seeing who could knock off the most ants from a treeâs bark.
âI slipped one of the moving guys a twenty just to get the washer and dryer up and running.â
âHe should have told you.â
âHe was eighteen, at the most. He probably didnât know.â She remembered coming home from the hospital with a two-day-old baby and being scared to death. Although the nurses had loaded her down with free formula, diapers, and more samples and coupons than she could use in three lifetimes, no one had handed her an instruction booklet on how to raise and take care of Chase. At least sheâd had Ken to struggle along with her, and Dorothy had been a phone call away.
When Ken passed away sheâd gotten plenty of condolences and cards, but still no instruction booklet on how to be the âmanâ of the house.
When she started her own business, tons of brochures, pamphlets, and Web sites were dedicated to helping her get her business up and running. The other night she had spent a sleepless night worrying about the stupidest thing: her sonsâ private parts. If she had daughters, she would know what to tell them and would know the answers to all their questions. With boys she was clueless. She was an only child, and Ken had been her first and only lover. Was there something she was supposed to explain to the boys when they reached puberty? Before puberty?
She couldnât very well search for the information on the Internet. With her luck she would be caught in some child pornography ring and arrested. Sheâd spent a good hour of her time ordering a couple books from Amazon.com on raising boys, praying they would have a chapter or two on that particular area. If they didnât, she would have to muster up enough courage to ask their new family doctor, Dr. Sydney.
Books were a godsend. When her old college roommate had learned she was moving to the wilds of Maine and into a rundown old house, she had sent her a box containing six rolls of duct tape and a book about a thousand uses for the sticky silver tape. Although the book was meant to be humorous, the duct tape had proved invaluable. It had been the most useful gift she had ever received. Half of her house was being held together by the wonder tape.
âHey, you two,â yelled Dorothy from the top of the steps, âdinnerâs ready, and, Coop, youâre staying.â Dorothyâs tone didnât leave room for any argument.
âI am?â Coop looked amused.
Dorothy came down a couple of steps and looked at the man who probably had saved her from drowning earlier in the afternoon. âYes, you are. Weâre having spaghetti and meatballs.â
Jenni softly chuckled and whispered, âThey actually taste even better than they smell.â Since the house was filled with the heavenly aroma of simmering sauce, that was saying something.
âIâd be delighted to join you and your family, Dorothy. It smells too good to resist.â
âThen get your buns up here. You too, Jenni.â Dorothy turned around to march back up the steps. âDonât forget to wash up.â
âYes, maâam.â Coop and his shiny red toolbox followed Dorothy up the stairs.
So much for her scrubwomanâs sex appeal. Coop was following his stomach straight to Dorothyâs meatballs and hadnât so much as given her a second glance. Considering what Jenni looked like, she didnât blame him one bit.
What really fried her keister was why she even cared what Coop felt toward her. She wasnât interested in a personal relationship with the Good Samaritan or any other man. As far as she was concerned, Christmas had come early this year, and Santa had a new name: Cooper Armstrong.
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Coop enthusiastically helped himself to a second serving. âDorothy, I must admit these are the best meatballs I have ever tasted.â He wasnât paying a false compliment; they were. âYou have