The Real Mr Right. Karen TempletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
thrust to his chin. Wrong house would be Matt’s guess.
Until she said, “Matt? It’s...Kelly. Kelly Harrison. McNeil, I mean. Sabrina’s old friend?” And he felt like he’d been sucker punched.
Holy crap. When was the last time he’d even thought about Kelly McNeil—?
She cleared her throat. “Is...is your dad here?”
“Uh, no.” Unable to contain herself at the sight of the boy, Alf surged to her feet again; Matt tightened his hold on her collar until butt once again touched floor. “Actually, he’s out of town.”
“Oh. Well. Um... Sorry for bothering you.” Kelly touched the boy’s shoulder. “Come on, Coop—”
“No, it’s okay,” Matt said, confused as hell but not about to send a woman and two kids back out in subfreezing weather. “Please...come in.” He opened the door wider, kneeing aside the whimpering Newfoundland. When Kelly hesitated, Matt sighed. “Really. And don’t mind Alf, she’s harmless. Although you might want to watch out for slobber.”
That got a pair of tiny smiles, before, with a murmured “Thanks,” Kelly ushered the boy inside. Matt shouldered shut the heavy door as the draft sideswiped the thermostat, kicking it on. The kid—Coop—immediately hunkered in front of the brass floor register, the concerned dog standing guard, while Kelly lowered herself and the sleeping toddler to the painted bench in the foyer. Unbuttoning the top button to her own coat, she released a long breath. “That feels so good. The heat I mean. The heater’s wonky in my car, and it took longer to get here than I’d expected.”
“From?”
“Haleysburg,” she said, naming a town about a half-hour’s drive away. Her face reddened. “I don’t want to put you out—”
“You’re not.”
“If you’re sure,” she whispered, her eyes drifting closed, and he realized this clearly exhausted woman was not the same stuck-up girl who wouldn’t give his sorry-assed self the time of day all those years ago. Still, an explanation might be nice right about now.
“Your kids, I take it?”
Kelly jerked, her eyes popping open. “Yes, sorry. I’m...” Yawning, she yanked off her white knit hat, freeing a billion red curls. Barely past her shoulders now. Not as bright. “This is Aislin. And that’s Cooper. Coop?” The boy pushed upright, grabbing the dog’s ruff to steady himself. “This is Matt Noble. My best friend’s brother.”
Coop seemed to gather himself before sticking out his hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, like he was sixty, for God’s sake, and Matt felt a smile elbow through his not-exactly-chipper mood.
“Pleased to meet you, too, Cooper.” Not much of Kelly in the boy that he could see. Except for the curls, maybe, although they were brown. The set to his chin, however—that was Kelly all the way.
“Can I go in there?” he said, looking toward the living room, still crammed with Matt’s mother’s sometimes bizarre Americana collection.
“Sure. Knock yourself out.”
As boy and dog wandered off, Kelly fingered back the baby’s snowsuit hood to stroke her damp, strawberry-blond curls off her face. “I apologize for showing up out of the blue like this, but Sabrina must’ve changed her number and I’d forgotten the one here....” Her chin wobbled, steadied again. “And I was...desperate.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “You in some kind of trouble?” he asked, giving voice to the question that’d been poking him between the eyes from the moment he laid eyes on her. Because you can take the cop off the force, but taking the force out of the cop—not so easy.
Kelly’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Not sure that’s the right word. My ex—”
The toddler suddenly jolted awake, huge blue eyes assessing Matt for a moment before swerving to her mother.
“Mama—?”
“It’s okay, baby,” Kelly whispered, smiling for her little girl, a smile like Matt remembered her giving to anybody but him back in the day, and something pinged in the pit of his stomach. The kind of pinging lonely, divorced schlubs would do well to ignore.
“Your ex-what?”
Except then Cooper and Alf reappeared, and Kelly shook her head, color once more flooding her cheeks. And finally it clicked, what would make a woman drag two kids out in the middle of the night, to someplace she hadn’t been in years. True, there weren’t any obvious signs, no black eyes or visible bruises, but—
“You guys want something to eat?” he asked, tamping down a repulsion that had never faded, even after nearly thirty years, and Kelly’s grateful smile cracked his heart. Because the past had nothing to do with now.
And now she obviously needed his help.
Whether he was totally on board with that idea or not.
* * *
Kelly sat at the glittery white quartz island, Aislin pitched forward on her lap to smush pudgy little fingers into the sparklies, thinking that, on the one hand, the heat purring through the register and the smell of browned butter as Matt made grilled-cheese sandwiches—under the dog’s unwavering supervision—were soothingly familiar. Enough that Kelly felt her perpetually tight shoulder muscles unknot. A little.
Because what was also familiar—and not soothing in the least—was her wack-a-doo reaction to this dude she hadn’t seen since she was sixteen. An eon, practically, during which she’d fallen in love, married, become a mom twice over. As in, moved on?
And yet...
True, she was worn-out, and emotionally trashed, and time had definitely blessed Matteo Noble, who hadn’t exactly been shabby before. On him, that whole dark, moody, broody thing worked. It was how it was all working on her that was seriously messing with her already fritzed brain.
So, no. Not going there.
Instead she ruffled Coop’s hair as he sat next to her, staring up at the assorted copper cookware hanging off a rack, and corralled her wayward thoughts as she gave the renovated kitchen a once-over. Gone were the knotty pine cupboards, the beat-up, trampoline-size maple table where the island now stood, the brick-patterned linoleum. Now it was all very HGTV, stainless steel, glass-tile backsplash and pale wood floor. Very nice, very generic. Very not Matt’s mom, an energetic little blonde who’d always been far too busy feeding people to worry about her kitchen’s décor.
As if reading her mind, Matt said, “We talked Dad into a remodel a few months. Since he’s making noises about wanting to sell the house, anyway, and eighties nostalgia wasn’t gonna cut it.”
Remembering that their mother had died several years before, Kelly gently asked, “How’s he doing?”
Matt flipped the sandwiches on the griddle. Shrugged. “He functions. Putters. Reads. Sometimes hangs out at Tyler and Abby’s salvage shop—Sabrina tell you about that?”
“Briefly, yes. How’s that going?”
“Good. Restoration’s a hot market these days. So’s repurposing. It’s amazing, the stuff they pull out of old buildings. Not to mention who buys it. This one guy, he completely refaced the outside of his house with bricks from a demolished factory in Trenton. Nuts, right?”
What was nuts was how they were shooting the breeze as though it hadn’t been a million years since they’d seen each other. As though things hadn’t been painfully awkward between them, especially at the end.
And that was the smaller of the two elephants in the room. The far larger, stinkier one was the big old “why?” that was behind her bringing the kids here.
Especially since she knew Matt was a cop. A detective, if memory served. So this reprieve—because of the kids, the hour—would undoubtedly be short-lived. At some point there would