Buch lesen: «The Parent Trap»

Chapter One

“Here, Mom, put this on.”

Jill Lindstrom put down the lasagna she’d just taken out of the oven, then swung around and met her nine-year-old daughter Zoe’s excited gaze. Zoe had a bottle of Jill’s favorite perfume held high, her finger on the spray button, ready to blast Jill in the face with the scent.

Jill quickly danced back a step, out of spray range, then raised an eyebrow, dubiously regarding the bottle of perfume. “Geez, Zoe, watch where you point that stuff.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Just put some on.”

“I already put perfume on this morning,” Jill said, moving to the fridge to take out the Caesar salad she’d made earlier. “I don’t need any more.”

“C’mon, Mom—”

Jill held up a hand. “Look, I already wore the jeans and sweater you set out, and I left my hair down as you so forcefully demanded.” She put the salad down and went in search of the salad tongs. “I’m drawing the line at excessive amounts of perfume. We want to welcome Kristy and her dad, not knock them out with loads of Ralph Lauren.”

Zoe huffed, flicked her blond hair over her shoulder and spun around to leave the kitchen. “Okay, Mom. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

Jill watched her go, shaking her head, one side of her mouth quirked. It certainly didn’t take a genius to figure out that Zoe was very, very concerned that Jill look—and apparently smell—her best. Similarly, she suspected it was no coincidence that Kristy’s father was single, just as Jill was.

Looked as if Zoe and her new best friend were up to a little matchmaking. Was that thanks to the influence of Zoe’s grandpa? Zoe absolutely adored her grandpa, and he had made no secret of his desire to see Jill married again.

Jill rolled her eyes. No matter who was involved, any matchmaking was a waste of time. Even though it had been six years since her ex-husband, Doug, had left her for another woman, she still wasn’t ready to put her heart, and self-respect, on the line again. She might never be.

Jill returned to the fridge and dug out the salad dressing and Parmesan cheese. As she gathered up the salad plates, she reiterated to herself how important it was that she not get sucked into any sort of relationship. And not just because she wasn’t ready to open herself up to again being ditched when someone better came along. Although that was a darn good reason all on its own.

No, she also needed to focus on her restaurant, The Wildflower Grill, and make it a success, an elusive dream she was determined to catch and hold on to.

Jill took the salad fixings to the dining-room table, her mind going over familiar territory, fueling her desire to become a successful, well-respected businesswoman.

She was so tired of being known only as the daughter of “Wacky” Winters, Elm Corners, Oregon’s resident inventor. The goofy guy with wild hair and thick, horn-rimmed glasses who ran around wearing a soot-stained apron and bright red hiking boots. Being the only relative of a man who blew up new inventions—and everything else he touched—on a regular basis wasn’t easy.

Jill returned to the kitchen, a flash of guilt sizzling through her. She wasn’t proud of the way she felt about her dad’s status in town, but there it was.

He wasn’t a bad man. He’d single-handedly raised Jill since her mother had died when Jill was three—not an easy task—and had always been there when she’d needed him. But there was no getting around the fact that he was the town joke, and she’d always lived in that shadow. Doug leaving her hadn’t helped. It was past time to step out into the light, make something of herself and gain the respect she’d never had. Owning a successful restaurant, being a valued member of Elm Corners’ business community was just the way to do that.

She bit her lip, well-known worries running through her like a dark tide. She’d slid back in her efforts to step up to the next level of success and finally expand her restaurant as she’d been wanting to do for the past few months.

Last week, the recently vacated space next door to her restaurant had been snapped up by someone before Jill could negotiate a lease. Just her luck that someone else would not only be opening another restaurant a mere two doors down, but also that they had been able to snatch the coveted lease out from under her nose. She had a mind to march right over to The Steak Place and give the new owner a piece of her mind.

Just as she picked up the lasagna to take it to the table, the doorbell rang. Following Zoe’s specific instruction that Jill be the one to answer the door—boy, she’d raised a bossy kid—Jill dropped the lasagna off in the dining room, then headed to the front door, meeting an excited-looking Zoe there. Jill calmed the flurry of butterflies that had taken up residence in her tummy. It had been a long time—forever, actually—since a man other than her father had come to dinner.

She was being ridiculous worrying, though. She had no reason to be nervous. This was dinner with her daughter’s best friend and her dad, nothing more.

Jill had agreed to the dinner because it was important that she become acquainted with the people her daughter spent time with. Maybe it was overprotective, but besides her dad, Zoe was Jill’s only family, the single most important person in her life. She’d protect her no matter what, even if it meant agreeing to invite to dinner a man she’d never met. They’d enjoy a nice meal, and that would be that.

Besides, Kristy’s dad—what had Zoe said his name was?—might be a short, middle-aged balding guy with bad breath and a paunch. Suited her just fine.

Putting on a smile, she opened the door to greet Kristy and her dad, vaguely noticing that Zoe had jumped forward to pull Kristy into the house.

Jill momentarily lost the ability to speak when she saw the tall, well-built, attractive man standing next to Kristy, the setting sun at his back.

Not balding. Not short. No paunch in sight. Early thirties, if her guess was right. And while she couldn’t possibly tell from this distance, she was pretty sure a guy who looked as good as Kristy’s dad did—all brown, wavy hair, dark, seductive eyes and broad shoulders—wouldn’t have bad breath.

Okey-dokey. So he was her fantasy man come true in the looks department, and she’d always been a sucker for a handsome guy. Didn’t matter.

She couldn’t let it.

A bottle of red wine in one hand, Brandon Clark stared at the tall, breathtakingly pretty blonde in the doorway, waiting for her to speak. She stared back, her blue eyes wide and unblinking in the light of the setting, early-autumn sun.

“You must be Zoe’s mom.” He extended his free hand, initiating the introductions, since she wasn’t saying anything. “I’m Brandon Clark.”

The woman—Jill, if he remembered correctly—blinked rapidly several times, her smooth, creamy complexion coloring the tiniest bit.

Brandon drew his eyebrows together. Why was she acting so surprised? He resisted the urge to check if he had something disgusting stuck to his face.

Before he could confirm or deny that fear, she smoothed her cream-colored sweater down and spoke. “Uh…yes, yes, of course. I’m Jill Lindstrom, Zoe’s mother.” She took his proffered hand in her much smaller, smoother one, sending tiny streaks of warmth up his arm, taking him off guard. When was the last time that had happened?

“Please, come in,” she said, quickly pulling her hand from his and gesturing him into the house. She turned to Kristy, standing with Zoe in the foyer.

Both girls were looking back and forth between him and Jill, expectant looks on their faces. Oh, man…

“Hey, Kristy,” Jill said, waving. “Glad you two could make it.”

Kristy smiled eagerly. “Hi, Mrs. Lindstrom.” She looked at Zoe and let out a silly laugh, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Brandon raised one brow. Kristy definitely looked as if she had a big, juicy secret. The suspicions he’d had about Kristy and Zoe’s motives for this dinner flared again, setting him on a slight edge. Even though Kristy had sworn she and Zoe just wanted him to meet Jill for no particular reason at all, he smelled a major setup. Especially now that he’d seen her.

He tried not to let that unfortunate information bother him, even though anything remotely romantic coming of tonight’s dinner was impossible. No way was he going to start down a road that might set him up to lose someone he loved again. Not after Sandy had been taken away from him in such a lingering, heart-ripping way. Not even a gorgeous, family sort of woman like Jill could sway him from that vow.

Zoe gestured in the direction of a small hallway to the rear of the entryway. “You two go on into the kitchen and talk,” Zoe said as if she were an adult talking to kids instead of vice versa. “We’ll be upstairs.” She and Kristy took off up the stairs, giggling the whole way.

Brandon watched them go, shaking his head. “I think we have a couple of matchmakers on our hands,” he said to Jill, following her down the hallway. The smell of either lasagna or spaghetti and what he pegged as garlic bread filled the air, making his mouth water.

And yearn for what he used to have. Dinners in a warm kitchen with a woman he loved. Cleaning up together afterward. Cuddling on the couch later and watching TV. Heading upstairs to bed…

Jill turned around when she hit the quaint kitchen, which had oak cabinets and blue-and-white checked curtains. She spread her glossy-looking lips into a big smile. “You figured that out, too?”

He nodded, shoving thoughts of another time, another life far away where they wouldn’t bother him quite so much. “Hope you like red.” He handed Jill the wine, relieved that it didn’t seem as if she was in on the whole matchmaking scheme.

“Love it, and it will go perfectly with the lasagna.” She set the wine on the counter, then moved to the cupboard. “Good choice.”

“But not exactly lucky,” he said, noting how Jill’s wavy, shoulder-length hair color was an unusual combination of honey-gold and wheat-colored blond he really liked. Was it as soft as it looked? “Kristy has been talking of nothing but this dinner for days. I was constantly updated about the menu possibilities, so red wine was a no-brainer.”

“Ah, I see. I’ll just get a couple of wineglasses out, along with the garlic bread in the oven, and then we can eat.” She gestured to a wooden stool at a small eating bar on the other side of the Formica counter. “Have a seat for a minute.”

Brandon sat, propping his forearms on the edge of the counter. “So you suspected the girls’ motives, too?”

“It didn’t take too much to figure it out,” Jill said, setting two wineglasses on the counter. She then moved to the oven, picking up an oven mitt along the way. “Zoe was pretty obvious and very persistent.” Bending, she opened the oven and checked the foil-covered loaf of garlic bread.

Brandon rubbed his jaw, doing his best not to stare at the nice view of Jill’s rear end, but failing. Man, she looked good in those jeans. “Hmm. Must have been planned down to a T. Kristy told me what to wear and asked me if I’d brushed my teeth before we left.” He let out a rueful laugh, impressed by the girls’ planning. “I’m sure she would have hit me with some aftershave if she’d thought of it.”

Jill straightened, the bread in her hand. “I agree they’ve manipulated us into this evening for their own ridiculous purposes.” She looked at him, a hint of regret shining in her pretty eyes. “I hope you don’t mind too much.”

He shook his head. “Nope. I agreed to this because I wanted to spend more time with Kristy and because Zoe is the only friend Kristy has made since we moved to Elm Corners two months ago. I’m not about to squash her enthusiasm for their friendship.”

He didn’t add that he was ecstatic that Kristy seemed to be happy for the first time in forever. He prayed she settled into small-town life and that their relationship would grow stronger now that he’d ditched his job as a corporate attorney with killer hours in favor of opening a restaurant so he could spend more time with Kristy. Being a restaurateur was in his blood; he’d grown up in the business in Seattle, watching his father run two successful fine dining establishments with his brother.

Brandon loved his daughter more than life itself, and was determined to raise her right, despite having to do it alone. Even though he would still be working a lot of hours, especially until he hired a manager, Kristy could spend time with him at the restaurant after school. He was his own boss now, a blessing he planned to take advantage of to build a closer relationship with his daughter.

“Well, Zoe seems fond of Kristy, too,” Jill said, putting the bread on a cutting board. “It’s like they’ve been friends forever.” She made quick work of the bread, cutting it into thick slices and setting it in a cloth-lined wicker basket.

“Anything I can do?” Brandon asked, feeling as if he needed to do something besides just show up and eat.

“You could pour the wine. I’ll have Zoe pour her and Kristy’s drinks.”

Brandon opened the wine and poured it, then took both glasses and the bottle to the dining-room table, set with casual stoneware and utensils with chunky metal handles. Jill brought the bread in and called the girls.

A few minutes later Zoe and Kristy bounded into the dining room, their faces awash in speculative looks. Zoe poured them their drinks—grape soda pop, a special treat—and then all four of them sat down to eat.

Jill served everyone lasagna, which looked delicious, and Caesar salad covered in Parmesan cheese and croutons. Kristy started the bread around the table, and Brandon served himself a big slice.

Before he could dig in to his meal, Zoe piped up with, “Hey, Mr. Clark, did you know my mom belongs to The Health Hut?” She gave him an eager grin. “Don’t you work out all the time?”

Brandon gave her an indulgent smile. Nine-year-old girls certainly weren’t very subtle. “Actually, Zoe, I do. I’ve been running since we moved here because I haven’t had time to join a gym.” He turned his attention to Jill. “What do you think of The Health Hut?”

She lifted one slim shoulder. “I think it’s the only gym in Elm Corners, so I like it.”

“Maybe you should join, Mr. Clark,” Zoe suggested, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. “You two could work out together.”

While the thought of Jill Lindstrom in workout gear sounded great—he was pretty sure she’d have great legs—Brandon wouldn’t ever spend any personal time with her; dating definitely wasn’t on his to-do list. “I don’t know,” he said, attempting to sound noncommittal. It wouldn’t be fair to get the girls’ hopes up.

His tactic rolled right off Zoe, who looked at her mom and said, “Mom, you should take him to the gym with you tomorrow and help him find out about a membership.”

Jill glanced at Zoe, then took a healthy swig of wine. “I’m certainly willing to show him around the Hut if he wants me to, but it’s up to him.” She turned her attention his way, her mouth curved into a tight smile that seemed to say, Humor them and they’ll lay off.

He liked her style, and her idea. “I’ll get back to you on that, okay?”

“Okay,” Jill said, pushing her hair behind one ear. “I go three times a week after Zoe goes to school.”

He nodded but didn’t reply, eating instead. Man, she was pretty, and nice, too. Very, very appealing in a lot of ways. Honestly, he kind of wanted to take her up on her offer and hang out at the gym with her. Just the thought of Jill in shorts and a T-shirt turned him on.

Whoa. Spending any personal time with Jill, especially any time that exposed her long, lean legs was a bad, bad idea, one that he was sure sounded so damn good only because he’d been without any serious female companionship for so long. A necessary evil he ruthlessly enforced to protect himself and Kristy from hurt.

He had to remember that. Though surprisingly he regretted it, Jill had to remain nothing more than his daughter’s best friend’s mother.

After a lively discussion about the girls’ school, an amusing story about Kristy’s kitty, Beau, and Jill’s advice to Brandon about the best place to have his dress shirts dry-cleaned, Zoe and Kristy popped up from their seats, grabbed their plates and hightailed it out of the dining room. Zoe, the crafty little manipulator, dimmed the dining-room lights on the way into the kitchen, leaving Jill alone with Brandon in the slightly darkened room.

Jill suppressed an amused yet wary smile and finished off her glass of wine. Before she could start the conversation back up, flowery instrumental music floated in from the stereo in the family room. Apparently the girls were setting the mood.

A shiver of anxiety shot through Jill. She deftly avoided Brandon’s hot, dark gaze, forcing herself to relax, even though sitting in a darkened room with a good-looking man she’d just met, music wafting through the air, wasn’t exactly relaxing.

She shoved that thought aside. She was in charge of her romantic destiny, no matter what kind of corny, contrived romantic situations Zoe and Kristy cooked up.

“They’re not terribly subtle, are they?” Brandon said over his wineglass, his dark eyes twinkling.

Jill shook her head. “No, they’re not,” she said.

“Next thing you know they’ll be herding us to a church to get married.”

While she liked the fact that Brandon could joke about a situation that could be construed as embarrassing and awkward, a flash of guilt shot through her. “I’m…sorry for all of this. I knew they were up to something, but I had no idea how far they’d take it.”

He put down his empty wineglass, holding up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I think it’s kind of endearing, and I have to admire the lengths they’ve gone to to make this work. They’ve really put some thought into all of this.”

Jill’s face warmed. “I’m afraid we have my daughter to thank for most of it. She’s quite determined, and I’m pretty sure she had some outside help.”

He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

Jill sighed. “My dad spends a lot of time with Zoe, and he’s…well, he’s an inventor of sorts, and Zoe is really into the whole inventing thing.” Jill accepted that situation because of the good relationship Zoe and her grandpa had. But deep down, it bothered Jill that her daughter was so keen on following in “Wacky” Winters’s footsteps, a path that had been a burden to Jill her whole life.

“So…what?” Brandon threw her a quizzical look. “You think they’re trying to invent a mom and dad by having you and me get together?”

“Pretty much.”

Brandon laughed, a deep rich sound that made goose bumps scatter across Jill’s skin. “Well, I have to hand it to them. They’ve done an amazing job.” He hit her with a crooked grin, his eyes intent on her face, setting off a hot shiver. “If I were in the market for a romance, I’d hire them.”

Jill quickly looked at her plate, ignoring how his simple look lit fires inside her, choosing instead to focus on how much she wanted to ask Brandon why he was so obviously not in the market for a romance. But she held back. That was too personal a question to ask a man she’d just met, even if he did light up her senses and turn her dormant libido back on.

She focused instead on how she appreciated that he was being such a good sport about their scheming daughters. She sneaked a glance at him, also really liking his dark good looks, charming sense of humor and knee-weakening smile.

Before she could go very far with that thought, a loud explosion sounded from out back, rattling the silverware on the table.

Her face heating—darn her dad’s timing—Jill quickly glanced at Brandon, noting with little surprise that his dark eyes were wide with shock.

“What was that?” Brandon asked.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, casually waving a hand in the air, hoping to minimize the whole embarrassing event. “It’s just my dad…inventing in his workshop out back.”

She fiddled with her napkin, praying her dad didn’t follow his usual routine and come inside. The last thing she wanted was for Brandon to meet her eccentric father—many people reacted to his goofy looks with disbelieving laughter—although why she cared at all what Brandon thought was a mystery.

Brandon smiled, his dark eyes twinkling. “Ah, good. I thought maybe an airliner had crashed in the backyard.”

Jill let out a sigh, wishing she could appreciate his joke. “No, no, nothing as dramatic as that. Just my dad doing his thing.” The thing that had set her apart from everybody when she’d been growing up. How many times had other kids teased her because of her dad’s crazy invention antics, chanting “Wacky Winters is so weird,” over and over again? How many times had someone in town laughingly asked how Wacky was, a question that was always followed by something like “Has he blown up anything important yet?”