Lone Star Millionaire (22 page)

Thea nodded. “Good. That's not my strongest area. I like the food part.”

She studied the two sisters, side by side, and remembered when she'd first met Kendra at her friend's catered birthday party. While Thea had set up, the teen had asked a lot of questions. Was it hard to cook? How had she learned? Who taught her? Did she like it?

Thea had enjoyed spending time with her that day. She wondered if the child she carried was a girl and thought how lovely it would be to share her interest in cooking, clothes and other girlie things. She'd sensed something needy in Kendra when she'd first met her. Now that she knew her history, it didn't take a Ph.D. in psychology to get that it was about missing her mother. Anger curled through her toward the woman who'd deserted her daughters. It was reprehensible. There was no way to come out of that without feeling the effects.

Her baby would never know its father and nothing could
change that. It made her sad, but there was nothing to be done except give her child all the love and attention she had in her. Plus the best environment to bring up her baby. She looked around and knew without a doubt that she liked this house even more the second time.

She heard the water go on upstairs. An instant visual of a shirtless Scott Matthews jumped into her mind. Her stomach lurched and she wished it was about the pregnancy. Why had she volunteered to come here? She looked at Kendra and remembered.

“So,” she said, “why are you avoiding your dad?”

The teen glanced at her sister, but before she could say anything Gail spoke up. “There's an overnight freshman orientation coming up that he wants Ken to go to.”

“And you don't want to?” Thea asked.

“He's just trying to get rid of me.”

“Oh, for Pete's sake, Ken,” her sister said. “Dad's not doing that. You're just a big chicken.”

“You're afraid?” Thea asked.

“No.” Her mouth took on a stubborn slant, remarkably like her father's.

“You should give it a try,” Thea advised.

“What if it's lame?” Kendra looked up and for just a moment there was apprehension in the blue-eyed gaze she'd also inherited from Scott.

“What if it's not?” Thea sat on the arm of the wing chair in the family room. “You've got nothing to lose by checking it out. That's what orientation is all about.”

“You've been talking to my dad, haven't you?”

“Yes,” Thea admitted. “But not about this. I'm not taking his side if that's what you're implying. It simply makes good sense.”

“Why?”

“You get a taste of what college life will be like. You do want to go, right?”

“Of course.”

“You have an opportunity to go to one of the most prestigious colleges in the country. UCLA is an excellent school and it's practically in your backyard. You're far enough away to get a taste of being on your own, but close enough if you need—” she glanced at Gail “—laundry facilities.”

“Is that what my dad told you?” she asked, grinning.

“He actually said that when you come home, you spend more time with the washer and dryer than you do with him.”

Just then a buzzer sounded from down the hall. Gail rubbed her nose sheepishly. “Right on cue. That would mean my darks are done.” She left the room to tend to her clothes.

Thea laughed. “He wasn't complaining. Just stating a fact. You're growing up,” she said, looking at Kendra. “And he wants you to have the best possible education. What if you like it?”

“What if I don't?” the teen asked.

“Then you can enroll at the local junior college. There's more than one way to get from point A to point B. But don't limit yourself because you're afraid.”

“I'm not afraid,” she said. “Just a little nervous. It's a big place.”

Thea remembered what Scott had said about doubting her ability to judge people after her unfortunate experience. She knew it would embarrass the teen to know that she knew. Instead of bringing it up, she said, “It
is
a big place. That can work in your favor. Makes it easy to blend in. To not be noticed. Has it occurred to you that you're not the only freshman who feels this way? There will be a whole crop of newbies feeling just as insecure as you do.”

“Yeah,” she said a little doubtfully.

Thea put her hand on the girl's arm. “Just don't let fear stop you. Take the steps. Your dad will be there to catch you if you fall.”

Kendra shrugged. “I've always hated the first day of
school. Especially in elementary school. Not knowing which teacher I'd get—would she be nice or the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Elementary school. It would come in handy for her child. She would check out the school system. But this was an opportunity to get information from someone who'd walked the hallowed halls.

“What did you think of your elementary school?” Thea asked her.

She thought for a moment. “It was good. I liked it.”

Thea couldn't resist. “A few years from now you could be saying that about UCLA.”

“Maybe.” Kendra grinned. “When I was in grade school, I remember a lot of the parents would ask for their kids to be with certain teachers, but my dad never did.”

“Why's that?”

“He said in life you don't get to pick people. You have to learn how to get along with anyone and everyone, no matter what.”

Very practical, Thea thought. “So overall you'd say your experience in elementary school was positive?”

Scott walked into the room. “What's this about school?”

“I was just asking your daughter about her experience. When one is interested in the educational system, one should go to the person who's walked the walk.”

“Why are you interested?” He folded his arms over his chest.

This wasn't the time to share that she was concerned about the future education of the child she was carrying. But she also couldn't ignore him or blow off the question. So she seized the only thing she could think of. “Have you forgotten our deal?”

“No.”

“Okay, then. It's something any prospective buyer should be aware of. One should always be concerned about resale. And the school system is important in that regard.”

“It was one of my concerns,” he agreed.

“What deal?” Kendra looked at her. “Are you going to buy the house?”

Uh-oh. She'd stepped right on that land mine. She didn't want to make things more difficult for Scott, but she also wouldn't lie to the girl.

“I'm looking for a bigger place and I love this house. But I have to sell my condo first and that could take a while. So your dad agreed to hold off on listing the house until my condo sells and give me first crack at making an offer on this house.”

Kendra nodded. “Cool.”

Thea looked at Scott, who was staring at his daughter as if she was an alien from another planet. “Cool?” he said.

“Yeah.” She cocked her thumb toward the laundry. “I'm going to help Gail.”

“Okay.” Scott stared after her, scratching his head with a puzzled expression on his face.

The scent of soap and some spicy cologne tickled Thea's nose and she looked at him. His damp hair was darker and showed marks where he'd run his comb through the wet strands. He'd put on fresh jeans and a black T-shirt that clung to his flat abdomen and the impressive contours of his chest. The muscles in his upper arms flexed and rippled as he rubbed the back of his neck. She'd forgotten how good a man looked and smelled fresh out of the shower. A feeling of longing sliced through her, making the empty place inside her echo with the pain of what would never be.

“Just the other day she had a meltdown about selling the house. Now it's ‘cool'? I will never understand the complexity of the female mind,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving up.

The bemused look was so darn cute. Thea felt a tug in the region of her heart, and it chased away the yearning she'd felt just a moment ago. How could this happen? She was the one
who'd planted both feet solidly on her soapbox while delivering the lecture about keeping her personal and professional lives separate. She didn't need a visit from the common-sense fairy to know it was time to do what she came here to do and then beat a hasty retreat.

“So what kind of food did you have in mind for the party?” she asked Scott. “What does Kendra like?”

“Chicken,” called out a voice from the other room that belonged to Gail. Good-natured chatter followed the remark.

When Thea laughed, Scott looked puzzled. “Apparently I missed something.”

“Not important.” She picked up her briefcase and walked to the kitchen dinette to open it. She took out an album of pictures from parties she'd done. After opening it, she stopped at a page. “This is a party I did with Greek food. But it was for a wedding shower and the couple was going to Greece for their honeymoon. And the bride was a vegetarian.”

He nodded as he studied the pictures. “I'm trying to remember if I was ever that young.”

“I know what you mean,” she said. “But it was not my intention that you get philosophical on me. My purpose in showing these is to demonstrate how theme can complement the menu—and any dietary idiosyncrasies.”

“As long as there's meat.” He arched an eyebrow at her.

The girls walked into the room, Gail carrying a basket filled with folded clothes. “Dad, Ken and I are thinking about going to a movie.”

You're leaving us alone? What's wrong with you?
Thea wanted to shout at them. But she managed to hold back.

“Kendra, don't you want to be in on the menu discussion?” she asked instead.

“You're the one who wanted this party in the first place,” Scott said. “I thought you'd want to help plan it.”

“You didn't tell me Thea was coming over,” she defended.

“Okay. But I thought this party was important to you. Now that she's here, the least you can do is hang around and tell her what you want.”

“But Gail and I don't get to spend a lot of time hanging out together.”

“Tell me about it,” he said.

Gail set down the overflowing laundry basket. “What about a balloon theme? Something like, ‘The sky's the limit.'”

Scott glanced at Thea. “Are balloons expensive?”

“Depends on how many you have and if they're the Mylar ones filled with helium. But you can do a few of those and some you blow up yourself.”

He nodded. “Then I think it's a brilliant idea.”

“Dad, you squeeze a penny till it shrieks,” Gail needled.

“Someone around here has to be frugal,” he defended. “You guys think money grows on trees.”

“It doesn't?” Kendra said, eyes wide as she glanced from him to her sister.

Scott reached over and tweaked her nose. “Very funny.”

“I think it's a brilliant idea, too,” Thea agreed. “So we have a theme. What about food? Anything ethnic you're particularly fond of?”

“Mexican,” Gail said.

“Chinese,” Kendra chimed in.

Scott looked at them. “Steak and baked potatoes.”

“Anyone can do that,” Kendra pointed out. “Thea's food is special.”

“So what do you want?” he asked.

“To go to the movies with my sister.”

“But Thea gave up her evening to come over here.”

She hadn't given up much, she thought. Just her empty condo and a frozen dinner. “Don't worry about it, Scott.”

“It's not about worrying. It's about inconveniencing people,” he said, giving the girls a stern look.

“But they didn't know I was coming. Besides, you guys can't even agree on what kind of food you want.” She tapped her lip. “I think I have a suggestion that might help.”

“What?” he asked, sounding doubtful.

“Why don't I come back at a mutually convenient time for everyone and we'll do a tasting to see what you like.” She watched the three of them nod. “I'll pick some dishes that have received the most positive feedback—”

“No pun intended,” Scott said.

“Right.” She grinned. “I'll cook and maybe we can pin down the food. What do you say?”

“Are you sure you don't mind coming back?” he asked.

Of course she did, but not for the reasons he thought. But now she was in for a penny, in for a pound. And she wouldn't let Kendra down.

“It's fine. That way the girls can go to the movies and hang out.”

Scott let out a long breath. “I suppose it's all right since we're just in the discussion stage.”

The girls stood on either side of him and kissed him on each cheek. “Thanks, Dad,” they said in unison.

Gail put her laundry basket by the stairway, while Kendra picked up her keys and purse. Then they were gone and the energy level dropped. But when Thea looked at Scott, the level of something else went up.

“So when are you coming back to cook for me?” he asked. “How about next Thursday? You just got a crash course in how complicated weekends are around here.”

She nodded and checked her date book. “That works for me.”

And the words were barely out of her mouth before her anticipation to see him again set in. That did not work for her.

H
e'd seen women more beautiful, but Scott couldn't remember who or when.

Thea was standing in front of his stove, about where he'd seen her for the very first time. Now she was wearing jeans, a soft fuzzy green sweater that brought out hints of hazel in her big brown eyes and an apron with her catering logo—For Whom The Bell Toils. The “O” in
Toils
was in the shape of a bell and the dinger looked like a wooden spoon. It was catchy. And, like her, it was cute, clever and captivating.

She glanced at him over her shoulder as she sprinkled grated mozzarella cheese over lasagna noodles. “Scott, I can call you when everything is ready for you to taste.”

Right. The party menu. The reason she was here. Pretty soon he'd get his head into making a decision on that, but right now all he could think about was tasting the comely caterer.

“Scott?” Her hand hovered above the baking dish as she studied him with a puzzled expression. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope. Everything is peachy.” He took a drink from the beer in his hand. “Are you sure you wouldn't like a glass of wine? I've got a nice bottle of cabernet. Been saving it for a special occasion.”

She turned back to the stove. “I've learned never to mix work and wine unless it's called for in a recipe.”

“Probably wise,” he said.

“This will take at least a half hour to heat through. I would have put it together at the office, but the luncheon I did today ran a little late.”

“No problem,” he said. “It's exciting to stand around and watch the cheese melt.”

“Ah. Sarcasm.” One corner of her full mouth tilted up. “So don't stand around. Go watch the grass grow or the car rust. The cheese will melt whether you're here or not. You must have something better to do than hang around with me.”

“Not really. For a change it's kind of nice to not be the one cooking.” At the moment, he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do than watch her. “So what have you brought to taste? Besides the lasagna?”

“I have a Greek salad,” she said, indicating a bowl of greens on the counter. “Some egg rolls I made from scratch. They're left over from the luncheon today and they're really good if I do say so myself. I assembled quesadillas—they're simple—tortillas and cheese—but if you like them and want more pizzazz, I can use salsa, guacamole and beans. Jalapeño peppers can spice them up and make them hotter.”

He could think of ways to spice things up, he thought, staring at her mouth. And that definitely made him hotter.

“Sounds like you've put together a veritable United Nations for the palate.”

“I like that,” she said with a grin. “And once we have an ethnic direction, I can narrow down your choices and fine-tune the recipes, taking into consideration your personal pref
erences. Also, you don't have to stick with just Italian or Mexican food. You can mix and match if you want.”

“That wouldn't be breaking any catering code?”

Her eyes sparkled. “None I'm aware of. Some clients like to stick with one direction, but it's not carved in stone. It all depends on what you want. The customer is always right.” She stuck her hands in the pockets of her apron. “Seriously, if you have something you need to do, I'll just let you know when everything is ready.”

That was the third time she'd hinted he should hit the road and get out from underfoot. Did he make her nervous? Or was she a temperamental chef who didn't like anyone peeking over her shoulder? He sort of liked that he might make her nervous—if it wasn't nervous in the “temperamental cook” kind of way. If it was the sort of nerves that meant she was as aware of him as he was of her, he could go for that.

“Don't worry about me,” he said. “I can take care of myself.”

“I'm not worried. You're a big boy,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. “Where's Kendra? I haven't seen her.”

It was a natural question, considering the fact that his daughter had initiated this whole thing in the first place. But it was the way Thea had asked, as if she were hoping. As if
she
were worried—about being alone with him.

“She's at a friend's house.”

“But she was supposed to be here.”

Scott shrugged. “I know. Something came up for school. I was going to call and cancel but she talked me out of it.” And that had taken precious little effort.

“I see.” She tapped her lip. “When will she be home?”

“Ten at the latest. That's her curfew on school nights.”

“Hmm.” Thea met his gaze. “It would be nice to get her input. Since this party is for her. And that's why I came back.”

“She said everything you make is to die for—that's a direct quote—and I should pick what I like.” His gaze zeroed in on the
slender column of Thea's neck, which he liked very much. He noticed her pulse fluttering and his own kicked up to keep pace.

“Okay.” She nodded. “She can reheat the leftovers and let me know what she thinks. Often they're better because the flavors have time to blend. But I have to warn you, if there's anything you love and she hates it, her opinion as guest of honor carries the most weight.”

“Even though I'm paying the bill?” He couldn't resist teasing her. Maybe he could shake her out of this stiff, professional pose. If he'd never seen her sympathetic-listener side, he wouldn't miss it now. But he had and he did.

“You're paying the bill because you love your daughter and want her to be happy.”

“You're sure about that?”

“Absolutely,” she said, nodding emphatically.

“I'm that transparent?”

“Like plastic wrap.”

“You've learned all my secrets,” he confirmed.

“Then my work here is done.” But her gaze skittered away. She pointed at the clutter on the refrigerator beside him. “Does it always look like that?”

He studied the mass of magnets, some of them with clips holding coupons, school memos and pictures. “Yeah, pretty much.”

She tapped her lip. “I can't decide if it's a fire hazard or a work of art.”

“Probably both,” he said with a grin.

She plucked off a magnetic frame with a photo in it. “Which one of the girls is this?”

He moved in close to look, even though he knew exactly which one of his daughters it was. “That's Kendra. She was three months old.”

Gently, she traced the picture with her finger, as if it were a real, live baby. “She's so sweet.”

As sweet as you smell, he thought, breathing in her floral scent. A soft, tender look crept into Thea's face as she studied the small photo. He hadn't thought she could look more beautiful, but she did. It took all his willpower to keep from reaching out to trace the curve of her cheek and the line of her jaw. The skin there looked incredibly soft and smooth and perfect. Her small nose turned up slightly with a dusting of freckles splashed over it.

Strands of hair shimmered around her face like brown silk. It was all he could do to keep from tangling his fingers in it and pulling her to him to taste her mouth, see if it was made for kissing as he suspected. The sight of her made his chest tight and for the first time in a long time, he felt the emptiness inside.

“She's completely adorable.” Thea looked at him. “I can't believe you know exactly how old she is in this picture.”

“Besides the fact that it's written on the back,” he said, “I remember everything. I've been involved in all my girls' activities—fairy princesses, sports, school.”

“Did work get in the way of being a father?” she asked wryly.

“Sometimes. But since my dad owns the company, it was a little easier to juggle my time. Any pressure about work came from me trying not to take advantage.”

“So much for trying to make me believe you're a tough guy where your daughter is concerned.” She looked around the kitchen and into the family room. “Your girls practically grew up in this house. For a man who remembers everything, doesn't that make you think twice about selling it?”

He shrugged as he followed her gaze. “It's just a house. The memories are up here,” he said, tapping his temple. “I've got a ton of pictures, ninety-nine-point-nine percent of which are
not
in albums. I wish digital cameras had been around when my girls were growing up.”

“Do you have a good one now?” she asked, a spark in her eyes.

“Yeah. Today's technology makes storing the memories easier and that appeals to me. Are you interested?” He looked into her eyes and wished they were talking about something more personal than the latest photo technology. Then he realized how his question might sound and added, “In cameras?”

“Yes. I'm going to need a good one for—” She stopped, looking uncomfortable. “F-for business. I like to take photos of my parties,” she said quickly.

“I remember. We looked at them the other night when you were here.”

“Right,” she said, nodding emphatically. “But I'm not into technology much. Connie keeps trying to get me to join the twenty-first century, but my heels are dug in and I'm hanging on to the past with both hands.”

He laughed. “In certain things I can understand that.”

“Meaning?”

“I've tried my damnedest to keep my girls from growing up. But apparently they didn't get the memo that they're supposed to stay small.”

“So you do have mixed feelings about your daughter leaving home and selling the place.”

“Yes. But soon I'll rattle around this big house. It's time for something smaller.”

Looking unconvinced, she leaned back and studied him. “Fibber. I think you're a big softie.”

Shaking his head, he said, “No way. I'm hard as nails and practical. It's going to be quiet and peaceful around here. When Kendra goes to college, the phone won't be ringing off the hook and the energy level will drop to normal proportions.”

“
If
she goes away.”

“Even if she decides on the local junior college for now, I'm looking at two years tops until she transfers to a four-year
school. The handwriting is on the wall. She's going to leave whether or not I want her to and I'll need a smaller place.”

“And when you're alone, you're going to miss her—teen problems and all.”

He scoffed. “I'll miss her. But after recent events, I will never miss teenage problems.”

Thea looked down at the picture in her hands and smiled, softly—sadly. Why sad? What was she thinking to make her look like that?

He wanted to know. And it hit him like a two-by-four to the head—he wanted to fix whatever was bothering her. But he couldn't do that without knowing what was wrong. Only the last time he'd tried to draw her out, she'd refused to cooperate. Should he try again? The answer was yes, although not tonight. He didn't want to give her a reason to hide behind her professional demeanor. Or worse, head for the hills. He was enjoying her company too much.

He felt a click with her and suspected she felt it, too. He'd admit to being out of practice with women. His experiences were few and far between, but he didn't remember feeling an attraction like this before. Even if he wanted to, a man couldn't forget a woman like her.

Thea put the magnetic frame back on the refrigerator. “So you're absolutely and completely committed to getting a smaller place?”

“Yup. Like I said—hard as nails and practical. What do I need with this big house just for me?”

“What if the girls want to come home for a visit?”

“I'm not going to live in a cardboard box under the freeway. Wherever I move will just be smaller, but I'll want a couple of extra bedrooms.”

One of her delicate eyebrows arched. “I happen to know of a place like that.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My condo.” Before he could say anything, she rushed on. “Actually it was Connie's idea. I told her you were downsizing and, being Connie, she said in her flippant way that maybe we should trade spaces.”

Scott rested his forearm on the refrigerator, leaning in close to look down at her. “Intriguing idea.”

“Isn't it?” She blinked as she gazed up at him and swallowed. “She actually called it brilliant, but humility has never been her most attractive quality.”

“I hadn't gotten as far as thinking where I'd move to, but a condo makes a lot of sense.”

“It's practical,” she said, lifting that eyebrow again.

“Have I mentioned I'm a practical guy?”

“No way,” she said in mock surprise.

“Yeah.” He grinned.

“Then you should check out my place and see if you're interested.”

He was interested, all right. Checking out her mouth, he felt the blood flow in his body shift to points south of his belt. Some rusty instinct warned him that this wouldn't be the best time to check out if her lips were as soft and sexy as they looked. Not if he wanted to know her better. And since she'd just given him a gold-plated invitation to do just that, he could wait.

“I'd like very much to see your place.”

“Great. Let's look at our calendars and we'll set up a time.”

He could hardly wait.

 

A week after her visit to Scott's house, Thea looked at the clock on her microwave. He was due any minute. Instantly, the threads of nerves in her stomach tied into one gigantic knot.

At this moment, and every one since the words had come out of her mouth, she wished for the invitation back. She was as tense as a chef watching a soufflé. Which was silly because this was business. Sort of. He had a big place and needed a
smaller one. She had a smaller one and needed a bigger one. Simply business.

But it felt very personal and complicated, which made her uneasy.

The doorbell sounded and she pressed a palm against her abdomen as the knot grew. She glanced in the peephole to check to make sure it was Scott. It was. And even distorted by the peephole, just as Connie had said, he was female-fantasy material. Not for her, of course. But the average woman would be putty in his hands.