by Judy Duarte
So much for surreptitious glances. Brett had been caught with his eyes on the cookie jar. “You’re right. She’s a good mother and a nice neighbor.”
“Yep.” Gerald bent, reached into the cooler and pulled out a light beer. “She sure could use someone in her corner right now.”
Brett figured the old man was trying to be a matchmaker, so he decided to sidestep the issue. “She seems to be doing okay on her own.”
“On the outside, I suppose.” Gerald popped the tab, then took a slow, steady swig of his beer. “Things could get pretty hairy for her in the next few weeks.”
“What do you mean?”
Gerald merely studied him, as though realizing he’d spoken out of turn. “Hey, looks like they’re getting ready to carve the pork.”
A typical hungry man’s comment? Or an attempt to change the subject?
Curiosity niggled at him, and he had the urge to press the older man for an explanation. But he held his tongue.
Brett was already in too deep with his pretty, blond neighbor.
And rather than get sucked in deeper, he needed to swim against the current and get back on shore.
In fact, after he feasted on barbecue pork and potluck, he intended to do just that.
Caitlin hadn’t lied about the food. The spread was amazing—and delicious.
Brett especially enjoyed the vast array of desserts, like Mary Blackstone’s strawberry-rhubarb pie, which Caitlin had forced him to try. Heck, he didn’t even know what a rhubarb looked like. But after one bite, he’d scarfed down two helpings.
When he’d eaten his fill, he leaned back in his chair and thought about calling it a night.
But the feast wasn’t the end of the evening’s festivities. Before he could thank Caitlin for inviting him and excuse himself, a heavyset woman instructed everyone to turn their chairs and face a mock stage on the lawn.
Oh, what the heck. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to sit here a bit longer, next to Caitlin and her daughter.
Emily, who held a curly-haired doll in her arms, tapped him on the knee. “Can I sit with you, Brett?”
He glanced at her mother, although he wasn’t sure why. For permission?
She smiled warmly, so he opened his arms. Emily, with her hair smelling little-girl fresh, climbed in his lap, popped a thumb in her mouth and rested her head against his chest. She was just a little bit of a thing, sweet and trusting. And holding her made him feel warm and sappy at the same time.
When a parade of homely, odd-shaped hula dancers cut across the lawn and made their way to the stage, the crowd roared in laughter.
A group of burly men, some with old military tattoos, wore grass skirts, coconut shell bikini tops tied to hairy chests and hibiscus flowers stuck on bouffant wigs. Gerald Blackstone was one of them, and Brett couldn’t help but laugh at the retired marine who was really hamming it up.
Canned ukulele music played in the background, as the men gyrated their hips and fluttered their arms and fingers, putting on one heck of a show.
But Emily, who was usually vibrant and full of life, hadn’t uttered a sound or moved a muscle. Didn’t she think it was funny?
Brett glanced at her face and saw her eyes closed, her lips parted in exhaustion. He couldn’t help but grin.
“Is she asleep?” Caitlin whispered.
He nodded, afraid to shift, to move, to wake her.
“If you don’t mind holding her while I take my dishes home, I’ll come back and take her to bed.”
Brett adjusted the child, then slowly stood. “I’ll carry her home for you.”
Caitlin slid him an appreciative smile, one that said she didn’t get much help in that department and made him feel like a guy who’d been given a shiny medal for doing nothing at all.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’d appreciate that.”
As he made his way across the lawn to Caitlin’s door, waiting for her to grab her dishes and catch up, he held Emily to his chest and watched her sleep. She looked like one of those pictures of a dozing cherub—an angel with a smudge of dirt on her face, a yellow barrette dangling in her hair and a baby doll wrapped in limp arms.
A moment later, Caitlin joined him at her front porch. She carried an empty bowl that had once held her potato salad—the best he’d ever eaten—and a platter of chocolate crumbs. The cake had disappeared before Brett could go back for seconds.
Caitlin let him inside, set the dishes on a table by the door, then led him to Emily’s room, where she drew back a pink-checkered comforter, revealing clean white sheets. “I don’t want to wake her by putting on her pajamas yet. Just lay her down, and I’ll slip off her sandals. Then, after I’m sure she’s sound asleep, I’ll wash her face and hands and change her clothes.”
He placed the little girl on the bed, her head on the pillow, then watched as the mother brushed a kiss across her brow.
It was, he decided, an interesting and rare glimpse of life in a sugar-and-spice world—the kind of world every child deserved, but not enough of them were blessed with.
As they left Emily’s bedroom, Caitlin asked if Brett wanted a cup of coffee. “It won’t take me but a minute to brew a pot.”
He really ought to hightail it home, but for some reason he agreed.
Curiosity, he told himself. That’s all. He just wanted to know more about Caitlin. To know why she needed someone in her corner. Why things might be hairy for her in the upcoming days.
He followed her to the kitchen and watched as she made coffee in a pot that wasn’t much bigger than those provided in a motel room. As the water brewed, they made small talk and laughed about the kind of “hula girl” Gerald had made.
In no time at all, Caitlin poured two cups of coffee, sweetened hers with sugar and a dab of cream, then led Brett to the porch at the back of her house, away from the few who still partied in front.
They sat on padded seats at a glass-topped wrought iron table and listened to the night sounds of crickets chirping and the faint chords of Hawaiian music as the luau began to wind down.
A silvery moon peered out from behind a cloud. Tiki-style lights that lined the sidewalk leading to the community pool, along with Caitlin’s tropical scent, reminded Brett of a romantic stretch of sidewalk along Kaanapali Beach in Maui.
It was a bit more romantic than he would have liked, more tempting than was wise, but there was no graceful way to cut out now—even if he wanted to. So he decided to focus the conversation on something other than moonlit nights, sea breezes and romance.
“You’re a good mother,” he said. “And you’ve made a great home for Emily.”
“Thank you.” She took a sip of coffee. “I’ve tried very hard to give her the things I never had.”
“Kids don’t need things to make them happy.” Brett could attest to that.
“I’m not talking about money or possessions.” Her smile flickered, faltered, and he wasn’t sure whether he should press her or not.
But he did. “What did you miss out on?”
Caitlin didn’t know how much she wanted to reveal. She’d put it all behind her now and was trying her best to provide Emily with a loving, stable home—a single-parent home. “I had a sad childhood, let’s just leave it at that.”
Her past wasn’t something she liked to share with people, especially a handsome helicopter pilot who would only be a transient in her life.
“What about you?” she asked. “Did you have a nice childhood?”
“I grew up in the lap of luxury, with every toy, game and opportunity an only child could imagine. But I doubt my childhood was any happier than yours.” He took a sip of the fresh brew. “My parents loved me, but they fought constantly. And their divorce didn’t end the battles. Their legal war lasted for years, and I became a pawn.”
“I’m sorry.” Caitlin, more than anyone, realized a child’s happiness wasn’t dependent upon wealth, but rather love and a home.
“Rumor had it that when my parents headed back to court, it
took a forklift to carry the boxes of legal briefs and files.” He laughed, but the tone held a hollow ring. “Of course, that was nothing compared to the battles that went on at home.”
“Even after they separated?”
He nodded. “My mom would make promises, saying things like, ‘If you tell the judge you want to live with me, I’ll get you that brand-new bike you’ve been wanting.’ And my father would counter with, ‘How’d you like good ol’ dad to get you that new computer with all the bells and whistles.’”
“It’s too bad that they put you in the middle.”
“They didn’t realize the damage they were doing to me. As the years went on, the fight raged and their carrots only got bigger. So I worked them to my advantage. I got a brand-new car before I was old enough to drive and, eventually, I gained unofficial access to a hefty trust fund my grandfather had left me.”
She watched him over the rim of his cup, saw the frown, the furrowed brow. “But it looks as though you survived intact.”
His emotion-filled gaze locked on hers, drawing her in. “Yes, but no thanks to my parents. By the time I was a senior in high school, I’d gotten tired of the endless trips to court and their heated arguments, so I decided to make a few headlines of my own.”
Somehow, she knew he wasn’t talking about gaining attention for being an honor student, an Eagle Scout or an athlete. “How’d you do that?”
“I rebelled. Even when my parents finally made a half-assed attempt to bury the hatchet, my anger and resentment had festered to the point of delinquency—fighting, truancy, destruction of property, mischievous pranks, you name it. I actually enjoyed dragging my parents and my stepfather before the judge—like they’d done to me.”
“I assume the Navy was your saving grace.”
“Eventually. But it was Harry Logan who actually turned my life around.”
“Who is Harry Logan?”
“A police detective, now retired, who has a way of reaching the heart of an angry kid. Harry took me under his wing, introduced me to a Navy pilot and things sort of took off from there.”
Caitlin would’ve loved to have someone in her corner, someone willing to fight for her best interests. But as it was, she was forced to rely on herself.
Brett leaned back in his seat and stretched out his legs. Caitlin had a hard time not admiring him. He wore a pair of khaki slacks—expensive. And a pale green Tommy Bahama shirt that was appropriate for a luau.
When she glanced at his stunning, wild-blue-yonder eyes, she realized he was studying her, too—in a pleasing way, in a way that warmed her heart and blood. In a way that could make a single mother remember what life had been like when she was younger, carefree and without a child to consider.
He fiddled with the cup in his hands, then caught her eye. “For a kid with a sad childhood, you managed to turn out okay, too.”
“I was in and out of foster homes most of my life. But when I turned thirteen, I was determined to improve my lot in life. I studied hard, graduated from high school, then applied for grants and student loans so I could attend college.”
“Where you became a nurse and learned how to apply Hello Kitty bandages and mend battered motorcyclists,” he supplied.
She laughed. “That’s about the size of it. I got a college degree and a small place of my own.” She turned, gazed through the screen of the sliding glass door, then smiled at him. “Well, actually, I rent this place, but I’d love to own it someday.”
“I’m sure, with your determination, you will. I guess we both made the best of crappy childhoods.” He flashed her a thought-provoking smile. One that made her wonder what hid behind it. The secrets. The pain he hadn’t shared.
She could see it there, hiding deep in his eyes, and it tugged at her heart.
As much as she hated to admit it, she was drawn to Brett Tanner, to his rugged good looks, to the kindness he’d shown her and her daughter. To the way he’d turned his life around. “I’m sorry for the child you once were, but I like the man you’ve become.”
He shrugged, as though uneasy with her praise, and she wasn’t sure why. Then he slowly got to his feet. “Well, I’d better let you turn in. It’s been a long day. Thanks for the coffee.” He picked up the cups and saucers, slid open the screen of the sliding glass door and carried them into the house.
Caitlin followed, assuming they’d left the romantic ambiance on the patio, along with the Tiki lights, the island music and a Bella Luna moon. But in the kitchen, Brett lingered, and so did an awkward sexual awareness.
Did he feel it, too? That urge to gaze, to touch, to make the evening last a little longer?
He nodded at the cups in his hands. “Is it all right if I just set these on the counter?”
“Sure.”
The intimacy they’d shared seemed to require more than a “See you later,” but Caitlin wasn’t sure how much more.
They stood there for a while, as though their friendship, or whatever it was, had reached a new level, an awkward level.
“Well, I’d better turn in,” he said.
She nodded, then followed him to the front door.
As he reached for the knob, he paused, dropped his arm and turned. “Thanks for encouraging me to attend that luau. The food was great. And the hula dancers put on an entertaining show.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed the evening.”
He glanced at his feet, then raked a hand through his hair. “Listen, I’m sorry for running off at the mouth about my childhood.”
So he’d been feeling guilt, not sexual attraction. That should offer her a big sense of relief, since she wasn’t ready to have a man in her life, especially one who wouldn’t be around forever.
So where did the disappointment come from?
“I don’t usually spill my guts like that,” he added.
She didn’t either, but she didn’t think he’d revealed too much—unless he was as discreet about his past as she was of hers. She offered him a sympathetic smile. “If anyone can understand how kids get caught up in the problems facing their parents, it’s me. Don’t think anything of it.”
Then she gave him a hug. Nothing big, just one of those casual, almost meaningless things.
But when his arms wrapped around her, too, drawing her close, she no longer knew what the embrace meant.
Or what she wanted it to mean.
Brett didn’t know why he continued to hold Caitlin close, why he wasn’t quite ready to let her go.
Maybe because he appreciated the way she fit into his arms, the way her breasts pressed against his chest. Or maybe he hadn’t yet had his fill of her intoxicating piña colada scent.
The silk of her hair lay soft against his cheek, and without a conscious thought, his lips brushed the strands in a whisper-soft kiss that was too inappropriate to contemplate, too out of line for anyone’s good.
With her arms still locked around him, she lifted her head, her face, her eyes. And a vibrant aquamarine gaze wrapped around him like seaweed in the surf.
His heart slammed into his chest.
Should he apologize? Make some moronic excuse for letting a hug get out of hand?
He tried to think of an apology, an excuse, some explanation of why his body had taken charge of his brain—until he spotted desire brewing in her eyes, until her lips parted. And in the scheme of things, reason and good sense no longer seemed to matter. So he lowered his mouth to hers.
It was only a kiss, he told himself. No big deal. Something they could put behind them later, after their curiosity had been sated.
But as his tongue explored every wet, velvety nook and cranny of her mouth, tasting her sugar-and-cream sweetness, his blood soared, and he was lost in a swirl of testosterone and heat.
His hands caressed her back, memorizing each gentle curve. He had a half-assed wish that she’d pull away, make it easy on him. But she merely leaned into him and allowed the kiss to deepen.
Oh, damn. This wasn’t a good idea.
Bu
t he gripped her hips and pulled her flush against his erection, a move that sent his hormones raging, a move that should have caused her to pull back, to withdraw.
Instead, she whimpered and threaded her fingers through the short strands of his hair.
The room began to spin, increasing his arousal, kicking it up a dangerous notch and threatening to pull him into the murky depths of something heavy.
Something he wasn’t ready for.
A promise he couldn’t make—not to a single mother who held firm to a white-picket-fence dream, a dream she and her daughter deserved.
Something Kelly and Justin already had.
Damn. What in the hell had gotten into him? Home and hearth wasn’t in the cards for a fly-boy like him—no matter how his temporary neighbor had turned his solo life upside down in a few short days.
With both fear and regret, he pulled his mouth from hers, breaking the kiss, ending the embrace, leaving his arms empty.
He raked a hand through his hair, as though the move might sort through his thoughts, stir up the right words.
The only ones that came to mind were, “I’m sorry about that.”
“So am I.” She took a deep breath, then blew it out. “God knows I don’t need to get involved in a relationship right now.”
A part of him wanted to know why not, to quiz her and find out what Gerald had been talking about. But the rebel in him clammed up. He couldn’t allow the intimacy, the self-disclosure. Not if he wanted to survive the three-week house-sitting stint he’d signed on for.
And as much as he hated to admit it, he’d grown to care for the mother and child—too much.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “I’m glad we’re on the same wavelength.”
Still, the awareness, the attraction that had been brewing ever since the first day he’d laid eyes on her hadn’t abated. And he feared, if given the chance, he’d kiss her again. How stupid was that?
“Well,” he said, trying to put things on an even keel. “I’d better head home and check on those kittens.”
It was the only excuse he could come up with, since his other reasons for escaping were too heavy to discuss.
