The Millionaire and the Mum. Patricia Kay

or that there was an appealing sprinkle of freckles on her cheeks and nose, or that her eyes were steady and clear and the warmest golden brown he’d ever seen. Yes, she was an altogether very pretty woman.

      The kids were cute, too. That boy of hers looked just like her. The little girl, though, must have taken after the father, because her hair was dark and her eyes were blue. Jack hadn’t been around many children in his life, but he couldn’t help liking the Johnson kids. Or their mother, who was still waiting for his answer.

      “The sleeping porch will be fine,” he said. “But you don’t have to rush to get it ready. I’ve paid for a night at the Temple Motel, so I might as well stay there tonight.”

      “Are you sure?” When he nodded, she said, “All right. But if you’re going to work here this afternoon, you’ll stay and have supper with us. My electricity’s back on, so I can cook again.” She grimaced. “Although my phone is still not working.”

      “On my way in I saw some telephone linemen working.”

      “Did you? That’s good. I hope they get our service back soon.”

      He nodded. “I appreciate the offer of supper, but it’s not necessary to feed me.”

      “I insist. That was the deal,” she said firmly.

      He could see her pride wouldn’t let her accept his help today unless she could pay him something, even if it was only a meal. “Okay. Supper sounds great. Now why don’t you show me where you keep your tools? I don’t guess you have a chain saw?”

      “As a matter of fact, I do.” Leading the way to the barn, she added, “Everything you’ll need is in there. While you work on the tree, I’m going inside for a bit. Matthew, you and Amy come with me.”

      “Ah, Mama, can’t I stay out here and watch Jack?”

      “His name is Mr. Stokes. You know better than to call an adult by his first name. And, no, you may not stay out here and watch. He doesn’t need you hanging around getting in the way.”

      “I’d rather he call me Jack. Mr. Stokes sounds like some old man,” Jack said, giving Matthew a conspiratorial wink.

      “Can I call you Jack, too?” piped up little Amy.

      “Amy,” Beth said admonishingly.

      Jack looked at Beth. “Mrs. Johnson, I really don’t mind—”

      “Beth,” she interrupted. “Please call me Beth. We don’t stand on formalities here.”

      “Beth,” he repeated, liking the way her name felt on his tongue. “What I was going to say is, if the kids want to watch, maybe they could sit in the bed of my truck. That way they could see, but they wouldn’t be in any danger.”

      “Please, Mama, please?” Matthew begged.

      “Please, Mama?” Amy echoed.

      “Oh, I guess it’s all right, as long as Mr. Stokes—”

      “Jack.”

      She seemed taken aback by the interruption, but when she realized he’d done the same thing to her that she’d done to him, she grinned. “Jack.”

      He liked the way his name sounded on her lips, too. He also liked her smile. It was open and real, with no suggestion of anything other than genuine amusement.

      “Okay, then,” she said, “You two can watch, but if you get out of the truck, Jack will send you into the house, and that will be that. Understood?”

      Both children nodded solemnly. “Yes, Mama.”

      After one more warning to be good, Beth left the three of them and headed for the house. Telling the children to wait, Jack went into the barn and found the chain saw. Then he and the children walked back to the truck. After getting them settled in the flatbed, Jack attacked the fallen tree.

      He worked steadily for the next hour or so, and just as the kids began to get restless, Beth walked out onto the porch. Jack saw that she’d cleaned herself up and now wore fresh jeans and a light brown T-shirt.

      “Time for lunch,” she said. “I made hot dogs.”

      “Oh, boy,” Matthew said. “Hot dogs are my favorite.”

      “They’re my favorite, too.” Amy said.

      Jack smothered a smile. It was obvious Amy had a bad case of hero worship where her older brother was concerned. The way she acted reminded him of how Kate used to follow him around all the time when they were young. The twins had had each other, but Jack had always had Kate, and no matter how much their father had tried to discourage her from tagging after Jack, she had paid no attention.

      “I thought we’d eat on the side porch,” Beth said as she helped the children out of the truck.

      “Cool! A picnic!” Matthew raced around to the side porch, closely followed by Amy.

      Beth shook her head. “Those two are a mess.” But despite her words, it was clear she adored her children.

      “They’re nice kids.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Matthew’s in school?”

      “Yes. Second grade. And Amy’s in kindergarten.”

      “So they didn’t have school today?”

      “No. It was canceled because of storm damage. I do hope they’ll go back tomorrow, though. It’s hard to get anything done when they’re home.” Her expression became rueful. “You see what very nearly happened today. What would have happened if you hadn’t been here.” Her eyes clouded.

      Jack had an idiotic urge to put his arm around her and tell her to quit thinking about it, everything was okay now. The unexpected feeling shook him, because he wasn’t normally given to emotional reactions to people. He couldn’t afford them, not in his line of work.

      Leaving him on the porch with the kids, she went inside. A few moments later, she returned with a laden tray containing plates and silverware, hot dogs in buns, jars of mustard and relish, a plastic squeeze bottle of ketchup, and a bowl of something that looked like macaroni salad. She set the tray down on a small metal table in the corner. The kids immediately began to help themselves.

      “Wait, Amy,” Beth said as Amy picked up the bottle of ketchup. “Let me help you.”

      “I can do it myself,” Amy said. To prove her point, she turned the bottle upside down and proceeded to squirt ketchup on her hot dog. Although the amount of ketchup that ended up on the sandwich was probably twice what should have been there, Amy gave them a triumphant smile. “See?”

      “You did a good job,” Beth said. “Now try not to get any of that ketchup on you, okay?”

      “Okay.”

      “Help yourself,” Beth said, turning to Jack.

      “I need to wash up first.”

      “Oh, I’m sorry. You can wash up in the barn. I don’t know if you saw it or not, but in the far corner there’s a little bathroom that the help—when we had help—used to use.” For a moment, her voice held a trace of bitterness. Then she seemed to shake it away. “There’s even a shower.”

      He found soap and an old but clean towel hanging from a hook next to the sink and cleaned himself up. There was a mirror over the sink, too, so he combed his hair. While standing there, he felt something against his legs and looked down. A large black cat was rubbing against his legs. “Hey, where’d you come from?”

      The cat meowed, yellowish-green eyes glowing in the semidarkness of the building.

      Jack leaned down and petted the cat, who arched her back and purred. He had never especially liked cats; his father had tended toward dogs—big dogs—but this cat seemed okay. Besides, it was obvious she’d taken a liking to him.