Karen Templeton - The Real Mr Right

“I know, honey. I know.”

Her chest aching, Kelly disconnected the call and slipped her phone into her pocket, then faced the wiry little blonde in jeans, hoodie and a scraped-back ponytail who probably didn’t weigh as much as Coop. Without makeup, she looked about twelve. And yet, as Kelly watched Abby dump cereal into a bowl and clomp back toward the island—in a pair of the ugliest work boots on God’s green earth—she decided in a barroom brawl, her money was on the pipsqueak.

“Abby?” she said, even though Kelly would have known her anywhere, she looked exactly like her mother. If leaner and meaner.

“That’s me, yep.” The bowl set, Matt’s sister veered back toward the coffeemaker, only to glare at the mug in Kelly’s hand. Oops.

“Matt told me to help myself to anything, I didn’t realize the cereal was yours—”

“And the mug.”

“O-kay! Here, I’ll find something else—”

“Fuggedaboutit.” Twisting her ponytail in her hand, Abby slammed open a cupboard door, grabbed another mug. Banged the door shut hard enough to make things rattle. Opened the fridge, grabbed milk, slammed that door, too.

“Um... I take it you’re not a morning person—?”

One hand shot up, cutting her off. The other poured her coffee, lifted the mug to her mouth. Two, three sips later, Abby let her head loll back, her eyes drift shut. She opened them again, took another swallow then sighed.

“Sorry. I’m a bear before my coffee.”

“I can relate. I’m Kelly, by the way.”

“Yeah. Matt texted me, told me you and your kids were here.” She made a face. “That I should be nice.” Abby turned, smushing her skinny little butt against the edge of the counter. “Like that’s even an issue, I’m always nice.”

Kelly smiled. “So you don’t remember me?” At the young woman’s head shake, Kelly said, “Your sister and I were best friends. I remember when you were born. In fact, I used to change your stinky diapers.”

She took another swallow. “Gross.”

“It’s okay, you were so cute we didn’t mind.”

Snorting, Abby carted her mug back to the island, climbed onto a stool and poured milk over her cereal. Shoveled in a bite. Something felt slightly off, but Kelly couldn’t quite put her finger on what. That Abby sounded and acted a little young for her age, maybe? Then again, did Kelly even remember what twenty-two sounded like anymore?

“I do sorta remember you,” Abby said, a smile finally appearing as she chewed. “You and Bree used to let me watch stuff Mom and Daddy would’ve had a fit about if they’d known.”

“Did we scar you for life?”

For a moment, a shadow dimmed the smile. “No,” Abby said quietly, then dispatched another bite of cereal. Chewing slowly, the blonde sat back, arms folded over her flat chest, her gaze questioning and astute, and Kelly instantly recognized the childish act for what it was—an act. Girl was sharp as a tack. Sharp enough, most likely, to see through any truth dodging on Kelly’s part. Especially when she asked, “So why are you here? I mean, when’s the last time you saw any of us?”

“It’s been a while. But I’m still in touch with Sabrina. Sort of.”

“Who doesn’t live here. Which I assume you know.”

Kelly blew out a breath, then refilled her coffee mug. Obviously Matt’s text hadn’t been elucidating. “Just needed a break, that’s all.”

“From?”

Her shoulders bumped. “Life,” she said, and Abby’s eyes narrowed. Exactly like Matt’s—a thought that brought on a brief, though piquant, shudder—even though they weren’t related by blood. Except then, with a shrug, Abby slanted forward again to resume eating.

“Hey, I don’t know you, got no reason to get up in your business.” She swallowed, then shrugged. “Matt’s another story, though, being a cop and all. Although I’m not sure how beholden to the badge he is at the moment, since he’s on leave.”

Kelly frowned. “On leave?”

“Yeah. It’s not exactly a secret, I’m surprised he didn’t say anything. Something about accumulated vacation time? Since he apparently worked some ridiculous hours after his divorce. Wait—did you know—?”

“Yes. Sabrina told me.”

Abby nodded. “None of us liked Marcia very much. She was way too la-di-da for this family, that was for sure. But when things fell apart, so did Matt. Not in a dramatic way, I don’t mean that—this is Matt we’re talking about. But he kinda went all pod-person on us. Looked like Matt, sounded like Matt, but the real Matt wasn’t home.” She chuckled. “At work, yeah. But not at home. Anyway...if he didn’t take his days, he was going to lose them. Or so he said. So he’s around a lot, working on his house, bugging me. Big brothers are hell. You got any?”

Wow. Nothing like a little caffeine and carbs to ignite the jabberfest. “No, I’m an only child.”

“Count your blessings. So were you and Matt close? When you were kids?”

“Not really, no.” Even if not by Kelly’s choice. A nugget of personal info she’d keep to herself. “He did his own thing, Sabrina and I did ours.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Still, you should see Matt’s place while you’re here. He’s put in some reclaimed stuff from the shop—the mantel is the bomb, from some nineteenth-century farmhouse.”

Nope, not even penciling in that little field trip. Because, you know. Frying pans, fire, yada, yada.

Then two yawning children wandered into the kitchen, seeking hugs and nourishment. This I can do, Kelly thought as she set their filled bowls on the island and heaved her wild-haired daughter up onto a stool. And Abby immediately sucked Coop into a conversation, exactly as Jeanne would have done, and the ache in Kelly’s chest eased a little more.

Because, for the moment, it was good to be back. To feel safe again.

Only then she thought of Matt. His eyes. His smile. His...everything. But especially his I-got-this attitude.

And that feeling-safe thing?

Gone.

Chapter Three

The instant Matt climbed out of his Explorer in the open-air lot near the Lincoln Tunnel, his face froze in the brutally cold wind. Between that and the five thousand bodies per square foot now swarming around him at roughly the speed of light, he remembered why he’d rather ice-skate naked than come into Manhattan. The crowds, the dirt, the noise... He flinched as a fire engine edging through the taxi-clogged street blasted its horn—so not him. And never would be.

Except since this was where his twin sister lived, this was where he needed to be. Because nobody understood how his brain worked better than Sabrina. Sure, they talked on the phone and texted, but their connection was strongest when they actually shared breathing space.

Made sense, he supposed, considering how, as suddenly orphaned six-year-olds, it’d been them against the world. Naturally Matt had felt honor bound to protect his sister, even though he later realized how much his scrappy little twin had protected him, too. And they were still there for each other, no matter what.

Bowed against the biting wind, he walked the few blocks to the Ninth Avenue diner where Sabrina had suggested they meet, one of those glaringly lit, grease-scented joints where the glasses were plastic, the plates weighed more than some of the patrons and fries came with, end of discussion.

Sabrina had snagged a booth near the back, looking like a slumming A-lister. Didn’t act like one, though, squealing and bouncing up to throw her skinny, designer-clad arms around Matt.

“Sit, I already ordered for you,” she said, immediately reverting to Jersey speak. “You look good. Worried, but good.” Surrounded by a forest of artfully messy dark hair, equally dark, guilt-ridden eyes bored into his. “Damn. It’s been too long, Matty.”