Linda Jones - The Husband Recipe

She had not chosen the white shorts and simple white sandals and brand-new turquoise tank with him in mind, though she had instinctively passed over the denim shorts that sagged in the butt and the oversize T-shirt she sometimes wore when she worked in the garden for something more attractive. She’d used more mousse and hairspray than usual, and her hair was down, instead of up in the ponytail that would’ve been more appropriate for such a hot day. But that had nothing to do with the fact that her neighbor was going to be here. Nothing at all.

Some of the men peeled away from the circle to tend the grills, while Juliet Smith and a couple of her closest friends scurried off to the kitchen to make a few last-minute arrangements. Children of all shapes and sizes ran and laughed and splashed in the pool. Without looking, Lauren could pick out the screams of the Donovan children. They were the loudest, and they were strangely and disturbingly familiar.

Summer Schuler, who lived several doors down on the opposite side of the street, sidled up to Lauren and smiled as she leaned in very close. “Your new neighbor is a hunk and a half.”

“Is he?” Lauren said coolly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Summer laughed, then took a long swig of sweet iced tea from her red plastic cup. “You’re very together, Lauren, but you’re not blind. And you’re a terrible liar to boot. Of course you’ve noticed. He’s single, you’re single….”

“He has three children whose only operating speed is full blast….” Lauren added.

Summer laughed again and placed a friendly hand on Lauren’s arm. “No man is perfect.”

And didn’t Lauren know that well enough….

Summer lowered her voice. “I know he doesn’t exactly fit all the requirements on your list, but he is healthy. And I’m sure he has a wonderful sense of humor.”

“He’s a jock, he has three kids and he’s too tall.”

Summer’s eyebrows shot up, and not for the first time Lauren had the thought that Summer was improperly named. She had black hair, black eyebrows, dark brown eyes. She didn’t look at all like a Summer. “You’ve added a height requirement?”

“He should be no more than five foot ten. Five-eleven, tops.”

“Why?”

“I shouldn’t get a crick in my neck every time I talk face-to-face with a man who’s a part of my life.”

“Girl, you have gone off the deep end. You’d throw a man over for a couple of inches?” Summer bit her lower lip. “Let me rephrase that. It’s not like Donovan is freakishly tall, or anything. He’s very nicely proportioned.”

Didn’t she know it….

“Invest in a pair of really high heels,” Summer suggested with a grin.

Lauren’s initial thought had been a stepladder, but heels would be more practical. She hadn’t worn really high heels in years, but she wondered …

Summer continued while Lauren’s mind was on shoe shopping. “You need to toss that list. Finding a man isn’t like making a cake. There’s no recipe for a husband, no list of necessary ingredients.”

Lauren started a bit, jerked out of her shoe-related thoughts. Husband? Who’d said anything about a husband?

The piercing scream that followed the thought caused Lauren’s gut to turn over. She—and everyone else present—turned toward the scream, which was followed by a moment of horrifying silence.

All the children who stood by the pool were very still, for a change. Those in the water treaded in place. One child was down, there at the side of the pool near the steps. Down and completely still. The scream had been Meredith’s.

Cole broke away from the group of men and ran. Others were soon right behind him. Lauren drifted in that direction, though she was certain Cole Donovan didn’t want her help. There were more than a dozen adults present, and judging by the way he’d ignored her today, not even so much as nodding his head in her direction or waving halfheartedly or making eye contact, he’d prefer assistance from any neighbor here before he called on her. Besides, most of the adults here had children, or grandchildren, and surely they’d been through disasters like this one before. They’d know what to do. They were much better equipped than she was to help out.

And still, Lauren moved forward. There were too many people in the way, but she had to know who was down. She elbowed her way past the hefty man who’d moved into the two-story at the end of the street last year and ducked around a surly teenager dressed all in black. Her eyes soon found Hank and Meredith in the crowd, so the one who was hurt was Justin, the little one. The one who didn’t like lasagna—who didn’t like her .

Cole squatted down, examined his youngest son, then whipped off his T-shirt and pressed it against Justin’s temple. He scooped up his son and stood in one smooth motion. Blood ran down one side of the little boy’s face, in spite of the makeshift bandage, but he was conscious and talking. Lauren couldn’t hear what Justin was saying, but she noted that while he had begun to cry he was not hysterical.

His father was another matter. Cole had gone pale. The hands that held his son were shaking. Subtly, but she saw the tremble even from a distance. A couple of people tried to help, but Cole practically bit their heads off as he headed out of the yard at a fast clip, his long legs carrying him away from the party. Meredith and Hank followed. Meredith was crying, too, and she explained in a trembling voice that she’d reminded Justin not to run but he hadn’t listened. Again, someone asked if they could help and Cole said no. He barked no. They were going to the hospital for the stitches Justin obviously needed.

T. J. Smith offered to drive, but Cole shook him off with an expression that cut everyone out, that built a barrier around him and his family and left no room for intruders.

Lauren stood completely still for a moment. She didn’t need to get involved. Cole didn’t want her—or anyone else—to intrude. Justin was conscious, and head wounds did bleed a lot. The child needed stitches, but he’d be fine. He hadn’t lost consciousness, which was a good sign. Right? That was all true, but dammit, there was no way she could let Cole get in the car and drive, not in his condition.

She turned to Summer. “I have to go.” Lauren didn’t give her friend a chance to respond, she just turned and ran, cutting around the other side of the house and across the street to intercept Cole and his crew.

It was a simple gash, bleeding heavily but not life threatening. So why was his heart beating so hard that he couldn’t see straight? The sight of all that blood on Justin’s head and face made Cole’s stomach turn. A part of the T-shirt he’d pressed to the wound was already soaked through. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened to his son. He couldn’t live with himself if it turned out Janet was right and he was incapable of raising these three kids alone.

If she found out what had happened, would she try to take the kids away from him? He sometimes suspected that she wanted to, and he knew she’d been angry that he’d moved two hours away, taking all she had left of her sister with him. She hadn’t made a secret of her displeasure.

His worse fear was that Janet might be right, that he might not be enough for his family.

He threw open the door to the minivan and carefully deposited Justin on the backseat. He didn’t want to let go of the kid, didn’t want to leave Justin—a ball of fire who was currently pale and bloody and not at all himself—alone. The door on the other side opened and Meredith jumped in. Cole reached into his pants pocket and grabbed his keys, glad they were in his pocket as usual and not sitting on the dresser or hanging on a key rack where he’d have to retrieve them. Nothing could slow him down, nothing could stand between him and help for his son.