“Hi!” Stella bounces across the room. “You hab a puppy.”
Monroe turns and any tension she might be feeling, after the argument I overheard, doesn’t show on her face as she drops down to Stella’s level. She looks every bit as well put together this morning as she did last night. Which is a fantastic feat at just past six in the morning.
Dressed in a plum top with lace cutouts on the back, and a pair of blue jeans, the cuffs rolled to hit about mid-calf, she once again puts my ripped jeans and oversized shirt to shame. I thought she’d said she had nowhere to be this morning. Was this her idea of bum wear?
“Good morning. You must be Stella! It’s nice to meet you.”
“You hab a puppy,” Stella reiterates, apparently unconcerned with any niceties.
“Sorry.” I step farther into the room. “She’s a broken record on the puppy thing. Stella, tell Ms. Monroe thank you for letting us stay with her.”
“Yeah, tanks.” Her head tilts, curls sliding over one tiny shoulder. “Can I play wif your puppy?”
Monroe laughs. “I see what you mean,” she says with a quick look my way before focusing on my daughter again. “Unfortunately the dog isn’t mine. It belongs to my brother. And he’s being mean this morning.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the small dining room.
“It’s not nice to be mean. Mama said so.”
“She’s a smart woman. Maybe she can teach my brother to be as nice as you are.”
A snort sounds from just beyond the kitchen, pulling my eyes in that direction. Leaning against the farmhouse-style table is a man. Presumably Monroe’s mean brother Owen.
Owen straightens as my gaze lands on him. I know I’m pretty damn short, barely over five foot, so everyone seems tall to me, but Owen Gallahanger is standing several inches over six half feet tall. Long legs are covered in a pair of blue jeans, and a red shirt, that might as well be painted on, its hugging so tightly against, what can only be described as, the most well-defined chest I ever had the pleasure of being this close to.
The strong line of his jaw is dusted with a smattering of dark growth like he couldn’t be bothered to shave this morning, and hints of his equally dark hair are visible beneath the black baseball cap he’s wearing backward on his head. His nose is crooked like it’s been broken once or twice somewhere along the way, and his eyes, every bit as dark as his hair, are focused directly on me, with the oddest expression on his face. It’s almost as if he recognizes me, but I’m sure I would remember if I’d ever met Owen Gallahanger before. He doesn’t exactly have the sort of face that one simply forgot about. Ever.
“Owen, this is Tristan Maddox, and her daughter, Stella, the master criminals I let sleep in my guest room last night.”
“I’m not a minimal.” Stella says with a frown.
His gaze hasn’t moved. He’s staring directly at me with an intense look, but now he looks like he’s trying to puzzle out what exactly it is he’s looking at, causing me to fidget under his gaze, my one finger curling in the hem of my shirt.
“You shouldn’t be mean. It’s not nice. Mama said we can hab cancakes, and chocwate milk, but no puppy.” She adds the last with another little frown, perfectly nailing the ‘you should feel sorry for me because my mom is the meanest in the whole world’ tone.
“Stella May Maddox.” I pull out her full name, nerves frayed on the puppy front. “No more talk about puppies.”
Her lip trembles, her chin quivers, and tears mist her eyes, and at any second she’s going to start crying, and that can lead to a tantrum. Stella looks sweet and innocent, but my child knows how to throw a tantrum like nobody’s business. It is definitely time for us to go.
Before I can make a move in her direction, to yank her up and drag her out of this house if I have to, Owen switches his gaze to her. The intensity doesn’t fade from his eyes, but it changes to something just a little softer, and a smile pulls at his lips, deep dimples becoming visible.
Jesus. That should be illegal.
I feel heat crawl up my neck, and into a couple of other more exciting places. Places that haven’t felt warm in quite some time, and now is a horrible time for them to start working again.
But fuck me, a smiling Owen Gallahanger should come with a warning label. May cause spontaneous combustion and instantaneous orgasms. Proceed with extreme caution, and probably a shit load of pleasure.
“No need to cry, sweetheart.” Like magic, Stella’s lips stops quivering. Jesus. Even my three-year-old is mesmerized him. “If it’s okay with your mom, you can come over and play with Huck any time.”
Yeah, I’m thinking the less time I spend with Mr. Orgasm, the better. I clear my throat. “That’s very nice of you, Mr. Gallahanger, but I’m not sure we’ll have time to drive out—”
“I live on the other side of you.”
Fuck. Me.
“Oh. How…nice.”
“No.” Monroe comes to sit in one of the chairs at the table. “It’s a pain in the a—, you know what, to have one of my brothers living so close and being all up in my business.” She glares at him over the rim of her cup of coffee.
“If you didn’t do stupid stunts all the time then I wouldn’t have to be all up in your business.”
Letting Stella and I sleep here was one of those stupid stunts. Definitely, time to go. “Baby, let’s go find somewhere we can get some pancakes, okay?”
“Okay.” She casts one last look to Owen. “Stupid is a naudy word. You should say sowwy.”
“I like her.” Monroe takes another drink of coffee, eyeing her brother. “Say you’re sorry, Owen.”
“I’d be lying.”
Stella tucks her hand in mine. “Lying is bad too, right, Mama?”
“Right, baby. Thank you again, Monroe. I appreciate you letting us borrow your spare room.”
“I appreciate you not chopping me into little pieces in the middle of the night.”
I glance to Owen, who’s back to staring quietly. “We only do that on Tuesday’s,” I say before I can stop myself. Monroe’s laughter chases us as we move down the hall toward the front door.
“Well then, I won’t be inviting you for Taco Tuesday.” She sweeps past us to open the front door for me. “Mae’s Diner on Main Street makes the best pancakes in town,” Monroe says as she steps onto the front porch behind us. “And she has chocolate milk on hand for little girls who listen to their mommies.”
“I wisten!” Stella yells excitedly. “I want cancakes and chocwate milk.” Her pretty blue eyes slide to me before she adds in a whisper, “And a puppy.”
God help me.
Chapter Two
Tristan
The movers are set to arrive at eleven o’clock, but my appointment with Nora is set for an hour earlier to allow me time to get Stella situated before the movers arrive. I am a little concerned that Nora isn’t going to show up on time due to the dinner date that she had, apparently, managed to stretch into breakfast, but at precisely 9:59 a.m., a sporty two-seater red convertible pulls up in front of the house.
Nora Beaumont steps out of the car in a black maxi dress that is slightly wrinkled, with her auburn-colored hair tied artfully up in a messy knot on top of her head. Oversized black frames cover her eyes and draw my gaze to the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the top of her cheeks. Large silver hoops hang in her ears, and a chunky turquoise necklace lies around her neck.