ection id="uc8c39403-3c57-58f8-bf64-36b4fcb236ab">
She’d gotten emotionally involved with Craig and his sons.
Jill knew better, but she’d done it anyway.
She’d wanted it to be real. All of it. Craig’s affection. And the boys’ feelings, too. She liked taking care of them. She liked being the one they confessed their secrets to, the one they ran to when they were hurting.
After years of being lonely, her heart had responded to the love between the boys and their father. She’d wanted a piece of that for herself. Was that so wrong?
Jill knew the answer. Of course it was.
Because it wasn’t real.
She was, after all, just the hired help.
Wasn’t she?
Part-Time Wife
Susan Mallery
Table of Contents
At the exact moment the hot water kicked on in the shower, the doorbell rang. Jill Bradford leaned her forehead against the ceramic tile and gritted her teeth. Timing. Life was all about timing and hers was usually bad.
Or maybe it was this house, she thought, grabbing her robe with one hand while she turned off the water with the other. Maybe there was a little light that ran from the bathroom to the front of the building so that every time she tried to take a shower, it went on. People saw the light and knew it was time to come calling. Yesterday it had been young girls selling cookies. Two days ago, someone selling magazine subscriptions.
The bell rang again, and Jill hurried down the hall. She had the fleeting thought that she could not bother with her robe and could simply flash whoever was rude enough to interrupt her shower, but decided against the idea. The way her luck was running, there would be a cop on the other side of the door and she would be arrested.
She reached the front door just as the visitor pressed the bell again. This time the long tone sounded impatient. Jill raised herself up on her toes and stared out the tiny peephole that had obviously been designed by and for the tall people of the world. She stared at the distorted image and gasped.
A cop?
Barely pausing long enough to secure the tie on her robe, she turned the key to release the dead bolt and jerked open the door. “Yes?”
“Ms. Jill Bradford?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Craig Haynes.”
The police officer paused as if the name was supposed to mean something. Jill stared at him and blinked. It didn’t mean a thing to her. She studied the man. He was tall. Too tall for her comfort. She had to crane her head back to see his face. But it was worth the crick in her neck, she decided, taking in curly dark hair, brown eyes and features handsome enough to grace a male model. She inspected the shape of his mouth and the stubborn set of his chin. She didn’t have a perfect memory but she was reasonably confident she would have remembered someone who looked as good as he did.
Her gaze slipped down his chest. The black short-sleeved shirt of his uniform outlined his well-muscled body. He had the build of an athlete. Impressive. Very impressive. Even to someone who had sworn off men and relationships.
“I’m sorry, Officer Haynes,” she said, returning her attention to his face. “I don’t know who you are.”
The faint hints of gray at his temples were the only clue he wasn’t as young as he appeared. He didn’t look thirty, but she would guess he was several years older than that.
He chose that moment to smile. Lines appeared around his eyes and mouth. His teeth flashed white. He should come with a warning label, she thought as her stomach clenched and her knees threatened to buckle. Do not operate heavy machinery around this man. If she hadn’t been leaning against the doorframe, she would have collapsed in a heap at his feet.
“I should have been more specific,” he said. “Your friend Kim gave me your name. She was going to take care of my kids. She said you would be happy to take her place.”
Kids? “Oh, now I remember.” Jill smiled. “Of course.” She pushed the door open wide. “Sorry. Please come in, and we can talk about this.”
“Thanks.” He stepped past her into the small entryway. The view from the back was pretty impressive, too, she thought as she gave him a quick onceover. Wide shoulders and the kind of butt most women would kill to have. Why was it men had great butts simply by virtue of being men, while women could aerobicize until their hearts were strong enough to power a freight train but the shape was never quite right? Not that Jill spent all that much time on the treadmill. Still, she thought about it a lot and surely that counted for something.
“In here,” she said, motioning for Craig to step into the