A Family to Call Her Own. Irene Hannon

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СКАЧАТЬ I could help. And this is nothing,” she assured him, gesturing vaguely toward her jaw. “So how are you?” she inquired, feeling increasingly self-conscious under Zach’s speculative gaze.

      “Doing better. Thanks.”

      “Twelve stitches and a concussion,” Mark elaborated. “Go ahead, Zach. Sit down,” he suggested, indicating the stool next to Rebecca.

      Zach hesitated, sensing that for some reason his presence was disruptive to the woman beside him, but she smiled politely.

      “Please do,” she seconded. “I have to leave, anyway.” She drained her cup in one long gulp and slid to the ground. “I hope you recover quickly,” she said, forcing herself to meet his magnetic eyes.

      “Thanks.” He grinned disarmingly, once more extending his hand, and again she was left with no choice but to take it. As he enfolded her slender fingers in his firm grip, her heart began to bang painfully against her chest, so strongly she was almost afraid he would be able to feel it through the vibrating tips of her fingers. His eyes held hers—curious, questioning, warm…and interested. Which did nothing to slow her metabolism.

      “Thanks again for Thursday night.” His voice was still shaded by that appealing, husky timbre. “I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. I’m just sorry about that.” His gaze flickered down to her jaw, and he started to reach up as if to touch the bruise. Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped, but suddenly he dropped his hand, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans instead. Rebecca’s pulse kicked back in, then raced on.

      “Anyway, I just want you to know that I don’t usually go around hitting women,” he assured her, his voice even more husky than before.

      She cleared her throat, hoping her own voice wouldn’t desert her. “I’m sure you don’t. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Carefully she withdrew her hand, and with an effort she tore her gaze from his to look at Mark. “See you later.”

      “You bet.”

      “Ben, thanks for the coffee.”

      “Anytime.”

      And then she fled.

      Zach planted his hands on his hips and watched her leave, a slight frown marring his brow. Clearly she’d wanted to escape from his presence as quickly as possible. But why? It wasn’t that she was unfriendly. She just seemed…well, skittish. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. He couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone quite like Rebecca Matthews. She was poised and polished, yet she seemed somehow…untouched. Vulnerable. Fragile. Without hard edges or pretense. She radiated an almost innate goodness, an old-fashioned air of shy sweetness. Those weren’t qualities he’d run into often, and he was intrigued—and captivated.

      He turned thoughtfully and straddled the stool next to Mark, who was watching him with amused interest.

      “Forget it, pal,” Mark warned with a grin.

      “Forget what?” Zach asked coolly, reaching for the mug of coffee Ben placed on the counter.

      Mark chuckled. “I’ve seen that look before. Had it once myself. Just don’t get your hopes up. Rebecca’s great—but she has no interest in romance.”

      “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

      “Of course! Do you think a single woman who looks like her could come to a small town like this and not be pursued by every eligible man in the county? But she wasn’t interested. Period. In anyone. So I didn’t take it personally. We all had to settle for being just friends.”

      “Hmm.”

      “‘Hmm’ what?”

      “‘Hmm’ as in, that’s interesting but I’m not in the market, anyway.”

      “Yeah, right.”

      “Right,” Zach repeated firmly. “As my boss told me, I need some time to decompress.”

      Mark grinned. “I can think of worse ways.”

      Zach chuckled. “Speaking of which, when do I get to meet your elusive fiancée?”

      Mark smiled. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”

      “Sounds great.”

      “Listen, do you mind if I run next door for a minute while you finish your coffee? Then I’ll give you the ten-cent tour.”

      “No problem.”

      Mark slid off the stool. “Ben will keep you company while I’m gone, right Ben?”

      “Sure.” A moment later the door jangled to indicate Mark’s departure, and Ben ambled over to remove his cup, wiping the counter as he spoke. “Nice girl, Rebecca,” he said conversationally.

      “Seems to be,” Zach agreed.

      “Make a good wife for somebody,” Ben commented nonchalantly.

      “From what Mark says, the lady’s not interested in romance,” Zach replied, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee.

      Ben snorted. “Well, if you ask me, she just hasn’t met the right man yet.”

      Zach had a knack for discreetly ferreting out large amounts of information without people realizing just how much they were divulging. It came in handy in his job—and in situations like this.

      By the time he left the diner he knew quite a bit about Rebecca Matthews. She’d moved to St. Genevieve three years before to open her restaurant, “Rebecca’s,” which was becoming quite popular with both locals and St. Louisans, who often came to the quaint town for weekend getaways. She’d even been written up a few times in area papers—his own included, if Ben’s information was accurate. A graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, she’d worked in a couple of prestigious restaurants before striking out on her own. She came from the small town of Jersey, in southern Missouri, where her father still lived. Her brother, Brad—a minister—and his wife, Sam, made their home in St. Louis. She’d been returning from there Thursday night after the birth of their daughter. As far as Zach could tell from Ben’s ramblings, Rebecca never dated. And she was apparently doted over by two maiden sisters who worked at her restaurant.

      As Mark and Zach started off on their tour a few minutes later, Mark pointed out Rebecca’s restaurant. It was a modest building in the historic district, identified only by a discreet awning that displayed the name.

      “Rebecca really is a wonderful chef,” Mark told him. “The food’s great. You’ll have to try it while you’re here.”

      “Uh-huh,” Zach replied noncommittally. As a matter of fact, he intended to become a regular customer. And not because of the food.

      “Rose, have you seen the tube of whipped cream with the star tip?” Rebecca called, her voice muffled as she stuck her head into the restaurant’s huge refrigerator.

      Rose glanced at the work counter, where the tube lay in clear sight right next to the torte Rebecca was decorating. It was exactly where she’d laid it moments before. Rose glanced СКАЧАТЬ