“I work twelve-hour shifts for four days, then I’m off for four days, barring emergencies. This is one of my days off.”
“Then you should be taking advantage of the opportunity to laze around in bed.”
His lips curved. “Is that an invitation?”
“No!” She was shocked by the idea—and just a little bit tempted by the wickedly explicit thoughts that sprang to mind in response to his suggestion. “I only meant that you didn’t have to hang around here taking care of my kids.”
“I like your kids,” he told her.
And they absolutely adored Matt, but that was hardly the point. She couldn’t help but remember what Jack had said about his brother and worry that she was taking advantage of his generous nature. She hadn’t asked him to help her out last night, but she hadn’t objected to his offer, either. And she certainly hadn’t asked him to spend the night so that she could get some sleep, but she was immensely grateful that he’d done so.
Matt took a step closer, lifted a hand to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “And I like you.”
The contact was brief, casual. But the touch made her shiver; her heart started to pound; her throat went dry.
All he’d done was touch her, and her hormones had gone haywire. Was she so lonely, so desperate for human contact, that such a simple gesture could affect her so deeply? Apparently so, because not only was her pulse racing, her body was aching, yearning.
“Well, I’m going to go take that shower now,” she said, and turned to make her escape.
* * *
What was he doing?
It was a question Matt had asked himself countless times through the night and one that continued to plague his mind as he got breakfast under way.
He found a package of bacon in the fridge, started the meat frying on the stove while he gathered the rest of the tools and ingredients for French toast. The twins had been playing in the living room but, drawn by the sounds emanating from the kitchen, ventured into the room to investigate.
Quinn looked quizzical as he watched Matt turn the strips of bacon that were sizzling and popping. “Are you really gonna make breakfast?”
“Sure.” He set a lid over the bacon to cut down on the grease spatters.
“Can I watch?”
“Sure,” he said again. “You can even help, if you want.”
The little boy’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Why not?”
Shane, silent until now, frowned. “Daddies don’t cook.”
“Says who?” Matt challenged.
“My daddy.”
The assertion, so firmly stated, gave Matt pause. He didn’t want to contradict any memories the boys had of their father, but he couldn’t imagine that Georgia wanted her sons growing up with the outdated assumption that the kitchen was strictly a woman’s domain. “Your dad never scrambled eggs for you on a Sunday morning so your mom could sleep in?”
Shane shook his head. “Mommy doesn’t sleep in.”
Which was apparently a situation that had existed long before Pippa came along.
“She slept in today,” Quinn pointed out.
“And we’re going to make her breakfast today,” Matt said.
“We could order pizza.”
Matt had to smile. “For breakfast?”
“Daddy knew the best places to get pizza,” Quinn said loyally.
“Well, I’m going to make French toast. And if you don’t want to help, I’ll crack all the eggs myself.”
Shane shifted closer, looked up at him with solemn dark eyes. “I wanna crack eggs.”
“Then let’s get you washed up,” Matt said.
He supervised the boys’ washing their hands, or—in Shane’s case—washing the only hand he would be using. Then he sat them at the table with a big bowl and gave them each three eggs while he took the bacon out of the frying pan and set it on paper towels to absorb the grease.
“Hey! You’re not ’sposed to put the shell in the bowl.”
Matt glanced over in time to see that Quinn’s criticism had Shane’s eyes filling with tears.
“It’s hard with one hand,” Shane said, his voice wavering.
“You’re doing a great job,” he assured the child. “And it’s easy enough to fish the pieces of shell out again,” he told Quinn. Then he gave Shane a spoon and showed him how to do it.
But Quinn was still scowling over his brother’s clumsiness. “What if he doesn’t get them all?”
“Then we’ll have an extra dose of calcium with our breakfast.”
“What’s calsum?” Shane asked.
“It helps build strong bones and teeth.”
“Like milk,” Quinn said.
“That’s right,” Matt agreed. “Because milk is a source of calcium.”
He poured a generous splash of it into the bowl with the eggs and let them take turns whisking the mixture. After reminding them that they should never go near the stove without an adult close by to supervise, he let them each dip a piece of bread in the liquid and then place it in the frying pan.
It was as much fun for Matt as it obviously was for the twins, and all the while, that same question echoed in the back of his mind: What was he doing?
But this time, the answer was obvious: He was getting too close.
Aside from the fact that she was a widow, he knew very few details about Georgia’s life before she came to Pinehurst. Had her marriage been a happy one? Was she still in love with and mourning her husband? What did she want for her future?
Of course, he didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. He only knew that he was extremely attracted to her—and totally captivated by her children. They were a family without a daddy, and he very much wanted to be a daddy again.
That, he knew, was his problem. He wasn’t sure that he could separate his desire for Georgia from his affection for her children. And the closer he got to all of them, the more difficult it would be. He needed to take a step back, distance himself from the situation.
So that was what he was going to do—right after breakfast.
Chapter Seven
Georgia did feel better after her shower. Fresh and well-rested, and completely in control of her wayward hormones. She could smell bacon and coffee as she made her way down the stairs and inhaled deeply, confirming that Matt had found the tin of French roast her mother kept in the freezer. Georgia had given up caffeine when she found out she was pregnant with Pippa and, more than a year later, it was the one thing she still craved. Unfortunately, Pippa’s fussiness and sleeplessness ensured that it was something she continued to avoid.
“Mommy’s coming!” She heard Quinn’s excited whisper summoning his brother.
Shane appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He was still in his pajamas, but he bent at the waist in an awkward bow. “I’m your eksort.”
“And a very handsome escort you are,” she told him, and was rewarded with one of his shy smiles.
She took his hand and let him lead her to the dining room where the table had been set with mismatched plates on Mickey Mouse place mats with a centerpiece of wilting dandelions in a drinking glass. Georgia took in the scene in about two seconds, and that quickly, the firm grip she held on her emotions slipped.
During their eight-year marriage, Phillip had taken her to plenty of fancy restaurants with exclusive menus and exemplary service. But no Crepes Suzette or Eggs Benedict had ever looked as appealing to Georgia as the platter of overcooked bacon and slightly mangled French toast on her mother’s dining room table.
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Somebody’s been busy.”
“We were!” Quinn said proudly. “We made it together—all of us.”
She didn’t—couldn’t—look at Matt, because she didn’t want him to see the tears that swam in her eyes. Instead, she focused on her boys. “Did you really?”
“’Cept for Pippa,” Shane told her.
Georgia noticed that Matt had moved the b
aby’s bouncy chair into the dining room so that her mother would be able to keep an eye on her while she had breakfast. Pippa kicked her legs and smiled now, as if she knew that she was the subject of their conversation.
“You did a wonderful job,” Georgia said, and because Matt had spearheaded the effort, she lifted her gaze to meet his now. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Now sit and eat before it gets cold.”
The brusque command was exactly what she needed to keep the tears at bay. Following his direction, she sat and loaded up her plate. But before she could sample her own breakfast, she had to cut Shane’s French toast. Then she turned to do the same for Quinn, only to find that Matt had already completed the task.
“Eat,” he said again, though more gently this time.
So she sliced off a corner of the fried bread and popped it into her mouth.
“Do you like it, Mommy?” She heard the anxiousness in Shane’s voice and wondered why it was that her youngest son worried so much about doing everything just right while his sibling always forged ahead without concern. Sometimes it was hard to believe they were brothers, never mind twins.
“It is the best French toast I have ever tasted,” she assured him.
“That’s ’cuz it’s got extra calsum,” Quinn told her. “From the shells Shane dropped in the bowl.”
She sent a quizzical glance in Matt’s direction. He just smiled and lifted one shoulder.
“That must be it,” she agreed.
Georgia ate two slices of French toast and three strips of bacon and savored every bite. When the twins had finished their breakfast, they carried their plates and cups to the kitchen and went to wash up.
As she heard them clamoring up the stairs, she turned to Matt. “Thank you,” she said again. “Not just for cooking breakfast, but for including the boys in the process.”
“It was fun.” He said it so simply and matter-of-factly, she knew he meant it.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why aren’t you married?”
The blunt question seemed to take him aback, and he lifted his mug for a sip of coffee before answering. “I was,” he finally admitted. “Now I’m divorced.”
She winced. “Excuse me while I take my foot out of my mouth.”
“No need. The divorce was final more than three years ago. I’m over it. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
He shrugged. “It’s always hard to accept the loss of something you really wanted.”
A truth that she knew far too well. And though she knew it was a question she had no right to ask and none of her business anyway, she heard herself say, “Do you still love her?”
“No.” This time he replied without hesitation and emphasized the response with a shake of his head. “Whatever feelings we’d once had for one another were gone long before the divorce papers were signed.”
“Then why aren’t you dating anyone?”
“How do you know I’m not?” he challenged.
“Because you spent Saturday night sleeping on my couch.”
He smiled at that. “Okay, I’m not.”
“Why not?” she asked again.
“I’ve been out with a few people—I just haven’t met anyone who made me want to take the step from a few casual dates to a relationship.”
“You’re so great with my kids,” she told him, “I’d have thought you had half a dozen of your own.”
He looked away as he shook his head. “I don’t.”
And then, in an obvious effort to put an end to that topic of conversation, he reached across the table to tickle Pippa’s bare toes. The baby kicked her legs and cooed joyfully in response to his attention.
“When she’s happy, she’s really happy, isn’t she?”
Georgia smiled at her daughter. “Yeah. So much that I sometimes almost forget the hell she’s been putting me through over the past few weeks.”
He went to the kitchen to refill his mug of coffee, then returned to his seat across from her. “When did you say your mother would be back from Vegas?”
“The original plan was for her to come home yesterday.”
“What happened?”
“She decided to go from Nevada to Montana.”
He sipped his coffee. “Why Montana?”
“Because that’s where her new husband lives.”
His brows lifted. “When did she get married?”
“A few days ago.”
“You don’t approve of the man she married?” he guessed.
“I don’t know him,” she admitted. “In fact, she didn’t know him before their eyes met across the baccarat table.”
His lips curved. “She’s a romantic.”
“That’s a more favorable word than the one I would have chosen,” she admitted.
“I take it you’re not a romantic?”
“I like to think I’m a little more...practical.” It was so easy to open up to him, to tell him things she hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone else—not even either of her sisters. In fact, if not for the way her body hummed whenever he was near, she might have thought that they could be friends.
But the awareness between them was too powerful for her to be completely comfortable in his presence. And when she glanced up to see him studying her, she was suddenly conscious that the awareness was sizzling even now.
“You’ve never been swept off your feet?” he challenged.
She shook her head. “I don’t want a man to sweep me off my feet, although I wouldn’t object to a man who was willing to sweep the floors every once in a while.”
“I can sweep floors,” he told her. “But I don’t do windows.”
She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“No, you won’t.”
His blunt contradiction took her aback. “Excuse me?”
“You’re so busy trying to do everything yourself that it doesn’t occur to you to ask for help every once in a while.”
“Maybe,” she acknowledged. “But I’m learning to accept it when it’s offered.”
“That’s a start,” he said, and rose from the table to begin clearing the rest of the dishes.
Georgia gathered the napkins and cutlery and followed him into the kitchen.
“I don’t like to feel inadequate,” she finally admitted.
He turned and stared at her. “Are you kidding? You’re juggling the responsibilities of a home, a job and raising three kids.”
“Which is no more than a lot of women do.”
“A lot of women have a partner to share the burden,” he pointed out.
She dropped the napkins into the garbage and put the cutlery into the basket in the dishwasher. “Truthfully, even before Phillip died, he wasn’t at home enough to share much of the burden.” Then, because she didn’t want to sound critical of the man she’d married, she felt compelled to add, “He was a good husband and father, but he had an incredibly demanding job. He worked a lot of long hours and weekends.”
Too late, she recognized that she was making excuses about her husband to a man whose job as an orthopedic surgeon was undoubtedly more demanding and stressful than that of a trader. And yet, Matt didn’t seem to have too much trouble making time for the things he enjoyed. Which was one of the concerns that had plagued her throughout her marriage: If Phillip really wanted to be with her, why had he chosen to spend so much time away from her?
She knew the situation wasn’t that black-and-white, that her husband’s drive originated from the hard lessons he’d learned in his life. And no matter what she said or did, she couldn’t convince him that they should take time to enjoy what they had. It was never enough for Phillip—he wanted to work harder, earn more, buy more. In the end, he worked himself into an early grave, leaving his wife alone and his children without a father.
Her eyes filled again. Obviously she wasn’t as in control of her emotions as she’d hoped, but this time she manag
ed to hold the tears in check. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually such an emotional basket case.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” he told her.
“Yes, I do. You’ve been nothing but helpful and kind, and I shouldn’t repay you by crying on your shoulder.”
“I’m not afraid of a few tears,” he promised.
She managed a smile. “You’re a good man, Matt Garrett.”
“Don’t say that too loud,” he warned. “I have a reputation to protect.”
“Believe me, every time I go into town I hear all about the string of broken hearts you left behind you in high school,” she admitted. “Although rumor has it, you’ve matured into a responsible citizen since then.”
“Just a nasty rumor,” he assured her. “Don’t believe it for a second.”
This time, her smile came more easily.
However, before Georgia could respond, Shane ventured into the kitchen. “I builded a hosp’al with my bricks,” he told her.
Since his trip to the E.R. the previous week, he’d been understandably curious about hospitals and doctors and everything related to the medical profession, so his chosen project was hardly a surprise to Georgia.
“Did you want me to come take a look at it?” she asked.
He nodded, then glanced shyly at Matt and quickly away again. “Dr. Matt, too.”
“I’d love to take a look at it,” Matt said.
And when he held out his hand to the little boy, Shane hesitated less than half a second before he lifted his own and tucked it inside the doctor’s much larger one.
Georgia stood rooted to the spot as fresh tears pricked her eyes. Shane was her introverted son—the little boy who hovered in the background while his brother basked in the spotlight. It was rare for Shane to make any kind of overture, especially to a stranger.
Okay, so Matt wasn’t exactly a stranger, but being neighbors for a few weeks didn’t make him a close acquaintance, either. Of course, the fact that he’d fixed up the little boy’s broken arm might have helped the doctor breach Shane’s usual guard, but Georgia suspected her son’s ready acceptance of the man had more to do with the man himself. And that was something she was going to have to think about.
From Neighbors...to Newlyweds? Page 8