Susan Mallery: Father in Training

Lindsay dumped the last of the dirty water and leaned against the bathroom counter. "Now what?" she asked, her voice tired, her face flushed.

Sandy gave her a weary smile. "Now we take a break. There are sodas in the ice chest. Take Blake and Nichole, and go outside and rest."

"Can you carry me down the stairs?"

"I think you can make it."

Lindsay started out of the bathroom, then paused. "What about dinner? I'm starved."

"I thought about ordering pizza."

"Really?" Lindsay's brown eyes widened with surprise. "But whenever we ask for it, you always say it's expensive and has no nutritional value. You never order pizza. I only get to eat it when I'm staying with a girlfriend."

"I'm ordering it tonight."

"Okay, cool." Lindsay walked down the hall. "Blake, Nichole, come on. Let's go get a soda. And guess what?"

Nichole came running out first. "What?" she demanded.

"We're having pizza for dinner."

Nichole clapped her hands together. "I want three slices."

"You can't eat that much."

"I can too."

Blake joined his sisters, but didn't speak. The three of them went downstairs and their voices faded.

Sandy stood in the doorway of the guest bathroom and stared after her children. Was pizza that big a deal? She tried to remember if she'd ever ordered it for them before. She shook her head. She'd always preferred to cook. It was more economical and nutritious. She'd known Thomas could be counted on to eat junk food when given a chance, and the children didn't always spend their lunch money wisely, so she'd felt it was her duty to provide a good, wholesome meal at dinnertime. But she didn't think she'd been so strict about food that ordering pizza was an event worth noting on the calendar.

Besides, she needed to pay back her helpers, and she was reasonably sure they would accept food while they would be insulted by an offer of money. Thinking of which, things had been quiet downstairs for some time.

She followed the children down to the first floor. All the windows were open and a sweet breeze blew through the house. Cans of paint had been neatly stacked in the foyer. The drop cloths were folded next to them, and a ladder lay on the floor of the dining room. The house was silent.

"Kyle?" she called.

"In the study," he answered.

She went down the long hallway beside the stairs. There was a small bathroom behind the living room, then a set of double doors that opened onto a study. She stepped into the room.

An old stone fireplace with bookshelves on either side filled one wall. Opposite were more bookshelves. Large windows let in sunlight. The room smelled of lemon-scented furniture polish. She and Blake had cleaned all the wooden shelves and paneling the previous day. Only the wall containing the windows was painted. Kyle was on his knees at the windows, finishing the baseboard.

"Where is everyone?" she asked.

"Austin and Travis left already."

"But they didn't say goodbye."

"They'll be back tomorrow."

"I was going to order pizza."

Kyle stood up. "Good, I'm starved."

She glared at him. "It's not just for you. I wanted to say thank-you."

"You can thank them tomorrow morning. They'll be here about eight. With all of us working together, we should be able to get all the painting finished."

"Why is everyone being so nice to me?" she asked, convinced Kyle was trying to pull something on her.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." He frowned. "You know, I never understood what that meant. Who'd want to look in a horse's mouth, anyway?"

"Why am I sure you're purposely changing the subject?"

"Because you have a suspicious mind." He crouched down and put the top on the paint can. After tapping it back in place with a hammer, he grabbed the can and his brush and headed for the kitchen. She trailed after him.

"Travis and Austin left because they both have families who are expecting them for dinner," he said. "They're going to come back tomorrow because I asked them to. I've been helping Travis remodel his house for the last year. Before that, I spent hours working on Austin's loft. So stop thinking the worst of me."

"That's it?"

"That's it." He set the paint can on the counter and stuck the brush under the faucet. "If you're still ordering pizza, I prefer sausage to pepperoni, and I like mushrooms. Or have you changed your mind?"

She still felt there was something he wasn't telling her, but she couldn't be sure what. "I don't want to keep you if you have plans," she said. "It is Friday night."

"I'm available."

For what? she almost asked.

She stared at his broad shoulders, his narrow hips and long legs. He was the most tempting man she'd ever seen, and she was just staring at the back of him. If he was to turn around and smile at her… She sighed. She wasn't sure exactly what she would do, but she was pretty sure it would be embarrassing.

Sometime when she was alone, she would figure out why she was reacting to Kyle this way. He wasn't her type. She didn't have a type. She'd only dated a little in high school and college. Then she'd met Thomas and they'd gotten married right away. She'd been so positive when she'd met him, confident that she'd found her soul mate. Someone kind and responsible, willing to share life's burdens. How was she to have known that this tenured philosophy professor was just an adolescent in disguise? She'd learned one thing from her marriage-that she didn't want to be the only adult in a relationship. When she got involved again-if she got involved again-it was going to be with someone who understood life wasn't a game. It was going to be with someone who took things seriously and lived up to his commitments.

It was not going to be with an overgrown playboy who had a body that sent her stomach plummeting to her toes. And never with someone like Kyle.

"You're looking fierce about something," he said, turning to study her.

"What? Oh, I was just thinking. I'll order the pizza now." The phone had been installed the previous day. She walked over to the phone books that had been delivered and flipped to the right page. "Which place do you recommend?"

He set down the wet paintbrush, leaned over her shoulder and studied the list. The scent of him-male sweat, paint and something else, something subtle but compelling-drifted to her. She inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma. It made her think of tangled sheets on a Sunday morning. Of croissants and coffee after great sex.

The clear visual image startled her so much, she tried to back away. But Kyle was right behind her. She bumped into him, her head hitting his chest as her heel came down on the toe of his athletic shoes. At the moment of contact, she jerked forward and her hipbone rammed against the counter. She yelped.

"You okay?" he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Sorry," she mumbled. She could feel his fingers through her T-shirt. The heat surprised her. As well as the way her muscles turned to liquid. She cleared her throat. "Ah, which place?"

He slid one of his hands down her arm and onto the page of the phone book. "That one," he said, pointing. "Why don't you tell me what you want to order and I'll call? They'll have to deliver it to my house, anyway."

"Your house? Why?"

He stepped back. She didn't turn around. It didn't help. She could still hear the smile in his voice. "You don't have any plates here. Not to mention chairs. Don't worry, Sandy. There's nothing to be frightened of."

"I'm not afraid."

Sandy managed to get through dinner without embarrassing herself. She was thrilled. By the time all three kids had gotten cleaned up and they'd walked over to Kyle's gatehouse, it was almost time for the pizza to arrive. Between sorting out who wanted what to drink, picking off mushrooms for Blake and mopping up Nichole's spills, she'd even forgotten to be nervous. Until now.