A Place to Call Home (5 page)

Chapter Six

Hannah awoke early, the new day shining its light through the curtains. Sitting up, she stretched, remembering where she had slept. She had snuggled comfortably in Mac’s big bed while he slept downstairs on the couch.

Without thinking twice, she lifted his sheets to her face and inhaled deeply. Yeah, they smelled like his pillow, of soap and shampoo. Man’s soap, the scent of clean, nothing frilly. She got up and opened the window needing to feel fresh air—the AC had automatically shut off during the middle of the night. She crawled back into bed, for a moment just sitting in the middle hugging her knees and enjoying the sounds of morning with birds chirping and a warm breeze blowing honeysuckle-sweetened air in the window.

It amazed her that she actually sat in the same bed Mac slept in every night. The thought of his muscular body, strong arms, and stronger hands invoked a little thrill. Her body warmed in the private places she’d long since used, her craving for the male touch suddenly, ferociously, returning full force.

Did Mac sleep without clothes? In his briefs? With a regular woman?

Hannah sighed. A man as good looking and hard working as Mac would be off the market. Surely, some woman had her hooks in him and he wouldn’t be available. Oh, well, Hannah wouldn’t be around here for long. Once her restaurant opened, she’d move on. Like always. Still she couldn’t help but want to have a taste of Mac, no matter how temporary the fling.

The alarm clock beside the bed read 5:30. Hunger gnawing at her gut, she decided to pay back Mac’s hospitality with a big homemade breakfast. Bursting with pride, Hannah knew she did one thing well—cook.

Scooting out of bed, she ignored her sore muscles and limbs and the scraped knee, and tiptoed into the hallway, not wanting to wake Mac while he slept. At the top of the stairs, the sound of running water reached her ears and she looked down the hall to find a faint light glowing under the bathroom door. It appeared Mac had awakened, confirmed by the empty couch. Good. At least then she would be able to cook in peace.

After utilizing the half bath on the first floor to freshen up, Hannah quickly started the coffee pot. She opened the fridge and, while not empty by any means, not a lot of choices for breakfast hid there. No sausages or bacon could be found and only four eggs filled the carton. Remembering the grocery store in town, she prayed it would be open this early. She would borrow Mac’s truck, get some quick supplies, and be back before he finished dressing. After running upstairs to grab her sandals and purse, she hurried out the door.

Twenty minutes later she parked back in Mac’s driveway, quickly jumped out and grabbed two bags out of the back seat. She scurried to the door, reciting recipes in her head and knowing exactly what she wanted to prepare. She would create Mac her special ham, cheese, and hash brown omelet. For the boys, she’d have pancakes with fresh blueberries and, of course, all would have bacon, sausages, toast, and orange juice.

Outside the porch door that led into the kitchen, Mac’s bellowing voice stopped Hannah in her tracks.

“Where the hell did you go?”

His massive body blocked the doorway, and she had no choice but to stop.

“Well?” he said, standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh, get out of my way, you ox.” She attempted to push past him but got nowhere, and his solid frame jammed her in the doorway with him.

He stared down at her, his dark blue eyes serious, his expression ominous.

Here we go again
.

“Get out of my way if you want breakfast,” she ordered, standing her ground.

“I didn’t ask for breakfast,” he hollered. “I asked where you went with my truck.”

She looked at the grocery bags in her arms and back at him. “Um, gee. Fresh blueberries, eggs, sausage, bacon. Hmmmm. Why don’t you figure it out?” She shoved past him and sauntered into the kitchen to unload the bags.

Hannah paraded around the kitchen, acting as though she’d been in it a hundred years, and organized her food. She poured a cup of coffee, handed it to him, and patted his cheek. “Now be a good boy and finish getting dressed while I get breakfast on the table,” she mocked him.

He took the cup and sipped, watching her over the rim. “You don’t have to make breakfast you know. We do have cereal.”

Moving back to the counter, she sighed. “Seems a shame to waste the food I just picked up.”

“I didn’t ask you to pick it up, did I?” he said, slamming down his mug, coffee sloshing over the side onto the counter.

“Nope. You didn’t. Now run along,” she said sweetly, running the blueberries under water.

“This is my house. I’ll do what I want.”

She faced him. “Grow up. Really a man of your size shouldn’t act so childish.”

“It must be the company I keep.” Crossing his arms, he didn’t budge.

She picked up the egg, examined it, and smiled. “Don’t give me a reason to poison your breakfast.”

“Can you even cook?”

She almost choked, and her fingers tightened around the egg, threatening to crack it. “I run restaurants dedicated to breakfast. Figure it out.”

He turned to leave the room. “If you cook as good as you renovate it ought to be an interesting breakfast. Just don’t burn down my house.”

Burn his house down? Hannah reared back and launched the egg, watching with satisfaction as it flew past Mac’s head and slammed into the wall. Its gel oozing down in a sloppy trail. That’ll teach him to insult her cooking.

 When Mac stopped short, Hannah wasted no time grabbing another one, wanting to perfect her aim.

“What the—” Mac turned just as she hauled another egg. It smacked him right in the middle of his forehead. He reached up and wiped the goo while he faced her growling. “You little hellion!”

Calmly, she picked up a third egg, smiled, and moved behind the wooden center island, the only thing separating them.

Standing there, his eyes squinting, his nostrils flaring, he reminded her of a bull staring at a red flag, ready to charge for being provoked.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” he growled. He stomped to the counter, gathered a fistful of paper towels and proceeded to clean the wall before returning to the center island and tossing the dirty towels onto it. “I warned you last night about tempting my temper. You’re not the only one around here with a hot disposition.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stood watching her.

“Go get dressed and leave me to my cooking, or you’ll not only get this egg upside your thick skull but the rest of them and a slab of bacon too,” she warned. She raised her hand for good measure, egg secured in her palm waiting for launch. Did he think just because he glared at her that she wouldn’t pummel him with egg again? The fool.

Suddenly, the gentle roar of his laugher filled the room. At first, she tensed at the loud, deep, rumble as it echoed through the kitchen, but then she realized it sounded more like a signal for truce than any resemblance of a threat. His laughter put her at ease, their confrontation more friendly and playful than malicious. She set the egg on the counter and grinned. It seemed the skirmish had broken some kind of invisible wall of awkwardness, and deflating his temper by matching it with her own had been an adrenaline rush. His intense focus on her had created a tingling sensation throughout her body.

He leaned on the counter. “God help me but you’re the craziest female I’ve ever encountered and I’ve met some great ones. I’m going to finish dressing. Don’t even think about hitting me with that egg.” He turned and swaggered away slowly. “And don’t think of poisoning my eggs, because you’re going to take the first bite,” he warned, never looking back.

Hannah just couldn’t resist. She shouldn’t, but since when did she ever listen to her good voice? She stretched her arm back and sent the egg flying so it purposely missed him but landed close enough.

Mac stopped, didn’t turn around. “Go ahead, throw all the eggs you want. You’re the one who’s going to clean them up.” He walked upstairs.

Hannah smiled, unable to control the simple excitement she hadn’t felt in years. Alone in the kitchen, she howled with a deep laugh of her own, totally delighted with her morning activities so far.

It took a few minutes for her to regain her composure, even though she couldn’t lose the grin. Gathering her supplies, she hummed and replayed the events of yesterday and today in her head. It amazed her how Mac had captivated her senses without any physical intimacy.

And then she cooked.

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Though it was normal habit for the boys, especially Aidan, to sleep in, Mac bet the aromas emanating from the kitchen that had teased his senses while he finished dressing upstairs had also awakened the kids. Because, one by one, he’d spied his sons dragging themselves down the stairs to the kitchen. And from the looks of things, it appeared Hannah had put them to work setting the table.

Unable to resist the wonderful smells of bacon and sausage, Mac couldn’t implement his original plan to skip breakfast just to spite Hannah. But he hadn’t expected
this
scene when he turned toward the kitchen. What he witnessed sent a shock through him. He hung back, leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, folded his arms, and watched.

His boys all helped out. Even lazy Aidan—who, being the oldest, believed he was entitled to have his younger brothers do his bidding—placed plates on the table while Ryan did the silverware and Luke the plastic glasses. None threw comments to each other or tossed insults, and more importantly none of them had another in a chokehold. All were still in the clothes they’d worn to bed and barefoot. When Ryan walked too close to Aidan in performing his assignment, Aidan took the opportunity, like Mac knew he would, to hip check him and sent him stumbling back.

Here it comes
. Mac grinned.

If Hannah thought his boys could be tamed by her sweet smile while she whipped around
his
kitchen still wearing his T-shirt and Aidan’s shorts, her hair pulled back, then she would be sorely mistaken. All hell would break loose, like it always did when one of the boys irritated the other. Mac gladly stood back and observed this time instead of interfering and setting them straight. It’d teach Hannah a lesson in dealing with the MacDevin men.

“Aidan!” Ryan screeched.

Aidan smirked. Luke froze to watch the developing fight. Mac grinned.

Hannah whirled around, fast as a bolt of lightning. Pointing a stainless steel spatula at Aidan and Ryan, her eyes menacing, she called out a simple, “Hey!”

His three sons turned in her direction and froze. Three pairs of eyes widened and three mouths opened without a sound.

“If you want to eat then you’ll set that table without fighting. All of you. If you can’t manage to behave yourself like your father would expect of you, and surely has taught you, then you can have a seat in the parlor while the rest of us civilized human beings eat.”

All three boys answered with a “Yes, ma’am,” their heads slightly bowed, and returned to their tasks.

Mac’s jaw dropped. Where were their arguments? Where was the free-for-all that should have ensued until he, being superior in strength and height, separated them?

Hannah turned back to the stove, flipping pancakes without skipping a beat. “Oh, and, Aidan?” she said without turning around.

“Yeah?” he asked, looking shyly at the back of her head.

“I think you owe your brother an apology and if you think you don’t want to give him one, well, then that’s your choice. But I promise you these blueberry pancakes will be worth the agony of apologizing.”

Did she just suggest his oldest and most stubborn boy apologize,
say he was sorry,
to his younger brother, admitting a wrongdoing and being humble? Silence filled the room for a long moment, and Mac held his breath.

“Of course, if you choose not to apologize, Aidan, you can go sit in the parlor while the rest of us eat,” she said, her voice dripping with honey.

Aidan mulled the options over, his cheeks reddening.

Would his oldest son let his pride rule and sit out breakfast just to remain “cool” to the younger boys? Mac would have bet money on it.