Well, that was good. Undoubtedly kids developed differently, but Jeremy was probably past that stage. Not that it mattered. Alex McKenzie hadn’t given any sign of being interested in her, so she wasn’t likely to see much of either him or his son.
It was so depressing. Her love life was a disaster area. She wanted an honest relationship with the right man, but what if the “right” man didn’t want someone like her?
“What’s up, Shannon?”
She shrugged, though her sister couldn’t see the gesture. “A little boy moved in next door, that’s all. He’s really cute, and I started thinking about diapers and stuff. It doesn’t mean anything, except I got curious.”
“Are you sure that’s all?”
“Positive.”
Shannon said good-bye and dropped the receiver with disgust. It had to be her biological clock ticking that made her ask stupid questions. She was twenty-eight years old and unmarried—and unlikely ever to be married at the rate she was going, so of course her clock was screaming.
Shaking her head, Shannon walked up to the bedroom to change into a pair of sweats and then began to run on the treadmill in her spare room.
She had a great family, a terrific job, made plenty of money, and was perfectly comfortable, she told herself in time with her steps. It wasn’t the end of the world if the love of her life never showed up. Of course, it was hard to keep believing that with the rest of the world obsessed with love, and her own family acting as if Cupid had gone target-happy with his bow and arrows. Even Neil, her brother who had once equated marriage with the plague, had fallen off the deep end. So now Neil had Libby. Her oldest brother, Kane, had Beth and baby daughter, Robin. Patrick had Maddie and their new son, Jarod. Dylan and his wife, Kate, were expecting a baby. Only her youngest brother, Connor, was still unattached. Of course, her sisters weren’t married, though Kathleen was divorced. Shannon grimaced at the thought of Kathleen’s ex-husband. There were worse things than being single…like having a cheating spouse who’d run off when you were almost nine months pregnant with twins.
A half hour later the doorbell rang and Shannon stopped the machine. She wiped her face with a towel, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and took a swig on her way to the door.
“Who is that?” she called on her way downstairs to the door.
She peeped through the curtain and gulped at the sight of Alex and Jeremy McKenzie.
“Isn’t this just perfect?” she mumbled. Her face was flushed, her hair damp, and she was wearing an old pair of sweats. Well, it couldn’t be helped, so she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders as she opened the door. You could get through the worst situation by acting as if you owned the world.
“Hi.”
“Hello.” Alex’s velvet-rough voice rubbed over her edgy nerves like a silky cat. “Jeremy wanted to be sure you weren’t mad at us.”
Mad?
Shannon thought for a moment, then recalled the way Alex had seemed to mock Kane, her darling oldest brother. She was willing to give him a second chance, especially with Jeremy looking at her with that anxious expression in his eyes.
“I’m not mad,” she said, looking down at Jeremy and smiling. He really was the dearest child, with such a sweet, sad, worried little face. No wonder her scant motherly instincts were clamoring for attention. How could anyone fail to adore him?
“It’s for you,” Jeremy said, holding out a poinsettia wrapped in green foil and banded by a big gold ribbon and bow. “Can we come in?”
“Of course you may,” Shannon said over Alex’s attempts to shush his son. She stepped back and raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” Alex muttered.
“Oooh,” exclaimed Jeremy. He’d marched into the center of the living room, and stared transfixed at the Christmas tree, winking and glowing in the corner.
Alex understood his son’s fascination. It was a great tree, and at its base a small train ran around and around a miniature Victorian town at the foot of a snowy mountain. The houses were lit, ice-skaters twirled around a silver lake, and even the small street lamps twinkled.
“Sorry about how I look, you caught me exercising,” Shannon said. She made no attempt at feminine fussing, and since she was flat-out beautiful with her healthy flush and sexy, mussed hair, it wasn’t necessary.
“You look fine,” Alex muttered.
In the soft glow from the Christmas tree her hair was a deep rich auburn, and he had a crazy urge to run his fingers through the silken strands, to discover if it was as soft as it looked. It occurred to him that she might not be a natural redhead since there wasn’t a freckle in sight on her peach complexion, but he shoved the thought away. Whether she was or wasn’t didn’t concern him. And he’d certainly never see the proof.
“Well…thanks for the plant,” Shannon said. She put it by the fireplace, smiling at Jeremy as he tore his gaze away from the tree. “This is so pretty. Did you pick it out all by yourself?”
“Uh-huh,” he said.
“That was nice of you. You got the best poinsettia I’ve ever seen.”
Jeremy’s smile was like sunshine, and Alex blinked. Where was his shy little boy? The grief-stricken, barely talking, rabbit-clutching four-year-old?
“Mr. Tibbles said to get that one.”
“You and Mr. Tibbles have good taste.” She glanced at Alex. “I don’t keep many treats around the house, but are lemon drops on the okay list?”
“They’re fine,” he agreed, still bemused.
Shannon took a crystal dish from the mantel and removed the lid before offering its contents to Jeremy. Soon his son was sucking on lemon sours and playing with the controls of the train gliding around the extravagant Christmas tree. Steam even came from the top of the engine when a button was pressed on the control panel. Jeremy seemed to enjoy that part especially, along with the train’s abrupt stops and starts.
Alex warned Jeremy to be careful, but Shannon seemed unconcerned that the expensive set might be in danger.
“It’s all right,” she said. “Would you like some soda?”
“We don’t want to be any trouble.”
“If you were trouble, I’d tell you.”
Undoubtedly she would. Shannon O’Rourke was direct, self-assured and definitely wouldn’t pussyfoot around. She was also the walking, talking embodiment of everything he’d avoided his entire life—an explosion of emotion and passion wrapped up in flame-colored hair and flashing eyes.
“Tell you what,” she said. “If you haven’t eaten dinner yet, we can order some pizza. I’m out of milk for Jeremy, but maybe they can bring some with the delivery.”
He wanted to say no. He even opened his mouth to say no, only one look at his son’s ecstatic face changed his mind. Jeremy loved pizza, but his mother had declared it was unhealthy for children, so they’d
