from the big jar candle resting on the mantel of the small brick fireplace, and something that smelled suspiciously like fresh-baked cookies. Oatmeal-raisin cookies.
The ancient tole-painted wooden box nestled near the fireplace still housed various cars and trucks hand-crafted by her grandfather for her male cousins and half brother, along with a pair of well-loved baby dolls once shared by her, her half sister and a handful of female Norris cousins. The requisite coloring books and a fat round Christmas tin filled to the brim with crayons of every shade imaginable, now shared by the next generation, rested on top of the pile of toys. A generation, she suddenly realized, that would include her own child in a matter of months.
She needed time to come to terms with what had happened, which was why she hadn’t yet shared the news with her grandmother. Besides, if the state of disrepair around the property was any indication, Grandy had plenty enough to concern herself with and didn’t need to add worry over her unwed, pregnant granddaughter. Once Grandy was released from the hospital, and Emily assured herself that the time was right—when she had a firm plan in mind on exactly what she was going to do next—she’d tell her grandmother about the baby, about her loss of employment and all about Cheatin’ Charlie. So far, only she and Drew, along with Drew’s brother Cale, knew of her status as mother-to-be. In Emily’s opinion, that was already two too many people.
The screen door snapped shut, drawing her attention. “Where do you want these?” Drew asked her.
Her vocal chords refused to function at the sight of all that corded male arm muscle straining with the weight of her suitcases gripped in his large hands. She stared, fascinated.
“Emily? You’re not going to faint on me again are you?”
She shook her head, and pointed toward the hallway off the living room.
“Which room?” he called from the corridor.
“Second on the left,” she managed to answer. Apparently her capacity for speech worked just fine when she wasn’t staring at him like a loon.
Her tummy grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t had a thing to eat since her flight.
She headed into the kitchen in search of sustenance. In the fridge, as she suspected, Grandy had stocked up on Emily’s favorites. She considered a bowl of cottage cheese with fresh sliced strawberries and some dry toast, but didn’t think her self-appointed guardian would consider her choices much by way of a real meal. She dug a little deeper, found some American cheese slices and set them on the counter.
“Have you eaten?” she asked Drew when he sauntered into the kitchen. She didn’t possess one iota of her grandmother’s culinary gene, but she’d been known to manage just fine with a grilled cheese sandwich and a can of soup. Occasionally. If she was really, really careful.
“Actually, no.” He pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his trousers. “I thought we could order in. Maybe some Thai or Italian.”
She appreciated the thought, but wrinkled her nose just the same. Besides, she didn’t trust her stomach with food quite that solid or spicy. “Something a little less exotic, please. How does grilled cheese and a can of soup sound?”
The sexy tilt of his mouth, combined with the charming glint in his eyes, had her pulse revving all over again. How was it possible for one man to possess so much blatant sexual magnetism? It was a test, she decided. She’d sworn off men and she was being tested by some unseen entity with a wicked sense of humor. Well, she’d never flunked a test in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now. Her life had become a disaster within a twenty-four-hour period. She shouldn’t even be lusting after some guy, no matter how hot and bothered just looking at him made her.
“Boring,” he said. That way-too-charming smile never wavered.
He started pressing buttons on his phone then reached for the pad of paper and pen her grandmother kept handy on the counter.
Emily stepped as close as humanly possible to the open refrigerator, hoping the cool blast of air would quell those hot, hot images spurring to life. A wasteful wish if one ever existed.
“Would a BLT be exciting enough for you?” Maybe she could even manage to convince him to fry up the bacon since she usually charred the stuff beyond recognition. The beauty of living in New York was that just about anything could be delivered practically every hour of the day, even a BLT. A service she took advantage of plenty on a regular basis.
While Drew continued to jot down phone numbers, she wondered if Cheatin’ Charlie’s new lady lawyer cooked for him.
Drew flipped his cell phone shut and slipped it back inside his pocket, then shrugged those incredible line-backer-wide shoulders. “Why not? Want some help?”
This man had to have angel wings hidden somewhere on his body. Too bad she wasn’t interested—much. Obviously her pregnancy-induced hormones were running rampant because she had a feeling exploring that heavenly body to find them could be a whole lot of fun. “You do the bacon, I’ll do the rest.”
While Drew started the bacon, she avoided anything to do with actual meal preparation and set the table. Her tummy grumbled again thanks to the mouthwatering scents floating on the air. Thankfully Drew’s good manners kept him from commenting. Her own good manners fled the scene when she caught sight of the notepad on the counter.
She counted. Thirteen telephone numbers? And the names of thirteen different women.
Thirteen?
She glanced over her shoulder at Drew. Thirteen?
“Excuse me?”
“Uh…” She hadn’t realized she’d even spoken out loud. “You always this popular, or are you running a sale?”
He turned his head slightly to the side, a bewildered expression on his handsome face. “What are you talking about?”
She rolled her eyes. What had her first impression of him been? Oh yeah. A charmer. The kind of man incredibly dangerous to women who made a habit of picking the wrong guy. The kind she’d never be so foolish to ever fall for again. Especially when he was the kind who collected messages from thirteen different women.
She picked up the pad of paper and started reading. “Leanne, Karenna, Dora, Elise, Sophia and, oh—please—Tiffany?” She laughed and continued reading. “Wendy, Frenchie? Gee, I wonder what she’s known for. Debbie, Amanda, Tilly, Nina, and…”
She peered closer, but the last name was nearly illegible. “H.B? What is that? Code for hot babe?”
A true scoundrel’s grin curved his mouth, and heaven help her, she almost found him irresistible.
“No,” he said, his voice coated with humor. “It’s shorthand for Hannah’s Bakery.”
She dropped the tablet back on the counter, pretending disgust. “I don’t think I want to know what baked goods and a baker’s dozen of women have in common.”
“Since you asked—”
“I didn’t.”
The teasing glint in his eyes said otherwise. “Debbie is my aunt,” he explained. “Amanda is my brother’s fiancée and Tilly is my best friend.”
She
