Karen Templeton - The Real Mr Right

“They can bunk in Tyler’s old room when they’re done,” Matt said. “There’s twin beds—”

“Oh. I brought sleeping bags—”

“No need.” Matt’s gaze touched hers, then slid to Coop as he cut the finished sandwiches in quarters, clunked the plates onto the counter. “Whaddya want to drink, sport? Juice? Milk?” He grinned. “Chocolate milk?”

“Mom?” he said, hopeful eyed, and she smiled.

“For tonight? Sure.”

Coop sat up straighter and nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

She bit her lip, though, when Matt retrieved a carton of one percent milk, a container of “skinny” chocolate syrup from the stainless-steel French-door fridge. He threw her a glance. “Dad’s stuff. Doctor’s orders.”

“Oh! Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine....” He rummaged in a cupboard for something. “Probably healthier than I am. Doc wants him to stay healthy, though. Ah—I knew I’d seen one of these....”

Moments later, he’d rinsed out and poured milk into someone’s old sippy cup, which he then handed to Aislin, who plugged it into her mouth and started chugging as though she hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks. Matt chuckled, twin creases gouging those bearded cheeks, then turned that grin to Kelly, reminding her exactly how messed up her life was.

How messed up she was. Ergh.

“Linnie! What do you say?”

There was an actual popping sound when spout left mouth. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Matt said, then faced Kelly again. “What about you?”

“I’ll have what they’re having,” she said, watching Matt’s strong hands as he poured her milk, noting how those hands were attached to equally strong arms, which in turn were attached to a good, solid chest, and for a brief moment, because she was crazy stressed, most likely, she imagined herself wrapped up in those arms, against that strong chest. And this wasn’t even about sex—seriously, the very thought made her tired—but...caring. Being cared about—

“You want something else?” he asked, and her eyes jerked to his.

“What?”

“Your sandwich. You haven’t touched it.”

“Oh...sorry. No, this is fine, I’m just...” About to cry. Great. “I’m almost too tired to eat.”

“I can see that,” he said, being kind again, dammit. “By the way, you can take Sabrina’s room—”

“Mom? I’m done. C’n we go play with the dog?”

Matt chuckled. “Mutt thought you’d never ask. Here—” he handed Cooper the plastic plate with the mangled remains of Aislin’s sandwich “—go on into the family room, back there,” he said, pointing. “Make her sit first, though. She knows the drill.”

Kids and dog gone, Kelly finally took a bite of her sandwich. “This is really good.”

“You must be really hungry.”

She almost smiled. “You use butter?”

“Mom would reach down from heaven and smack me if I didn’t.”

Kelly bit off another corner, washed it down with the best chocolate milk ever. “Your mom used to make grilled-cheese sandwiches for Bree and me almost every day after school. You learned well.”

Matt hesitated, then carted the griddle over to the sink. His back to her, he said, “Only thing my folks ever wanted was for any kid who set foot in this house to feel safe.” He turned. “Making grilled-cheese sandwiches wasn’t the only thing I learned well. So what’s going on, Kelly?”

And there it was. She set down her milk glass, skimming her index finger over the damp rim before lifting her eyes to his. “Let me get the kids to bed first?”

He crossed his arms, doing the narrow-eyed thing again, and a shiver traipsed up her spine. Finally he walked back to the island and leaned heavily on the counter’s edge, close enough for her to see the beginnings of crow’s feet fanning from nearly black eyes.

“It’s obvious you need help,” he said, too softly for the kids to hear. “Which for old time’s sake I’m more than willing to give you...but only if you swear to tell me everything. And I mean everything. So. Deal?”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

One side of his mouth kicked up. “You got any other options?”

She sighed. “Not really, no.”

Still gripping the counter’s edge, Matt straightened again, his gaze drifting to the kids in the family room before resettling on hers. “I may not share the Colonel’s DNA, but I’m still his son. If you can count on him, you can count on me.”

And God help her, she believed him. Because, as he so accurately pointed out, what choice did she have?

* * *

A half hour later, Matt lay sprawled in his dad’s recliner, half watching some late-night TV show, when Kelly appeared in the room’s entryway. He glanced over and his breath hitched in his chest.

She looked downright shrunken, hunched into herself as she distractedly rubbed one forearm with her other hand. Even as a teenager she’d been on the skinny side, but now, even with the baggy sweatshirt, she was all points and angles. Damn, her cheekbones had never been that sharp.

Or her eyes that flat.

“I was beginning to think you’d chickened out,” he said. “Or passed out.”

A weary smile touched her lips. Granted, Kelly hadn’t been your typical, in-your-face Jersey girl—in fact, her being so quiet was what had first attracted him. But this went way beyond being reserved. Or stuck-up, which Matt now realized was absurd. No, the word that came to mind now was...deflated. Like the minute she didn’t have to put up a front for her kids, she’d surrendered to whatever hell she was going through.

“I’d’ve never been able to sleep,” she said, “knowing you were out here...wondering.”

Matt clicked off the TV and levered the chair back upright. “You got that right—”

“Please don’t feel obligated because you happened to be here instead of your dad.”

“And I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. I’m a cop, I took an oath to protect and serve, okay? Don’t recall it saying I got to pick and choose who I protected.”

“So...this isn’t personal?”

“Not sure how it could be, since we haven’t seen each other in, what? Nearly twenty years?”

“Got it.” Then her brows pushed together. “Why are you here, anyway?”

He almost laughed. “Because why would I still be living with my father?”

“I didn’t say—”

“But you thought. And are you gonna stand there the rest of the night or what?”

“I might.”

For a split second, annoyance prickled. Until Matt realized that tiny, defiant act was her trying to keep some control over a situation in which she probably felt pretty damn powerless. So he leaned back in the chair, plucked his soda can from the holder on the chair’s arm.

“My own house is all torn up at the moment,” he said, taking a swig. “Okay, for longer than that. I’m doing most of the work myself so the remodel’s not exactly going like gangbusters. No heat, no indoor plumbing.... You get the picture. So I’m camping out here.”

She folded her arms over her stomach. “Sabrina mentioned your divorce. I’m sorry.”

Even after nearly a year, the sting still took him by surprise. “Thanks,” he said, appreciating her solicitude but having no intention of talking about his pulverized marriage. With her or anybody—

“So you’re here alone?” she said.

“No, Abby’s here, too.” Matt jabbed a finger toward the ceiling. “Upstairs. She was up this morning at five, hit the hay before it was even nine. Another reason why I’m here, since Pop didn’t much cotton to the idea of her being here alone.”

“My goodness, how old is she now? Twenty?”

“Twenty-two. And pissed as all get-out that I’m here, cramping her style.”