Free Husband by the Hour by Susan Mallery Page B

terrific."
    "Let us know if you need anything," Kyle said. "We're right up the driveway."
    Nick waved, then closed the door and returned to the living room. Hannah had sunk back in her chair.
    "It's been a hell of a day," he said.
    She nodded. "I feel as if I've been through a war."
    "I've got just the thing to make you feel better."
    She eyed him suspiciously. "Like I believe that."
    "Would your own husband lie to you?"
    "In a heartbeat."
    He walked over to the pile of luggage still by the door and opened his small bag. When he pulled out a fifth of Scotch, he said, "Sarcastic people don't get a drink."
    The corners of her mouth tilted up. "I take it all back. Every word. You're a prince without equal."
    "Better. Much better. Say something about being good-looking. Guys always like that."
    But instead of giving him a quick retort, she flushed slightly and glanced away. Interesting, Nick thought, strangely pleased by her reticence. He liked making her nervous. Keeping her off guard evened the playing field.
    In the kitchen, the cabinet above the dishwasher yielded octagonal-shaped glasses. He snagged two and carried them back into the living room. After opening the bottle and pouring them each an inch of amber liquid, he handed her a glass, then raised his.
    "To family found," he said.
    She nodded and took a sip. A small shudder rippled through her. She closed her eyes for a second, then exhaled. "Here I was expecting a lonely old woman and I found the Waltons."
    "Four John-boys for the price of one."
    "I wonder if I've made a mistake."
    "Coming up here?" he asked, leaning back against the sofa.
    "All of it. Coming up here, getting involved with them and their lives."
    "Don't you want to be a part of this family?" He tried not to think about the fact that he didn't belong anywhere himself. His old man had passed away about ten years ago. Most of the time, Nick didn't give him more than a passing thought, but occasionally he wondered about all he'd missed when he was growing up. When he considered raising a family, there was always a large group involved. It was, he acknowledged, a stupid fantasy for a man who never stayed long enough to get involved. Relationships required a commitment, and that was where his plan broke down. He'd been burned enough to know he wasn't going to give anyone the chance to get close again.
    "I'm not sure what I want," she said.
    "Are you angry at Louise?"
    She raised her eyebrows. "Just when I get used to thinking of you as a selfish, myopic jerk, you go and say something perceptive."
    "Hey, I'm an amazing guy."
    She pulled her feet up, shifted and tucked her legs under her. "I think I might have a little anger toward the woman who gave me up for adoption. Yet I came willingly when she invited me. I suppose I'm wrestling with ambivalence."
    "Did you tell her about losing your adoptive parents?"
    "No. She doesn't know."
    So Louise didn't know about Hannah's being raised in foster homes. The woman was going to be heartsick and blame herself when she found out the truth.
    Hannah leaned back in the chair. "Every orphan dreams about her birth parents coming back to rescue her. I had the same fantasy about my parents. But they never came to get me. In some ways, it was worse knowing they were alive and didn't care."
    "Your father probably didn't know about you."
    "I assumed that from what everyone said." She took another sip. "You think he's as bad as they say?"
    "Yes."
    Her gaze met his. "How do you know?"
    "I've seen the results of parents who didn't care. I've learned to recognize the scars." He didn't bother mentioning he had a few of his own.
    "Louise isn't anything like I thought she'd be," Hannah said. "What happened to the frail old woman?"
    "You're twenty-seven, right?"
    She nodded.
    "Most women in their forties don't have to give up children for adoption," he said. "She was a kid when you were born."
    Abruptly, Hannah rose to her feet. She set the glass on the end table and started to pace the