Love - From His Point Of View!: Meeting at Midnight. Maureen Child

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СКАЧАТЬ are worse things than an ex-lover who’s determined to fix you up. Falling off a mountain, for example. But dammit, I wished Gwen would quit trying to slide women under my door.

      “Mmm. Anyway, your friends, family and neighbors all wanted me to know I was taking care of someone special. You’re something of a hero, you know.”

      “Oh, for God’s sake—”

      “No, really. They all think you’re pretty grand. Several of them told me about the way you took over raising your sister and brothers after your folks were killed.”

      Mortified, I nearly burned my tongue on the coffee. I set the mug down and cleared my throat. “To get back to the subject—I thought you could assure Gwen that I’m up to having Zach come over. That is…I never asked. Are you okay with having a five-year-old around?”

      “Sure. I like kids.”

      “I guess you don’t have any of your own. You said you weren’t a nester.”

      She tipped her head to one side. Her curls were semitamed today, caught back in a stretchy blue thing at her nape. A few strands had wiggled free. “Are you really curious, or just paying me back for having learned so much about you when you were helpless?”

      That surprised a chuckle out of me.

      Oddly, she shivered. It was a delicate little thing, but I caught it. “Are you cold? We can turn up the heat.”

      “No,” she said absently, rubbing her left palm as if it itched. “You do have a deep voice, don’t you? It sounds as if it’s rolling up from the bottom of a well. Oh, look—Doofus is actually at the door, asking to go out. I’d better reward that.”

      She liked the sound of my voice. That’s what that little shiver had meant. I enjoyed that notion about as much as I did watching her as she ambled for the back door. The way those long legs carried her along put a nice little sway in her hips. Those legs…

      She opened the back door and Doofus scampered out. “How did you pick Doofus?”

      “The name or the dog?”

      “Both, I guess. A bit of unique, isn’t he?”

      “That’s one way to put it. No, leave the door open. He panics if you close it, then forgets what he went outside to do.” A man could die happy with those legs wrapped around him—whoa. A little sexual buzz was okay, but I couldn’t let myself get carried away. “I got him from the pound for Zach’s fifth birthday. The vet says he’s a basset mix, emphasis on the mix.”

      She glanced out the door. “The ears do look have the look of a basset hound. Zach comes over to play with him fairly often, I take it?”

      “Two or three days a week. A neighbor’s teenage daughter walks him here from the school when the weather is decent. Sometimes to Mrs. Bradshaw’s, if I can’t be home at that hour.”

      “That’s your neighbor, right? She stopped by yesterday to see how you were doing.”

      “She keeps kids.” That still didn’t sit too well with me. I didn’t want Zach raised by anyone other than family. But Mrs. Bradshaw was a good woman, and he liked it there. As Gwen often pointed out, at Mrs. Bradshaw’s he had other kids to play with, most notably a set of twins. “You never did answer my question.”

      “Your…oh. About children.” Doofus scampered back in, the whole back half of his body wagging with delight over his performance. She shut the door and knelt to praise and pat. “Nope, no kids of my own. No stepchildren, nieces or nephews, either. I’ve never been married, and I was an only child.”

      So was Gwen. Putting the two women together in my mind made me uncomfortable. I shifted, stretching out my bad leg. “I guess that would be lonely, being an only child.”

      “I had my fantasies about having a brother or sister when I was growing up. But a lot of people from big families fantasize about being an only, I think. Didn’t you?”

      “No more than four or five times a day. Especially when Charlie and Annie were teenagers. Not that Annie got into any real trouble, but she was a girl. There’s so much stuff about being a girl at that age…” I shook my head. “I wanted to lock her up or send her to a convent. Raising girls is scary.”

      “She’s quite a bit younger than you, I gather.”

      “Eleven years, yeah. She’s the youngest.” I hadn’t done right by Annie. For years she’d had a kind of phobia about leaving Highpoint, and I hadn’t even realized it—probably because I’d liked having her around too much to question why she’d moved back home and stayed. Jack had known, though. He’d married her and taken her off to see the world, one dirtpoor village at a time. And she loved it. I frowned at my coffee cup.

      “More coffee?”

      I shook my head. “No, thanks. Ah…jeans probably won’t work with this stupid knee. There ought to be a pair of sweats in the bottom left drawer of my dresser, though. If you’d get them, I can have my shower in the downstairs bathroom, then get dressed.”

      “You are not—” she started, then stopped, shaking her head. “Who’d have thought you’d be so devious?”

      I scowled. “What are you talking about?”

      “I’m supposed to fuss at you, remind you of what the doctor said, et cetera. In the end, you’ll give up on the shower, and I’m supposed to concede that you can get dressed. Which is what you really want.”

      “Are you sure you don’t have brothers?”

      She chuckled. “Nary a one.”

      Yet she obviously knew men. Well, she’d probably had plenty of opportunity to observe my half of the species. That showgirl’s body would get any man’s attention. Then he’d get hooked by that slow smile, or the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, laughing all by themselves. “You aren’t giving me a hard time about getting dressed,” I observed.

      “Not much point. I knew you’d be champing at the bit today. You do realize I’ll have to help you, don’t you?”

      “Like hell you will.”

      She just looked at me. For once, even her eyebrows didn’t comment.

      At last I sighed. “The shirt. I’ll need help with that. And the sling.”

      “I could give you a sponge bath first.”

      A visceral flash hit me—her hands running a warm, soapy washcloth along my arm to my shoulder, then down my chest…she’d be bending over me, bringing those magnificent breasts close enough to…“No, you can’t.”

      Like I said, I know my limits.

      Four

      I couldn’t reach my left foot. I glared at my knee, washcloth in hand.

      I was sitting on the toilet with the lid down. I’d managed a spit bath of sorts, pulled on my shorts and sweatpants…and one sock. I couldn’t get my left sock СКАЧАТЬ