Worth Fighting For. Judy Duarte

allowed to run amok during his youth—hoped she would.

      “Do you mind if I cut your jeans?” she asked.

      Score one for the lady. “Nah. Go ahead. They’re going in the trash anyway.”

      She pulled scissors from the first-aid kit, then knelt at his feet and began to snip at the denim fabric. Her hair had white-gold highlights that probably lit up on a sunny day or in the candlelight.

      He could imagine her walking hand in hand with a guy in the summer sun, sitting across a linen-draped table at a high-class restaurant.

      What he couldn’t imagine was her not having a man in her life.

      What was the deal with her and Greg? Were they friends? Lovers?

      And what about Emily’s father? Where was he? And why had he let a woman like Caitlin slip away?

      Brett wasn’t sure why he was so curious about the men in her life. It’s not as though he wanted a shot at dating her himself. He made it a point to steer clear of women with kids.

      But for now, he couldn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t join them for spusghetti and a game of Go Fish.

      It beat the heck out of munching on dried cat food in front of the TV.

      Chapter Two

      Brett stood before the woven, heart-shaped welcome mat on his pretty neighbor’s front porch and glanced at his watch—five-fifty. Ten minutes early.

      He paused before knocking.

      What had he been thinking when he’d agreed to dinner? Should he try and figure out a way to back out graciously?

      Unlike his buddy Greg, Brett wasn’t into cats, board games or neighborly get-togethers.

      And Caitlin was just the kind of woman he steered clear of—a homemaker, like Kelly had been. And probably just as set in her ways and disagreeable. But to make matters worse, Caitlin also had a kid—and an ex-husband, no doubt.

      It was just the kind of broken household Brett didn’t want to be a part of.

      His stomach rumbled, urging him to put aside his reservations for the sake of hunger. He should have walked ten or twelve blocks to the twenty-four-hour convenience store on Vine, but he’d spent the better part of the afternoon on the telephone looking for a certified Harley repair shop.

      He’d found one in Bayside, and the owner had come out to look over the battered bike about twenty minutes ago.

      The estimate was astronomical, but not a surprise. Six months ago, Brett had paid over twenty grand for the new Softail. Then he’d put a fortune into the high-priced accessories he’d added, not to mention the custom paint job. So he had no other choice but to let the mechanic from Hog Specialists haul it back to the repair and body shop.

      And since Greg had loaned his pickup to his brother, Brett was left without wheels until the bike was fixed. Damn. He wasn’t about to spend his leave on foot, so he’d have to rent a car, which he’d probably do tomorrow. But for now, he was temporarily stranded.

      So why should he back out and tell Caitlin he wasn’t hungry when he was actually starving?

      Just as he lifted his good hand to rap at the door, a movement near the window caused him to glance to the right, where Emily peered through the white slatted shutters.

      She had the front door open before he knew it. “How come you were just standing there for a long time? My mommy won’t let me open the door unless someone knocks.”

      He scanned beyond the doorway, looking for her mother, hoping Caitlin wouldn’t think he’d been waiting at the door trying to muster a little courage. Not seeing her, he lifted his bandaged knuckle, trying to sidetrack the child by reminding her that he had an injury. “It hurts to knock.”

      “Then you should have ringed the doorbell.”

      Smart kid. Too smart.

      “Come in.” Her smile lit up her face in a warm welcome.

      She was a cutie, that’s for sure. Her mom had pulled back the sides of her long, blond hair with brightly colored, kitty-cat barrettes and dressed her in a white top, pink-and-white striped shorts and little white sandals.

      “Guess what?” Emily’s eyes danced like sugarplum fairies, and she answered before he could ponder her secret. “I got to butter the bread and shake the sprinkles on it.”

      “Your mom is lucky to have such a great helper,” he said.

      “I know.” The little girl took him by his good hand and led him into the house.

      He hadn’t paid much attention to the decor when he’d come inside earlier, but he did now. The cozy living room had an overstuffed sofa with a floral print in shades of pink and green, an antique rocking chair by the hearth, framed photographs placed on light oak furniture and lots of girly doodads on the pale green walls.

      “Mommy!” Emily cried. “He’s here.”

      Brett’s pulse rate slipped into overdrive, as he waited for Caitlin to respond—a visceral reaction he didn’t want and hadn’t expected. Heck, she was just a neighbor.

      Okay, so she was nice to look at. And she had a gentle touch, a lilt in her voice. That didn’t mean he was interested in her in a romantic sense. The single mom was too heavy-duty for him.

      “Hi,” Caitlin said, as she walked out of the kitchen wearing a yellow sundress and a breezy smile—a perfect blend of Suzy Homemaker, Florence Nightingale and Meg Ryan. “I didn’t hear the bell.”

      “That’s ’cause he didn’t push the button,” Emily interjected. “And his owies hurt too much, so he couldn’t knock.”

      The heat in Brett’s cheeks suggested he’d turned a brilliant shade of red, but he shrugged off the embarrassment and hid his discomfort behind a grin. “Emily spotted me through the shutters and opened the door before I got a chance to knock.”

      “Is your hand still bothering you?” Caitlin asked, nodding toward his bandage.

      “Nah,” he lied. “It’s fine. The knee, too. I’m almost back to fighting weight.”

      As she took his wrist and assessed her handiwork, he couldn’t help but study her. She had a light sprinkle of freckles across a slightly turned-up nose and dark, spiked lashes that were much longer and thicker than he remembered.

      Standing this close, he caught a good whiff of her perfume, or maybe it was body lotion. Piña colada? Or some other tropical drink? Whatever it was smelled darn good.

      “I’m not sure what you did to this,” she said, “but it’s damp and coming undone.”

      A piece of tape had lifted, probably from the steam and spray of the shower he’d taken before walking over here. He had a feeling she would offer to redo it for him, and the thought of her fussing over him again didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should have.

      Brett’s lifestyle wasn’t conducive to family life or happy ever after. He loved the Navy and flying choppers too much to give them up. And even if he bit the bullet and gave marriage or a one-on-one relationship another try, he wouldn’t look twice at a woman with kids. That kind of gig was built-in trouble and turmoil, as far as he was concerned. And it smacked of a future rife with disagreements, threats and family court.

      No. All that baggage made Caitlin off-limits.

      But, hey. What was a little hand holding while she tended his wounds? A man wouldn’t mind being sick or injured, just to have a woman like her hover over him.

      She tucked a golden strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a pearl earring and a slender neck made for nuzzling and kissing, then glanced up at him with expressive, oceanic eyes. “I’ll get the first-aid kit, just as soon as I drain the spaghetti. It won’t take long.”