The Daddy Dilemma. Kate Denton

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СКАЧАТЬ in the air. “So stay! But just so you know...I own one bed, which I have no intention of giving up. Or sharing. That leaves the couch for you and, as you can see, it’s sixty inches at best.” She gave a smirking assessment of his six foot plus frame. “I’m sure you’ll get lots of sleep.”

      “Probably more than I was going to get before, worrying about Ashley with Beth. At least I’ll be able to ensure Ash is OK.”

      “Well now that everything’s resolved to your satisfaction, I’m going upstairs to change into something more comfort—” Mackie stopped. All she’d meant to convey was that she was getting out of her work clothes, but the words were classic innuendo.

      “Into something else,” she corrected. “Then I plan to have a sandwich. I haven’t eaten since lunch.” Without waiting for a response, she started up the stairs. Gordon remained behind in silence, yet with every step, she could feel his eyes following her ascent.

      Minutes later, when Mackie returned to her living room dressed in an old pair of gray sweats, Gordon wasn’t there. She went to the kitchen and found him hunched over her refrigerator, pulling out packages of deli ham and cheese. Lettuce and a ripe red tomato were already draining on a paper towel by the sink.

      “Making yourself right at home I see.”

      “I haven’t eaten much today, either. Hope you don’t mind my helping myself. If you do, just bill me.”

      Mackie rolled her eyes and handed him a loaf of seven-grain bread from the pantry. “Feel free... and while you’re at it, you can fix me a sandwich, too. Mustard, no mayonnaise.

      “What do you want to drink?” she asked, replacing him at the refrigerator. “Milk? Beer? Water?”

      “Whatever you’re having.”

      “I hate that,” Mackie said. “Just pick what you prefer.” She set a Michelob on the counter along with a half gallon of milk.

      “Milk. OK?”

      Gordon had finished assembling the sandwiches and placed one in front of her, watching as Mackie poured milk into their glasses. “And what else do you hate?”

      “Blue eye shadow, party cocktail wieners drenched in messy barbecue sauce, smokers puffing away at the next table in a restaurant,” she answered nonchalantly, carrying her food to the glass-topped table.

      “Strange, isn’t it,” Gordon said, grabbing a napkin and joining her.

      “What’s strange?”

      “Us sitting here eating together like a couple of old friends.”

      Her expression was one of incredulity. “Oh, I hardly think anyone would mistake us for friends.”

      “Disgruntled married couple then.”

      “Bad image, but closer.”

      “Too close. I’d say we’re experts on bad marriages and the fallout that goes with them.”

      “What do you know about me and my marriage?” Mackie said warily. He was right, but the details of her miserable four years with Bruce weren’t common knowledge.

      “Nothing. Actually I was referring to your profession, not you personally. However, few people get into their thirties without taking the plunge at least once. Have you had a bad experience?”

      A disastrous one. But the scars of her marriage—a bruised heart and pummeled psyche—were none of Galloway’s business. “It’s no secret I’ve been married,” she admitted, “but it’s not a subject I care to talk about.”

      “Well, if we’re going to spend the night together, I think I should know something more about you than your name and marital status, don’t you?”

      “If we were ‘spending the night together,’ as you put it, that might be true, but you’re only bunking on the couch. There’s no need for a round of true confessions.”

      “Any children?” he persisted.

      “As I said, I don’t want to talk about my past.”

      “No, no children,” Gordon said. “Silly question anyway. It’s obvious your experience with kids is nil.” He leaned back in his chair. “So...what about brothers, sisters?”

      “Mr. Galloway, you’re slow to catch on. There’s no reason for us to make small talk or to try to get better acquainted.”

      “No, I suppose there isn’t Besides, I wouldn’t want you to accuse me of taking advantage of your hospitality. It’s obvious you’re tired and sleepy.” He took a last bite from his sandwich and drained the glass of milk. “Go on up to bed and I’ll rinse the dishes and wrap up the food.”

      Mackie was past caring whether the dishes got rinsed or the food wrapped. She was fading fast and relieved that Galloway understood that much. Maybe he wasn’t willing to leave, but at least he wasn’t going to be a demanding guest. “Whatever,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”

      “By the way...” Gordon’s voice stopped Mackie just as she reached the door of the kitchen. “Do you happen to have a spare toothbrush?”

      Mackie eyed him skeptically as if the question was loaded. Then she said. “Medicine cabinet. Guest bathroom.”

      Gordon watched her leave and pondered her reaction to him. Mackie Smith was one skittish lady. Was it the attorney or the unhappy divorcée showing through? Mackie was hard to read. She’d reacted to the marriage question and the innocuous family question as if she were a prisoner of war required to give only name, rank and serial number. Then he remembered—this was war. She and Beth on one side, he and Ashley on the other. Mackie Smith wasn’t forgetting that and neither should he. He shouldn’t be letting his guard down or getting too chummy.

      

      Mackie slept until nine the next morning, waking with a start when she realized how late it was. Shrugging quickly into her robe, she tore downstairs, fearful she’d find the Galloways long gone.

      Once in the kitchen, her anxiety subsided as she came upon the two having breakfast together. Ashley, sitting on the cabinet, was eating slices of banana. Gordon, standing in front of her, was drinking coffee and coaxing the baby to take spoonfuls of cereal.

      “I...uh, I overslept,” Mackie said, flustered and searching for something to say. She was glad the chenille robe was strictly of the utilitarian variety. Galloway’s peep show was enough. He was dressed, but his shirt was unbuttoned and hanging loose, revealing an expanse of furry chest. Maybe it was because she wasn’t used to bare chests in the morning, but the view of male flesh was disconcerting. She averted her gaze. “I need coffee—bad.”

      “Coffee’s made,” he said hostlike, gesturing toward the nearly full carafe as if they were in his kitchen rather than hers.

      Mackie poured a cupful, holding the mug with both hands as she watched the interaction between the Galloways. “You found something for her to eat.”

      “Yeah, been rummaging again. I’m grateful you’re not the type of woman who stocks only tofu and sprouts.”

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