Page 82 of Wanting a Family Man

“Good morning,” she said warily.

“You’re up. Good.”

It was eight o’clock. When they were on the water, she was up by six.

“How’s your ankle?”

“Fine.”Throbbing.

“Are you allergic to cats?” He dropped the diaper bag onto the settee. “Mom’s friend Fabiana says you can stay at her place if you feed her cats while she’s in Vancouver. Logan has some painting you can do for the marina, so you can stay on payroll.”

“Oh.” She was still trying to catch up to the fact that he’d walked in here wearing stubble, a T-shirt that hugged his shoulders, and that air of command she found so compelling. He was carrying a well-rested, cheerful baby who smiled at her. It was too much coming off the hard day and rough night she’d had.

She focused on Storm, offering the baby a smile so she wouldn’t have to meet Trystan’s eyes. She didn’t want him to see the bruised heart she was nursing or the bags under her eyes from tossing and turning.

“Is that something that appeals or…?” he prompted.

He knew how many choices she didn’t have. She was grateful, she really was, but she hated the part where she was relying on him to solve her problems again.

“I had a half-baked plan to get on a bus and see if I could find my dad, but sure. I’m not allergic. That sounds great. Thank you.” She took a bite of the oatmeal, which she had made because it was easy. It was too hot and tasted like cinnamon-flavored kindergarten paste.

“You want to go toFlorida?”

“I didn’t think I had a job or a place to stay,” she said defensively. “I’m supposed to keep my foot up. Four days on a bus seemed like a rational plan at two in the morning, when I couldn’t sleep because I didn’t know what else I would do.”

She set her bowl aside and started to lean into her crutches.

“What do you need?”

“Milk.”

Trystan opened the fridge and brought the carton across.

Cloe leaned back on the counter and picked up her bowl so he could pour a dollop into it. He stayed way too close, watching her stir it in. When she glanced up, he was glowering at her.

“What?” she asked.

“What does it say about how angry you are that you want to go to the farthest point on the continent from where I’m at?”

“Did you hear the part where I think my dad lives there?”

“Think,” he repeated.

She held his gaze, refusing to concede he was right, but it was hard. Because yes, she was angry and hurt. But her whole life wasn’t about him. She waslost. She needed a goal. A purpose. A connection. She needed a place to live and a job.

Shelter, fire, food.

Family.

His dark brows were pulled into a heavy line. His scowl called her a challenging river he had to find his way across. The air between them crackled.

“Ummum!” Storm batted at the bowl and leaned out, mouth open.

Oh, this little seagull. She was too funny, melting the wall of frost Cloe was trying to keep between her and Trystan.

“Did big brother forget to feed you this morning?” Cloe tasted the oatmeal to be sure it wasn’t too hot, then offered a little on the edge of her spoon.

Storm’s baby lips closed while she worked it around in her mouth. She quickly opened her mouth again, wanting more of the sugary stuff.

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