What a Woman

by Judi Fennell

  As long as he didn’t get in it with her. It’d been a tight squeeze, and after last night, he didn’t need to be in such close proximity again. He opened the fridge, but the cold air did nothing to stop the heat coursing through him at the memory.

  He poured their juice, handed her a glass, and raised his. “Here’s to your very own Manley Maids fleet.”

  “So how are the kittens?” she asked after they’d chinked their flutes of juice. “They ought to be sleeping ’til noon after last night.”

  There was silence for a beat or two. She hadn’t forgotten about last night any more than he had.

  “Actually, they were pretty active up until about twenty minutes ago. I figure we have a good three hours before they’re jumping all over each other again. Time for another chance for you to beat me at rummy.”

  “Not today.” She sat up and pulled her legs under her as she turned to rest her elbows on the table. “No time for fun and games. The attic, remember?” She downed the rest of the OJ and stood up, brushing past him on her way to the sink.

  She smelled good. Too good. “We’re doing the attic now?” he asked as he headed out of the kitchen after rinsing their glasses.

  She’d already made it to the second floor and leaned over the banister, her fingers on the buttons between her breasts. “No time like the present. Your grandmother was upset. We shouldn’t keep her waiting. We need to go through the stuff in there anyway to decide what to keep and what to give away.” She headed into her room and closed the door.

  Give away? He’d played in that attic for hours on rainy days when he’d been younger. Had made forts and foxholes among the trunks and knickknacks Grandma had stored up there.

  A hollow feeling settled around his heart and he stopped on the second step from the landing. Giving it away would be like another piece of his life being taken from him. And he’d lost too much already.

  He needed some air.

  Hopping down the stairs on his good leg, Jared gritted his teeth against the pain in his chest cavity, be it his ribs or his heart. He didn’t want to examine it too closely.

  At the bottom, he again hopped across the floor and yanked the door open—

  There was a woman standing there. With more baked goods.

  He so didn’t need this right now.

  “Hi,” she said with that hopeful look in her eye. “I’m Renee. I left a note on your door last night.”

  “Ah, yes. I got that.”

  She licked her bottom lip, then pulled it between her teeth, her head tilted and looking up at him from under her lashes.

  He’d seen the same move a thousand times before. And this woman—Renee—didn’t need the affectation because she was pretty in her own right. But he wasn’t interested and, nibbled lip or not, he wasn’t going to be.

  “I brought you some brownies.” She held up the plate.

  He wasn’t in the mood. Not for the food nor what they represented. “Thanks, Renee, but while I appreciate them, I can’t eat them. Gotta keep the weight off, you know?”

  Big mistake. Renee took her sweet time checking him out.

  “You don’t seem to have a problem.”

  Oh yes he did. Two. The life that was spinning out of his control and the five-foot-two sexy, caring dynamo who was, right this minute, probably taking off the rest of her clothes in the room above his head.

  He knew which one was the bigger problem.

  * * *

  MAC leaned closer to the window. “You don’t seem to have a problem,” she repeated in a nasally whisper. “Please. Can’t the woman come up with something original? Jared probably hears that a dozen times a day.”

  The knife that had shown up when the first Mrs.-Nolan-Wannabe had come calling the other day twisted half a turn in her gut with this one.

  “I’m a physical therapist, actually. I can give you a hand with your rehab.”

  Geez, the woman didn’t give up.

  Mac looked down at the blouse she had clutched between her breasts. And the lacy bra she was wearing beneath it.

  It would be wrong to lean over the banister like this, right?

  She let the smile curve onto her lips. Mildred had asked her to help Jared out . . .

  She opened the bedroom door and walked to the banister, leaning over enough to see the latest hopeful. “Jared, I’ll be out of these clothes in a few minutes if you want to meet me upstairs.”

  Renee’s gaze shot right up the stairs.

  Mac waved, trying really really hard not to laugh.

  There was silence for a couple of seconds until Jared coughed.

  Mac could swear she heard a chuckle in it.

  “Uh, yeah. Okay. Be up in a minute.”

  It took her half that time to hightail it back to her room and grab a T-shirt and shorts. That little show out there had been solely for Renee’s benefit. After last night, she wasn’t trying to tempt Jared in any way whatsoever. He could call Renee for that. But they had a job to do and the quicker they finished, the quicker she could remove herself from any temptation.

  Because she was tempted.

  By the time he was schlumping up the stairs, she was dressed, had her hair in a ponytail, and was waiting for him in the hallway, ready for business.

  “That was bad.” Jared’s smile didn’t back up his statement.

  “It got her to leave, didn’t it?” She executed a military turn toward the attic stairs, her ponytail swishing over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, but it gave her the wrong impression.”

  “Did you want her to have the right one?” She looked over her shoulder at him. “From what I heard, it sounded like you were trying to get rid of her. I just helped that along.”

  “And now everyone’s going to know that there’s a half-naked woman in my house.”

  She tugged on the old wooden door, but it didn’t move. Must’ve swelled into its frame. “That’s what they’ll surmise. They won’t know. But maybe that will prevent any more snacks from showing up on your doorway with cards and phone numbers.”

  Jared reached over her shoulder and leaned on the door frame. “Maybe I want cards and phone numbers.”

  She swatted his hand and yanked on the handle again. The thing wouldn’t budge. “Then put a basket on the front lawn with a big sign. Guaranteed it’ll be filled in under twenty-four hours and I won’t have to play butler.”

  He put his hand atop hers on the handle. “Mac, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

  “Of course you would.” She slid her hand out. “Because no woman could possibly be in the same room with you and not want you.”

  “Actually, Mac.” He ground out her name as he tugged the door open. “I think Camille proved that that is possible. A hard lesson, but one I’ve learned well.” He swept his hand toward the steps. “After you, Princess.”

  There it was, that flash of vulnerability she might have imagined if not for the sarcasm. Jared lashed out when something was bothering him; she’d seen it more than a few times through the years, and her heart, no surprise, had always gone out to him.

  As it did now. Camille had hurt him.

  Mac felt the reverberation of every step as she climbed into the attic all the way up her spine and circling her heart. A woman had gotten to Jared enough to hurt him.

  It hurt that that woman hadn’t been her.

  And it hurt to admit that she felt that way.

  God, why couldn’t she be over him? Maybe if he weren’t hurt, hadn’t lost someone he cared about, wasn’t worried about his career, she’d be able to get over him. Hell, with what he’d said to Dave, she ought to be able to . . . But she heard his voice, knew how much he loved being a professional athlete, and not only understood his pain, but saw it. Recognized his sarcasm as a cover. No surprise in that; she did it herself, and had after tha
t night on Grandma’s walk when Nan had let the whole world know he’d shot her down. She’d used it as a shield against the pitying looks and comments.

  And maybe he’d done the same thing in that conversation with Dave.

  Something to consider . . .

  “Wow. Grandma wasn’t kidding.” Jared used the banister to haul himself up the last couple of stairs. “This place is a disaster. I’ve never known her to be this messy.”

  Mac got her brain out of Possibility and planted it firmly in Reality, righting a quilt stand that was leaning against the wooden hobby horse she’d ridden more than a few times when Gran had brought them to visit. “She must have been really upset at losing that ring.”

  “Yeah. Some story, huh?”

  She patted the horse. “I think it’s sweet.” Mac loved hearing stories of Mildred’s husband, Peter. To hear Mildred tell it, Jared’s grandfather had been an honest-to-God Prince Charming. It hadn’t been tough to make that leap to Jared when she’d been younger and foolish.

  “That’s what I mean.” Jared leaned over to pick up a picture frame off the top of a pile of embroidered pillows. He brushed the glass against his shirt and set it on the old plant stand beside the banister. “I can’t imagine doing all my grandfather did to save up for that ring.”

  She turned away and headed toward an old doll house. “How else was he going to afford it? It’s not like your grandfather got a million-dollar contract.”

  “Neither did I.”

  She spun around about to call his bluff when she saw a twinkle in his eye.

  “It was more than a mil.”

  She tossed the closest thing to her at him, an ugly old sock monkey that had been all the rage when she’d been a kid. She’d hated those things. Thought they were scary ugly and creepy, and time hadn’t changed her opinion. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

  He caught the monkey—of course. She’d expect nothing less from a pro ball player. “You aren’t impressed, are you?”

  “I’m happy for you, Jared. You worked hard to get where you are, so I think that’s great. But the dollar amount? No, it doesn’t impress me. Because it doesn’t affect me. You’re getting paid to do what you love for a living. If I could make a living doing what I love, I wouldn’t care what that number was because getting paid to do it is its own reward.”

  “You don’t love what you do?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t hate it. I’m good at it, but it’s not my passion. Not like baseball is to you.”

  “So what do you want to do? What is your passion?”

  “It’s nothing.” She didn’t want to get this personal with him.

  He set the monkey down and limped across the worn plank floor until he was within touching distance.

  Which he did, raising her chin with a finger. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  She jerked her head away. In this mood, Jared was even more dangerous to her equilibrium than when he’d kissed her. A caring, gentle Jared let her imagine what if. “No, really. It is. Nothing, I mean.”

  He brushed his finger along her cheek. “Anything that gets your voice husky like that and makes you blink fast is something. It’s what you want to do. What you believe in. So tell me, Mac, what’s your passion?”

  His face was too close and his voice too sexy to make her think about anything other than wanting to plaster herself up against that hard body of his and take her time kissing him—

  “Kids.”

  Jared backed away. “Kids?”

  Well, gee, if she’d known kids were such a turn-off to him, she would’ve mentioned them years ago. No kids was a deal breaker, and if he felt so unenthused about them, she could’ve saved herself years of heartache.

  No time like the present to start.

  She picked up a box and set it on top of a dresser. Might as well get to work. They had a lot of boxes to go through. “Yes. Kids. You know, young adults? Little people?”

  “I know what kids are, but . . . what? You want to have a bunch of babies?”

  She shouldn’t be picturing his babies. His and hers. With their green eyes and Jared’s blond hair.

  Okay, her black hair was probably genetically dominant, but it was her fantasy, so she could have them look like him if she wanted.

  She wanted.

  Dammit.

  She tore open the box a little more forcefully than was probably necessary. “Um, no. Not yet. I mean, eventually. When I find the right person.” Who she’d wanted to be the guy standing in front of her but he was too stupid to know it, so she had to find the next right person. “But I mean kids in general. Working with them. I put programs together for the community center’s Kareers for Kids day and teach classes. It’s an outreach program for not only the community but kids in foster care, too.”

  The foster care kids were the ones closest to her heart. If not for Gran, that would’ve been the only option for her and her brothers.

  “Sounds like a worthy cause.”

  “I’ve had kids tell me they wanted to become chefs after my cooking classes, which is so gratifying. Many of them lose hope. I’ve seen it over the years. Not being adopted, bounced from home to home . . . At least I can give them a vision for their future, something to strive for. Some way of knowing they won’t always be at others’ mercy. That they will be able to provide for themselves in life.”

  “Hey, take a breath, Mac.” Jared put his hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to convince me. Helping kids is a worthy cause.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Well, yeah. Sure. Obviously.”

  Obviously? There was nothing obvious about it after his recoil. But now she had a chance to test the waters . . . “Worthy enough to consider doing something for them?”

  He’d walked into that one. Should have seen it coming, but he’d been socked in the gut at the idea of Mac and babies, and his guard had been down.

  For that reason alone, he almost said no, but something stopped him. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Really?”

  “You were expecting me to say no? Then why’d you ask?”

  “Because if you don’t ask, you don’t get. And, look, you said yes, so I got what I wanted.”

  When hadn’t she? “I haven’t said yes. I just asked what you have in mind.”

  She tapped her lips and it took all he had not to remember what those lips felt like. The woman was lethal in a whole other way she hadn’t been as a kid.

  “There’s a community center event coming up and you ought to, I don’t know, do something with baseball.”

  “You mean like getting in a dunking booth and seeing who can knock me in?”

  Her smile was blinding. “Now there’s an idea.”

  “I am not sitting in a dunking booth.”

  “Pie-in-the-face booth?”

  “No.”

  “Kissing booth?”

  Now she’d walked into that one. “You volunteering?”

  Damn she was pretty when she blushed.

  “Hardly.” She cleared her throat. “How about a pickup game or a pitching clinic or something like that?”

  He missed baseball. Playing it with Chase the other day—teaching him—had been fun. Different than playing with his teammates, but definitely gratifying. This could actually be fun. “When is it?”

  “This weekend.”

  “As in two days?”

  She nodded. “I saw you throwing a ball with that boy. You could do the same thing on Saturday, right?”

  “Yeah.” He stood on his left leg and used his right toes to keep his balance. “Okay, then I’ll start on this side, you start over there, and we’ll work our way to the middle and hopefully find Grandma’s ring quickly so I can pull something together for Saturday.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Mac sk
irted a mishmash of furniture, picture frames, an old sewing machine, and boxes of lord-knew-what to plunk herself as far from him as possible—which he ought to be grateful for.

  The front doorbell rang.

  First time he was grateful for that.

  Mac looked at him. “Juliette, Maeve, Renee, or someone else?”

  “I don’t know. It’s anybody’s guess, but you’re going to have to answer it because by the time I get down there, they’ll be gone.”

  “And that’s a problem, why? I say we let her leave whatever little goodie she thinks will get from your stomach to your heart, then grab it when we take a break.”

  “Are you horning in on my bribes?”

  She smiled. “Yup.”

  He smiled back. “Sounds like a plan.”

  The bell rang a couple more times. Mac peered out the octagonal window, but said she couldn’t see anything because of the porch roof. “I’m betting it’s Renee. She sounded like she wasn’t going to go away earlier. She probably restocked her arsenal and came back with guns blazing. What do you think? Double chocolate devil’s food cake or macadamia nut/super chunk chocolate chips?”

  “Where do you come up with this?” Jared had to laugh, though any of those were fine with him.

  “The stakes seem to be getting bigger. I wouldn’t be surprised if you graduated to Baked Alaska or cherries jubilee.”

  “Why not a nice juicy steak? Seems to me chocolate’s more of a chick thing, and a thick slab of beef is more of a guy thing.”

  “Want me to hand out flyers? Go door-to-door with menus?”

  “Cheeky.”

  “I call it smart. Like I said, if you don’t ask, you don’t get. Worked for me, didn’t it?”

  She had him there. “Okay, Princess, I’ll take your bet and put my money on chocolate chip cookies.”

  “How much are we betting?”

  He knew what he’d like to bet . . . “Not money. How about dinner?”

  She tapped her lips. Which only made him look at them.

  Dammit.

  “Okay. You’re on. I say brownies. Out of a box, they’re the easiest thing to make if someone can’t cook.”