Home Again. Joan Elliott Pickart

reached down and picked up Oreo.

      “Hello, pretty girl,” Cedar said. “We’re a good team, aren’t we? We don’t need anyone else living here with us and, no, we don’t get lonely at times.”

      Oreo wiggled in Cedar’s arms, then jumped to the floor and ran toward the kitchen.

      “But the question remains,” Cedar said, pointing a finger in the air, “as to whether you love me for me, Ms. Oreo, or because I’m the one who feeds you? Do I want to know the answer to that? No, I do not.” She shook her head. “Isn’t this super? Now I’m talking to myself, for Pete’s sake.”

      Cedar went upstairs to change into soft, faded jeans and an equally worn Arizona State University sweatshirt. Returning to the main floor, she went into the kitchen, fed a complaining Oreo, then opened the refrigerator to see what might tempt her for dinner.

      Mark could only make scrambled eggs, she thought. Why were men so quick to decide that their gender made it acceptable to be helpless in the kitchen? It was no longer politically correct to assume the attitude that cooking was woman’s work. Mark should buy a cookbook and prepare nourishing, well-balanced meals for growing Joey. Cooking, in fact, was something the pair could tackle together, use as a bonding tool. She’d have to speak to Mark about that and—

      “That’s it, Mark Chandler,” Cedar said aloud, as she took lettuce and a tomato from a shelf. “Go back to the front porch where I left you. Right now.”

      But Mark refused to budge.

      He seemed to hover while Cedar prepared her meal of pasta with spicy sauce, a tossed salad and two slices of garlic bread.

      He was at the table while Cedar consumed her dinner, then cleaned the kitchen. When she settled into her favorite easy chair that was big enough for two, he somehow managed to perch on the rounded arm of the chair.

      Cedar snatched up the book on the table next to the chair, turned on the light and opened the book to where she’d left off the night before. After reading three paragraphs and realizing she hadn’t understood one word, she snapped the book closed and frowned.

      What on earth was going on here? she thought. She’d had a date with a dentist a month ago and had forgotten he existed by the time he’d backed out of her driveway after bringing her home.

      Why was Mark Chandler, who was a client and automatically not eligible for anything other than professional meetings, consuming her thoughts and managing to have such an intense affect on her? His presence was so palpable, she felt as though she could reach out and actually touch him right there in her living room.

      Now there was an enticing image, Cedar mused. Touching Mark Chandler. She had a feeling the chest beneath that faded shirt was rock-solid, as were his arms and those long, long legs. His thick hair just called to feminine fingers to sift through it, then watch it glide back into place. His lips—

      “Aakk,” Cedar yelled, as Oreo jumped into the chair and startled her back to reality. “Oh, good grief, Oreo, you scared the bejeebers out of me. But I deserve it because I had no business thinking what I was and…Oreo, give it to me straight. Am I losing it?

      “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before and it’s disconcerting to say the least. I mean, really, Mark Chandler isn’t even my type, you know what I mean? I go for the suit-and-tie guys, not dust-covered construction…dudes. So why is Mark capable of consuming my brain and…”

      Oreo leaped over the arm of the chair and left the room.

      Cedar sighed. “That went well. This whole situation is so ridiculous, my own cat decided it wasn’t worth listening to.

      “Okay, I’m on my own. This is Thursday. I see Mark again on Monday when he brings Joey for his appointment. Between now and then I’ll get it together and knock off this nonsense. Yes, I will, because I am woman…in charge, in control.”

      Cedar opened the book to the proper page and began to read, extremely glad there wouldn’t be a test later on what she was supposedly comprehending.

      Mark straightened the blanket over a sleeping Joey, then left the toy-strewn bedroom. He wandered down the hall to the large living room and slouched into a well-worn chair he refused to have reupholstered. Picking up the remote from the end table, he clicked on the television, only to be greeted by canned laughter. He shut it off again.

      It had been another silent evening in the Chandler household, he thought dismally. No matter how hard he’d tried, he couldn’t get Joey to respond to his chatty questions with more than one-word answers. Joey had just stared at him with those big, dark and so damn sad eyes of his and Mark had finally given up and allowed the kid to finish his scrambled eggs in a silence that seemed to weigh a ton.

      “Ah, hell.” Mark dragged his hands down his face, then laced them on his chest.

      Mary had trusted him with her son, Mark thought dismally. He and Mary had been so close, and he missed her. At times he caught himself reaching for the phone to call her and hear her cheerful voice. She’d be devastated if she knew how unhappy Joey was in his new home with his Uncle Mark, and disappointed in her brother for being such a lousy father.

      “Ah, hell,” he said again.

      He’d spent more than one evening sitting here mentally beating himself up because he couldn’t break through the walls that sad little boy had built around himself. Well, now things were different. He’d taken a positive step toward getting help for Joey by seeing Cedar Kennedy.

      Cedar.

      He liked her name. It was unique and had a nice ring to it. And he liked her smile and her dynamite wind-chime laughter. Her hair was pretty, framing her delicate features with soft blond waves and… Why wasn’t a woman like that married? How stupid and blind were the men in Phoenix, for crying out loud?

      Maybe she hated men. Why would she hate men? Had she been badly hurt in the past by some jerk? That was a disturbing thought. He’d like to pop that guy right in the chops for…no, he was getting carried away here. He didn’t have a clue why Cedar Kennedy wasn’t married.

      Maybe she’d been too busy establishing her career, just as he had been, to become involved in a serious relationship. That made sense. He’d come right out and asked her if she ever got lonely and she’d thrown that question right back in his lap.

      Did he get lonely?

      What difference did that make anyway? He didn’t have enough hours in the day to do all that needed tending at Chandler Construction and now he had become an instant father of a little boy who was so miserable, it was enough to break a person’s heart.

      Well, come Monday, things were going to be different once he placed Joey in Cedar’s care. He’d do whatever Cedar recommended.

      Except what had she meant by saying they’d talk later about his lack of cooking skills? Hey, eggs were good for a kid and there was nothing wrong with hamburgers and pizza.

      Cedar. He was definitely looking forward to seeing her again on Monday. She was, he hoped, the solution to Joey’s unhappiness, and he was eager to get this show on the road. His anticipation didn’t really have anything to do with Cedar the woman, no matter how attractive she was. Or how her smile lit up her face, or her laughter.

      “Enough,” Mark said, pressing the remote to bring the television to life. “Watch the news, Chandler, and quit thinking.”

      “I suppose you want me to give up my baby for adoption just like everyone else. Well, I won’t. I don’t care what you say, I won’t.”

      Cedar looked at the sullen fifteen year old who sat opposite her desk. “I didn’t suggest that at all,” she said gently. “I simply asked how you planned to provide for your child, Cindy.”

      “I’ll manage,” Cindy said, then began to nibble on one of her fingernails.

      “How do you feel about the baby’s father leaving town when you told him you were pregnant?”