She stopped, faced him, pursed her lips. “I wondered if you had your eye on anything else around here besides my cooking.”

Because she had a way of making him want to shuffle his feet, he tucked his hands in his pockets. “So?”

“So—good.” She gave his cheek a brisk pat, and was amused by the surprise on his face. The boy, she thought, had never had a clue of his own worth. “So—good for both of you, and about time, I say. First time in her life that girl’s had a real man.”

Humbled speechless, he shook his head. When he found his voice again, he took her hands. “Mrs. Williamson, you slay me.”

“I will if you break her heart. But in the meantime, you should be good for each other. Now sit down and finish your breakfast before it’s cold. If you’re going to handle those girls yourself this morning, you need your fuel.”

“I love you. I really do.”

Her face creased in a wide smile. “I know that, boy. I love you right back. Now sit down and eat. They’ll be down in a minute and chattering like magpies.”

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Michael Fury had jumped off buildings, fought in jungles, weathered a typhoon at sea, raced cars at high speed and, at one time or another, broken several major bones in his body.

He’d been in bar fights, spent the night in a cell where the artwork on the walls ran to anatomically exaggerated etchings of female organs. He had killed men and loved women.

And he had, he realized, led a sheltered life.

He had never faced the perils and predicaments of getting two girls out of the house on a school day.

“What do you mean you can’t wear those shoes?”

“They don’t go with my outfit.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied Ali’s floral skirt and pink sweater. Hadn’t she been wearing some green thing a minute ago? “That’s what you said the last time. And it looks fine to me. They’re just shoes.”

In the way of every female since Eve strapped on a fig leaf, Ali rolled her eyes. “They’re the wrong shoes. I have to change them.”

“Well, hurry up. Jesus,” he muttered as she dashed back upstairs, leaving Kayla tugging on his hand.

“I forgot how to spell ‘bedlam.’ ”

“A-l-l-i-s-o-n.”

She giggled at that. “No, really. Is it l-a-m or l-e-m?”

“A.” He was pretty sure. Spelling homework wasn’t exactly his strong point. And if they didn’t get moving, he was going to be late meeting his contractor. The backup with building permits had already put him behind. Now Allison and her shoes . . . “Allison, I’m walking out the door with or without you in ten seconds.”

“Sometimes Mama says that, too,” Kayla informed him. “But she never does.”

“I will. Come on.” He tugged Kayla to the door.