Нора Робертс - Megan’s Mate

“I'm sure you can.” She drew her hand away, refusing to acknowledge the rippling thrill up her arm. “If I wasn't so fond of her, I'd be annoyed. But she's so kind.”

“She has the truest heart of anyone I've ever met. I used to wish she was my mother.”

“I'm sorry.” Before she could resist the urge, Megan laid a hand on his. “It must have been so hard, losing your mother when you were only a child.”

“It's all right. It was a long time ago.” Much too long for him to grieve. “I still remember seeing Coco in the village, or when I'd tag along with Holt to take fish up to The Towers. There she'd be, this gorgeous womanlooked like a queen. Never knew what color her hair would be from one week to the next.”

“She's a brunette today,” Megan said, and made him laugh.

“First woman I ever fell for. She came to the house a couple times, read my old man the riot act about his drinking. Guess she thought if he was sober he wouldn't knock me around so much.” He took his eyes off the road again, met hers. “I imagine she mentioned that, too?”

“Yes.” Uncomfortable, Megan looked away. “I'm sorry, Nathaniel. I hate when people discuss me, no matter how good their intentions. It's so intrusive.”

“I'm not that sensitive, Meg. Everybody knew what my old man was like.” He could remember, too well, the pitying looks, the glances that slid uneasily away. “It bothered me back then, but not anymore.”

She struggled to find the right words. “Did Coco-did it do any good?”

He was silent a moment, staring out at the lowering sun and the bloodred light it poured into the water. “He was afraid of her, so he beat the hell out of me when she left.”

“Oh, God.”

“I'd just assume she didn't know that.”

“No.” Megan had to swallow the hot tears lodged in her throat. “I won't tell her. That's why you ran away to sea, isn't it? To get away from him.”

“That's one of the reasons.” He reached over, ran a fingertip down her cheek. “You know, if I'd figured out the way to get to you was to tell you I'd taken a strap a few times, I'd have brought it up sooner.”

“It's nothing to joke about.” Megan's voice was low and furious. “There's no excuse for treating a child that way.”

“Hey, I lived through it.”

“Did you?” She shifted back to him, eyes steady. “Did you ever stop hating him?”

“No.” He said it quietly. “No, I didn't. But I stopped letting it be important, and maybe that's healthier.” He stopped the car in front of The Towers, turned to her. “Someone hurts you, in a permanent way, you don't forget it. But the best revenge is seeing that it doesn't matter.”

“You're talking about Kevin's father, and it's not at all the same. I wasn't a helpless child.”

“Depends on where you draw the line between helpless and innocent.” Nathaniel opened the car door. “I'll carry Kevin in for you.”

“You don't have to.” She hurried out herself, but Nathaniel already had the boy in his arms.

They stood there for a moment, in the last glow of the day, the boy between them, his head resting securely on Nathaniel's shoulder, dark hair to dark hair, honed muscle to young limbs.

Something locked deep inside her swelled, tried to burst free. She sighed it away, stroked a hand over her son's back and felt the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“He's had a long day.”

“So have you, Meg. There are shadows under your eyes. Since that means you didn't sleep any better than I did last night, I can't say I mind seeing them there.”

It was hard, she thought, so very hard, to keep pulling away from the current that drew her to him. “I'm not ready for this, Nathaniel.”

“Sometimes a wind comes up, blows you off course. You're not ready for it, but if you're lucky, you end up in a more interesting place than you'd planned.”

“I don't like to depend on luck.”

“That’s okay. I do.” He shifted the boy more comfortably, and carried him to the house.

“I don't see what all the damn to-do's about,” Dutch grumbled as he whipped a delicate egg froth for his angel food cake surprise.

“Trenton St. James II is a member of the family.” Running on nerves, Coco checked the temperature on her prime rib. She had a dozen things to deal with since the cucumber facial she'd indulged in had thrown off her timetable. “And the president of the St. James hotels.” Satisfied that the beef was coming along nicely, she basted her roast duck. “As this is his first visit to The Retreat, it's important that everything run smoothly.”

“Some rich bastard coming around to freeload.”

“Mr. Van Horne!” Coco's heart lurched. After six months, she knew she shouldn't be shocked by the man. But, really. “I've known Mr. St. James for... well, a great number of years. I can assure you he is a successful businessman, an entrepreneur. Not a freeloader.”

Dutch sniffed, gave Coco the once-over. She'd done herself up good and proper, he noted. The fancy-shmancy dress glittered and flowed down, stopping plenty short to show off her legs. Her cheeks were all pink, too. And he didn't think it was from kitchen heat. His lips curled back in a sneer.

“So what's he, your boyfriend?”

The pink deepened to rose. “Certainly not. A woman of my...experience doesn't have boyfriends.” Surreptitiously she checked her face in the stainless-steel exhaust hood on the stove. “Beaux, perhaps.”

Beaux. Ha! “I hear he's been married four times and pays enough alimony to balance the national debt. You looking to be number five?”

Speechless, Coco pressed a hand to her heart. “You are—” She stumbled, stuttered, over the words. “Impossibly rude. Impossibly crude.”

“Hey, ain't none of my never-mind if you want to land yourself a rich fish.”

She squeaked. Though the rolling temper that caused red dots to swim in front of her eyes appalled her—she was, after all, a civilized woman—she surged forward to ram a coral-tipped nail into his massive chest. “I will not tolerate any more of your insults.”

“Yeah?” He poked her right back. “Whatcha gonna do about it?” She leaned forward until they were nose-to-nose. “I will fire you.”

“Now that'll break my heart. Go ahead, fancy face, give me the boot. See how you get by with tonight's dinner rush.”

“I assure you, I will 'get by' delightfully.” Her heart was beating too fast. Coco wondered it didn't soar right out of her breast.

“Like hell.” He hated her perfume. Hated that it made his nostrils twitch and his mouth water. “When I came on board, you were barely treading water.”

She couldn't get her breath, simply couldn't. “This kitchen doesn't need you, Mr. Van Horne. And neither do I.”

“You need me plenty.” How had his hands gotten onto her shoulders? Why were hers pressed to his chest? The hell with how or why, he thought. He'd show her what was what.

Her eyes popped hard when his hard, sneering mouth crushed down on hers in a very thorough kiss. But she didn't see a thing. Her world, so beautifully secure, tilted under her feet. That was why—naturally that was why—she clung to him.

She would slap his face. She certainly would. In just a few minutes.

Damn women, Dutch thought. Damn them all. Especially tall, curvy, sweet-smelling females with lips like... cooking cherries. He'd always had a weakness for tartness.

He jerked her away, but kept his big hands firm on her shoulders. “Let's get something straight....” he began.

“Now look here…” she said at the same time.

They both leaped apart like guilty children when the kitchen door swung open.

Megan stood frozen in the doorway, her jaw dropping. Surely she hadn't seen what she thought she'd seen. Coco was checking the oven, and Dutch was measuring flour into a bowl. They couldn't have been...embracing. Yet both of them were a rather startling shade of pink.

“Excuse me,” she managed. “I'm sorry to, ah...”

“Oh, Megan, dear.” Flustered, Coco patted her hair. She was tingling, she realized. From embarrassment—and annoyance, she assured herself. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to check a couple of the kitchen expenses.” She was still goggling, her eyes shifting from Coco to Dutch and back. The tension in the room was thicker than Coco's split-pea soup. “But if you're busy, we can do it later.”

“Nonsense.” Coco wiped her sweaty palms on her apron. “We're just a little frantic preparing for Trenton's arrival.”

“Trenton? Oh, I'd forgotten. Trent's father's expected.” She was cautiously backing out of the room. “We don't need to do this now.”

“No, no.” Oh, Lord, Coco thought, don't leave me. “Now's a perfect time. We're under control here. Let's do it in your office, shall we?” She took Megan firmly by the arm. “Mr. Van Horne can handle things for a few minutes.” Without waiting for his assent, she hurried from the room. “Details, details,” Coco said gaily, and clung to Megan as though she were a life raft in a churning sea. “It seems the more you handle, the more there are.”

“Coco, are you all right?”

“Oh, of course.” But she pressed a hand to her heart. “Just a little contretemps with Mr. Van Horne. But that's nothing I can't deal with.” She hoped. “How are your accounts coming along, dear? I must say I'd hoped you'd find time to glance at Fergus's book.”

“Actually, I have-”

“Not that we want you working too hard.” With the buzz going on in Coco's head, she didn't hear a word Megan said. “We want you to feel right at home here, to enjoy yourself. To relax. After all the trouble and excitement last year, we all want to relax. I don't think any of us could stand any more crises.”