Noah And The Stork. Penny McCusker

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      “You can’t stay here.”

      “—for me to leave—”

      “You can’t stay here.”

      “—when I’ll just have to come back to talk to Jessie. Besides, where am I going to go?”

      “You didn’t seem to have a problem figuring that out ten years ago.”

      “I’m beat, Janey,” he said. “I promise it’ll only be for one night.”

      She folded her arms and glared at him, trying to find it in herself to send him packing. But he really did seem to be exhausted, and if she kicked him out she’d only be up half the night worrying about him stranded in the middle of nowhere, sleeping in his car. If he didn’t fall asleep at the wheel and end up in a ditch filled with water, upside down with both his doors jammed shut and his seat belt stuck….

      “One night.” She left the parlor and started up the stairs, adding over her shoulder, “Tomorrow you find somewhere else to stay.”

      Noah took his time getting to the top, smiling benignly.

      “I mean it.”

      He pressed his lips together. His eyes were still sparkling at her, but without the grin she could pretend he was taking the whole thing seriously.

      She opened the door to the first bedroom she came to and said, “You can sleep in here.”

      “Do you mind if I have a shower?” he asked.

      “Bathroom’s right next door.” Janey held her hand out, palm up.

      He stared at it, clearly puzzled.

      “Unless you plan to borrow my clothes, too, you’ll need your suitcase.”

      “I’ll get it.”

      “No way. Mrs. Halliwell is home by now. I don’t want her to see you walking into my house carrying a suitcase.”

      “Won’t she wonder about my car?”

      “I can explain that away. You, on the other hand…” She shook her head. “There’s no explaining you.”

      “Does that mean she’s not used to seeing men come into your house at night and leave the next morning?”

      “Men? That’s not a revolving door down there, you know.”

      “Okay, man, singular. You don’t have a boyfriend who does sleepovers?”

      “None of your business.”

      “It is if he’s going to come storming in here to punch my lights out.”

      Now there was a mental picture worth smiling about. “Maybe you should reconsider staying here.”

      “I’ll chance it,” Noah said, “but I don’t want some dumb-as-a-post cowboy taking out his anger on my car.”

      “Dumb because he’s a cowboy or dumb because he’s dating me?”

      He gave her a once-over, a slow grin starting at his mouth and moving all the way to his eyes. “Okay, I take back the dumb part, but only if you’ll let me put my car in your garage.”

      Janey would’ve let him do anything—just about—as long he stopped looking at her as if he wanted to repeat history. “Nobody will beat up your car.”

      “I didn’t really think so,” he said, “but it’s supposed to rain tonight, so I’d still like to put it inside.”

      “Why?”

      “You’re kidding, right? Did you see it?”

      “Yeah, it has four wheels, a couple of doors. I think it was red,” she added hopefully, but he just kept staring at her as though she’d let down the team. “What’s the big deal?”

      “It’s a Porsche.”

      “So? It’s not made of gold, is it?”

      “It ought to be, considering what I paid for it.”

      “Well. Your fancy ride will be bunking with a Beetle.”

      Noah thought about it for a minute. “What year is it?”

      “I’m not sure. Seventy-something, I think.”

      He nodded in approval. “Vintage.”

      Janey knew he was half kidding, but it was the half-truthful part that had her so bemused. She looked him up and down, shaking her head. “Expensive suit, expensive car and you probably have a prestigious address and a trophy blonde to go with it all.You got everything you wanted, didn’t you, Noah?”

      He shrugged. Sure, he had all the status symbols, along with a nice fat bank account to support his fast-paced, exciting lifestyle. But it was funny how the simplest pleasures still mattered the most. “What I really want is a shower and a meal, both preferably hot,” he said. “And a bed. Any kind, but I like soft.”

      “There’s hot water and a soft bed, but if you want to eat you’re getting leftovers,” Janey said, accepting his car keys when he held them out.

      She was true to her word, too. Noah had just stepped out of the shower when he heard a knock. He cracked open the door and peeked out, but he could’ve saved himself the trouble of slinging a towel across his hips. His suitcase was sitting there; and the rest of the hallway was empty, but his disappointment lasted about as long as it took the cloud of shampoo-scented steam to evaporate. He threw his clothes on and let his nose lead him down the stairs and through the house, as if he were a cartoon character following a tantalizing aroma. “It looks like a kitchen but it smells like heaven.”

      Janey swung around, startled. Her gaze dropped to his bare feet, skimmed the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt and ended up on his wet, slicked-back hair. She turned away from him. “It’s chicken stew.”

      “Like your mom used to make?” Noah sat down at the end of the table, where she’d laid out cutlery and bread and butter. In answer, she set a steaming bowl in front of him. He spooned some up and stuck it in his mouth, sucking in air to keep from burning his tongue. It tasted so good his eyes practically crossed in ecstasy. “God, that’s incredible,” he said. “Where is your mom, anyway? She move to Florida or something?”

      Janey didn’t say anything for a minute, and Noah realized she was still standing behind him, so close he swore he felt the warmth of her breath on the nape of his neck. He would have smiled, if not for her response.

      “Mom passed away not long after Dad,” she finally said, moving to sit at the other end of the table.

      “I’m sorry, Janey. I didn’t know. I heard about your dad, of course. The obituary of a state representative, especially one who was so well-known and well-liked, makes the front page of all the papers.” Noah picked up his spoon again, stifling a pang of envy over how close Janey and her dad had been. “I’ll bet you miss him.”

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