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The Husband Recipe
Linda Winstead Jones









“I’m going to ask you out on a date.” Cole said.

“I’m a little afraid, though,” he continued. “My last few dates were …”

“Interesting?”

“Disasters.”

Lauren laughed and turned her head. Their lips brushed, met, settled together for a kiss that rocked him to the core.

She took her lips from his and whispered. “Let’s not over-think this. If we do we might end up talking ourselves out of something good.”

“You don’t strike me as a ‘go with the flow’ kinda girl.”

“I’m usually not. For you I’ll make an exception.” She tilted her head, touched her lips to his.

Before the kiss had a chance to grow into more, a sharp crash from next door—too close—interrupted.

“I have to go,” he said, reluctantly stepping away.

Lauren nodded. “If you ask me on a date,” she said, “I think I’ll say yes and take my chances.”


Dear Reader,

You never know where inspiration will come from, when or where characters will come to life—and then refuse to let go. I’ve recently started following baseball rather fanatically, thanks to a nephew’s success in that sport. When you watch every game of the season, when you get to know the players, you see well beyond the games. You begin to get a small glimpse of their lives. These very talented ballplayers travel all the time, during the long season. Their families make a big sacrifice. And there was my “what if?” What if a father was suddenly left to raise three kids on his own? It would be a sacrifice to walk away from a lucrative career in order to be a single parent, but that’s what Cole Donovan did, and that shaped his character for me.

Having three kids of my own, I know what a rowdy household can be like.

Lauren Russell comes from a world I know well. The South. Her grandmother was a big influence on her, and is still around to help shape her life. Cooking is at the center of Lauren’s world. She’s also organised to a fault and she has plans for her life, personal and professional. Plans thrown into chaos by a handsome man and three adorable (if occasionally unmanageable) children who move into the house next door and turn her neat life upside down.

Sometimes chaos is a good thing. Sometimes it’s the unplanned that shapes us.

I hope you enjoy their story!

Linda




About the Author


LINDA WINSTEAD JONES is a bestselling author of more than fifty romance books in several subgenres—historical, fairy tale, paranormal and, of course, romantic suspense. She’s won a Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence twice. She is also a three-time RITA


Award finalist and (writing as Linda Fallon) winner of the 2004 RITA


Award for paranormal romance.

Linda lives in north Alabama with her husband of thirty-seven years. She can be reached via www.lindawinsteadjones.com.




The Husband

Recipe


Linda Winstead Jones






















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


With special thanks to The Cooking Women, Doris

and Joyce. Fried chicken, pinto beans and cornbread,

sweet potatoes, coleslaw, fried squash, seven-layer

cake, peach cobbler … and that’s just a part of one meal.

Y’all have inspired me to go back to my grandmother’s

cookbooks and give some of those recipes a whirl. And

of course a thanks to Benny as well. Because when I’m

not around someone has to take care of the eating.




Chapter One


Blam!

Something hit the side of her house, right outside her office. Lauren Russell jumped half out of her skin, jarring against the desk and sending hot tea sloshing over the edge of the cup and running under the stack of articles she’d printed out, as well as coming dangerously close to her optical mouse.

“Damn it!”

She leaped up and grabbed her napkin—high quality linen, of course—and swabbed at the spill. When she’d rescued the mouse, she left the rest for a moment and hot-footed it over to the window to see what the heck had happened. She was just in time to spot a little boy pick up a baseball and hurl it to his sister in the yard next door, then race back into his own territory.

She should have known. The monsters were loose again.

Lauren immediately felt guilty, because in general she liked children. Maybe the pertinent phrase was in general, because these particular children were driving her nuts.

Going back to her desk, she finished mopping up, drying off the papers as best she could, then taking them into the bathroom and using her blow dryer to finish the job. They were crisp and wrinkly, but readable. She didn’t like the fact that they were now less than perfect, but it would take too much time to go to each and every website and reprint everything. Later, maybe.

She sat at her desk again and did her best to tune out the happy screams and shrieks of what sounded like fifty children romping around a sprinkler on a hot summer day, as well as the occasional thump of a ball hitting the side of her house. Every time it hit, she jumped. How could three kids make so much noise? Weren’t children supposed to spend hours indoors playing video games these days? How was she supposed to work with this going on?

She had a deadline, an article to finish and send off by noon. The first thump had alarmed her, but now that she knew what was going on she should be able to dismiss the noise and concentrate on her work. Though it was tempting, she didn’t march outside to tell the kids to take it easy. Yesterday she’d had to tell them not to tramp in her flower bed, and last week she’d had a talk with them about Frisbees in her tomato garden. She didn’t want to be that neighbor, the grumpy woman all the neighborhood children were afraid of, the witch who did her best to squelch the kids’ fun. Might as well get herself a pointy hat and construct her house out of candy. No, thanks.

Still, a very tall privacy fence was looking more and more like a necessary investment. That would ruin the ambience of her carefully landscaped backyard, but if this continued she might have no choice. Her office was on the newly noisy side of the house, as was the spare bedroom. Unless she wanted to try to move her bedroom furniture into these rooms and convert the master suite into a large office, she was out of luck. Yeah, like she wanted to try to sleep on this side of the house.

The Garrisons had been such good, quiet neighbors! Why had they moved? Lauren was happy that the older couple now lived closer to their eldest daughter and their two grandchildren, but why couldn’t the daughter have moved here? Why did being close to family mean going to Arizona, of all places? Maybe Alabama was hot in the summertime, even if Huntsville was about as far north as you could get and still be in the state, but it couldn’t be any hotter than Arizona. Worse, the Garrisons had sold their house to a family with three children. At least, she’d seen three so far—two boys and a girl. Good Lord, she hoped there weren’t more.

Lauren stared at the computer screen, concentrating diligently in an effort to mentally block the noises from next door. Naturally, trying so hard only made her more aware of every sound. A piercing squeal. A shouted taunt. Laughter. She just had a couple of hours to finish this piece for the local paper, and then she needed to tackle the edits on her book. They were due back in three days, and she was hoping to make quick work of them this afternoon and evening, and then tomorrow morning overnight the changes so they’d be there a day early. It was her first book, a collection of recipes and household tips—many of which had come from her weekly newspaper articles—and she was certainly hoping there would be other books to follow. Being late wouldn’t endear her to her editor. Besides, Lauren hated to be late, almost as much as she hated it when others were late. It was a … well, a thing she had. Everyone was allowed a thing or two, in her opinion.

As she was attempting to place herself in a magic bubble of silence, a loud crash jerked her back to reality. A loud crash accompanied by shards of glass that flew into her office, landing on the area rug and her grandmother’s occasional table and into the vase of fresh flowers there. Lauren’s heart almost jumped out of her chest. She screamed—just a little—and then, a split second later, she realized that all screams and laughter from next door had gone silent.

When she’d gathered her composure she stood carefully, stepping over the pieces of glass on the floor, glad that she wasn’t working barefoot as she often did. And there, on top of her edits, sat a baseball. The offending, intruding, destructive and muddy baseball, which was now perched on top of the once-pristine top page of a once-perfectly-aligned stack.

Lauren had heard the term her blood boiled, and now she knew exactly what that felt like. She experienced an intense physical response to the sight of that baseball on her work, to the broken glass and the ruined papers. That was it. She literally couldn’t take any more.

She snatched up the baseball and stalked to the back door, bursting onto her small stone patio like a woman on a mission. In her fury she noted—not for the first time—the crushed flowers and the broken tomato stalk. The trampled grass and the discarded juice box. The juice box was new, tossed into her backyard as if this were the city dump. Like her office, the backyard had been in perfect condition before the new family next door had moved in and disrupted her life.

In the neighboring yard—where the recently added trampoline and soccer net marred the landscape—the sprinkler continued to spurt a jerking stream of water this way and that, but the children were nowhere to be seen. For once, all was quiet. Lauren cut in between the two houses, glancing at her broken window as she walked by on her way to the front door. She’d never before really noticed how close the two houses were. Little more than an alleyway separated her home from the one next door.

The Garrison house, which wasn’t the Garrison house any longer, was larger than her own. Some years ago, long before Lauren had bought her home, Mr. Garrison had built an addition that consisted of two bedrooms and another bath. At one time he’d had children of his own living there, and they’d needed the space. Once the children moved out, that extra space had been unnecessary. Helen Garrison had happily told Lauren all about the small condo they’d bought in Phoenix. The older woman was thrilled to have less house to clean, no yard to tend.

Ringing the doorbell would be too passive for Lauren’s mood, so she knocked soundly on the front door. She knocked so hard her knuckles stung. As she waited for an answer she shook out her hand and studied the mess on the small porch. A baseball glove, Frisbees, a Barbie doll with one leg and a frighteningly original haircut, and a skateboard. It could be such a cute porch, with a couple of white wicker chairs and a pair of hanging ferns, but instead the space was messy, untended and chaotic. She imagined whatever lay beyond the door was no better.

No one immediately answered her knock, so she rang the doorbell. Twice. Inside she heard whispering. The heathens were ignoring her. Heaven above, surely those kids weren’t in there alone! No, the family car, a white minivan that had seen better days, was parked in the driveway. It was the only vehicle she’d seen in front of the house since the new family had moved in, not that she spent her time watching the neighbors. She couldn’t help but notice a few details, as she collected the mail or drove into her own driveway. For all she knew there was another vehicle parked in the one-car garage.

All was quiet now. She didn’t even hear whispering. She rang the doorbell for the third time and then lifted her hand to knock once more. Harder this time around.

The door swung open on a very tall, broad-shouldered man who held a cell phone to his ear. Obviously distracted, and also obviously not in a good mood, he held up one finger to indicate that he needed another minute.

The heathens’ father needed a lesson in manners as much as his children did. It was all she could do not to snatch the cell phone out of his hand! What she really wanted to do was grab the offending finger and bend it back. That would get his attention.

But of course, she did no such thing. The hand holding the offending baseball dropped, and some of the wind went out of her sails. She’d never been very good when it came time to confront a man—especially a good-looking one. In most situations she was confident and in command, but most situations didn’t require her to look up quite so far.

He who had spawned three little devils was much too tall for her tastes, which didn’t help matters at all since Lauren was barely five foot three. Her new neighbor was six feet tall, at least, which meant she was at a serious disadvantage when it came to talking to him face-to-face. A step stool would come in handy right about now. The man needed a shave; he didn’t have a beard, but that face hadn’t seen a razor in a day or two. He had shaggy-ish dark brown hair which wasn’t long but wasn’t freshly cut either, fabulous bone structure, a perfect nose—Lauren always noticed noses—and big hands with long fingers. Dressed in jeans and a plain, faded gray T-shirt, he still managed to give off an “I’m in charge” vibe.

Great. Maybe she should’ve tacked a scathing note to the front door.

“Look, I’ll have to call you back.” For the first time, the man who’d shaken his finger at Lauren really looked at her. And he smiled. “A woman in bunny slippers and her pj’s is on my doorstep holding a muddy baseball and looking like someone spit in her Cheerios this morning, so she must be here about something important.”

Lauren tried not to be obvious about turning her gaze downward, but yes—she was still in her pajamas. Long, soft cotton pants and a matching tank just a touch too thin for someone who wore no bra. Not for the first time, she thanked her lucky stars that she didn’t have much to brag about in that department.

But still … she loses her temper in the first time in forever, and this is where it gets her. Embarrassed. No, mortified.

And she was still holding the damn baseball.

Her new neighbor, the father of the heathens who were tearing Lauren’s neat schedule to pieces, ended his phone call and looked at her. He really looked at her, his gaze cutting to the bone. He had blue eyes. Not just a little blue, either, but wowza blue. Cut-to-the-bone blue. His eyes were the color of a perfectly clear spring sky shot with disturbingly piercing shards of ice. Lauren shifted her own gaze down and stared at his chin, which was perfectly normal and not at all eye-catching like his nose or his eyes or any of the rest of him. It was just a stubbly chin, thank goodness, not at all out of the ordinary.

Lauren handed over the baseball, which he took, then she crossed her arms over her chest in a too-late attempt at modesty. She had quite a few things to say, and she’d played a few of them through her mind as she’d waited. But suddenly she lost her nerve. “Is your wife at home?”

Cole had been amused, but with a few words that amusement died entirely. He should be used to the question by now, but he wasn’t. He’d given up beating around the bush long ago. “She’s dead. You’ll have to deal with me. Sorry.”

He was accustomed to the change in expression, the shift from annoyance to pity.

“I didn’t mean to … I apologize.” The pity turned to confusion. “I saw a woman carrying in suitcases when you moved in, and I just assumed …”

“That was my sister-in-law. She helped us move.” Grudgingly, yes, but Janet had helped.

Cole recognized his neighbor. He’d seen her a few times, working in her garden or collecting her mail. That was about it, since her garage wasn’t filled with unpacked boxes—like his—and she could actually park in it. He’d noted from a distance that she was cute, but up close she was more than cute. Not gorgeous, but interesting. Pretty. She had honey-blond hair caught in a ponytail, hazel-green eyes, nicely shaped lips, petite build…. Yeah, she was definitely interesting.

It was easy enough to guess that the muddy baseball had either gone into her garden or through a window. No wonder the kids had come running inside and dashed straight to their rooms.

She took a step back. “I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. Just forget it. I’ll …”

Cole turned and yelled. “Get in here, every one of you!” After a moment of strained silence, the three kids came creeping into the room. Heads down, bare feet shuffling, they were all soaking wet and chagrined. Cole asked, in a calmer voice, “What happened?”

After a moment of complete silence—a rarity in this house—all three started talking at once, each trying to outdo the other in pitch and storytelling. It was a window after all. Just what he needed. A damaged garden would be easier to fix. A little dirt, a new plant or two, and it was done. Windows were more complicated. He tried to make sense of the story. Apparently Justin had thrown the ball, but it was Hank who’d missed it. And as the oldest, Meredith should’ve stopped them from playing ball in the first place.

Cole had to work hard to disguise his fatherly pride. Justin was just five. It had to have been a helluva hard pitch to break a window. He kept his pride to himself. What kind of parent would he be if he gave his son a pat on the back for breaking the neighbor’s window?

“Y’all apologize to …” He looked over his shoulder to the pretty neighbor who’d taken yet another step back. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Lauren Russell,” she said.

He stepped forward and offered his hand. “Cole Donovan. These rug rats, in order of appearance, are Meredith, Hank and Justin.” She took his hand for a quick shake that was firm enough but not long-lasting, then quickly resumed the position meant to protect her from showing too much boob but that actually pushed them up and out a bit. Something he really shouldn’t be noticing. “Kids, apologize to Ms. Russell. Then everyone gets a timeout.”

The kids apologized without much sincerity, then complained about their punishment. Cole turned to look at them. “No one came to me and told me about the broken window. Accidents happen, but trying to pretend they didn’t isn’t acceptable.”

“Would you like me to make you some coffee, Dad?” Meredith asked sweetly. Almost thirteen—and wasn’t he terrified by that fact—she was sometimes the spitting image of her mother. Long blond hair, deep brown eyes, high cheekbones and long legs. Why couldn’t she stay twelve forever? Awhile longer, at least.

He maintained a stern expression. “Coffee isn’t going to fix this.”

Cole could practically see Hank’s mind spinning. Great. His middle child, the budding wizard who was currently without front teeth, would probably be in the kitchen this afternoon whipping up yet another potion designed to improve his father’s mood. If coffee wouldn’t work, surely magic would. The boy was seven; when was he going to outgrow this phase? Why couldn’t he be into baseball or football or soccer? No, he had to be into dragons and spells and magic wands. As always, Justin, the wizard’s apprentice, would help with the process when Hank went to work. Leftovers, half-filled boxes of juice, whatever they could find in the pantry—anything was fair game when it came to their concoctions. Cole would drink at least a sip of the potion, no matter what it contained. The boys hadn’t killed him with their experiments yet.

He never should’ve let the kids watch those movies….

Chastised, all three shuffled off to their rooms. He wouldn’t make them stay there long. Just long enough to realize they’d made mistakes.

Cole turned back to Lauren. “I’ll fix your window.”

She was already making her escape. “Don’t worry about it.”

Cole stepped onto the front porch, but stopped short of following his neighbor into the yard. She was most definitely a woman making a getaway. “Nope. My kids broke it, I’ll fix it.”

“Whatever.” She waved, but her back was to him by then so he didn’t get another nice view. Too bad. Though he had to admit, the rear view wasn’t too shabby. Lauren Russell walked like a woman, with a hint of sashay as she hurried home.

Like he had time for a woman, pretty or otherwise.

“Hang on a minute,” he said, ignoring his initial instinct and following in Lauren’s footsteps. She stopped, waited a couple of seconds longer than was necessary, and turned around slowly. Her chin was up, her eyes … defiant. He just wanted to talk to her, smooth the rough way they’d been introduced. After all, they were going to be neighbors, probably for a good long while. But the way she looked at him … Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea….

“Yes?” she prodded when he just stood there too long like an idiot, saying nothing.

“Sorry we got off to a bad start.” He tried to think of a couple of neighborly questions he could ask. Where’s the best shopping, what about the other neighbors, what are the best movie theaters … Can I borrow a cup of sugar? Yeah, right, that would go over well. Judging by the look on her face, the woman just wanted peace and quiet, she wanted to be left alone. He couldn’t blame her. “I’ll try to keep the kids out of your hair.”

Her expression softened. “I’m sorry I overreacted.” She was trying to very casually cover her breasts, which only drew his attention to her gentle curves. “Kids will be kids, I suppose, and it’s not like I think they broke the window on purpose.”

Cole rocked back slightly and shoved his hands in his pockets. He shouldn’t have followed her. What the hell had he been thinking? Oh, yeah, he’d been thinking that Lauren Russell was cute and interesting and he hadn’t talked to an adult face-to-face in days. Fortunately he knew how to undo his awkward mistake. He knew how to end this conversation here and now. “So if I ever need a babysitter …”

The horrified expression on Lauren’s face was priceless, and Cole couldn’t help but grin widely. “Just kidding.”

She nodded her head, muttered a polite goodbye and made her final escape. This time, he didn’t bother to follow.




Chapter Two


Lauren leaned into the computer. Her stomach was telling her that it was time for lunch, and she had leftovers in the fridge. Vegetable lasagna, one of her favorites. But her growling stomach could wait. Her article was finished and off by email, the broken glass had been swept and picked up from the floor and carpet, and she’d taped a piece of cardboard to the broken window. She’d decided to take a break before she got to lunch and then to the edits on her book. Google was a wonderful invention. Not only did it lead people searching for recipes right to her website, it was great for checking out new neighbors.

She’d been prepared to search for the correct Cole Donovan for a while. Neither Cole nor Donovan were unusual names. It wasn’t like his name was Rumpelstiltskin. She hadn’t started with a lot of hope; she was prepared to find next to nothing. It didn’t hurt to try, she supposed. Surprisingly, he came up first on the list. She knew without doubt that it was him because there was a picture.

Baseball. Huh. She’d never been a fan, otherwise she might’ve recognized his name. Apparently Cole Donovan had been a big deal a few years back, a star third baseman on track to break some sort of home-run record for the season. She had to scan down a few links to find out why he’d quit in the middle of the season, with that record and a promising career on the line.

Lauren’s heart dropped as she read the archived article. His wife had indeed died. Mary Donovan had dropped dead in the grocery store, victim of a heart defect she’d been born with but had never been aware of. A chill ran down Lauren’s arms. Here one moment; gone the next. It was the sort of thing no one could possibly be prepared for. There was no one to blame, no drunk driver or misdiagnosis or missed treatment. Just … poof. The young mother of three had been twenty-nine at the time; so had Cole. They’d been high-school sweethearts.

Cole had walked away from baseball after his wife died, giving up a lucrative career for his family. He could’ve pawned the kids off on relatives, she supposed, or hired a nanny and kept playing, but no. He’d left a promising career to take care of his children, to be a full-time parent.

Lauren felt about an inch tall. She felt like the wicked witch, maybe the Grinch. Perhaps an ogre. All green monsters, she noted. She’d never looked good in certain yellowy shades of green, and she certainly wouldn’t look good if she were green. Wicked witches were never a nice teal or sea foam. No, they were pea-soup green. Not her color at all.

She’d gone storming over there with that muddy baseball and her indignation, when that family had been through enough heartache for a lifetime. She checked the dates; it had been five years since Mary Donovan had died. The little one—Justin—must’ve been a baby at the time.

And she’d lost it over a broken window and a little noise. Talk about putting things in perspective!

She left her office a little sorry she’d looked Cole Donovan up online. There were some things that were better left unknown, unspoken, undone. But once those things were out of the box, it was simply too late to stuff them back in.

Lauren’s mother and grandmother had trained her well. As she went into the kitchen and took the leftover lasagna from the refrigerator, she decided to make her new neighbors a nice meal as a peace offering. Lasagna and peach cobbler. Not the vegetable lasagna she preferred, but a nice, hearty lasagna with lots of beef. It was possible the children next door didn’t get enough protein. Most kids didn’t, since they were usually drawn to junk food. At least, that’s what everything she saw and read led her to believe. There were no children in her everyday life, no nieces or nephews, no little ones she saw regularly. Several of her friends had young children, but though she heard details of their lives, that didn’t mean Lauren saw them more than once or twice a year. Girlfriend lunches and the occasional margarita were not exactly child-friendly gatherings.

Whether the Donovan children got enough protein or not, everyone liked lasagna, and her grandmother’s peach cobbler was to die for. That should suffice as a “sorry I made an ass out of myself” offering.

While the vegetable lasagna was warming in the microwave, Lauren poured herself a glass of iced tea. She straightened the other single-serving-size containers of lasagna on the second shelf of the fridge. Like the cabinets in her kitchen, everything in the refrigerator had a place. The fridge and everything inside it was sparkling clean, and the bottled water was lined up neatly between the skim milk and the pitcher of tea she’d made last night.

Her entire house was like the fridge. Everything had a place; disorder was not allowed. She wasn’t OCD, not by any means, but she liked everything to be clean, and if there were specific places for items then those items might as well be in those places. That made perfect sense to her.

Lauren ate her lunch at the kitchen nook, overlooking her well-kept backyard. As she ate she mentally went over her schedule for the rest of the day. The edits, thirty minutes on the treadmill, then a shower. Dinner with Gran and Miss Patsy at six, and after that she’d stop by the grocery store. Tomorrow after she finished the edits and dropped them off at FedEx, she’d make the lasagna and peach cobbler.

At the moment the neighboring backyard was as quiet as her own, and she had her schedule set for the next two days. All was well. For now.

The kids had been quiet for a good half hour or so. They must really be feeling guilty about that broken window. Whatever the reason for the rare moment of silence, Cole would take it. He made a couple of phone calls—including one to a glass company to arrange for the neighbor’s window to be repaired—and then he sat in front of the computer. Hank had used the family computer last, and it was still on his favorite site for games. This particular favorite was a Dad-approved site, as Cole insisted they all be. He checked the history, to make sure none of the kids had wandered too far astray. While he tried to watch them when they were using the computer, it was impossible to keep an eye on the kids 24/7. One child, maybe, but three? He was constantly being pulled in all directions. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the kids, but these days you couldn’t be too careful. There were a lot of weirdos out there, and children were trusting by nature.

Finding no offenders in the computer history, Cole went to Google and typed in his neighbor’s name. Lauren Russell. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, exactly, but these days it made sense to check up on the people who came to your door. No matter how cute they were. The kids were unerringly trusting; he was not.

Even though he’d gone into the search with no expectations, he was surprised by what he found. First of all, the picture of Lauren that was at the top of the first page of her website was not at all flattering. Her hair had been pulled back tight, entirely out of her face, and she wore one of those fake picture-smiles, like she was literally saying cheese. Was that a turtleneck? Did they even make those anymore? She hadn’t been wearing enough makeup when the photo had been taken, and the harsh lights had washed her out. But it was her.

He liked her better mad and in her pajamas, hair in a sloppy ponytail with bangs and escaping strands falling into her face, and eyes flashing. She looked better in natural light, with no makeup at all and fury coloring her face with a natural blush.

If he hadn’t been looking for her specifically, he never would’ve found this site. It was all recipes and decorating and table etiquette. In the Donovan house they ate a lot of fish sticks and spaghetti out of a can, their decorations were almost all made by the kids—they’d outgrown the limited space on the fridge door long ago and had moved on to the walls—and proper etiquette at the table meant you didn’t stand on it while anyone else was eating.

When they’d been living in Birmingham, Janet had provided a lot of their meals. She’d dropped by every weekend to stock the freezer with casseroles and homemade soup and chili. But they hadn’t relied on her entirely. Cole refused to let himself rely on anyone for anything. He could find his way around the kitchen, and for the past year Meredith had been learning to cook. He’d done his best to help her, but talk about the blind leading the blind …

A couple days a week Meredith insisted on making supper. Alone. She saw herself as the woman of the house, and like it or not, she was. Cole didn’t want her to spend her youth taking care of her brothers—and him—and he did his best to make sure she was just a child for a while longer. But it wouldn’t hurt her to learn to prepare a meal or two. She was already a whiz at making coffee. Maybe because all the kids had learned that their dad wasn’t fit company until after he’d had his caffeine fix, and it made the morning much easier if the coffee was ready when he rolled out of bed.

Lauren Russell’s website was mind-boggling and more than a little amusing. Apparently his cute neighbor was some kind of Southern Martha Stewart wannabe. She made Easter-egg dye out of onion skins and created elaborate handmade valentines for her friends and family. She’d posted recipes and detailed instructions for making fried chicken, biscuits and cornbread, as well as a multitude of fried vegetables. There were recipes for making candy bars, of all things, and homemade ice-cream treats—things easily purchased at the store, so why would anyone bother? Lauren didn’t leave out the health-conscious among her readers. There were also recipes for about a hundred ways to cook a chicken breast without frying it, and plenty of methods for cooking veggies without any fat.

Not that he could get his crew to eat a vegetable, except for the household staple french fries. Maybe corn on the cob, if they were feeling adventurous.

Cole closed the website and shut down the web browser. It didn’t matter how cute his neighbor—or any other woman—might be. It wasn’t that he was still in love with Mary, five years after her death. It wasn’t as if he compared every woman he met to his late wife, or idealized her after she was gone, or pined for what they’d had. No, he simply had no time for a woman.

He had dated since Mary had died. After she’d been gone a couple of years, well-meaning friends had tried time and again to set him up with women they thought were suitable. He’d dated, leaving the kids with Janet or a babysitter for a couple of hours, but something always went wrong. He had no patience for airheads, no matter how pretty they were. Some of his friends seemed to think “hot” was enough. It wasn’t. And no matter how he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to entirely leave his home life behind. Babysitters called. Meredith called. While his dates droned on about shoes or movies or—heaven forbid—baseball, his mind had always been elsewhere.

During one memorable emergency trip home, Justin had thrown up on airhead number two. Or had it been airhead number three? During another, Hank had wiped a glob of jelly from his face with the hem of a silk dress. While his date had been wearing it. Cole had found it kind of funny. His date had not. None of the other dates had gone any better, and it hadn’t taken long for him to just give up.

Maybe when his children were grown he could take some time for himself, if he didn’t completely forget how to treat a woman, what to do with one. But for now he was all the kids had, and they deserved every bit of him that he had to give. He was already spread too thin, and having a woman in his life would probably stretch him to the breaking point. Like any woman would be satisfied with the little he had to give at this time in his life.

Even though it was going to be a real change, he was looking forward to starting work again. Teaching would be very different from the career he’d left behind, but he liked history, and he loved baseball. He was good with kids—he’d found a healthy reserve of patience in the past five years—and he’d discovered that he was much more adaptable than he’d ever thought he could be. In the past few years he’d searched for a new career he could really enjoy and worked part-time here and there, selling cars—a job he’d hated—and working in a sporting goods store—even worse—and along the way he’d managed to take enough classes to fulfill the requirements for a teaching job.

A full-time teaching job and coaching a high-school baseball team would take up much more time than any of the endeavors he’d undertaken in the past few years. Three kids and a demanding job wouldn’t leave him any time at all for a social life that extended beyond putt-putt or a movie with the kids.

Besides, they’d probably have a fit if he started dating again. And heaven forbid he should get serious about a woman! They’d lost their mother. They wouldn’t lose their dad, too, not even a small piece of him. It was bad enough that he’d finally taken on such a demanding job. The money he’d saved while he’d been playing combined with Mary’s insurance payout and his own ability to manage his investments well had allowed him to limit his time away from home until Justin was old enough to start kindergarten. Come August, the youngest Donovan would be in school. And Cole would be taking on the job of history teacher and baseball coach for the new high school. He could continue to live as they had for several more years—hell, if he was really smart with his money he might never have to work again—but he needed a real job. He needed to refocus his energies and … move on. It was time.

Cole wasn’t sure how he’d handle teaching others to play, when he still sometimes longed for the crack of the bat and the thrill of the game. But he’d manage. He’d get the job done. What choice did he have?

The Gardens was an upscale retirement village, with condos, small houses and an apartment building, all arranged like any gated community. There were lots of trees, ample parking, winding sidewalks, several green spaces and a community center. The only differences between this and other communities like it were the personnel, the nurses and administrators who were available at the push of a button, and the ages of the residents. The prices were outrageous, but Gran considered her condo here a worthwhile investment. It didn’t look like a retirement home, but it had all the advantages.

Once a week Lauren had supper with Gran and her best friend, Patsy, who lived in one of the houses in the village with her husband of nearly sixty years. They all took turns providing the food, even though they always met at Gran’s condo. This week it was Gran’s turn to cook, which thrilled Lauren. Not only did she not have to cook, or endure one of Miss Patsy’s mystery casseroles, she got to indulge in the food she’d grown up with. Fried green tomatoes; meatloaf; mashed potatoes; cornbread;

fried chicken; green beans that had been cooking all day so that they no longer actually resembled green beans at all; squash casserole—an exception to the casserole rule; pot roast that melted in your mouth and desserts that were always out of this world. She didn’t know what tonight’s menu would be, but it would be wonderful, and the smells and tastes would transport her to her childhood.

Gran’s house, a sprawling ranch she hadn’t lived in for the past three years, had always been Lauren’s inspiration. Rather, it was the vivid memory of that house that inspired her. The food, the beauty, the details that went into making a house a home … Without that influence, she’d probably be working in an office somewhere. It wasn’t that her own home had been horrible—far from it—but she was an only child and her parents had both worked full-time. Often more than full-time. Though she was a stickler for good manners and, perversely, loved to entertain, Lauren’s mother had hated cooking, laundry, anything domestic. There had been times in her life when Lauren had been positive her mother didn’t entirely warm to the idea of child-rearing, either.

Her parents now lived in Washington State, about as far from Huntsville, Alabama, as they could get. A couple of great jobs had called them there, and they loved that part of the country. Lauren talked to them at least once a month, and they usually made it to Huntsville for a yearly visit, often around the holidays. There were frequent emails. Lauren loved her parents, but it had been her grandmother who’d made her house a home, who’d offered time, hearty hugs and homemade cookies.

That hadn’t changed.

Patsy was already at Gran’s condo when Lauren arrived, and the two older women were chatting as they set the table. For these weekly dinners Gran always used her good china, cloth napkins, polished silverware and crystal glasses for the decaffeinated iced tea. Life was too short, she said, not to use the best of everything at every opportunity. The smells from the kitchen were tantalizing, and Lauren couldn’t help but smile as she walked in and called out a friendly “Hello.”

The two ladies, like the table, were at their best. Both of them were white-haired and tastefully made-up, and tonight they both wore colorful summer dresses. Miss Patsy was thinner than Gran, a couple of inches taller, and was never seen out and about without enough jewelry to outfit three women.

Gran was more of a minimalist when it came to jewelry. She still wore her wedding band, and tonight she also wore small pearl earrings. Her hair was cut very short and spiked around her head, while Miss Patsy had pulled her long hair up into a bun, as usual.

Not wanting to be underdressed, Lauren had worn a lavender sundress and white sandals, tiny diamond studs in her ears and her hair down instead of in its usual ponytail.

There were hugs all around, then the three women carried dishes from the kitchen to the dining room table. Beyond the table the curtains at the doors, which opened onto a small patio, were pulled back to offer a relaxing view of a perfectly well-kept outdoor space with a wrought-iron table and chairs, hanging tomato plants, potted herbs and flowers. Past the patio a community green space was deserted and perfectly manicured. No kids at all. Lauren couldn’t help but wonder how old one had to be to move here….

After they sat in their usual places, and Gran began by passing the meatloaf, Miss Patsy asked Lauren if she’d had a nice day. That was all it took for Lauren to tell the older ladies about the day’s frustrations. The noise, the broken window, the man next door. She even told them how she’d stormed out of the house in her pajamas and bunny slippers, which gave everyone—even her—a good laugh. In hindsight it was pretty funny. After she’d told them how a repairman had shown up within a couple of hours to fix the broken window, she mentioned what she’d found online about her neighbor.

Gran carefully put down her fork and stared at Lauren as she finished her story. She wasn’t smiling, not that Lauren’s neighbor’s history was much to smile about. When Lauren finished sharing what she knew, Gran leaned forward just a little bit.

“Is this neighbor’s name Whiplash Donovan?”

Lauren was surprised. She hadn’t mentioned the man’s name because it wasn’t important. It wasn’t as if he would ever meet these two ladies. “Donovan is the last name, but he didn’t introduce himself as Whiplash. His first name is Cole.”

Gran waved that detail off, literally, with a sweep of her hand. “That’s him, has to be! I can’t believe it, Whiplash Donovan living right next door to my granddaughter. This is so exciting!”

“Whiplash?” Lauren asked suspiciously.

“He could hit the ball so far and fast, you’d get whiplash trying to keep an eye on it. You know your grandfather was a huge fan of the Atlanta team.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I was never as fanatical about baseball as he was, but I did follow the game. What choice did I have when he was always watching it on television or listening to the games on the radio? Even after he passed I watched when I could.” She gave a small, sad smile. “It made me feel closer to him, as if we were still rooting for the team together even though he was gone.”

Pops had been gone four years, and this was a detail of Gran’s life Lauren had never known. Sure, she remembered Pops watching sports on television, and wearing those team T-shirts and ball caps, but it wasn’t a passion grandfather and granddaughter had shared. They’d gardened together, played games, made homemade birthday cards, assembled endless puzzles….

Gran shook off her melancholy, again with a literal wave of her hand. “Donovan was one of your grandfather’s favorites. He so wanted to see that record broken. When Whiplash’s wife died and he walked away he took a lot of heat. Many of the fans were very upset with him. A lot of them simply didn’t understand.” Her chin came up. “But I did. Donovan put his family first—before fame, before money. Baseball players spend so much time on the road, there’s no way he’d be able to raise his children and continue to play. He made a choice, and I never for a moment doubted that it was the right one. You have to admire a man who has his priorities in order that way.”

Lauren almost grimaced. She didn’t have to admire her neighbor. She just had to deliver a peace-offering food and get out of the way.

Getting out of the way was what she did best.

Lauren’s grandmother reached for a second helping of fried okra. “So, tell me, is he still gorgeous?”

“Gran!” Lauren said, trying to put a hint of shock and disapproval in her voice. Anything to avoid answering with a resounding yes.

The older women laughed, and Lauren took a long, slow bite of meatloaf. She chewed deliberately, but eventually she had to swallow. Gran and Miss Patsy were still looking at her. Waiting.

“Fine, yes, he’s a handsome man. Some women might consider him gorgeous, I suppose, but he’s not my type at all.”

“Since when is tall, dark and handsome not your type?” Miss Patsy asked.

Lauren hesitated, and the older women did her the favor of changing the subject. They began to discuss recipes. Normally recipes were one of Lauren’s favorite subjects, but her mind was still on Cole Donovan. Just a little. No, that wasn’t right. Her mind was on men—or rather, the lack of one in her life.

She was happily single, for the time being. Her attempt at building her life around a man had failed miserably, and she was in no hurry to repeat that mistake. Of course she’d been too young to even think about marriage when she’d allowed hormones to override her common sense, and Billy had been a self-centered jerk. Looking back she could only be relieved that their two-year engagement had ended before she’d actually become his wife. At the same time, she was still annoyed that all the hours she’d spent planning her wedding had been wasted. There had been a couple of other romantic mistakes, misjudgments on her part, but neither of the other mistakes had gone so far.

These days Lauren worked so hard there were no hours to waste, no spare time to sit back and ponder the few failures in her life. Whenever Billy crossed her mind—which wasn’t often—he didn’t stay there long. He just flitted through like a pesky mosquito, not at all worthy of her attention. The details of the wedding reception she’d planned, however, stayed crisp and clear. Maybe one day the right man would come along and she’d be able to pull out her three-ring binder and start again.

Then again, who had time for men? She didn’t. One day, in the foggy, indistinct future, she’d work a man into her busy life. But not anytime soon. There were only so many hours in the day, after all. Where would she pencil romance into her schedule?

If she ever did decide to pencil romance into her schedule, she wouldn’t consider a man who had three uncontrollable children. No matter how tall, dark and handsome he might be….




Chapter Three


Cole was surprised to find his neighbor at the door. Again. He answered her cautiously friendly hello with a sigh and a “What have they done now?”

Lauren smiled, and as she did he noticed that she held a very large wicker basket covered with a red-and-white-checkered towel that looked as if it had never been used to mop up spilled grape juice or ketchup. She looked more than a little like Little Red Riding Hood, and he wanted to eat her up. Did that make him the Big Bad Wolf?

She lifted the basket a couple of inches. “I’ve brought a little something to welcome you to the neighborhood, and to thank you for getting the window taken care of so quickly.”

What choice had he had? His kids had done the damage, and he couldn’t very well have left Lauren’s house vulnerable overnight. Not that this neighborhood seemed to be unsafe. It was just common sense. Still, he supposed it would be rude to send her and her basket away, so he stepped back and invited her inside.

She hadn’t seemed at all interested in getting to know him yesterday, when he’d made a fumbling attempt at being neighborly. Maybe something had changed her mind. Then again, maybe she was just more sociable when she was wearing a bra.

Her eyes scanned the living room, and he knew very well what she saw. The laundry he’d been folding on the couch, the half-finished puzzle on the coffee table, the toys Justin had been playing with and left scattered about. If he’d known she was coming he would’ve picked up a bit, but since she’d dropped by unannounced she’d have to take what she got.

She shifted the basket a bit, and Cole realized it must be heavy. Belatedly, he reached out and took it from her.

“Lasagna and peach cobbler,” she said. “The cobbler can sit out for a while, but the lasagna needs to go in the refrigerator.” She gave him quick instructions on how to heat it up for supper, then backed toward the door.

“Wait one minute,” Cole said, and he turned toward the back of the house and called the kids’ names, one at a time. They came running, smiling and laughing, their usual boisterous selves, but when they saw Lauren they skidded to a stop and their smiles died.

“We didn’t do anything!” Justin said indignantly.

“Yeah,” Hank agreed. “We’ve been playing video games and Meredith is reading some stupid book.”

Meredith didn’t say anything, but her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Cole let them stew for a minute, then said, “Even though you broke Ms. Russell’s window and stomped all over her garden, she’s brought you supper. Lasagna and peach cobbler. What do you say?”

“I hate lasagna!” Justin said vehemently. “Yuck!”

Hank shuffled his feet and looked at the floor, and Meredith rolled her eyes in that maddening way young girls had. Twelve years old, and he could already see the woman she was going to become. Soon. That vision scared the crap out of him. He wasn’t ready for her to grow up, wasn’t ready for boyfriends and dates and short skirts and makeup. But like it or not, those things were coming.

“I was going to make chicken fingers for supper,” Meredith said.

Like frozen chicken strips could hold a candle to homemade lasagna—an observation he didn’t dare make out loud. “The chicken fingers can wait for another day. I want you all to thank Ms. Russell.” He gave them a glare his neighbor couldn’t see, since his back was to her. It was a rarely used glare that told the kids he was serious. He’d spoiled them for too long; he’d indulged them, trying to make up for the fact that he was all they had. Just last year he’d realized that he’d done that, and he was trying to undo the damage. It was a slow process.

Meredith was the first to speak. “Thank you, Ms. Russell.” Her chin was lifted a touch too high, which made her appear defiant even though her words were proper enough. Her eyes were anything but friendly.

Hank was antsy. The middle child was never still, unless he was sleeping. “I like lasagna,” he said, taking his eyes off the floor to peek up at their neighbor and give her a gentle, oddly charming, mostly toothless smile. “And I’m really tired of Meredith’s chicken fingers. Thanks.”

Justin, the stubborn one, sighed. “Thank you, Ms. Russell. For the peach cobbler.” The youngest—who would live on chicken strips and honey mustard if given the option—was doing his best not to look directly at his father.

“Why don’t y’all call me Miss Lauren,” their neighbor said. “After all, I imagine we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” She looked directly at Justin. “I’m very sorry to hear that you don’t like lasagna. Tell me, what do you like? Just in case I cook for you again, I should know.”

Justin wasn’t shy about answering. “I like chicken fingers, hot dogs and Pop Tarts and chocolate chip cookies and ice cream.” He lifted a stubby little finger. “But not butter-pecan ice cream. Yuck. That’s worse than lasagna.”

Lauren worked to suppress a smile. Her lips firmed as she resisted, but Cole could see the laughter in her eyes. It was a good—and oddly enticing—look for her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Cole dismissed the kids and they returned to their activities, leaving him alone with Lauren—and the food. She took a step back, toward the door. It was almost as if she was trying not to look directly at him.

“Thank you again,” he said. “You really didn’t have to, but we’ll enjoy it.”

She nodded, and still her eyes were everywhere but on him. Had he done something to piss her off? He couldn’t think of anything he might’ve done to make her nervous, but she was definitely uncomfortable. Out of her element. She’d been fine when he’d answered the door, okay when the kids had been with them, but now that they were alone again it was like she couldn’t wait to get away.

“You can just drop the pans off on the porch when you’re finished with them,” she said. “No rush. I have more than enough cookware.”

Cole peeked beneath the warm cloth that covered the food. Sure enough, the food had been prepared and delivered in heavy glass dishes instead of disposable aluminum foil. No wonder the basket weighed so much!

When he returned his gaze to Lauren, he found her no longer avoiding him. In fact, she stared right at him and for a moment, a long, lingering, uncomfortable moment, she looked as if she were completely and totally lost and confused. He recognized the pained expression on her pretty face because he saw it in the mirror almost every day.

It took all of Lauren’s discipline not to run home and slam the door behind her. She walked with purpose, almost positive that someone was watching her through a window or from the front porch. Tempted as she was, she didn’t run and she didn’t look back.

She should’ve just let things go. If she hadn’t decided that the family next door could use a good meal and she needed to make amends, she might not have suffered that moment of clarity. She might’ve simply resigned herself to the increased neighborhood noise and looked forward to school starting in a few weeks. Once school began she’d have several quiet hours every day.

But for a moment, a long, horrifying moment, she had suffered. Her life was perfect. She loved her job. She loved her house. She had friends and family, though in her small family only Gran lived close enough to see on a regular basis. Lauren never ever missed having a man in her life. She didn’t have time for a man, didn’t want one, didn’t miss the messy complications of a romantic relationship. She remembered too well what it had felt like to lose what she’d thought was love, to have the rug pulled out from under her. One day she’d meet a man and fall in love, though next time she intended to be more careful, to be cautious and wait until her career was more well established and then … only then …

A man with three kids was not in her plan. Not only was the time not right, she had no intention of taking on an entire family. Perhaps one day she’d have a child of her own. One, when the time was right. Preferably a little girl, but a son would be acceptable. Not that she planned to rush into anything. She wasn’t yet thirty. There was plenty of time to find the right man, wait a while to make sure she wasn’t mistaken this time around, and only then, perhaps, a child.

Her life was carefully ordered, and though she’d only admitted so to a few close friends, she had a wish list for the perfect man. Among the requirements were no jocks and no kids. Jocks were often self-centered and since she wasn’t at all interested in sports that would be a problem right off the bat. Stepchildren were always a complication. Why ask for trouble?

But she’d watched Cole Donovan as he’d spoken to his children, and her heart had done a decided flip. She’d felt a flutter in her chest. She’d also felt an unexpected flutter a good bit lower. Why was it that a totally unsuitable man who obviously loved his children made her biological clock kick into gear as if it had been jump-started with an electric jolt?

The broad shoulders, big hands and blue eyes hadn’t helped matters at all. The way his jeans fit and the fascinating muscles in his forearms had been an unwanted distraction. She’d noticed that he’d recently shaved, and the sharp line of his jaw was more than a little interesting. She’d very much wanted to reach out and touch him, just lay one finger on a muscle or that nice jaw to see how warm he was, how hard.

Not only that, the way Justin had looked into her eyes as he’d made it very clear that he didn’t like lasagna had grabbed her heart and made her fight off an inappropriate smile. Hank was absolutely charming, and Meredith was a beautiful girl with vulnerability too easily seen, in spite of her attempt at cold dismissal.

His house was a mess, his kids—charming though they might occasionally be—were uncontrollable, and the disruption of having this family next door was ruining Lauren’s once neatly organized life.

But she couldn’t deny that they possessed something she didn’t. There had been so much love in the room that it had washed over her like a tidal wave. She hadn’t expected that strong emotion, hadn’t wanted it, and she certainly didn’t want to be a part of it.

Who was she kidding? She would never be a part of anything like what she’d discovered at the house next door. It wasn’t in her plan, didn’t fit into her life, and any strange compulsion she had to cook for Justin and touch Cole Donovan had to be squelched. Now.

They hadn’t had a meal like this one since they’d moved away from Birmingham and Janet’s frequent offerings. Even though Cole had told her time and time again that it wasn’t necessary for her to cook for them, he’d looked forward to the meals his sister-in-law had prepared for them. He’d tried to learn, and he had mastered a few basics, but he wasn’t a very good cook. Meredith was going to surpass him in the cooking department in no time.

Though Justin had insisted that he didn’t like lasagna, after watching his sister and brother dive into theirs he’d taken a hesitant bite. Now he was relishing his food, just as Hank and Meredith were. The frozen stuff he’d tasted a time or two couldn’t hold a candle to this.

Hank scraped the last of what was on his plate onto his fork, shoved it into his mouth, and before he swallowed he said, “I think you should date her, Dad.”

Cole automatically reminded his middle child not to talk with food in his mouth, and then he added, “I don’t date.”

“What’s a date?” Justin asked.

Meredith answered, “It’s when a boy and a girl, or a man and a woman, go out to eat and to a movie. Sometimes they might dance, or go bowling or something.” She kept her eyes on her plate.

Hank added, “And then they kiss.”

“I want to go on a date,” Justin said. “But without the kissing. Yuck. Maybe Miss Lauren would take me to the new movie with the talking hamsters and then we could get ice cream. Would that be a good date?”

Meredith took a deep breath. “You’re too young for Miss Lauren,” she said bitterly. “She wants to date Dad, which is why she brought over lasagna and dessert and stared at him like he was one of the Jonas brothers, and do you really think this food was intended for us? No, she wants to show off what a good cook she is, and how pretty she is, and if we hadn’t been here she probably would’ve jumped all over Dad and kissed him …”

“Meredith,” Cole snapped. “That’s enough.”

Hank didn’t help matters by throwing in a series of smacking sounds. Sounds that ended abruptly when Cole gave him a narrow-eyed glare.

Meredith stared at her plate, but didn’t entirely give up the fight. “First we move away from Aunt Janet and all our friends, and now we have Miss Lauren next door trying to change everything. I’ll bet if Justin threw up on her she’d run away crying just like that other woman you dated.”

Cole started to chastise his daughter again, and then he saw the lone tear running down her cheek. “That was a long time ago, Mer. I don’t date anymore. Who has the time?” And to be honest, the memory of those few dates was enough to warn him away from trying again too soon. Being a full-time dad and trying to have a social life that didn’t include his kids didn’t mix.

“Nothing’s going to change,” he said evenly. “I know the house is different, and I’m starting a new job, and you’re going to have to make all new friends here in Huntsville, but when it comes to this family …” He knew what Meredith feared, had seen it before. Of the three kids, she was the only one who remembered their mother. Hank and Justin had been too young, but Meredith had been seven. She remembered her mother. Worse, she remembered the pain of losing her mother.

“Nothing and no one will ever come between the four of us. We’re a family, and that can’t be changed.”

“We’re the Four Musketeers!” Hank said, emphasizing the importance of this designation by standing on his chair and lifting his fork high, as if it were a sword.

Great. Another fantasy that called for a cape.

“We don’t need Miss Lauren,” Meredith whispered. “We don’t need anyone.”

“No,” Cole said, his heart sinking unexpectedly. He didn’t want to live the rest of his life alone, and he sure as hell didn’t enjoy living like a monk. There was something special about Lauren Russell, something that spoke to him in a way no woman had in a very long time. He barely knew her, but since she’d come to his door fuming mad and still in her pajamas, he’d found himself thinking about her more than he should. She was cute, she was smart, she could cook, she had a really nice ass. She made him smile. What man wouldn’t think about her? But it wasn’t enough. This was his life, for now.

“We don’t need anyone.” He ordered Hank to sit and added, “Four Musketeers is enough.”




Chapter Four


Lauren had lived in her house for three years now, and she never missed the neighborhood Fourth of July cookout. She’d missed the Christmas party once, thanks to a nasty cold she hadn’t wished to share with her neighbors, and she skipped as many of the annual homeowner’s association meetings as was possible, but she truly looked forward to the annual cookout.

Her potato salad and homemade cookies were always a hit, and it wasn’t as though she got to see her neighbors on a regular basis. Everyone led busy lives; they were constantly on the go. If not for the occasional get-together, she wouldn’t know her neighbors at all.

This year Cole Donovan was the newest arrival on the block, so he was the center of attention. Most of the men and several of the women knew very well who he was. More of them followed baseball than Lauren had imagined. They hadn’t needed to look up Whiplash to find out who he was. No, they’d known him on sight.

He stood in the center of a tight circle of people and answered questions, now and then glancing toward the pool where his kids swam with other neighborhood children. There were lots of children in the neighborhood, but until the Donovans had moved in none of them had been so close by, or so loud. Most of the children who were of an age to be boisterous were in some kind of day care, since so many of them came from two-income families. Lauren couldn’t help but wonder if she’d now be tuned in to every distant scream and peal of laughter.

She’d been talking recipes with several of the women from the neighborhood while the men all gathered in a knot with Cole at the center. As she had since arriving, Lauren tried not to look at Cole, but she’d seen enough to know that he’d been initially uncomfortable with the attention, though that discomfort was fading as he relaxed and got to know the other men. Lauren smiled and laughed and contributed to the conversation in this part of the large yard. Talk was currently on the evils and benefits of carbs in the diet. All the while, she did her best to act as if she and Cole had never even met. Not that she had to bother. He didn’t pay her the least bit of attention. His neglect stung more than she was willing to admit, even though she knew it was for the best.

She had not chosen the white shorts and simple white sandals and brand-new turquoise tank with him in mind, though she had instinctively passed over the denim shorts that sagged in the butt and the oversize T-shirt she sometimes wore when she worked in the garden for something more attractive. She’d used more mousse and hairspray than usual, and her hair was down, instead of up in the ponytail that would’ve been more appropriate for such a hot day. But that had nothing to do with the fact that her neighbor was going to be here. Nothing at all.

Some of the men peeled away from the circle to tend the grills, while Juliet Smith and a couple of her closest friends scurried off to the kitchen to make a few last-minute arrangements. Children of all shapes and sizes ran and laughed and splashed in the pool. Without looking, Lauren could pick out the screams of the Donovan children. They were the loudest, and they were strangely and disturbingly familiar.

Summer Schuler, who lived several doors down on the opposite side of the street, sidled up to Lauren and smiled as she leaned in very close. “Your new neighbor is a hunk and a half.”

“Is he?” Lauren said coolly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Summer laughed, then took a long swig of sweet iced tea from her red plastic cup. “You’re very together, Lauren, but you’re not blind. And you’re a terrible liar to boot. Of course you’ve noticed. He’s single, you’re single….”

“He has three children whose only operating speed is full blast….” Lauren added.

Summer laughed again and placed a friendly hand on Lauren’s arm. “No man is perfect.”

And didn’t Lauren know that well enough….

Summer lowered her voice. “I know he doesn’t exactly fit all the requirements on your list, but he is healthy. And I’m sure he has a wonderful sense of humor.”

“He’s a jock, he has three kids and he’s too tall.”

Summer’s eyebrows shot up, and not for the first time Lauren had the thought that Summer was improperly named. She had black hair, black eyebrows, dark brown eyes. She didn’t look at all like a Summer. “You’ve added a height requirement?”

“He should be no more than five foot ten. Five-eleven, tops.”

“Why?”

“I shouldn’t get a crick in my neck every time I talk face-to-face with a man who’s a part of my life.”

“Girl, you have gone off the deep end. You’d throw a man over for a couple of inches?” Summer bit her lower lip. “Let me rephrase that. It’s not like Donovan is freakishly tall, or anything. He’s very nicely proportioned.”

Didn’t she know it….

“Invest in a pair of really high heels,” Summer suggested with a grin.

Lauren’s initial thought had been a stepladder, but heels would be more practical. She hadn’t worn really high heels in years, but she wondered …

Summer continued while Lauren’s mind was on shoe shopping. “You need to toss that list. Finding a man isn’t like making a cake. There’s no recipe for a husband, no list of necessary ingredients.”

Lauren started a bit, jerked out of her shoe-related thoughts. Husband? Who’d said anything about a husband?

The piercing scream that followed the thought caused Lauren’s gut to turn over. She—and everyone else present—turned toward the scream, which was followed by a moment of horrifying silence.

All the children who stood by the pool were very still, for a change. Those in the water treaded in place. One child was down, there at the side of the pool near the steps. Down and completely still. The scream had been Meredith’s.

Cole broke away from the group of men and ran. Others were soon right behind him. Lauren drifted in that direction, though she was certain Cole Donovan didn’t want her help. There were more than a dozen adults present, and judging by the way he’d ignored her today, not even so much as nodding his head in her direction or waving halfheartedly or making eye contact, he’d prefer assistance from any neighbor here before he called on her. Besides, most of the adults here had children, or grandchildren, and surely they’d been through disasters like this one before. They’d know what to do. They were much better equipped than she was to help out.

And still, Lauren moved forward. There were too many people in the way, but she had to know who was down. She elbowed her way past the hefty man who’d moved into the two-story at the end of the street last year and ducked around a surly teenager dressed all in black. Her eyes soon found Hank and Meredith in the crowd, so the one who was hurt was Justin, the little one. The one who didn’t like lasagna—who didn’t like her.

Cole squatted down, examined his youngest son, then whipped off his T-shirt and pressed it against Justin’s temple. He scooped up his son and stood in one smooth motion. Blood ran down one side of the little boy’s face, in spite of the makeshift bandage, but he was conscious and talking. Lauren couldn’t hear what Justin was saying, but she noted that while he had begun to cry he was not hysterical.

His father was another matter. Cole had gone pale. The hands that held his son were shaking. Subtly, but she saw the tremble even from a distance. A couple of people tried to help, but Cole practically bit their heads off as he headed out of the yard at a fast clip, his long legs carrying him away from the party. Meredith and Hank followed. Meredith was crying, too, and she explained in a trembling voice that she’d reminded Justin not to run but he hadn’t listened. Again, someone asked if they could help and Cole said no. He barked no. They were going to the hospital for the stitches Justin obviously needed.

T. J. Smith offered to drive, but Cole shook him off with an expression that cut everyone out, that built a barrier around him and his family and left no room for intruders.

Lauren stood completely still for a moment. She didn’t need to get involved. Cole didn’t want her—or anyone else—to intrude. Justin was conscious, and head wounds did bleed a lot. The child needed stitches, but he’d be fine. He hadn’t lost consciousness, which was a good sign. Right? That was all true, but dammit, there was no way she could let Cole get in the car and drive, not in his condition.

She turned to Summer. “I have to go.” Lauren didn’t give her friend a chance to respond, she just turned and ran, cutting around the other side of the house and across the street to intercept Cole and his crew.

It was a simple gash, bleeding heavily but not life threatening. So why was his heart beating so hard that he couldn’t see straight? The sight of all that blood on Justin’s head and face made Cole’s stomach turn. A part of the T-shirt he’d pressed to the wound was already soaked through. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened to his son. He couldn’t live with himself if it turned out Janet was right and he was incapable of raising these three kids alone.

If she found out what had happened, would she try to take the kids away from him? He sometimes suspected that she wanted to, and he knew she’d been angry that he’d moved two hours away, taking all she had left of her sister with him. She hadn’t made a secret of her displeasure.

His worse fear was that Janet might be right, that he might not be enough for his family.

He threw open the door to the minivan and carefully deposited Justin on the backseat. He didn’t want to let go of the kid, didn’t want to leave Justin—a ball of fire who was currently pale and bloody and not at all himself—alone. The door on the other side opened and Meredith jumped in. Cole reached into his pants pocket and grabbed his keys, glad they were in his pocket as usual and not sitting on the dresser or hanging on a key rack where he’d have to retrieve them. Nothing could slow him down, nothing could stand between him and help for his son.

Cole had just swung open the driver’s door when a sharp ‘Wait’ made him freeze in his tracks. His neighbor Lauren ran to the van. Without asking if he wanted or needed help she started issuing orders. “Meredith, you and Hank run inside and throw on dry clothes. Grab a clean shirt for your father. The hospital keeps the air at full blast in the summertime, and y’all will catch a cold if you go in wearing your swimsuits.” As they ran for the front door, which Cole had left unlocked since they were going to be right across the street, Lauren yelled after them. “And bring a clean hand towel and a blanket for Justin.”

Justin lifted his head and glared at Lauren. It looked to Cole as if the bleeding had already slowed. “I knew you wanted to date my dad. You’re not going to kiss him, are you?”

Lauren looked a little surprised—her eyebrows lifted slightly, and her lips thinned—but she responded calmly. “First of all, a trip to the emergency room isn’t a date, and secondly, I don’t date.” She didn’t mention the kiss.

“Why not?” Justin asked.

Yeah, Cole thought. Why not?

“I’m a very busy woman,” Lauren said. “I have no time for dating.”

“Oh,” Justin said. He looked more than a little relieved, and surely Lauren noted the fact. “Dad doesn’t date, either.”

Just a few minutes later, Meredith and Hank ran out of the house. They were both dressed in khaki shorts and plain T-shirts, and Meredith carried a towel, a clean T-shirt for her dad and a well-worn blanket.

“I locked the door,” Meredith called as she ran for the backseat and her little brother.

Lauren took charge without missing a beat. She took the towel from Meredith, peeled back the bloody T-shirt and placed the towel against Justin’s wound, pressing down with one hand while with the other she snatched away Cole’s keys without even glancing his way. Sneaky woman.

“You can’t possibly drive,” she said. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Cole wanted to argue that he was perfectly capable of driving, but he didn’t. She was right.

“Besides, they’re doing construction on Governor’s Drive, and I know a shortcut to the E.R.”

Cole climbed into the backseat with Justin and Hank, and Meredith took the front seat, beside Lauren. He pulled on the clean T-shirt before repositioning Justin so he could hold him as he put pressure on the wound. Cole was grateful to be able to hold on to his son while someone else drove them to the E.R., but at the same time a little warning bell went off in his head.

He could do this alone. He didn’t need anyone but his children. And to become dependent on his pretty neighbor at this point in his life would be foolish beyond belief.

Lauren shivered. Knowing how cool the E.R. would be, she should’ve grabbed a sweater. Her toes were cold. Her arms were cold. At the same time, she knew if she’d run inside her house to collect anything, Cole would’ve taken off without her.

Without a shirt. Was it wrong of her to have taken note of how amazing he looked without a shirt? Sculpted muscles, wide shoulders, slightly hairy chest, not even a hint of a pot belly. This was a crisis, and all of her attention really should’ve been on the injured child. And to be fair, she’d only given a shirtless Cole Donovan a small bit of her attention. Just enough to note that he must still work out, because muscles like that did not come from folding laundry and eating chicken fingers. Just enough to be surprised that he had a tattoo on his shoulder—a small baseball with flames shooting out behind it, as if it were flying past a particularly nice muscle.

Cole and Justin had been taken back a while ago, leaving Lauren in the waiting room with a sullen Meredith and a scared Hank. Meredith actually leaned away from Lauren, and probably would’ve taken another seat if there had been one available. On a holiday weekend the E.R. was packed, and the only empty chair was next to a dubious-looking character. Lauren was relieved that she ranked above a constantly mumbling man with a scraggly beard and a nasty rash.

Hank was another story entirely. He leaned into Lauren, resting his head on her arm, taking her hand and holding on. Somehow he managed to hang on without ever being entirely still. He hadn’t said much, but his attitude toward her was decidedly warmer than his sister’s.

Eventually he lifted his head and looked up at Lauren with the biggest blue eyes she’d ever seen. He had his father’s eyes. In fact, Hank and his younger brother were both little carbon copies of their dad. And he whispered, “Justin’s not going to die, is he?”

Lauren’s heart broke for the child. “Oh, no, honey. Justin is going to be just fine.” She should’ve said something before now, should’ve soothed the child’s fears hours ago, but she hadn’t even considered that they’d be worried the injury was more serious than it was. Deadly serious. “He’ll have a boo-boo on his head, and he might have a headache for a while, but he’s going to be just fine.”

Meredith scoffed and muttered, “Boo-boo?”

Lauren ignored her.

“My mother is dead,” Hank said. “I don’t remember her, but Dad shows me pictures and tells me stories about her.”

Lauren felt as if a brick had settled in her chest. She didn’t know what to say, what to do to soothe a child who knew more about death than he should. “I know,” she whispered.

“Dad told us not to run around the pool,” Hank said, relaxing visibly. “But one of the other kids started chasing Justin, and he just …”

“She doesn’t care, Hank,” Meredith said coolly. “Don’t talk her ear off.”

It would be easiest just to ignore Meredith and settle back into silence. But these kids and their father were going to be her neighbors for a long while. It would be easiest if they could find a way to get along.

Lauren didn’t let go of Hank’s hand, but she turned toward Meredith and gave the young girl her full attention. Meredith must look like her mother, because she didn’t look much like Cole at all. The nose, maybe a bit through the mouth. But she had blond hair and dark brown eyes, and a heart-shaped face that was almost pixielike. She was almost as tall as Lauren. And right now there was so much anger on that pretty face. “I do care,” Lauren said softly.

“You’re just trying to impress my dad.” Meredith turned her head so she was no longer looking at Lauren. “He’s famous, and you don’t have a husband or a boyfriend, and if you’re nice to us it’s just because you want to impress him.”




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