was going to get hurt. Her mother’s words reminded her that it might be prudent to listen. After all, he might just be telling the truth.
Jonathan looked up as Cynthia returned to the dining room. She carried a fancy cake on a plate. Betsy followed with plates and forks.
“I know the boys don’t really like dessert,” Betsy said in a playfully serious tone of voice. “You don’t have to cut any for them.”
Brad, or maybe it was Brett, slapped his hands flat on the table. “Mo-om, you know that’s not true. We love dessert. Especially cake.” He turned to Jonathan. “Did Lucinda bake it herself?”
“Sure. She bakes lots of things. There are probably enough frozen cookies in the freezer to open a bakery.”
The boy’s eyes widened at the thought. “Wow. Cookies in the freezer. Mom makes them all the time, but there aren’t any left over to freeze. If there were, we could take ’em in our lunch.”
“Imagine,” Betsy teased. “But that would mean eating less when they were straight from the oven.”
“Or you could bake more,” her son offered.
“I suspect there will be leftover cake,” Cynthia said as she started to cut into the flowered confection. “I doubt that Mr. Steele will mind if you take some home.”
Both boys turned their attention to him. “Feel free,” he said and earned two blazing smiles.
“Just a little piece,” Jenny said from her seat across the table. As she had at her own house, she held Colton in her arms. “The same size as yours, Cynthia.”
Jonathan had noticed that Jenny was content to be her older sister’s shadow, doing whatever she did, the same way at the same time. Brad and Brett obviously cared about their sister, but they didn’t emulate her. Instead he’d caught them giving him worshipful glances from time to time.
“Do you think we could go look at your cars?” one of the boys asked. “We read this article about you a while back and it said you had a five-car garage and that it was filled.” He spoke with a reverence only possible when male soon-to-be drivers discussed cars.
Jonathan chuckled. “Sure. After we finish dinner.”
“Until then, leave Mr. Steele alone,” Cynthia said, sliding a slice of cake in front of him.
Since the funeral and the visit to his brother’s house, she’d changed out of her black dress into more casual attire. Her hair was still back in the fancy braid she favored. She looked impossibly young and beautiful.
He looked around at the table still covered with serving dishes from dinner. He tried to remember the last time he’d used the dining room for anything but a solitary dinner. Lucinda lamented his nearly monastic social life and his refusal to entertain. She’d been in her element this afternoon and evening as she’d prepared for his guests. No doubt when she returned on Monday she would lecture him to have people in more often.
At the far end of the table Brad and Brett had started a heated conversation about the virtues of a turbocharged V-6 engine versus a basic V-8. Jenny was busy telling them that cars were boring while Cynthia joined in to point out that they were all years from driving and wasn’t there something else they could talk about.
Betsy, seated on his left, leaned forward. “Were you this interested in cars when you were their age?”
“Probably. I think most boys can’t wait to be old enough to drive.”
She nodded and looked at her sons. “They’re growing up so fast. I can’t believe they’re already ten.” She smiled. “Double digit ages are very important.”
“Maybe at ten. They’re less interesting now.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said.
He looked at her, at the wide eyes so like her daughter’s, at the ready smile. Betsy and Cynthia had a lot in common, although the mother had more wariness in her expression. It was hard to believe that she was only a few years older than himself and that she’d been a mere two years older than Jenny when she’d had Cynthia.
“They miss their father,” Betsy said, nodding at the twins. “That’s why they’re clinging to you. Don’t panic, they’re not expecting a substitute, it’s just that they don’t spend a lot of time with many men.” She took a bite of cake and chewed thoughtfully. “I keep telling myself it’s time for me to change that, but I’m not sure.”
“I would guess with children around, you have to be careful.”
“Exactly.” She leaned toward him. “Colton is young enough now that it’s not an issue for you, but it will be as he gets older. I’ve been out with a few men, but so far I haven’t met anyone I want to introduce to the boys. Although there is a nice sales rep where I work.” She shrugged. “We’ll have to see.”
He glanced at the far end of the table and saw that Betsy’s children were still occupied with their own conversation. “How did you manage to raise Cynthia on your own? You were so young.”
“In a way that helped,” she said. “I was too inexperienced to realize what a huge job I was taking on. So I was able to be confident and fearless, even when I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“You have tremendous character that you’ve passed onto your daughter. I admire that.”
“Mine or hers?” she asked, then shook her head. “You don’t have to answer that.” She looked at her daughter. “Cynthia was there for me when I was going through a bad time. I’ll never forget that, nor will her brothers and sister. She’s a very special young woman. But being at home with me these past three years has meant that she couldn’t have much of a social life of her own. She hasn’t had the usual experiences other women her age have had.”
As far as warnings went, it wasn’t a very subtle one.
“I understand that you have concerns,” he said stiffly. “I have no intention of hurting her.”
Betsy stared at him. “Unfortunately it’s not just your decision. I’ll be honest. I’ve tried to warn her off you, but I don’t think she’s going to listen. Sometimes lessons have to be learned through personal experience. If you break her heart, she’ll have to figure out a way to get over it.”
Her pragmatic attitude surprised him. “Aren’t you going to threaten me in some way if I break her heart?”
“No. I suspect that if you hurt my daughter, you’ll punish yourself far more harshly and effectively than I ever could. Besides, I can’t help wondering if you’re the one meant to learn a lesson from all this rather than Cynthia. Wouldn’t that be interesting?”
Sunday morning Jonathan sat in the dining room, reading the paper. Betsy and her children had left about ten the previous evening, after watching a movie in the media room. Surprisingly he’d enjoyed having them over for the evening and he’d been sorry to see them go.
“Have you recovered from the invasion?”
He looked up and saw Cynthia standing in the doorway of the dining room, holding Colton in her arms. She wore a long-sleeved robe that came to her ankles and her hair was loose.
In her shapeless outfit, clutching an infant, she was nothing like the women who usually made up his world. He could easily provide a list of all the things they didn’t have in common and all the reasons a relationship with her wouldn’t work. But that didn’t stop the heat from slamming into him as he stared at her with hungry appreciation.
“I was just thinking that I enjoyed last night,” he said, knowing that she was unlikely to read the need in his eyes. At times her innocence was a blessing. It kept her from figuring out what he was thinking, and acted as a reason for him to keep his distance.
“And now you can tell Brett and Brad apart.” She smiled. “Very few people have figured that out.”
