homework tonight?” Alicia asked, stroking a hand over the girl’s hair.
“Math, but Mrs. H. helped me with it.”
“Good, then you can go upstairs to practice the piano.”
“Okay.” And the child skipped off and up the stairs, her earlier displeasure already forgotten.
“What about you?” Alicia asked, turning her attention to the older brother who stood with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.
“What?” her nephew asked.
“Do you have homework?” she prompted patiently.
The kid shrugged. “Some.”
“Did you do any at Mrs. H.’s?”
“Nah. Me and Randy were playing Nintendo.”
“Then you’d better get to your homework now.”
“But Class of the Titans is on TV.”
“You should have thought of that when you were playing Nintendo with Mrs. Harbison’s grandson instead of doing your homework.”
“Homework’s stupid,” he said.
“No it’s not, but you will be if you don’t do it.”
Joey rolled his eyes as he picked up his backpack and headed into the living room.
“Not in front of the TV,” Alicia told him.
“I can’t believe how much my life sucks,” the kid muttered as he changed course and carried his backpack into the dining room.
“I can,” Alicia responded evenly. “But it could be a lot worse—and will be if you don’t start cooperating.”
Scott was momentarily taken aback by her cavalier response, then realized she knew exactly what she was doing with each of the kids. Lia was obviously feeling uncertain and insecure and Alicia was giving her the comfort and reassurance she needed. Joey needed a firmer hand to prevent him from acting out the anger and frustration he was holding inside, and his aunt was making it clear that she was in charge and wasn’t going to take any attitude from him.
Apparently the petite nurse had a lot more going for her than a pretty face and hot body—she understood these children, and was determined to help them adjust to the recent changes in their lives.
But who was helping her? he couldn’t help but wonder.
And why did he suddenly feel the urge to plant himself firmly in her corner, to let her know she could count on him?
“Sorry about that,” she said, turning back to him. “The kids are still having a difficult time adjusting to Joe’s absence.”
“I’d guess that’s normal,” he said.
She smiled wryly as she reached into the fridge, coming out with a package of steak and a bag of vegetables. “As if anything about the situation is normal.”
“You’re worried about them,” he guessed.
“Of course.” She found a glass cutting board and selected a long knife from the butcher block on the counter, then began slicing the meat into thin strips. “Probably Joey more so than Lia, because he isn’t as open about his feelings as she is. She’s sad and she’s hurting, but she expresses her emotions—sometimes quite passionately—and gets over it. Joey keeps everything bottled up inside and I’m not sure that anything I say or do can help because, bottom line, I’m not his father.”
“Does he see his father?”
“He did last week.” She set a deep frying pan on the stove, drizzled some olive oil into it and turned on the burner beneath it. “I didn’t realize the intake process would take so long—more than four weeks—and that was the first chance we had to visit since he was transferred to Columbia River Detention Center.”
“How did it go?”
“Not good. Lia cried through most of the hour, Joey barely said two words, and Joe and I just stared at one another feeling helpless.”
The oil sizzled when she dumped the meat into the pan. “I wish I could believe it would get better, but I’m not sure that it will, and those kids have done nothing to deserve this.”
She dumped the board and knife into the sink, then turned on the tap and scrubbed her hands with soap and water. “Then again, I don’t believe Joe did anything to deserve his fate, either.”
She dried her hands on a towel, then found another board and knife and started slicing a red pepper into thin strips.
He watched her move around the kitchen, impressed by the efficiency with which she worked, and glad that he was sitting here watching her make dinner instead of on his way back home.
He tried to remember the last time a woman had offered to cook for him and couldn’t. He knew it had been more than two years because that was how long it had been since his ex-girlfriend moved out. And it had been a rare occasion for her to prepare a meal that didn’t come ready-made for the microwave. She hadn’t liked to cook and he’d understood that she didn’t feel like hovering over a stove after spending ten or twelve hours at her job. And yet, here was Alicia, not only undertaking the task at the end of what he knew had been a long and difficult day, but making it look easy.
“I wasn’t going to stay for dinner,” he told her.
She smiled as she sliced briskly through a zucchini. “You have to eat, and I had to cook for myself and the kids, anyway.”
“You look like you enjoy cooking.”
“I do,” she said, moving on to peel the carrots she’d set aside. “Even when I’m only cooking for myself, it relaxes me.”
She took a couple of cans of soda from the fridge, offered him one. “I’m glad you decided to stay.”
He noted that she started when their fingers brushed in the transfer, as she’d done when he’d reached for her bag back at her apartment. Was she just jittery? he wondered. Or was she also feeling the sparks generated by the energy between them?
“You didn’t really give me a choice,” he said, leaving the chemistry issue aside for now. “And maybe I should thank you for that, because I would have gone home to a frozen dinner with only my TV for company.”
She stepped away from him, turning to stir the meat and vegetables in the pan. “It’s always more fun to share a meal with a friend than to dine alone.”
He popped the top on his drink. “Are we going to be friends, Alicia?”
“I hope so.”
Scott was starting to hope—against his better judgment—that friendship would only be the start.
Chapter Three
Alicia knew she had a tendency to talk too much when she was nervous, and she found herself rambling throughout the meal and even after. Scott Logan, on the other hand, seemed to be a man of few words. He answered the questions she asked and responded to statements directed to him, but he did so with a minimum of words and always managed to redirect the conversation back to her.
It was a disconcerting change for Alicia to sit across the table from a man who didn’t regale her with stories designed to prove how interesting or important he was. Her most recent dating experiences had been with men who, though expressing an interest in her, were really more interested in themselves. She didn’t know many who would have hung around to dine with two ill-behaved children and even fewer who would have stuck it out through after-dinner negotiations over TV shows and bedtimes. So she was more than a little surprised to return to the kitchen after running Lia’s bath to discover that Scott Logan was not only still there but washing dishes.
Of course, this wasn’t a date, so she really shouldn’t compare the P.I. with the other men