A Ring for Rosie. Maggie Wells

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СКАЧАТЬ set down the day he joined Trident Security. The day all three of them noticed Rosie’s starry-eyed stare. Even in his new-father, sleep-deprived state, James could read her expression like a book. If he had the inclination, if he could work up the energy, the luscious Ms. Herrera could be his for the taking.

      Mike and Colm had made him swear on his infant sons’ heads he’d keep his paws off. For nearly four long years he had. Now, he had to figure out a way to be sure he never slipped up again.

      Tapping a quick message, he lined out the general specs for the potential new client and promised a more complete report in the morning.

      He turned in a slow circle, taking in the chaos in his kitchen. The previous owners had filled each room with beige rugs, furniture upholstered in snowy whites and tasteful creams, and covered every surface with exotic bric-a-brac they’d collected during their world travels. James moved in with his leather sectional, a massive flat screen television, a queen mattress set complete with collapsible frame, and two cribs. He’d filled things out here and there, and his mother had done her best to make sure he was outfitted with what she considered essentials—towels, sheets, oven mitts—but the overall décor was still overwhelmingly bachelor.

      Turning to the fridge, he smirked at the overlapping displays of artwork, then opened both doors to inspect their options for dinner. The main compartment was disturbingly bare. Cringing, he made a mental promise to his kids to hit the grocery store the following day. He opened the freezer compartment and eyeballed the neatly stacked and labeled containers filling the shelves.

      As if on cue, Jamie bellowed, “I’m hungry!” from the front room.

      He didn’t even have a chance to bellow back before the sound of sneakers pounding hardwood floors announced the arrival of the cavalry.

      “Can we have snacks?” Jeff peered hopefully at the cabinet where James kept the stash of packaged kid crap he won in the poker games he and the guys held every other week.

      Or, they used to have them every other week. Lately, Colm and Mike had been too caught up in their respective relationships for things to run according to the usual schedule.

      “One each.” James reached into the cabinet and snagged two foil packets of fake fruit shaped like racecars.

      The boys scampered off, and he returned to the open freezer door. Gnawing the inside of his cheek, he scanned the neatly lettered labels. They had shelves of options ready and waiting. He weighed and discarded Maria’s zingy chicken tortilla soup. He didn’t know if he had the gumption to deal with any extra zing the spicy broth might give the boys. Rosie’s older sister Luisa’s chicken and green chile enchiladas were tempting, but he wanted something more…comforting.

      His gaze landed on a square plastic container labeled in the most familiar handwriting of all.

      Pot roast. Rosie’s pot roast.

      Freeing the tub from the bottom of the stack, he popped the lid to make certain the contents were everything they promised to be. Inside he found a generous portion of beef, baby carrots, and chunks of roasted potato frozen in a sea of rich mushroom gravy.

      “Oh, Rosie.” He shoved the container into the microwave. He set the timer and fell back against the counter, rubbing his forehead with one hand. With the boys out of the room, he felt safe using the words he’d wanted to use earlier. “Crap, crap, crap, Rosie.”

      The moment they were out, he braced himself for a reprimand from the other room. When no singsong accusations came, he pulled his phone from his pocket again and scrolled until he reached her contact info.

      But what would he say? He was sorry? He hadn’t meant to kiss her? Anything he might say to take back what had happened would only hurt her. He’d sworn on everything precious to him he’d stay as far away from her as possible. Because if he got too close, he didn’t know what he might do. But one thing was for certain, whatever he did would hurt her. And he would rather cut off an arm than hurt Rosie.

      Thanks to Rosie, her mother, and her three sisters, the freezer compartments of all three Trident Security partners were fully stocked. She bought their kids educational activity books and colored pencils. She made sure he remembered to take them to the dentist, the doctor, and occasionally to get a haircut. Their business ran like a top because of Rosie. Their lives were livable because she was in them. Hell, everything good and orderly in his world circled back around to Rosie. Which was exactly why he had to make sure he didn’t screw everything up. He might want her, but he needed her a hell of a lot more.

      The doorbell rang at the exact moment the microwave chimed. James jerked open the microwave’s door before the timer beeped, then turned toward the front of the house. The thuds of small sneakers echoed down the long and narrow hall.

      “Wait for me,” he called to them, pausing in his stride only long enough to straighten one of the framed photos of the boys. Photos Rosie had framed for him. Man, he was screwed.

      As if to drive the point home, a high-pitched squeal rent the air. “Mommy!”

      The squeal was followed by the telltale ch-chunk of lock tumblers, three ear-splitting beeps from the alarm panel, and another round of gleeful greetings from the boys. By the time James stepped into the foyer, the alarm’s chirping escalated into a demand, and Megan Simmons stood inside the solid mahogany door, an array of suitcases, duffle bags, and totes in a jumble at her feet.

      “What are you doing here?” he demanded, practically falling over the heap of luggage in his haste to get to the alarm panel.

      “Mommy’s here!” Jeff cried, his face alight.

      James froze mid-stride, mesmerized by incandescent joy shining from both of his boys. Shaking his head in automatic denial, he tore his gaze away from the twins and zeroed in on the woman standing in the eye of the storm.

      “Are you stayin’ the night, Mommy?” Jamie practically wrested the enormous purse Megan carried from her hands. “You can stay in our room.”

      “Yeah!” Jeff thrust his fist into the air.

      James stared at his boys in amazement. The traitors. He wanted to tell them she couldn’t stay, wouldn’t stay, never had and never would. Hell, she’d walked out on them the day of her six-week postpartum checkup and barely glanced back.

      He wanted to tell them she wasn’t here for them or him. She was here because she needed two things—well, three, really: money, a new sucker to take her on, and a soft place to land until she got the first two lined out.

      And this was not the place.

      “Yes, I’d love to spend the night,” she cooed. Megan shot him a look of triumph, flicked her streaked blond hair over her shoulder, and then leaned down to kiss each boy carefully on the cheek. Her movements were not natural, nor were they particularly affectionate, but his boys were apparently too starved for female attentions to be discerning.

      Straightening, Megan smirked. “Hi, honey. I’m home.”

      He opened his mouth to tell her no in every language he could conjure but was cut off when the alarm began to wail.

      Chapter 2

      The bell above the bakery door hit so hard the clapper clanked rather than chimed its usual tinkling welcome. Panting and disheveled, Rosie stared at the bank of glass-fronted cases, her chest heaving. The clump of heavy boots told СКАЧАТЬ