To A Macallister Born. Joan Elliott Pickart
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would pay no attention to the flutter of heat that was now swirling and pulsing through her body.
She couldn’t care less if Jack had removed his jacket to reveal a sweater that was the exact shade of his chocolate fudge sauce eyes.
She could handle this. No problem. Jack was just a man, who was sitting at her table stuffing his face with a cinnamon roll. A gorgeous man. A man whose shoulders looked a mile wide in that sweater. A sweater that encased strong arms that had held her so tightly, so safely in his embrace. An embrace that had included kisses that were ecstasy in its purest form and—
That’s enough, she ordered herself. Get a grip.
She plunked a mug of coffee in front of Jack, retrieved her own from the counter, then poured a glass of milk for Joey. She sat down next to her son at the table and put the glass in front of him.
“Every drop, sweetie,” she said.
“’Kay,” Joey said, then looked at Jack again. “How come you had my Pooh blanket? Did you leave yours in New York City?”
“Something like that,” he said, smiling. “I used your blanket like a coat, because I wasn’t wearing mine and it was cold.”
“Oh,” Joey said, nodding. “Do you have a dog?”
“No,” Jack said, then took a bite of roll. “Mmm. Delicious.”
“Do you have a little boy?” Joey asked.
“No,” Jack said.
“Do you have a wife lady?”
“No,” Jack said.
Joey leaned forward. “Do you have a suit and tie?”
“Joey,” Jennifer said quickly, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat her cheeks, “eat your breakfast. It’s getting late.”
“I have a suit and tie,” Jack said. “Why did you ask me that?”
“Well, because you need to have a suit and tie if you’re going to be a—”
“Time to go,” Jennifer said, getting to her feet.
Joey glanced at the clock on the wall. “No, it’s not. The big hand isn’t at the top, Mom.”
“Oh.” Jennifer sighed and sank back into her chair.
“Back up, Joey,” Jack said. “I’m definitely missing something here. I need to have a suit and tie to be a…what?”
“A groom guy,” Joey said.
“Oh, good grief,” Jennifer muttered.
“See, my mom caught Aunt Megan’s wedding flowers and that means my mom is going to be the next bride, but she needs a groom guy if she’s going to be a bride. Then I’d have a daddy I don’t have to give back.” Joey paused. “Just like Sammy has. See?”
“More coffee, Jack?” Jennifer said, looking at a spot about four inches above his head.
“No, I’m fine,” Jack said, his gaze riveted on Joey. “Let me make certain I understand this, Joey.”
“Oh, let’s not,” Jennifer said.
Jack ignored her comment. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I think I get the picture, Joey,” he said, “except for the part where you have to give the daddy back.”
“Oh,” Joey said. “That’s Uncle Ben, Uncle Brandon and Uncle Taylor. We do men stuff together, but…” He shrugged. “When we’re done doing men stuff, I have to give them back.”
“Ah,” Jack said, nodding slowly.
“Sheriff Montana might be a good groom guy ’cause he’s thinking about getting a dog,” Joey went on. “But I don’t know if Sheriff Montana has a suit and tie.” He frowned. “The thing is, though, my mom doesn’t want to be the next bride.”
“Ah,” Jack said again.
“That’s breaking the rules of catching the flowers,” Joey said.
“Indeed,” Jack said.
“I can’t break rules, so I don’t think my mom should get to. Do you?”
“My, my, look at that big hand on the clock, Joey,” Jennifer said. “Run and brush your teeth and get your jacket. Then I’ll walk you to school.”
“’Kay.”
Joey hopped from the room on both feet, announcing that he was Tigger. As he exited, the coffee mugs jiggled and clinked on the table.
“That is one terrific kid,” Jack said, smiling at Jennifer. “Man, he’s neat.”
“Yes, well, I think he’s pretty special,” she said, tracing the rim of her coffee mug with one fingertip. “He’s all boy, that’s for sure. Full of energy…Of course, as a typical five year old, he has definite opinions about things, and doesn’t hesitate to express them. You have to discount a great deal of what he says because he has a tendency to blither on and on, whether he knows what he’s talking about or not. Therefore—”
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