Beckett's Convenient Bride by Dixie Browning

isn’t actually part of the banks, but you know what I mean.”
    He didn’t, but he was willing to let her ramble since it was what she did best. If he could sift through half of what she said and match up a word here and there, he might have a clue as to what she was all about.
    Then again, he might not.
    â€œWait here, I want to show you something,” he said. Laying his half-eaten sandwich aside, he rose and headed for the living room where he’d left his briefcase. Just as he reached for it, his cell phone rang.
    There were times when he wished the coverage weren’t so damned good.
    Identifying the number as Margaret’s, he said, “Yeah, what’s wrong?” She rarely called him unless there was a last minute change of plans.
    There was a last minute change of plans.
    â€œThe hell you say,” he muttered, leaning against the doorframe.
    From the kitchen, Kit was staring at him, her eyes questioning. “What’s wrong? she mouthed.
    â€œListen, Maggie, can it wait until I get home? Mom’s all right, isn’t she? You didn’t tell her—”
    Kit came and stood beside him and he reached out absently and hauled her closer. “Listen, don’t make a move until I get home, will you just promise me that much? Your friend can wait another few days, can’t he?”
    Kit didn’t say a word, but feeling her surprisingly sturdy body beside him felt good. Damn good. He broke the connection and held back on expressing himself. His mama had taught him better than to use foul language in the presence of a lady. “Okay, you want some answers? We’ll trade. You wouldn’t happen to have any beer on hand, would you?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t keep anything alcoholic in case I’m allergic.”
    That pulled his attention away from his immediate problem. “Allergic to beer? The hops, you mean?”
    â€œMy mother was an alcoholic,” she said with grave dignity. “I think maybe her father might have been one, too, I’m not sure. I don’t really remember Mama’s family.”
    Carson rubbed the back of his neck. “Coffee, then. Strong.”
    While she measured out grounds and set the pot to brewing, he paced the small kitchen, sifting through various mental files in order of priority. Then, while the pot did its burbling duty, he straddled a chair and started talking in no particular order.
    Evidently the style was contagious.
    â€œI looked you up on a chart—tracked you down mostly through your cousin. By the way, she says you owe her a call or at least an e-mail.”
    Kit perched on the bar stool—she had only the one. It didn’t match anything else in the room. “Liza? How do you know her? I don’t do computer things.”
    â€œLike I told you, didn’t I? She married my cousin. I guess that makes us cousins, right?”
    Â 
    Kissing cousins. The thought popped into her mind out of nowhere. Kit tried not to let his wickedly attractive grin affect her. When on earth had her life gone so completely off the rails? She really, really needed to be in control, and right now she wasn’t even in control of her own kitchen.
    â€œWrong,” she said. “I don’t even know you. I have no idea what you’re doing here except that I might have caused you an injury and you’re obviously sick, and—well, I guess I needed someone and you just happened along, but I don’t need you any longer.”
    The grin didn’t fade. If anything, it got even wider. Truly extraordinary eyes, she thought disjointedly. She needed to get rid of him—he was the last thing she needed, the very last. “Look, if you’ve got something to say, then spit it out. I’ve got a lot to do and I don’t even know where to start.”
    He raised his eyebrows in a way that sucked the words out of her before she could stop the flow. “Okay, so I do know.