Baby, I'm Yours. Catherine Mann

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      Vic watched the way Claire’s full lips moved as she listed other house specialties. He wondered why he kept torturing himself by coming here trying to talk to her. He would have more luck getting a response from the stuffed fish over the doors.

      Women like Claire McDermott who carried the scent of fresh-baked rolls and happily ever after didn’t need a guy like him in her life or in her towering four-poster bed. He’d tried the gold band and white picket fence gig. He’d even thought he and Sonya had built a rock-solid marriage, only to have the whole thing crumble when they’d needed each other most.

      Which brought him to his first and greatest regret—looking away for five freaking seconds to rebait his hook while Emma was wading. There had been a couple of other dads and kids—and one small sinkhole in the shallow riverbank.

      Nope, he was through with home and hearth, nearing forty and set in his bachelor life. Work at the vet clinic offered a welcome distraction, and time with his niece took care of any paternal leanings that somehow managed to survive inside his battered heart.

      Waiting while Bo read over the menu, again, Vic reeled his gaze away from Claire and fixed it on safer subjects. The gauzy curtains gusting in a briny breeze and the sound of sail lines snapping and pinging against masts.

      None of which helped since he couldn’t ignore the heat of Claire standing twelve inches away.

      A cellphone chirped, tugging his gaze back to the room. At least a dozen people reached into pockets or grabbed for purses, but Bo whipped the winning phone from his jean pocket. He glanced at the faceplate and pushed back his wooden chair.

      “It’s Paige. I need to take this outside where I can hear better.” Bo slapped Vic on the shoulder as he passed. “Go ahead and order for me?”

      “Sure,” Vic agreed, not that it mattered since the former “player” was already heading outside for the wraparound porch, so sappy gone on Paige and family life it made Vic remember lost dreams.

      Silence swelled, exaggerated all the more by the increasing clamor of boat traffic outside. Clanking utensils inside. Tables full of other people apparently having no trouble at all finding things to say to each other.

      Claire doodled on the corner of her pad for three clicks of the ceiling fans before flipping the pad closed. The familiar Claire returned with her smile. “Do you think this could be any more awkward?”

      Vic welcomed the laugh. Perhaps he’d been worrying for nothing. Time might have fixed things for him. “Maybe if all our families joined us.”

      Having her nutty—overprotective—sisters around would definitely make any situation more uncomfortable.

      Claire jabbed a thumb over her shoulder toward the hall. “Starr is in the kitchen and Bo will be here again in a minute. Does that count?”

      “Well, there you have it, then.” He leaned his chair back, arms crossed. “We’ve faced the worst.”

      “It can only get better, right?”

      Man, he hoped so.

      He eased his chair down onto all fours. “How have you been?”

      “Fine. Busy.” She toyed with the waistband of her creamy apron, Beachcombers scrolled on the breast pocket, underlined with a stitched string of tiny shells and footprints he itched to trace.

      The waistband accentuated the gentle fullness of her breasts in the Beachcombers jean-and-white theme wear. Fuller than he remembered. And at his eye level.

      His mouth dried right up.

      Vic took a long swallow of his iced tea before setting the glass back on the table. He had to clear the air or dock his sailboat elsewhere. The boat had seemed like such a great idea when he’d sold off his vet practice and old family home full of memories back in North Dakota. He’d followed his sister and her kid to Charleston when she’d married a local flyboy.

      Securing a job at a local veterinary clinic had been easy enough with his Cornell credentials. The boat was all about being a bachelor in this harbor town and able to pull up anchor and sail off for a weekend when memories got to be too much for him. A much better option than drinking away the memories, which he’d started doing too often in his North Dakota home that echoed with childish giggles and tiny footsteps.

      Except three-and-a-half months ago, instead of drinking, he’d screwed up and lost himself in Claire on a day when the memories dogged him. The day Emma would have been nine years old.

      He’d stayed late at the restaurant to talk with Claire. Too late, and by bottom of the third glass of tea, he’d been cupping her sweet bottom in his hands as they plastered themselves to each other in an out-of-control kiss.

      He owed Claire an apology. If she wouldn’t let him deliver it in private, he would settle for their semiprivate table. “Claire? Why don’t you sit until Bo gets back? You look exhausted.”

      And she did, so much so he questioned the wisdom of hashing this out now.

      “Exhausted? Seems the Jansen charm’s in limited supply today,” she drawled.

      Still, she sat. Apparently exhaustion won over pride.

      “Even dog-tired you still put other women in the dark.”

      “Ah, the charm’s back.” Claire shuffled mixed-up sugar and artificial sweetener packets in the tiny basket, resuming order. Pink on one side. White on the other.

      He remembered well what those competent hands could do to his self-control. “Not charm. Truth.”

      One elegant finger nudged the lantern centerpiece an inch to the left. “Things are hectic. I’m shorthanded here and the wedding’s coming up.”

      “Wedding?” Jealousy bit. Hard.

      “I meant, the rehearsal dinner that I’m catering next Friday and three baby showers before then.”

      “Oh, right.” He knew that, and he’d forgotten just by looking at her hands.

      “These catering gigs are important for the business.” She folded her hands on the table, a small burn staining the tip of one finger.

      A protective urge left him itching to do something, to help her. Not that independent Claire would let him do jack. She had her foster sisters to lean on anytime, and undoubtedly a guy someday, too. She should spend her time with a man who could give her a wedding of her own to plan.

      Which wasn’t him.

      Vic shut down senseless regrets, unrolled his silverware from the napkin and plastered on his best life-suits-me-fine smile. “I’m sure everything will go smoothly with you organizing it.” He dropped his napkin across one thigh. “Just bring Bo the chicken-fried steak.”

      She scraped her chair back, obviously ready to run. “Sure, I’ll send that right out with Starr.”

      A clearing throat sounded from behind Vic. He couldn’t decide whether or not to be grateful for his brother-in-law’s return.

      Bo tucked the cell phone in his jeans pocket, eyeing the two of them СКАЧАТЬ