perfect, Kieran. Seems to me you should stop and consider that, otherwise you’re never going to have a long-term relationship.”
Must be “grill Kieran night.” “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve had a couple of long-term relationships, including one that ended a few months ago.”
“Almost a year ago, and exactly what happened with that relationship, dear brother?”
“It just wasn’t—”
“Perfect?”
Damn, she was majorly annoying him. “We weren’t compatible. She liked opera, I liked baseball. She liked Thai food, I prefer good old American beef. End of story.”
Mallory sent him a serious scowl. “She was also extremely beautiful and built like a fashion doll. Have you ever been attracted to anyone who wasn’t the epitome of physical perfection?”
Erica Stevens briefly flashed in his mind, catching him off guard. He had to remember she was a client—a prospective client—and off-limits. Regardless, he had to admit she was attractive in a wholesome kind of way. And if she decided to accept his offer, he’d have to ignore that attraction. “I don’t know what point you’re trying to make, Mallory, but I wish you’d make it so I can go home.”
“My point is, you’re too rigid, too quick to judge. You live your life by a set of strict rules—”
“What’s wrong with that?”
She held up her hand to silence him. “Life isn’t perfect, Kieran. People aren’t perfect. You should try to relax, open your mind to all the possibilities. Being more spontaneous couldn’t hurt, either.”
At least now he had some ammunition. “As a matter of fact, I did something spontaneous today. I agreed to provide personal training to a woman, free of charge.”
Mallory gave him a cynical smile. “She must be exceptionally gorgeous.”
“She’s a widowed mom, and I really didn’t pay that much attention to her. We just met a couple of hours ago, at the request of her daughter.”
She laid a hand against her throat. “Mr. Macho didn’t notice a woman? She must be in her golden years.”
“She’s thirty,” he said, surprised by his defensive tone. “And if you’re that damn curious, she has long red hair, light blue eyes. She’s short, but then she’s also a former gymnast. She has great dimples. One’s more prominent than the other. I couldn’t tell much about her body because she was wearing baggy clothes, but from what I could see, I’d guess—” He halted his assessment when Mallory chuckled. “What’s so funny?”
She laughed again. “You. I could’ve sworn you said you didn’t notice her, and you’re describing her in more detail than my husband would probably describe me.”
Kieran hated to admit she was right, so he wouldn’t. “Where is Whit, anyway?” he asked, only then realizing his brother-in-law had been missing since the last of the O’Brien siblings and their significant others had left for home.
“He’s changing the twins’ diapers in the nursery,” she said. “And just a word of advice, Kieran. When you’re helping this woman with her fitness regime, you might want to look beyond the superficial. You might find that the old adage about skin-deep beauty is true. If you keep an open mind, she could be the perfect girl for you.”
Time to set his sibling straight. “First of all, I don’t get involved with clients. And secondly, she hasn’t agreed to the training sessions yet.”
Smiling, Mallory pulled the rag from her shoulder, tossed it aside and checked her watch. “Sorry to end this conversation, but the girls will be hollering for their bedtime feeding and Whit can’t help with that.”
Thank God for babies with an aversion to bottles. “Fine. I’ll see you later.”
Mallory started away but paused to face him again. “Before I go, let me add that I’m confident you’ll find a way to convince your new client…What’s her name?”
“Erica.”
“You’ll have Erica engaged in a strenuous workout in record time.”
Kieran had serious doubts about that, even though he couldn’t claim a lack of disappointment if she did turn him down, for reasons he didn’t care to explore. “Take my word for it. If Erica decides to get with the program, it won’t be because of me.”
“Are you still awake, Mom?”
At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Erica bolted upright and snapped on the lamp to find Stormy standing in the bedroom doorway. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she studied her child while fighting an edge of panic. Thankfully she didn’t see any indication that Stormy was in distress. No ashen cast to her round face. No blue tinge to her lips. No labored breathing. In fact, she looked precious in her pink satin pajamas with the rag-tag brown stuffed dog named Pokie clutched in her arms. But still Erica asked, “What’s wrong?”, a typical reaction resulting from all the nights something had been wrong.
Stormy frowned, as she’d been prone to do lately when she felt her mother was being too protective. “I’m okay, Mom. I just can’t sleep.”
Erica started to remind Stormy it was a school night and encourage her to try harder, but she recognized that in a scant few years, her daughter’s reliance on her would begin to fade more and more, as it should. In the meantime, she would cherish these moments when she could still chase away her daughter’s concerns. While they were still everything to each other, before boys and best friends claimed most of her baby’s time.
On that consideration, Erica scooted over and patted the space beside her. “Climb in.”
Stormy bounded across the room and jumped onto the bed, her strawberry-blond curls bouncing. A beautiful bundle of exuberance despite what she’d endured in her short lifetime—both numerous surgeries and the loss of her father.
After Stormy settled in, Erica draped an arm around her thin shoulder and pulled her close. “Did you have a bad dream, sweetie?”
Stormy shook her head. “I was just thinking about Daddy.”
Erica’s heart took a little tumble at her child’s wistful tone, and she wondered if Kieran helping Stormy with her homework had somehow prompted those memories. “I’m sure Daddy’s thinking about you, too.”
“From heaven,” Stormy said. “Do you think Daddy’s an angel, like Grandma says he is?”
Erica dearly wanted to believe in angels, but over the past few years, Jeff’s presence had begun to fade, even though she still resided in the house they’d leased when they’d moved to Houston to be closer to Stormy’s doctors. “If Grandma says it’s so, then it’s probably so.”
Stormy pulled the blanket to her chin as if she intended to stay awhile. “Tell me the story, Mom.”
Erica didn’t have to ask which story she meant; she’d recited it often enough. “You mean the night you were born?”
Stormy grinned and nodded.
Even
