sorry,” she said again.
“Quit that,” he said harshly.
Still sitting up in bed, the comforter across her lap,
she stared at him with those startlingly clear eyes.
“Quit what…?”
“Apologizing.” John swallowed, softened his voice.
“You didn’t say or do anything to apologize for.”
“I wasn’t apologizing.” She swung her legs over so that
they dangled off the bed. “I was expressing sympathy.”
“Because I limp? Because I’m scarred?”
Her eyes flashed. “Because I could tell you were remembering something bad. Why would you assume the worst of me?”
How did he say, Because I’m so damned mired in
self-pity, I assume that’s what people feel when they
look at me? He couldn’t. Didn’t want to.
“My turn to apologize.” He sounded stiff.
She gave him a soft smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
Making a sound of pleasure, she yawned and stretched
luxuriantly. The knit fabric of her turtleneck pulled taut
over her small breasts. “I may have to start napping
every day.”
God. Her voice alone, lazy and satisfied, was enough
to arouse him.
“I shouldn’t have woken you.”
“I made you promise.” Her eyes widened. “Unless
you’re waking me because one of the kids needs
me…?”
“Nope. Just thought I’d start dinner.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Thank goodness.
I scared myself for a second there.”
“They’re big kids.”
“And my responsibility.” Her forehead puckered.
“Maybe I should try calling my principal again.”
“Did you remember to turn your phone off?”
“Oh, crap!” She scrambled off the bed. “I don’t
know! And I don’t have a charger…”
“The kids have phones. I have one.”
She swung to face him. “You said you didn’t.”
“I said I didn’t have a landline. I have a cell phone.
It just doesn’t work up here most of the time.”
Groping in the purse that sat on the chest of drawers,
she came up with her phone. “Thank goodness, I did
turn it off.” She dropped it back in the purse. “I’ll try
later, once we get dinner on.”
He nodded, retreating. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
She yawned again and nodded. “Just let me get my
shoes on.”
It took her a bit longer than that to appear in the
kitchen; but he’d known she would check on her kids
on the way down.
He was setting out onions, garlic and green pepper
on the counter when he heard the swinging door and
glanced over his shoulder. She’d brushed her hair and
pulled it into a ponytail that made her look as young as
the teenagers.
“Find them all?” he asked.
“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured absently. “Shall I chop?”
“Sure. I’ll get the hamburger frying.”
He dumped several pounds in his largest skillet.
“Four onions?” she asked, sounding surprised.
“There are ten of us. Wouldn’t hurt to have enough
left for lunch tomorrow.”
“No. That’s true. Okay.” The knife whacked down on
the cutting board.
By the time she dumped the first diced onion in with
the meat, her eyes were misty. With the second, tears
clung to her lashes and her eyes were red. “I’m going
to be wailing any minute,” she warned.
“Want to switch jobs?”
“No point in us both crying. We’d scare the kids if
they come in.”
He gave a laugh that felt creaky. “It’s good for teenagers to get jolted out of their self-absorption occasionally.”
Whack. Whack. Whack. “Are you speaking from experience?”
He saw more of himself in Dieter than in the others.
He, too, had been a nerd despite the fact that he’d played
high school sports and therefore achieved a degree of
respectability.
“Maybe. Did you ever think about anyone else when
you were fifteen?”
Her laugh was watery. “Maybe more than most kids
do. My family had…problems.”
The tiny hitch in her voice gave him an insight.