There was no way Howie could have known, Meg reminded herself, ducking into the kitchen as her brother introduced Russ to everyone. Trish, Howie’s perky blond wife, pushed back through the swinging doors, fanning herself with one hand while carting a baby on her hip with the other.
“Geezy Pete—didja get a load of that?”
Frances, Meg’s mother, shot her daughter-in-law a puzzled look before carting out the buttered asparagus, returning before the door could swing back, her eyes big. Briana and Penny, Meg’s other sisters-in-law, exchanged a glance and followed suit, after which all eyes landed on Meg.
“Don’t say it,” she said. Wearily.
“Cuh-yute,” pregnant, pixie-haired Briana said, grinning.
Penny, who’d played basketball in college and was six inches taller than everyone else in the room, rolled her brown eyes. “Cute? Hell, we’re talkin’ seriously hot.”
“Hot,” Trish echoed, nodding.
“He looks very nice,” her mother said, and Meg laughed. Also wearily.
“Actually…I kinda already met him. At the clinic,” she added before they could find their voices.
“He’s a doctor?”
“No, Ma, he’s—”
“Franny, for heaven’s sake,” Penny said, her voice suddenly chilly. Penny had issues. Of many varieties. “If he was at the clinic, he was probably with someone. Hello?”
“Then why’s he here for dinner? Alone?”
“Ma, everybody! Chill. Russ—”
“Russ. Such a nice name.”
Meg glared at her mother. “He was there with his sister. She’s a widow who, um, decided to have a baby with her husband’s sperm.”
“Oh?” Trish said as Penny’s pale eyebrows dipped.
“That’s just so…weird. On so many levels. For one thing, how does she know that’s actually her husband’s stuff—”
“Stuff?” Briana said, giggling as she popped a sautéed mushroom into her mouth.
“Like I’m gonna say, you know, that, in front of Franny,” Penny said, and Ma said, “Thank you, sweetheart,” and Meg thought her brain would explode. But Penny wasn’t finished. Of course she wasn’t.
“There’ve been rumors for years, you know. About the clinic. That maybe there’s something fishy about their practices. All those multiples births, for one thing. And worse.” Her sister-in-law’s lips pursed. “Why you’re even working there is beyond me.”
What was beyond Meg, was how the conversation had veered from speculating about the hottie in the other room to the Armstrong Institute’s integrity. Or why she felt compelled to defend where she’d worked for exactly one day. Until she remembered the absolute joy on Nova Farris’s face.
“And they’re called rumors for a reason, Pen. Far as I can tell they care a great deal about their patients. Especially Dr. Armstrong. And it’s one of the foremost research facilities in the country for biogenetics—”
Penny made a sign of the cross and Meg sighed. At least she’d only be there two weeks. Even she could deal with Penny’s pursed lips for that long.
“Dinner’s ready,” her mother said, shooting Meg a commiserating glance before they all trooped into the dining room.
Just as she could deal with sitting at the same table with Russ for a half-hour. Never before had she been so grateful her family ate like locusts. Swoop in, devour, move on. Better yet…
“How’s about I take kid duty in the family room tonight—?”
“Hell, no,” Howie said, as they all jockeyed for seats around the dining table. And she just somehow ended up across from Russ.
She shot daggers at Howie, who just grinned. Creep.
Then the usual chaos descended, the men talking sports and business, the women talking about the kids currently wreaking havoc in the basement below. Until the discussion swerved to politics, and Meg thought, Oh, God…until she realized the man was perfectly capable of holding his own among her opinionated family members.
Impressive.
Then he deftly switched the conversation back to business, which her dad and brothers lived, ate and breathed, anyway. Good call.
Had to admit, guy was a good listener. And an even better sport, deflecting her brothers’ gibes and jabs with a grin and a shrug. Or better yet, zinging one right back at them, much to both their and her sisters-in-laws’ delight.
Then she and Russ grabbed for the last chicken leg at the same time, and she saw the “Get me outta here!” look in his eyes. Ah.
“Help me clear the table?” she asked. At the precise, and only, moment of total silence since the meal began.
“Sure thing,” he said, jumping up to gather dishes. Her own arms loaded with greasy, smeared plates, Meg pushed into the kitchen. Russ followed, dumping his load on the table as she lifted hers to the counter.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Sorry. They can be a little intense.”
Chuckling, he moved past her to start scraping the dishes, loading the dishwasher. Rearranging the stuff already in there with military precision. Even over the scent of hour-old roasted chicken, she could smell him. Soapy. Kinda woodsy. Not at all unpleasant.
As opposed to the assorted screeches and bellows echoing up the basement stairs. Trial by fire, she believed this was called. Sure enough, Russ frowned at the open door, then back at her.
“And you guys do this every week?”
“Voluntarily, even—”
The thundering of many small feet preceded a tsunami of children breaching the basement doorway. Russ flattened himself against the counter as the horde surged through the kitchen and out the back door, shrieking their heads off.
“Good God. How many are there?”
“Ten. And counting.”
Apparently recovered, Russ returned to his chore, sorting the flatware into the dishwasher basket. Honestly. “It was just my sister and me. This…”
“Insanity?”
He tossed a smile in her direction. Oh, boy. “Takes a bit of getting used to.”
“There’s an understatement,” Meg said, and their eyes met, and she thought, Oh!, before his cheeks colored and he returned his attention to the dishes. Okie-dokie—time to put the dude out of his misery.
“Look…I have to apologize.”
He looked up. Light glanced off cheekbones. Damn. “For…?”
“The fix-up attempt.” The serving fork clattered out of his hand. “You couldn’t tell?”
Russ retrieved the escaped fork. Lifted his eyes to hers. Sweet, freaked eyes which effectively canceled out the cheekbones. Sorta.
“Look, Meg, I—”
“Three brothers,” she said, moving to the sink to wash pots. “All happily married. One baby sister, divorced. Until that little dimple is ironed out, none of them can rest. Why are you laughing?”
“Because I kinda figured that’s what the invitations were all about. I just didn’t know—” another sweet, freaked glance “—you were what the invitations were all about.”
Meg wasn’t sure what to make of this. Of him. Shoot. “Except…they seem to have missed the memo that I’m not in the market.”
Brows dipped. “You’re…not.”
“Oh, Lord, no. Maybe someday, waaaay in the future. When the divorce wounds have healed a little more. But not now.”
“You’re divorced?”
“Yep,” she said, squirting dish soap into the plugged-up sink. “A year ago. Not that I don’t occasionally date—” her eyes cut to his, then back “—but just for, you know, diversion. Not looking for serious—”
“Mama! Mama!”
Her heart soaring, Meg spun around to scoop up eighteen-month-old Abbie, sudsy hands be damned, to pepper the chubby little cheeks with kisses. “How’s my baby girl?”
“That one’s yours?”
Brushing back Abigail’s out-of-control curls, Meg turned, her smile fading when she caught the look of utter terror on Russ’s face
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