Read Online Finding Their Son by Debra Salonen - Free Book Online Page B

were a work of art. Fleece lined, the dark hide exterior was adorned with intricate beading bya truly skilled artisan. He felt guilty about knocking her store as a repository for cheap crap made in China.
    He put them on and stood. Oddly they made him feel more like himself. The old Eli. The person he no longer recognized when he looked in the mirror.
    But he didn’t take a chance on checking his reflection to see who might be standing there. Ex-Marine? Underpaid cop whose job was hanging by a thread? Soon-to-be divorced father of three? Or four?
    He walked to the kitchen quietly. The way he and Robert had practiced when they were kids. Char apparently hadn’t heard his approach. She was standing over a pan, frowning at it intently.
    “Didn’t anyone ever tell you a watched pot never boils?”
    She spun around too fast and accidentally knocked the pan’s handle. To Eli’s surprise, his reflexes actually responded quickly enough to keep it from falling. Some of the liquid sloshed over his hand. Hot, but not as bad as he feared.
    “Oh, man.” She groaned. “I’m such a klutz in the kitchen. If I didn’t have friends who cook, I’d be in bad shape.”
    They were close enough that Eli had an unrestricted view of her shape. Aside from the odd-colored hair, she looked great. She’d lost the deep purple wool jacket. Her sweater—the same one she’d had on when he first stepped into her shop—was an eye-catching orange. The color was vivid, like her hairdo. He wondered why she no longer looked as strange as he’d first thought.
    He hoped his change of heart wasn’t influenced by their kiss. He might be a hardship case, but he wasn’t dumb enough to get involved with someone who claimed to sharea place in his history. He stepped back to put more room between them.
    “Smells good,” he said, licking the drop that rested on his wrist.
    “I can’t take credit for it,” Char said, turning back to the stove. “But I am glad the canned soup industry got smart and started making stuff that’s semigood for you. Still more salt than you need,” she added matter-of-factly, “especially if you add crackers, but better than the crap my mother made for me.”
    Her complaint held only a small hint of bitterness. He tried to remember what he knew about her family. Lots had been said about the Jones sisters, but whether or not any was factual he couldn’t say. Eli vaguely recalled his dad pointing out Char’s grandfather at a corner table of a local watering hole one day. The only reason the memory stuck was that the old man had been chomping on a fat cigar and had a huge pile of chips in front of him. “Some assholes have all the luck,” Dad had whispered. “But that doesn’t make ’em a winner.”
    “Your grandpa was a gambler, wasn’t he?”
    Char shrugged. “Could be. I only knew him as the mean voice behind a curtain. Like in The Wizard of Oz , only grumpier.”
    His daughters had loved that movie when they were younger. Had he ever taken the time to watch it with them? He didn’t think so. The realization made his stomach ache. It made a loud grouchy noise of its own.
    “I’m hurrying,” she said, directing her comment toward his middle. The fact that her gaze lingered a moment and even seemed to travel lower set off another reaction—less noisy, but more noticeable.
    Worried that he might embarrass himself further, he moved to a chair at the round oak table and sat. He crossed his legs and parked his elbow on his knee. “You don’t need my help, do you?”
    “No. I’m not Martha Stewart, but I can heat soup without poisoning my guests.” She took a hunk of pepper cheese out of the refrigerator and started grating it onto a plate. “Having you out of the way is better, in fact. I’m used to having the place to myself.”
    “No significant other?”
    “What’s that mean?” she asked, looking up from what she was doing. Her tone was noticeably testy.
    “Um…I wondered whether or not to expect