To Protect and Cherish Read online

  He gave a short laugh. “That’s one of the terms Dorothy used.”

  “Do you have a lot of family?”

  “I didn’t build the house for family,” he answered tersely and left it at that.

  Maybe he’d built it as a status symbol. Or maybe it wasn’t as big as she was imagining.

  Laughter and chatter were coming from the kitchen, and she motioned toward it. “As you can hear, everyone’s in there.” Taking a deep breath, Anita decided she might as well get this over with. If he didn’t like little boys, they were sunk, because Corey and Jared were all boy.

  As soon as Anita stepped into the kitchen, she could have groaned. Of all the days for the boys to be finger painting with chocolate pudding.

  Over at the sink, Inez Jamison was washing dishes in soapy water. She was almost sixty and wore her gray hair in a thick braid that dangled between her shoulder blades. She was plump, and as she turned, her round face wore a smile. When she spied Tate, the smile faded as her brown eyes sped to Anita for an explanation.

  Corey and Jared, oblivious to the adults, were happily smearing pudding on each other’s papers. They had the dessert in their red hair and in between freckles on their faces. It looked as if they’d been eating more of it than painting with it. They were loud and laughing, and Anita was afraid she’d already lost the housekeeping position.

  “Boys,” she called clearly in a firm tone above the ruckus.

  After sloshing his pudding-covered hand over Jared’s paper, Corey looked up at her.

  Jared elbowed his brother, giggled and then gave his mother his attention. “Hey, Mom, you’re home. Look what we’re doin’.”

  In spite of herself and the situation, Anita had to smile. Going over to her boys, she found a spot on each of their cheeks that wasn’t sticky and kissed them.

  As they’d been doing lately, they both shied away.

  “Aw, Mom,” Jared complained, “don’t get mushy.”

  When she heard a chuckle come from Tate, she thought that might be a good sign. “I’m going to be mushy until you’re eighteen, then I’ll think about not being mushy. I want you to meet somebody.”

  Now both boys stared at Tate.

  “Mr. Pardell, these are my sons, Corey and Jared.” She laid a hand on each of their heads as she said their names. “And this is Inez Jamison. She’s my neighbor and good friend.”

  Tate tipped his Stetson. “It’s good to meet you all.”

  “And just who are you?” Inez asked, drying her hands on a towel. Inez was always point-blank forward and said what she thought.

  Tate took off his Stetson and held it in one hand. “I run a construction company.”

  “You’re thinking about constructing something here?” Inez asked, eyebrows raised.

  At that, Tate chuckled again. “Not exactly. I’m interviewing Mrs. Sutton for a job.”

  “Corey, Jared,” Anita said again, taking their attention from smearing goop on each other. “Why don’t you go wash up?”

  “Aw, Mom.” The wail came from Jared.

  “If you wash up now without complaining, I might let you go outside and play baseball.”

  “Beat you to the bathroom,” Corey said to his brother, and like lightning, was off the chair and down the hall. Jared ran after him.

  “They sure can move fast when there’s something they want to do. I’d better make sure you don’t end up with pudding on your shower curtain,” Inez commented, looking after them.

  “They’re a little rowdy at times, but they’re good boys,” she told Tate. “And you won’t find a better mother anywhere. Marie’s a little angel, and if you can’t appreciate that—”

  Gently, Anita draped her arm around Inez’s shoulders. “I can handle it from here. Marie’s napping?”

  “Been down about an hour. She’ll be waking up soon. It might take a little while to wash up the boys. I think they both got pudding on their shirts. I’ll find them clean ones.”

  After Inez left the kitchen, Anita looked around at the small space that appeared as if a tornado had hit it. The Formica table, as well as the construction paper, was smeared with chocolate pudding. Finished paintings lay drying on the counter, while an overturned dump truck blocked the back door. One of the boys’ baseball caps had fallen from its peg on the wall.

  Suddenly, Jared was back in the kitchen, still sticky.

  “You’re not washed up yet,” Anita noted.

  “Corey’s going first. I had a question for Mr. Pardell.”

  Uh-oh. Anita never knew what was going to come out of Jared’s mouth.

  “I want to know if I can try on your hat.”

  Embarrassed, Anita grabbed Jared’s hand right before he got chocolate pudding on Tate’s hat. “Whoa. Mr. Pardell doesn’t want to buy a new Stetson. It’s really not polite to ask if you can try on someone else’s clothes.”

  “Why not?” Jared wanted to know.

  His whys somehow had her thinking up very creative answers. This time, she said simply, “Clothes are personal and private. Remember, we’ve talked about private?”

  “Just like we talked about strangers and not going anywhere with them. Are you a stranger?” he asked Tate.

  Crouching down, Tate looked the boy in the eye. “Yes, I’m a stranger now. But if we get to know one another better, then we won’t be strangers.”

  “You mean like playing ball together or somethin’?”

  “Playing ball more than one time. And only if your mom approved.”

  The five-year-old seemed to think that over. “How long does it take until you’re not a stranger anymore?”

  Tate glanced up at Anita, then back at her son. “That’s a very good question and I’m not sure.” He pointed to Jared’s chest and tapped it. “You have to know in there that the other person likes you, won’t hurt you and isn’t going to be gone so fast you’ll never see him again.”

  Cocking his head, Jared mulled it over, then asked, “You mean like a man coming to the door selling something?”

  “Exactly.” Tate stood once more.

  “So if we was friends, I could try on your Stetson?”

  Anita could see Tate was trying to suppress a grin. “If we were friends, I think I’d let you try on my Stetson.” He looked down at the little boy’s hands. “If your hands were clean.”

  “Are you going to be our friend?”

  Anita had had enough. If Jared’s questions hadn’t made Tate turn tail and run yet, they soon would. She nudged her son toward the bathroom. “Go wash up now. If that pudding dries too much, you won’t be able to get it off.”

  “I’ll have to go to school like this,” he said gleefully.

  Shaking her head, Anita practically walked her son to the bathroom, then came back to face Tate.

  “I’m sorry about all that,” Anita began. “Five-year-olds are full of questions. But we’d respect your privacy.” Whether he believed her or not, Anita couldn’t tell.

  Tate nodded to the hall. “Your daughter’s sleeping?”

  “Yes. But we can peek in. Like I said, she’s a sound sleeper.” Maybe if she could convince him of that it would help.

  When Tate walked into Anita’s bedroom, he felt an increase in the turmoil he’d begun to experience standing in her kitchen. His family had broken apart, piece by piece, when he was a kid, and he’d felt responsible. He’d felt as if he were to blame for his brother’s death. Because they’d lost Jeremy, his parents had gotten divorced, so he’d always carried the burden of that, too. In his adult life, he’d worked, bedded women and worked some more, telling himself he was happy with his freedom…happy being responsible only for himself. Yet, as he’d stepped into Anita Sutton’s kitchen, seen firsthand the bond between her and her boys and the neighbor who helped her out, he’d remembered what it felt like to be part of a family. An old yearning had kicked him in the gut and was still doing it.

  On top of that, he now realized the baby didn’t have her own bedroom. Her crib was situate
d beside Anita’s bed. The living room had smelled like cinnamon. In this room, he caught a whiff of vanilla, and then he saw the potpourri dish on the dresser. There was an inexpensive perfume bottle there, and a small wooden chest. The coverlet on the bed was pale-blue, which he figured must be Anita’s favorite color since it was prominent in the living room, too. When his gaze veered to the bed, he was bombarded by images of himself holding Anita in it. That was absolutely insane! He didn’t even know the woman. And he certainly didn’t want his life disrupted by three kids in his house, did he?

  As he followed Anita to the other side of the bed, he saw the little girl in the crib. There was such an odd feeling in his chest that he didn’t know what to make of it. Inez Jamison had called her an “angel,” and she certainly looked like one. Her strawberry-blond hair curled in ringlets as she lay on her side, sucking her thumb. Dressed in a yellow terry cloth playsuit, she was absolutely oblivious to them. He caught the whiff of a sweet, clean smell as he stepped closer to the crib.

  “She’s beautiful,” he murmured, his throat constricting a little.

  “I think so, too,” Anita said softly.

  Still looking down at the baby, he asked, “She was born after your husband died?”

  “Six weeks after.”

  He could only imagine how hard that must have been for Anita, to go through labor and delivery all alone. He was getting the feeling that she was a strong woman.

  “How did your husband die?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  There was a momentary hesitation before Anita responded. “He was a flagman on a road construction crew. He was handling traffic on a curve at dusk. It had started raining and another crew member said he stepped out into the lane of traffic for something. The driver didn’t see him because Larry had taken off his vest.”

  Tate’s gaze met hers. “I’m sorry.” He was sorry for her on more than one account. If the driver had been at fault, she would have received an insurance settlement. As it was, the blame had been with her deceased husband.

  “He didn’t have life insurance?”

  “The company provided a small policy, but it just paid for the funeral expenses.”

  They were both beside the crib now, standing very close. Tate wanted to reach out and finger one of Anita’s curls. He wanted to run his thumb over those freckles and kiss her pretty lips.

  What was wrong with him? They were standing here, talking about her deceased husband, and he wanted to kiss her!

  Yet, he could see there was an awareness of him as a man in her eyes, as well as questions, curiosity and hope. It was the hope that got to him.

  He said gruffly, “We’d better go back to the living room to talk.” Then he broke eye contact and strode away from the crib and Anita.

  If he knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t even consider her for the housekeeper position. He didn’t want his life turned upside down. He certainly didn’t want to hear the pitter-patter of footsteps around the house, did he?

  The pitter-patter of footsteps. Children’s laughter. Questions only five-year-olds could come up with.

  Anita had followed him to the living room and now gently touched his elbow. He felt that touch through his denim sleeve, all the way to—

  “Mr. Pardell, don’t make a decision right now. Let me cook that meal for you.”

  “You want to convince me through my stomach?” he asked with an arched brow.

  “If I have to.”

  Suddenly he wondered what else she’d do to get the job. Was she like Donna? Did she believe once she finagled her way into his life she could use him to make herself secure? To give herself position in the community? To buy her every heart’s desire?

  Her green eyes seemed so sincere. He knew she really did need this job. “You want to cook with or without your kids underfoot?”

  “Inez might be able to watch them tomorrow, if that’s what you have in mind.”

  “Do you pay her to watch them?”

  “We use the bartering system. She never learned to drive, so I run errands for her and do her grocery shopping.”

  “What did she do before you became her neighbor?”

  “She would make more than one trip from the corner grocery. Everything was more expensive there, so I save her money by shopping for her at the discount store, too.”

  “I see. And what would happen if you do get this job?”

  “I could still run errands for her and shop for groceries on my day off. I would have a day off, wouldn’t I?”

  “Of course. Sunday and one other day of the week you pick. I’m not a slave driver.”

  “That’s good to know,” she said agreeably.

  She was walking him down a flowered lane, making him imagine her in his house, her food in his stomach. She wasn’t only strong; she was smart, too.

  “All right. If you want to cook a meal for me, cook a meal. I’ll set it up with the manager at Blake’s Market over on Kingston. Buy whatever you need and he’ll put it on my tab. What time do you think you’ll have to start?”

  “What would you like me to make? What’s your favorite meal?”

  “I don’t have a favorite.”

  “Do you watch your diet?”

  “If you mean, am I a health nut? No. Though I do eat chicken once in a while instead of beef.”

  “How about fried chicken, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans and an apple pie?”

  She really wanted this job, and he knew he was going to regret this, but he said, “That sounds fine.”

  “Great. Then I’ll be over about three in the afternoon and we’ll plan supper for six. Will you be home?”

  “I’ll be there. I’m having two horses delivered tomorrow.”

  “I’ll need directions.”

  “Go south on Longhorn, five miles past the traffic light. Turn left onto Pine Grove Road. After a mile, you’ll see a lane on the right. My mailbox is there at the end of the lane.”

  She extended her hand to him. “Thanks for giving me this chance.”

  After he took her hand, he was sorry he did because it was small, feminine and warm. Just like her. A shot of electricity jolted him at the touch of her skin, and after a quick shake, he pulled away.

  “Tomorrow at three,” he said, heading for the door.

  “See you tomorrow,” he heard as he stepped out onto the small porch and charged down the steps.

  He would not think about Anita Sutton again until tomorrow. If she somehow crept into his thoughts, he’d just imagine chocolate pudding smeared on his new oak kitchen set.

  That ought to keep everything in perspective.

  Chapter Two

  As Anita drove up the long lane to Tate Pardell’s house the next afternoon, she was impressed. The split-rail fencing seemed to go on forever. The brick-and-tan-siding ranch house sprawled across the land, and she fleetingly wondered how much acreage belonged with it. Anita had only caught a glimpse of a tall white barn behind the house, but she guessed there were other out-buildings, too.

  Gathering up the grocery bags, she went to the front door and rang the bell. Instead of a chime, the Yellow Rose of Texas played and she smiled.

  A few seconds later, Tate opened the door, dressed in jeans and a light blue, snap-button shirt with the sleeves rolled back over his forearms. His thick brown hair had an unruly wave. As a lock of it fell over his forehead, her fingers itched to brush it back, and she realized the chemistry was starting again. Why did she feel like this when she got within ten feet of him?

  Without giving her a chance to take a breath, he gathered the bags into his arms, saying, “I’ll carry those.”

  “Really, it’s—”

  As he took the bags from her, one of his hands touched her waist, his other her breast. Their gazes locked and she felt the entire world stand still.

  Then he was turning away, carrying the groceries inside.

  Stepping into the foyer, she closed the door, still burning from the heat of his touch, still shaken by t
he chemistry between them. Unless it was all one-sided. She could pray it was all one-sided…all on her part.

  Over his shoulder, he said, “I just got a call. The horses will be arriving any minute.”

  She was in awe of her surroundings. This house must have cost a small fortune! To the right she saw the great room with a cathedral ceiling, fan and skylights. There was a dining room to its left, where a hand-carved oak table and chairs could easily seat eight. She could almost see into the kitchen, and she realized there were many more rooms. What surrounded her now was the center of the house. Why did one man need all this space? It was obvious from the look and feel of the rooms that he wasn’t here very much. This could have been a model home open to the public.

  The kitchen was as impressive as the rest of the house, with its smooth range top, side-by-side refrigerator that had beautiful oak doors to match the cupboards, and ceramic-tiled floor in shades of blue, cream and rust. A smaller, round oak table sat under an antler chandelier.

  “Your house is beautiful,” she commented as she went to the bags on the table.

  When he set the sack of apples on the counter, a few of them tumbled out. “I built it myself,” he said proudly, then amended, “Well, one of my construction crews did.”

  “And you live here alone?” She didn’t know any other way to tactfully ask if he might have a live-in significant other.

  “Yes, I live here alone.”

  Taking the chicken she’d bought, she quickly stowed it away in the refrigerator. Then she did the same with the eggs, avoiding his gaze and curbing her own curiosity.

  He motioned to the remaining bags on the table. “This looks as if you’re going to feed an army.”

  “I’m planning for you to have leftovers. You might not have to eat out all week. You’ll have to show me where everything is. I brought a pie plate and a pastry cloth in case you don’t have them, but I’ll need a large skillet and a vegetable steamer.”

  With a quick motion, he opened two bottom cupboards. “I bought a full set of cookware and haven’t touched it, except for the small frying pan. In a way, you’re going to be christening the kitchen today and giving it its first full workout.”