Cynthia Thomason - Rescued By Mr. Wrong

Carrie’s thoughts were interrupted by the local weather report. She sat up straight on the sofa and hit the volume button on the TV.

“Fairer temperatures, a slow warming trend...lots of sunshine with highs tomorrow in the upper thirties.”

Carrie smiled. Practically bathing suit weather in northern Ohio. Tomorrow she could go outside and investigate these seven acres which seemed to not matter to Keegan Breen. The prospect made her almost giddy.

She turned off the television, leaned into the comfortable sofa cushion and closed her eyes. Keegan had been stuck at his computer most of the afternoon, doing what, Carrie didn’t have the faintest idea. Now he was in the bedroom with the door partially closed. But she could hear his voice, low, peaceful...almost loving. The mellow timbre of his words vibrated deep inside her in a soothing, comforting way, as if she could listen to that voice all night.

“Sounds like you had a good Christmas,” he said. “Did you do anything special to celebrate?” There was a pause after which he said, “No, I don’t need to talk to her. The check arrived, I assume.” Another pause. “You’re welcome. I love you, Taylor.”

Keegan uttered a few more words which Carrie couldn’t make out. Then she heard him disconnect with a simple, “Take care of yourself.” Carrie opened her eyes as he came into the living room rubbing the back of his neck. He suddenly seemed tired.

Carrie sat up. “Everything okay?”

“Sure. Why would you ask?”

“I heard part of your conversation,” she said.

“You were listening to my phone call?”

“Not intentionally, but you didn’t close the door all the way.”

“I thought you were watching TV.”

“I turned it off.” She waited for him to say something else. He went into the kitchen and started making a pot of coffee. “If you’d like to talk about anything...” She laughed softly. “I am the perfect captive audience.”

He turned away from the coffeemaker to stare at her. “Carrie, if you want to know who I was talking to, why don’t you just ask?”

“Okay. Who were you talking to?”

“My son. He lives in Seattle. And again I just spent another Christmas away from him.”

“That can’t be easy.”

“It’s not, but over the years I’ve missed plenty of holidays, and I’ve got no one to blame but myself.” He pressed the button on the coffee brewer. “You want a cup? It’s decaf.”

“Sure, thanks. And, Keegan...?”

“What?”

“You must be divorced from the boy’s mother, right?”

“That’s a logical assumption.”

“Did she not invite you to spend Christmases with your son? Did she keep him from coming to see you?”

He frowned, and she hoped she hadn’t crossed a boundary of privacy. But he seemed like he was having a tough time with missing his son.

“My ex-wife isn’t an unreasonable person,” he said. “I’m just not Daddy-of-the-year material. Let’s leave it at that.”

Wow. Keegan’s conversation with his son had been short and almost awkward. Yet his voice had been comforting, his tone almost sweet. If she had to guess—and since he wasn’t going to say anything else, what other choice did she have—she concluded that he had genuine feelings for his son.

“Okay,” she said. “Conversation closed. You take the bed. I’ll sleep fine on the sofa.”

“Never mind.” He took a long sip of coffee and brought a mug to her. “I won’t be sleeping much tonight anyway.”

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