Read Online Matt—The Callahan Brothers (Brazos Bend Book 2) by Emily March - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emily March
Ads: Link
her like a guest?”
“That about sums it up,” Les agreed.
Torie gave Les a warm smile before glancing at Matt. He looked frustrated, disgusted ... and older than he had back on the island. New lines were etched into his brow and weariness clung to his features.
Major medical trauma would do that to a person.
Torie sighed heavily as guilt settled on her shoulders. She’d put those lines there. Silently, she followed Les up the front porch steps and into the restored two-story Victorian complete with gingerbread and a wraparound porch.
“Come on into the kitchen,” the older man directed. The austere furnishings in the living room reflected a bachelor household. Other than the two recliners with a lamp table between them, the only items in the room were a huge plasma television, a bookshelf filled with a mix of hardbacks and paperbacks, and a card table with plastic pieces and the skeleton of a model battleship spread across its surface.
Not exactly James Bond luxury, she decided. Gigi squirmed in her arms, and Torie tucked her away into her shoulder bag as they entered the kitchen. There, she stopped in surprise. Behind her, Matt said, “Looks like a frosting bomb went off in here.”
Baked goods filled every inch of counter space and the entire surface of the kitchen table. Pies, cakes, cookies—the selection was vast and highly caloric.
“It’s your harem,” Les grumbled. “That’s less than a week’s worth of stuff. Some women have absolutely no pride. I’m telling you, Matt, you have to do something to stop it. My arteries clog up just from looking at all this.”
Harem? That figured. Guilt forgotten, Torie shot Matt a scathing glance. Only women with no pride adored men with no shame.
Les gestured for Torie to take a seat while he cleared a spot at the table. “Tea’s in the fridge, Matt. Why don’t you pour us all a glass?”
Matt bristled with offense. “Oh, so now I have to serve her?”
“Don’t be rude,” the older man responded.
“Yeah,” Torie agreed.
Callahan’s cold stare could have frosted the chocolate cake in front of her. Torie battled back with a glare hot enough to melt the ice cubes he added to the glasses he removed from the cupboard, muttering and grumbling all the while. When he opened the refrigerator door, two plastic bags filled with what appeared to be meatballs fell out onto the floor.
“Angie Rametti dropped those off. With sauce and a spinach lasagna. Her stuff, we’re keeping.”
“Angie? She’s closer to your age than mine.” When Les simply shrugged, Matt’s brows winged up. “Oh. I see. I’m not the only bull in the pasture, now, am I? How much of this stuff was brought by women over forty?”
“Not much.”
“Whose fried chicken is this?”
Les repeated his shrug. “Alice Moncrief’s.”
Matt smirked, his point apparently proved. “The meat loaf?”
“That’s from one of the young ones. She can’t cook worth a damn. You need to pitch that.”
Torie glanced past Matt to see that the appliance was literally stuffed to overflowing. A plastic tub filled with pasta salad slid out onto the floor. “This is ridiculous,” Matt muttered, and tossed the meatballs back into the fridge. The other stuff he pitched into the trash before grabbing the jar of sun tea from the refrigerator shelf. “I swear, women are the bane of my existence.”
Torie stifled the childish urge to stick out her tongue at him. “I can’t believe how wrong I was about you. You are so not James Bond.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Honey, in your case, you’re better off thinking of me as the Terminator.”
“I do.” That’s why she was here.
Matt sighed heavily as he poured three glasses of tea. Setting them on the table, he took a seat across from Torie, then perused the sugared offerings, choosing what appeared to be a banana muffin. Les Warfield said, “Would you tell us your story now, Ms. Bradshaw? From the beginning? I’d like to know
“That about sums it up,” Les agreed.
Torie gave Les a warm smile before glancing at Matt. He looked frustrated, disgusted ... and older than he had back on the island. New lines were etched into his brow and weariness clung to his features.
Major medical trauma would do that to a person.
Torie sighed heavily as guilt settled on her shoulders. She’d put those lines there. Silently, she followed Les up the front porch steps and into the restored two-story Victorian complete with gingerbread and a wraparound porch.
“Come on into the kitchen,” the older man directed. The austere furnishings in the living room reflected a bachelor household. Other than the two recliners with a lamp table between them, the only items in the room were a huge plasma television, a bookshelf filled with a mix of hardbacks and paperbacks, and a card table with plastic pieces and the skeleton of a model battleship spread across its surface.
Not exactly James Bond luxury, she decided. Gigi squirmed in her arms, and Torie tucked her away into her shoulder bag as they entered the kitchen. There, she stopped in surprise. Behind her, Matt said, “Looks like a frosting bomb went off in here.”
Baked goods filled every inch of counter space and the entire surface of the kitchen table. Pies, cakes, cookies—the selection was vast and highly caloric.
“It’s your harem,” Les grumbled. “That’s less than a week’s worth of stuff. Some women have absolutely no pride. I’m telling you, Matt, you have to do something to stop it. My arteries clog up just from looking at all this.”
Harem? That figured. Guilt forgotten, Torie shot Matt a scathing glance. Only women with no pride adored men with no shame.
Les gestured for Torie to take a seat while he cleared a spot at the table. “Tea’s in the fridge, Matt. Why don’t you pour us all a glass?”
Matt bristled with offense. “Oh, so now I have to serve her?”
“Don’t be rude,” the older man responded.
“Yeah,” Torie agreed.
Callahan’s cold stare could have frosted the chocolate cake in front of her. Torie battled back with a glare hot enough to melt the ice cubes he added to the glasses he removed from the cupboard, muttering and grumbling all the while. When he opened the refrigerator door, two plastic bags filled with what appeared to be meatballs fell out onto the floor.
“Angie Rametti dropped those off. With sauce and a spinach lasagna. Her stuff, we’re keeping.”
“Angie? She’s closer to your age than mine.” When Les simply shrugged, Matt’s brows winged up. “Oh. I see. I’m not the only bull in the pasture, now, am I? How much of this stuff was brought by women over forty?”
“Not much.”
“Whose fried chicken is this?”
Les repeated his shrug. “Alice Moncrief’s.”
Matt smirked, his point apparently proved. “The meat loaf?”
“That’s from one of the young ones. She can’t cook worth a damn. You need to pitch that.”
Torie glanced past Matt to see that the appliance was literally stuffed to overflowing. A plastic tub filled with pasta salad slid out onto the floor. “This is ridiculous,” Matt muttered, and tossed the meatballs back into the fridge. The other stuff he pitched into the trash before grabbing the jar of sun tea from the refrigerator shelf. “I swear, women are the bane of my existence.”
Torie stifled the childish urge to stick out her tongue at him. “I can’t believe how wrong I was about you. You are so not James Bond.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Honey, in your case, you’re better off thinking of me as the Terminator.”
“I do.” That’s why she was here.
Matt sighed heavily as he poured three glasses of tea. Setting them on the table, he took a seat across from Torie, then perused the sugared offerings, choosing what appeared to be a banana muffin. Les Warfield said, “Would you tell us your story now, Ms. Bradshaw? From the beginning? I’d like to know
Similar Books
