Ready-Made Bride Read online

  The rumbling noise of a bus in the distance, then the squeal of brakes drifted from outside, stealing Megan’s attention. She glanced toward the kitchen window, her eyes bright with expectation. “Is that Andrew?”

  He mentally swore at the timely interruption. “It should be.”

  Her breath seemed to catch, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. “I want to go meet him.”

  And then she was gone, on her way through the living room and out the front door, leaving him standing alone in the kitchen, cursing fate and his son’s bright idea…and that he’d stupidly agreed to it.

  A minute later he stepped outside and onto the front lawn. He stopped next to where Megan was waiting as Andrew hopped down the bus steps. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he started their way. His steps slowed when he saw the two of them, his gaze darting from Kane to Megan.

  A dazzling smile curved her mouth. “There he is,” she whispered, her voice catching on nervous laughter.

  “Megan!” Andy’s shout pierced the air, causing a flock of birds nestling in a nearby tree to scatter. He ran toward her, his short legs pumping as fast as they could. He flung himself against her, nearly knocking her off balance, and wrapped his arms tight around her waist. “You’re really here!” he said, his shrill voice muffled against her breasts.

  She returned the hug, her eyes shimmering with a rush of tears. “Of course I’m here, silly.” She ruffled her fingers through his blond hair. “I told you I would be.”

  Andy untangled himself from her arms and looked at her. A sudden frown stole his bright smile. “Why are you crying, Megan?”

  “Because I’m happy,” she said, and gave a small sniffle. She cupped his chin in her palm, her adoration for him obvious. “You’re even more handsome than the school picture you sent me.”

  Andy beamed. “And you’re beautiful.” He glanced at Kane, expectation and joy shining on his youthful face. “Don’t you think Megan’s beautiful, Dad?”

  Don’t drag me into the middle of this, son. He met her gaze, watching as a flush stole over her cheeks, enhancing the simple beauty in question. “Yeah, she’s beautiful,” he admitted.

  She ducked her head and looked away, but not before he’d seen the pleasure lighting her eyes. The sun haloed her bent head, threading gold through the strands. Cinnamon fire, he thought, wondering if her hair felt as warm and silky as it looked.

  They started toward the house, and Andy shifted his Power Ranger backpack to the other shoulder. “How long have you been here?” he asked, squinting at her.

  “Not long at all,” she replied, smoothing a hand lightly over the crown of his head, the gesture affectionate and maternal. “Just enough time for your father and I to get acquainted.”

  “Yeah?” Andy’s gaze bounced from Megan to Kane, then back again. “So, do you guys like each other?”

  “We like each other just fine, son,” Kane interjected smoothly.

  “I knew you would.” An impish grin creased the dimple in Andrew’s right cheek. Grabbing Megan’s hand, he pulled her up the porch stairs. “Come on, Megan, I want to show you my room and where I keep all your books.”

  And in that moment, as he watched the pure joy on his son’s face, Kane knew he’d lost the opportunity to send Megan away.

  At the threshold, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder at Kane. The enchanting smile she gave him heated his temperature ten degrees and made him question his sanity for allowing her to stay with them for a week.

  “Thank you, Kane,” she said softly. Before he could reply she was whisked away by his impatient son.

  He stood on the porch, knowing her gratitude was for letting her spend time with Andrew, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was thanking him for something more.

  Releasing a caustic laugh, he strode down the stairs and toward his workshop. “Who are you kidding, Kane?” he murmured to himself. “What would a woman like her see in a simple country boy like yourself?”

  Old, buried bitterness scratched its way to the surface, and he quickly shoved it down. One woman had hated him for his insufficiencies. He wouldn’t let another get that close, no matter how tempting she might be.

  “Look at what my dad made me,” Andy said, showing Megan the novelty wooden bookends on his dresser bracing a row of books. He fingered the intricately carved and brightly painted locomotive. “The front and back end of a train. Cool, huh?”

  “Yes, they are.” She eyed Kane’s handiwork, impressed with his creative flair. She’d seen a brief glimpse of his talent in the barn, but hadn’t realized the extent of his ability until now.

  “I put all of my Andy’s Adventures here, cuz they’re special.” He adjusted a hardbound volume that stuck out an inch farther than the rest before bending to open the last dresser drawer. “All my other books are in here. I don’t have any other room for them.”

  She glanced into the open drawer, crammed with books of all sizes and variety. “You must love to read.”

  “Yep. Dad likes me to read, too.” He pushed the drawer shut. “He’s always bringing me books from the big bookstore in the city, but yours are my favorite.”

  “I’m glad.” She sat on his bed and reclined on one forearm, discovering a simple pleasure in watching Andy’s enthusiastic energy. She smiled, unable to recall the last time she’d done something just for herself, even something as simple as a vacation. Something spontaneous and adventurous and wonderfully reckless…like driving to Linden to meet the father and son who’d consumed so much of her thoughts over the past year and a half.

  “And look at this,” he went on, moving to a corner of the room. Straddling a wooden seat shaped like a real saddle, he secured his sneakered feet into lifelike stirrups, pulled back on leather reins and rocked. The smooth, perfectly sloped rockers moved soundlessly on the wooden floor. “He made me this rocking horse a couple of years ago for Christmas.”

  The rocker was like nothing she’d ever seen in any store, a one-of-a-kind original. “It’s almost as big as you are.”

  “Yep.” He flicked the reins, tousling the dark brown braided rope that made up the horse’s mane. “Dad said he wanted to be sure I didn’t outgrow it too fast. Did I ever tell you about the fort and swings he made for my school?”

  “No.” But she had a feeling he was going to tell her every little detail.

  Smiling contentedly, she listened as Andrew continued to rave about his father’s virtues. Andrew’s incessant chatter sounded like music to her hungry soul, filling up every empty, aching place in her. He made her forget for a brief time that the dreams she’d cultivated while growing up in various foster homes had been shattered by a husband more interested in climbing the corporate ladder than giving her the family they’d talked about. Somewhere along the way having children dropped to the bottom of his list of priorities.

  After her divorce three years ago she’d immersed herself in her writing. She’d created a children’s series, which had helped to fill the emptiness. She’d thought Andy’s Adventures, and the precocious little boy she’d created had been fulfilling enough until Andrew Fielding had written her a fan letter and completely changed her life, giving her writing a new direction.

  “Megan, you okay?”

  A small, warm hand curled around her arm, and she glanced into his concerned face. Immediately, she sat up, hating that she’d somehow worried him. “I’m fine, why?

  “Because you looked so sad.”

  She smiled for him and made up an excuse. “I was just thinking that I promised your father I’d make dinner. Maybe we should go see what we should have tonight.”

  Andy agreed, giving her a spontaneous hug that nearly unraveled her. “We’re gonna have so much fun together, Megan.”

  She smiled into his baby soft hair. The week was going to fly by. “I’m planning on it.”

  He pulled back, eyes wide and brimming with anticipation. “Do you think we can bake chocolate chip cookies while you’re here? They’re my favorite,
and Dad’s, too.”

  Arching a brow, she stood. “He bakes cookies?”

  Andy clasped her hand as they headed toward the kitchen. “Naw, he buys the hard kind from the grocery store, but he likes the soft, homemade ones I sometimes sneak home from Grandma’s.”

  She nodded in understanding. “Then homemade chocolate chip cookies it will be.”

  “Yes!” he said zealously, and Megan wondered about the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

  Andy shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and washed it down with a big gulp of milk that left a thin mustache on his upper lip. “You’re the best cook we ever had, Megan,” he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

  “She’s the only cook we’ve ever had, son,” Kane interjected, before Megan took Andy’s comment the wrong way and thought he had a steady stream of women traipsing through his house.

  Andy shrugged and continued to eat like he hadn’t been fed in a week.

  Kane’s gaze shifted, meeting Megan’s across the table. Reluctantly, he agreed with Andy’s assessment of Megan’s culinary skills. He hadn’t been grocery shopping in almost a week, yet she’d managed to make a hearty meal any man would appreciate. She’d taken frozen, boneless chicken breasts, thawed them in his microwave-which he hadn’t even known the contraption was capable of doing-then she’d breaded the poultry and fried it in oil and herbs until the outside was brown and crispy and the meat tender and juicy.

  “Aren’t these mashed potatoes great, Dad?” Andy asked, spooning a second serving onto his plate.

  Kane frowned. “They aren’t much different from the ones I make.” Except her mashed potatoes didn’t have lumps, and they tasted buttery, unlike his bland, pastelike spuds.

  “Megan adds butter and milk,” Andy told him.

  “A family secret?” he asked wryly, feeling a prick of annoyance over his son’s obvious heroine worship. Okay, so he wasn’t the best chef, but it wasn’t as though they’d starved before Megan’s cooking.

  “More like Betty Crocker’s secret.”

  He stopped dragging a piece of chicken through the best gravy he’d ever tasted. “Pardon?”

  “Betty Crocker. The brand for mashed potatoes,” she explained, slanting him a curious look. “The directions call for milk and butter.”

  “Of course.” His stomach churned, and a damnable muscle in his cheek ticked. “I’ll have to pay better attention next time.”

  He could tell his comment puzzled her, but to his relief she let their conversation about mashed potatoes drop. Instead, she turned her attention to Andrew. “So, what are we going to do for your birthday?” she asked him.

  “I want a big party,” he said, indicating with the stretching of his arms just how big he wanted the get-together to be. “The biggest ever, with you and Dad, my friends from school and Grandpa and Grandma Linden.”

  Kane put his fork on his empty plate, hating to be the one to crush his son’s hopes. “Andy, you know Grandpa and Grandma are planning on giving you a party on your birthday Thursday evening.”

  His chin shot up a notch. “Will you be there?”

  He never was. He’d never been invited to the yearly birthday bash the Lindens held in their grandson’s honor, and although he knew they wouldn’t make a scene if he went, he preferred to spare Andrew the obvious tension between adults on his special day. A weary sigh escaped him. “No, I won’t be there, but we’ll spend Friday together. Maybe we can go get a pizza, play some arcade games, then go to the ice-cream parlor for a banana split.”

  Andy wasn’t falling for the subtle bribe. “That’s not the same, Dad.”

  But that’s the way it was and had been for the past five years. He didn’t have the mental energy to break tradition. Sensing Megan’s gaze on him, he glanced at her, expecting to see condemnation in her blue eyes for his nonparticipation. He had every intention of shooting her a mind-your-own-business kind of look, but the honest-to-goodness caring softening her expression stopped him cold.

  Abruptly, he pushed back his chair and stood, suddenly feeling suffocated. He didn’t want this woman’s compassion, didn’t like her probing where he was most vulnerable. He barely knew her and didn’t like that she could affect him so strongly.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do in my workshop.” Giving her a curt nod and ignoring her startled expression, he turned and left the kitchen.

  CHAPTER TWO

  TWO days, and his house smelled like her, a light, floral fragrance that teased his senses and went straight to his head faster than a shot of one-hundred-proof whiskey.

  Two days, and she’d worked her way into his son’s heart and brought laughter to his home. Every time he turned around she was there, smiling and talking to him in that sweet voice of hers. And damn, but she made the most delicious beef stew and corn bread he’d ever tasted, all from scratch.

  One week? He didn’t stand a chance, not when every time she spoke he wondered what her lips tasted like. She reminded him how much he’d liked being married and having a wife to fill the emptiness in the house at night… that first six months when he’d thought life couldn’t be more perfect.

  He’d disillusioned himself big-time.

  With a low growl of frustration, Kane scrubbed a piece of sandpaper over the flat surface of wood he’d cut for a shelf. Other than the handshake he’d shared with Megan the day she’d arrived, he wouldn’t be touching her. His personal stakes were too high to risk. Distance would save his sanity and protect his emotions. It had for years.

  Shaking his head, he walked to the open barn doors and glanced at the house. The soft glow of lights illuminating the living room window beckoned him. He’d managed to make himself scarce for the remainder of Friday night and all day Saturday to give Andy and Megan time alone to get acquainted. Knowing he couldn’t be a recluse forever, he went inside his workshop and put his tools away. He made his way to the house, moonlight guiding the way.

  He stepped into the kitchen. An upbeat Alan Jackson tune drifted through the house, along with feminine laughter and boyish giggles. He entered the living room and found them two-stepping to the lively music, an arm’s length separating them. Where his son’s movements were stiff and awkward, Megan’s were fluid and graceful. Whenever Andy stumbled or missed a beat, they’d both burst out laughing, she’d tease him, and they kept going.

  Enjoying the scene and his son’s eagerness to learn, he leaned against the doorjamb and watched them shuffle around the small room. She wore black leggings that molded her trim bottom and long legs and a white blouse, the ends tied in a knot at her tiny waist. She’d put her shoulder-length hair in a ponytail, and a few shorter strands wisped around her flushed face. Desire and longing mangled, reminding him that he was still a healthy, red-blooded male who appreciated a beautiful woman.

  At the end of the song she unexpectedly twirled Andy in a circle. His son’s arms didn’t coordinate with his legs, and he fell toward Megan, tangling himself in her arms. She lost her footing, and with a surprised cry they landed on the couch. Before Andy could recover from the fall, she began tickling him. Squeals and infectious laughter rang out. Caught up in the fun, Kane chuckled.

  She stopped her tickle torture and immediately sat up, her eyes wide and luminous. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said breathlessly, smoothing strands of hair from her face.

  Her blouse was bunched beneath her breasts, revealing two inches of skin he knew would be baby soft to the touch. Prying his eyes from the temptation, he approached the couch. “You guys were having too good a time.”

  “Megan was teaching me how to two-step,” Andy said, a big grin spreading across his face. “It’s fun. Why don’t you try it, Dad?”

  He tensed. “I don’t dance.” Working to help support him and his sister had stolen the years when he should have been enjoying school dances and attending town socials. The one and only time he’d danced was at his wedding, and even then it had been a slow, shuffling rhythm he’d feigned, n
othing nearly so complicated as all the fancy steps they’d been executing.

  “Everybody dances, Dad.” He tugged Kane two steps closer to Megan. “Isn’t that what you told me, Megan?”

  Her startled gaze darted from Kane to their little mediator. She shifted on her bare feet. “Uh, yes, I guess I did.”

  Kane held up his hands to ward off what he knew was coming. “Son, I have two left feet-”

  “And Megan has two right feet.” Gales of laughter escaped Andy, and he slapped his leg at his silly pun. “Stop worryin’, Dad, you’ll do fine. It’s really easy. All you have to do is put one hand on Megan’s waist and hold her other hand, and Megan will put her hand on your shoulder.” As Andy spouted the instructions he positioned them accordingly.

  Before Kane knew it, he had his hands all over Megan, and although it was all innocent fun, his thoughts were anything but pure. His thumb slipped beneath the loose hem of her blouse and grazed the skin between the waistband of her leggings and her breasts. Yep, softer than skin on a peach. He felt her shiver, saw the awareness in her gaze. He tormented himself further and pulled in a deep breath, filling himself with her scent.

  So much for not touching her. So much for keeping his distance, at least physically.

  “Now follow Megan’s lead,” Andy said, just as a new song started on the portable radio sitting on the brick hearth.

  A smile trembled on Megan’s lips, then a determined I-can-do-this-and-not-be-affected look entered her eyes. With all the primness and professionalism of a dance teacher, she instructed him on the few steps it took to make the two-step possible.

  The pattern was simpler than he’d thought. After their first pass around the living room without making too much of a fool of himself, he turned Megan around and smoothly took the lead.

  Andy clapped gleefully from the couch. “You’re two-stepping, Dad!”