious. “You can let go now.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He carefully extracted one hand and then the other, being careful not to upset her balance.

She set the bowls on the counter and pulled her sweater back up over her shoulder before she restacked them.

“Let me put them back for you.”

“Okay.” But she didn’t move away, and he had the impression it was deliberate.

He safely returned the bowls to their home on the shelf, and then he stood his ground. Not that he had any intention of making a move, but he was suddenly curious to find out if she would.

“The coffee smells great,” she said.

He glanced at the coffeemaker and back at her. “Still a couple of minutes till it’s ready.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been alone with a woman. To make matters worse, he was terrible at making small talk. What were they going to do while they waited?

“I don’t think it would be a good idea,” she said.

“What?”

“For you to kiss me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were thinking about kissing me, and I’m telling you it’s not a good idea.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

She was looking at him as though she knew otherwise. That was
not
what he’d been thinking. Was it? He was pretty sure he hadn’t had a coherent thought since he’d walked in and found her asleep on the sofa, but damn it, now that she’d suggested it, kissing her was all he could think about.

“I’m Miranda’s teacher, your mother’s tenant and we live in the same house. It would be way too complicated.”

Finally, something they agreed on. “You’ve got that right.” He moved away and grabbed a couple of coffee mugs out of a cupboard.

“I should go,” she said.

He didn’t want that either. “The coffee’s ready, and it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to. I promise I won’t…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, but they both knew what he meant. He hoped she’d stay.

“Okay.”

The coffeemaker sputtered out the last few drops. He filled the two mugs and handed one to her. “Milk?”

“Black is fine, thanks.”

“After you,” he said, gesturing toward the living room.

She curled up on one end of the sofa and pulled the old quilt over her legs. Too bad. He liked looking at those feet. He set his coffee on a small table, settled himself in the oversize armchair and lifted his feet onto the ottoman.

“Did you have a date tonight?” she asked.

He suspected she was baiting him, but he couldn’t tell for sure. “No. I was playing basketball with friends.”

“I see. Did you win?”

“We did. One of the guys on the team said he knows you.”

“Oh.” For a split second, a look that was awfully close to guilt flashed across her face. “I’ll bet that was my friend’s fiancé, Jonathan. They’re getting married in a couple of weeks. I’m her bridesmaid. Maid of honor, actually.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Did he say anything else?”

Plenty. He’d said Rory was an interesting woman. No,
remarkable
had been the word he’d used. And damned attractive, didn’t Mitch think? Yes, he’d agreed she was. There’d also been several hints about Rory being single, unattached and available.

He drank some of his coffee and shook his head in answer to her question. “No. Just that you were in the wedding party.”

Rory looked relieved. “That’s good.”

Interesting. Even to Mitch, who wasn’t too swift about figuring these things out, it was obvious that Rory and Jonathan’s fiancée had been talking about him. Did he dare consider what that conversation had been about? Definitely not. Besides, as she’d just said, this could get complicated.

“Did you have any trouble getting Miranda to go to sleep?” he asked instead.

“Not at all. She wanted to stay up past her bedtime but Betsy didn’t think you’d agree so she said no. We read
Cinderella
and she was practically asleep by the end of the story, so I doubt if she could have stayed awake, even if she’d tried.”

“My mother thinks I have too many rules.” At the same time, it was reassuring to know she was willing to go along with them, even when he wasn’t here to enforce them.

Rory’s sweater slid off her shoulder and she shrugged it back into place again. “I wouldn’t call that being strict at all. I’m not a parent, but I do know something about kids. Like I said to your mom, they thrive on routines. I think you’re doing the right thing.”

Part of him wished she’d leave the shoulder exposed. Her skin looked warm and inviting, and he was intrigued by the possibility of what that white strap might be attached to. “That’s not what you said when you called about Miranda fighting with that other kid at school.”

Rory looked confused. “What did I say?”

To be honest, he couldn’t remember. “I’m not sure. I just got the impression you thought I was a lousy parent.”

“Mitch, I’m sorry. Nothing could be further from the truth. This can’t be easy, but she’s a great kid. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Oh, I left the hall light on because I figured you’d want to check on her when you got home.”

“Thanks for keeping an eye on her.” He wondered if he should offer to pay her for babysitting.

“No problem. I enjoy spending time with her.” Her bracelets clattered as she lifted her mug to her lips.

He tried to cover a yawn, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

She did. “I should go.” She pushed the quilt aside and stood up. There went the sweater again.

Instinctively he got up, too, narrowly avoiding a collision as she rounded the coffee table and started across the room.

She quickly stepped to one side. “I’ll just get my movie out of your DVD player.”

“Oh, sure.” He took a step sideways, too, and this time they connected. “Sorry,” he said, wishing he’d stayed seated instead of trying to be a gentleman. And then he wished he could kiss her, no matter how complicated that might be.

The way Rory was looking at him, he half expected another mini-lecture on why kissing was a bad idea. She didn’t say anything, though, and he was caught in her gaze like a deer in the headlights of a semi. And then his hands, which seemed to develop a mind of their own, were on her shoulders and her arms were around his neck.

“This is still not a good idea,” he said.

She touched her cheek to his. “I know, but everyone can use a hug now and then.”

His needs were so far past hugging, it wasn’t even funny. Her crazy sweater slid sideways again and all that bare skin was within nuzzling distance. She tossed her head and her hair brushed the back of his hand. She pulled a little bit away so that their bodies weren’t touching, except for her hands on his shoulders and his on the middle of her back. If either of them moved even a little…

Her head slowly moved from side to side. “Still not a good idea.”

No kidding. She sounded less certain, though, and he didn’t take his hands away. Neither did she.

This was reckless in so many ways, and although he completely agreed that it was a bad idea, part of him wondered how it would feel to kiss another woman after all these years. It was not as if he’d be cheating. So what
would
he be doing? Scratching an itch? He slid one hand up Rory’s back, deep beneath the long, soft strands of her hair. Her face tilted toward his, just enough to let him know she wouldn’t stop him.

His mouth was practically on hers when he heard a key in the front door.

He and Rory shot apart. Too quickly.

“Ouch!” she said. “My hair.”

The front door opened.

Her hair was snarled in his watch strap and he was madly trying to disentangle it when his mother walked in. Betsy halted just inside the room and at first she didn’t say anything, then she grinned like someone who’d just been let in on a secret. “The play was great,” she said, quickly regaining some of her usual composure. “It’s been a long night, though. I’ll just head upstairs. See you in the morning.” She was halfway up the stairs and out of sight when she added, “Thanks for babysitting, Rory.
We
really appreciate it.” Emphasis on
we
. He could picture that annoying smirk of hers. Damn it.
This isn’t what it looks like,
he wanted to yell after her.

Rory started to giggle.

Okay, it was
exactly
what it looked like, but it wasn’t funny. “You have to hold still or I can’t get us untangled.”

She complied, but she didn’t stop laughing. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a guy’s mother catch me making out with her son.”

Making out? “I’m sure that’s not what she thought was going on,” he said, finally separating the two of them.

Laughter still brightened Rory’s eyes. “Oh, I think that’s exactly what she thought, and you were
so
going to kiss me.”