Mackinnon 03 - The Bonus Mom

by Jennifer Greene

  She glanced around, but didn’t immediately see Whit. Before going to look for him, she scouted around for a second throw blanket, found one at the top of the hall closet, and quietly draped it over Pepper.

  After that, she tiptoed around, finally noticed his silhouette on the back porch. She grabbed a jacket to pull over her shoulders and stepped outside.

  He turned, with a smile for her.

  “I was just about to grab the girls and take off when I saw they’d fallen asleep on the couch. But you’re busy. And I can—”

  “They’re fine, Whit. I had to crack up a little. They’re so like little kids, run a hundred miles an hour nonstop...but when they’re tired, they drop like stones.”

  “They had a terrific time.”

  “Me, too. Good to have noise and laughter and commotion in the lodge again.” She took a couple steps so she could stand next to him, looking out where he was. The promise of snow had disappeared, but there were still pockets of white, confectioner’s sugar in the tucks of trees, hidden in branches, clustered on rocks. A stream wound a silver ribbon, not big, just enough to make a clean, rushing sound over rocks and stony banks.

  It was cold enough to freeze her nose, but she didn’t move. Standing next to him, she was aware of his greater height, the brawn of him compared to her lean frame.

  “This place is magic,” he said quietly. “I’d have a hard time leaving it, if I lived here.”

  “Yeah. I love it, too. For a few years, no one really used it...but when my grandparents were alive, we often had holidays here. I remember so many times, cousins and extra kids running around having a ball. So much space. So many places to explore and enjoy.”

  “Sounds as if you had an idyllic childhood.”

  “It mostly was. I think I mentioned before that both my parents are surgeons, part of the Greenville Health System. We had a lot of birthdays and holidays interrupted by emergency calls—but my two brothers spoiled me beyond belief. Still do.” She tugged her jacket tighter, not wanting to go inside, just starting to freeze. “I still remember one of the first guys I went out with. My brothers never let him through the interview process—their interview process. The guy had this little red sports car. Just adorable. I could have killed Tucker and Ike both.”

  He chuckled. “Good memories.”

  “In every way. Both brothers got married just this year. I’d like to think that because of superb sisterly coaching, that they knew how to pick outstanding women. Or I guess it’s possible that they just lucked out.”

  He chuckled again, then gave her a thoughtful look. “But you’re alone here over the holidays.”

  She took a breath. It didn’t sound as if he were prying, more like he was trying to make sense out of it, put the pieces together of other things she’d told him.

  “It’s not as if I wanted to be alone exactly. It just seemed the only choice I had, this particular year.” She hesitated. “For my parents, I always tried to be the little girl who wasn’t demanding, who didn’t want to cause them any worry. And for my brothers, they’ve always been so darned good to me, that I just didn’t want to disappoint them.”

  “Hard to imagine you could.”

  “Thanks. But I definitely did. I was engaged last year, was supposed to be married in June. I broke it off. Just weeks before the wedding.”

  “Ouch. That couldn’t have been a happy deal.”

  “About as painful as you could get. But there were reasons why I couldn’t explain the situation completely to family. I wasn’t trying to duck the problem. I just felt I didn’t have a choice. So I pretended as if I had way too much work to do—which is partly the truth, if I want to finish this grant earlier than expected. And the other part of the truth is that especially my parents understand heavy work schedules.”

  He glanced out toward the stream again, as if trying to figure out what to say. “So this grant...you’re aiming for a Ph.D.?”

  “It sure seems that way. Truthfully I’d never planned on getting a Ph.D., and I liked the work I was doing before. But I had to do something after the breakup, and I knew a certain prof at Duke. He knew about some open grants, mentioned the two-year project on the wild orchids. It just hit me at the perfect time. The money wasn’t that great, but good enough to live on. And I loved the project, so it all worked out.”

  Neither said anything after that. She hadn’t spoken to anyone but her ex-fiancé. It wasn’t as if she’d spilled the mortifying part of the story...but it felt unexpectedly good just to tell someone, to feel Whit had somehow become enough of a friend to trust him with some personal things about her life.

  It was just...suddenly she realized they were standing extremely close.

  She assumed they were standing that close so they could talk in whispers, not wanting the girls to hear them.

  She assumed that he was looking at her just as a natural way of responding to the conversation.

  Only suddenly she couldn’t remember the conversation. And he wasn’t looking at her like a new acquaintance or a neighbor or the father of two girls. He was looking at her as if she was the only woman in the universe—at least his universe.

  She backed up a step. Or half a step. Behind her seemed to be a log wall, nowhere else to go, no place else to move. Of course she had the choice to say something intelligent, like what on earth do you think you’re doing?

  Only he was already leaning in to her by then. She saw his eyes. Deep blue and getting bluer.

  Some instinct sent adrenaline spearing through her pulse. She couldn’t imagine why. She’d grown up with brothers, been around men all her life. Of course, George had demolished her confidence, sabotaged her judgment...but even so, she was absolutely positive she had no reason to fear Whit.

  But there it was. That whistle and heat of danger, of warning, that suddenly made her heart pound. And all he was doing was leaning down, his eyes open, on hers, watching, waiting.

  When his mouth connected with hers, a switch flipped on in her head, forcing her to close her eyes, to sink back, to feel her bones turn liquid.

  It was just a kiss. She told herself that once. Twice. Three times. She even believed it.

  Only there was something in Whit. Something that was different to her, for her. Her hormones suddenly jolted awake.

  His lips tasted like something...alluring, intoxicating. The kiss started with no pressure, then sneaked down to another level, an earthier level, an exploring secrets, just-let-go level.

  His mouth lifted. She opened her eyes, saw his expression, surprise, interest. He could have stopped then, but no, he came back for another kiss, this one involving sound and pressure. He cocked his leg, needing support to lean down to her level for so long...but then she was almost on tiptoe by then; he was damned tall...and she had to wind her arms around his neck. Had to. Because otherwise she would have fallen.

  Her fingertips sieved into his hair, then stroked the long muscles of his neck. He was so strong, his upper arms solid as a tree trunk. She’d always been strong and fit in her own right, but Whit was like an oak...where lately she’d felt as fragile as a reed.

  She murmured, “The girls.”

  Mentioning his daughters had no effect. Possibly if the girls showed up, appeared in the doorway, they’d both get a brain. Only the girls were nowhere in sight, and Whit was still kissing her.

  He deserted her mouth, sank lips into her throat, her neck. His eyes were closed, as if the only thing in his sphere of attention was her. When he shifted, she felt his arousal graze against her, reminding her that this was no boy playing with flirtation and desire, but a grown man.

  Definitely a grown man.

  With a grown man’s needs...and a grown man’s earthy hunger. An appetite he seemed to definitely have....

  For her.

  “Whit...”

&nbs
p; She was pretty sure he heard her this time. A hundred percent certain he’d stop if she asked him. Only he seemed to hear invitation in her voice instead of the warning she had in mind.

  “Whit,” she tried again, and tipped her head to enable a kiss that started from her. Hell’s bells, if he was that determined to get into trouble, she might as well dive in deep water, too.

  No one had wanted her—certainly not her ex-fiancé—the way Whit seemed to. She’d always picked good men, believed she had reasonably good taste in men. Only the good guys she’d picked in the past seemed to find her amazingly replaceable.

  Not that she was pretending Whit could have serious feelings for her. They’d just met, for heaven’s sake. She’d always been a practical realist. She never thought for an instant that Whit was thinking about her in any kind of serious way. This was just a kiss.

  A kiss that kept coming.

  That kept building.

  A kiss that wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t quell, wouldn’t behave.

  Suddenly he lifted his head. His mouth was still damp, half open, and his hair was rumpled—from her hands—his face flushed. But a frown pinched his forehead. The first frown she’d seen on his face.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Hey.”

  The frown eased. His gaze never left hers. He searched her face—owned her wet mouth, owned the shaky silvery look in her eyes. “I just wasn’t expecting...”

  “Neither was I,” she said swiftly. “You don’t have to tell me. This just isn’t a good idea.”

  Now he tilted his head, as if confused. “It’s not a good idea because?”

  Her voice was soft, but she said the obvious. “Because your girls are grieving for their mom. Because you are. Because I wouldn’t want any of you worried even for a second that I thought I could take her place. Especially on a holiday, when she must be especially on all your minds.”

  Again he looked perplexed. Then he brushed a rough thumb against the line of her jaw. “Rosemary. I was kissing you, not the wife I lost. I was thinking about you. Not her.”

  She smiled. It was a nice thing to say. She didn’t believe him for a minute, but the kindness in his nature touched her, warmed her.

  A loud shriek echoed from the living room, followed by a second one. As far as she could tell, the girls got along like two peas in a pod...until they didn’t.

  She cast a rueful glance at Whit, and if her heart hadn’t been so scrambled, she might have chuckled. He was tucking in his shirt as fast as she was grabbing her jacket from the ground, straightening her sweater, raking a hand through his hair the same way she was trying to smooth down hers. He shot her a quick, stolen smile—how could she help not smiling back?

  But then...that was it. One of the girls woke up, then the other; Whit gathered up their gear and in a matter of minutes, they were gone.

  She rubbed her arms uneasily. The silence hit her the same way as when they’d left last time. She knew she was independent, comfortable alone...but now the quiet itched on her heart like a mosquito bite. The verdant Christmas tree filled her vision, and the scent of fresh pine brought back every loving Christmas memory she’d ever had.

  She wanted family, a yearning so sharp it hurt sometimes. She didn’t want a marriage like her parents had—where work dominated both their lives more than family. But she and her brothers loved time together. They laughed, teased, supported and fought together. But more than anything they did, Rosemary felt safe with her brothers the way she’d never felt with outsiders.

  That was what she wanted. A man she could be herself with. A man who wanted the kind of family she did—not perfect, not storybook, not pretend—but the real kind of family where you could let down your hair and always know, always, that they’d stand up for you.

  From everything she’d seen so far...Whit was that kind of man. He couldn’t be the kind of father she’d seen if he weren’t that kind of man. But he must have deeply, hugely loved his wife to be that kind of man as well—and a strange woman in the picture of this specific Christmas was just totally wrong.

  So there’d been a kiss.

  Okay, more than a kiss.

  Okay, a whole lot more than a kiss—at least for her.

  But she could put it out of her mind. For their sakes.

  * * *

  Whit was on his second mug of coffee when the girls woke up. Typical of a Saturday morning, Lilly sprang awake at gallop speed to greet the day...where Pepper slouched into the kitchen with a yawn and a scowl, daring anyone to speak to her before she’d had her favorite cereal and a banana.

  He’d woken before dawn, found himself staring out the window, waiting for the sun to come up, replaying that embrace with Rosemary over and over in his mind.

  Maybe he’d liked her on sight, but he’d never expected Armageddon or the Clash of Titans emanating from a first kiss. But it had. It troubled him that Rosemary clearly believed he was pining for his wife...the truth was more complex than that, and probably not a truth that he knew how to share. He’d never tried putting words to his feelings. Certainly not with a woman he barely knew.

  But it festered more why she was living like a hermit, what exactly her damn fool fiancé had done that was so profound she’d shut herself away. He assumed the jerk had cheated on her...wasn’t that the conclusion most people would leap to? And some guys just had roving eyes, a screw loose that way that nothing seemed to fix.

  Still, Whit couldn’t fathom how a guy would ever cheat on a woman with so much heart and passion. It didn’t make sense.

  All he really knew was that she’d obviously been badly hurt. And that he didn’t want to add to that hurt.

  “Dad?” Lilly poured a heaping bowl of cereal, no milk, and sat on her legs the way she always did. “What are we going to do today?”

  “I figured we’d do some tree decorating. At least a little later.”

  “With what? We didn’t bring any ornaments.”

  “I looked up some old traditions on the Net. We could string popcorn. And cranberries. Decorate with stuff like that. I also thought...how about if we make cookies? Starting with oatmeal raisin, your mom’s favorite.”

  Pepper dropped her spoon and stared at him. Lilly raised the same stricken eyes her sister had.

  “I didn’t mean we had to do your mom’s favorite,” Whit said hastily. “I just figured you’d like making cookies. Lilly, you love—”

  “Double chocolate chip.”

  Which he knew. “And Pepper—”

  “My favorite’s oatmeal raisin. Like Mom’s.”

  Another silence fell with a clunk. No one seemed able to fill it.

  Whit tried. “What about those cookies that are just plain? You know where you put the frosting on and sprinkles, like that.”

  “Those are sugar cookies, Dad.” Lilly used her patient voice. The kind both eleven-year-old girls had opted to use with him for some time now. “And yeah, we could make those.”

  Thank God for Lilly. He wasn’t sure if he was going to survive the girls’ coming adolescence, but Lilly tended to say an exuberant yes to most ideas.

  Pepper played with her cereal. “Are we really not going to do presents this year?”

  Whit hated to answer. She hadn’t taken off her first-of-the-morning scowl yet. “I thought we all agreed that this year—just this year—we’d do presents in a different way. Just buy some things that we could do together. Like games. Or an ice cream maker. I’d pop for new bikes—”

  “What about cell phones?” Pepper piped in.

  “No new cell phones. You have a cell phone.”

  “But we don’t both have cell phones. And the one we have is boring. It doesn’t do anything.”

  “Except call home in an emergency,” Whit agreed.

 
; “Dad! That’s like what you have when you’re six years old. We’re way past that now.”

  “I know you both feel that way.” Sometimes Whit had the worrisome feeling of being the mouse cornered by two cats. “But a lot of the new technology that costs a ton...we can’t do all of it. So some of the fancy stuff, you have to be old enough to work, to earn some money yourselves, rather than count on me to pay for it.”

  Pepper opened her mouth to argue—this argument had been building for months now—but Lilly intervened, her voice careful and quiet.

  “Dad, I think your idea about an ice cream maker is way awesome. But still. I don’t want to wake up Christmas morning with no presents, no surprises at all. Pepper and I like different things these days. We need different things these days.”

  “If you really need something, just tell me. That doesn’t have to be about Christmas. I’m pretty sure we can always find a way to do something you really need.”

  Lilly’s lip started to tremble, which meant her emotions were threatening to get away from her, but she obviously had something she wanted to say. “Even before Mom died, we were talking about redoing our room. Or using the study, so we could both have our own rooms. Pepper still wants purple, but I don’t. I want blue. I could paint it myself.”

  Whit didn’t have tics. But sometimes he felt like he could easily develop a few when his daughters tossed him in quicksand and he had no rule book about how to get out. “I don’t have a problem with your having separate rooms. I didn’t know about that. But that has nothing to do with Christmas.”

  “But it would have. If Mom were here. Because it’d be about coordinating colors of bedspreads and rugs and stuff on the wall. Figuring it out, then doing it together. And shoes. And my school jacket...it’s just gorpy now.”

  “Gorpy,” Whit echoed carefully.

  “I’m not mad at you or anything,” Lilly said. “But you just don’t understand.”

  “I’m trying, honey—”

  Too late. Her face had scrunched up, tight and red, the way it did when she was trying hard—too hard—not to cry. She bolted from the chair and ran upstairs before he could try to talk her down.