top of the plastic cup and set it on the round oak table to his right.
It was strange, this big kitchen and eating space, with kids’ school pictures framed on the walls—the clothes and hairstyles from decades ago. Through the picture window next to the table he saw half of an old-fashioned metal swing set and slide, in good repair, as if someone had painted it not too long ago. “Ben didn’t say. Do you live here alone?”
“Yep. It’s way too big for me, but the memories here are good ones. What would you like to drink?”
“Ben said you were a waitress. I can see you’re probably an excellent one.”
“It’s a hard job, tougher than people realize. But it’s the family business, and I like it because I get to make all the chocolate milk shakes I want.” She waited, hand on the refrigerator door, one slim brow lifted in a silent question. “What’ll it take to wet your whistle, sir?”
“If you’ve got root beer in there, I’ll be eternally in your debt.”
“I’ll hold you to that, soldier.” With a wink, she reached inside the well-organized fridge and withdrew two more soda cans.
Before she could snag him one of those breakable glasses neatly organized in the cupboard on the shelf above the cartoon cups, he stole the can out of her hand. “I’m not used to being waited on. Put me to work.”
“Work?” She looked him up and down, taking in the strong and capable look of him. “Don’t tempt me, or I’ll take you up on it.”
He perused her big pink slippers and her comfy clothes and the fact that she hadn’t had time to do up her hair into anything remotely involving hair spray and gels or whatever it was women put in their hair. That said everything. “Did you have other plans before Ben strong-armed you into doing this tonight?”
“Plans with the couch and an old movie. Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow night. Or the next night.” She poured the contents of her can into the plastic mug, and the sweet-smelling pink liquid fizzed. “Wait!”
He had hold of the cup the instant she stopped pouring.
“Hey, what are you doing taking my strawberry soda?”
“What? Do you think I’m stealing it from you?”
“That’s what it looks like. I call things like I see ’em.”
“And what, that look of outrage is because you didn’t know you were letting a strawberry soda bandit into your house?”
“That, and you’re setting a very bad example for Sally.”
“Is that true, Sal?” He sent a wink to his niece, who’d seated herself at the table and was sipping from the cup with both hands.
Her solemn gaze met his over the wide rim. Strawberry soda stained her mouth as she said the words of betrayal. “Stealing’s wrong, Uncle Jake.”
“Hey, I’m one of the good guys. Or at least that’s what they tell me.” And because he knew what it was like to put in a long hard workweek, he wasn’t about to give up the glass of soda. “How about I wait on you? You said you had a date with the couch?”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“I never joke, ma’am. I’m an air force commando. Duty is my name.”
“Yeah, yeah, you forget I have a brother who spouts that macho stuff all the time.” She waved him off as if she knew better, as if she had his number.
Fine. The trouble was, now that he wasn’t worrying about a rampaging moose, he could get a real good look at her. He liked what he saw. She was petite, there was no other word for her. Delicate, for lack of a better word. She had the clearest, creamiest skin he’d ever seen, and the gentlest manner.
A real nice woman. He wasn’t about to impose on her like a deadbeat. No, he wasn’t that kind of man, although he read her look of skepticism loud and clear. That was okay. He wasn’t bothered by it.
“Follow me,” he said, trusting that she would.
Chapter Three
She did follow him. Jake monitored the pad of her slippers against the carpet a good two to three paces behind him. “That’s it. Keep coming.”
“I want my strawberry soda back in the kitchen where it belongs.” She didn’t have a sharp voice or an angry edge. No, she was all softness and warm humor, as if he were amusing her to the nth degree.
He wasn’t used to softness and humor, not in his life of duty and service. So, he thought he’d enjoy the chance to amuse her some more. “Is there a house rule about keeping all food and beverages in the kitchen?”
“There is, as a matter of fact.”
“Funny. I didn’t see a sign.”
“It has to be a sign?”
“Sure. If it’s not written down, it’s not a law I have to follow.”
“Yeah? Then for you I’ll make an exception.”
He liked the rumbling music of her chuckle. It was an appealing sound, one a man could get used to. Nice.
And so was the house, he thought as he stepped inside the sizeable living room. Spacious. Comfortable. It was the kind of place a guy could get used to putting his feet up on that scuffed coffee table that sat in the middle of a big sink-into-me sectional. The TV was big and new, and in the winter this would sure be a great spot to sit and watch football with a fire in the gray rock fireplace.
He used an old television guide as a coaster and left the drink on the coffee table within easy reach. “Sit there. Put your feet up.”
“That would be rude considering I’m supposed to be cooking you dinner.”
He held out his hand, palm up and waited for her to take it. “C’mon. I’m the guest, right? So humor me.”
“My mother taught me to be wary of men wanting to be humored.”
“Sounds like your mama raised you right. And so did mine. It may be hard to believe to look at me, but I’ve got a few manners.” He shifted closer to her with his hand still out, still waiting. “What’s it going to be? Are you going to do what I ask? Or am I gonna have to make ya?”
“Men.” Rachel sized up the commando in her living room, with his dazzling grin and his hand held out, palm up, waiting for her to place her fingers there. “Suddenly I remember why it is that I’m single.”
“Those bunny slippers?”
He clearly thought he was a comedian, but he wasn’t nearly as funny as he thought. “No, judging by my slippers you might be misled to think men have avoided me on purpose.”
“I don’t think that, believe me.”
“But it’s been my choice. Most men are bossy.”
“We’re
