This Heart of Mine (Chicago Stars #5)(70)

"You're strong enough to fight me off if I get out of hand."

"Just don't make me hurt my passing arm."

She smiled and poured. He took the glass she handed him, and by unspoken agreement they walked together out onto the porch. The glider squeaked as he eased down next to her and took a sip of wine.

"You're a good writer, Molly. I can see why kids like your books. When you were drawing Benny, did you happen to notice how much—"

"What's with you and my pooch?"

"Damned if I know." He glared down at the poodle, who'd collapsed over one of his feet. "He followed me back here from the B&B. Believe me, I didn't encourage it."

Molly remembered the way Roo had picked up on Kevin's distress in the garden with Lilly. Apparently they had bonded, only Kevin didn't know it yet.

"How's your leg?" he asked.

"Leg?"

"Any aftereffects from that cramp?"

"It's… a little sore. Very sore. Sort of this dull throb. Pretty painful, actually. I'll have to take some Tylenol. But I'm sure it'll be better by tomorrow."

"No more swimming alone, okay? I'm serious. It was a stupid thing to do." He propped his arm along the back of the cushions and gave her his I-mean-business-you-lowlife-rookie look. "And while we're at it, don't get too cozy with Lilly."

"I don't think you have to worry about that. In case you didn't notice, she's not too fond of me. Still, I think you need to hear her out."

"That's not going to happen. This is my life, Molly, and you don't understand anything about it."

"That's not exactly true," she said carefully. "I'm an orphan, too."

He withdrew his arm. "You don't get to call yourself an orphan if you're over twenty-one."

"The point is, my mother died when I was two, so I know something about feeling disconnected from your roots."

"Our circumstances aren't anything alike, so don't try to make comparisons." He gazed out into the woods. "I had two great parents. You didn't have any."

"I had Phoebe and Dan."

"You were a teenager by then. Before that, you seem to have raised yourself."

He was deliberately turning the conversation away from himself. She understood that, too, and she let him do it. "Me and Danielle Steel."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was a fan, and I knew she had lots of kids. I used to pretend I was one of them." She smiled at his amusement. "Now, some might find that pathetic, but I think it was pretty creative."

"It's definitely original."

"Then I'd fantasize a mercifully painless death for Bert, at which point it would be magically revealed that he wasn't my father at all. My real father was—"

"Let me guess. Bill Cosby."

"I wasn't that well adjusted. It was Bruce Springsteen. And no comments, okay?"

"Why should I comment when Freud already did the job?"

Molly wrinkled her nose at him. They sat in surprisingly companionable silence, broken only by Roo's rhythmic snores. But Molly'd never been good at leaving well enough alone. "I still think you need to hear her out."

"I can't come up with a single reason why."

"Because she won't go away until you do. And because this will keep hovering over you for the rest of your life."

He set down his glass. "Maybe the reason you're so obsessed with analyzing my life is so you won't get depressed thinking about your own neuroses."

"Probably."

He rose from the glider. "What do you say we go into town for some dinner?"

She'd already spent far too much time with him today, but she couldn't stand the idea of staying here alone tonight while he painted the town German chocolate. "I suppose. Let me get a sweater."

As she headed back to her bedroom, she told herself what she already knew. Going out to dinner with him was a lousy idea, just as lousy as the two of them sitting around on the porch drinking wine together. Almost as lousy as not insisting he sleep under another roof.

Even though she didn't care about impressing him, she decided a shawl would make a better fashion statement with her sundress than a sweater, and she whipped out the bright red tablecloth she'd discovered in the bottom drawer of the dresser. As she unfolded it, she spotted something strange on the table next to her bed, something that hadn't been there earlier and that definitely didn't belong to her. "Aarrrggghhhh!"

Kevin shot into the room. "What's wrong?"

"Look at that!" She pointed at the small bottle of drugstore perfume. "That meddling little… trollop!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Amy stuck that perfume there!" She rounded on him. "Bite me!"

"Why are you mad at me? I didn't do it."

"No! Bite me. Give me a hickey right here." She jabbed her finger at a spot a few inches above her collarbone.

"You want me to give you a hickey?"

"Are you deaf?"

"Just thunderstruck."

"There's no one else I can ask, and I can't stand spending another day getting marital advice from a nineteen-year-old nymphomaniac. This'll put a stop to it."