To A Macallister Born. Joan Elliott Pickart
now her little boy wanted his own daddy, just like Sammy had. His uncles just weren’t enough.
Oh, Joey, I’m so sorry, Jennifer thought, blinking back tears. What he wanted, she would never give him. She could not—would not—marry again. All she could do was weather this emotional storm of Joey’s and hope, pray, it would soon pass.
Added to that heartfelt prayer was the ongoing one that Joey would never learn the truth about his father. No one knew the true facts of her past with Joe Mackane, and, heaven help her, no one ever would.
“Well,” she said, forcing a cheerful tone into her voice, “you must be a hungry boy. How would you like pancakes made in the shape of animals?”
Joey’s head popped up. “Yeah. Cool. I want a horse and elephant and hippopotamus.”
Jennifer laughed and got to her feet. “A hippopotamus? Goodness, I don’t know if I’m that talented a pancake artist, my sweet, but I’ll give it my best shot.”
Joey slid off his chair. “I’ll pour my own milk into a glass. I need milk for my bones and teeth.”
“Indeed, you do, sir,” Jennifer said, taking a bowl out of a cupboard. “You’ll grow up big and strong like…like your uncles.”
And be a fine, upstanding man like your uncles, with no hint of the lack of morals and values of your father, she mentally tacked on, as she began to prepare the pancake batter.
Joey looked so much like her—it was as though Joe had had nothing to do with the child’s creation. Joey had her wavy, strawberry-blond hair and fair complexion. His eyes were a sparkling green, and his features resembled hers. Anyone could tell that he was her son.
No, there was no hint of Joe Mackane in Joey, thank God, and there never would be as she continued to teach him the important lessons of integrity and honesty. Ah, yes, honesty. That was definitely something Joe never possessed, nor knew the meaning of.
Joe had been killed in a construction accident a week before Joey was born. In heaven with the angels? Jennifer mused. No, not even close. He wouldn’t have begun to qualify for admission. But that was something her son would never know.
After cleaning the kitchen after breakfast, during which she’d received a passing grade for her pancake hippopotamus, Jennifer showered and dressed in jeans and a green sweater that matched her eyes.
While Joey was putting away scattered toys in his room, Jennifer opened the drapes on the windows in the living room, then frowned.
There was a man standing on the sidewalk in front of the house. He was tall, extremely handsome, with dark, auburn hair, rugged features, wide shoulders, and long, muscular jeans-clad legs. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets, and he was staring at the top of the house, apparently unaware of her sudden appearance in the window.
What was he doing there? Jennifer wondered. Who was he? If he was a thief casing the place, he wasn’t being very subtle about it.
All right, he had two minutes to be on his way, or she was going to march out there and confront him.
Jennifer narrowed her eyes.
Maybe that was dumb. Friendly, small-town Prescott or not, it was probably foolish to demand an explanation from a perfect stranger.
Perfect? Well, on a score of one to ten, the man was an eleven as far as looks and build went—but that was beside the point. She was a woman alone with a small, vulnerable boy to protect.
No, she’d give it another minute, then call Sheriff Montana and tell him about the stranger who was still—darn him—scrutinizing her home, her safe haven. He would handle this in the proper manner.
Okay, buddy, she thought, it’s now one minute and counting.
Jennifer’s breath caught as her gaze connected with the stranger’s. He smiled, sketched a salute, then spun around and walked down the sidewalk.
A frisson of heat coursed through her and settled low in her body. She wrapped her hands around her elbows, then moved to the edge of the window, watching until the man disappeared from view.
Dear heaven, she thought, that smile of his should be registered as a lethal weapon, along with the loose-limbed, oh-so-sexy way he walked.
It had been many years since she’d had a sensual response to a member of the opposite sex. It was unsettling, to say the least, and very unwelcome.
It was also borderline crazy. She’d had a physical reaction to a man she didn’t even know, and who might very well be a thief contemplating breaking into her house to steal her worldly goods, such as they were.
What on earth was the matter with her? she thought, shaking her head. On that horrifying day of Joe’s funeral, when she’d learned the truths that had shattered her world, she’d begun the process of building a wall around herself.
Never again, she had vowed, would a man awaken her sexuality. Never again would a man touch her heart or her body. Never again would she love someone who was capable of destroying her.
“Mom,” Joey yelled, running into the room, “I found my favorite dinosaur. It was under my bed. Cool, huh?”
Jennifer drew a steadying breath, then turned to smile at her son.
“Very cool,” she said. “Oh, it’s very dusty, too. Let’s wash it off in the kitchen sink. There’s nothing worse than a dusty dinosaur.”
That evening, Jennifer settled onto the sofa in the living room in front of the crackling fire in the hearth, and picked up the mystery novel she was in the process of reading. Joey was fast asleep, having nodded off during the tale of Peter Pan.
She tucked her legs up close to her on the puffy cushion, spread an afghan she had knitted across her lap, and opened the book to the page that boasted a brightly colored bookmark Joey had made her for Mother’s Day.
After reading one sentence, the image of the stranger who had stood in front of her house that morning superimposed itself over the words on the page.
“Darn you,” she said, snapping the book closed. “Would you just go away and leave me alone?”
She sighed and shook her head as she set the book next to her, then stared into the leaping flames of the fire.
The anticipated, carefree day with Joey had been a disaster. Everywhere the two of them had gone, she found herself looking for that man, while at the same time registering excitement and fear.
The stranger had haunted her through the seemingly endless hours of the day. And with the thoughts of him came the disturbing remembrance of the rush of heated desire that had suffused her when he’d smiled.
“Oh-h-h, I’m driving myself crazy,” Jennifer said aloud, throwing up her hands.
Okay, enough of this, she admonished herself. She was getting a grip right now. She’d analyze this bizarre behavior of hers, figure out why she was acting so unlike her norm, then be done with it.
“Fine,” she said, tapping one fingertip against her chin. “Wait…a…minute. Of course. That’s it.”
She was the victim of a series of events that had taken place in rapid succession.
First, she’d attended the beautiful wedding of her dear friends, Ben and Megan, who were obviously deeply in love.
While she had neither the intention nor the desire to remarry, the romantic event had no doubt poked a bit at her subconscious and emphasized the lack of a special man in her life—even though she didn’t want one…
Second, she’d caught the wedding bouquet, and had been surrounded by people declaring over and over that she would soon fall in love and be the next bride.
Third, Joey had expressed his sadness over not having a father, which had made her heart ache for her son.
If one added up all those events that centered on romance,