Nash picked up the dishcloth and rinsed it, then started to wipe off the counters. She was nearly dumbstruck. Rather than stand around with her mouth open, she forced herself to get the detergent out from under the sink and pour some into the dishwasher.
“We always moved around a lot,' she said, trying not to stare as he finished up with the counters. 'Marty had wonderful ideas of fun places to live and we wanted to experience them all.' Not exactly the whole truth, she thought sadly. This was the made-for-TV version of her marriage. The one she told mostly everyone. Especially her children.
“We spent eight months living in a forest and nearly a year working on a ranch. There was a summer on a fishing boat and a winter in a lighthouse.' Nash leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest. 'With the kids?'
“It was a great experience for them,' she said, trying to sound enthusiastic when all she felt was tired. 'They have great memories.' All good ones. She'd done her best to ensure that. Whatever her feelings about her late husband might be, she wanted Brett and the twins to remember their father with a lot of love and laughter.
“I experienced worlds I didn't know existed.' And would have happily died in ignorance of, giventhe choice. She pushed the Delay button on the dishwasher, setting the start time for midnight.
“I'd homeschooled Brett through third grade, which went well. He's very bright. But Marty and I were worried about socialization. We knew it was time to settle down.' It hadn't exactly gone that way, she remembered. Marty had wanted to keep moving, but she'd demanded that they settle. Despite having an eightyear-old and four-year-old twins, she'd flat-out told him she would leave him if necessary. The previous winter Adam had spiked a 105-degree fever while they'd been stuck in the godforsaken lighthouse. With a storm raging around them, there'd been no way to get to the mainland and a doctor. She'd spent thirty-six hours in hell, wondering if her son was going to die. In the dark hours before dawn, right before his fever finally broke, she'd vowed she wasn't going to live like that anymore.
“As luck would have it, the day we arrived in Glenwood we got word of an inheritance. We fell in love with the town right as we found out we had enough money to buy a place and settle down.' She offered a practiced smile. 'This house was on the market and we couldn't resist. It was the perfect opportunity to have both a home and a growing business.' Nash glanced around at the remodeled kitchen. 'You've done a great job.'
“Thanks.' What she didn't tell him was that there was a mortgage on the old Victorian house. She also didn't mention the fights she'd had with Marty. There'd been enough money to buy a regular house outright instead of this place, but that had been too boring for him. As the inheritance had come from his side of the family, she hadn't felt she was in a position to argue too much.
“It was all coming together,' she said. 'We closed escrow and started the remodeling. The boys started school. We were just settling into the community when Marty passed away.' His dark gaze settled on her face. 'So it's been a while.'
“About three years. Marty was killed in a car accident.'
“Leaving you with three children. That had to be tough.' She nodded slowly because agreement was the expected response. It's not that she'd wished Marty ill, and she certainly hadn't wanted him dead, yet by the time he was killed, any love she'd ever felt had long since died. Only obligation had remained.
“Brett mourned the most of the boys,' she said. 'The twins were only five. They have some memories and Brett tells them stories, but it's not very much. I wish they had more.' She meant that. What did it matter if Marty had refused to grow up and be responsible? He was still the boys' father. She wanted them to remember him as fun and loving. To think the best of him.
“You're doing great,' he said. 'They're good kids.'
“No potential serial killers?'
“Not a one.'
“I hope they're okay. I worry about them growing up without a father. I was an only child, so my experience with boys was limited to those I knew inschool. I'm trying to encourage the whole 'be macho' thing, while still keeping them on this side of civilized.'
“You mean no spitting indoors?' She shuddered, then grinned. 'Exactly. No spitting, no writing on the walls, no dead animals' skins.'
“Pretty strict rules.' One corner of his mouth twitched slightly. 'How about a couple of skulls?”
“Animal or human?'
“Does it matter?'
“Of course. Animal is fine, as long as they're small and we bought them from a store. I want clean skulls.'
“Typical girl. Dirt is fun.'
“Easy for you to say. You're not stuck doing the vacuuming.' Nash dropped his hands to his side and took a step toward her. Just one step, but her breath caught as if she'd just climbed a mountain. He was closer. Much closer. The light mood their conversation had created suddenly thickened. Air refused to flow into her lungs. She felt hot, shivery and more than a little out of control.
When his eyes darkened, she told herself it was a trick of the light, nothing more. It had to be that, because thinking that Nash might also be feeling some flicker of sexual attraction was more than she ever hoped for. It was also outside the realm of possibility.
She wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to kiss her. She wanted to rip off her shirt and bra, baring her breasts. Surely that would be enough of a hint. Not that he would be interested in her breasts. She'd had three kids and parts of her were not as perky as they once had been. Miracles could be worked with an underwire bra.
So she could just rip off her shirt and leave the bra on. Still a good hint for him.
Right, she thought with humorous resignation. He would respond by ripping off his shirt, too, right after he wrote her that check for a million dollars.
“I don't want to keep you,' she said at last. It was the mature thing to say. The right thing. How disappointing when he nodded.
“I'll see you in the morning.'
“I'll be the one baking,' she said, keeping her voice light.
He smiled, then walked out of the room. She allowed herself a last look at his rear, then pulled out a kitchen chair and sank onto the seat.
She had to get a grip. Yes, the attraction was nice. The quivery feelings reminded her that she wasn't dead yet. All delightful and completely meaningless messages when compared with the fact that men were nothing but trouble and getting involved with one would make her an idiot times two. Oh sure, she'd heard rumors that there were male members of the species who were actually helpful, responsible and on occasion behaved like partners, but she'd never experienced it firsthand. What were the odds of her encountering one at this point in her life? Even more important, what were the odds of her encountering one in someone who made her hormones belly dance in supplication?
“Is he gone?' She looked up and saw Brett entering the kitchen. 'By 'he' I assume you mean Nash?' Her twelve-year-old nodded.
“He went up to his room.' Brett pulled out a chair and sat next to her. 'Why's this guy hanging around?'
“Maybe he's a film producer doing research on the perfect American family.' Brett rolled his eyes.
Stephanie grinned. 'Do you have a better answer?'
“No, but it's totally weird.'
“I think it's nice. Don't forget, he fixed our very temperamental washer. The piles of laundry stretching to the ceiling and I are grateful.' She touched Brett's shoulder. 'You helped him with that. I thought you liked him.' Her son shrugged.
What was going on? Did Brett feel threatened by Nash in some way? Stephanie hadn't dated since Marty's death. Maybe having another guy around made him feel as though his father was being replaced.
“Hey, don't sweat it,' she said, leaning close and wrapping her arms around him. 'Nash is a guest here. Which means his home is somewhere else and he's going to be leaving us in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, he's nice, he cleans up after himself and I like having another grown-up to talk to. Nothing more. Okay?' As they were alone, Brett burrowed into her embrace. He'd reached the stage where he didn't allow hugs and kisses in front of other people, but when it was just the two of them, he was still her little boy. Sort of.
He raised his head and looked at her. 'Do you still miss Dad?' She studied his dark blue eyes and the mouth
