Child of His Heart. Joan Kilby
lifted her head. “A supermodel?”
“Probably.” If Erin was anything to go by.
Thinking of Erin made him lean against the counter with his coffee and zone out. If her grandfather’s fishing hole was all it was cracked up to be, he would be on her doorstep before the day was through, luring her to dinner with the prospect of fresh fish. He had a bottle of white Zinfandel in the fridge. Would candles be too much? Maybe one, in the center of the table.
“Earth to Dad. Come in, Dad.”
He blinked and saw Miranda waving a hand in front of his face, her empty plate in her hand. “A few minutes ago you were dragging me out of bed. Are we going, or what?” she demanded.
“Sorry, I must have been daydreaming.”
“You’ve been acting very weird the last couple of days, you know that?”
CHAPTER FOUR
ERIN DIDN’T WAKE UP until ten on Saturday morning. Although she’d gone to bed early and slept soundly, she still felt tired. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her stomach lurched queasily. With an involuntary moan, she clutched her midsection. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with the flu.
Later that afternoon, Erin was in the backyard, digging well-composted horse manure into the flower bed. Her stomach had settled down after breakfast. She’d weeded and mulched the mixed beds of perennials and colorful annuals, keeping a watchful eye out that Gran, given the job of trimming dead heads, didn’t overtax herself.
After lunch Gran had gone in for a nap and Erin carried on. She ought to wash the floors when she was finished gardening. Then there was the vacuuming, the bathroom to clean and the laundry. She’d suggested hiring a cleaning lady, but again Gran had been so upset at the thought of a stranger in her house that Erin had given up the idea. Weekdays she got up early and did at least one chore before breakfast so Gran wouldn’t have anything to do. Keeping her grandmother resting was a job in itself.
At the front of the house, the doorbell rang.
“Coming,” she called, scrambling to her feet. She hurried around the side of the house, hoping the ringing hadn’t wakened Gran.
Her heart gave a little leap. Nick Dalton stood on the porch in hip waders and a fishing vest, holding a string of steelhead trout. His wide white grin contrasted sharply with the five o’clock shadow on his strong jaw. “Look what I pulled out of your grandfather’s fishing hole.”
Erin climbed the stairs, pushing at straggly wisps of hair that had broken free of her ponytail, and self-consciously brushing bits of compost off her baggy-kneed, shiny-bottomed track pants. Pants she’d hidden in the back of the linen closet so Geena couldn’t get her ruthless hands on them.
“Three steelhead,” she exclaimed. “Congratulations.”
“I’ve got more. These are for you and your grandmother.”
“Why, thank you.” She started to reach for them, then withdrew her hand when her stomach roiled at the faint but distinctive fishy odor. Her “bug” was back. “You caught them, keep them for yourself.”
He thrust the fish toward her. “If it wasn’t for you I might not have caught any.”
“Really, I insist.” She backed away from the fish and into the front door just as it opened from behind. “Wha— Oh, Gran!”
“Well, what do we have here?” Bright-eyed and sprightly after her rest, she glanced from the string of fish to Nick.
“Nick Dalton, ma’am.” He shook her hand, then presented her with the trout. “My respects to your late husband. I brought you ladies an offering from his fishing hole.”
“Why, thank you. Call me Ruth. I’m pleased to meet you.” Gran gave him a friendly smile. “Erin, why don’t you ask this nice young man in for coffee.”
“Well, he probably has to get back.” She glanced at the dark green Suburban parked at the curb. “Is that your daughter waiting in the car?”
Gran waved a hand. “She can come in, too.”
Nick gazed at his vehicle and thoughtfully stroked his jaw. “Miranda’s wet and muddy. She wouldn’t want to go into anyone’s house.”
“Another time,” Erin said.
“Go home and change first,” Gran suggested hospitably.
“Actually, I was wondering if Erin would like to join us for dinner,” Nick said, speaking to Gran but looking at Erin.
Erin crossed her arms over her rebellious stomach. If Gran wasn’t standing there she was sure she could think of a little white lie. “Uh…”
Before she could speak, Gran reminded her, “Kelly will be here tonight.”
Saved. “That’s right.” She turned to Nick. “Thanks, but I can’t.”
Then Gran’s eyes lit behind her outsize glasses. “Nick and his daughter can come over here and we’ll have ourselves a big old fish fry.”
Erin stared at her grandmother. “I’m sure Nick has other things to do today. Shopping, for example. It’s Saturday.” She’d heard from Kathy down at the grocery store that Nick bought his weekly supplies on Saturday afternoons.
“I went last night, just to keep people on their toes,” he told her with a wink. “But I don’t want to intrude on your family dinner.”
She wasn’t feeling well; she could beg off. But as he backed away, all at once she found herself saying, “No. Please join us.”
Then she glanced at the trout and covered her mouth. She wasn’t up to dealing with fish. “Are they cleaned?”
“They are. But I’ll take them home and wrap them and the others in foil. Ma’am,” he said, retrieving the fish from Gran. “Thanks for the invitation. We’ll see you shortly.”
As he walked back to his car, Gran nudged Erin in the ribs. “I think he likes you.”
ERIN RUMMAGED THROUGH boxes and assorted junk in the garage for the barbecue starter fluid. From the backyard she could hear the tumbling clatter of the briquettes Nick was pouring into the barbecue. Despite telling herself she wasn’t trying to attract or encourage the man, she’d showered, washed her hair and changed into a flowing summer dress that brought out the blue in her eyes. The floors and the laundry could wait.
“Here’s the starter fluid,” Erin said when she rejoined him a moment later, and watched as he poured a liberal dose over the briquettes with a satisfied grin. “You’re enjoying this.”
A playful light in his eyes, he capped the tin of starter fluid. “I’m a fireman.”
Miranda, who sat cross-legged on the grass teasing Chloe into leaping at a dandelion, glanced up. “He’s a firebug. He loves fire.”
These were the first words the girl had uttered besides hello. Erin eyed Nick curiously. “Is that true?”
“I don’t light them, but yeah, I get a buzz out of fighting fires. Most firefighters do.”
“Water—now, that’s a different story,” Miranda said sagely.
“Miranda.”
The ring through Miranda’s nose quivered as she gleefully ignored the warning. “He’s from California and he can’t even swim. He loves boats, but hates being in water.”
Nick laughed it off. “She keeps me humble.”
Erin could have cheerfully smacked the girl. “I can’t ski, even though Mount Baker is barely an hour’s drive away,” she confessed. “I’m terrified I’ll break a leg.”
“Have you two got that barbecue going