shook her head. “She looked like a skinned rabbit. I’d never seen such an ugly baby before. We were embarrassed to have her baptized. Would you like to see some pictures?”
“No,” Eve said. “He wouldn’t.”
Actually, he was dying to see them, but he didn’t dare say so. Not with Eve glaring at him that way. He gave up.
Therese began to clear off the table. “Why don’t the pair of you take your tea out on the veranda?”
Matt tried not to cringe. He had his doubts about that tea. It had been steeping for a suspicious amount of time in a cast-iron kettle on the back burner of the stove.
Eve kicked him under the table and gathered up her plate. “We’ll help with the dishes first.”
“Right.” He picked up his own plate and looked around for the dishwasher. There wasn’t one. “Where do we put them?”
Therese took the plate from his hand and gave her daughter one of those long looks mothers give their children when they’re displeased. “I’ll wash the dishes. Matt’s a guest.”
“Matt doesn’t mind.” Eve turned to him, her chocolate eyes daring him to contradict her. “Do you, Matt?”
The last thing he wanted was to find himself in the middle of a mother-daughter dispute, especially between this particular pair. He looked to Giles for manly guidance. His desperation must have conveyed itself.
“Take the tea,” Giles advised him, pushing away from the table and leaving his own dishes behind. He picked up the crossword puzzle and his reading glasses, and moved to a chair in a corner of the large room.
Matt took a deep breath, praying Giles had made the right call. “I’d love a cup of tea.”
Eve filled two mugs with a wicked-looking brew, added a generous dose of canned milk to each, then handed one mug to Matt. She led the way onto the veranda, nudging him with a slender shoulder as the screen door swung shut with a bang behind them. “Wuss.”
He took a tentative sip of his tea. It was strong, thick, and guaranteed to keep him awake all night. But not bad. He settled beside her on a patio swing at the far end of the veranda, rocking it gently with one foot. Fireflies flickered in the velvety darkness that blanketed the yard, and an owl hooted somewhere off in the distance.
“Mind telling me what I’ve done wrong?” he asked.
The soft scent of her hair tangled with the aroma of the tea. Matt loved her hair. His fingers always itched to touch it. He edged closer to her, and the swing squealed a protest. Even the furniture was against him tonight.
She gripped her mug in both hands and jerked her feet up, bringing her knees to chin level, forming a barrier between herself and the world. “I hate the way my mother always acts like a servant. You shouldn’t encourage her.”
That was it? He’d let her mother do as she pleased? And here he thought he’d done something terrible.
“Your mother doesn’t act like any servant I’ve ever seen. She didn’t want our help. She wanted us out of her kitchen.”
“I know.” Eve rolled her eyes. “She’s such a housewife.”
She said that like it was a bad thing. Matt didn’t see what the problem was. As long as Therese enjoyed it, why should Eve complain?
“What’s wrong with being a housewife?” he asked. “It’s a job like any other, and your mother seems to take a great deal of pride in doing it well.”
“Let her, then.” Eve rested her chin on her knees. “But it’s not for me. And that drives her crazy.”
Matt took another sip of his tea and thought about that. “You’re right. It’s not for you,” he said slowly. “And that drives you crazy, too, doesn’t it?”
Eve tipped her head sideways, and his thoughts drifted to other, more pleasant things—like how the soft, exposed curve of her neck might taste by starlight. “You sound disappointed.”
Matt gave the swing another push with his foot. His ideal woman had always been one who could make him a home, but not necessarily from scratch. Eve didn’t possess any of the qualities he’d always thought he wanted in a life partner, except for the one thing that mattered to him the most.
She was Eve.
He admired her lovely face in the glow of the rising moon, debating whether or not to kiss her, but he’d already told her that she’d get to set the pace. If they sat here long enough, there was a good chance she might