“Why don’t you come through to the kitchen and wait?”
He followed her through the door and into a huge kitchen. The scent of fresh bread filled the air, and his stomach rumbled. The place was crowded. A big wooden table stood in the center of the room, a large tabby cat curled up in the middle, and people were seated all around. Two more dogs stretched out on the floor, and another chicken sat in a basket to the side of a huge empty fireplace.
“That’s Tom,” Jean said.
Tom nodded. He was a dark-haired man in his early twenties, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his expression not particularly friendly. This was the man Lexi had mentioned last night?
“And that’s Sarah.” Jean gestured toward a woman in her early thirties who waggled her fingers at him. “And Jason and Chloe.” The boy he’d seen in the garden, his hand resting on the head of the three-legged dog, and a little girl a couple of years younger. Neither looked anything like Lexi. Who the hell were all these people?
“Hi,” he said to the room in general. “I’m Josh.”
Jean pulled out a chair from the table, gently nudged off a sleeping kitten. “Have a seat. I’m sure she won’t be long.”
Tom snorted. “Lexi’s not at her best in the mornings. She doesn’t move very quickly.”
Josh cast him a sharp look. How the hell did he know what Lexi was like first thing in the morning? Last night, Lexi had said there was nothing between the two of them. What had she said about the other man—she’d met him on the Heath one day and invited him to move in? The woman was a danger to herself. She needed someone to look after her.
But not me.
He didn’t do looking after.
Not anymore. Never again.
He glanced at the chair; he didn’t want to sit. He might need to make a quick getaway. They were all studying him. Did they know who he was? He edged into the room and perched on the seat.
“Can I get you a coffee?” Jean asked, pulling him from his thoughts. He found he was staring at the chicken as it clucked softly. Who the hell had a live chicken in their kitchen?
“No, thanks.”
Nobody said anything, and he looked longingly at the door. After ten minutes, Tom put his mug down and got to his feet. “I’m off to work.”
The others all rose one by one. “I have to take the kids to school,” Sarah said.
“And you can drop me off in the High Street.” Jean collected all the mugs and put them in the sink, and a minute later Josh was alone.
The place was a complete and utter madhouse.
The house was more like a rescue center for stray humans and chickens than a civilized home. He had the urge to…tidy everything up, to ask them what they were doing—no doubt freeloading off his far too generous wife.
He thought about getting up and getting a coffee, but instead sat tracing patterns on the scrubbed wooden table with one finger. A sense of peace filled him—unexpected, but there was something about this house, despite the chaos, that was restful. Maybe it was all the sleeping animals, a lullaby of gentle snores.
He’d been restless for a long time; he hadn’t noticed as it crept up on him. Not unhappy exactly—he’d been too busy to be unhappy, but plagued by a nagging sense of futility. What was all the hard work for? He’d come so far, overcome his crappy background, but for what?
In the six weeks since that damn cruise ship had gone down, he’d examined his life from every angle, trying to come up with answers for how he wanted to move forward. It was strange, but the accident had changed him more than he would have thought possible. Coming face-to-face with death would do that. Recuperating at Vito’s villa on Sicily, he’d had a lot of time to think, but he had failed to come up with any solutions.
He’d thought all he wanted was sex. But last night he’d had sex…and now he wanted more sex. Had woken that morning with a raging hard-on, and he was fed up with jerking off in the shower.
He knew what he didn’t want—he didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else. That was never going to change. But did it mean he had to go through life alone? Wasn’t that the way he liked things?
Since he was seventeen, he’d pushed everyone away, isolated himself. But Logan and Vito had become true friends. Logan actually lived not far from here—he’d recognized the road as he drove up this morning.
The dogs all jumped up and hurled themselves at the door, dragging him from his thoughts.