Janelle Denison - Ready-Made Bride

“Haven’t found the right woman?”

Balancing on the balls of his feet, he stared into the fire. “I haven’t been looking.”

She couldn’t help but wonder if the right one did come along if he’d consider it. Her own marriage had been less than ideal toward the end, but she still believed one could find happiness with someone else. “What about Andrew?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, one of his rare smiles threatening to make an appearance. “He’s too young to get married.”

She made a face at him and earned herself a grin. The man could be charming, even humorous when he wanted to be. She suspected he’d deny it if she told him so. “That’s not what I meant. Doesn’t Andy deserve to have a mom?” She told herself she was only concerned for Andrew’s welfare, but the thought of another woman taking her place didn’t sit well.

A wickedly dark brow arched. “Are you applying for the position?”

Their gazes clung for several heartbeats. He was being facetious, but she couldn’t squelch the instinct in her that was rallying to say yes. She wanted to be a daily part of Andrew’s life.

She drew her knees up, then wrapped her arms around them. “I only meant that Andrew should have the influence of a mother and father.”

His amusement faded. The firelight played over his features, emphasizing the dark stubble grazing his jaw, and shining off his black hair like a tarnished halo. His eyes glittered like fired emeralds, frightening and hauntingly beautiful at the same time. “I’m not looking to get married again,” he snapped, straightening to his full height. “Andrew and I have done fine on our own, until you-” As he realized what he was saying, he clenched his jaw.

“Came along?” she finished for him, hurt by his lash of angry words, although she knew she didn’t have a right to be. She meant nothing to him, despite her feelings for his son and her need to somehow be accepted by him, too. She was foolish to think she could mean something to him when it was apparent he shut out anyone who tried to get too close.

He jammed his fingers through his hair, sat in the recliner across from the couch and released a harsh breath that whistled between his teeth. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”

The apology was stiff and gruff, as if he’d had to dig deep for it. “I understand.” And she did. She’d obviously touched on a sensitive issue, one that had unearthed the shadows of pain lingering in the aftermath of his anger. The urge to go to him, touch him, comfort him was so strong it nearly overwhelmed her. She hugged her knees tighter, unwilling to face possible rejection.

Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees. “I know you care for my son very much, and it’s obvious he returns the feelings. He’s lucky to have you as a…friend.”

And what about you Kane Fielding? Do you consider me a friend? Averting her gaze, she watched the dying flames flicker over the logs in the grate, trying to ignore the more intense heat of Kane’s eyes on her and the way her body responded with a shivery sensation.

“What about you, Megan?”

His quiet question startled her. “What about me?”

His gaze flickered over her face with interest and curiosity. “Have you ever been married?”

“Yes.” I’m sorry, Megan, our marriage is over. Having a family isn’t as important to me as it is to you. Kids will only get in the way of my legal career . Her belly clenched as her husband’s insensitive words whispered through her. “I’m divorced.”

He cocked his head, looking boyishly appealing. “What fool let you slip away?”

She couldn’t contain the bitter laughter that escaped her. Phillip Sanders was no fool. A callous jerk, yes, but at least he’d ended their marriage instead of stringing her along with empty promises he never intended to fulfill.

She studied Kane, seeing no ulterior motives in his question. “I’m surprised you think so.”

A noncommittal shrug lifted his shoulders. “I may not be in the market for a wife, Megan, but I’m not blind.”

The honest compliment, although issued underhandedly, made her smile. If she wasn’t careful, she could fall hard for this man who tried so hard to maintain a tough and gruff, don’t-get-too-close-to-me attitude.

She wasn’t blind, either.

CRISP bacon and fluffy scrambled eggs sure did beat the heck out of the bowl of cold cereal he usually ate with Andy in the morning. Stomach satisfied, Kane looked at the woman responsible for the delicious breakfast, ready to address the one concern that had nagged him all morning.

He placed his napkin on his empty plate. “I have to warn you, Megan, people are going to talk today.”

Turning from the plate she was rinsing in the sink, Megan grabbed a terry towel and dried her hands. A delicate auburn brow rose in surprise, and she glanced at herself, then at him. “Is it my dress?”

Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed the garment in question. The peach floral material made her look soft, pretty and feminine. Her dress was appropriate for church, with tiny pearl buttons enclosing the blouse to her neck and a flowing skirt that reached well below her knees. She looked as chaste as a schoolgirl, but he knew the garments beneath contradicted her conservative appearance. He’d seen her pull the lingerie from her suitcase this morning before she’d gone into the bathroom to take a shower. He couldn’t stop imagining her in nothing but those skimpy panties that had looked as sheer as a sigh and a silky bra with more lace than substance.

A surge of heat pooled in his lap, and he shifted in his seat, grateful for the loose khaki pants he wore. And that Andy had gone to wash his face and comb his hair. “Uh, no, the dress looks fine.”

A fascinating combination of guile and sass danced in her eyes as she approached him. “My hair, then?” She touched the fancy braid she’d woven with the cinnamon and fire strands.

He gave her credit for making light of the situation, but he knew too well how damaging the town’s speculation could be. She had a right to know what to expect today, or at least be prepared to handle the stares and whispers as she walked by.

Settling herself in the chair across from him, she continued her lighthearted banter. “Do I have egg on my face? Or maybe bacon between my teeth?”

Dammit, she’d pried a smile out of him again. “No, you look fine.”

“Then what could everyone possibly have to talk about?”

He sighed, struggling with the words. “Megan, this is a small town, and the people here have definite opinions and aren’t afraid to express them, even elaborate on what they perceive to be the truth. Sometimes those opinions hurt other people in the process. I have a feeling we’re going to give the gossips something to talk about.”

Leaning an elbow on the table, she rested her chin in her palm, seemingly digesting what he’d told her. “Does that bother you?”

“I’m used to it.” But as hard as he’d tried, he’d never grown immune.

She tapped her finger against her cheek contemplatively. “So, is it true what they say about small-town gossip, that it spreads fast and furiously?”

“Like wildfire around these parts.” And they always seemed to take a special interest in his business.

An unladylike snort of disgust escaped her. “Don’t they have anything better to do?”

“Depends on whose business it is and just how titillating the gossip. Your staying here is like throwing a hungry pack of wolves a bone.”

“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We’re adults, for goodness sake.”

A grim smile thinned his lips. “I’m sure that’s exactly how they’ll see the arrangement.”