was huge and it was surrounded by oak chairs with bright cushions on the seats that matched the curtains hanging at the windows. It was a woman’s touch and she wondered with a twinge of jealousy who’d been responsible. The appliances appeared to be brand-new, including a state-of-the-art refrigerator that looked big enough to stock a month’s supply of food for a family of eight.
When Justin opened the humongous freezer, she had to laugh. Inside there were two half-gallons of ice cream and nothing else, except perhaps some unseen cubes of ice in the automatic ice maker.
“Kind of a waste of space, isn’t it?” she teased.
He shrugged. “I eat out a lot.”
“Is the other side any better?”
“See for yourself,” he said, opening the door to reveal a couple of cans of soda, some sandwich meat, a loaf of bread, a bottle of ketchup, a jar of mayonnaise, and a stick of butter still in its wrapper.
“Interesting diet you have.”
“I eat breakfast at Dolan’s, lunch wherever it’s convenient and dinner with my folks or Grandpa Harlan. This stuff is good enough for a late-night snack or an emergency lunch on my day off.”
“No lady friends to cook for you?” she inquired, all too aware of yet another odd little twinge of envy that came automatically with the question.
“Once in a while,” he conceded. “No one special.”
She could believe it. She could also believe that he didn’t entertain them here. The bare necessities weren’t meant to impress anyone. And any woman with marriage on her mind would have long since added her own touches to the room and seen to it that the refrigerator was stocked with tempting dishes meant to win his heart. She wouldn’t have stopped with the cushions and matching curtains.
Nope, Patsy concluded, this was the home of a dedicated, unattached bachelor, all right. She found that oddly comforting.
“Ice cream,” Billy demanded.
Justin hoisted him up and settled him on the counter, then reached into a cupboard and brought out a box of sugar cones. “One scoop or two?” he inquired, the question directed at Billy, but his unsettling gaze fixed on Patsy.
“One,” she insisted, overriding Billy’s demand for two. “And prepare for disaster. We probably ought to eat them outside.”
“We can take them onto the patio,” he said, scooping the rocky road into the cones and handing two to her. When he’d put the carton of ice cream back into the freezer, he picked Billy up and opened the back door to a brick patio and a medium-sized pool that sparkled with underwater lights. Billy clapped his hands in delight.
“Swim, Mama.”
“Not now, baby.”
She caught Justin’s surprised expression.
“He can swim?”
She nodded. “Like a little fish. He had lessons a few months ago. He loves the water.” Lessons had been a necessity with the huge pool in their backyard. Even so, she had had safety locks installed on all the doors leading outside to keep Billy from wandering out unattended, lured by the water and oblivious to the potential dangers.
“You’ll have to come over sometime and use the pool,” Justin said.
“We’ll see.”
She could see that there were more questions he wanted to ask, such as how a woman who’d been unable to pay for children’s Tylenol had afforded swimming lessons or had even had access to a pool. He was probably noting that, right alongside the expensive clothes he’d already commented on and the fancy car, and coming up with a background for her that didn’t add up.
“One of these days we’re going to have to talk about this,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers.
The comment confirmed her worst fears. Patsy sighed and nodded. “One of these days,” she conceded.
He nodded slowly, accepting that for now. A plaintive woof from inside broke the tension and had them laughing.
“Apparently Punk is tired of being obedient,” she noted.
“Should I let him join us or should we head back?”
“We’d better get back,” she said reluctantly. “Billy needs to get to sleep. And I have to be up early to get to work.”
He gestured behind her. “I don’t think Billy’s rest is an issue.”
She turned and found Billy curled up on a chaise longue sound asleep, his half-eaten ice cream cone melting beside him. Panic spiraled through her at the sight of the mess.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured, jumping up at once. “I’ll clean it up.”
“Stay where you are,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“But—”
“Patsy, it’s not a problem. The fabric’s washable. Even if it weren’t, what would it matter?”