Everybody's Hero. Karen TempletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
have no idea. But I’ll manage.” He picked up a cracker and dunked it in his chili. “I have to.”
“You don’t sound all that happy about it.”
Happy? When had he last thought of his life in those terms? The muscles in his upper back mildly protested when he shrugged. “Just being realistic, is all.”
She snorted. “Honestly—what is it with men and their need to prove themselves? No matter what the cost?”
His gaze fixed on his food, Joe stilled and then lifted his eyes to hers. “I’m not sure how being responsible is the same as proving myself. Besides, seems to me men don’t exactly have the market cornered on ambition.”
A second passed before she pushed out a breath. “You’re right,” she said, and he thought, point to him. “It’s just that…I don’t know. Men get this whole protective thing going and…”
“And what?”
“And they can’t see that they’re accomplishing exactly the opposite of what they think they are.”
Joe leaned back in his chair, brows drawn, arms folded across his chest. “You think there’s something wrong with a man wanting to provide for his family?”
“No, of course not. Except…” He was startled to see her eyes soften with tears. “Except when he neglects his family in the process.”
He thought of all the things he could ask, wanted to ask. Wouldn’t ask. Not now, at any rate. Probably not ever, if he were smart. Because asking questions might get him answers, but it could also get him involved. And getting involved, now, with her—with anyone—wasn’t in the cards.
So he did what any sane man who didn’t want involvement would do—he turned the tables on her. Not rudely, or meanly, but with the conviction of somebody who didn’t need some female making him question his own motives, for crying out loud.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you’re cute and all, but you’ve got a real problem with judging folks when you don’t know them worth squat.”
She flinched a little, then recouped. “I’m not judging you. I’m just familiar with the signs.”
“Of what?”
Another breath. “My father was a workaholic, Joe. So was my ex-husband. And it sucks.”
The words were brittle, as if years of acid had eaten away at them. And they arrowed straight from her heart to his.
“Your father…”
“…Literally worked himself to death. When I was eleven.”
“I’m sorry,” Joe said softly. “But I’m not a workaholic, Taylor.”
For several seconds, their gazes tangled like a pair of kids scrapping over a toy, until Taylor got up from the table and walked over to the kitchen window, her hands stuffed in her back pockets. “How many hours a week do you work? And that includes work you bring home.”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s the sex thing, isn’t it?”
She whirled around. “What?”
“You don’t know what to do about this attraction between us, so you’re picking a fight with me.”
“I’m not picking a fight with you. And this has nothing to do with…that. I just asked you a simple question. How many hours a week do you work?”
“And how is this any of your business—?”
“Sixty? Seventy?”
Joe’s jaw tightened. “Somewhere in there, yeah.”
She turned, brows arched. “And you don’t think you’re a workaholic?”
“No, I think I’m somebody who can’t stand the thought of letting people down who depend on me.”
“And what the hell do you think you did when you didn’t pick Seth up on time tonight?”
Though spoken barely above a whisper, her words exploded around him like buckshot. And Joe wasn’t real partial to picking buckshot out of his butt. Man, if this was what she was like when she wasn’t picking a fight, he’d sure hate to be around her when she was.
“I didn’t have a choice, Taylor. You know that.”
“There’s always a choice! And right now, that kid needs you! Not what your paycheck can buy him!”
And what he didn’t need was this woman in his face about this, a fact the chili was only too vigorously corroborating. Direct was one thing; deranged was something else entirely. Except Joe was as ornery as she was. He’d never in his life walked away from a challenge, and he wasn’t about to start now. Even if he didn’t have a clue in hell what this one was even about. His manhood, maybe. His honor, definitely. But there was more going on here than a simple disagreement about lifestyle choice.
“Maybe I do have a choice. In theory. Doesn’t always pan out that way in practice, though.”
“You’re saying it’s not about the money?”
“Hell, yes, it’s about the money. You think I’d put Seth through this if it wasn’t about the money?”
That seemed to take the wind out of her sails for a moment. But only for a moment.
“Then what?”
Joe silently uttered a word he didn’t think Taylor would appreciate. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Baby-sitting and chili, that’s all this was supposed to be about, not a hot-and-heavy game of sexual dodgeball followed by his having to defend himself about stuff that had nothing to do with her. The last thing he wanted was to talk about his personal life, but God only knew what conclusions she’d come to on her own if he didn’t. Why he should care one way or the other what she thought about him, he had no idea. That he did was no small source of worry, but it was a worry he’d have to deal with later. Because right now, his choice was to bare his own soul, at least to a certain extent, or pry hers open. That, however, was an even less palatable option than door number one, since the tiny glimpse he’d already gotten into that soul had nearly undone him. A longer, deeper look could be disastrous. And Joe had all the disasters he could handle right now, thank you very much.
“Seth’s not my only responsibility,” he said with as little expression as he could manage. “Because, when my father walked out of my life and my mother’s, fifteen years ago, he also left behind a three-week-old baby girl with Down syndrome. My sister Kristen.”
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