Second Time's the Charm

This morning, with the reception room to themselves, Abe took Laura’s hand and walked off to the playroom without so much as a backward glance at Jon.

Maybe Lillie was right. His son had a problem with crowds. They could fix that.

Easily.

Jon arrived at work only to find out that there was no electricity and everyone was being sent home. So, just before nine-thirty, he walked out to his truck and dialed Lillie’s cell. Exchanged pleasantries with her because he was in a good mood.

Because he wanted her to like him.

To think he was a good dad.

Even if she was working for Clara Abrams on the side, her loyalty could be changed. If Jon did his job well enough. He was the one spending time with Lillie, not Clara. And he’d seen enough to know that Lillie had a good heart. She’d want what was best for Abe. Money clearly didn’t matter to her. It wasn’t like she lived big or associated with the kinds of people Kate came from.

She was like him, down-to-earth, working for a living, wearing regular clothes, cleaning her own house.

Jon just had to prove to her that he was what was best for Abe—not Abe’s rich and influential maternal grandparents.

Except that Clara knew about Jon’s past. Which meant that Lillie might know, too.

“You’re at home?” he asked, stopping in the parking lot with his hand on the door handle of the truck.

Why hadn’t he thought of it before? What if Lillie knew about the years he’d spent in juvenile detention?

And then he started breathing again. She’d given him a key to her home. There was no way she’d have done so if she’d known he was a convicted burglar.

“A rare Saturday morning off.” She answered his question with a chuckle. “Unless someone breaks something or needs stitches or falls unexpectedly ill,” she added. “As long as the clinic is open, I could get called.”

He realized she didn’t get much more sleep than he did.

“So what’s up?”

“A semi lost control on the highway and ran into the transformer that supplies our electricity at the plant. Management wants to preserve the backup generator for perishable food and have shut down the production lines for the rest of the weekend.” TMI, man, he reprimanded silently as he climbed behind the wheel of his truck.

“I thought maybe I could get those faucets changed for you,” he said. “But if you’re home, I can always do them another time.”

“Now’s fine,” she said easily. And Jon refused to think that her ready acceptance of his offer meant she was interested in him.

He refused to consider the idea.

* * *

SHE HADN’T BEEN alone with a man in her home since her divorce. She dated. She’d just never brought her dates home.

She’d left her door unlocked for the cable guy. Had Caro meet the carpet people for her when she’d had her bedrooms redone. They hadn’t been conscious choices, just the way things had worked out.

And now here she was, with a six-foot-tall, dark-haired specimen of male perfection and her palms were a little sweaty.

She washed them. And the bathroom sinks, too, while he worked in the kitchen. Wouldn’t be proper to expect him to deal with traces of toothpaste spit when he installed her new faucet.

He’d asked, the previous week, if they could be friends.

She didn’t know what that meant.

Her curiosity bothered her.

“All done.” The subject of her thoughts stood, tools in hand, at the door to her bathroom. His jeans and T-shirt hugged his body and the way they fit turned her on.

Uh-uh. Not happening.