McCloud's Woman by Patricia Rice Page B

guy’s got limits.”
    TJ interrupted this exchange of pleasantries. “Where’s Cleo? Did she put the espresso machine back together?”
    “She’s in Matty’s room, egging videos. I think it’s fixed. Go look.”
    “Egging videos?” Mara inquired.
    “We do what we can for entertainment around here,” Jared called back.
    TJ put a hand to the small of her back and shoved her
toward the door. “Shut up and read your funnies, Jared,” he shouted at
the roof without looking up.
    “Jared inherited all the charm, right?” she asked wryly, stumbling up the stairs under his direction.
    “Right. I got the muscles, Jared got the charm, and our baby brother got the brains.”
    “How’s Tom doing these days?” she tried to question
casually while TJ all but hauled her into a charming cottage of gleaming
pine floors and spacious sunlit windows. Somewhere in the back of the
house, childish laughter echoed in accompaniment to the murmur of a
television.
    She ignored the tug of envy at the homey surroundings and
jerked out of TJ’s rough hold. The man didn’t know his own strength, but
she knew how to handle muscle better than the loneliness this house
stirred.
    “He goes by Clay these days. We never appreciated our
first names, especially after Jared made a point of using them to insult
us.” Now that TJ had her out of Jared’s view, he stalked ahead of her,
his broad shoulders nearly filling the narrow hall. “Clay’s working on a
new kind of three-D computer animation that will turn the film industry
on its head. Surprised you haven’t run into him.”
    Amusement curled her lips. “Contrary to popular opinion, I
don’t know every man in L.A.” Entering the large kitchen, she spun
around to examine the tiled counters and trestle table while he put the
milk and eggs away. Catching sight of a fascinating assortment of pewter
and ceramic gremlins leaning over and grimacing from the tops of the
cabinets, she stood on tiptoe to stare back at them.
    “Clay’s too cynical to look at women anyway.” TJ found the coffee beans and began filling the machine.
    “Yeah, I never met a McCloud who looked at women,” a feminine voice mocked from the doorway.
    Mara swung around to greet the compact woman with the
short auburn curls she’d met on the beach. “I never met a McCloud who
was content with just looking,” she agreed cheerfully.
    Cleo leaned a shoulder against the door frame, crossed her
arms, and lifted a wry eyebrow at her brother-in-law. “Do tell. TJ
doesn’t.”
    “Go egg a video, Cleo,” he countered. Affection tinged his words, but he didn’t tear his gaze from the machine’s operation.
    Slipping one hand from beneath her armpit, Cleo flung an
egg-shaped object at his solid back. Mara jumped at the resulting
splash, then giggled when the ball did no more than bounce off him. With
excellent reflexes or a lot of practice, TJ turned, caught the egg
before it hit the ground, and flung it back at Cleo in a single fluid
movement. The ball bounced off her shoulder and emitted another
convincing splash.
    “We egg each other on,” TJ said gravely, catching the ball
in his fist with Cleo’s return throw. It squished satisfactorily
between his fingers before he flung it at Mara.
    Grinning broadly, Mara caught it and examined what appeared to be a spongy rubber ball in the shape and color of an egg.
    “I’m inventing one that leaves egg goo just for TJ,” Cleo informed them without breaking a smile. “Did you get my milk?”
    “In the fridge. Why invent what already exists?” He stuck a mug under the steaming flow from the machine.
    Mara inhaled the rich aroma and decided she was knocking
on heaven’s door. Despite the sharp banter, she sensed the high degree
of respect between TJ and Cleo. Could families really live together like
this without killing each other? Not the ones she knew, but she basked
in the comforting ambiance of this one. Or maybe it was just the smell
of