The Husband Recipe Read online

  He was accustomed to the change in expression, the shift from annoyance to pity.

  “I didn’t mean to… I apologize.” The pity turned to confusion. “I saw a woman carrying in suitcases when you moved in, and I just assumed…”

  “That was my sister-in-law. She helped us move.” Grudgingly, yes, but Janet had helped.

  Cole recognized his neighbor. He’d seen her a few times, working in her garden or collecting her mail. That was about it, since her garage wasn’t filled with unpacked boxes—like his—and she could actually park in it. He’d noted from a distance that she was cute, but up close she was more than cute. Not gorgeous, but interesting. Pretty. She had honey-blond hair caught in a ponytail, hazel-green eyes, nicely shaped lips, petite build…. Yeah, she was definitely interesting.

  It was easy enough to guess that the muddy baseball had either gone into her garden or through a window. No wonder the kids had come running inside and dashed straight to their rooms.

  She took a step back. “I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. Just forget it. I’ll…”

  Cole turned and yelled. “Get in here, every one of you!” After a moment of strained silence, the three kids came creeping into the room. Heads down, bare feet shuffling, they were all soaking wet and chagrined. Cole asked, in a calmer voice, “What happened?”

  After a moment of complete silence—a rarity in this house—all three started talking at once, each trying to outdo the other in pitch and storytelling. It was a window after all. Just what he needed. A damaged garden would be easier to fix. A little dirt, a new plant or two, and it was done. Windows were more complicated. He tried to make sense of the story. Apparently Justin had thrown the ball, but it was Hank who’d missed it. And as the oldest, Meredith should’ve stopped them from playing ball in the first place.

  Cole had to work hard to disguise his fatherly pride. Justin was just five. It had to have been a helluva hard pitch to break a window. He kept his pride to himself. What kind of parent would he be if he gave his son a pat on the back for breaking the neighbor’s window?

  “Y’all apologize to…” He looked over his shoulder to the pretty neighbor who’d taken yet another step back. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  “Lauren Russell,” she said.

  He stepped forward and offered his hand. “Cole Donovan. These rug rats, in order of appearance, are Meredith, Hank and Justin.” She took his hand for a quick shake that was firm enough but not long-lasting, then quickly resumed the position meant to protect her from showing too much boob but that actually pushed them up and out a bit. Something he really shouldn’t be noticing. “Kids, apologize to Ms. Russell. Then everyone gets a time-out.”

  The kids apologized without much sincerity, then complained about their punishment. Cole turned to look at them. “No one came to me and told me about the broken window. Accidents happen, but trying to pretend they didn’t isn’t acceptable.”

  “Would you like me to make you some coffee, Dad?” Meredith asked sweetly. Almost thirteen—and wasn’t he terrified by that fact—she was sometimes the spitting image of her mother. Long blond hair, deep brown eyes, high cheekbones and long legs. Why couldn’t she stay twelve forever? Awhile longer, at least.

  He maintained a stern expression. “Coffee isn’t going to fix this.”

  Cole could practically see Hank’s mind spinning. Great. His middle child, the budding wizard who was currently without front teeth, would probably be in the kitchen this afternoon whipping up yet another potion designed to improve his father’s mood. If coffee wouldn’t work, surely magic would. The boy was seven; when was he going to outgrow this phase? Why couldn’t he be into baseball or football or soccer? No, he had to be into dragons and spells and magic wands. As always, Justin, the wizard’s apprentice, would help with the process when Hank went to work. Leftovers, half-filled boxes of juice, whatever they could find in the pantry—anything was fair game when it came to their concoctions. Cole would drink at least a sip of the potion, no matter what it contained. The boys hadn’t killed him with their experiments yet.

  He never should’ve let the kids watch those movies….

  Chastised, all three shuffled off to their rooms. He wouldn’t make them stay there long. Just long enough to realize they’d made mistakes.

  Cole turned back to Lauren. “I’ll fix your window.”

  She was already making her escape. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Cole stepped onto the front porch, but stopped short of following his neighbor into the yard. She was most definitely a woman making a getaway. “Nope. My kids broke it, I’ll fix it.”

  “Whatever.” She waved, but her back was to him by then so he didn’t get another nice view. Too bad. Though he had to admit, the rear view wasn’t too shabby. Lauren Russell walked like a woman, with a hint of sashay as she hurried home.

  Like he had time for a woman, pretty or otherwise.

  “Hang on a minute,” he said, ignoring his initial instinct and following in Lauren’s footsteps. She stopped, waited a couple of seconds longer than was necessary, and turned around slowly. Her chin was up, her eyes…defiant. He just wanted to talk to her, smooth the rough way they’d been introduced. After all, they were going to be neighbors, probably for a good long while. But the way she looked at him… Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea….

  “Yes?” she prodded when he just stood there too long like an idiot, saying nothing.

  “Sorry we got off to a bad start.” He tried to think of a couple of neighborly questions he could ask. Where’s the best shopping, what about the other neighbors, what are the best movie theaters… Can I borrow a cup of sugar? Yeah, right, that would go over well. Judging by the look on her face, the woman just wanted peace and quiet, she wanted to be left alone. He couldn’t blame her. “I’ll try to keep the kids out of your hair.”

  Her expression softened. “I’m sorry I overreacted.” She was trying to very casually cover her breasts, which only drew his attention to her gentle curves. “Kids will be kids, I suppose, and it’s not like I think they broke the window on purpose.”

  Cole rocked back slightly and shoved his hands in his pockets. He shouldn’t have followed her. What the hell had he been thinking? Oh, yeah, he’d been thinking that Lauren Russell was cute and interesting and he hadn’t talked to an adult face-to-face in days. Fortunately he knew how to undo his awkward mistake. He knew how to end this conversation here and now. “So if I ever need a babysitter…”

  The horrified expression on Lauren’s face was priceless, and Cole couldn’t help but grin widely. “Just kidding.”

  She nodded her head, muttered a polite goodbye and made her final escape. This time, he didn’t bother to follow.

  Chapter Two

  Lauren leaned into the computer. Her stomach was telling her that it was time for lunch, and she had leftovers in the fridge. Vegetable lasagna, one of her favorites. But her growling stomach could wait. Her article was finished and off by email, the broken glass had been swept and picked up from the floor and carpet, and she’d taped a piece of cardboard to the broken window. She’d decided to take a break before she got to lunch and then to the edits on her book. Google was a wonderful invention. Not only did it lead people searching for recipes right to her website, it was great for checking out new neighbors.

  She’d been prepared to search for the correct Cole Donovan for a while. Neither Cole nor Donovan were unusual names. It wasn’t like his name was Rumpelstiltskin. She hadn’t started with a lot of hope; she was prepared to find next to nothing. It didn’t hurt to try, she supposed. Surprisingly, he came up first on the list. She knew without doubt that it was him because there was a picture.

  Baseball. Huh. She’d never been a fan, otherwise she might’ve recognized his name. Apparently Cole Donovan had been a big deal a few years back, a star third baseman on track to break some sort of home-run record for the season. She had to scan down a few links to find out why he’d quit in the middl
e of the season, with that record and a promising career on the line.

  Lauren’s heart dropped as she read the archived article. His wife had indeed died. Mary Donovan had dropped dead in the grocery store, victim of a heart defect she’d been born with but had never been aware of. A chill ran down Lauren’s arms. Here one moment; gone the next. It was the sort of thing no one could possibly be prepared for. There was no one to blame, no drunk driver or misdiagnosis or missed treatment. Just…poof. The young mother of three had been twenty-nine at the time; so had Cole. They’d been high-school sweethearts.

  Cole had walked away from baseball after his wife died, giving up a lucrative career for his family. He could’ve pawned the kids off on relatives, she supposed, or hired a nanny and kept playing, but no. He’d left a promising career to take care of his children, to be a full-time parent.

  Lauren felt about an inch tall. She felt like the wicked witch, maybe the Grinch. Perhaps an ogre. All green monsters, she noted. She’d never looked good in certain yellowy shades of green, and she certainly wouldn’t look good if she were green. Wicked witches were never a nice teal or sea foam. No, they were pea-soup green. Not her color at all.

  She’d gone storming over there with that muddy baseball and her indignation, when that family had been through enough heartache for a lifetime. She checked the dates; it had been five years since Mary Donovan had died. The little one—Justin—must’ve been a baby at the time.

  And she’d lost it over a broken window and a little noise. Talk about putting things in perspective!

  She left her office a little sorry she’d looked Cole Donovan up online. There were some things that were better left unknown, unspoken, undone. But once those things were out of the box, it was simply too late to stuff them back in.

  Lauren’s mother and grandmother had trained her well. As she went into the kitchen and took the leftover lasagna from the refrigerator, she decided to make her new neighbors a nice meal as a peace offering. Lasagna and peach cobbler. Not the vegetable lasagna she preferred, but a nice, hearty lasagna with lots of beef. It was possible the children next door didn’t get enough protein. Most kids didn’t, since they were usually drawn to junk food. At least, that’s what everything she saw and read led her to believe. There were no children in her everyday life, no nieces or nephews, no little ones she saw regularly. Several of her friends had young children, but though she heard details of their lives, that didn’t mean Lauren saw them more than once or twice a year. Girlfriend lunches and the occasional margarita were not exactly child-friendly gatherings.

  Whether the Donovan children got enough protein or not, everyone liked lasagna, and her grandmother’s peach cobbler was to die for. That should suffice as a “sorry I made an ass out of myself” offering.

  While the vegetable lasagna was warming in the microwave, Lauren poured herself a glass of iced tea. She straightened the other single-serving-size containers of lasagna on the second shelf of the fridge. Like the cabinets in her kitchen, everything in the refrigerator had a place. The fridge and everything inside it was sparkling clean, and the bottled water was lined up neatly between the skim milk and the pitcher of tea she’d made last night.

  Her entire house was like the fridge. Everything had a place; disorder was not allowed. She wasn’t OCD, not by any means, but she liked everything to be clean, and if there were specific places for items then those items might as well be in those places. That made perfect sense to her.

  Lauren ate her lunch at the kitchen nook, overlooking her well-kept backyard. As she ate she mentally went over her schedule for the rest of the day. The edits, thirty minutes on the treadmill, then a shower. Dinner with Gran and Miss Patsy at six, and after that she’d stop by the grocery store. Tomorrow after she finished the edits and dropped them off at FedEx, she’d make the lasagna and peach cobbler.

  At the moment the neighboring backyard was as quiet as her own, and she had her schedule set for the next two days. All was well. For now.

  The kids had been quiet for a good half hour or so. They must really be feeling guilty about that broken window. Whatever the reason for the rare moment of silence, Cole would take it. He made a couple of phone calls—including one to a glass company to arrange for the neighbor’s window to be repaired—and then he sat in front of the computer. Hank had used the family computer last, and it was still on his favorite site for games. This particular favorite was a Dad-approved site, as Cole insisted they all be. He checked the history, to make sure none of the kids had wandered too far astray. While he tried to watch them when they were using the computer, it was impossible to keep an eye on the kids 24/7. One child, maybe, but three? He was constantly being pulled in all directions. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the kids, but these days you couldn’t be too careful. There were a lot of weirdos out there, and children were trusting by nature.

  Finding no offenders in the computer history, Cole went to Google and typed in his neighbor’s name. Lauren Russell. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, exactly, but these days it made sense to check up on the people who came to your door. No matter how cute they were. The kids were unerringly trusting; he was not.

  Even though he’d gone into the search with no expectations, he was surprised by what he found. First of all, the picture of Lauren that was at the top of the first page of her website was not at all flattering. Her hair had been pulled back tight, entirely out of her face, and she wore one of those fake picture-smiles, like she was literally saying cheese. Was that a turtleneck? Did they even make those anymore? She hadn’t been wearing enough makeup when the photo had been taken, and the harsh lights had washed her out. But it was her.

  He liked her better mad and in her pajamas, hair in a sloppy ponytail with bangs and escaping strands falling into her face, and eyes flashing. She looked better in natural light, with no makeup at all and fury coloring her face with a natural blush.

  If he hadn’t been looking for her specifically, he never would’ve found this site. It was all recipes and decorating and table etiquette. In the Donovan house they ate a lot of fish sticks and spaghetti out of a can, their decorations were almost all made by the kids—they’d outgrown the limited space on the fridge door long ago and had moved on to the walls—and proper etiquette at the table meant you didn’t stand on it while anyone else was eating.

  When they’d been living in Birmingham, Janet had provided a lot of their meals. She’d dropped by every weekend to stock the freezer with casseroles and homemade soup and chili. But they hadn’t relied on her entirely. Cole refused to let himself rely on anyone for anything. He could find his way around the kitchen, and for the past year Meredith had been learning to cook. He’d done his best to help her, but talk about the blind leading the blind…

  A couple days a week Meredith insisted on making supper. Alone. She saw herself as the woman of the house, and like it or not, she was. Cole didn’t want her to spend her youth taking care of her brothers—and him—and he did his best to make sure she was just a child for a while longer. But it wouldn’t hurt her to learn to prepare a meal or two. She was already a whiz at making coffee. Maybe because all the kids had learned that their dad wasn’t fit company until after he’d had his caffeine fix, and it made the morning much easier if the coffee was ready when he rolled out of bed.

  Lauren Russell’s website was mind-boggling and more than a little amusing. Apparently his cute neighbor was some kind of Southern Martha Stewart wannabe. She made Easter-egg dye out of onion skins and created elaborate handmade valentines for her friends and family. She’d posted recipes and detailed instructions for making fried chicken, biscuits and cornbread, as well as a multitude of fried vegetables. There were recipes for making candy bars, of all things, and homemade ice-cream treats—things easily purchased at the store, so why would anyone bother? Lauren didn’t leave out the health-conscious among her readers. There were also recipes for about a hundred ways to cook a chicken breast without frying it, and plenty of methods for
cooking veggies without any fat.

  Not that he could get his crew to eat a vegetable, except for the household staple french fries. Maybe corn on the cob, if they were feeling adventurous.

  Cole closed the website and shut down the web browser. It didn’t matter how cute his neighbor—or any other woman—might be. It wasn’t that he was still in love with Mary, five years after her death. It wasn’t as if he compared every woman he met to his late wife, or idealized her after she was gone, or pined for what they’d had. No, he simply had no time for a woman.

  He had dated since Mary had died. After she’d been gone a couple of years, well-meaning friends had tried time and again to set him up with women they thought were suitable. He’d dated, leaving the kids with Janet or a babysitter for a couple of hours, but something always went wrong. He had no patience for airheads, no matter how pretty they were. Some of his friends seemed to think “hot” was enough. It wasn’t. And no matter how he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to entirely leave his home life behind. Babysitters called. Meredith called. While his dates droned on about shoes or movies or—heaven forbid—baseball, his mind had always been elsewhere.