His Temporary Live-in Wife

He drew a shaky breath. “Breaking in. Taking the cookies. Not being cool after you tried to help me.”

“Apology accepted.”

They faced off, one more question hanging between them. Dylan gave in first. “I’d like to stay the night, if the offer’s still good.”

“It’s good.” Eric backed away, letting him in. “Don’t do anything that deprives me of sleep for the next six hours or so.” He passed Dylan the cookies then headed up the staircase without looking back.

Marcy resisted the temptation to hover over the boy, even though the look on his face just about broke her heart. “You know where the milk is,” she said. “Good night, Dylan.”

“Night.” His voice was tight, as if he was fighting tears.

She touched his arm. “You’ll be all right,” she said, her throat burning, her heart aching. He wasn’t a hardened criminal but a kid who’d somehow lost his way. “Mr. Sheridan seems like the right person to trust,” she added.

He nodded. She patted his arm instead of hugging him, as she was tempted to do, then she climbed the stairs and got into bed.

Sleep eluded her. So much had happened in the past few hours that it seemed like a whole day. Taking center stage in her thoughts was what a surprise Eric had been. She’d expected a man decades older, but she doubted he was forty. He was at least six feet tall, and his temples were graying, but otherwise his hair was light brown, cut not so short as to look severe but not long enough to fall into his face. His eyes were a deep, rich, penetrating brown. And he was built like a football player, sturdy and solid. Sexy, actually. Strong, too. He’d dealt with Dylan on the porch earlier swiftly and powerfully but without hurting him.

Eric didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, but he hadn’t exactly walked into a situation allowing or requiring one—and he was a mathematician, after all. He was probably logical to a fault. At the moment he must be wondering about his decision to move to Davis, especially now that he seemed fated to become responsible for a stray with criminal tendencies.

Marcy smiled at the ceiling. She was a big believer in fate, which had led her down some interesting paths in life. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that fate had just dealt her the most important hand of her life when her last-two-weeks-of-August, regular-as-clockwork, house-sitting job had fallen through for the first time in four years, leaving her free to take this job.

She had nowhere to go tomorrow, and she felt a strong draw to the man in this crazy scenario. Would he ask her to stay? Would he be her hero?

She didn’t usually have such fantasies. She had goals to accomplish, after all, and promises to keep—with no time to slack off, not even when it involved a gorgeous math professor who summed up a situation and took control immediately and well. And who made her heart flutter with just a look.

Nope. No time for that at all. It was better if he didn’t need her to stay. Safer.

But then safer wasn’t always better, was it?

* * *

The next morning, Marcy lay in bed listening. It was almost 10:00 a.m., but she hadn’t heard any sounds of movement in the few minutes she’d been awake. She wondered if Dylan was still asleep or had flown the coop. Or cleaned out the refrigerator.

She’d slept well, having relinquished responsibility to Eric.

Prepared for another hundred-degree day, Marcy pulled on shorts and a tank top, then left her room. Eric’s bedroom door was closed. She slipped into the guest bath, cleaned up, and made her way downstairs.

The sofa was empty, although the sheets were jumbled, so Dylan had slept there at some point.

Disappointment washed over her. She’d hoped not only that the boy would realize Eric would probably continue to help him, but also that Dylan would prove himself worthy of Eric’s trust.

She heard the shower in the master bath come on and headed for the kitchen. She would fix a nice breakfast before she left, wanting to end the job on good terms. She was curious, too, about his reaction to Dylan being gone.

She fixed cheese omelets and wheat toast, filled a bowl with grapes and cantaloupe. She was just about to slide the plates into a warm oven when she heard the creak of the stairs as Eric made his way down. He didn’t pause but came directly into the kitchen.

“He’s gone,” she said when he stopped in the doorway, looking rested, but wearing jeans and a polo shirt. He’d find out soon enough what summer in Davis was. She hoped he owned shorts. She’d bet he had great legs. And shoulders, and—

“I heard him go out the back door not too long ago,” he said. He came into the room. “Good morning.”

“The same to you. Breakfast is ready.”

“I see that. Thank you. It’s a nice surprise.” He took a seat. “Did you sleep all right?”

“Dead to the world. How about you?”

“Half dead.” He smiled. “Kind of a lot on my mind.”

She put their plates on the table, feeling his gaze on her. She was used to men taking second looks at her, especially at her weekend job, wearing what she wore. Eric took one look … that lasted a long time. And unlike with most other men, she was not only flattered but wishing she could take a good long look at him in return.

“Coffee?” she asked, distracting herself.

A couple of seconds passed before he answered. “Yes, please. Black.” He stared at something on the counter, leaned back and grabbed the plastic container with the chocolate-chip cookies. He shook it. Empty. “He feels no qualms about eating and running, obviously.”

She shuddered. “It’s just creepy knowing that someone can come and go while you sleep and never know it.”

“Survival instincts. He’s probably gotten good at not making noise.”

“Are you going to file a police report?”

“No.”

“Good.” She sipped from her mug, studying him over the rim. Easy on the eyes, she thought again. She opened a notebook she’d brought downstairs with her. “Here’s a list of all the work that’s been done, what I think needs to be done, and the contacts I’ve gathered. The receipts are in an envelope taped to the inside back cover.”

“You’ve been very efficient. I very much appreciate all you did. Including fixing breakfast,” he added, toasting her with a forkful of omelet.

“If there’s anything else you need before I go, just ask.” She held her breath, not knowing if she wanted him to ask her to stay or let her go.

“Do you have another job to get to?” he asked, choosing a cluster of grapes.

“I did have, but it got canceled.”

He tossed a grape in his mouth and chewed, looking at her thoughtfully. “Do you live in Davis?”

“I live everywhere. Davis, Sacramento, Folsom, Rose ville. You name it.”

“What does that mean? Are you homeless?” He sat back, looking shocked.

“Technically, but it’s entirely my choice,” she insisted. “If I don’t have a house-sitting job, I bunk with a friend in Sacramento. I always, well, almost always have a place to stay.”

“Is that where you’ll go today?”

“No. We thought I’d be house-sitting, so she invited her parents to come for a week.”

The doorbell rang before she could add something that didn’t make her sound pathetic.

“That’s probably the guy to fix the window lock,” she said as Eric left the table, taking a piece of toast with him. She grabbed a cluster of grapes and followed, notebook in hand to remind herself of the man’s name. It wasn’t the handyman, however.

“I locked myself out.” Dylan stood on the porch, his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched, staring at his feet.