Make Me A Match: Baby, Baby / The Matchmaker Wore Skates / Suddenly Sophie. Melinda Curtis

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ another Friday night at the bar.

      A dark and stormy night. Near whiteout conditions. A woman alone. With a baby.

      A baby that could be his.

      He dropped his booted feet to the floor.

      Ty’s head came up. He assessed the situation with goalie-like speed. “Don’t do it. Don’t ask her to stay at your place.”

      “Why not?”

      Gideon stepped into Coop’s path, keeping his voice low. “Even the Moose Motel is better than your place.”

      Coop had expected advice about keeping his distance from Nora until he knew that baby was his. He hadn’t expected criticism of his home. “Are you kidding me right now? Free accommodations? She’ll be grateful.”

      “She’ll think you’re incapable of looking after yourself.” Ty made a sweeping gesture that encompassed Nora, the baby and then Coop. “Look at her and then take a good, long look at your scruffy, backwoods self.”

      “If that’s a commentary about my beard—”

      “Who cares about your weak attempts at facial hair?” Gideon had on his banker face, which was also his poker face, which was also his don’t-be-a-doofus face. “Your place is a dump. Duct-taped carpeting, leaky faucet, creaky floors.”

      “It’s warm and dry. I can sell it or abandon it if I ever get out of this town.” That’d been the reason he’d taken it in trade for an RV he’d been unable to move on the car lot. “My place is free for Nora. Don’t forget free.”

      “You’ll be amazed at what a woman won’t forget.” Ty’s gaze drifted back to the Anchorage Beat. “Whatever. That’s the second bad decision you’ve made tonight. Let’s just hope you don’t make a third.”

CHAPTER THREE

      “HOME SWEET HOME.” Coop opened the door for Nora and stepped aside.

      Nora had been giving Coop points for a nice truck. No rust-eaten side panels. No dented fenders. No crumpled fast-food wrappers. And he’d driven competently on the snowy roads and through the storm.

      But the house...

      A dark and dated mobile home. Subtract ten points.

      Duct tape across the foyer carpet and on the transition to kitchen linoleum. Subtract twenty points.

      The shabby, sagging furniture and dreary lighting, the bigger-than-big-screen television, the mess of boots and shoes by the door, the stack of empty soda cans next to the sink. Subtract forty points.

      Her backpack dropped to the ground. If Coop lived like this, how could he afford child support?

      “That you, Cooper?” A scratchy, sleepy male voice erupted from the back at loudspeaker volume.

      Zoe startled, jerking against Nora’s torso beneath her parka. Nora slid the zipper down, preparing to get settled in. What choice did she have but to stay?

      “Yeah, Pop. I brought home a guest,” Coop shouted. He shoved a workout bag beneath a storage bench, nudged a jumble of shoes and boots against the wall, hung up his jacket and another that was on the carpet. “My dad moved in a couple years ago. He couldn’t live alone after the accident.”

      The floor creaked in a back room. Coop’s father appeared in the hallway, leaning heavily on a cane with a hand that had no fingers.

      Nora gave Coop all his dark-mobile-home, worn-living-room and bad-housekeeping points back.

      The older Mr. Hamilton had short, peppery hair and the spotted, leathery complexion of a fisherman. His steps were stilted—he walked with his gaze on the carpet in front of his feet—and he spoke like a ringmaster whose microphone had died. “If it’s Gideon, I didn’t get the dishes done today and the week’s recycling is still on the counter. Got busy watching my shows and—”

      “Pop—Brad, this is Nora,” Coop said at baby-waking volume. He stopped cleaning. Stopped moving. Stopped looking like a man who made the world go around with his smile. He looked like a boy about to tell his father he’d been in a playground fight and broken his best friend’s nose. “She’s, um...”

      Nora tried to shrug out of her parka so she could remove a stirring Zoe from the baby carrier. Coop helped her get free, allowing Nora to slide the carrier straps to her elbows and cradle Zoe.

      “Well, I’ll be,” the older man said as he slowly worked his way to her. He laid the hand with a complete set of fingers on Zoe’s head. “She’s got the Hamilton nose.” His sharp green gaze turned on Coop. “Haven’t seen these two in K-Bay before.”

      “Me, either.” Coop managed to sound both rebellious and repentant at the same time.

      Nora resented them talking about her as if she wasn’t standing there holding the next generation of Hamilton genes. “I’m from Anchorage.”

      “Forgiving my son and movin’ here, I hope.” Brad smiled, making Nora realize where Coop had gotten his forgive-me-any-sin smile. For some reason on the older man it didn’t seem so slick. “Family should stick together. It’s hard to raise a child on your own. I should know.” He moved with a hitching gait toward a recliner.

      “Paternity hasn’t been proved.” Coop cinched the bag of kitchen trash and tossed it out a side door.

      “Have you seen this baby’s nose?” Brad waved his arms, sending the chair rocking.

      Nora gave Coop twenty bonus points for having a decent dad. But she had to be firm about things. “It’s his, but I’m not moving here.” She had a life in Anchorage: a secretarial job at a high school, benefits, brothers, friends.

      “It’s too early to say that. Newborns are easy. Wait until she’s two.” Brad sat in a grubby tan recliner with a breath-stealing, free-fall backward style. “Prepare the extra room, Cooper.”

      Coop had already disappeared down the hallway.

      “Sit, Nora, and tell me all about my grandchild.” Brad spoke so loud that Nora suspected he was hearing impaired.

      She took a seat on the couch near him, placing the carrier next to her, and said in a loud voice, “This is Zoe. She’s five weeks old.”

      “Wait a second.” Brad held up his fingerless hand and bellowed, “Cooper?”

      “Yeah?”

      “I had a phone call earlier. What’s this nonsense I hear about you being a matchmaker?”

      Coop? A matchmaker? Shades of her father.

      “It’s not nonsense, Pop.”

      “What you know about love could be written on a postage stamp.” Brad turned to Nora, his expression apologetic. “Best you know the truth, missy.”

      “Preaching to the choir,” she murmured.

      Zoe СКАЧАТЬ