by Holly Jacobs
“Why don’t you just wear a warmer coat and skip the walking closet look?” he asked.
“Do you really think the way I dress is any of your concern, Larry?”
He was back to being Larry which meant he’d annoyed her. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. It’s just even with layers you don’t look warm enough.”
“Well, for your information, I was just thinking about buying a new coat today.”
“But winter’s almost over.”
“You could have fooled me.”
He opened the door and was greeted by a wall of white. He couldn’t even see the end of the porch. There was no way he was taking a baby out in this. Even without a baby, he’d be a fool to try to drive in this kind of storm.
“It looks like you’re the winner. Winter’s not quite ready to give up without a fight. It also looks as if you’re spending the night.”
Chapter Three
“It looks like you’re spending the night. That storm has hit with a vengeance.”
Mia heard Mac say the words, but refused to believe them.
“It can’t be that bad,” she said as she walked to the front door and peeked out.
Her heart sank as she looked out at the gusts of snow. She couldn’t even see the house across the street.
“Oh,” she said.
“Yeah, oh.” Mac sounded as glum as she felt.
“But I can’t stay here.”
She wanted to be home in her safe little apartment.
She wanted to curl up with a good book under a quilt.
She did not want to deal with Larry Mackenzie who didn’t look anymore enthusiastic about the plan than she did.
“If it were just the two of us, I just might risk trying to get you home,” he said. “But do you really want to take Katie out in this?”
“No,” she said as she reached out and shut the door, realizing she was defeated.
Utterly, horribly foiled.
More than anything she wanted to go home, to forget the new insights she’d had into who Larry Mackenzie really was. Things she’d prefer not knowing. Things that made her feel decidedly uncomfortable.
Squabbling with Mac, feeling annoyed by him, was so much easier than feeling…she wasn’t sure what this was, but it was definitely a softer feeling. Warm and…
No way was she feeling warmly toward Mac. Not even lukewarmly. She glanced at him and a heat coursed through her veins.
She shut off the thought and tried to will herself to be as cold as the storm outside.
Mac was talking. “…I set Katie’s crib up in the guest room, but the bed’s still there. I’ll sleep there and be close to her, you can take my bed.”
Sleep in Mac’s bed? Be wrapped in the same sheets that touched his body every night? She felt a warm flush flood her body.
It was too intimate.
She couldn’t do it.
She wouldn’t do it.
No way.
Visions of the current snowstorm couldn’t cool down the way that made her feel.
“No. Thanks anyway,” she added. “I’ll sleep with Katie.”
Mac looked stubborn. “You’d be much more comfortable—”
“Sleeping with Katie,” she finished for him. “That’s final.”
He looked like he might argue more, then thought better of it.
“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “Whatever. How about I make some dinner for us? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“I am hungry,” she admitted cautiously. “Maybe you’d rather I made dinner?”
“You doubt my cooking abilities?” he asked with a note of challenge in his voice.
“Not doubt so much as I’m just too hungry to take a risk.”
“Chicken,” he said, teasingly.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“You go get Katie out of her seat and I’ll take care of dinner. Trust me.”
“Sure, I’ll trust you…about as far as I can throw you.”
Amelia—no, take that back, Mia—was grumbling something soft and low to the baby as Mac went into the kitchen. He knew he didn’t want to know what she was saying.
It probably had something to do with him…and it definitely wasn’t complimentary.
He chuckled. Sparring with Mia kept him sharp.
Mia.
He smiled as he thought of her new name. He wasn’t sure what the significance was, but he was sure that Mia suited her.
Now to find something to make for dinner that would do more than suit her. He wanted to wow her.
Unfortunately, wowing wasn’t generally in the kitchen when he was.
Edible maybe—if he was lucky—but wowing?
He opened the cupboard and stared at its contents, willing some great meal idea to come to him. Nothing wow-able in there. He opened the refrigerator.
Eggs.
He had a whole dozen eggs.
And on the second shelf, towards the back, was a container of cheese. He lifted the lid. Nothing was growing on it, so it must be good.
An omelette.
He could make an omelette, and of all the things he could cook, it probably had the most wow-able potential.
An omelette, even a good one, wasn’t exactly wow-able on its own. He needed something to go with it.
He remembered the Italian bread. He buttered it, applied a bit of garlic salt, and topped it with some of the cheese, then popped it in the oven before he started on the eggs.
Whisking eggs gave him time to think. The realization that he had not just a woman, but a baby in his living room, hit him.
Today had been a whirlwind of change. When he left the house this morning he hadn’t known what he was in for. He beat the eggs with a little more force than necessary.
First thing Monday morning he’d have to start the process of finding Katie O’Keefe a home. Finding her parents. A family. People who would love her no matter what.
People who would never leave.
It would have to be an open adoption. He’d only use an agency that would let him participate in the process. He wouldn’t entrust her care to just anyone. He wanted to make sure her financial needs were always met. Marion hadn’t been able to provide much in the way of a cushion for the baby. Maybe there was life insurance?
He’d check and sort through Marion’s estate.
But no matter what, Katie would be cared for. He’d start a trust for her himself. He had plenty of money and no one to spend it on.
He poured the egg mixture on the skillet.
Yeah, he liked the idea.
Katie wouldn’t have to work and scrounge her way through school like he did. She’d have a college fund waiting for her.
When Marion O’Keefe asked him to act as guardian for her unborn baby, he’d surprised himself by saying yes. He’d only met the woman twice. First when she’d come in to talk about the will, and a second time when she came in and signed everything. Twice. That’s all. But he felt connected to her.
He’d asked himself why, why he’d said yes to acting as guardian, and why he’d felt a bond with Marion O’Keefe. The only answer he’d been able to come up with was that in Marion he’d seen himself. Someone on their own.
Someone alone.
And now he was in charge of her daughter.
He’d do his best to see that Katie O’Keefe was never alone. He’d see to it, just like he’d see to it she had the best parents in the world. People who would love her no matter what. People who’d have time for her, who would revel in her every success.
He’d do it for Marion O’Keefe.
He’d do it for Katie.
And maybe, if he was honest, he’d do it for himself.
When he was lost and on his own the Zumigalas had taken him in. It felt as if he was paying back some of that debt by helping Katie.
“Hey, Larry,” Amelia said as she came into the kitchen, pulling him abruptly from his thoughts. “That doesn’t smell half bad.”
“I hope cheese ome
lettes are okay? I was starving and wanted something fast.”
“Sounds perfect,” she said agreeably.
Too agreeably.
Mia Gallagher was not an agreeable person.
The only thing that saved him from being nervous about her niceness was that she’d called him Larry.
“There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge if you’d like a glass,” he said.
“Sure. Glasses?”
“Over the sink,” he said. He tried not to notice that when she stood on tip-toe and reached for the glasses her shirt hiked up revealing a small swatch of white stomach.
After all, it was less than an inch of skin. He saw more skin than that just about anywhere these days. But that small flash made him feel something that, if it had been any other woman, he’d have to say was desire.
But desiring Mia was out of the question.
It was absurd.
Most days they were adversaries. They’d simply called a truce today for Katie’s sake. When the storm was over, he was sure things would go back to normal. So no staring at that small patch of skin and wondering if it was as soft as it looked.
He forced himself to concentrate on the omelette.
“Here we go,” she said, setting the glasses down and pouring the wine.
She handed him one and their fingers grazed, just the barest contact. But there it was, that feeling again. Since it couldn’t be lust, the burning sensation had to be an ulcer.
Yeah, that was it.
Amelia Gallagher had finally given him an ulcer.
She’d probably given him high blood pressure as well, which would explain the weird, light-headed sensation he was having.
“I put Katie down in her crib,” she said. “That was one tired baby.”
The light-headedness was replaced by a spurt of panic.
The upstairs bedroom seemed miles away. What if the baby cried? What if she rolled over and suffocated?
What if she got stuck in the bars of the crib.
What if—
As if sensing his apprehension, she added, “She’s sound asleep. She’s fine.”
“Did you turn on the monitor?” he asked, wondering if he should go up and check on the baby.
She laughed. “Yes. I set the receiver on the table.”
Mac gave a sigh of relief. He hadn’t noticed the receiver when she came in. Probably because when Mia entered a room he didn’t notice anything but her.
Not in a woman-sort of way, but rather in an annoying-sort of way. She was like an itch he could never quite scratch. It was just there, driving him quietly mad.
Yeah. Driving him mad. That was Mia.
“Is it turned up loud enough that we can hear her?”
“It’s on high.” She picked it up and held to her ear. “You can hear her breathing if you listen carefully.”
“Good.” The baby was breathing. That was one less thing to worry about.
He concentrated on the omelette, which was easier than concentrating on Mia.
They’d apparently used up all their conversation. Mac didn’t know what else to say to fill the quiet. Which was fine with him.
Mia sat down at the kitchen table and watched him flip the omelette.
He glanced at her. She was sipping the wine, looking totally at home. A slight smile played on her face. He wondered what she was thinking, not that he’d ask.
“You know what I was thinking?” she asked. Once again, almost as if she’d read his mind.
“Hmm?” he said, trying not to sound overly interested, because he wasn’t interested in what Mia was thinking.
“I was remembering when I was a kid. There was a storm like this one Christmas Eve. It was horrible. Everything shut down. Nothing was moving. That was the bad part.” She left the story hanging a moment.
Mac asked, “But there was a good part?”
“Oh, yeah. A very good part. My mom was scheduled to work that night. They were paying time- and-a-half, and we really needed the extra money. But the storm shut everything down and she couldn’t get in. We lost out on the overtime, but in the end we got something worth so much more. It was as if there was no one else in the world. We were together. That was everything. We had this marathon game of 500 rummy. I think we took it way over a thousand.”
A small smile whispered across her lips. Her eyes got a faraway gaze.
Mac wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but the sight was mesmerizing. He was enthralled, caught up in her remembrance.
“Ryan was still little, so he was my partner,” she continued. “We made hot chocolate. We all fell asleep in the living room. And Christmas morning the boys woke us up. Mom and I stayed under the covers and watched them open presents. There wasn’t much—there never was. But they were so happy. We were all so happy. That’s what this storm reminds me of. Home.”
“Being stranded with me makes you think of home?” he asked, sure he’d heard wrong.
That startled her right out of her nostalgia. “Not you,” she assured him. “The snow. I said the storm. That’s what I meant. I like storms when I don’t have to go out in them. They remind me of one of the best holidays I ever spent.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s not me.” There was a feeling in the pit of Mac’s stomach. It had to be relief. After all, he wouldn’t want Mia feeling as if spending time with him reminded her of home. It would be nuts.
“I’d be certifiable if you gave me warm, fuzzy thoughts of home and being safe,” she said, agreeing with him even if she didn’t know she was agreeing with him.
“Well, you are certifiable,” he said helpfully, giving her a little smile to let her know he was teasing.
She must have missed the teasing fact, though, because she simply glared at him and said, “Never mind. I’m sorry I said anything, Larry.”
He should have told her that he was kidding, but to be honest, he preferred her annoyed.
He was actually thrilled she’d called him Larry. She’d said his name with that particular tone that she always used. The one guaranteed to set his teeth on edge, which was good, because for a moment, listening to her story, he’d almost felt warm and fuzzy.
That wasn’t good.
Having her annoyed was better.
But as he pulled the cookie sheet of toast out of the oven and split the omelette and toast between two plates, he glanced at her rigid posture, her slight grimace and he felt…odd. He might not want to feel warm and fuzzy with Mia, but her annoyance didn’t feel right either.
He set one of the plates in front of her, then sat down with his own.
“Thanks” was all Mia said.
Just one word, then silence.
Silence when Mia was in the room made him nervous. He was much more comfortable sniping with her and her sniping back. Mia wasn’t the type to suffer silently.
He almost welcomed the small snuffle Katie made over the monitor.
“Do you think we should go check her?” he asked.
“She’s fine.”
Two words.
He was getting somewhere, although he still wasn’t sure why he wanted to get anywhere at all.
“Tell me more about your family,” he said.
“No, thank you.”
Three words, but they didn’t feel like progress. She was mad.
Mia spent a lot of time being mad when he was around, but for some reason this time it was different. He shouldn’t have made that crack about her thinking of him as homey.
“Listen, I’m sorry.”
She just shrugged.
“Okay, I have a storm story, too.”
She didn’t say anything, but did make eye contact. Mac took that as an invitation to continue.
“I grew up in a suburb of Pittsburgh, Bethel Park. We don’t get nearly as much snow down there as Erie does. Moving two hours north doesn’t seem like it should equate to such a huge difference snow-wise, but it does. I still don’t think I’ve quite gotten used to the weather here.”
She took
another bite of her omelette. She didn’t grimace while she chewed it, so she must like it, which was good. Too bad she didn’t seem to be liking him.
“Anyway, we got clobbered by a storm my freshman year of high school. Everything was canceled. Now that I live in Erie, it seems odd—it takes a couple feet to shut things down here. But in Pittsburgh, those six inches of snow shut down the city. Chet and I decided to go sled-riding, only we didn’t have any sleds.”
“Chet?” she asked.
“A—” he hesitated “—friend.”
Mac was never sure how to describe Chet and his parents. They were more than friends. More like family. But it was too hard to explain his relationship with them, so he settled for friend.
“We didn’t have sleds. Too old and cool for them,” he continued. “But we decided it was the perfect day for sledding.”
“So what did you do?”
“We stole the old mattress his mom had in the garage and took it to the grade school around the corner. Pittsburgh might not get as much snow, but it has more than enough hills. This one was a whopper. Unfortunately, mattresses don’t function real well as sleds. But Chet and I, we decided to get some garbage bags and duct tape. It took two rolls of duct tape, but we covered the mattress—slicked it up. We jumped on like it was a toboggan and took off down the hill.”
He smiled at the memory.
“Sounds like fun,” she said slowly.
She was talking to him again, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was a small smile playing on her lips. She must have forgiven him.
“It was fun,” he agreed, encouraged. “We rode until the duct tape started to fall off. Then decided to try for one more ride. Well, we took it to the steepest part of the hill, jumped on…without really checking out the path we’d take.”
“Uh, oh.” She actually chuckled, knowing something must have happened.
“Yeah. Uh, oh. You see, there was this giant oak at the bottom of the hill. Wham.”
“Were you both okay?”
“I broke my ankle, Chet broke his nose. He’s still got a bump. Mrs. Z. tried to tell him it added character. I said it made him look like a prizefighter.”
She laughed then.
The small sound filled the kitchen and some of the warmth she’d been talking about earlier spread through Mac. He should try to fight it, try to ignore it, but somehow he just couldn’t work up the energy.
