Kimberly Van Meter - An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love

It wasn’t his style to butt his nose into other people’s business, but the thought of Annabelle even considering working for Eagle Construction was worse than disobeying his own tenet to keep to his own affairs. Not that she was really in any danger—the woman was no pretty bimbo. Sharp intelligence flared behind her eyes and the longer he stared, the harder it was to tear himself away. That in itself should’ve been a big enough warning to back off, but his pride warred with his guilt until he raised his hands in surrender. He’d used her to win a small battle with Aaron; the least he could do was give her a job until she could find something else.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said gruffly. “Sammy should’ve warned me. I reacted badly. Be at the office tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. and we’ll talk about your duties.”

“Sure. Thanks.” She shifted and bit the inside of her cheek absently, the action reminding him that she was truly much younger than him. “I’ll keep an eye out for something else though.”

“You got family who could help you out?” he asked, wishing he hadn’t. It wasn’t a good idea to get too acquainted.

She chuckled wryly. “Nope. My mom died a few years ago and my daddy was a bit of a rambling man. I haven’t seen him since I was about seven. I have a younger brother, but the less I see of him the better off my pocketbook is.” She shrugged as if admitting that her family was less than desirable wasn’t a big deal. “I learned to rely on myself a long time ago.”

He believed her. Dressed in a denim skirt that was too short and a blouse that fit too tightly across her breasts, she looked like a white-trash prom queen looking for a date but there was a sense of dignity clinging to her that dared anyone to pass judgment.

Closing his eyes briefly to block out the image of her as she stood before him, he bit out a terse, “Don’t be late,” as his goodbye and walked—no, practically ran—from the restaurant.

DEAN GLANCED at the dusty wall clock and noted the time. Five past eight. She was officially late on her first day of work. That didn’t bode well for her future with Halvorsen Construction. He sighed. So much for helping a person out. He grabbed the plans for the building site he was scheduled to survey today and had only just rolled them out the length of his conference table when the front door flew open. Annabelle came through carrying more things than she had hands.

Then he noticed the small bundle in her right arm was wearing tiny shoes and his mouth dropped open.

“I’m so sorry,” she started, setting down a stuffed diaper bag and a long rectangle of a contraption that Dean had a sinking feeling was a playpen. “Dana was supposed to watch Honey, but she was called out on the ambulance and I didn’t have time to find another babysitter. But I swear she’ll be no trouble at all. I brought toys and snacks and her favorite blanket and…and…please don’t fire me. I really need this job.”

“Honey?” Dean stared at the little girl who was staring at him with the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen. “Did you say her name was Honey?”

“That’s right,” she answered, smiling without a hint of bashfulness. “From the moment I first laid eyes on her I thought she was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen and immediately knew Honey was the right choice. Honey Faith Nichols. She’s my girl.”

“How old is she?” he asked.

“Sixteen months. Her birthday is in February. She’s an Aquarius. I’m a Cancer. Do you know what your sign is?”

“Uh, no. I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“Oh, I do. I think it gives a lot of insight to your personality. When’s your birthday? I know a bit about astrology. I could find out—”

“No, that’s okay. So, Honey…Aren’t you worried about what other kids might say about a name like that?”

She frowned. “No. Should I be?”

“Well, I don’t know, it’s just a little odd.”

At that she chuckled. “It’s only odd to those who like everything to fit in preordained little spaces. I want to encourage Honey to do whatever inspires her. I don’t want anyone ever to tell her that she can’t or shouldn’t do something simply because she might not fit a stereotype.”

He didn’t know what to say. Annabelle didn’t seem to notice. She smiled as she looked at her daughter. Love was evident in her expression and voice as she said, “Besides, it’s who she’s meant to be. Can you imagine her as a Christie or a Sarah?”

No. Actually, he couldn’t. Naming a kid something like Honey was a little too hippy-dippy for his sensibilities, but the longer he stared at the child he realized the name fitted her well. The kid was downright cherubic. He couldn’t remember if all kids that age were that cute or just this one. He glanced at the clock and his odd musing fled.

“Uh, well, as long as she stays in that playpen,” he said, not quite sure of what else to do. “This place isn’t baby-proof and it’s not safe. I’m not even sure if we’re insured for this sort of thing. God, I’m betting we’re not. Just keep her contained, will you?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed, bobbing her head. “You won’t even notice she’s here. I promise. She’s the best baby. Thank you.”

Dean eyed the baby and all the gear that came with her and was thrown off-kilter. His son, Brandon, was seventeen and self-sufficient. Dean hardly remembered what it was like to have a baby around. And that’s just the way he wanted to keep it, he almost growled.

Grabbing his coat, he was stalking out, ready to get to the job site and back to something he understood and felt comfortable with, when he realized he hadn’t told Annabelle her duties. Stopping at the door, he gestured toward the mess, saying, “Don’t touch anything. I have a system and I don’t want anyone messing with it.”

She gave his cluttered desk a dubious look but nodded to indicate she wouldn’t touch it. “So, what should I do?” she asked.

“You can make coffee, answer phones, take messages, scrub the bathroom, general office stuff.”

“I don’t consider scrubbing the bathroom general office stuff,” she retorted, frowning. “I could file things for you. Type up whatever you need. I’m pretty handy with the computer, too. What computer programs are you running?”

“Uh.” He glanced down at his watch and swore. “I don’t know. Sammy does all that stuff. You’ll have to ask him. Don’t file anything. Like I said, you’ll mess up my system. Just…just…I don’t know, stay out of things. I’ll be back in a while. I’m late!”

Dean got to the job site and although part of his brain was on work and he managed a coherent conversation with the foreman, another part of his brain was stuck on the woman sitting in his office with a toddler.

She should’ve mentioned she had a kid.

Why?

Because…well, there was no defensible answer because it was none of his business. Still, it became his business when that kid ended up in his office.

This wasn’t something that could become a habit. He hadn’t wanted to hire her in the first place and now he had a woman with daycare issues.

He glanced skyward at the clouds rolling in for an end-of-season storm and knew it would be raining before he returned to the office. It wouldn’t be a cold rain, but rather a mild soak promising some muggy humidity afterward.

Sammy drove up, raucous music blaring from his truck loud enough to split an eardrum, and Dean was ready to take out his frustration on his youngest brother.

“What’s up, big brother?” Sammy asked with typical good humor. Sammy had been born with an innate ability to find the lighter side in every situation. “I hear you hired Dana’s friend? Good. Sounds like a win-win situation on both sides.”