A Daddy for Jacoby. Christyne Butler

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      Jacoby offered a small grin, but his gaze shifted past her. He then ducked his head and concentrated on the dog.

      “What are you doing here?” Justin crossed the room and placed the laundry basket on the countertop that separated the kitchen from the living room. “Does my sister know Jack’s with you?”

      She followed, her gaze drawn to the darkened kitchen. The antique stove and refrigerator, complete with chrome accents, reminded her of her late grandmother’s house.

      A throat clearing told her he was waiting for an answer.

      “Of course Racy knows.” She joined him at the counter. “She’s the one who suggested I bring him after seeing Jacoby with him earlier.”

      “So your brother knows you’re here, too?”

      “Not that it matters, but my brother is at work. I went back to the bar because I forgot my paycheck.” she paused, then lowered her voice “.with all the craziness earlier. Racy told me about you bringing Jacoby home instead of—well, you know—”

      “Passing the kid off to yet another stranger?” Justin half turned, resting his arms on the basket. His tone matched hers. “Throwing another curveball at him? I mean, it’s not like he’s had enough to deal with today.”

      Okay, she deserved that. She tucked a strand of curls behind one ear that included the pink one and forced herself to look him in the eye. “That was so unfair of me. I apologize.”

      The uncertainty in his gaze was achingly familiar; she’d seen the same wariness in another set of dark brown eyes.

      Jacoby’s.

      “I figured you might not have stuff a little boy needs.” She pulled a paper bag from the basket and set it on the counter. “I grabbed a half-gallon of milk, some apples and bananas, a box of cereal that my brother Garrett refused to touch. Too healthy, he says—”

      “I’ve been living here for the last few weeks,” Justin interrupted her. “I do have the means to keep from starving.”

      “Oh, well…I didn’t think you’d have real food.”

      He waved a hand toward the refrigerator. “What do you think that is? An oversize beer cooler?”

      “I meant food for a child.”

      He crossed his arms over his chest. “And what kind of food do they eat exactly?”

      Gina opened her mouth, but clamped it shut again when she realized she didn’t have an answer.

      “The appliances might be ancient, but despite their outward appearance, they’re clean and in working order.” He took a step back. “Go ahead, take a look.”

      He should be angry that she’d assumed he lived in a place equivalent to a fraternity house with nothing but beer and junk food, but he wasn’t. He sounded almost amused.

      Gina’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment that probably matched the pink in her hair. She grabbed the bag and made a wide circle around him into the kitchen. She pulled on the refrigerator’s tarnished handle and the door popped open. Light spilled out, highlighting the aged but spotlessly clean interior and its contents. Milk, orange juice, bottled water, eggs and sandwich meats lined the three shelves. Two drawers at the bottom were filled with fruits and vegetables. A half-dozen beer bottles stood in line on the narrow door shelf. It took only a moment to put most of her meager offerings inside.

      “I brought a pack of baloney, but the meat drawer is full.” She didn’t look at him, only tapped a fingernail against the metal door to the inside freezer. “Can I put it in here?”

      “Sure.”

      She opened the door and shoved it inside, noting the frozen chicken and steaks, a few ready-to-eat pizzas and the open end of a bright yellow box. She looked over her shoulder. “You even have popsicles…”

      Her voice faded as he moved into the darkened kitchen, stopping to lean against the counter. The only light in the room came from the open refrigerator, but considering Justin’s height, it only shined on his lower half, emphasizing long legs encased in well-worn jeans.

      “I like the taste of something sweet every now and then,” he said.

      Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask.

      It took pushing her tongue against the roof of her mouth to stop from wondering aloud what his favorite flavor was. It worked, just barely, and she closed the door. She offered a silent prayer the dimness of the room was enough to hide the blush heating her face.

      A snap sounded and the room flooded with light from twin pendent fixtures that hung from the ceiling directly over a center butcher-block island.

      She couldn’t resist looking around, noting that despite the chipped countertops, cabinets sporting faded white paint, some missing their doors entirely, the room was clean and well stocked. A toaster sat on the counter near a dish drainer and a trio of new windows, filled the wall over the sink.

      “What were you expecting? A heap of fast-food containers and empty beer bottles?”

      It was as if he could read her mind.

      Shame filled her. Three steps and she invaded his personal space, laying her hand on his folded arms. “Justin, I’m sorry I misjudged you. I should’ve known the first room you’d have fixed up and in working order would’ve been the kitchen. You’re a chef, after all.”

      He straightened and stepped away from her touch. “I’m not a chef. I’m a cook. Plain and simple.”

      He was hardly that. The staff had raved over the dishes he’d invented and Racy was smart enough to add many of them to The Blue Creek’s menu. It still amazed Gina he’d learned that skill in prison.

      “I hafta go the bathroom.”

      Both of them swung around when the small voice came from the living room.

      “Okay,” Justin said. “Go.”

      Jacoby just stood there, his bear in one hand and the other resting on Jack’s neck as the dog sat next to him.

      A pained expression came over Justin’s features, but when he caught her looking at him, he quickly erased it. “You don’t have to ask for permission. You can just go. It’s right through that doorway. The light is on the outside.”

      Jacoby headed across the room, the dog on his heels.

      “Jack, stay. He doesn’t need your help—” Gina said.

      Both stopped, but only Jack looked at them, the corners of his mouth curving upward into the humanlike grin that always seemed to be on the dog’s face.

      “I don’t care if he comes with me.”

      Gina looked at Justin, who only shrugged.

      “Then I guess it’s okay,” she said to the boy, “but be careful, he’s known to drink out of the toilet.”

      Jacoby СКАЧАТЬ