“You’re sayin’ your letters wrong. Di’n’t your mommy teach you the ABCs?”
“My mom died when I was pretty young.” That much wasn’t a lie. His mother had passed away when he was only eleven. “I guess I’ve forgotten some of the things she taught me.” That was the truth as well, as far as it went. “Maybe you could refresh my memory.”
A wary expression crept into her eyes. Heath guessed he was rushing her fences. Pretending to concentrate on hammering nails, he began making animal sounds again.
She wrinkled her nose. “Cats don’t go ‘woof’!”
“They don’t?”
She shook her head. “Dogs ‘woof.’ Cats go ‘meow.’”
“Really?” He assumed what he hoped was a bewildered looking frown. “Are you positive about that?”
She looked at him as if he’d just crawled out from under a rock. “You ever heard G’liath go ‘meow’?”
Heath pretended to consider. “No, now that I think about it, I can’t say I have.”
She nodded sagely. “You’re making lots of ’stakes, Mr. Sher’f Man.”
After circling that for a moment, Heath determined that she meant mistakes. He heaved a loud sigh and resumed hammering. “Old McIntyre had a—”
“It isn’t McIntyre who gots a farm,” she broke in. “It’s MacDonald!”
“You sure?” He shrugged. “Oh, well. I’m just singing for me, not anyone else. If it bothers you, run along and play somewhere else.”
“But you’re making ’stakes! My mommy says if you’re gonna do somethin’, you should do it right.”
That sounded like something Meredith might say.
Once again pretending to be oblivious of her, he made more animal sounds, doing cows that brayed like donkeys, cats that clucked like chickens. When he began tossing in a few jungle animals for good measure, Sammy finally rewarded him with a strangled giggle. Muffled by her hand though it was, the slight sound flowed over him like sunshine.
Heath glanced up. As their gazes locked, she went utterly still, as if she’d only just now realized how close she’d gotten to him. For a second, he was almost afraid to breathe, and he wanted nothing more than to reassure her. But, no. Pretending he didn’t care if she stayed or not was the ticket. The instant he let on otherwise, she’d run like a scalded dog.
He started to sing again. Hesitantly, softly, so as not to startle her. Old McIntyre has a farm. Horses that squealed like pigs, pigs that crowed like roosters. He wasn’t sure what sounds he made or what words he said, only that pretty soon Sammy started to laugh again, this time without reservation.
Warming to the game, he tossed down his hammer to act like an ape, scratching his armpits and loping around the yard, all the while bleating like a sheep. Sammy giggled so hard, she nearly fell off the joist. He switched from his ape act to mimic a duck crossed with a goat.
God, but she was precious, and her laughter, so hard won, was about the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
“Ducks don’t do that!” she said, fastening bright eyes on him.
“They don’t?” Heath traced her small features with his gaze. Except for her coloring, she was the spitting image of her mama, her face a delicate sculpture of ivory with a slightly upturned nose and a perfectly bowed mouth. She even fidgeted like her mother did. “What do ducks do then, Miss Smarty Pants?”
She hopped off the joist and joined him in the yard. Heath didn’t miss the fact that she kept a safe distance between them as she tucked her hands under her arms and began flapping her elbows. “They go, ‘quack, quack, quack’!” she cried, and proceeded to walk across the patchy grass bent at the waist with her fanny poked out. Between quacks, she wiggled her imaginary tail feathers. “Now you try.”
Crouched and bent forward, Heath followed in her wake, doing his best version of a duck waddle, which he totally ruined by mooing like a cow. Sammy fell to the grass, convulsed with giggles.
He executed another turn around the yard, waddling, swinging his ass and mooing. It occurred to him as he made his third pass that if Meredith was watching, he would blow any chance he’d ever had, however slim, to worm his way into her good graces.
Meredith tightened her hand over the window frame, her eyes going bleary with tears as she watched her daughter through an opening in the curtains. Sammy was laughing as Meredith had never heard her laugh, and as only a little girl could, her giggles making her breathless and so weak her little legs would barely hold her up. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look that the child craved a man’s affection, that having a father like Dan had left a gigantic emptiness in her life.
Oh, Sammy, Meredith thought sadly. I’m so sorry.
She closed her eyes, the sound of her daughter’s laughter sweeping her back through the years to when she’d been a child herself, being swung high in her father’s strong arms. Because of Meredith’s stupidity in choosing a husband, Sammy had never experienced that, not even once. Until now.
Meredith lifted her lashes to watch Heath Masters through a shimmering blur as he took Sammy’s little hands in his large ones and swung her in wide circles around the yard. The child shrieked with delight, crying, “Higher! Higher!” until Heath obliged her.
On an upswing, he suddenly let go and caught her in his arms as she came back down. From out in the side yard, Meredith could hear Goliath barking excitedly, as if warning his master to be careful. Sammy giggled and threw both arms around Heath’s neck, her blond head pressed close to his dark one.
The two of them might have been father and daughter at play, with the family dog barking on the sidelines. There was a part of Meredith that wished with all her heart that it was so. This was what Sammy needed. To be jostled and tossed about by someone who seemed as big as a mountain to her. To be hugged and made to feel special, and loved, and absolutely secure. The child was blossoming under Heath’s attention like a little flower in the sun.
“Do it again!” she pleaded. “Please, Mr. Sher’f Man? Do it again.”
Heath laughed, the sound husky and resonant. “You’re wearing me out, sweetcakes,” he said, his voice reminding Meredith of whiskey and smoke. “You’ve got to let this old man rest.”
He hoisted Sammy onto his shoulder, grimacing slightly when she grabbed handfuls of his hair to steady herself.
“Easy up there. You’ll snatch me baldheaded.”
He strode with her to the half-finished porch. As he sat down, he swept her from his shoulder to perch her on his knee.
Her emotions in an impossible tangle, Meredith turned away from the window. A part of her yearned to pretend she hadn’t witnessed that scene in the yard, to simply turn a blind eye and let Sammy enjoy the budding friendship. God knew, the child deserved whatever happiness came her way. But another part of Meredith knew she couldn’t possibly let this continue.
Just for starters, Sammy was only four, which was far too young to be constantly on guard and remember there were certain things she could never tell their neighbor. If allowed to spend too much time with Heath unsupervised, she would slip up, sooner or later, and reveal something to him that could destroy their lives. Secondly, as inexperienced as Meredith was with men outside her marriage, she wasn’t completely clueless. Heath had a hidden agenda in trying so hard to befriend her daughter, and it wasn’t because he had an insatiable yearning to fraternize with a four-year-old.
Normally, Meredith didn’t consider herself to be particularly desirable to members of the opposite sex, but there was little doubt in her mind that she’d somehow managed to capture her neighbor’s interest. All the signs were there. His arranging to do the repairs on her house. His insistence that he help her with the household tasks until her hand healed. His arrival that morning with all those groceries. The man had attached himself to them like a tick to a dog’s back, and he was doing everything possible to worm his way into their affections.
She remembered the interested gleam in his eye that first night and the way he’d watched her this mor
ning in the kitchen as he’d unpacked grocery bags. He was attracted to her, no question about it, and if she were brutally honest, she had to admit she was equally attracted to him. He was devastatingly handsome and extremely likable, which was a dangerous combination. Every time she looked into those slate blue eyes of his, her heart skittered and her mouth went dry.
If she’d never been with Dan—and if her present circumstances had been different—she might have taken one look at Heath Masters and fallen head over heels in love with him.
Unfortunately, she had been with Dan and her circumstances weren’t different.
Chapter 8
“Merry? Hey, Merry!” Heath called, his voice booming through the house so loudly that it startled Meredith clear out on the utility porch. “Where are you?”
Mary? For an awful moment, her legs went watery, one thought slicing through her mind. He knows. Somehow, he found out. Then, as quickly as the terror rushed through her, sanity returned. Merry, not Mary. He’d shortened Meredith into a nickname, that was all.
Before fleeing from New York, she’d run her finger down the columns of a Manhattan phone book to choose an alias. Now, when it was too late, she realized she’d made a bad mistake; in her attempt to pick a name similar to her real one, she’d chosen one a little too similar, especially when shortened. Her fault, not his.
“I—I’m out here,” she called. Abandoning the pile of clean laundry she’d just brought in off the line, she reached to open the utility room door. “It’s wash day. I’ve been folding clothes.”
Heath was striding across the kitchen, the thick muscles in his thighs bunching with every step to stretch the denim of his jeans taut, his dusty boots thumping solidly on the worn linoleum. Even in a red work shirt instead of a uniform shirt, he exuded authority, his presence dominating the room and everything in it. Sammy trailed behind him like an adoring puppy.
He glanced at his watch. “It’s about that time. What culinary delight should I whip up tonight?”
As Meredith stepped into the room, she couldn’t help glancing down at her daughter, whose small face was flushed from giggling, her eyes sparkling. Regret welled up within her, forming an ache in her chest that made it difficult to breathe. He had no right to toy with Sammy’s affections. The child had been hurt enough already. Couldn’t he see that?
“I planned to have hamburger stroganoff,” she replied with a calmness that belied her inner turmoil.
Rolling back the sleeves of his shirt, he said, “Would you mind having steak?”
Meredith nearly laughed. Would she mind? It had been so long since she’d sunk her teeth into succulent beef that her stomach growled when she thought about it. These days, she could scarcely afford chicken. Fish, except for cheap cans of tuna, had become nothing but a fond memory.
“You’re the chef,” she said. “I’m flexible.”
He stepped to the refrigerator, somehow managing with effortless efficiency to brace the broken door as he opened it. When Meredith got in the refrigerator, she usually groused the entire time and was huffing with exertion.
He fetched the package of sirloin that he’d put in the meat drawer that morning. As he closed the refrigerator, he asked, “What is it with all the hinges in this place? I swear, half of them are broken.”
“Rough treatment, I think.” Meredith turned on the kitchen faucet to rinse her one good hand. “Rental houses take a lot of abuse, and I think this one has received more than most. I patched more holes in the walls than Carter has pills. I think someone went around putting his fist through the plaster.”
He came to stand beside her at the counter to unwrap the meat. “Speaking from experience?”
She glanced up to find him regarding her with a solemn, questioning look in his eyes. For a moment, she couldn’t think what he meant. Then she felt heat flooding to her cheeks.
“Not experience. Just an educated guess. The holes were about so high.” She held up her bandaged hand to demonstrate. “I just naturally assumed they were put there by a fist. What else could have left holes everywhere at that height?”
“A number of things come to my mind. In my teens, I knocked holes in the walls a few times practicing karate moves,” he said with a grin. “My aim wasn’t all that good.” Not offering further examples, he returned his attention to the meat, leaving Meredith with the feeling that he’d once again gleaned more from something she’d said or done than she might have wished. “Do you have a meat tenderizer?”
Since she couldn’t afford steak, a tenderizer wasn’t a necessity. “No, I, um…”
“No problem. An unopened can of soup or vegetables works great.” He bent to open her canned goods cupboard. “Hey, Sammy. This would be a good job for you.”
The child’s eyes lit up at being included in the supper preparations. Heath grabbed a chair, pushed it over to the counter, and lifted Sammy to stand on the cushion. After rinsing off the container of soup, he patiently showed her how to pound the sirloin with one edge of the can. Once Sammy was happily occupied, he bent to get three large potatoes from under the sink where Meredith kept them.
“Baked potatoes,” he said, grinning at Meredith. “With sour cream and fresh chives. Sound good?”
It sounded heavenly. “What can I do to help?”
He cast her a chiding glance. “Sit and supervise. What do you think?”
Feeling as if she were in the way and hating it, Meredith went to sit at the table as he’d requested. She expected to be bored, but the kitchen soon became such a hive of activity that she settled back and simply enjoyed being a spectator. After turning on the oven, Heath washed the potatoes, pricked them with a fork, and then proceeded to rub them with oil.
Looking on, Meredith found her attention riveted to his large hands as they slid smoothly over the potato skins, her traitorous mind focusing on things that no woman who wanted to remain aloof had any business noticing: the firmness of his grip, the visible strength in his long, thick fingers, the way the tendons in his brown forearms worked when he turned his wrists. She found herself wondering how it might feel if he were to touch her that way, his hands slick with oil, his slightly rough palms moving firmly over her skin, his fingers molding to her contours.
Madness. She didn’t even like sex. Even to say she’d found the activity highly overrated would have been an understatement. Being touched by Dan had been a teeth-grinding ordeal. She had detested every second of it. And after her divorce, she’d vowed never to let another man lay hands on her again. That being the case, how could she watch Heath rubbing potatoes with oil and find herself contemplating just that, having his hands on her? Was she losing her mind?
Heath didn’t give her time to ponder that question for long. Next on his list was whipping up a batch of biscuits from scratch, and he made the mistake of allowing Sammy to help. Before Meredith knew it, her kitchen looked as if it had been dusted with talcum powder, and Heath and Sammy weren’t in much better shape. The front of his red shirt was streaked with flour. Sammy had dough smeared up to her elbows and white streaks all over her face.
“I’m really good at this, huh?” she asked him as she squeezed handfuls of dough, pushing the goo out between her knuckles. “My mommy says I’m the best cookie mixer she ever seen.”
Heath sent Meredith a conspiratorial grin. “You’re not bad at mixing biscuits, either,” he said as he sprinkled a plastic cutting board with flour. “Those biscuits are definitely mixed really good. Now it’s time to roll them and cut them out.”
Meredith could have warned him that letting Sammy handle the flour was a mistake, but she quickly decided letting him get in over his head with a four-year-old girl might be providence in disguise. When a man used a child to make points with her mother, he deserved whatever he got.
To Meredith’s surprise, this particular man wore flour quite well—down the front of his jeans, all over his dark boots, possibly in his boots. And to his credit, he never became cross. To the contrary, he got into the spir
it of things rather quickly, giving back to Sammy as good as he got, smearing dough on the tip of her nose and even wiping his hand on her T-shirt. Sammy found the last highly amusing and giggled so hard she nearly toppled off the chair. Heath caught her under the arms to keep her from falling, and in the process soiled the only clean spots left on her shirt, the armpits.
“I think we’re both going to need baths when this is all over,” he told the child.
“To say nothing of my kitchen,” Meredith couldn’t resist observing.
He grinned in her direction. “We’ll clean up after ourselves. Won’t we, Sammy?”
“Yup. I’m a really good dishwasher.”
“I can hardly wait,” Heath replied solemnly.
Meredith was still smothering a grin when she returned to the kitchen after tucking Sammy into bed for the night. Heath was just drying his hands after doing kitchen cleanup. The aroma of sirloin steak, cooked to a turn, still lingered in the room, underscored by the smell of baked potatoes.
As Meredith drew the bedroom door closed behind her, she gave the kitchen a quick once-over, then ran her gaze over Heath. Everything looked tidy except him. He’d tried to dust himself off before attacking the floor with her broom, but his jeans still bore stubborn streaks of flour on the legs, and the stitching grooves in his brown Western boots were white as well.
“You look some the worse for wear,” she commented.
He glanced down, swiped at his pants, and then shrugged. “It was fun.”
And wasn’t that the whole problem? It had been fun. The sound of Sammy’s laughter still echoed in Meredith’s mind, and because it did, knowing what she had to do filled her with sadness. “For a bachelor, you have a wonderful way with kids. You must be from a large family. Lots of brothers and sisters.”
“Nope.” He shrugged again. “Sammy’s the first little person I’ve ever dealt with. I’m more experienced with teenagers.”