FATHER IN TRAINING Read online

  She twisted her fingers together. A paper napkin drifted from the trash she held and fluttered to the ground. He bent and grabbed it, then thrust it toward her. His fingers brushed her arm. She jumped.

  "Kyle, I don't think—"

  "Good," he said, cutting her off. "I know you're upset about last night."

  She swallowed and stared at the center of his chest. "Last night should never have happened."

  "Which part? The pizza? You and your kids eating at my house? Or what happened later?"

  "What happened later."

  Her voice was soft and low. He had to lean forward to hear her. She continued to stare at his chest. He wondered if she was afraid to look him in the eye because of what she would see or because of what she would reveal? He wanted it to be the latter.

  "What exactly did happen?" he asked, deliberately taunting her.

  She raised her gaze. He saw something hungry flash through her eyes, then she blinked and it was gone. "Nothing. Nothing at all. And I want to make sure nothing happens again."

  Nothing except he'd almost kissed her and she'd almost let him. She wanted to make sure it happened again? Did she mean nothing or did she mean the kiss? "Are you sure?" he asked and moved closer.

  "Yes." Her voice was a mere whisper. She trembled.

  He touched her bare arm, just above the elbow. She pulled back. "I mean it, Kyle. I don't want there to be anything between us. I'm not interested."

  He'd once played football with a sprained ankle and never let on until the game was over. He'd been cut pretty bad breaking up a fight and had finished his shift before going to the hospital. He'd been dumped once, a long time ago in college, and never told a soul. So it wasn't hard to continue to stare at her and not let her know what he was thinking. But inside, he reeled from the blow. As simple as that. She wasn't interested. Thanks but no thanks.

  "No problem," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  She sighed. "I don't mean to be cruel or rude. I appreciate everything you've done for me. Bringing Travis and Austin to help, working around here, all of that. It's been great. But you and I have nothing in common. It would be best if we were just neighbors."

  "Sandy, I understand. You don't have to give me a reason."

  "But I want to. I want you to know it's not personal."

  It felt pretty damn personal to him. She was calling the game on account of rain and he hadn't even got to bat.

  She walked over to the trash bag by the entrance to the foyer and dumped the deli papers inside. "I'm not your type, and you're not mine," she told him.

  What was her type? Someone like her late husband? Thomas, the philosophy professor. Someone intellectual. Someone who preferred opera to football, thick nonaction books with footnotes to the latest spy thriller. Someone steady and dependable. Someone not like him.

  "I hate for you to feel responsible for us. You don't have to keep coming over here and taking care of things. I'm really okay on my own."

  In other words, get lost.

  "I think you're right," he said.

  "You do?" She looked doubtful.

  "Sure. We'll be neighbors. Friends. We can look out for each other, but pretty much stay out of each other's lives. It's a good plan."

  "Great." She smiled.

  He thought his heart might start bleeding right then and there, but he didn't let on. Instead, he headed for the stairs. Friends. Neighbors. He'd sure lost his touch. He'd been thinking romance and she'd been putting him in the same class as the neighborhood golden retriever. Friends. What would Sandy say if she knew he'd been thinking, as well as friends they could also be lovers?

  * * *

  Chapter 5

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  He kept his word. Once the house was painted, Kyle disappeared from their lives as completely as if he'd never been there in the first place. He took his ready smiles, his quick wit and that way he had of looking at her that made her feel as if her bones were melting.

  Sandy told herself she was pleased. It would be easier for both of them if they didn't risk getting involved. As she'd told him three days ago, he wasn't her type, she wasn't his. So what if she went up in flames every time she was near him? She would get over it. And she had. Which didn't explain why the house seemed so quiet without him and his brothers around helping.

  Sandy stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. Her kids has been so good about helping—despite a few complaints—she'd given them a break and called in a service to clean the windows. Sunlight shone brightly through the freshly washed glass. All the rooms had been painted, the bathrooms scrubbed. Nichole and Blake had even weeded the rose garden out back. All they needed now was for their furniture to arrive.

  She walked into the kitchen, then through the utility room and out the back door. Her kids were sitting on the back porch drinking sodas. They were much too quiet.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  Lindsay studied the toe of her right athletic shoe. "Nothing. We finished papering the kitchen cupboards."

  "Thanks."

  Sandy took a seat next to her oldest. With Kyle no longer a daily fixture in their lives, Lindsay hadn't bothered to wear her nicest summer clothing. Today she'd pulled on a torn pair of shorts that had once been light blue but that had faded to a sort of institutional gray. Her T-shirt wasn't much better. There was a juice stain over the pocket, and one sleeve was coming off at the shoulder. Even her brown hair seemed limp, just lying on her back instead of bouncing with each step.

  As usual, Blake sat off by himself, over in a corner of the porch with his back pressed against the house. Her son was playing with one of his hand-held video games for the first time since they'd moved. As she watched, his fingers moved nimbly over the buttons, destroying electronic bad guys and making his private world safe once again. His glasses slipped down his nose. Absently, he pushed them into place, then took a sip of his drink before returning his attention to his computer game.

  Nichole scooted over to lean against her. "I'm hot, Mommy," her youngest told her. "Can we go swimming?"

  Sandy shook her head. "We have to wait for the movers, honey. They called and said they would be here later today."

  "If they don't break down again," Lindsay said. "You're grumpy all of a sudden. What's going on?"

  "I hate this place," Lindsay told her. "There's nothing to do. There are no kids my age, or anything. I can't believe you moved us here."

  Mutinous brown eyes glared at her. Lindsay had Thomas's eyes. She had her father's sense of adventure. Unfortunately, she had her mother's temper. Sandy recognized a lot of the unfocused adolescent rage from her own youth in her daughter. Her little girl was growing up fast.

  "You didn't seem to mind it too much a few days ago."

  "A few days ago, something was going on around here."

  Yeah, Kyle had been a part of their lives. Okay, so they all missed him. They would get over it. After all, they'd only known him a few days.

  Sandy wished she could make her kids believe it was going to be all right. They would make friends and settle into a routine soon enough. She reminded herself change was never easy, but it was often for the best.

  A loud rumbling broke the stillness of the afternoon. Lindsay straightened, even Blake looked up from his game.

  "The truck's here!" Nichole crowed. She grinned at her mother.

  Sandy reached out and ruffled the little girl's red curls. "I think you're right. Let's go see."

  Nichole took Sandy's hand and skipped down the stairs next to her. Lindsay and Blake followed more slowly. As they rounded the house, Sandy saw a large moving van backing up down the long driveway. The driver checked his mirror, then glanced at someone waving him in from the porch. Sandy looked at the man who was standing there as if he owned the place.

  Her heart told her who it was even before she recognized the tall, lean body and the short dark hair. Her knees quivered slightly and her breath caught in her throat. He hadn't gone away. She was a
fool, from the top of her head down to her toes. A fool and glad he was there.

  "Kyle!" Lindsay called as soon as she saw him. "What are you doing here?"

  "Helping." He gave her a smile, but his gaze met Sandy's. "I saw the truck and figured you'd need some."

  "Thanks," Sandy said, climbing up the side stairs to the wide, wooden porch. When she got close to him, she felt awkward. "You didn't have to."

  "I wanted to," he said. "Just being neighborly."

  The trunk jerked to a halt with the back end a few feet from the porch. Two men jumped out of the cab, then the driver, Al, climbed down. She recognized him from when he'd come to pick up her belongings in Los Angeles.

  "Ms. Walker," the older man said, "we finally got here. Sorry about the delay."

  Nichole rushed to the edge of the stairs. "Can we do my room first?"

  Al grinned. "We sure can try, little lady. Come on, boys, let's get this stuff unloaded."

  The back doors of the truck came off completely. The men stretched them across to the porch, eliminating the need to go up and down the stairs with the furniture. Al opened a side door to the truck. While his men were unstrapping the furniture, he walked toward her.

  "If you could show me the layout of the house, we'll put everything where it's supposed to go. I didn't see any writing on your boxes. How are you going to know where they're going?"

  Lindsay rolled her eyes. "Don't even ask. Mom has a system for everything. Wait until you see it."

  "My room's pink," Nichole said.

  "Pink?" Al asked.

  "There are colored dots on all the boxes," Sandy said. "Come with me and I'll show you."

  She'd tacked a big poster up in the foyer. Different colored dots lined the left side of the white cardboard. Next to each dot was the place those boxes went. "Red dots go in the kitchen, pink is for Nichole, dark blue for Blake and so on."

  Al removed his Dodgers' baseball cap and grinned. "Well, I'll be."

  "There's more," Nichole said. She pointed. "Look there."

  Everyone looked up. A colored balloon floated from the doorway of each of the rooms. The color matched the dots on the chart.

  "We should be able to unload your furniture in less than two hours," Al said.

  "Great." Sandy was pleased. It had taken all day to load it. "Kids, you stay out of the men's way. I don't want you getting hurt. As soon as there are some boxes in your room, you can start unpacking."

  "Swell," Lindsay grumbled.

  "I'm here to help," Kyle said, falling into step with Al as the older man returned to the van. He paused by the door and turned back toward her. "I like the dots. I always said, given the chance, you could organize the world."

  Sandy grinned. "I know I could!"

  Two hours later, the van was gone, the furniture was in place and there were three hundred boxes to be unpacked. Sandy stood in the center of the foyer and wondered where on earth she was going to begin. She could hear the children in their rooms. Lindsay would get her things unpacked just fine, but Nichole and Blake would probably create bigger messes than they would fix. At least they were busy and not underfoot.

  Her personal stuff could wait. She'd marked a couple of boxes with linens for the family, so those could be opened immediately. Next, she would start on the kitchen things.

  Kyle came in the front door and walked over to stand in front of her. He had a couple of screwdrivers and a pair of pliers in his left hand. His white T-shirt advertised a local ice-cream store, his black shorts left far too much of his tanned legs bare to view. Telling herself he wasn't really that good-looking did nothing to calm her nerves. Usually, she could talk herself out of or into just about anything. It was how she'd stayed sane while Thomas was alive and acting like a child. She'd convinced herself that one day he would grow up. With the perfect vision of hindsight, she knew now that probably wouldn't have happened. But no matter how she tried, she couldn't seem to convince her hormones that Kyle wasn't worth getting excited about.

  "I thought I'd hook up the cable," he said, pointing toward the family room.

  "I appreciate the help, but I don't want you to think you have to be here. If it's your day off, you should be doing something you want to do."

  He held her gaze for a long time. Part of the reason she wanted him gone was that she felt a little guilty for throwing him out the last time he'd been here. She could have been a little nicer about the whole thing. He'd been wonderful to her and her kids. But she couldn't risk getting involved. Even a one-sided crush, much like Lindsay's, would upset things too much.

  He smiled slowly, exposing white teeth and making the skin by the outside corners of his eyes crinkle. Her heart fluttered foolishly. "I'm here because I want to be," he said. "Haven't you figured that out yet?"

  "Oh."

  Oh? Was that the best she could come up with? she asked herself. Why did he want to be here? Was he toying with her, lulling her into thinking he might, well, sort of find her slightly attractive, only to dump her at the first opportunity?

  She almost asked the question, then realized that perhaps she needed to work on her self-esteem first. Kyle had been nothing but sweet and friendly since they'd arrived. She was the one acting skittish. But why wouldn't she? She was a single mom with three kids. She had a tendency to be bossy and mouthy. She was working on her flaws but she was still far from being perfect. Or glamorous. So why was he being so nice to her?

  "Thanks," she said at last, then brushed her suddenly damp palms against her shorts. "The TV goes in the entertainment center. The VCR sits on the shelf above that."

  His smile widened to a grin. "I think I can figure it out."

  "Great."

  But he didn't move. Instead, he stood there, looking sinfully handsome, staring at her. Self-consciously, she reached up and fingered her hair. It was loose this morning, held off her face by a headband. She wasn't wearing any makeup. She probably looked old and messy. Nothing that a man like him would—

  A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She frowned. "I'm not expecting anyone," she said as she crossed the floor to the front door.

  A pretty, dark-haired woman holding a sleeping toddler in one arm and a diaper bag in the other smiled. "Hi, I'm Elizabeth. This is my daughter Jessica, and Mandy is around here, somewhere. Honey, where are you?"

  "We're coming, Mommy."

  Sandy stared past the woman and saw a young girl racing up the porch stairs. She was holding a casserole dish in her hands. "We brung food," she said, then stopped slightly behind her mother, as if suddenly shy.

  "Brought," Elizabeth said. "I swear, hanging out with your father's relatives is doing nothing for your education." She smiled fondly at her daughter, then glanced back at Sandy. "She knows more about the Forty-niners' starting lineup than she does about any of her subjects at school. Oh, you still look confused. I'm sorry. I'm Travis's wife. We've come to help you unpack."

  "Elizabeth, come on in," Kyle said, coming to the door. "Mandy, how's my favorite munchkin?"

  The little blond girl giggled. "I'm not a munchkin, Uncle Kyle."

  "I keep forgetting. Maybe it's because all munchkins have blond hair just like you." He bent down and touched the two braids brushing against her shoulders.

  "Do they?" she asked, her blue eyes wide and questioning.

  "Kyle," Elizabeth said, the tone in her voice warning him to tread carefully. "Stop torturing my daughter."

  Kyle chuckled, then took the casserole dish from Mandy. "No, honey, they don't."

  Travis strolled up the stairs. He placed his hand on his wife's waist and guided her into the house. "Sandy, this is my wife, Elizabeth, and my daughters Mandy and little Jessica." He glanced fondly at the sleeping toddler. "We're here to help you unpack. Where would you like us to start?"

  Sandy was speechless. She didn't know whether to be pleased or insulted. Kyle had arranged for people to help her without asking her first. She should hate that. Yet the gesture was so thoughtful. She liked Travis
; there was every reason to believe she would like his wife, and she didn't have any friends in Glenwood yet.

  Before she could think of what to say, Kyle took charge. He sent Mandy upstairs with instructions on how to find Nichole's room, thrust the casserole dish into Sandy's hands, then ushered Travis into the family room, where he promised they would take care of the "man" work.

  Elizabeth stared after them, then laughed. "I guess that leaves all the women's work for us." She shifted the toddler in her arms. "It's Jessica's nap time," she explained. "She had a busy morning playing in the backyard. And driving in the car always puts her to sleep."

  "You can put her on my bed," she said. "It would only take a minute to get the sheets unpacked."

  "No, that's too much like work and we're going to have enough of that already." Elizabeth glanced into the living room. The floral-print sofa facing the wide windows had fluffy pillows. "Would you mind if she slept there?" she asked, nodding in the direction of the sofa.

  "Of course not."

  In a couple of minutes, Jessica was curled on the couch with her favorite stuffed toy, a lion missing an ear and the end of its tail. Elizabeth pulled a light blanket over the sleeping child. "She's our miracle baby," she said, straightening and following Sandy into the kitchen.

  "Did you have trouble getting pregnant?"

  Elizabeth laughed. "Not at all. But until Jessica, there hadn't been a girl born into the Haynes family in four generations."

  Sandy set the casserole on the counter. "I didn't know that."

  "That's a chicken-broccoli thing," Elizabeth said, motioning to the covered dish. "Just heat it in the oven at 350° for about a half hour and it will be fine."

  "Thanks for bringing the food. I really appreciate your thoughtfulness. So will my kids when I'm too tired to cook. After a week of living in a motel, even they're getting tired of take-out for dinner every night."

  Elizabeth stared at the piles of boxes. They filled the large space, with several pushed up against the wall and a few on the kitchen table. "Where should I start?"