in the air? You and Kate and Callie aren’t supposed to fly home until tomorrow.”
“My plans changed, Mom. What’s going on?”
“It’s your father.”
“Is he okay?”
“No. The man’s as far from okay as he always is. He’s adamant that you and your brothers and their families have Thanksgiving with him and that trashy blonde he’s taken up with.”
Arrrrgh! Dawn vowed an instant and painful death for whichever of her brothers or sisters-in-law had told Maureen about Doreen.
“I know you’re all coming here for Christmas,” her mother continued, “but I would think that at least one of you wouldn’t want me to be alone over Thanksgiving.”
“Mom...”
“It’s not like he’ll put a decent meal on the table. The man burns water, for pity’s sake.”
“Mom...”
“And I’ll be very surprised if that woman can cook. I hear she—”
“Mo-ther!”
That was met with a thunderous silence. Dawn used the few seconds of dead air to do the mental ten count she resorted to so often when dealing with either of her parents. Modulating her voice, she repeated her previous refusal to enter into another holiday war.
“I told you, I’m not getting in the middle of this battle.”
Then an escape loomed, and she grabbed it with both hands.
“As a matter of fact, I may not be able to spend Thanksgiving with either Dad or you.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve just started a new project.”
“So? Boston’s less than ninety miles from home. Even if you have to work the day before and after the holiday, you could zip over and right back.”
“Actually, I won’t be doing this project in Boston. That’s why I flew home from Italy a day early. To, ah, consult with the people I’ll be working with and get everything set up. I’m in DC now.”
Which wasn’t a lie. It just didn’t offer up specific details about the “project.” Her mother would be as skeptical as Kate and Callie about this nanny gig. Even the sparse details Dawn now provided left her peevish.
“You might have told me about this special project,” she sniffed, “instead of just letting all this drop after the fact.”
“I didn’t decide to do it until just a few days ago.”
“Have you told your father?”
“Not yet.”
As expected, the fact that Maureen was privy to information that her ex-husband wasn’t soothed at least some of her ruffled feathers. Dawn moved quickly to exploit the momentary lull.
“I have to go, Mom. I’ll call you when I know where I’ll be on this project come Thanksgiving.”
Or not!
Shoving the phone in the back pocket of her jeans, she went out the back door of the gatehouse. Shadows dimmed the vibrant scarlet and gold of the dahlias in the walled-in backyard, and early fall leaves skittered across the flagstones of the covered walkway connecting the gatehouse to the main house.
It was still early. Only a little past 6:00 p.m. Yet the patch of sky visible above the brick-walled garden was already shading to a deep, federal blue. Appropriate, Dawn thought as her sense of humor seeped back, for a suburb jammed with Washington bureaucrats.
The main house looked big and solid and welcoming. Light streamed through the windows of its country-style kitchen. She could see Brian at the counter with his back to the window. She stopped for a moment, surprised and annoyed by the little flutter just under her ribs.
“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered to her elongated shadow on the walkway. “The man made his feelings clear enough on the plane. Just go in, make nice and keep all lascivious thoughts to yourself.”
Determined to obey that stern admonition, she rapped on the kitchen door.
“It’s open!”
She walked in and was greeted by music piping through the house speakers. Something low and jazzy, with lots of sax and horn. A pretty wild sax, as it turned out.
Dawn cocked her head as the notes suddenly soared to a crashing crescendo, dropped into a reedy trough and took flight again, all within the few seconds it took for Brian to reach for his phone and reduce the volume.
“Sorry. I have my phone synced to the kitchen unit and tend to let the music rip. Help yourself to wine if you want it. That’s a pretty decent Malbec.” He jerked his chin toward the bottle left open to breathe. “Or there’s white in the fridge.”
“Malbec’s good.”
She poured a glass and studied him while she took an appreciative sip. Judging by the damp gleam in his chestnut hair, he’d showered, too. He’d also changed out of his suit into jeans and a baggy red T-shirt sporting the logo of the Washington Nationals baseball team.
He hadn’t shaved, though. She normally didn’t go for the bristly, male model look, but on Ellis it looked good. So good, it was a few seconds before she thought to look around for his son.
“Where’s Tommy?”
“Dead to the world.”
He sliced tomatoes with the precision of an engineer. Which he was, she remembered, and wondered why she’d never considered engineers particularly sexy before.
“He barely made it upstairs before he conked out. I got him out of his clothes and into bed, but I expect his internal clock will have him up and watching cartoons at 3:00 a.m.” He shot her a glance that was half apology, half warning. “He may be a little hard to handle until he’s back on schedule.”
“I’ll make sure he burns off his excess energy at the zoo tomorrow. And if he gets on my nerves too badly, I’ll just hang him by the heels over the polar bear pool.” She held up a palm, grinning at his look of alarm. “I’m kidding!”
“Yeah, well...” He added the tomato slices to a platter of lettuce, sweet-smelling onions and cheese. “I’ve considered something along those lines a time or two myself.”
“Then he looks up at you with those wide, innocent eyes,” she said, laughing, “and you can’t remember what the heck got you all wrapped around the axle.”
“That pretty well sums it up. BLTs okay? Or there’s sliced chicken breast in the fridge.”
“A BLT sounds great.”
“White, whole wheat or pumpernickel?”
“Pumpernickel. Definitely pumpernickel. I’ll do that,” she offered when he extracted an uncut
