FATHER IN TRAINING

by Susan Mallery

  He unlocked the gatehouse door, then stepped into its compact kitchen. His entire place would fit into about a third of Sandy's downstairs, but it suited him fine. The living room was large, as was the master bedroom. There was a small study alcove off the dining room, and the bathroom had an oversize shower. He lived alone, he didn't need any more room. He liked his house, even if it was a little quiet sometimes.

  After dumping his jacket and helmet on the kitchen table, he crossed the floor to the refrigerator next to the window. He pulled out a soda and popped the top. Before he could turn away, a faint sound of laughter caught his attention. He looked out the window. Sandy and her three kids still stood by their station wagon. Blake was carrying a bucket full of cleaning supplies. Lindsay was loaded down with brooms and mops. Sandy wrestled with a ladder that was taller than she was but that would never reach the high ceilings. They were all looking at little Nichole, who held the feather duster behind her like a tail. She pranced around the yard, scratching like a chicken looking for worms. Sandy said something and they all laughed again. Then they started toward the house.

  Nichole climbed the stairs and went inside last. The yard was empty, the laughter gone. He was alone. He told himself he should be used to the silence. But he wasn't. He glanced at the phone. There were any number of people he could call. Any number of women. They would spend his afternoon off with him, and the night, if he asked. He didn't, as a rule, bring women to his place. He preferred visiting them at theirs. That way, he could leave when he wanted to. He preferred to be in control. A little like Sandy.

  Had it really been fifteen years since he'd last seen her? He remembered her leaving as though it had just happened. She'd been going off to college. In his heart, he'd known she wasn't coming back. She'd never suspected how he felt about her. Even if she had, she wouldn't have cared. She had been seventeen—almost eighteen and already graduated from high school. No one had known how he'd dreamed about her.

  Kyle turned away from the window and walked into the living room. He grabbed the book he'd been reading and carried it over to the leather recliner in front of the small, stone fireplace. But instead of reading, he closed his eyes and pictured Sandy as she'd been all those years ago. What was it about her that appealed to him? She wasn't all that pretty, at least not in an obvious way.

  Someone had once figured out that between the four of them, the Haynes brothers had dated every cheerleader in town for ten years straight. When Kyle had been old enough, he'd carried on the family tradition. He'd dated the prettiest girls, the most popular ones. But not always. Once he'd dated the class brain, just because she always tried to look superior whenever they spoke. He'd sensed something else lurking behind her glasses and quick answers. It had taken him the better part of a semester to get her to go out with him, but it had been worth it. In fact, next to his crush on Sandy, dating Melinda had been the highlight of his high school years. She'd gone off to MIT and was now working for NASA. They still kept in touch at the holidays.

  But Sandy had eluded him. He'd just been a kid of fourteen. He hadn't known what to do with his feelings, how to tell her or what would happen if he did. And then she'd left. But he'd never forgotten. Now she was back.

  He took a sip of his soda. All this time later, the two years difference in their ages didn't seem to matter so much. But she still wasn't for him. She'd chosen her life, had married and had three kids. She was a widow. No doubt the next man she picked would be just like her husband. Kyle had heard that Sandy's husband had been a professor at a prestigious Los Angeles university. Kyle knew he couldn't compete with that. He was just a deputy in some hick town. He loved his job and he didn't want to change it. Not that anyone was asking him to. Sandy hadn't given him a second look. He grinned. Maybe her eyes had widened a little when he'd taken off his jacket, but so what? He knew he was good-looking. All the Haynes boys were. That and fifty cents could buy a cup of coffee. A woman like Sandy wouldn't care about that. She would be more concerned about what was inside a man. About his character. She would want guarantees and that was one thing he'd never been able to give anyone.

  Three days later, he stood outside washing his car. The white finish gleamed in the bright morning sunlight. He moved slowly, his brain and body not working well together after pulling a sixteen-hour shift. His replacement had gotten food poisoning, so Kyle had volunteered to stay through the night. He fought back a yawn. It didn't used to bother him, but since hitting thirty, he hadn't been able to pull all-nighters with the same ease. The worst part about the double shift was relaxing enough to sleep when he got home. Usually his mind was cranking along at fifty miles an hour, while his body was so tired he could sleep standing up. He'd learned that performing an undemanding physical chore allowed him to unwind so that he could get to sleep.

  He tossed the soapy sponge back in the bucket, then reached for the hose. He turned the nozzle, adjusting the spray to a light mist, when he heard voices behind him. A quick glance told him Lindsay, Blake and Nichole were walking down the driveway. Kyle continued rinsing his car.

  He hadn't seen his neighbors since they'd first arrived. He'd been working a lot and generally trying to stay away. Sandy had made her feelings clear. If she didn't want his help, far be it from him to impose. But he'd thought about her a great deal. And when she'd left after that first day of cleaning, he'd gone by the house to make sure the doors and windows were locked.

  "Hi, Kyle," Lindsay said when the kids reached the split in the driveway that led to his garage. "That's a cool car."

  He glanced at the Camaro. "Thanks. How's the house-cleaning coming?"

  Lindsay wrinkled her nose. "Mom's driving us crazy."

  "Mommy's blowing her mission," Nichole said and smiled at him. "She said a bad word, too."

  "Her mission?"

  "Children," Lindsay said, then patted Nichole on the head. "You'll have to forgive her. She's very young."

  Kyle thought about pointing out that Lindsay wasn't that old herself, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings. "What does she mean?"

  "The moving company left a message that they would be late delivering the furniture. The truck blew its transmission." She moved closer to him and lowered her voice. "Mom called them and said she was going to blow more than a transmission if they didn't get our stuff up here." She glanced at him and swept her lashes up and down several times. "So we're stuck."

  "When do they think the truck's going to arrive?"

  "In another three or four days. I don't think it matters that much. The house is still a mess. We're not getting a lot done."

  "I am," Nichole said. "I've got three stars." She held up the right number of fingers. "When I get five stars, I get to buy a new book."

  "Stars?" he asked, confused.

  "One of Mom's attempts to keep us as organized as she is," Lindsay said. "She's got a chart up on the wall. Everyone has chores listed. When you complete a certain number of chores, you get a star. After so many stars, you get a reward."

  "What's your reward?" he asked Blake.

  The boy looked up, obviously startled that he'd been noticed. Light brown eyes peered at him through thick glasses. Except for the freckles across his nose and the shape of his mouth, Blake didn't look anything like his mother. His slight shoulders hunched forward. "I haven't picked one yet."

  "Oh, he'll get another game for his silly computer. He sits in front of it all the time."

  Blake glared at his older sister, but didn't defend himself.

  "What about you?" he asked Lindsay, then wished he hadn't. She moved even closer and stared up at him intently.

  "I want clothes. Something pretty."

  "Uh-huh. That sounds, uh, nice." He cleared his throat.

  If his brothers could see him now, they'd all roar with laughter. Any of them could handle a flirtatious woman with no problem. But a vamping preteen was out of his realm of expertise. He wished Sandy would show up.

  "So you guys are having trouble with the house?" he
asked.

  Lindsay rolled her eyes. Nichole giggled, and even Blake nodded.

  "It's too big," Nichole said. "I washed the kitchen cupboards forever and they're still not done."

  "We haven't even started on the upstairs," Lindsay said. "Mom wants us to get the painting done, too. She's crazy. This isn't how I planned to spend my summer."

  "I know it's hard," Kyle said. "But your mom really needs your help. This is hard for her, too. Moving to a strange town, and all."

  "No one asked her to drag us to this dumpy place." Lindsay's brown eyes snapped with anger. Her posing was forgotten as she drew her eyebrows together and glared. "There's nothing to do. There are no kids around here, no beach, nothing. I hate it. I don't care if the house never gets finished."

  "Glenwood isn't so bad," he said. "There's a mall on the other side of town."

  "Wow," Lindsay said sarcastically. "A mall. Gee, now I love it here."

  Nichole skipped over the hose and motioned for him to bend over. "Lindsay's being a brat," she whispered loudly. "Mommy says it's just a stage."

  He crouched down and smiled at the child. She had curly red hair, but her mother's beautiful green eyes. "You're a pretty little girl."

  Nichole dimpled. "I know. Mommy told me."

  Kyle grinned.

  "There you are," a voice said. "I'd wondered where you'd run off to. I told you not to bother Mr. Haynes." Sandy stood at the end of his driveway. Like her children she was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Unlike his noncommittal response to their clothes, he found her outfit intriguing. Her red shorts exposed long tanned legs. Her round hips drew his eye toward her waist, then up to her breasts. She wasn't overly curvy, she was … just right.

  He stood up slowly. "I'd rather they call me Kyle, and they weren't bothering me. I heard about the truck."

  She wouldn't—or couldn't—meet his gaze. "Yes, well, I just got off the phone with the moving company. The truck will be here Monday for sure."

  "But it's Friday," he said. "What will you do until then?"

  "Stay at the motel where we've been staying. The kids don't mind. It has a pool."

  "By the time we get back there, we're too tired to go swimming," Lindsay grumbled.

  Her mother shot her a warning look. "The extra time will give us a chance to finish the house."

  Lindsay groaned.

  "How's that coming?"

  She stared at his car, then at the ground, finally her gaze landed on his knees and settled there. Kyle wanted to believe she was having trouble looking at him because he was wearing cutoffs and nothing else. He wanted to believe the sight of his bare chest and legs left her speechless. He wanted to believe he would one day win the California lottery. Right now they seemed equally likely.

  "Fine," Sandy said shortly. "Just fine. We're cleaning and soon we'll start painting."

  "We're never going to finish," Lindsay said.

  "Nonsense. I've come up with a new plan. It will allow us to work more efficiently."

  "Mo-om." Lindsay planted her hands on her hips. At that moment, she looked exactly like her mother. "We're kids, not slaves."

  "And just an hour ago, you were trying to convince me you're all grown up. You'll have to pick one, Lindsay, you can't have it both ways."

  Kyle opened his mouth to offer his help, then thought better of it. He didn't want to give Sandy another chance to shoot him down.

  Sandy glanced at his car, then at him. "We'd better let you get back to work. Have fun. Come along, children."

  She took Nichole's hand and started down the driveway. Lindsay followed slowly. Only Blake hesitated. He stared at the car for a moment.

  "Do you like Camaros?" Kyle asked, suddenly curious about the quietest member of the Walker family.

  Blake nodded. "Does it go fast?"

  "Pretty fast." He grinned. "I'm a deputy in town, so it's not right for me to break the law. I keep her at fifty-five."

  "Blake, come on, honey," Sandy called.

  "Maybe you and I could go for a drive someday," Kyle offered.

  Blake stared up at him, nodded, then ran off to join his mother.

  As Kyle picked up the chamois, he watched Sandy and her kids enter the big house. He remembered how dirty it had been. Yesterday, the exterminator had come by to drop off his traps, so the mouse problem was being handled. Still, there was the whole upstairs that Lindsay said they hadn't even started on. And painting. How would they get that done?

  He wiped off the roof of the car. Maybe he shouldn't offer to help. Maybe he should just take care of it. She would hate that. Of course, if he didn't give her a chance to refuse, she would have to hate it silently.

  He looked at the oversize home again, then tossed the chamois down and went inside his house. He knew exactly how to take care of Sandy's problem. He had brothers, and they all owed him.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  It was like being descended upon by locusts. Tall, handsome, male locusts. There were only three of them, but that was enough.

  Sandy stood at her front door Friday afternoon and stared at the men in front of her.

  "We're here to help," Kyle said.

  "But I don't—"

  He pushed past her into the house. "Sure you do. Be polite, say thank-you, then show us what needs to be done. We're not going away."

  Lindsay came running down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she stared at the three men. "Wow."

  Yeah, wow, Sandy echoed silently. There was enough testosterone in the room to float a football team.

  "She's speechless," the tallest of the men said. They all had dark hair, but this one had cool gray eyes and was wearing a gold earring.

  "Sandy?" Kyle said, coming up and putting his arm around her. "Not her. She's just mentally organizing her next attack. Sandy always has a plan."

  She usually had a plan, she admitted to herself. She just didn't have one right at this minute. Besides, how was she supposed to think when Kyle was standing so close? She told herself she should pull away, but her legs weren't listening. It had been bad enough when she'd walked over to his place that morning. He'd been wearing shorts and nothing else. Just the thought of his bare chest was enough to make her hyperventilate.

  "Maybe you should introduce us," the third man said. He was obviously one of Kyle's brothers, but Sandy couldn't remember which one. He had the same dark hair and warm brown eyes. He was handsome as sin. They all were.

  "Good idea," Kyle said. "This is Lindsay." He pointed to the preteen still standing on the bottom stair, gaping at them. "And this is Sandy."

  Kyle's brother waved at her daughter, then nodded at her. "Hi, Sandy. I'm Travis. The second oldest of the Haynes brothers. You dated Jordan, right?"

  She shook the hand he offered and grinned. "I'm amazed you could keep any of us straight," she said. "Girls came and went through your lives with the speed of light."

  Travis chuckled. "Maybe, but a few were memorable."

  Sandy felt herself blush at the compliment.

  The man with the earring moved toward her. "I'm Austin Lucas." His gray gaze met hers. He was almost as handsome as Kyle, but there was something dark about him. Dangerous. She noticed a ring on his left hand and wondered who'd been brave enough to tame this man.

  "Hey, enough of that," Kyle said, stepping between them. "You're married, she's not interested, let's get to work."

  "I picked up the paint you ordered from the hardware store," Travis said, stepping out onto the porch.

  "We've brought a decent ladder, too," Austin told her.

  Sandy barely heard them. She couldn't seem to notice anything, not even when Blake and Nichole rushed into the room to see what was going on. All she could do was stare at Kyle, at his dark brown eyes and that lock of curly hair that fell over his forehead. He'd almost sounded…

  She shook her head and told herself to quit being silly. He hadn't sounded anything. It wasn't possible. A man like Kyle wouldn't be interested
in a woman like her. And even if he was, she wasn't. She wanted a mature, responsible man, not a handsome hunk who probably had women lined up for miles. None of which explained why Kyle had ended the conversation between herself and the other man. Or why he'd specifically told her that Austin was married. Kyle wasn't jealous. Was he?

  It was a dangerous train of thought. Mostly because her heart hadn't recovered from its earlier aerobic workout when she'd gone to find her children and had also found Kyle practically naked.

  His chest had been as big and broad as that tank shirt had promised three days ago when she and her kids had arrived. His tan went clear to the waistband of his shorts, and probably lower. The sprinkling of dark hair, the faint outline of impossibly firm muscles and the heat radiating from him had made her palms itch to press against him. She'd wanted to touch and taste and—

  "Mom, how long are you going to stand there staring into space?"

  Lindsay's question jerked her back to the present. She landed with an emotional thud, then blushed hotly as she wondered if everyone knew what she'd been thinking about. She glanced around frantically. No one seemed to have noticed. Austin and Travis trooped past her carrying ladders, paint cans and drop cloths. Kyle was standing next to her, studying the list she'd posted to the wall detailing the chores that had yet to be done. Only Lindsay stared at her, exasperated. "Mom?"

  "I was thinking," she said quickly, then cleared her throat. "Kyle, this is very nice of you and your brothers, but I really can't—"

  He turned and smiled. Her heart rate increased. Thank God he was wearing a T-shirt so she didn't have to deal with his chest again. "Of course you can. Just say 'Gee, Kyle, you're a nice man. Thanks for your help.'"

  "Kyle, you are a nice man, but—"

  He turned and touched his finger to her lips. Electricity shot through her body, starting at her mouth and jolting clear down to her toes. Her blood heated as an unfamiliar longing stirred to life deep inside her belly.

  "No buts," he ordered. "You can't do all this work by yourselves, Sandy. We both know that. You can give in gracefully, or you can fight me and look like a stubborn fool. The choice is yours."