Family by Design

After a quick rap on the door, he waited, prepared to face Becca and uneasy about bringing up the subject of his ownership of the house.

The door swung open to reveal the little blond girl he had seen the night before. The spitting image of her mother, right down to the green eyes, she stood silently staring at him.

“Is your mom home?” he asked.

Her fingertip went straight to her mouth, and her wide-eyed innocence made him smile. She shook her head, sending the short, sassy ponytail she wore dancing back and forth.

He looked past her to see her older brother standing in the entryway, studying him.

“You’re the guy who helped Mom with the car last night.”

Nick nodded. “And I’ve brought her car back, all fixed again.”

The boy’s serious expression didn’t change. “Thanks.” But he seemed to be struggling with something. “My name’s Danny and this is April.”

“And I’m Nick. Nice to meet you both. And you’re welcome.” Not only had he had the flat fixed and the slow leak in the spare taken care of, but he’d also added a minor tune-up to the work order. He figured that if her husband didn’t have the sense to have it done, the guy deserved to be surprised with the bill for the work.

“Mom’s in the backyard.”

Wishing for a chance to look around inside the house, Nick thanked him, deciding it would be best to curb his curiosity until Becca knew he was now the owner. Until then, she might not appreciate him poking around.

“I can show you where,” the boy said.

“No, that’s okay. I think I can manage. And she knows I was bringing her car.”

The boy gave a stiff nod. “Close the door, April,” he told his sister.

Nick grinned as he stood staring at a door that had closed much quicker than it had opened. It was pretty clear the boy was leery of strangers. And protective of his mother.

As he walked down the steps of the broad, wraparound porch, Nick made a mental note of the repairs and materials he would need, once he could start work.

But something wasn’t right. If her husband was a stockbroker, the condition of the house sure didn’t show that he had spent time thinking about upkeep. Of course, some renters didn’t feel they needed to bother with it, and considered it the landlord’s responsibility. But what he really wanted to know was why the hell they were renting, not living in some fancy new house. And why this place?

His first reaction the night before when he had learned Becca was living here was that he would tear it down. But he had instantly known he wouldn’t let her ruin his dream. By now, Becca and her hotshot husband should have received the letter explaining the sale and the date they were to vacate. Although she hadn’t mentioned anything about moving, and he wondered why. Did she remember the plans they had made? But she couldn’t, not and live there now with her husband. She couldn’t be that heartless.

Or could she? After all, it had been ten years and—

When he turned the corner at the back of the house, he saw Becca, bringing him up short and reminding him that he would have to tell her exactly who he was—the man evicting her family.

BECCA BLEW ON HER nearly numb fingers and wished, once again, that Katyville had a Laundromat where she could sit back and read a book while her laundry tumbled until it was too hot to touch.

“There you are. I was looking for you.”

Startled by Nick’s voice, Becca dropped the shirt she was attempting to hang on the clothesline. Darn it, anyway. It figured he would show up at the worst time. Again.

His long strides brought him across the barren backyard, and he bent to retrieve the shirt from the ground. “Don’t you think this is taking fresh-smelling clothes a bit too far?” he asked, grabbing her hand and examining her fingers.

Snatching her hand away, she hid it and the other behind her back. “How would you know about fresh-smelling clothes?”

“You must’ve forgotten my Italian mother,” he answered.

Seeing that he was about as out-of-the-loop as anyone could be, she didn’t bother to tell him that she knew his mother well.

And then she did the unforgivable. She looked up and met his gaze.

His sexy, lopsided grin was all too familiar. She wished he would go away, back to Denver or anywhere besides her backyard. At least he hadn’t reminded her that the old Becca wouldn’t have been caught dead hanging clothes on a line outside, even in the best of weather.

As if he could read her thoughts, he broke the gaze holding hers. “Your car’s in the driveway,” he told her, picking two clothespins from the bag and hanging the shirt.

“You don’t need to do that.” She had the urge to shove him aside, but she knew that physical contact with him would be her undoing, so she pulled out one of Danny’s T-shirts instead and attempted to fasten it to the line with cold, trembling fingers. “And thank you for taking care of my car.”

He took a step back and crossed his arms on his broad chest, leveling his gaze on her. “How’s Daisy this morning? Any better?”

“Much better,” she answered. The baby’s fever had broken during the night, and she was breathing easier. Both of them were. There would be no trip to the emergency room this time.

He said nothing else while she finished hanging the few remaining items. When she bent to pick up the empty basket and bag of pins, he stepped forward and took them from her.

She gave him a quick smile to thank him, realizing that he wasn’t leaving immediately. “Isn’t someone here to take you back?”

“Travis should be here any minute,” he said as they walked to the house.

Just having him near set her pulse to racing, but she tried to ignore it as they stopped on the small porch leading to the back door. “There’s coffee left. Would you like a cup while you wait?”

Nick hesitated. “I’ll wait in your car, if that’s okay. It shouldn’t be long. Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea if I went inside with you.”

“Anyone?” she asked, puzzled at his scowl.

“You know, like the neighbors or…your husband.”

She knew she should tell him the truth, but she hesitated to do it. Of course, it wouldn’t make any difference to him, but she didn’t want him thinking she was a hot divorcée looking for a new man. “Still worried about gossip?” she asked, her hand on the doorknob.

“You were the one who had the problem with gossip.”

She knew it probably had seemed that way to him, but it had been more her father’s problem than hers. “I guess so,” she said, knowing better. “Living here, outside of Katyville, has made me immune to it.”

“But I’m not immune to an angry husband who might decide to take a poke at me for drinking coffee with his wife. No matter how innocent it might be.”

Struggling with whether to be truthful or not, she opened the door and set the basket and bag of clothespins he handed her inside. Turning back to him, she knew she had to and wondered how to answer. If she told him the truth, would he think it was an invitation? But if she didn’t, he was bound to find out and wonder why she hadn’t said anything. She had only lied once, and that was to him, ten years ago. This time, she owed it to him to be honest.

“There’s no husband, angry or otherwise.”

His scowl deepened. “But I thought—”

She shook her head, not knowing what else to say and definitely not wanting to go in to the details. Standing half-inside the door, she waited for him to say something.

“You’d better get inside and get that door closed,” he finally answered. “I’ll wait here or in the car.”

Relieved and disappointed at the same time, she didn’t fail to notice that he had already taken a couple of steps off the porch. “Thanks,” she said, not knowing what else to say. “And tell Tony I’ll pay for the tire repair soon.”