A Daddy for Jacoby(17)

No, it was purely the fact all he’d wanted to do in that one moment on his front porch was pull her into his arms and cover her mouth with his.

One moment? How about many moments?

Like when she’d first arrived, standing at his front door looking up at him, uncertainty in her eyes. Or in his darkened kitchen when embarrassment left a pretty pink blush on her face. Or how that blush deepened when he’d found her bra in the basket and realized she was wearing the matching panties.

Oh, yeah, he’d really wanted to kiss her then.

Hell, he’d wanted to kiss her from practically the first moment they met in his sister’s office on the day he’d convinced Racy to hire him.

Then he found out she was the sheriff’s younger sister.

That really put her out of his league, not that she and him were even in the same ballpark. He was a hundred percent all wrong for Gina Steele. Finding out her family connection should’ve quenched the ever-present fire burning in his gut, but it didn’t. So he’d worked hard to stay away from her. Not the easiest thing to do with their tripping over each other at work. And holding her in his arms yesterday hadn’t helped.

Justin slammed a mental door on his thoughts and focused on his plans for the day. He eyed the clock over the sink. After nine. He was usually up at dawn on weekends, but between trying to get used to the soft buzz of snores from the kid and thinking about a pair of wide blue eyes and soft pink lips—

Back to the plan.

Eating, laundry duty and shopping for a seven-year-old. He had no idea how long the kid was going to be with him, but seeing the ragged child-size toothbrush on the bathroom sink next to his told him there were certain things Jacoby needed right away. He also had to find a quiet moment to call the sheriff’s office to see if Gage had found out anything more about Zoe or her whereabouts.

He grabbed an old-fashioned hand sifter and added flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. While cranking, he wondered if the kid liked anything special in his pancakes, like his personal favorites, bananas and chopped walnuts.

“Can I help?”

Justin looked over his shoulder. The kid stood at the counter on the living room side. His hair stood up in sharp angles, and his eyes were sleepy.

“Sure, but you should get dressed first. You got clean clothes in your bag?” Jacoby nodded.

“Do you need help washing up?”

This time he shook his head but continued to stand there.

“Then go ahead and get changed.”

After a slight hesitation he headed back toward the sleeping bag where Jack still lay, his tail thumping wildly against the fabric. The kid had waited for permission to go to the bathroom last night, too.

It took Justin back to his time behind bars when everything from eating to taking a leak required an okay from someone with a uniform and a gun. Not an easy habit to break in the months since his release, and he still found himself sometimes wavering before making a decision as simple as grabbing a bottle of water while slaving over a hot stove.

That didn’t explain why a little boy would act the same.

He shook his head to dispel the memory and concentrated on the dry batter. Minutes later, the kid walked into the kitchen wearing a stained T-shirt and a pair of jeans that almost reached his bare ankles, a hole ripped in one knee.

“Aren’t your feet cold?” Justin asked.

Jacoby looked at Justin’s own bare feet and shook his head.

“Okay, then. You hungry?”

He nodded.

“Here, hold this.” Justin handed over the sifter and pulled up a step stool to the center island. “Stand up here so you can see what’s going on.”

While climbing to the top step, Jacoby tipped the sifter. A dusting of the dry ingredients floated to the floor. “Oh, no!”

Justin saw what happened, but was more surprised by the alarm on the kid’s face. “Don’t worry, we’ll clean it up later.”

He stepped over the mess and took the sifter away. The boy now stood at waist level to the counter and his eyes grew wide at the assortment of items sitting there.

“Wow, what’s all this for?”

“Pancakes.”

“You don’t have frozen ones?” he asked.

Justin’s chest tightened for a moment and he concentrated on tapping an egg on the counter, then opening it one-handed, its contents dripping into a separate smaller bowl. “Ah, no, this is how you make pancakes from scratch.”

“What’s scratch?”