Beth Andrews - Caught Up in You

He’d do anything for his kid.

“This is the drawing I told you about,” Max said, shoving a picture in Eddie’s face.

Eddie leaned back, the hard edge of the metal chair digging into his shoulder blades as he took the paper. He raised his eyebrows. It was good. Damn good.

His kid never ceased to amaze him.

“It’s Pops’s pumpkin patch,” Max said. He pointed at the cottage in the background. “See? That’s his house.”

“It looks just like it.” Right down to the curtains in the windows and brick walkway winding its way from the back door to the garden.

Green vines tangled around fat, bright orange pumpkins. Beyond the cottage, trees in all their autumn glory of copper, red and auburn covered the rolling hills. And standing to the left, a hoe in one hand, his other hand tucked behind his back, was Big Leo Montesano. Max had perfectly captured Eddie’s grandfather, from the top of the straw hat on Pops’s balding head to the tips of the black rubber boots he wore when gardening.

“It’s great, bud,” Eddie said.

Shifting from foot to foot, Max beamed. “Mrs. Hewitt said it was the best one out of the whole second grade.”

“Mrs. Hewitt?”

“She’s the art teacher.” Now Max hunched his shoulders. Chewed on his thumbnail. “I forgot I’m not supposed to tell anyone that.”

“You’re not supposed to tell anyone she’s the art teacher? Is she some sort of spy?”

Max frowned as if Eddie was the one not making sense. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone she said my picture was the best.”

Eddie’s heart swelled. Christ, but he loved his kid. Max was tall for his age and stocky, with Eddie’s hazel eyes and dark hair, and Lena’s light coloring and nose. Shy around everyone but family, when he opened up, he was funny and entertaining as hell. Max went full throttle from the time he woke until he hit his bed and slept like the dead, recharging for another nonstop day.

He was Eddie’s greatest joy. The best thing he’d ever done.

“We’ll keep it between us.” Eddie mussed Max’s hair, making a mental note to get him to the barber sometime this week. “But I bet she’s right.”

Max stopped gnawing on his nail long enough to send Eddie a small, proud smile. “She is.”

Eddie grinned. That was his boy. “How about we make a frame for this and give it to Pops.”

“Yeah. He’ll love it. He loves all my pictures. But we can’t take it now. Not ’til Mrs. Hewitt says so.”

“Okay. Maybe you should put it back, then.”

Max did some sort of galloping walk over to the wide windowsill where the rest of his classmates’ drawings were laid out. Afternoon sun streamed through the glass, raising the temperature in the room a good ten degrees. Sweat formed on Eddie’s upper lip, along his hairline. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the sweatshirt at his shoulder blades and tugged it upward. Only to realize he was stuck, his lower back pressed against the chair holding the shirt in place. He scooted forward and rammed his stomach into the edge of the desk. He grunted. Banged his elbow when he tried to straighten.

“Shit,” he muttered, his funny bone tingling painfully.

Someone cleared their throat, the sound delicate, feminine and, if he wasn’t mistaken, subtly chastising.

The back of his neck heated with embarrassment. Standing, Eddie shoved the chair back. It toppled over. He sighed. Some days a man just couldn’t win.

He yanked the sweatshirt off, avoided looking at the door while he tugged his T-shirt down, then righted the chair. Smoothing his hair—and realizing Max wasn’t the only one who needed a trim—he turned. Scanned the curvy blonde in the doorway.

Harper Sutter—now Harper Kavanagh—didn’t look much like the perky cheerleader she’d been in high school. Then she’d been petite with light brown hair that fell to the middle of her back. Now her hair was several shades lighter and at least six inches shorter, her face, hips and breasts fuller.

His gaze flicked to her chest.

Much fuller.

A tickle formed in the back of his throat. Interest—basic and purely physical—stirred. Ignoring it, he shoved his hands into his pockets, focused on her face. Same high, pronounced cheekbones and gray eyes that turned down slightly at the corners. Same full, heart-shaped lips.

He’d had a few fantasies—brief, insignificant fantasies—about her mouth.

Then again, he’d been seventeen. Sexy dreams had pretty much been a nightly experience.

Those lips curved into a bright smile. She switched her coffee cup to her left hand and offered him her right one. “Hello, Eddie. It’s so nice to see you.”

With a nod, he shook her hand. Though he’d known her since kindergarten, he’d never touched her before. Her palm was warm against his. Soft.

Awareness bolted through him. He acknowledged it was partly due to the remnants of the teenage fantasies playing in his head. Accepted it as a man’s instinctual response to an attractive woman.

Acknowledged it, accepted it. Then let it—and her hand—go.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” she said.

“You didn’t.”

He wasn’t sure if she’d meant it as a real concern or a reprimand for his being early. He gave a mental shrug. Didn’t matter to him either way. He’d had a break at work so he’d taken off. No sense finding something to do for a few minutes so he could arrive precisely at four o’clock.

“Max,” Harper said, sounding surprised when Max sidled up to Eddie, pressed against his side. “Still stuck here?”

Max lifted a shoulder.

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a drag. I can’t wait to leave at the end of the day. Hey, would you do me a favor?” Before Max could even blink, she continued in her rapid-fire speech. “Could you walk—and by walk I mean that slow movement of putting one foot in front of the other that is not running, hopping or skipping—to the office to check if I have any mail?”

Seemed she knew Max well. He didn’t do anything slowly. Except talk.

While Max headed toward the door, Harper gestured for Eddie to follow her as she crossed the room. His gaze fell to the sway of her hips. She had on tan pants and a long sweater the color of rust that molded to her ass. A wide brown belt accentuated the indentation of her waist and he wondered, briefly, what it would be like to set his hands there.

He stumbled, bumped into a desk.

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

His face burning, he stared resolutely at a spot somewhere above her head. Maybe he hadn’t fully let that earlier awareness go.

“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.” She set her cup on the desk. “Although, I have to admit, I was hoping to speak with you alone.”

“I didn’t have time to find a sitter.”

Hadn’t taken the time to find one. Not when it wasn’t necessary. He only asked for help with his kid when there was no other solution. Absolutely, positively no other solution.

“It’s not a problem,” she assured him. “But would you mind if I gave him something to keep him occupied while we talk?”

Eddie shrugged.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said cheerily, then gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Can I get you anything? There’s coffee in the break room or—”

“Is Max in trouble?” Eddie loved his kid more than life itself, but that didn’t mean he thought Max could do no wrong. Everyone made mistakes. Best if you owned up to them, learned from them and, most importantly, never repeated the same one twice.

Max was having a hard time with that last part.

“Trouble? No, he’s not in trouble,” she said slowly enough that he didn’t believe her. “I thought we should touch base on a couple of things, that’s all.”