The Mummy Makeover / Mummy for Hire. Cathy Gillen Thacker

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СКАЧАТЬ walked back into the house in a huff and as soon as Erica was assured her daughter wasn’t within earshot, she turned back to Kieran. “I happen to know Stormy doesn’t have enough money to pay for your services.”

      “Actually, she gave me all her allowance.”

      A meager allowance her child must have been saving for quite some time. “What was that? Fifty dollars?”

      He fished in his pocket and pulled out a few bills. “Eighty, to be exact.”

      She rolled her eyes. “I suspect you make that much in half an hour.”

      “Normally, but I’m willing to give her a cut rate. In fact, you can have this back now.” He opened her hand and laid the bills in her palm, then folded her fingers around them before releasing his grasp on her wrist. “In case she needs something special. Just don’t let her know I returned it.”

      His simple touch threw Erica for a loop, almost enough to prevent her from speaking. “Why would you even consider doing this for free?”

      “Because she seems like a good kid and this means a lot to her. You might want to think about that before you turn down the offer.”

      He definitely had a point, although Erica wasn’t inclined to accept charity in any form. Yet she saw no harm in at least carefully considering the gesture before she told her daughter how much she appreciated her concern, but why she couldn’t commit to a fitness program right now. “Do you have a number I can call if I decide I want to do this?”

      After he pulled a card from his jeans’ pocket, he gave her a long once-over that made her want to unbind her waist-length hair from the back of her neck, but that would only conceal her upper torso. “Give me a pen and I’ll write down my cell number,” he said. “It’s easier to reach me that way.”

      She had no pockets in her tattered sweats, which meant she could leave him standing on the porch while she searched for a pen, or be courteous and invite him inside. Oh, what the heck. She’d write down the number and send him on his way.

      Erica flattened herself against the door and waved him forward. “Come in while I find something to write with. The den’s to your right.”

      Despite a solid effort to keep her eyes centered on his back, her gaze took a downward trek as she followed him through the small foyer. As predicted, his butt could only be deemed delicious. She seriously needed to get a grip.

      In the den, Erica sidestepped over to the corner desk to prevent Kieran from getting a gander at her hips that had widened considerably since Jeff’s death. That extra width was a direct result of taking comfort from food to ease the sadness, and admittedly some latent anger over being left alone to raise her daughter. She’d basically remained in emotional limbo for almost six years, even if that wasn’t exactly logical. But neither was her fascination with the beautiful stranger who wandered around the room while she squirreled away the money in the desk drawer and rummaged for a pen, without success. No doubt her offspring had pilfered the last one.

      “Mom! I need your help!”

      Speaking of offspring…“I’ll be with you shortly, Stormy.” She sent a sheepish glance at Kieran, who’d paused his pacing to stand near the sofa. “When she wants something, she only knows one tone of voice—loud.” Like he hadn’t noticed that.

      He sent her a curious look. “Is that how she came by her name?”

      She leaned back against the desk and folded her arms across her midriff. “Actually, we were under a thunderstorm warning in Oklahoma the night she was born.”

      “Mom, if you don’t come help me, I’m going to throw my math book out the window!”

      “Hold your horses, Stormy! And bring me a pen.” She shrugged. “As it turned out, the name fits her well.”

      A few moments later, Stormy walked into the room from the hall, her lopsided ponytail swaying back and forth like a pendulum. After smiling again at Kieran, she strode up to Erica and pointed a pencil at her. “Now can I get some help with my math?”

      “I can try, Stormy, but I have trouble balancing a checkbook.” She did know enough, though, to realize her finances were rather slim these days.

      “I’m pretty good at math,” Kieran said.

      Stormy glanced back at Kieran, her eyes wide with wonder. “You are?”

      “Believe it or not, I was an honor student in high school,” he said. “I was also a business major in college. I know math. Give me a shot and I’ll prove—”

      “That you’ve got brains to go along with the brawn?” Erica blurted without thought.

      He grinned. “Something like that.”

      “My homework’s in the kitchen,” Stormy tossed out before skipping into the hallway. Apparently she had no qualms about taking Kieran on as a tutor.

      Erica offered Kieran the pencil and an apologetic look. “You really don’t have to do this.”

      “Not a problem,” he said as he jotted down his number on the card with the pencil and laid both on the desk.

      “You don’t have any pressing issues awaiting you?” Like pressing his killer body against some willing woman.

      “I have to meet my parents for dinner in about an hour, so I have some extra time.”

      This man was much too good to be true. “What about your wife?”

      “No significant other right now,” he said, seemingly undisturbed by her semi-interrogation.

      Very interesting information, and somewhat problematic for Erica. If he’d been involved in a serious relationship, she could easily ignore him. Absurd. She could still ignore him. “If you insist on helping my child, I won’t complain. It will save me a lot of grief, but you’ll probably receive some in return.”

      “I’m tough enough to handle a ten-year-old. And like I said, she seems like a good kid.”

      We’ll see about that after the homework process, she wanted to say but instead led him into the kitchen where Stormy sat behind the small dinette table, rapping her pencil impatiently on her open book.

      Erica tried not to stare when Kieran shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair that he then turned around and straddled. She tried not to ogle his prominent biceps. Tried not to gawk at the size of his hands, which he rested casually on the table before him. To say he met her expectations would be wrong. He more than exceeded them. What she wouldn’t give to get her paws on all that incredible muscle mass. Professionally speaking, of course.

      Jerking herself back into hostess mode, she said, “Since you don’t drink coffee, is there anything else I can get you?” She’d offer him a brownie, but she’d already eaten the last one of the batch she’d made two nights ago.

      He scooted the chair closer to the table. “I’m fine.”

      She wouldn’t argue that point. “Just let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right over here.” Engaging in busywork while sending covert СКАЧАТЬ