The Widow's Bachelor Bargain

by Teresa Southwick

  “Aw.” She touched his arm and the love shining in her eyes was obvious. “You’re a keeper.”

  Sloan studied the child then looked at Maggie. “Speaking of minis... She looks a lot like you.”

  “That’s the consensus,” she agreed. “Poor kid.”

  “I don’t think so.” Sloan met her gaze and there was something in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. “Before you know it, boys are going to notice, and then you’ll have your hands full.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Just then a waiter arrived with a tray full of steaming plates. Sloan put Danielle back in the high chair as if he’d been doing it for years and the child went without protest. What was wrong with this picture?

  Maggie hadn’t tried very hard to find a babysitter. She’d secretly hoped her daughter would make dinner a challenge like any respectable two-year-old would. Not that she wanted to spoil Burke and Syd’s evening. Her plan had been to take the fussy toddler outside, but it would be a warning to Sloan if he had any illusions about tempting her into a fling.

  But if there was anything a mother could count on, it was that a child would make a liar out of her. Tonight was no exception. Her little girl had been practically perfect, the poster child for any couple considering whether or not to have children.

  It turned out to be a wonderful evening. If there was a downside, it had to do with her and feelings that scratched at the wall she’d put up around her heart when her husband died. This was where she reminded herself that it wasn’t just about her. She had to think about Danielle. Anything casual with a man was out of the question.

  There were many things in life Maggie couldn’t control, but getting involved with Sloan wasn’t one of them.

  Chapter Seven

  After work Sloan returned to Maggie’s house and went straight to his room via the outside stairway. As a paying guest, he had a key to the front door but preferred to come in the back way. Especially for the past three weeks, after taking Maggie and Danielle to dinner with Burke and Sydney.

  They’d had a great time—at least he had. That little two-year-old charmer could wrap herself around his heart if he wasn’t careful. And so could her beautiful mom. But if Burke hadn’t invited them, Sloan certainly wouldn’t have asked them along. It fell into personal territory. Every time the scales tipped in that direction, Maggie nudged him back over the line into neutral, and he didn’t do neutral very well. It made him want to shake her up—in a very personal way.

  All he had to do was look at her and he wanted to get very personal. But the woman had emotional baggage and he didn’t want to unpack it, so he was keeping his distance—hence he was using his outside access to get to his room. That way he didn’t have to see Maggie until dinner, and avoiding her seemed best for both of them.

  He dropped off the paperwork he planned to look at later and changed out of his suit. He was a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy at heart, but sometimes a suit and tie was required.

  Now he was at loose ends. After a long day, he wanted a break before diving into more work. He wondered if Josie was watching TV in the upstairs family room. After exiting his room, he walked down the hall to the garage-size common area and found it empty.

  “She must be downstairs.” Great. Talking to himself. That was why he needed someone else to talk to. And going to the first floor meant seeing Maggie. “At least Josie and Danielle will take the pressure off.”

  When he was alone with Maggie, his willpower and common sense seemed to go missing in action.

  Sloan descended the stairs and wondered what was going on. It was way too quiet. Until rooming here at Potter House, quiet had always been his preference, but he’d gotten used to background noise. Right now there was a disquieting, no pun intended, lack of it. No female voices exchanging the latest town gossip. No screeching, chattering or crying from Shorty. In the six weeks he’d been here this had never happened.

  At the bottom of the stairs Sloan heard noises but couldn’t identify them. He walked through the great room and didn’t see anyone, then got closer to the kitchen—and sounds he still couldn’t place. After rounding the island, he saw Maggie. She was on her back, half in and half out of the cupboard underneath the sink. It happened to be a great view of her legs, and he felt that familiar tightening in his gut.

  He was pretty sure she hadn’t heard him and didn’t want to startle her. Quietly he said, “Hi, Maggie.”

  “Sloan? Oh, gosh. I didn’t know you were here already. What time is it?”

  “Almost six.”

  “Rats,” she mumbled.

  “I can leave,” he offered.

  “No. I just lost track of time trying to deal with this stupid thing.”

  Now that he wasn’t quite so preoccupied with the shape of her legs in those snug jeans, he noticed there was an open pink toolbox on the floor beside her. Next to that was a brown box containing a new faucet. It looked to him as if she was planning to replace the existing fixture.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “Leaky spigot.”

  “Have you ever changed one before?”

  “It never dripped before.”

  She’d said her husband had built the house, and it was probable that all of the plumbing fixtures were original. “How old is this place?”

  “Let me think.” She grunted and there was a noise that sounded like a metal tool hitting bottom inside the cabinet. “Hell and damnation!”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Sort of.” She wiggled her way out from under the sink, holding her left hand.

  “What happened?” He went down on one knee beside her and saw blood.

  “The wrench slipped. I tried to catch it. A sharp edge caught my finger.”

  “Let me take a look,” he offered.

  “I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll just put a bandage on it, then get dinner—”

  “That can wait.” He met her gaze. “Let me see your hand.”

  She stared at him for several moments, then correctly realized that he wasn’t going to back off. She opened her right hand and he could see a gash on her left index finger that was oozing blood.

  “Where are the clean dish towels?” he demanded.

  “Top drawer next to the sink.”

  He reached over and opened it, grabbed a terry-cloth towel and pressed the material onto the wound. “I don’t think it’s deep. The bleeding should stop in a minute.” He settled their hands on his thigh and saw something flicker in her eyes.

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” And there was the push back to neutral land. But the words came out a little breathy. “I need to get dinner on the table.”

  “Maybe Josie can help,” he suggested.

  “She’s not here. Dinner plans.”

  That explained why he hadn’t heard them talking, but not the lack of little-girl activity. “Where’s Danielle? Napping?”

  “My mom has her.”

  So he was alone with Maggie. That was inconvenient. And Sloan was pretty sure his pulse spiked as the implications of it all sank in.

  “Let me guess. You had a window of opportunity without a toddler around and decided to tackle a DIY project.”

  “Good guess,” she said.

  He lifted the towel to check her finger and missed the sensation of her hand on his thigh. “It’s still bleeding a little, but I don’t think it needs stitches.”

  “Sloan, I can take care of this.”

  “Probably. But it’s not easy to bandage yourself with only one good hand.” All he wanted to do was help and she brought down the cone of independence. It was annoying and offended his sense of chivalry. He didn’t give her a choice but kept her injured hand in his and stood, then curved his fingers around her upper arm to help her stand.

>   “It’s really not that big a deal.”

  “So give me two minutes to patch you up. Do you have peroxide, Band-Aids and antibiotic cream?”

  “Yes.” She nodded toward the upper cupboard by the sink.

  “Okay. Hold this while I get everything.”

  Surprisingly she did as ordered without argument. He set the supplies on the granite, then took her hand and lifted the towel. “Looks as if the bleeding stopped.”

  “I concur.”

  “I’m going to hold your hand under the water to wash it off, then pour the peroxide on it. After that, ointment and a Band-Aid.”

  “Yeah. I kind of figured that.” She smiled.

  “Right.” Their eyes met and it felt too much like a moment, so he got busy.

  He turned on the faucet and saw a stream of water squirting out from the base of the spigot. “Ah, I can see why this needs changing.”

  “Yeah. The guy at the hardware store said it would be a piece of cake. I don’t know what kind he eats, but he was dead wrong about this job.” There was frustration and annoyance in her voice.

  As promised, Sloan poured the cleansing agent over the gash and watched it bubble for several moments. Then he took a paper towel and blotted the moisture so the bandage would stick. He finished up the job and met her gaze.

  “You’re good as new,” he said.

  “Thank you. Wish I could say the same about my faucet.”

  “What’s the problem? In changing it, I mean.”

  “The bolts holding the old one in place are on really tight. I couldn’t budge them.”

  “Let me give it a try.”

  She shook her head with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary. “You’re a paying guest. I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t ask. I offered.”

  “And I appreciate that.” She thought for a moment. “But if you were staying at Blackwater Lake Lodge and there was something wrong with the faucet in your bathroom, would you offer to help change it?”

  “Probably not,” he said.

  “Okay, then. This is my problem and I will handle it. Until the plumber can fit me in, I’ll have to live with it.” She shrugged.

  “In the meantime, that fixture is wasting water. I’m a green builder and well aware that water is life and saving it is important.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. I’ll get someone out here to fix it first thing tomorrow.”

  “A plumbing professional is a good idea.”

  “Why?” There was uneasiness in her eyes, as if she expected the other shoe to fall.

  “If this one needs attention, there’s a better than even chance that they all do.”

  “Is there a problem with the one in your room?”

  “Not yet.”

  Her expression turned stubborn. “And the master bathroom is fine.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in your bedroom.”

  Sloan gave himself a mental slap as soon as the words were out of his mouth. For days he’d been keeping his distance from her and everything had been fine. But something about the way she deflected him at every turn tapped into his stubborn streak and pushed him into baiting her.

  It happened this time, too.

  Her dark eyes flashed with temper and something else hot and exciting. Something smoky and sexy. “If you’re looking for an invitation, you’ll be waiting for a very long time.”

  She was saying he would never be invited into her bed. Just like the promise she’d made that hell would freeze over before she kissed him again.

  “That sounds like another challenge, Maggie.”

  Her full lips pressed into a straight line for a moment. “You can twist my words any way you want, but we agreed that the idea of anything serious between us just isn’t very smart.”

  “Maybe intelligent choices are highly overrated.”

  “Not for me,” she said quietly. “I have Danielle to think about. Every choice I make is with her welfare in mind.”

  As it should be, he thought. “You’re a terrific mother, Maggie.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And really, while I’m here, I don’t mind helping you out when you need a little muscle.”

  “I appreciate that.” She smiled and the tension was gone.

  But it would be back unless somehow he could get a handle on his tendency to tease and challenge her.

  * * *

  Maggie walked into her mom’s house without knocking. It was where she’d grown up and coming here was completely natural and normal.

  After shutting the door, she called out, “Hi, Mom.”

  “In the family room, sweetie.” The voice was soft and that meant her daughter had fallen asleep.

  She walked past the living and dining rooms, which were across from each other, then into the family room that was open to the kitchen. Maureen O’Keefe was sitting on her floral sofa in front of the flat-screen TV where an animated movie was showing. As suspected, Danielle was asleep beside her.

  Maggie looked tenderly at her daughter then bent to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Thanks for watching her. Sorry I’m so late picking her up.”

  “Did you get the faucet changed?”

  “No.”

  Since it was her mother’s regular day to watch Danielle, Maggie had called to ask if she could give the little girl dinner. The project would have been impossible with a toddler climbing all over her under the sink. As it turned out, the project was impossible anyway. Mostly because she refused to let Sloan help.

  “What happened?” her mom asked.

  “The bolts holding the fixture in place were on so tight I couldn’t budge them.”

  Sloan had offered his muscle, and since then all she could think about was what he looked like with his shirt off. Her imagination went out of control picturing his broad chest, muscular arms and that made her want to touch...

  “Maggie?”

  “Hmm?” She blinked away the seductive vision in her head and tried her best to focus.

  “Did you hear what I said?” There was the mom voice Maureen had always used when she wanted undivided attention from her children.

  “I confess,” Maggie said. “My mind was wandering.”

  Dark eyes very like her own assessed her. “Did your mind wandering have anything to do with Sloan Holden?”

  Maggie sat down at the end of the sofa with Danielle between them. It was a calculated action designed to stall the conversation and give her time to come up with an answer that would end this third degree.

  She didn’t want to talk about Sloan because it would make her feelings bigger than they were, give them more importance than she wanted them to have. By the same token, lying to her mother was something that wouldn’t end well. Maggie knew this for a fact because she’d tried it as a child and the woman always knew. It didn’t matter that she was now a grown woman. Telling Mom a falsehood flirted with bad karma.

  The best she could come up with was a flanking maneuver. “Sloan rendered first aid when I hurt myself with the wrench.” She held up her bandaged index finger.

  “Is it bad?” The stern look slipped from her mom’s face, replaced by maternal concern.

  “No. Superficial. He didn’t think I needed stitches and it’s not bleeding anymore.”

  “Good. So if he was there to patch you up, why didn’t you ask him to help get the old faucet off?”

  “Oh, you know.” Think, Maggie. How could she lie without telling a lie? Nothing succeeded like the truth. She had just the thing. “He’s a high-powered executive with a multimillion-dollar company. A man like him doesn’t get his hands dirty.”

  “Did you ask him for help?”

  “Of course not. He’s a paying guest. I couldn’t ask
him to do that. I’d look like the world’s most unprofessional bed-and-breakfast owner. Not a reputation I want to have.”

  “I see your point.” When her granddaughter sighed in her sleep, Maureen smiled softly. “So did he offer to help?”

  Crap. This was a yes-or-no question. Not an inch of wiggle room. “Yes. I really need to get Danielle home—”

  “Not so fast.” Her mom held up a hand to stop her. “You’ve been tap dancing since I mentioned his name. What’s up with that?”

  “Nothing.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “I don’t believe you, but let’s leave that for the moment. I’m more curious about the fact that he offered to help and you turned him down when you were so determined to get that job done. Why would you do that?”

  “Like I said, Mom, it would be unprofessional because he’s a paying guest at my bed-and-breakfast. I’ll call the plumber.” It would be highly unlikely that Harvey Abernathy, a fifty-year-old happily married father of two, would say anything about getting an invitation into her bedroom.

  Her mom’s eyes narrowed. “You turned down his help because you wanted him to kiss you again.”

  “How in the world did you get that from what I just said?” No matter that it was true.

  “Maggie...” Her mother smiled at her the way she had at her granddaughter just a minute before. “You’re a mother now. How did you know when your child was thirsty or hungry before she could talk even a little? Or when she needs reassurance or just to be left alone? Or when she’s not feeling well even before there are signs that she’s sick?”

  Maggie shrugged. “Don’t know how. I just do.”

  “And I just know, too, because I know you. Kissing Sloan was lovely in the moment, but then it felt uncomfortable and for that reason you’re pushing him away.”

  Maggie wondered when she would learn not to question the power of maternal mind reading. “You’re right. I’m not comfortable with all this man/woman weirdness. It’s been a few weeks and nothing more happened with him.”

  “Are you disappointed or relieved?”

  “Both,” Maggie admitted. “It was exciting and that’s tempting. But then I realized it’s a bad idea on many levels and figured he did, too. Then when I refused his help, he pointed out that it was probably a good idea to get a plumber and have him check out all the fixtures because they’re original and might need work.”