Friday's Child by Kylie Brant Page A

you. You’ve been a major topic of discussion over the dinner table since the first of September. We’ve heard about what you wear, what you say, and I must tell you, Chloe is quite impressed with your prowess with a jump rope.”
    She bit her lip. “Oh, Lord.”
    â€œSeriously,” he continued, “I was relieved to find that she took to you so quickly. She was pretty young at the time of the divorce, but when the living arrangements changed, I was really worried about the transition.”
    â€œShe seems very well adjusted.”
    He nodded. “I think so. She gets a lot of attention, but I don’t want her to become spoiled. She really seems to be okay with the reversed custody.” He gave a rueful shrug. “I can’t tell if it’s wishful thinking on my part, but she appears happy. She loves our place, loves having the dogs and horses around. Doesn’t even seem to mind roughing it with two old bachelors who aren’t always sure of what they’re doing.”
    Kate leaned forward impulsively and touched his hand. “Chloe speaks of you often, and of Mr. Trask. And from the frequency with which you both appear in her pictures, you’re at least as popular with her as the dogs and horses.”
    Her slightly teasing tone wasn’t lost on him, but his attention was arrested by the feel of her fingers on his skin. The easy warmth that was so much a part of her was transferred by her touch, and a corresponding heat spread through him. She did that often, he realized. By the end of their last meeting he’d been a little dazed, but not so much that he couldn’t remember the way she’d walked out of the office ahead of him, her hand on the nurse’s arm as they spoke.
    When she would have withdrawn her touch, he neatly reversed their positions, capturing her fingers in his. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said, his wry tone meant to distract her from the thumb he sent skating across her knuckles. “I’ll take your word for it, since you’re the expert here. There are actually times when I think Chloe has me at least as well trained as our golden retriever.”
    Her gaze dropped to their hands then, and after a moment Michael let go of hers, saying easily, “If I don’t miss my guess, that last batch of cookies should be just about finished.”
    He watched her take the pans out of the oven and turn off the controls. Reaching for another cookie, he chewed slowly, thoroughly enjoying the situation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat in someone’s kitchen enjoying freshly baked treats and conversation, but undoubtedly it had been when he was a child. Not his own kitchen then, of course. His mother hadn’t been the type for baking before his father had walked out, and afterward had been too tired from her jobs to do much cooking. But he’d been to friends’ houses, had occasionally stayed with his grandmother, before her health had failed.
    While Kate started putting cookies in plastic storage containers, he studied his surroundings with interest. Her condo was small, but unlike most of the new buildings springing up around the D.C. area, it didn’t lack character. Bright curtains hung at the kitchen window, and the narrow woodwork gleamed with a fresh coat of white paint. He was sitting at a wicker table, obviously an antique that had been carefully restored. There wasn’t a lot of furniture in the rooms he’dpassed through, but all of it looked as though it had been chosen carefully. Framed prints dotted the walls, green plants brightened corners, and photographs in antique frames were carefully arranged on top of the TV.
    The total effect was of a home, a reflection of the woman who lived here. He frowned a little, wondering just how she’d managed to convey the feeling of warmth that emanated from the place when he, for all his money, couldn’t find a