Lonergan's Secrets: Expecting Lonergan's Baby / Strictly Lonergan's Business / Satisfying Lonergan's Honour. Maureen Child

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СКАЧАТЬ scrubbed one hand over his face, as if that would be enough to get his brain away from the tantalizing thoughts it had been entertaining.

      “Didn’t want to interrupt the floor show,” he said tightly, hoping she wouldn’t hear the edge of hunger in his voice. He walked past her and headed straight for the coffeepot on the counter.

      As the Stones song drifted into an R&B classic, he filled a heavy white mug with the coffee, took a sip, then turned around to face her. Leaning back against the counter, he crossed one bare foot over the other and asked, “You always dance in the kitchen?”

      She huffed in a breath and tightened her grip on the spatula she held in her right hand. “When I’m alone.”

      “Like the skinny-dipping, huh?”

      Glaring at him, she said, “A gentleman wouldn’t remind me of that.”

      “And a gentleman wouldn’t have looked,” he reminded her as the image of her wet, pale, honeyed skin rose up in his mind. “I did. Remember?”

      “I’m not likely to forget.”

      One eyebrow lifted as he swept his gaze up and down her quickly, thoroughly. “Me, neither.”

      She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again and took a deep breath. He could almost see her counting to ten to get a grip on the temper flashing in her eyes. Eyes, he noticed, that in the morning light weren’t as dark as he’d thought the night before. They were brown but not. More the color of good single-malt scotch.

      He took another gulp of coffee and told himself to get a grip.

      “You’re deliberately trying to pick a fight,” she said. “Why?”

      He frowned into his coffee. “Because I’m not a nice man.”

      “That’s not what your grandfather says.”

      He looked at her. “Jeremiah’s prejudiced. And a hell of a storyteller. Don’t believe half of what he tells you.”

      “He told me you’re a doctor. Is that right?”

      “Yeah.” Frowning still, he took another sip of really superior coffee. “I am.”

      “Did you—” she paused and waited for him to look at her “—examine him last night?”

      He laughed, and that short burst of sound surprised him as much as it did her. “Me? Not a chance. Jeremiah still thinks of me as the thirteen-year-old kid who slapped a homemade plaster cast on his golden retriever.”

      “You didn’t.”

      He smiled to himself, remembering. “I really did. Made it out of papier-mâché. Just practicing,” he said, remembering how Jeremiah’s golden, Storm, had sat patiently, letting Sam do his worst. “Pop took it off before it had a chance to dry.”

      She was smiling at him and her eyes looked. shiny. Something in him shifted, gave way, and uncomfortable, Sam straightened up and gulped at his coffee again. “Anyway, the point is, Jeremiah won’t let me touch him. I’ll talk to his doctor, though. Get what information I can.”

      “Good.” She nodded and turned to stir the eggs, a golden foamy layer in the skillet on the stove. “I mean, it’s good that you can check. I’m worried. He’s been so…”

      “What?”

      She turned around to look at him again. “It’s not something I can put my finger on and say, There. That’s different. That’s wrong. It’s just that he’s not the same lately. He seems a little more tired. A little more… fragile somehow.”

      “He’s closing in on seventy,” Sam reminded her and scowled to himself as he realized just how much time had slipped past him.

      “And up until two weeks ago,” she said, “you wouldn’t have known it. Up at sunrise, doing chores, driving into town to have lunch with Dr. Evans, square dancing on Friday night.”

      “Square dancing?” Another surprise and another flicker of irritation that this woman knew so much more about his grandfather than he did.

      She waved one hand at him while she stirred the eggs. “He and some of his friends go to the senior center in Fresno on Fridays.” She paused and sighed. “At least, he used to.”

      “Maybe it’s nothing,” he said, and wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to console.

      “I hope so.”

      He heard the hope in her voice and was touched that she cared so deeply. “You really love him, don’t you?”

      “I really do.” She turned her back on the stove and faced him. “Look, Sam.” She said his name firmly, as if forcing herself to make a connection that she really wasn’t interested in. “You’re here to see your grandfather and I’m glad. For his sake.”

      He shifted, pushing away from the counter to stand on his own two feet. “But…?”

      “But…” she said, turning for the stove and the pan that was beginning to smoke, “I think that we should try to stay out of each other’s way while you’re here.”

      “Is that right?” He stepped up alongside her and he felt tension ripple between them. Damn it. He didn’t need this. Didn’t want it. And he’d had every intention of steering clear of the little housekeeper. Until she’d suggested it.

      Maggie stirred the scrambled eggs quickly, flipping them over and over again in the cast-iron skillet until they were a golden-brown and dry, just the way Jeremiah liked them. She tried to keep her mind on her cooking, but with Sam standing so close, it wasn’t easy.

      She’d made up her mind last night that the one sure way to protect her place on this ranch was to stay out of the way this summer. She didn’t want to give any of the Lonergan cousins reason to think that their grandfather would be better off with someone other than her taking care of him.

      She’d lain awake in her bed most of the night, thinking about this place and what it meant to her. About the old man who had become her family.

      And if she were to be completely honest, sometime around dawn she’d thought about Sam. About the way she’d felt when he’d looked at her walking naked from the water.

      About the swirl of heat that had swept through her, making the chill wind nothing more than a whisper. And she’d wondered what it would feel like to have him touch her, smooth his hands over her skin, dip his fingers into her—

      “The eggs are burning.”

      “What?” She blinked, stared at the pan and instinctively used her free hand to push it off the flame.

      Instantly pain bristled on her palm and she dropped the spatula to cradle her left hand against her chest. Tears clouded her eyes and a whimper squeaked past her lips.

      “Damn it!” Sam set his coffee cup on the stove, grabbed her left hand, looked at it, then dragged her with him across the kitchen to the sink. СКАЧАТЬ