Janelle Denison: Ready-Made Bride

She thought she heard Andrew whisper, “Come on, Dad, kiss her.”

There was enough promise and hunger in Kane’s eyes that she wanted him to. Her lips parted, and her breathing deepened.

As if coming out of a trance, Kane shook his head and stepped away, severing all contact with her. A rush of chilly air feathered across her arms, leaving goose-bumps in its wake. This time, there was no mistaking Andy’s mumbled but clearly disappointed, “Dam it.”

Oddly enough, Andy’s sentiment echoed Megan’s thoughts. A wry smile touched her lips.

Kane turned toward Andy, his face an expressionless mask. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for today. Time for bed, sport.”

“Aw, Dad, can’t I stay up a little longer?” Andy asked, shoulders sagging. “I don’t have school tomorrow.”

Kane turned off the radio and glanced at the clock on the mantel, his movements brusque. “It’s nine-thirty. You’ve been up an hour later than your normal bedtime, and we have church tomorrow morning.”

Andy slid off the couch without further argument. “Will you tuck me in, Megan?”

“I’d like that.” She brushed a blond lock of hair from his brow, knowing she’d do anything for this little boy. And realizing, too, that his father was making his mark on her, as well, whether he meant to or not. “You go brush your teeth and put on your pajamas. I’ll be right there.”

Andrew grinned, his eyes sparkling with renewed enthusiasm. “Okay.” He scampered down the hall to the bathroom.

Once he was out of earshot, Megan reached out and touched Kane’s arm. His entire body tensed, and she immediately dropped her hand. A troubled frown creased his brow, warring with the need in his eyes.

“Kane-”

His hands flexed at his sides. “It was only a dance, Megan.” His voice was rough, like the sandpaper he used on his wood.

It had been more than a dance, and they both knew it. After a few long minutes of silence, Megan turned and went down the hallway.

Andrew bounded into bed as she entered his room. He’d changed into a pair of flannel pajamas, his face was freshly scrubbed, and he smelled like mint toothpaste. He slipped beneath the covers, unable to contain a sleepy yawn.

Smiling, she sat on the edge of the mattress beside him. “You have sweet dreams.”

“I will.” Unexpectedly, he sat up and launched himself at her, hugging her tight around the waist. “I love you, Megan.”

Warmth flooded her, reaching places that had been cold and empty for so long. “I love you, too, Andrew.”

Kane hesitated at the doorway to his son’s room, not wanting to interrupt the tender scene. He propped his shoulder against the frame, giving them a few minutes before he intruded. Andrew thanked her for a fun day, and the smile on Megan’s face radiated deep affection.

Andrew settled into bed, and Megan arranged the blanket around him. Just when she would have stood to leave, Andrew grabbed her arm.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Would you…” His voice wavered and his throat bobbed. “Would you be my mom?”

Kane was so shocked by his son’s question, he couldn’t find his voice to respond before Megan did.

“I’d like nothing more than to be your mom, sweetie,” she said, gently cupping his cheek in her palm. “But it’s not as easy as that.”

“Why not?”

“Because your dad will pick a new mom for you someway.”

Guilt coiled through Kane. After Cathy’s death he hadn’t given much thought to Andrew having a motherly influence in his life. He’d believed the two of them had done just fine on their own for nearly six years…until Megan Sanders had entered the picture.

He couldn’t deny the healthy, positive effect she had on his son. Andy glowed like never before. But getting married again wasn’t on Kane’s agenda. Ever. Not even to a woman with blue eyes so deep he wanted to drown in them every day of his life.

He shook off the insane thought and steeled himself against notions of marriage. Dancing so close to Megan-the heat they’d created must have fried his brain cells.

“What if I pick you to be my mom?” Andrew persisted, not willing to accept Megan’s answer to his question.

She smoothed her hand over his bedspread, thinking. “How about I be your special friend forever?”

Andrew frowned, seemingly not satisfied with that answer, either. “Can you live here forever?”

Megan laughed and fussed with his pillow. “I don’t think your father would like that too much.”

“Dad likes you.” Andy drew his old, battered teddy bear into the crook of his arm. “Did you see him smiling at you while you were dancing?”

“That was a smile?” she teased, tweaking his nose.

Andy giggled, then grew serious. “He wouldn’t let you stay if he didn’t like you. And he’s not always grouchy. It’s just that Grandma and Grandpa Linden-”

“Lights out,” Kane said, stepping into the room before Andrew could enlighten Megan on his long-standing rift with his in-laws. Megan didn’t need to know the only reason the Lindens had anything to do with him was Andy. They’d made it abundantly clear they intended to be an active part of Andrew’s life after Cathy’s death, despite blaming Kane for their daughter’s demise. Not that he’d ever deny the Linden’s their only grandchild.

After tucking Andy into bed and turning out the lights, he walked with Megan into the living room. Now that they were alone, an awkward silence stretched between them. The basic manners his mother taught him nudged his conscience. “Would you like something to drink, or would you like to go to bed?”

His gruff question was met by delicately raised brows. A lovely shade of pink colored her complexion. Her gaze skittered toward the hallway leading to his room, and her fingers fluttered to the collar of her blouse. “Go to bed?” Her voice squeaked.

She thought he meant his bed. Although the image of Megan spilled across his mattress induced a heady, warm rush of desire he was finding increasingly hard to ignore, he suspected she’d want more than just a one-night tumble. Which was more than he was willing to give.

He waved a hand toward the couch. “I could pull the sleeper out if you’re ready to retire.”

“Oh,” she said, a soft breath whooshing out of her. “I’m not really tired.”

“Then what’ll it be? Coffee, hot cocoa or a shot of whiskey?” He was leaning toward the whiskey. A double dose to knock him out for the night so he didn’t toss and turn from the same erotic fantasies that robbed him of sleep last night.

She thought for a moment, then an irresistible twinkle brightened her eyes. “Would hot cocoa be too much trouble?”

He shrugged. “I think I can handle boiling hot water.”

“Water?” She grimaced. “That’s not the way hot cocoa was meant to be made.”

Lifting a brow, he casually crossed his arms over his chest “Andy never complains.” Damn, how did she make him enjoy her and their banter so much? Make him forget all the reasons he never established close personal relationships with women?

The spontaneous, upswept look she gave him started a slow burn in his veins. “Maybe Andy never complains because he doesn’t know what it’s like to have real hot cocoa.”

Unable to help himself, he chuckled. The sass and exuberance dancing in her eyes coaxed him into giving as good as she dished out. “Since you’ve been crowned the cook, how ‘bout you show me how to make real cocoa?”

She accepted his challenge with too much willingness. “Do you have powdered cocoa?”

He stared at her steadily, trying to ignore the subtle tensing of his insides. “What’s the difference?”

Her lilting laughter echoed in the small room. She thought he was joking. He was dead serious. She realized that much when he didn’t join in her amusement.