“So I’m supposed to sit by and let some little whip of a thing take over my kitchen?
Tell me how to prepare meals for you and my grandson? I’ve been cooking for decades,
Matthew. Some of those recipes have been handed down for generations. Now all of a
sudden they’re not good enough?”
Matt dropped onto a kitchen chair and blew out a breath. “No one’s saying you’re not
an excellent cook. Or that your food isn’t great. Remember what they told us in the
diabetic care class?”
She waved a hand in front of her. “It was all so confusing. Charts and lists and counting
carbs.”
“The key is keeping Sam’s blood sugar in balance. For that to happen, he needs insulin,
the proper diet, and exercise.” Matt sorted through a stack of papers. “We need to
use a food diary.” He chose a pamphlet and scooted it across the table.
She recoiled like the paper was a snake about to attack.
“Your recipes are delicious, Mom. But changing the way we do things isn’t just necessary
for Sam’s quality of life—it’s necessary for his
life
.” Matt pushed away from the table. He crossed the room and dragged open the refrigerator
door. They all had to make concessions. Wasn’t Sam making the biggest sacrifice of
them all? But his son had yet to voice a complaint.
“We don’t have a choice. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Sam healthy.” Matt grabbed
a bottle of water and stared at his mother. “What’s it going to be, Mom? Are you with
me or against me?”
She tapped an index finger on the food chart like she was contemplating peace with
the enemy. Unshed tears rimmed her eyes. “Do you want me to move out?”
Matt lowered his head and closed his eyes for a ten count.
Can you feel a blood vessel when it bursts behind your eye?
He went to her and softened his voice like he was talking to a brooding child. “Of
course not.” Not for a while, at least.
His mom’s expression relaxed. Matt knew she liked to feel needed. Hell, who didn’t?
She’d been ecstatic when Matt had offered her the chance to move in and help him.
And for the first time since his dad’s death, she’d acted like she had a purpose in
life again.
He kneeled in front of her and caught her hands in his. “You’ve been our anchor. You’ve
cooked and cleaned and taken care of Sam while every other part of my life was in
chaos. I don’t know what Sam and I would’ve done without you these last few weeks.”
He kissed her temple. “I love you for many things, Mom. What would mean the most to
me is for you to learn about Sam’s diabetes so we can care for him properly. Together.”
“And this Dani person is the one you want to help us?”
Matt returned to his chair. “She’s a nurse. She has a degree in nutrition. Sam likes
her. I’m grateful she agreed to help out.”
“Some women will do anything for the right amount of money.” She flicked a finger
at the pamphlet about sugar alternatives.
Matt shot her a warning glance. “She turned down my offer of a salary.”
“And what does she expect in return?”
“You’ll have to ask her that question. I would imagine the satisfaction of helping
a child and his family through a difficult time. She’s a nice lady, Mom.” And possessed
a rare combination of sexiness and sassiness that detonated Matt’s libido.
But it would probably be wise to keep that to himself.
Chapter Eight
“I don’t suppose you have a short, tight, low-cut nurse uniform in that bag? Or maybe
a candy-striper outfit?” Matt stood at his bedroom doorway, arms crossed over his
chest, sporting a grin with dimples. “If not, the black lace works for me.”
Dani held a barely there thong in one hand and a couple of white, cotton boy shorts
in the other. Of course he’d come into the room when she was stowing away her undies.
Where had he been when she had unpacked her T-shirts? She shoved the underpants in
her designated dresser drawer and looked for something to occupy her hands. The part
of her brain in charge of stupid ideas told her to grab the baby-blue string bikini
panties from her duffel bag. She held them up against her pelvis. “And what about
these, Sheriff? What do these do for you?”
Shoving away from the doorjamb, he headed her way, his eyes dark and predatory. He
stopped in front of her, so close that a deep breath would have sucked them together.
“Some men don’t care much for sexy lingerie. They think it just gets in the way.”
His attention focused on the panties, and then he slid his hungry blue gaze back up
to hers. He leaned in a tad closer. “I’m not one of them.”
His breath warmed her cheek, and she detected the faint scent of mint. A rush of heat
nearly buckled her knees.
Dani yanked on the handle of her designated drawer which protested with a squeak.
She wadded up the silky underwear and shoved it inside.
Time for a subject change. “I’m making spaghetti with low-carb pasta tonight.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t stay for dinner. We’re short a deputy tonight.” Matt opened
a locked drawer and removed a gun. “If you need anything, send an SOS. I’ll see if
I can help.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen. How bad can it be?”
“Sweetheart, we’re talking about my mother. The possibilities are endless.”
“I’ll be fine—maybe.”
A few coins jingled as he dropped them in his pocket. He grabbed his wallet off the
top of the dresser. “What’ll you do the rest of the evening?”
An idea popped into her head. “How would you feel if I introduced Sam to Tae Kwon
Do?” At Matt’s raised eyebrow, she continued. “I’m a second-degree black belt. I’d
love the chance to teach Sam the basics.”
He grinned. “So I should be lucky you didn’t kick my butt over the underwear comment?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Martial arts isn’t about being a bully. It’s about
fitness. Increasing strength, flexibility, and coordination.” She tossed a pair of
socks into the drawer. “Training improves the brain’s ability to focus and helps self-control.”
“And how is yours?”
She held back a smile. “Stellar.” She stowed her empty duffel bag under the bed. “I
think it would give Sam’s self-esteem a boost. Plus he needs regular exercise to help
with his blood-sugar control.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “Can you tell I feel
strongly about this?”
“Yeah, and I get the feeling there’s a story behind it.”
She glanced at the floor, searching for the right words. “When a person loses control
of their life, they’re desperate to find a way to grasp any personal power.” Aware
of her candid words, Dani hesitated before looking him in the eye. “I began training
after I’d hit a low point.”
He studied her closely, and she fought back the memories. She’d become pregnant through
no choice of her own, had stood helpless while her family struggled to deal with the
situation. Lost friends she’d been naive enough to assume would be supportive. After
Sam’s adoption, she’d made a vow to herself to always strive for power over her life.
“I think he’d love it, especially spending time with you,” Matt said. “I appreciate
it.”
Real hardship there. One-on-one with her sweet boy was more than she’d hoped for when
planning this trip. She would teach Sam to never be a victim. To persevere with integrity
no matter what life threw his way. She might only be his birth mother, but she could
leave him the only gifts circumstance would allow.
“I’ll talk to Sam tonight, if it’s okay with you,” she offered. “We can get started
tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.” Matt aimed for the doorway. “I need to head out.”
“What time will you be home?”
“Miss me already?”
She gave him an exaggerated eye roll. “In your dreams, Sheriff.”
“Actually, in my dreams—”
“I’m talking food here. My schedule is still screwed up. I’ll be up late cooking and
working on my book.” She pushed past him to get to the door first. When she was free
from the risk of touching him, she glanced over her shoulder and ordered, “Come home
hungry.”
He had a look in his eye like he’d just come off a testosterone IV. “Not a problem.
I’m already there.”
A ribbon of sweet-scented air wafted past Dani’s nose as the aroma drifted into the
foyer where she dropped her purse. She’d made enough baked goods in her life to recognize
the smell of fresh-from-the-oven chocolate cake. Like a cartoon character following
a streamer of fragrance, she headed toward the kitchen. She took in the yellow-and-white
striped curtains, the rooster wall clock ticking off the minutes, which she prayed
wouldn’t cock-a-doodle-doo on the hour.
Elaine stood at the counter, whipping a spoon inside a bowl of creamy milk chocolate
frosting. She wore a green apron dotted with daises, her gray hair styled in a perfect
bob, similar to the way Dani’s mother had worn her hair.
Her mother, who’d never had the chance to be a grandmother, should have been here.
When Dani had made the decision to place Sam for adoption, her focus had been on him
alone, on what would be best for her son. She knew how that monumental decision would
affect her—although she’d had no idea how severely—but had she considered how her
choices would affect so many other lives?
Dani glanced from the cake pans back to Matt’s mother and stifled an irritated sigh.
Chocolate cake had no place in this house. At least, not the kind Elaine would make.
Diplomacy. Professionalism. Those were key words in dealing with Matt’s mother. Maybe
a compliment? “Smells delicious.” Dani unloaded her laptop on the kitchen table.
Elaine cast a glance over her shoulder. “I’m not quite done with the cake,” she said,
sounding peeved. “Matt assured me we could take shifts in the kitchen.”
Educating Matt’s mother on how to cook for Sam would be next to impossible if they
each took their own stint at the stove. Dani reminded herself that she’d invaded this
woman’s life. She’d cut Matt’s mother a break for now.
She booted up her computer and attempted a sugarcoated response. “No problem. Dinner
won’t take me long.” Even to her own ears, she sounded as sickly sweet as the frosting.
“I don’t have to get started for another hour or so.”
Mrs. Reagan’s exasperated huff was audible.
Dani added, “In the future, I’ll stick with my usual routine. I cook late at night
for the next day. When dinnertime rolls around, everything’s done except for last
minute things.”
“I prefer not to serve leftovers.”
Time to go with the professionalism. “Unfortunately, Sam won’t be able to eat your
dessert.”
The spoon dropped out of Elaine’s hand and made a near-silent
plop
in the bowl. She whirled to face Dani, hands on hips. “Why, because you didn’t make
it?”
Dani clasped her hand to her forehead in the hopes it would keep her brain from exploding.
“No, Mrs. Reagan.” The old counting-to-ten theory was inadequate. Maybe a million
would work. “The sugar and white flour will spike his blood sugar. The idea is to
keep it stable without a sharp rise or fall.” Dani picked up a sheaf of papers from
the table. “Have you read the information on diabetic cooking?”
Matt’s mother diverted her eyes from Dani’s and sheepishly returned to the frosting.
“No. Not yet. I haven’t found time.”
“For Sam, eating the proper foods could mean life or death, Mrs. Reagan. If you love
your grandson—”
Spoon in hand, Elaine twirled around so fast that a blob of frosting sailed through
the air like a discharged missile to land on Dani’s forearm.
“You don’t have children, Ms. Sullivan. What would you know about loving a child?”
Dani left the table to snap a paper towel off the roll on the counter. “I know enough
to put a child’s needs above my own.” She swiped at the frosting on her arm. “It’s
vital that you read through the information. Especially since you do the majority
of Sam’s food preparation.” She tossed the paper towel in the garbage under the sink.
“Unless you’re not planning on staying here much longer.”
Matt’s mother shot Dani a hostile glare. “So that’s the plan? You move in, then get
Matt to kick me out?”
“Never. I’m here on a temporary basis. I have no intentions other than to help this
family deal with Sam’s health issues.” And maybe atone for keeping her identity from
her son. But that would be a silent goal.
“I’ll read through the diabetic material tonight. If I have any questions, I’ll jot
them down and ask you tomorrow.” Elaine switched her attention to an index card sitting
on the counter.
“Great.” It might be a baby step, but at least they were headed in the right direction.
“I’m not the enemy here, Mrs. Reagan. I understand Sam’s diabetes diagnosis has come
as a shock. I know this is a difficult time for your family.” Maybe now would be a
good time to sneak in an attempt at friendliness. Dani crossed the room. She picked
up the handwritten cake recipe, studying the ingredients. “If you’re interested, I
bet we could make enough substitutions to turn this into something Sam could eat.”
Elaine’s eyes brightened. She offered the bowl of frosting to Dani in a have-a-taste
gesture.
Dani poked a finger in the frosting, then lifted it to her mouth. She managed not
to suck her cheeks in and wince at the excessive sweetness. She could practically
feel a cavity starting. “I’m writing a cookbook during my stay at Lake Bliss. Maybe
if you like the revised recipe, you’d let me add it to my book. We could name it ‘Elaine’s
Mocha Madness.’”
Mrs. Reagan looked up, and her eyes softened. “I’d like that. Thank you.” She set
the two round cakes on a cooling rack. “If we’re going to be sharing a kitchen, I
suggest you call me Elaine.”
Dani nodded and smiled. Round one complete.
…
Matt hit the remote to lock his truck as he headed toward his back door. He’d like
to think he was a levelheaded guy. Yet as he focused on the windows of the house where
soft, flickering light meant a candlelit kitchen, an unnamed yearning forced its way
deep inside him. Or maybe he did have a name for it. Maybe it was craving what he’d
always envisioned for his future—a complete home including a wife and children.
It was idiotic to get a kick out of the fact that his son’s nurse spent so much time
under his roof, awaiting Matt’s return home. He wasn’t wacko enough to think she’d
stayed this long, anticipating his arrival. Cooking late was just her normal routine.
So why did his ego grow twice its size watching the flickering lights in the kitchen?
He liked having her here, probably because of her nursing skills. He liked the idea
of having help with Sam’s diabetes until they were comfortable with his care. Matt
was sure it wasn’t because she was incredibly attractive. Or that it’d been way too
long since he’d been with the opposite sex.
But he didn’t have time for a woman in his life, including the sexy little nurse in
his kitchen. He was already juggling more than he could handle. New job. His mother.
Sam’s diabetes. Seeing his ex-wife again reminded him that he wasn’t interested in
a temporary woman.
He took a few steps closer to the house and heard music drifting through the open
windows. He recognized a Sheryl Crow song—“Every Day Is a Winding Road.” She’d cringe
if they could hear the off-key, screeching version being belted out of his kitchen.
While he was still learning Dani’s most enjoyable traits—and knew without doubt he
had yet to uncover them all—carrying a tune definitely wasn’t one of them.
When he reached the back stoop, Larry smashed his nose against the screen door, as
if trying to escape the kitchen to relieve his ears. “It’s okay, boy,” Matt assured
the dog. In disagreement, Larry tilted his head back, stuck his nose in the air, and
howled out his own rendition.
Matt laughed to himself as he yanked on the door handle. He entered the mudroom, the
screen door latching behind him with a bang. He ran a comforting hand along the dog’s
back.
Dani spun around in midscreech, her hand clutched to her heart. “Oh, hey.”
Matt pulled in a slow, deep breath. She stood at the stove wearing a gray zippered
sweatshirt and black shorts that clung to her lower body in all the right ways. Her
hair was heaped on top of her head in a haphazard pile. He’d never considered himself
chauvinistic, but something about her standing in his kitchen barefoot jacked up the
room’s temperature. He’d be taking a cold shower tonight, and it had nothing to do
with the day’s heat index.
Get a grip, Reagan.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. Guess you didn’t hear me over the sound of”—he couldn’t
call it singing—“the radio.” He tossed his keys on the counter.
“I made coleslaw earlier and just finished the barbecued beef. I’m about to make a
fruit salad. Want anything?”
“I’ll take whatever you’re offering.” He let his words linger in the air just long
enough that it may or may not be considered suggestive. He watched with amusement
as her face took on the color of a stop sign. “How did Sam do this evening?” he asked.
“Great. His blood sugars were stable, and he loved dinner.” She wiped her hands on
a dishtowel. “He declared he wasn’t scared of needles anymore. I think he wanted to
show me that he’s brave.”
“How’d the rest go?” Matt worked open the first few buttons of his shirt. “I kept
waiting for a distress call.”
“It went well.”