“I realize I come off as an old-fashioned stick-in-the-mud kind of guy,” he said, “but a couple of years back, I actually invested in a modern-day gizmo called a dishwasher.”
Dara grinned as Noah carried the nearly empty lasagna tray to the sink. “Amazing contraption,” he continued. “Put the dirty dishes in, close the door, and voilà! Clean dishes!”
“I stand corrected, Mr. Lucas.”
“‘Noah,’ Miss Mackenzie.”
“‘Dara,’ Mr. Lucas.”
He chuckled, tore off a sheet of aluminum foil and covered the leftover lasagna. “We could go on this way long into the night.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stay long into the night. In fact,” she said, standing on tiptoe at the window, “I should probably have left half an hour ago. I imagine the snow has started to mount up by now.”
Noah flipped a switch near the back door, flooding the yard with light.
Dara gasped. “Oh, my goodness! It’s white, as far as the eye can see, and still coming down like crazy.” She glanced at Noah, who had parted the miniblinds to stare out the half window in the back door. “How deep do you think it is?”
He squinted into the snowy night. “The bottom step is completely buried, and the snow is halfway up the second.” He met her eyes. “If I had to guess, I’d say there’s more than a foot.” He snapped the blinds shut. “We could get another twelve inches before it’s over.”
“But it’s not even Thanksgiving yet!” Dara glanced at the wall clock, then gasped. “How could it be nearly nine o’clock already!”
Noah shrugged. “Time sure flies when you’re having fun?”
“I suppose,” she said distractedly, looking out the window again. “I hope they’ve plowed the roads. I don’t know if my car will make it through a foot of snow otherwise.”
He held out his hand. “Let’s take a gander out the front window and see if the plows have been by or not.”
Hesitantly, she put her hand into his and let him lead her down the hall and into the living room. Had she done or said something to make him think she’d accepted his invitation because she was interested in him? The last thing on her mind had been romance!
Well, not the last thing, but romance certainly hadn’t been the primary reason for the visit. Her plan had been simple and straightforward: hire Noah Lucas to help her prove that her father had not committed a crime. She hadn’t expected to have an opportunity to discuss the arrangement this evening, what with the children around, but she had presumed the dinner would be a good start, a place to establish the rapport required to make the question possible…later.
Dara didn’t know if she’d define what they’d established tonight as “rapport,” but something had developed between them, or that almost kiss wouldn’t have happened in the kitchen earlier.
She blamed it on tension, hers and Noah’s. He hadn’t so much as hinted at that distasteful Pinnacle matter, to give him his due, but it was there anyway, like a translucent fog. Her nerves had been in a knot since he’d first told her about the charges against her father. Surely it was on Noah’s mind, too, since he’d have to be the one to start the prosecution ball rolling.
“I thought you might like the opportunity to replace the money,” Noah had offered, even before she’d taken a seat that first day, “before I make my report to Kurt Turner, if I can legitimately attest that the funds are here…”
Dara had a respectable sum piled up in her savings account, and she’d invested a few dollars in the stock market, as well. But two hundred thousand?
He’d been reserved, businesslike, coldly calculating up until that point, but the moment she admitted she couldn’t put her hands on that kind of money, his demeanor changed. His frown had deepened, and he dug into the file as if he’d gone back a hundred years in time, to some dusty Texas town where a rustler had escaped the jailer’s wagon. In a snap, it was as though he saw himself headin’ up the posse that would hunt down the bad guy, then hold him till the sheriff showed up to haul the varmint off to the hoosegow.
She could tell by the way he attacked this case that he could be as determined as a bloodhound, as ruthless as a pit bull. If she could harness that tenacity, put it to work on her father’s behalf…
“How can I get you on my side?” she intended to ask. Cut and dried. Period. From what little she knew of him, a man like that would probably admire her straightforwardness, because she’d be speaking his language.
A man like what?
He wasn’t cold and heartless. At least, not entirely. He was strict with the children, but what choice did he have, when circumstances had forced him to be both mother and father to them?
He was still holding her hand when they walked into his living room, where the children lay on their stomachs, chins propped in upturned palms, staring at the TV.
“What are you watching?” Noah asked.
“Some show about angels.” Angie rolled over to face her father. “See that man with the long blond hair?”
He nodded.
“He’s one of the angels. Can you believe it? I didn’t know there were such things as boy angels.”
Chuckling, Noah said, “Some of the most powerful angels in God’s kingdom were boys. There was the archangel Gabriel, remember, and Michael, and—”
“Boat angels are no big deal,” Bobby said.
“Boat angels?” Dara asked.
Sitting cross-legged, the boy faced her. “You know, like the ones on the ark?”
Dara smiled. “Ark-angels. Of course.” And laughing, she said, “You’re an angel. A nutty one.”
The show’s credits scrolled up the screen as Noah said, “It’s after nine, kids. Time for bed.”
“But there won’t be any school tomorrow, Father. The weatherman said so, because of all the snow outside.”
“You’re probably right, Angie, but you’ve both been up since six.” He smiled. “Now, say good-night to Miss Mackenzie and run upstairs. I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in and hear your prayers.”
Without another word of protest, the children turned off the TV.
“Thank you for the dessert, Miss Mackenzie,” Bobby said.
Angie nodded. “It was delicious.”
Dara laid her hands on their shoulders. “I had a wonderful time. And to prove it, maybe I’ll teach you to make ice-cream-cone cakes sometime soon.”
Cheery faces tilted up to meet her eyes. “Really? When?”
“We’ll discuss it in the morning,” Noah interrupted gently. “Now, scoot! Call me when you’ve changed into
