A Father for Jesse

by Roth, Ann

  Mac cleared his throat and pinned his attention on her kid. “I’m leaving in a month and I’m not coming back for about three years.” Except maybe over the holidays. “You know that, right?”

  “So?” the boy said. “You still have to eat dinner. Come to our house tonight.”

  Nuts as it was, Mac considered doing just that. And promptly shelved the idea. For his sake and Emmy’s, he’d stay away. He shook his head. “Thanks, but there’s a lot left to do around here this evening, and I’d like to get home before midnight.”

  “Oh.” Jesse dipped his head, then caught his lower lip between his teeth. “How about tomorrow?”

  “Jesse! Mac probably has plans on Friday night.”

  Despite the dim light, Mac noted the pink flooding Emmy’s face. He nodded. “I do.”

  “See? I’ll bet he has a date.”

  Shadows hid her expression, but Mac sensed her curiosity. He shook his head and thought he saw her shoulders relax. “I’m going to a party with Ian and Brian.”

  “How fun.”

  Her voice sounded artificially bright. Go figure. “Yeah, it should be a blast,” Mac said.

  Emmy beckoned to Jesse. “We should go now. Mac, please let me know when you’re ready to lock up.”

  A good hour later, as Mac spread mud over the drywall seams, his mind once again filled with thoughts of Emmy, someone knocked on the door. Who could that be? He opened it. Emmy stood there, and damned if his heart didn’t thud hard in his chest.

  “For you.” She held out a foil-covered plate.

  “What’s this?” he asked, knowing the savory smell meant good food.

  “Dinner. Jesse didn’t want you to starve.”

  “My mouth is watering. Tell him thanks.”

  “I will. He’s finishing his math homework, by the way. With no trouble at all, thanks to you. I’ll leave you alone now.” She turned away.

  Mac’s stomach wanted that food, and he needed to finish the mudding. But he wasn’t quite ready to let Emmy go. “Tell Jesse I’m proud of him.”

  She pivoted toward him and nodded, this time, smiling. “He made a friend today, a boy who just moved here.”

  She looked pleased, years younger. Mac was happy for Jesse and for her. “That’s good.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  There was nothing more to say, not with words. Emmy’s gloved hands fidgeted at her waist. Her eyes collided with Mac’s. Tearing his gaze away, he studied the plate. With an appreciative sniff, he lifted the cover. Fragrant steam wafted around him, and he licked his lips.

  “It’s a chicken-and-rice casserole,” Emmy said, also fixed on the plate. “Jess and I pretty much live off casseroles. On weekends I make several and freeze enough to last all week. Saves a lot of time.”

  “Smart idea. Wish I’d thought of that when I was raising my brothers.”

  Another awkward silence, the tension between them almost as thick as the caulking mud.

  Mac shifted his weight. Cleared his throat. “I’ll return the plate when I’m—”

  “About last night—” they said at the same time.

  Mac set the plate on a pile of cookbooks and beckoned Emmy inside. “It’s too cold to have this conversation on the porch.”

  She crossed the threshold timidly, keeping her hand on the doorknob, looking as if she wanted to bolt and run.

  “Last night just happened,” Mac said. “I never meant to kiss you and I apologize.”

  “No need to. I’m not at all sorry.” Her eyes widened with surprise and she hastily covered her mouth with her fingers, as if she hadn’t meant to admit that.

  Mac sure hadn’t expected this. “You’re not?”

  She shook her head. “But it can’t happen again.”

  “Agreed.”

  Her face was easy to read. Despite her words, she wanted more of what they’d shared. Mac did, too. Needed to pull her close again and finish what they’d started.

  Not gonna happen. He grabbed a hammer from the table and weighed it in his hands. “I should get back to work.”

  “Eat first, before your dinner gets cold.”

  He intended to. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to go home. Shouldn’t be too late.”

  “Okay.” She slipped out the door and closed it softly behind her.

  By the time Mac finally finished it was nine-thirty. No doubt by now Jesse must have already gone to bed. The mudding had taken longer than expected, probably because he’d been distracted. The things he wanted to do with Emmy. Kiss her soft lips, touch and taste every inch of her body until she cried out in ecstasy…

  His blood simmered, and if his mother had been alive and heard his muttered foul words, she’d have used up a whole bar of soap washing out his mouth.

  At least now, after more than twelve hours on the job, he was too worn-out to think about anything. He planned to go home and fall into a dead sleep, safe, if only for tonight, from his ever stronger need for Emmy.

  Plate in hand, he crossed the road, his way dimly lit by the streetlight at the end of the cul-de-sac. He walked to Emmy’s front stoop. The curtains were closed, but light blazed through the chink between them. He knocked on her door.

  A blink later she answered. Soft classical music filled the air. In her hand she clutched a book. Mac couldn’t make out the title. He wanted to ask what she was reading, but that would mean having a conversation, which could lead to other things. Especially with her big eyes so warm and those slightly parted lips tempting him.

  He thrust out the plate. “Thanks for dinner. It was great. I rinsed the plate off in the bathroom. Sorry I couldn’t wash it.”

  “You’re welcome. Gosh, you worked so late, I was starting to wonder whether you’d ever stop.” She set the plate and the book down and looked at him like she wanted a repeat of last night.

  He did, too, but dammit, he was so not going there. Not tonight. Not ever again. As his hands curled into determined fists, he stared at her shoulder. “Million things to do. I’m ready to go home now.”

  “Then I’ll lock up.”

  She grabbed her coat. Without waiting for her he strode toward the van, the winter grass crunching under his boots. Standing by the vehicle, he watched her climb the steps and bolt the Rutherfords’ door. Then she walked toward him, stopping a foot away.

  She tilted her head, the ambient light illuminating her face. Her yearning was clear as day. “Good night, Mac. I’ll see you in the morning or if you sleep in, after work.”

  He started to reach for her, caught himself and jammed his hands into his hip pockets. Hell. Maybe he would sleep late, let his brothers start without him. A lot safer that way. “Night, Emmy,” he said, sounding gruff to his own ears.

  He climbed into the van and locked himself in. Didn’t move or release his breath until she crossed the street to her own yard and closed her door behind her.

  As he drove away, he wondered how he’d last the night without going up in flames.

  Chapter Nine

  By the time Mac cleaned up and ambled into Jim Applebaum’s house Friday night, the party was in full swing. Music blared from the CD player and couples crowded the living room, laughing and dancing. Others gathered around the dining-room table, sampling the food and shouting to be heard over the noise. The kind of party Mac’s brothers loved.

  Mac didn’t see anyone over twenty-five. He was probably the oldest guy at the party, which didn’t sit well with him. He spotted tall, skinny Jim dancing with a brunette, moved into the man’s line of sight and called out a greeting.

  “Hey, Mac,” Jim replied loudly, flashing a grin while he gyrated to the music. “Long time. Keg’s in the kitchen—grab yourself a beer.”

  Mac hadn’t been to a kegger in years. It really wasn’t his thing anymore. Wondering if he’d made a mistake coming here but bent on having a good time, he looked for his brothers. They weren’t in the living room, but he knew they were around someplace. Probably trolling for single women. At the moment, neithe
r had a girlfriend. Unlike Mac, they each wanted one.

  Wandering into the dining room, he nodded at kids he recognized. Caught himself thinking of his brothers’ friends as “kids” and snickered. No doubt about it, he definitely felt ancient around this group. College would be like this, too. The thought had him frowning.

  Finding a woman here seemed downright pathetic. Keg beer sounded better. Keeping an eye out for Ian and Brian and also checking out the ladies, Mac made his way through the dining room toward the kitchen. Several girls caught his eye, young as they were, and smiled suggestively, and he knew that even if he’d outgrown keggers, even if he felt worlds older, he could pair up with someone tonight and forget about Emmy for a while.

  He found his brothers in the kitchen, two of a small bunch congregated around the barrel of beer.

  “Hey.” He grabbed a plastic glass from a stack on the counter and waited his turn.

  Everyone called out hellos, a few with speculative looks. As in, what are you doing at this party?

  “You made it.” Ian saluted.

  “We were starting to wonder,” Brian said. “Wait’ll you taste this beer. It’s great, and you could really use a glass or three.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Mac asked, barely able to hear himself over the noise.

  “You’re way too tense about the remodel job.”

  “You need to chill out,” Ian said. Though the entire house throbbed with conversation, laughter and music, he lowered his voice. “And get laid.”

  Did his brothers somehow know that lust for Emmy was making his life hell? Mac stiffened. “I haven’t been that bad.”

  “No?” Brian said. “Snapping our heads off for any little thing, working twelve-hour days and half of every Saturday? You’ve been a total pain in the ass.”

  “Don’t hold anything back,” Mac muttered.

  Ian drained his glass. “We invited you here to relax and hopefully meet someone.”

  So they hadn’t guessed about Emmy. Mac blew out a breath. “And here I thought you wanted more of my pleasant company. Lucky for you, we’re on the same wavelength. I’m on the prowl tonight.”

  At last it was his turn at the keg. He opened the tap and beer frothed into his glass. With his brothers watching, apparently waiting for his opinion, Mac sipped, enjoying the rich flavor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Great stuff.”

  Brian tipped his glass and moved toward the door. “What’d I tell you? Let’s head into the dining room, get something to eat and do some babe scoping.”

  Mac and Ian followed. Standing near the table, they snacked on chips and dip and traded brotherly quips.

  “Now you’re starting to unwind,” Ian said, his attention on a willowy redhead across the way.

  “Not bad,” Mac said.

  “She’s a looker, all right. Think I’ll ask her to dance.”

  Brian shrugged. “She’s cute, but I have my eye on that girl by the doorway, with the brown, curly hair. What about you, Mac? See anyone interesting?”

  Mac glanced around. There were several women with the long legs he favored, but no one in particular grabbed his attention. “Not yet.”

  “Wish me luck.” Ian moved in on the redhead.

  “Don’t look now, but that blonde with the big rack across the room?” Brian gave a fractional nod toward a small circle of women. “She’s looking you over, big brother.”

  “Yeah?” Mac checked her out. She was small and pretty, and definitely giving him the eye. “Sweet,” he murmured.

  His brother winked. “Go get her, bro. Later.” He made his way toward the woman with the brown curls.

  Mac watched his brothers lay on the Struthers charm, and noted they each got a positive response. Seconds later Ian and his new friend headed for the living room to dance. Brian and the curly-haired girl stood to the side, chatting animatedly.

  Mac gave them a mental thumbs-up. He hoped they both found whatever it was they wanted tonight. He was sipping his beer, deciding whether to get himself a refill or approach the blonde when the music stopped and she started toward him.

  “Hi there,” she said, thrusting out her chest. “I’m Christy.”

  Mac let his gaze flicker over her curves before he nodded. “Mac Struthers.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  She wet her lips, a move meant to rev him up. It didn’t. The music started again, a mellow, sultry number.

  “Norah Jones—I love this song,” Christy said, her eyelids looking heavy. “Would you like to dance?”

  A slow dance with a cute, sexy woman was exactly what Mac needed to get things rolling. He smiled. “Love to.”

  He caught her hand and pulled her into the crowd of dancers. There wasn’t much room, but who needed space? She smelled good and felt as soft in his arms as she looked. She was funny, too, cracking jokes. And definitely had the hots for him. Mac knew that if he stuck by her side, she’d let him take her home. But when she snuggled close, he felt nothing beyond mild interest.

  What was his problem?

  The song seemed to last forever. When it finally ended he pulled away. “Thanks,” he said, making no show of asking her for another dance.

  “Okay.” Christy shrugged and moved on to a different guy.

  An hour later his brothers were still with the redhead and the curly-haired girl. While Mac had danced with three different women and chatted up a few more. As attractive as each was, he couldn’t summon up much enthusiasm.

  Which put him in a lousy mood. He finally nodded good night to his brothers. Their matching incredulous expressions—obviously they couldn’t believe he hadn’t paired up by now—irked him even more. He thanked Jim and left.

  On the drive home he admitted to himself what he’d known deep down for days. There was only one woman he wanted. Emmy Logan. This was not good. Distracted by his troubles, he drove on automatic pilot.

  He didn’t realize where he was headed until he turned onto Beach Cove Way. Big mistake. He was not stopping at Emmy’s.

  By now she was probably asleep, anyway. He’d turn around in the Rutherfords’ driveway and hightail it home.

  Only, the lights at her house still glowed through the crack in the drapes. Praying she didn’t hear the van, Mac pulled into Tom and Melinda’s driveway. As he backed out a loud pop! ricocheted through the silence. Mac jumped in his seat. The left front end of the van sagged. Flat tire. He’d probably run over a nail.

  Of all the times and places. Cursing his bad luck, he opened the glove box for the flashlight and got out of the van.

  After carefully closing the door—he didn’t want to make any more noise—he switched on the flashlight. Nothing. Mac shook it. Removed the batteries and reinserted them. The light stayed off. Damned thing was dead.

  The porch light didn’t exactly illuminate the driveway and the streetlamp at the end of the block was no help. He’d have to change the tire in virtual darkness. Piece of cake.

  He had no trouble positioning the jack, hoisting up the vehicle or loosening the lug nuts. But as he began to twist one off with his fingers, his hand slipped. A sharp sting creased the pad of his thumb. Within seconds he was bleeding like a slaughtered pig, and in burning pain.

  Having no Band-Aids, tissue or rags to staunch the flow, Mac needed help. He headed for Emmy’s.

  HUMMING AS SHE washed out the popcorn bowl she and Jess had shared, Emmy realized this was something they hadn’t done in ages. Monday was Martin Luther King Day. Eager to begin the long weekend on a fun note, she’d splurged and ordered pizza. She’d also stopped at the grocery for chocolate syrup, sprinkles, whipping cream and cherries for ice-cream sundaes. Then headed for the video store to rent two old favorites, Transformers for Jess and Sleepless in Seattle for herself. And it had been fun, more or less. Jess hadn’t exactly opened up. He still hated school and refused to discuss it. Several times he groused about her “lame chick flick,” and he fought going to bed. At least he’d spent the ent
ire evening with her, not shut himself in his room. Progress, for sure.

  Though by morning that could change. As moody as Jesse was, who knew what the next day would bring?

  Now at close to midnight, Emmy was ready to fall into bed herself. She looked forward to sleeping in and enjoying a late, leisurely Saturday morning with a stop at Mocha Java for doughnuts.

  Unless Mac showed up, wanting the key. Saturdays, he usually worked for at least some of the day. But with his party tonight, maybe he’d skip tomorrow.

  Had he met someone there? Would he go home with her? The very thought dimmed Emmy’s mood. Not that she had any hold on Mac Struthers. A few kisses didn’t mean a thing, and besides, she didn’t have time for romance. The man was leaving soon and wasn’t interested in parenting anyone’s child. And she refused to ruin what was left of the evening by mooning over him.

  As she pulled the plug and the water gurgled from the sink, she heard a loud pop. Gunfire? Instantly she froze. But this wasn’t Oakland, it was a quiet cul-de-sac on Halo Island. Then again, with most of the houses deserted until summer and the Rutherfords away…Someone might be over there, breaking in. Heart pounding, Emmy hurried to the living room, on the way grabbing the phone to call the police. Clutching it to her chest, she peeked through the drapes.

  And jumped. Mac was walking toward her cottage. She darted back.

  What was he doing here at this hour?

  She set down the phone and quickly smoothed her hair. She opened the door before he knocked. One look at his injured hand and she gasped.

  “What happened?”

  “Cut the hell out of myself. Do you have a Band-Aid?”

  He was bleeding way too much for one little bandage. Judging by the blood, his pale face and taut jaw, he was in pain.

  Wincing for him, she widened the door. “I have a first-aid kit. Come in.”

  “Better give me a rag or a tissue first so I don’t drip on your floor.”

  Considerate even now—how like him. “Wait here.”

  Emmy grabbed a handful of paper towels. Mac pressed one against the pad of his thumb, then held his hand up to staunch the flow of blood. Despite his cut, he still wiped his feet before he stepped through the door.