LITMIR.BIZ

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door. “I think it qualifies for federal disaster assistance.”

      Thea brought up the rear as they went downstairs. Was there a Mrs. Matthews? The interaction between him and his daughter gave her the impression there wasn’t. The niggling sense of excitement in that thought brought her up short because it was so very unexpected.

      In the kitchen, he set the bag of trash beside the tall circular metal container. “So there you have it,” he said to Joyce.

      She nodded. “This house will go fast on today’s market.”

      “In spite of the biohazard bathroom?”

      Thea laughed. Until his comments about Kendra’s disaster of a bathroom, she’d thought the man had no sense of humor. She liked it.

      “Forget it, Scott,” Joyce said. “If you decide to list the place, you’ll have time to clean it up.”

      “That will be Kendra’s job,” he said.

      “Good luck getting her cooperation,” Thea mumbled.

      Joyce glanced at the two of them. “I gather she’s resistant to moving?”

      “She’ll come around,” he claimed.

      “Of course she will.” Joyce looked at her watch. “I’ve got to run to another appointment.”

      “So what do you think the place is worth?” he asked.

      “Scott, you know as well as I do it’s a gold mine. This neighborhood is one of the most desirable in Santa Clarita. Houses sell as soon as they go on the market. There’s a waiting list. You can easily get top dollar.”

      “What kind of top dollar are we talking?”

      “Let me do some comparables and I’ll let you know,” she said. She looked at Thea. “I’ll call you about listing your condo.”

      Thea nodded. After Joyce was gone, she was alone with Scott Matthews. For some reason he made her nervous, and not because he was annoyed with her. It had started after her assumption that he wasn’t married.

      “I guess I should be going, too,” she said.

      “Yeah.”

      She looked at the food she’d brought from a luncheon and reheated here for Kendra. It didn’t seem right to walk away from the dirty dishes, so she moved several pots and pans to the sink and squirted soap from the container there into them.

      “Just leave that,” he said.

      “Can’t. Part of my job. A professional doesn’t leave a mess in the kitchen.”

      “Even though you don’t have a contract?”

      “Even so. It’s a service-oriented, word-of-mouth business. Someone you know might need a caterer and you’ll remember the one who didn’t leave a mess.”

      While she worked, Thea glanced at Scott who brooded beside her. “Kendra told me she’s never had a party. Is that true?”

      He met her gaze and his own narrowed. “It doesn’t mean she’s underprivileged.”

      “I can see that she’s got everything she needs. Materially,” she added.

      “What are you saying?”

      “Just that I got the feeling it was very important to her to have a party.”

      “What was your first clue, Dr. Phil?”

      She ignored his sarcasm. “The fact that she didn’t tell you I was coming. I’d have to guess she felt you would veto the catering idea.”

      “She didn’t give me a chance to veto it.”

      “And if she had? What would you have said?” Thea asked, watching him carefully.

      He sighed. “Probably I’d have said no.”

      “Look…” She rested her wrists inside the sink, letting the water drip from her hands. “Probably I should have asked if she had permission to hire me. And when it came to a signed contract and deposit check, the cat would have been out of the bag. But there’s something about Kendra.”

      “Why didn’t she come to me? That’s a rhetorical question by the way.” He shook his head, then met her gaze. “And I don’t understand why she’s so upset about selling the house. It’s just a house.” His tone oozed frustration.

      “Men.” Thea stared at him, not bothering to conceal her exasperation.

      “What?”

      His clueless express was so darn cute, she couldn’t help a small sigh. “How long have you lived here?”

      He thought for a moment and said, “I guess ten or eleven years.”

      “So Kendra was about seven or eight when you moved in. She hardly remembers living anywhere else. She’s facing big changes, like leaving high school and going away to college. Then she finds out you’re getting rid of her anchor. Of course she freaked. Change is hard.”

      “I haven’t gotten rid of anything yet.”

      “Just the thought of change is uncomfortable. It’s human nature to fight against that.”

      Scott shifted his feet and brushed against the bag of trash on the floor. It tilted sideways, spilling the contents. “Damn it.”

      He bent to pick up the bag, giving her an unobstructed view of his backside. She was the first to admit she was out of practice in the fine art of observing men. And truthfully, she’d never understood the fascination for that particular part of the male anatomy. But Scott Matthews’ fanny gave her a completely different perspective.

      He straightened, pressed the latch on the kitchen can and dumped the smaller bag inside. Then he stooped again to gather up the stray trash on the tile. He picked up a slender plastic stick.

      Frowning, he rolled it between his fingers. “Is this what I think it is?”

      She saw the plus and minus symbols. “It is if you think it’s a pregnancy test.”

      She should know. She’d used one not that long ago and hers had come up a plus.

      Chapter Two

      “Just shoot me now.” A muscle jumped in Scott’s lean cheek and tension made his already square jaw seem harder somehow. “Does this mean it’s negative?”

      Thea stared at the minus sign. “Not necessarily. The results are only accurate for a short time. There’s no way to know if it’s positive or negative unless you know how long it’s been lying around.”

      His expression was dark when he looked up. “I feel as if I’ve been walking down the stairs and just missed the last three steps.”

      She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

      Impossibly blue eyes narrowed on her. “What are you? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”

      “Thirty-four.” But what did that have to do with anything?

      “Married? Divorced?”

      “Neither,” she answered. “I’m a widow.”

      Something flickered in his eyes, but she was grateful when he didn’t comment. The automatic “I’m sorry” was awkward and meaningless. She wasn’t even sure why she’d clarified her marital status to him. Normally she didn’t volunteer anything like that. But nothing about today was normal.

      “Do you have any children?” he asked, exasperation lacing his tone.

      Not yet, although she would soon. God willing. But this man was grilling her like raw hamburger. She’d innocently gotten caught up in his personal problems; that didn’t mean she had to reciprocate with her own problems. When her husband had received his

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