got Nathaniel from his car seat, grabbed the sack of groceries and the diaper bag, then stared up the staircase. “Very cranky,” she repeated beneath her breath. “He wasn’t exactly Mr. Sunshine yesterday. How much worse can it be?”
She climbed the stairs and set the sack of groceries down, then knocked on the door.
“Go away.” Jack’s voice came from somewhere inside the house. “I said you were fired.”
Marissa drew a deep breath, then cracked open the door. “Mr. Coffey? It’s me, Marissa.” The door jerked out of her hand and she found herself face-to-face with the man himself.
“What in the hell are you doing here?”
It was apparent that he’d had a rough night. His hair stood askew and the stubble that darkened his cheeks and chin was thicker. His eyes were midnight-blue, with dark, bruiselike circles beneath. His appearance provoked a renewed burst of heartfelt guilt to seep through Marissa.
“I’ve come to make you some breakfast,” she said. He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. She grabbed the sack. “I—I brought everything I need.”
Nathaniel wiggled in her arms and pointed to Jack, who scowled irritably. “What did you bring?” he asked grudgingly.
“Ham and eggs, biscuits and milk to make gravy.”
He hesitated a moment, then stumbled away from the door. “Knock yourself out.”
Marissa entered the house and caught her breath. The first thing that stole her breath away was the view. The living room had one wall of glass, offering a splendid panorama of the beach and the ocean.
The second thing that made her catch her breath was the utter chaos that reigned in the room. The surface of the coffee table was covered with old newspapers, empty soda cans and a variety of fast-food wrappers.
The computer workstation in one corner of the room appeared to be an extension of the coffee table. More fast-food wrappers, empty cans and bottles of juice and stacks of paperwork covered the entire area. The carpeting needed vacuuming and what little wood she saw needed polishing.
“Don’t mind the mess,” he said as he sank onto the sofa where a bed pillow and a blanket awaited him. “I just fired my housekeeper.”
“I think I met her on the way in,” Marissa replied.
“She was supposed to work for me today, but stopped by to tell me there was an important bingo game and her sister the psychic told her today was her lucky day.”
“I wouldn’t consider getting fired particularly lucky,” Marissa exclaimed. “But she didn’t look too upset about losing her job.”
Jack sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Hell no, she wasn’t upset. She intentionally aggravates me so I’ll fire her because she knows I’ll call her to come back and she’ll decline and I’ll offer her a raise and she’ll come back.”
He might be cranky, but at least he was more talkative this morning than he’d been yesterday, Marissa thought.
“I see you brought the death squad with you,” he said. “Don’t you have a husband to watch him while you pursue your mission of mercy?”
“No, I don’t.” Marissa wasn’t about to get into a conversation about her personal life. She decided to take immediate control of the situation. “Why don’t you just lie down and rest and I’ll have a good breakfast for you in a little while.”
He nodded, eased himself into a prone position, then pointed to the doorway behind her. “The kitchen is that way.”
Marissa stifled a groan of dismay as she entered the kitchen. Although it was a large, homey room, at the moment it was a little too homey. The sink was filled with dirty dishes and the counters were cluttered with the leftovers of several meals.
The man was a pig, Marissa thought. This mess wasn’t the result of a man with a broken leg and fingers trying to feed himself. This mess hadn’t made itself in the past twenty-four hours. It had taken at least three to four days to achieve this maximum sloppy condition.
She placed Nathaniel on the floor and gave him several of his favorite toys that she’d brought along. With him happily entertained, she got to work.
Jack had just spent the most miserable night of his life. He’d never been good at illness. Edmund had once told him he was the most miserable patient on the face of the earth.
Jack couldn’t help it. He hated feeling weak, helpless. He closed his eyes, the sound of activity coming from the kitchen oddly comforting.
His first inclination when Marissa had arrived had been to send her packing. He knew it was guilt that drove her to come here. She should feel guilty.
Hell, that kid of hers had intentionally tripped him up. Jack didn’t particularly want to assuage her guilt, nor did he want anything whatsoever to do with her and her child.
But that first impulse to send her packing had changed the moment she’d mentioned breakfast. He hadn’t eaten at all when he’d returned home yesterday and this morning he was starving.
No husband, she’d said. So where was the kid’s father? Not that he cared. Not that he really wanted to know. He eyed the kitchen doorway. Maybe he should go in there and sort of supervise.
Decision made, he pulled himself up from the sofa and with his crutches hobbled into the kitchen where Marissa was cleaning off a stack of dirty dishes and the kid was sitting on the floor, probably thinking about his next victim.
Marissa turned at the sound of his approach. She flashed him a quick smile. “Afraid I’m after the Coffey silver?”
“Hardly,” he replied as he sank into one of the chairs at the table. “If you’re looking for silver or china, you’ve come to the wrong place. I figured I’d better sit in here and watch to make sure Dennis the Menace doesn’t set the room on fire while you aren’t looking.”
He frowned as the kid banged the bottom of an empty pot with a wooden spoon. He hit it several times, then smiled up at Jack, as if awaiting a compliment on his rhythmic skills.
Jack averted his gaze, and within seconds the kid lost interest in the pot and instead played with a set of plastic measuring spoons. Jack focused on the woman busily cleaning up the mess he’d assumed Maria would be cleaning today.
“You don’t have to clean up the whole place just to make breakfast,” he said.
She turned and smiled once again. “I don’t mind. I don’t work well in chaos. Besides, I feel partially responsible for you firing your housekeeper this morning.”
“Why do you feel responsible?”
Leaning against the counter, she shrugged. “You probably wouldn’t have fired her if you hadn’t been particularly cranky this morning from your injuries.”
He stared at her, surprised at her audacity in claiming he was cranky. “That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed. “I’m not more cranky this morning than I ever am. Besides, this is the sixth time I’ve fired Maria in the last three years. She irritates me on a regular
