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A Cop's Honor. Emilie Rose
Читать онлайн.Название A Cop's Honor
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781474081054
Автор произведения Emilie Rose
Издательство HarperCollins
Progress. Mason was asking about his welfare. “I don’t think your mom’s expecting me for dinner. But let’s ask her about me coming back later in the week to show you how to rehang the gutter.”
“Okay.” Mason hustled inside.
They found Hannah and Belle in the kitchen. The smell of bacon filled the air and Brandon’s stomach grumbled.
Hannah glanced up from the frying pan, and the wariness in her eyes engaged his protective instincts. “Thank you for letting Belle hold the level. She’s talked nonstop about it since she came in.”
“No problem. She was a big help.” He winked at Belle, making her giggle, then pulled out his phone and hit the calendar app. “If weather and my case load permit, I can come back Wednesday to finish the job.”
Hannah shook her head. “We can’t do Wednesday. Belle has dance lessons.”
“Where does Mason go?”
“With us.”
“To dance lessons?”
“There’s a quiet place for him to do his homework,” she defended.
Poor kid. “Let me keep him here so he can help me with the gutter.”
Hannah pulled one corner of her bottom lip into her mouth. It was a habit he’d noticed too many times today.
“Please, Mom? Brandon’s teaching me to use his tools, and I really want to learn.”
She looked surprised by Mason’s enthusiasm. “Okay. But you have to promise to do your homework.”
“I will. I swear.”
Her gaze swung back to Brandon. “Do you um...want to stay for supper? It’s breakfast night. We’re having bacon, eggs and pancakes.”
Hannah’s forced smile couldn’t hide her lack of eagerness for his company. And he couldn’t blame her. He needed some time to get his head back on straight. “Thanks, but I’ll have to take a rain check. I need to get a few things done before work tomorrow. See you Wednesday,” he offered to the room in general.
Belle slid off her stool and rushed him. She wound her little arms around him and squeezed. “Thank you for painting my room, Occifer Brandon. It’s bootiful.”
“You’re welcome. Your picture is going to be perfect on the wall.” The urge to stay hit him hard. But he had to go. This wasn’t his family. It was Rick’s.
No matter how much he’d enjoyed spending the afternoon with Hannah and her children, there were too many risk factors attached to him. If his job didn’t get him killed, he’d still have the cloud of Parkinson’s hanging over his head.
Brandon had read extensively about the future his father faced as the disease progressed, and having loved ones wipe his butt was not in Brandon’s plan.
He could never be a family man.
BRANDON HAD SPENT Monday and Tuesday convincing himself that his out-of-line thoughts about Hannah had been a fluke. He arrived at her house Wednesday evening, determined to prove his point.
The front door opened. Belle, wearing a pink headband, leotard and tutu and her sparkly sandals, darted out toward him. She hurled herself at him. “Occifer Brandon!”
He swung her into the air then set her down. She weighed more than the twins, his four-year-old niece and nephew, but squealed the same. “Hey, kiddo. How’s the room?”
“Prettiful!”
Her made up words were...cute. Mason stepped onto the porch. The sour expression he usually greeted Brandon with was absent. “Mom’s inside. She’s all in a tiz about leaving me here. Like you’re gonna kill me or something.”
“I’ll try not to.” Brandon fist-bumped Mason then followed the kids through the foyer to the den.
Hannah hustled around the room, gathering her purse, a sweater and a tiny pair of dance slippers. The pink band in her hair matched Belle’s, as did the shoes on her feet and the fitted T-shirt skimming her slender curves, but the resemblance ended there. A khaki skirt hugged Hannah’s hips and revealed her long legs. There was nothing girlish about her figure.
The inappropriate reactions he’d hoped were a one-time deal shot through him like an Amtrak train. His heart clickety-clacked against his sternum, and adrenaline sped through his veins. Déjà vu. Damn.
She glanced up, spotted him and stopped. Her lips parted and her breasts rose with a quick inhalation. Color tinted her cheeks. “Hi.”
“Sorry I’m late. Last-minute conference call.”
“Thanks for texting and letting me know. We’re still okay for time. Are you sure you don’t mind staying with Mason?” Her words came out in a breathy rush—the kind that made him think of urgent middle-of-the-night whispers. And that was just wrong.
“Nah. I need his help. It’s a two-man job.”
Behind her back Mason gave him a thumbs-up. Teamwork. Progress.
“We usually grab dinner after dance lessons, but there’s sandwich stuff if y’all get hungry before I get home. Make yourself comfortable. If there’s anything you need, anything at all... Except I don’t think I have beer and I know I don’t have anything stronger, but—”
“Hannah.” He held up a hand to stop the flood of words. Despite what she’d said, she wasn’t at ease giving him full run of her home. Her hit-and-run glances and the pink-painted toenails curling in her sandals revealed her agitation. “I’ll get dinner for Mason and me, and I don’t mix alcohol with power tools. Take your time. You and Belle should have a girls’ night out dinner.”
“Oh. Well... I don’t know.”
“Do it, Mom. Go to that dumb salad place,” Mason encouraged. “You know...the one I hate and you love.”
Smart. The kid was trying to get them some extra tool time.
“Okay then... I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” Her attention shifted to Mason. “Listen and behave.” Then she hurried Belle out the door.
“You owe me, kid,” Brandon said.
Mason’s gaze turned wary. “For what?”
“For getting you out of going to dance with your sister.”
“Oh yeah. Thanks.” Mason scuffed his shoe on the floor. “Sisters suck.”
“Not always. Wait until she starts learning to cook. You’ll have more cookies and cakes from her experiments than you ever dreamed of, and most will be edible. Then when she’s a teenager she’ll bring home her friends. Pretty, datable girls, paraded right through your door. What’s not to like?”
Mason’s face turned red. “How do you know?”
“I have two sisters.” He checked his watch. “I’m ordering a pizza. You interested?” The magic word could make most males smile.
“Pizza! Heck, yeah.”
“Who delivers here?”
Mason shrugged. “We never get pizza delivered.”
He couldn’t have scripted a better answer. “Boot up your computer and let’s look it up.”
“Can’t you do it on your phone?”
He’d anticipated the question. “It’s easier to see a menu on a larger screen.”
“Why do you need a menu