Margaret Daley - A Mother for Cindy

“Susan said something about you talking to him yesterday. Is he nice?”

“I wouldn’t have invited you if he wasn’t.”

Tara brushed her long black hair behind her shoulders. “I knew that. I guess I’m a little nervous. Ever since Clint ran out on me, I’m a little gun-shy.”

Jesse put an arm around her friend and began walking her toward the kitchen. “Perfectly understandable. Clint will regret his hasty decision one day.”

“I just don’t understand why he left.”

Jesse patted Tara’s arm. “Neither do I.”

“Do you think he was overwhelmed with the wedding preparations? He kept asking me to elope with him and end the madness. I should have listened to him.” Tears filled Tara’s eyes.

“There, there. You’ll forget about him in no time.” Jesse continued to comfort her friend while she glanced up at the clock over her stove. Fifteen minutes and still so much to do. “You’ll see, tonight will be the beginning of something magical.”

Tara pulled back. “You think?”

“You know me. I have a sixth sense when it comes to matching people up.”

Tara gave her a skeptical look. “You’re the one who fixed me up with Clint last year.”

The heat of embarrassment singed Jesse’s cheeks. “We all fail every once in a while. Just a temporary setback.” She waved her hand in the air. “Look at Maggie and Neil. They’re getting married next month. It all started here one evening at one of my little dinner parties.”

“Don’t get me wrong, but they haven’t gotten married yet. They had a loud argument today at the bank. I wouldn’t be surprised if the wedding was called off.”

“They did?”

“Yeah. He was angry about the money she was spending on the wedding.”

The timer on her stove buzzed. Jesse jumped, startled by the sound, but glad for the interruption. She would check with Maggie tomorrow to see what was going on. Her reputation was obviously at stake here. “I’d better get these cookies before they burn.”

“Chocolate chip?”

“What other kind is there?” Jesse reached into the oven at the same time the doorbell chimed. “Can you get that? I have one more batch to stick in, then I’ll be in the living room. Just make Nick and his daughter feel at home.”

“It could be Susan Reed.”

“Nah. Gramps went to pick her up. You know he takes forever.”

Tara halted at the entrance into the kitchen. “Is there something going on there that I should know about?”

Jesse laughed. “Could be. They’ve been friends for a long time and are now finally dating. It’s about time that Gramps got involved with someone.” So he will stop meddling in my life, she added silently.

“Now I know why you asked Susan here this evening. You’re killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

The doorbell rang again.

“Go, before my guests decide I’m not home.”

“He sure is impatient,” Tara grumbled and made her way toward the front door.

While spooning cookie dough onto the baking sheet, Jesse tried to listen to the people in the foyer. It was awfully quiet for a good minute, then she heard Tara’s raised voice. Not a good sign. Jesse quickly finished her task and stuck the cookies into the oven.

When a man’s voice answered Tara, Jesse knew something had gone wrong. That wasn’t Nick speaking. She remembered his voice—how could she forget such a deep, raspy baritone that sent chills down her spine? Hurrying into the living room, Jesse came to an abrupt halt just inside the doorway. Standing toe-to-toe in her house, hands balled at their sides, were Tara and Clint, both furiously whispering to each other.

“Clint, what are you doing here?” Jesse asked, wiping her hands on her sunflower apron. I didn’t invite you, she silently added, visions of all her hard work that day going up in smoke.

He shot Jesse a narrowed look. “Coming to stop my woman from making a mistake.”

“I’m having dinner. How can that be a mistake?” Tara’s voice rose again. “And I’m not your woman. Not since you sped away from my house after calling our wedding off so fast you probably got whiplash.”

“We all know why Jesse has these little dinner parties.”

The doorbell sounded. Dread trembled through Jesse. Oh great, her guest of honor had finally arrived and World War III was about to erupt in her living room. “Shh, Clint. If you behave yourself, you can stay,” Jesse said as she scurried past the couple, smoothing her apron down over her white pants.

“And watch Tara flirt—”

“Clint Clayborne, you heard Jesse. Quiet.”

The man thankfully closed his mouth, but the mutinous expression on his face spoke volumes. This wasn’t going to be the fun-packed evening she’d envisioned, Jesse thought as she plastered a wide smile on her face and pulled open her front door.

“I’m sorry I’m late, but I got a last-minute call I had to take.”

Nick returned her smile with a heartwarming one that quickened her pulse. “That’s okay. Gramps isn’t back with Susan Reed yet. Come in.” Jesse stood to the side to allow Nick, Cindy and an older man, with a completely bald head, to enter. She offered her hand to him. “You must be Boswell.”

“Yes. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bradshaw.”

“Please, Jesse.”

She eyed the man dressed in an impeccable black suit, even though it was nearly summer and the dinner was a casual affair. Boswell fit the bill perfectly for a proper English butler with a rich accent, she thought, and she decided her grandfather would have competition for Susan’s interest. That might shake things up a bit tonight—not to mention Clint sending her dagger looks every time she glanced his way.

“Mom. I can’t find Bingo.” Her son came to a screeching halt in the hallway.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet my son. Nate, this is Cindy, her father, Mr. Blackburn, and Mr. Boswell.”

“Just Boswell, madam.”

Barking followed by honking permeated the sudden silence. “I think Bingo is out back.”

“He knows to stay away from Fred and Ethel.” Nate hurried toward the kitchen.

“Please have a seat in the living room. I’d better check on Bingo,” Jesse murmured, following her son.

Before she took two steps into the kitchen, the dog shot through the doggie door and raced past her as if monsters were on his tail. She heard one of her geese’s familiar honking and realized the dog had narrowly escaped—again.

“I thought he learned his lesson the last time,” Jesse muttered as her son rushed after his pet.

“I only have to have one confrontation with those…geese to know not to get within a hundred yards of them.”

Jesse jumped, surprised at the sound of Nick’s voice behind her. He had come into the kitchen through the dining room and stood framed in the entrance, looking wonderfully handsome in denim jeans and a casual light-blue knit shirt.

“Then you’re smarter than Bingo.”

“What a relief.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorjamb, a crooked grin on his face. “Can I help you with anything?”

“With Boswell in your employ, I don’t see you asking to help out in the kitchen much.”

“I know my way around. I can fend for myself if the need ever arises. Remember, I served you tea yesterday.” Nick threw a glance over his shoulder and lowered his voice, “Besides, things are heating up in the living room and I thought I would give—the man and woman some privacy.”

“Oh, you must mean Tara and Clint.” She’d almost forgotten about them as though Nick’s appearance had wiped her mind blank. “Where’s Boswell and Cindy?”

“Cindy ran after Bingo and Boswell ran after Cindy.”