A Little Night Matchmaking. Debrah Morris
Just the two of us.”
Did she have to make her situation sound so pitiful? Little mama and forty-pound kid against the world. Good thing he wasn’t in the damsel-saving business. Trick took a step back, equating physical distance with the emotional variety.
“My daddy’s a sheriff.” The little girl piped up from the back seat. “He has a badge and everything.”
“He does, huh?” Chloe the Uncanny was another complication. Like their mothers, kids needed things too. Time, attention, nurturing. He wasn’t bent that way.
Freedom topped the list of his prized possessions. He could pack a bag and leave at a moment’s notice without having to clear his departure with ground control. Exactly the way he liked things. The key to life was traveling light. No strings, no ties and no entanglements. A family would only slow the rocket of his life.
What? You want to die alone? Never knowing real love.
He was happy with the way things were. He didn’t need the ballast of stability and love.
“Yep, her daddy’s a sheriff, all right.” Brandy gave off vibes of calm determination and seemed unaware of Trick’s internal power struggle. She smiled again, flashing the dimple. “Duly elected by the citizens of Slapdown, Texas.”
Sexy in a nonsexual way, Ms. Earnest Working Mom was definitely not his type. Her beat-all kid compounded the problem. Trick couldn’t relate to humans that small or that smart. He didn’t understand children any better now than he had when he’d been one himself, an only child because his parents had feared unleashing another fearless dynamo on the world.
His father had chased oil wells around the world, and his mother had followed, leaving Trick with his widowed grandmother on a farm in the Missouri Ozarks. Granny Bett’s place had been a growing boy’s paradise. Caves to explore, trees to climb, rivers to swim. He’d been as happy as a left-behind child could be, but had joined the family business the second he was old enough to impose his formidable will.
“What?” Brandy frowned. “You’re looking at me funny. Do I have something on my face again?”
“No.” He’d been lost in a maze of memories. This woman was the worst kind of dangerous. Just being near her conjured up thoughts of hearth and home. Longing for family. “I’m sorry. I know we haven’t met before today, but there’s something about you that’s…”
“Familiar?”
“Very.”
“How strange,” she said. “I was thinking the same thing about you. I’m sure we’ve seen each other around town.”
“That’s probably it.”
“Mommy? Can Trick come to our house?”
“No, honey. It’s getting late, and I’m sure he has other things to do.”
“How about tomorrow?”
The kid was persistent; he’d give her that.
“Can Trick eat with us?” Chloe asked.
“No.”
“Well, can he visit?”
“I don’t think so.” As tired as she had to be, Brandy was patient with her daughter’s wheedling questions.
“I want to show him my princess books.”
He leaned down and peered into the back seat. “Sorry, Little Bit. I have to work.”
“Putting out fires.” Little Chloe was as sharp as a brier. He’d only mentioned firefighting in passing.
“That’s right. Oil well fires.” He gazed into Chloe’s wide, dark, knowing eyes, and the door of his heart creaked open against his will, welcoming her to step inside. Scaring the heck out of him.
“Still slaying dragons, Trick?”
He took an involuntary step back. “What?” The child’s innocent question prickled the skin on the back of his neck. Despite the evening heat, chilly fingers crept up his spine. Who were these people? Being with them felt both normal and extraordinary at the same time.
Still slaying dragons, Trick? He’d heard those words before, asked in the same gentle manner. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember when. Further proof of how confused and addled the Mitchums made him. “I know you’re a good guesser, Chloe, but where did you come up with that?”
“From my princess storybook.” Tiny, pearled teeth filled her grin. “The handsome prince always slays the dragon.”
“Right.” His taut muscles relaxed, and he let out a relieved breath. Man, Little Bit wasn’t the only one with too much imagination. He was attaching meaning where there was none.
“What does slay mean?” Chloe asked.
Before he could answer, Brandy looked over her shoulder. “Slay means to amuse, honey, as in ha, ha, that joke really slays me.”
“Oh.” The little girl frowned. “So princes make dragons laugh?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Chloe slumped in her booster seat to ponder the comedian prince puzzle.
“Thank you, Mr. Templeton.” Brandy’s brisk tone let him know the conversation was over. A good mother, she obviously didn’t want to give her kid nightmares about mythical creatures being run through by princely swords.
The ruse might have worked with an ordinary kid, but Little Bit wouldn’t buy it.
“I appreciate you getting the car running,” Brandy continued. “But I really need to take Chloe home to bed.”
The innocent statement should not have conjured up images of getting her into his bed. But it did.
Get your mind out of the gutter. The value of a good woman goes far beyond physical pleasure.
Never mind where it came from, the suggestion had merit. Nice little mamas weren’t into casual what’s-in-it-for-me sex, and that’s all he had time for these days. And on the fly, at that. He’d better cut and run. Brandy was as tempting as her name, but she was a hair-trigger trap waiting to spring.
He drove the conversation down a safer road. “You’ll keep having mechanical problems. Take my advice and trade this heap in on something more reliable.”
“Right. I’ll add ‘new car’ to my wish list. Item number 4,783.” Her weary tone softened the sarcasm, but he couldn’t help wondering what the other four thousand plus wished-for items included.
A woman alone, working long hours to support a child, didn’t have an easy life. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was used to carrying her own load. Yeah, too bad she had to bear so much on her delicate shoulders. Another unbidden thought seized him. Might be satisfying to ease her burden in some way.
“Good night, Mr. Templeton.” Brandy shifted the transmission into Reverse.
“Call me Trick.” He should let her go before he got into any more trouble.
She shook her head. “I shouldn’t be on a first-name basis with one of my employer’s defendants. Not ethical.”
“I see.” He’d been so distracted by the woman’s disarming dimple and darling daughter that he’d almost forgotten she worked for the law firm suing him on behalf of that idiot Harry Peet. Yet another reason not to get involved.
There was a lot at stake in this lawsuit, and she was the enemy. They couldn’t fraternize. Hell, they shouldn’t even be talking.
“Good night, Ms. Mitchum.” Then as she drove away, he murmured, “I’ll see you in court.”
“Isn’t Trick nice, Mommy? You do think Trick is nice, don’t you?” Due to the late hour, Chloe had skipped her nightly bath. With