Out of His League. Cathryn Parry
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him. Before Lizzy could say another word, Jon pulled his wallet from his back pocket and tossed it on the bed. He pulled out his phone, too. “My team’s owner sits on your hospital board. Go ahead and call her assistant, she’ll vouch for me. Then go out and shop for as long as you need to—I’ll wait here with Brandon.”
“Yesss!” Brandon pumped his fist and did some kind of rap dance around the bedroom.
Lizzy glowered at Jon. Yeah, he’d pay for making the kid part of their negotiations.
“How do I know you’re not a pedophile?” she asked in a low voice. “Perfectly respectable-looking football coaches have been found to be abusive to children. If there is one thing we’ve learned, it’s that we can’t trust somebody else vouching for our kids’ caretakers just because they have a prestigious job.”
Uh, she had a point. A twisted point, but then again, these could be twisted times.
He turned on his phone and called up the video interface. “In that case, we’ll use my phone like a nannycam. You can go about your shopping and still see everything Brandon and I are doing.”
“You’re crazy. I am not going to let you stay in my home, Mr. Farell. I’m a private person.”
“And I’m a public guy. I have a lot to lose, too, if you were ever to come out with allegations against me.”
That made her pause. “Why?” she asked finally. “Why do you care so much about helping us?”
Damned if he knew. His finger was throbbing again, he was tired, and well... “I’m hungry.”
He walked over to Brandon, who said, “I’m hungry, too.”
“Then this is what we’ll do, kid. While your aunt is out shopping, we’ll have quiet time together, under her supervision. So get one of your books and show me how well you read.”
“I don’t have any books,” Brandon said.
“You have books at home,” Lizzy corrected him.
“No,” Brandon said. “I don’t.”
He and Lizzy both seemed to still at the same time.
Then she seemed to snap. Scowling, she stomped toward her closet. “Fine.” She reached for a plastic box on the top shelf. “I have books.” Lifting off the lid, she rummaged inside before handing Brandon a hardcover kid’s book.
A very old, very worn-out copy of Curious George Goes to the Hospital.
A lump formed in his throat.
He’d read that story many times to his brothers, many nights when they were left alone that one, hard year.
He looked at Lizzy, locked gazes with her.
It was strange, but he could swear she was thinking the same thing.
“This is what we’ll do,” she said, shaking her head, suddenly straight and crisp again, no sign of apprehension in her root-beer-colored eyes. “Both of you will go down to Mrs. Ham’s apartment. While she watches baseball and ogles the real, live baseball-playing pitcher sitting in her living room, the two of you can read your book. And the minute I return, Jon can go home.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ELIZABETH PUSHED A grocery cart down the frozen-foods aisle, only halfheartedly paying attention to the waffles and pancakes in the gluten-free breakfast section. Most of her concentration was on the videophone in her hand.
On the small screen, she saw Jon Farell sitting on the couch beside her nephew in Mrs. Ham’s apartment, the child calm, dressed in his pajamas and leaning against Jon’s shoulder. Brandon read the book aloud in a halting, unsure voice while Jon patiently encouraged him.
Tears sprang to her eyes, unbidden. Jon didn’t know it, but he touched a lode of emotions buried deep inside her.
She quickly wiped her eyes, glancing up to make sure that nobody saw her. It was obvious that this man was dangerous to her sanity. There was a reason she had been so harsh with Jon.
But now everything had flipped around, and she did not want to like him. This public, professional baseball player was so easy with people, while she was so uncomfortable. She certainly did not want to feel these emotions she was feeling—the tenderness toward a man who seemed to have given her fatherless nephew a role model who treated him with respect. How had this man—this man she’d been so inexplicably attracted to—ended up being more good-hearted than she ever would have guessed?
Any man she chose to speak with outside of the work environment—and for her, that was a rare occasion—had to be dispassionate and private.
Jon Farell was the opposite of that kind of person. He was far too outgoing. He didn’t seem to have any boundaries—he was the take-charge type. Being drawn to him at all had to be a tragic mistake of her DNA.
As soon as she got home, Elizabeth would shake off her tender emotions and make sure to bar the door to Jon. Brandon wouldn’t be happy, but he was going home to his mother tomorrow, after breakfast. Then Elizabeth would have her ordered world back to herself, and all would be well.
By the time she finished up her transaction and drove home, Elizabeth was ready to say goodbye to Jon, once and for all.
Steering her Prius into her numbered spot, she parked and then grabbed the grocery bag from the seat beside her. The carton of eggs wasn’t packed properly—she’d been distracted at the checkout counter by staring at her cell phone, watching Brandon reading the book to Jon—and hadn’t paid close enough attention to the bagger. Disgusted with herself, she reached over to her purse and shut off her phone inside without looking at it. It was obvious by now that Jon wasn’t a predator, just a guy who was extraordinarily good with kids.
She would lead Brandon upstairs to her condominium and then send Jon on his way. She’d picked up a hot takeout pizza for Jon, as a thank-you, from the supermarket’s prepared foods section, as well as a frozen gluten-free pizza to heat up and feed to Brandon—something that Brandon’s stomach could tolerate. Brandon was allergic to anything with wheat in it. The kid just didn’t have a lot of luck in the health department. But, he seemed happy enough—his prior illness and her ineptness about how to deal with him notwithstanding—and she was thankful for that.
Elizabeth shoved her key into the lock and elbowed open the main door to the building. She knocked on the door to Mrs. Ham’s unit. She heard the thump of a cane on hardwood floor before Mrs. Ham opened her door.
“He went back to your unit a few minutes ago.” Mrs. Ham had a beatific smile on her wrinkled face. She looked ten years younger. “Brandon was drifting off to sleep, so he carried the boy upstairs.” She sighed. “I really do like Jon Farell.”
“You let him into my apartment?”
“Yes, lucky you.”
Elizabeth groaned inwardly. “Thank you, Mrs. Ham.”
Then she took the stairs two at a time. When she came to her unit, she tested the knob. The door opened easily, no key needed.
A shot of panic went through her. Jon had neglected to set the dead bolt? Then again, he was a big man. Six foot two, one hundred ninety pounds—she’d seen his electronic medical record. If she thought rationally, it should be comforting knowing that somebody capable was inside with her nephew, keeping him safe and holding down the fort. He had to be fairly responsible to be part of a professional team, didn’t he?
The New England Captains were followed by many children. It wasn’t like they were disreputable.
Calm down.
She dropped her keys on the hall table and set the grocery bag down on the kitchen counter. The television was on, the volume low. Jon sat on the couch. Head back, legs stretched out and relaxed.
He was asleep.
Her breath