Yours, Mine & Ours

Jennifer Greene Yours, Mine Ours

© 2011

Dear Reader,

I’ve set stories in the mountains, near the ocean, in small towns and downtowns, but for this book I wanted a different location. I needed a setting where two strong characters were tested to their limits…where only the strong survive…where the culture was exotic for both the hero and heroine. Y’all can guess what I’m talking about.

The Suburbs.

I had so much fun writing these characters! In one corner, we have Alpha-male Mike and his four-year-old alpha-male son, Teddy. In the other corner, we have two female redheads, both girlie-girl to the nth degree. For a while, I wasn’t sure if they could make it…but as I’ve discovered in other stories…love really does find a way.

Hope you enjoy!

Jennifer Greene

Don’t hesitate to write me, either through my website (www.jennifergreene.com) or through my Jennifer Greene author page on Facebook.

For Lilly: Get ready, you sweetheart.

A life of wonders is just waiting for you.

Chapter One

Mike Conroy pulled down the tailgate of his white pickup. Brilliant May sunshine gleamed on the revolting heap of supplies in the back. He started unloading-first, the gray plastic bins. Then came the burlap, the shredded newspaper and the bags of soil.

Last, of course, came the worms.

He wasted a few seconds, rolling his stiff shoulders, mourning how his life had come to this. Even when he was a teenager, he’d had precise, clear dreams of what he wanted from life. He’d always wanted to be a successful lawyer-and he’d done that. He’d always wanted to live in a big city-and he’d done that. He’d always dreamed of living with a sexy, beautiful woman-and God knew, he’d done that, too.

He’d not only done all those things; he’d thrown that entire life away. But even at his lowest, he’d never anticipated wanting to start a worm farm. Ever. Even remotely.

“Hey, Dad. Isn’t this great? Isn’t this the best thing ever? Where are the worms? Can I see the worms?”

“Not yet, Teddy. We need to get them out of the sun, into the basement. You can help me set every thing up.”

“How soon do you think we’ll have worm poop, Dad? You think soon?”

Mike knew well that when his four-year-old said soon, he was hoping the event would happen within the next three seconds. “The plan is to get all the supplies into the basement. Then to come upstairs, wash our hands, chill out with a glass of orange juice. And after that, the two of us can get our hands down and dirty creating our worm farm.”

“Hey, Dad.” Teddy, whose thatch of brown hair never looked brushed, who could put a hole in a new pair of jeans faster than lightning, who had a Tough Guy T-shirt with four separate food stains on it, looked up at him with adoration. “Worms are my favorite thing in the whole world. This is the best thing that happened to me in my whole life. I’m not kidding. I mean it. I’m not telling a story this time. It’s true, Dad.”

“I believe you, sport. In fact, that’s exactly why we’re doing this.”

“And we’re gonna make a pond. And have frogs and stuff.”

“You bet.”

“Mom would never let me do this.”

Mike yanked the T-shirt over his head, tossed it on the truck seat.

Chicago springs were usually perfect, but this May had been a furnace. All afternoon, it’d been hot enough to choke. Sweat prickled the back of his neck. And no, he didn’t respond to Teddy’s comment about his mother. He was getting good-not perfect, but good-at refraining from criticizing Nancy in front of their son. He’d sworn never to make Teddy prey to those kinds of divorce battles.

“Hey, Dad-”

Thankfully he was saved another set of questions by the arrival of a white SUV zipping into the drive next to theirs.

He looked up. Teddy looked up. Even Slugger-the bassett hound snoozing upside down on the front porch-was curious enough to open one droopy eye.

He and Teddy had moved from downtown Chicago just two weeks before. Living anywhere near suburbia was another thing Mike had never planned to do, but that was another life-compromise emanating from the divorce. At least this neighborhood didn’t look like Clone City. Silver Hills was a new suburb on the far west side, with all kinds of architecture and at least a half acre between most homes. His place was a modified A-frame, primarily redwood and glass, and richened up by a two-story stone chimney. The best part was being at the end of a cul-de-sac, with a serious deck and woodsy ravine in the back.

The closest house to the east had a Sold sign in the yard when they first moved in, but Mike hadn’t seen any sign of life there until a few days before, when a moving van had pulled up and unloaded. Still, there’d been no sign of the owners until now.

The neighbor’s house was fancier, built of fieldstone, with two dormer windows upstairs and huge casement windows framing the center door. To Mike, it was a little pretentious, had kind of a fake country-estate look-not that it made any difference to him.

He missed a glimpse of the driver, because his attention was drawn by a child skipping around the back of the car. It was a girl. An ultra girlie-girl, about the same age as his Teddy. She was dressed to the gills in pink-a pink top with sequins and shiny beads and more shiny stuff attached somehow to her wildly curly red hair. The white pants had pink edges, and she had shoes that lit up with pink lights when she skipped around.

Teddy looked thunderstruck-but not necessarily by the girl. The problem was that Slugger-who never moved fast unless a steak bone was in sight-spotted the girl and started baying nonstop. The little girl happened to have a dog next to her. At least, Mike was pretty sure it was a dog. It was white, possibly a cross between a miniature poodle and schnauzer, and just like the girl, it was gussied up beyond belief with a pink rhinestone collar and other jewelry items he’d never imagined on a canine before.

Slugger flew off the porch step and trundled over to greet the poodle with a cascade of more baying and howling. The poodle promptly squatted down and peed. Then Slugger peed. Then the dogs started chasing each other. All that might have gone fine, except that Teddy-his ever-friendly son-galloped over to the girl and began telling her all about their brand-new worm farm.

Teddy only had to say the four-letter worm word once for the girl to launch into a long, versatile scream that could have-should have-wakened the dead. For a kid who couldn’t be three feet tall, she had the vocal range of an American Idol winner.