Belonging to Taylor by Kay Hooper Read Free Book Online Page A

explained helpfully to them, "so I knew she'd bought lobsters." His benign gaze focused on Trevor. 'Taylor hates to cook lobsters, but I'm very good with them. Not allergic to shellfish, are you?"
    "No," Trevor managed to answer, ruthlessly swallowing the laugh in his throat.
    "Good. Sara was craving them, I expect.   She did with Dory. With Jessie it was watermelon, and with Jamie it was peaches. With Taylor—" He looked reproachfully at his eldest daughter. "With Taylor it was truffles. Truffles!"
    "Sorry, Daddy," Taylor murmured, solemnly taking the blame for her mother's inexplicable long-ago cravings.
    'That's all right," he said magnanimously, waving the lobster. "But go guard the flowers now; your mother's looking for the trowel again." Coming the rest of the way into the kitchen, he absently dropped the lobster—pincers waving in mute protest—into the sink and reached for an apron, his vivid blue eyes abstracted. "Now, where did I put the—Oh, there it is."
    Taylor caught a fascinated Trevor by the hand and gently pulled him out the back door. "We have to guard the flowers," she reminded him, grave.
    Trevor found himself standing in a beautiful yard. It was large for a suburban property, with a neatly trimmed flowering hedge on two sides, several large and graceful oak trees providing plentiful shade, and innumerable rosebushes and flowering plants. There was a hammock strung between two trees near a picnic table, circular whitewashed wooden benches beneath two more oaks, and a dandy playground area in the far corner, complete with swings, slides, tunnels, and everything else a playful childish heart could wish for.
    The flower bed was a neat L-shaped affair that conformed to the angles of the house, filled with a riotous growth that hadn't yet bloomed but nonetheless showed vast promise.
    There were only two occupants of the yard at the moment: Jamie was stretched out in the hammock, reading a book, and Dory was occupied with a tire swing in the play area.
    Trevor pulled his eyes from the serene picture before him and looked down at Taylor. Thinking of the cook busily working in the kitchen, he asked carefully, "Does your father really have patients? People trust him with their bodies?"
    Not in the least offended, Taylor giggled. "If you could see him with his patients, you wouldn't have to ask. He's a wonderful doctor, very patient and gentle. And he's all business in the office, not the least bit absurd. I suppose being ridiculous the rest of the time is his way of unwinding."
    Trevor shook his head, but made no protest as she pulled him over to sit on one of the benches. "Did he plan this yard?"
    "Every bit of it." She gazed off toward the play area, smiling reminiscently. "He built the playground when I was a toddler, and he and Mother would spend hours out there with me. My friends always envied me my parents. They were always ready to drop whatever they were doing to play games or plan a cookout, and they never worried about kids messing up the house or yard. Daddy may panic when Mother gets near his flowers, but he'd never think of scolding a child for trampling on the bed or carelessly uprooting a plant he'd nursed from a seedling."
    Staring at her profile as she gazed back over time, Trevor softly encouraged the memories, no longer avoiding the knowledge that her life was important to him. "What about discipline?"
    She laughed quietly. "I don't know if they planned their method—knowing them, probably not!—but it worked. None of us have ever been spanked or grounded or made to stay in our rooms. If we did something wrong, there were never any harsh words. All it took was a frown from Daddy or a hurt look from Mother, and we were honestly contrite. Maybe being psychic had something to do with it, I don't know. The house has always been noisy and cluttered, but there was never an instant's hesitation when a story was demanded or an umpire needed for a neighborhood ball game."
    "Lots of love," he