Handprints. Myrna Temte
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feet spread wide apart, he filled up most of the doorway. She wondered if he was having second thoughts about inviting her in. Or maybe he was using his size in an attempt to intimidate her, reminding her of who was in charge here.
She was ashamed to admit, even to herself, that it was working. It annoyed her to no end because she usually paid little attention to anyone else’s size in relation to her own. To her mind, she wasn’t overly short; other people were overly tall. But whenever she had to talk to Mr. Granger, she always felt like a Chihuahua yapping at a Great Dane.
Too bad for him, she’d die before he would ever see it.
Plastering a smile on her lips, she turned sideways and followed Kitty inside. Though she tightened her muscles when she passed him, her breasts still brushed against his abdomen. He felt as hard and solid as that boulder she’d imagined. It had been so long since she’d had even this much contact with a man’s body, the instant shock of sexual awareness froze her in place.
His harshly drawn breath drew her gaze to his. To her amazement, she saw that same shocked awareness she was experiencing reflected in his eyes. He immediately stepped back, leaving enough space for a shopping cart to pass through without touching either of them. His gaze remained locked with hers, however, and she found it impossible to break eye contact.
Finally, Kitty gave her hand an impatient jerk, pulling Abby through the doorway and breaking the spell. Feeling an unfortunate urge to laugh hysterically, Abby grabbed the plate of cookies from an entryway table and allowed the little girl to lead her away.
They walked through a formal living room. It was furnished with classic, conservative pieces of furniture covered in earth-toned, practical fabrics that suited the Grump’s personality, but horrified Abby. Good heavens, it all blended as beautifully as a magazine layout, but the whole room desperately needed more light and color, and it was painfully neat. Far too neat for a sane adult, much less anyone raising a young child.
Didn’t this kid own any toys?
The kitchen was more of the same cool perfection, though it clearly had been designed with a woman’s convenience in mind. It was impossible to imagine making enough of a mess in this room to cook anything that didn’t come in a microwavable package. Abby blinked, then shivered.
“Come on, Ms. Walsh.” Releasing Abby’s hand, Kitty ran across the kitchen, dragged a step stool over to the refrigerator and opened the door. “I’ll get the milk.”
Abby quickly deposited the cookies on the table and hurried to Kitty’s side to lend her a hand if she needed one. When Mr. Granger entered the room, she ignored him. He walked to one of the cupboards, took out three small plates and three glasses, and carried them to the table, his movements brisk and efficient.
She didn’t catch a whiff of his subtle aftershave, notice he looked tired or feel one bit distracted because he still hadn’t fastened those three buttons on his shirt. She didn’t even see that tanned slice of bare chest playing peek-a-boo as he moved around the room. No, siree. What a liar she was.
Annoyed by her adolescent, inappropriate reactions to him, Abby said, “I’m afraid those glasses won’t do, Mr. Granger.”
He shot her an incredulous look, as if he couldn’t believe she had the nerve to question his judgment. Well, too bad. It was his own fault for distracting her.
“What’s wrong with them?” he asked.
“They’re too tall.”
“Too tall for what?”
“For dunking cookies, of course,” Abby replied. “Shorter cups work much better.”
“We don’t dunk cookies at our house,” he said flatly.
“Mommy used to let me sometimes,” Kitty said, her voice so soft that it was barely audible. Setting the milk carton on the table, she climbed onto one of the straight-backed wooden chairs, twisted her fingers together in her lap and looked at them. “She said I should only do it at home, but cookies taste better that way.”
Mr. Granger stared at her. After a moment, he swallowed, then abruptly returned to the cupboards, put the glasses away and brought three mugs back to the table.
Having glimpsed real pain in his eyes, Abby set out to give him a moment to collect himself. She stripped the plastic wrap off the paper plate and offered it to the little girl. “Well, now, Miss Kitty, would you care to try one of these super-duper chocolate chip numbers?”
“Yes, please.” She carefully selected a cookie and placed it neatly in the center of her plate.
Abby winced inside. Erin had been right about how much a person could learn about a family from an in-home visit. No six-year-old child should be this perfect. Making a tsking sound, she sadly shook her head.
“Oh, that poor little cookie looks so lonely sitting there all by itself. I think you’d better take another one to keep it company.”
Kitty gave her a shy grin, then looked to her father for permission. Nodding, he gently touched her hair. “Go ahead, Kitten. No telling what a lonely cookie might do.”
Swallowing at a lump that had suddenly invaded her own throat, Abby held the plate until Kitty selected another cookie. Jeez, it wasn’t fair for the Grump to call his daughter Kitten and stroke her hair as if she were the most fragile, precious thing in his world. If he kept that up, Abby might actually have to start liking him, which would only confuse the heck out of her.
Abby served herself a cookie and sat down beside Kitty. Mr. Granger filled the cups and sat on the opposite side of the table. He selected a cookie for himself, then looked directly at Abby, his expression clearly saying, All right. What next?
Abby smiled, more than happy to accept his silent challenge. Maintaining eye contact, she dunked a cookie halfway into her cup, let it soak up the cold milk and quickly stuffed it into her mouth, closing her eyes and making noises of ecstasy as the flavors hit her taste buds.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm.”
Giggling, Kitty followed her example.
Mr. Granger watched them both with a wry smile. When he finally began to eat his own cookie, he didn’t join in with the dunking fun, but he didn’t say anything to discourage Kitty’s fun, either. Abby would have given a great deal to know what he was thinking, but she focused her attention where it belonged—on Kitty.
Kitty took forever to finish her snack, but at last she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, which, in Abby’s opinion, was more appropriate for a little girl than the paper napkin her father had given her.
With shining eyes, Kitty turned to Abby. “Would you like to see my bedroom, Ms. Walsh?”
“We’ve already taken up enough of Ms. Walsh’s time,” Mr. Granger said.
The little girl shot her father a rebellious scowl and crossed her arms over her chest. “But I want Ms. Walsh to see my room.”
“It’s almost your bedtime, Kitten. Go upstairs and get ready, and I’ll be up to read to you in a few minutes.”
Kitty looked to Abby, obviously hoping that she would overrule her father, but Abby suddenly saw a bone-deep weariness in his eyes and slowly shook her head. “Your daddy’s right. I do need to get home. I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”
Abby held her breath, hoping that Kitty would argue for what she wanted, and for a moment, the little girl looked as if she just might do it. But then her eyes stopped shining, her shoulders slumped, and she murmured, “Okay, Ms. Walsh. Thank you for the cookies.”
“You’re welcome, honey. I’m glad you liked them.”
Picking up her plate and mug, Kitty carried them to the sink and left the room. The poor little scrap looked so much like a deflated balloon, Abby had to blink back tears. The tension in the kitchen grew to painful proportions while they studied each other across the table, waiting for Kitty to get out of earshot. Finally, the sound of running water filtered