by Leslie North
This was way outside the plan he had for himself. He was supposed to be searching for a woman to share his home with, and then he’d think about kids of his own. He couldn’t do any of that until the threat against him, Mia, and the twins was eliminated.
As he pushed the stroller up to the front porch, Mia’s car turned into the driveway. She was early, way early. He watched as she stepped from the car. Part of him was worried that something had happened to bring her home before her shift was done, and part of him was enjoying watching her.
She was beautiful. His assessment of that hadn’t changed since the night when he’d discovered her living in his house. She was caring and nice, but definitely not a pushover. His mind went back to those few minutes when he’d held her two nights ago. It had been only a hug, but the feel of her body seemed to linger.
“Are they sleeping?” she asked softly as she walked across the leaf-strewn lawn to him.
“Just fell asleep. I’m going to move them to their cribs. Why are you home early?”
“I woke up at three, gulped down some coffee, and went in to get a jump on the day’s baking.”
Had she done that intentionally so she got home to oversee what he was doing? Didn’t she trust him?
“How long have they been asleep?” she asked, gently taking the water bottle from Ava’s hand.
“Five minutes.” His answer was terser than he meant it to be.
“They look comfortable.” She glanced at them where they sat in the shade. “Let’s leave them. It’s beautiful today, and we can sit on the porch while they snooze.” She gestured to the porch swing he’d hung the day before.
“No. I want them to always sleep in their beds. The routine is important, even if they did go to sleep a little earlier than I had scheduled.” Twenty minutes wasn’t huge, but he’d have to make adjustments to accommodate the change. “I’ll carry them upstairs.”
“Do you need some help?” she offered.
“No, I’ve got this.” He could carry a twin in each arm and come back for the stroller once they were settled.
“Okay, I’m going to grab a shower then.” She went past him to the door, and he thought he saw a smile on her face, but it was gone in an instant.
An hour later, he had to admit that Mia had been right. Ava woke as he put her down in her crib. She might have gone back to sleep, but her movements had roused Emma—who was willing to stay in her bed but sang loudly to a stuffed rabbit. Pretty soon, both girls were singing and talking, and any chance of a nap was gone.
After giving up on that, he fed them lunch without incident other than some cheese in Emma’s hair. Then he moved onto the educational part of the day. He’d read about making learning look like fun and wanted to try it. But then the girls didn’t want to color inside the shapes he’d printed out for them. Both of them scribbled across the pages with no regard to the circles and squares.
The same was true of the counting and color identification lesson he tried with blocks. Neither girl could stay interested in organizing the blue blocks into piles of three or the red in piles of four for more than a few minutes. Or if one was willing to play along, the other was off running in a different direction. He’d scooped up Ava just before she stuck her little finger into an electrical outlet, and he mentally put childproofing items on a shopping list.
In the meantime, Emma developed a fascination with turning a lamp on and off by using the switch on the cord.
By the time the twins were in bed for the night, Kenton plopped onto the couch in exhaustion. How was it that he could lead SEAL missions in which he slept little and moved constantly and not be tired, but keeping track of two little girls had done him in.
Mia came in from the kitchen with a beer in her hand. “Here. You earned this.”
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the drink. Mia had stuck around throughout the afternoon and early evening, but she’d let him handle the girls. He’d almost asked for help, but there was no good reason he couldn’t manage it. At least, that’s what he’d insisted to himself.
Mia sat down next to him, smiling. “Do you see why I parent differently? Trying to maintain a rigid schedule just frustrates everyone. Letting the girls do what is natural to them is better for them and you.”
“They run you ragged, too,” he said. He’d seen that with his own eyes. She had to give, give, give.
“Maybe, but I’m not fighting their natures.”
“I think they’ll follow a routine if I enforce it for a few days.” He took a swallow of his beer.
She shook her head. “You can’t predict toddlers. They play when they want, and they sleep and eat when they need to. It’s simple.”
To Kenton, following that approach felt like giving in, which was something he wasn’t good at. The book he’d read insisted that a scheduled child became a well-organized and successful adult. And wasn’t that the goal of child-rearing?
“I’m going to keep trying,” he said, knowing he sounded stubborn.
“I’m home tomorrow,” she said, “so you’re free to work on other things.”
“No, I’ll help care for them.” It came out as more of a command than he intended, but it was important to him. He did have several projects he wanted to accomplish during his leave, but they could wait.
“So you can prove a point?” Her eyebrow arched up.
“I think it’s the right thing to do.” The amused expression on her face disappeared at his words. Did she think he was being critical of how she’d raised the kids so far? He was on the verge of apologizing for that when she stood up.
“All right. I’m heading to bed.” She left the room before he could say anything else.
Kenton listened as she went up the stairs. Before going to the guest room she was using, she paused outside the room the twins were in, and the door quietly opened and closed. After a minute, her soft footsteps continued down the hall. She was good with the kids, but it seemed to him that things could be better, be easier for her.
He reached for one of the quick-glance guides sitting on the coffee table and studied it. He’d need to make some revisions based on what he’d learned that day. He pulled a pen from his pocket and got to work.
7
“What’s this?” Mia asked, peering at the legal-size piece of paper hanging on the refrigerator door. Since she had the day off, she’d slept late, which was unusual for her but was probably due to worrying half the night about the handsome near-stranger whose house she was inhabiting and who had very definite ideas about things. She’d woken with a start and dashed down the hall to find the girls were already up and out of their cribs. After grabbing a robe, she’d gone to the kitchen to see what was happening.
“The improved schedule,” Kenton said. He was wiping down counters while the twins ate. Both girls seemed surprisingly content. She knew from experience that never lasted long.
“Really?” she whispered as her brain absorbed the incredible detail. Every minute of the day appeared to be planned—and not just for the girls. For her, Kenton, and even Eliot. What kind of nonsense was this? She’d been willing to play along to a point, but this was ridiculous. “What if I don’t need a bathroom break at one?”
“I thought you might like that after lunch,” he said, a look of concern on his face.
“I see.” Mia kept looking through the schedule all the way until bedtime. At least the portion of the evening left after the girls were down was untouched, except for Eliot’s final walk of the day. Mia was tempted to pencil something in. Something a little outrageous. Kissing on the sofa or wine on the moonlit back deck. What would Mr. By-the-Book do then?
She had enjoyed his hug the other day, even if she’d shocked him by asking for it. After a brief hesitation, he’d taken her in his arms, and it had been the safest she’d felt in months. Which was an odd thought, since she usually never felt unsafe—even after her sister’s death when she’d become an instant parent, or even in the wake of the apartment fire.
&
nbsp; But she wasn’t going to trade her freedom to choose how she went through her day for safety.
“Maybe we should start small,” she suggested. “We could just use the same nap schedule as the day care, for instance.”
“Not enough,” he said. “We need routine in everything we do.”
“Including Eliot.” She pointed to the three times a day when he got his walks.
“Yep, he needs to be taken out on a schedule.”
“Why? He may be a little untrained,” she said, ignoring the side-eyed look he shot her, “but he’s never had an accident in the house. And I do take him out morning, afternoon, and evening, just not at precisely the same time every day. I don’t see why that matters.”
“It does,” Kenton insisted. “And it’s the way I like things.”
Mia bit back her retort, reminding herself that she and her nieces were guests in his home. His mother had been generous to her, and he hadn’t tossed her out when he’d arrived back from his deployment. However, she was stuck there because of something in his world, something she had nothing to do with and no control over. Being homeless and in danger was a double whammy, but it left her in no position to argue.
“Fine. We’ll follow your schedule today,” she conceded, “and tomorrow they can go back to day care.”
“Nope, that’s not happening,” he said before she even finished speaking.
“But that is their routine, and I thought routine was all-important,” she argued. The girls were hers in every sense of the word. Being dictated to about their care was getting on her nerves. His need to schedule and desire to have control might have seemed a bit of a lark to her at first. What the heck? She could use a little break from being a single mom, but she wasn’t giving total control over to him.
“They’ll be safer here with me.” He returned the cleaner he’d been using on the counters to an upper cabinet.
“The day care has an excellent safety rating… Oh, that’s not what you meant,” she said, her annoyance dissipating slightly. He was referring to the danger hanging over them. “Wouldn’t it be better to have them out of the house?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. His stance was wide, a warrior ready to do battle. “I can’t guarantee their safety unless I’m with them. I wish you weren’t working, either, but I don’t suppose you’d consider quitting.”
“Of course not,” she said. She wouldn’t quit the bakery even if she were financially able to. The type of work and the people there appealed to her more than any other job she’d had.
“That’s what I figured,” he said, “but you’ve got to let me do my best by the girls.”
She huffed out a sigh. He had their best interests at heart, and she didn’t mean to be difficult, but this was a mess, a damn mess. The situation was complicated, to say the least. But it wouldn’t last forever. Her apartment would be ready to live in soon enough, and her life would be hers again, provided the threat was taken care of.
“Are you sure you can do it?” she asked, not meaning to insult him, but he’d had a tough time of it the day before. Still, she’d never felt that she needed to interfere for the girls’ safety. She’d been close to doing so when Emma developed a fascination for the outlets that she’d never had before, but Kenton had handled that. His care had been competent, and, she reasoned, he was a highly trained military officer. That had to mean something.
“I managed yesterday,” he said, sounding confident. “Today will be better.”
She nodded her approval, since she was unable to come up with an objection that she thought might work. The girls would be fine, and Kenton would figure out that time management skills were lost on toddlers. No one would be hurt as a result.
Early the next morning, Mia had to admit that Kenton’s offer to watch the girls made it easier to get to work on time. She’d never relished bundling her nieces into the car during the predawn hours and dropping them off at day care before she’d had coffee. Going straight to the bakery saved her time and trouble, so she couldn’t complain. And after watching Kenton with the twins the day before, she felt assured that all would be well. He’d had a few difficulties, mostly battles of will with Emma, but he’d prevailed.
And he was resourceful. Before noon, a man he had introduced as Anderson dropped off childproofing supplies, including outlet covers and latches for the cabinet doors. Mia had played with the girls while Kenton spoke with his friend on the porch. The snatches of conversation she’d overheard suggested that Anderson was a fellow SEAL and knew about the threats against them. When Kenton came back inside, he had efficiently gone to work installing the items.
Mia drained her third cup of coffee of the morning and surveyed her accomplishments. In addition to the bakery’s usual offerings, she had made loaves of cinnamon bread, blueberry pound cakes, and petits fours coated in pink icing. When she first accepted the job, she’d worried that she’d become bored with it. She’d always worked the front of the house, talking to and serving customers. She’d even felt it was her special talent, since she was good at making conversation and getting guests to feel welcome.
During the months that she’d worked in the kitchen, she’d found it rewarding in a different way. Much of the work was repetitive. She made the same recipe for cake doughnuts every day, after all. At times, though, she’d welcomed that familiarity, as her life had been chaotic in other ways. With her sister’s death and the twins becoming hers, she’d needed the steadiness and the solitude of the kitchen.
But there were opportunities for creativity, for trying something new as well. Like today. She smiled to herself as she dusted flour on her hands before punching down dough.
“You’re a whirlwind today,” Shasta said, coming through the swinging door. “Those blueberry pound cakes are practically running out the door. There’s only one left.”
“Really?” She’d made two dozen.
“Yes, ma’am. Gotta go.” The jingle of the front door sent Shasta back out of the kitchen.
Mia finished punching the dough and checked on the cookies she had in the oven. They were just starting to crisp around the edges. Two more minutes would do it.
“Hi, sweetie.” Margaret Fitzpatrick popped her head in the back door. “Something smells divine. I can usually resist, but…” Margaret’s clothing boutique was next door, and it wasn’t unusual to see the older woman in the kitchen.
“Come have a seat.” Mia gestured to a stool tucked under the counter. “The cookies are just about out.”
“How’s my son?” Margaret asked when Mia handed her a still-warm cookie on a plate.
“Good.” Handsome and single, doing her head in in more ways than one. “He’s watching the girls for me.”
“He is?” Margaret’s eyes went wide.
It suddenly occurred to Mia that Kenton might not want his mother to know about the threat against them. “There was a problem with the day care, so he’s stepping in for the day.”
“That’ll be good for him,” Margaret said, biting into her cookie. “Keep him busy and out of trouble. How are the girls?”
“They’re doing fine. Emma’s still a pistol. I do wonder if part of her behavior is connected to her parents’ deaths. She seems to want to act out, and Ava withdraws.”
“What were their personalities before?” Margaret asked as she finished her cookie.
“Emma’s always been the leader of the two.” She’d been born first and was definitely dominant. “I think those qualities just got magnified.” She’d read articles about helping toddlers grieve and tried to follow their advice.
“Give them time and lots of love,” Margaret suggested. “They’ve had so much upheaval.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Mia said, appreciating Margaret’s words of wisdom. She clearly knew something about raising successful children.
“These cookies are delicious.” Margaret picked up the last crumb on her plate.
“It’s a new recipe that I’ve been playing wi
th.” It was the same basic recipe Mia had made at home a few days earlier, but she’d made some subtle adjustments, and she was pleased with the outcome.
“It’s a winner.” Margaret stood and pushed the stool back under the counter. “Would you save me a few, and I’ll take them home to my husband?”
“Of course.” Mia hadn’t met Kenton’s father, and she wondered about him. Did he have the same broad shoulders and square jaw as his son? What was his personality like? Mia recognized some of Kenton’s traits in his mother. She, too, was organized and dedicated—but warm and friendly at the same time. Kenton showed the first traits clearly, and, Mia supposed, since he hadn’t kicked her out of his house, he must have more of his mother in him than she initially realized.
He was good to her. He’d been kind to her and the girls. They just had different approaches to how to live.
After Margaret went out the back door with a promise to drop back by later for the cookies, Mia finished the day’s baking and cleaned the kitchen. She was measuring ingredients into sealable containers for the next day’s first batch of dough when Shasta returned.
“I closed up the store ten minutes early. The cases are empty, and I feel like I’ve been run ragged,” Shasta declared with a dramatic sigh.
“Maybe you need some help out there.” Mia moved on to the next ingredient.
The older woman smiled. “You know I complain, but I love every minute of it.” Mia laughed, because she did know that about her coworker. “I love things to be a little hectic. Makes me feel alive.”
Mia felt the truth of that statement. Maybe that’s why she resisted the idea of a schedule so much. “Good thing you don’t live where I do. Kenton has established a routine so rigid that bathroom breaks are built in.”
“Good lord.” Shasta squinted up her eyes in a familiar gesture. “That boy was always regimented, maybe even a bit stiff in his interactions. That was true when he was a little one, and I used to babysit him.”
