Free What a Man's Gotta Do by Karen Templeton Page A

mouth pulled taut. “When you live alone as long as I have, you tend to forget about things like being tactful. Or how to put across what you’re thinking without—”
    â€œâ€”pissing people off. Yeah, I got it.”
    There went that half smile again. Mala’s heart stalled in her throat. “It’s okay,” she said softly, leaning against the door frame. Leaning into that I-can-see-straight-through-you gaze,wanting to reach out to him so badly, her teeth hurt. “As it happens, you gave me some things to think about.”
    One brow lifted. Skeptical. Amused. “Really?”
    A smile tugged at her mouth, even as a little voice said, “Watch it, sister.”
    â€œYeah. Really.”
    One Mississippi…two Mississippi…
    â€œWell. Okay. That’s…good, then. Well…uh, tell your mama it was nice to meet her, okay?” He turned around and trudged away, his strides long and purposeful.
    â€œNice butt,” Bev observed behind her. Mala jumped.
    â€œOh, geez, Ma. Besides, what can you see under that shirt he’s wearing?”
    â€œA wealth of possibilities, missy. And what was that all about?”
    â€œYou heard?”
    â€œEnough.”
    â€œWell, it was nothing. Just a little misunderstanding.” Mala managed a nonchalant shrug. “All cleared up now.”
    â€œOh?”
    The woman could pack more meaning into a two-letter word than Webster’s in the whole flipping dictionary.
    â€œDon’t even go there, Ma,” Mala said, shutting the door a bit more forcefully than necessary and heading back toward the kitchen.
    â€œWhat? What did I say?”
    â€œYou don’t have to say anything.” She went into the kitchen, pulled a mug out of the dish drainer, a box of tea bags from the cupboard. “What you’re thinking’s written all over your face.”
    â€œLike you know what’s going on in my head, little girl. Well, for your information, Miss Know-It-All, what I was thinking is that Eddie King turned out okay. Not many men can find it in themselves to apologize for anything. Give me that,” she said, snatching the box from Mala’s hand. “I can make my own tea. Anyway, he’s a nice boy.”
    â€œMa, he’s a year older than me. He’s hardly a boy. ”
    â€œSo he’s a nice man. Even better. You know if the restaurant’s open for Thanksgiving?”
    Mala frowned. “It isn’t. Why?”
    â€œI just wondered if he’s doing anything, that’s all.”
    â€œOh, dear God,” Mala said, raising her eyes to the heavens. Well, okay, the ceiling, but it was close enough. “What have I done to deserve this?”
    â€œSo you should ask him if he’d like to have dinner with us.”
    Us. Meaning her parents and Mala and Steve and Sophie—whose first Thanksgiving this would be, since they didn’t do Thanksgiving in Carpathia—and their five kids and her two.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause I’m not that mean. Besides, he has other plans.”
    â€œYou know this, or you’re only trying to get me off your case?”
    â€œYes.”
    Footsteps creaked overhead. “You know somethin’?” Bev said, “I’ve got half a mind to go up there and ask him myself.”
    Mala opened her mouth to protest, when suddenly, she didn’t care anymore. What the hell did it matter to her if Eddie King accepted her mother’s invitation? He certainly didn’t need her protection. And with all those people around, it wasn’t as if they’d even see each other. Probably. Besides, her parents had been inviting strays to holiday dinners for as long as she could remember. So big fat hairy deal.
    â€œFine,” she said. “Go ask.”
    Which Bev did. Mala listened, heard faint voices upstairs, then her mother’s slow, steady descent on the outside stairs.
    â€œYou’re