The Real Mr Right. Karen TempletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
again on the recliner. “She’s a little young, yeah.”
“So she won’t even remember him?”
Sad though the conversation was, that the boy was even talking to him warmed Matt through. It took a lot to earn a child’s trust. As well he knew. “Maybe not. I sure don’t remember anything from when I was three. Do you?”
The boy’s forehead scrunched harder. Then he shook his head. “Not really.” He shifted on the sofa; the dog shifted right with him. Then they all fell into a silence so brittle Matt could practically feel the air molecules shattering between them. A silence brought on, he suspected, by a little boy’s holding in a boatload of thoughts and feelings that would only keep multiplying and expanding until they nearly strangled him. He knew that drill, too.
“Um...if you want to keep talking, I’m a pretty good listener.”
This time, Coop shot him an are-you-nuts glance, then faced the TV again. “Why would I do that?”
“Because sometimes it helps. To get all the stuff crammed in your head out of your head—”
“That’s okay, thanks.”
“Just an idea,” he said with a doesn’t-matter-to-me hitch of his shoulders. “Anyway, you’d probably rather talk to your mom—”
The child’s emphatic head shake both confirmed Matt’s suspicions and told him not to push. Not the time or the place. Or his place, frankly.
“Well, okay, then.” Matt plucked a paperback novel he was halfway through off the coffee table. “If you need me, I’m right in the living room. Okay?”
“Sure,” the kid said, pointing the remote at the screen to switch back to cable, clearly not caring one whit whether Matt stayed or went.
* * *
Kelly didn’t get back to Maple River until nearly eight, at which point all she wanted to do was fall into bed, any bed, and not wake up for three days. But alas, there were children who needed to be tucked in and cuddled with and, in Coop’s case, reassured, and after all that she was somewhat reenergized. Somewhat being the operative word.
And hungry, she realized, since she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, despite Lynn’s food-pushing attempts. So when she entered the kitchen and Matt greeted her with a sandwich big enough to feed the Bronx, she almost kissed him. Which only proved how exhausted she was.
“Kids asleep?” he asked.
“Finally, yes. Alfie’s in bed with Coop. I hope that’s okay?”
“You kidding? She’s in heaven. Although fair warning, she snores. And the kid’ll smell like dog in the morning.”
“He’s smelled worse, believe me.”
Finally she hauled herself up onto the bar stool, only to then rest her head in her hands for a moment.
“Praying?” Matt asked.
“Yes. For the strength to eat this.” Kelly lifted her head to see the sorta smile peeking out from that whiskered face, thinking how strong he looked. And how weak she felt. In more ways than one. She didn’t want hanky-panky—she was far too tired and emotionally drained for hanky-panky—but once again the thought niggled that it might be nice to be held by someone bigger than she was. And blessed with a Y chromosome. “And what’s this?” she asked when he placed a tall glass in front of her.
“A chocolate shake. With extra protein. Another of my specialties. And yes, you need to drink it—the skeletal look is not good on you.”
Tears seared her eyes because she was about to keel over and her world was still imploding and she had so much on her plate that stuff was spilling over the sides, and this man had made her a chocolate milk shake. With extra protein.
“Hey,” Matt said quietly, when she realized she’d made this pathetic little hiccupping sound. She looked up into those lovely brown eyes all soft with concern. And hiccupped again. “It’s okay, the kids are okay, you’re here and we’ve got it covered.”
“We?”
“Me. Abby. The dog. So eat. Then take a hot bath and go to bed. How’s that sound?”
“Like heaven.” Kelly took a deep breath, then bit into the sandwich. And groaned. “Oh, my God—what’s in this?”
“Whatever I could scrounge up. Beef. Turkey. Bacon. Salad stuff. And some Asian dressing I found in the door, I assume belonging to my sister.”
“Speaking of heaven...” She pointed to the sandwich. “Dude.”
Matt grinned. One of those grins that, had she not been so tired, had life not been so insane, had this not been her and Matt...
Eat your sandwich, chickie.
“How were the kids?” she said, tilting the shake to her lips.
“Fine. Baby passed out ten minutes after you left, ate a huge bowl of mac and cheese when she woke up, after which she terrorized the dog until right before you got back.”
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