by Karen Muir
“Oops, you forgot your clothes.”
Ian slumped to the floor, wailing.
“As soon as you get dressed…” Ian’s howls drowned out her words. She turned back to Harry. “Let’s cook one for you.”
Ian stopped bawling to protest. “I wanna do it, too.”
“Get dressed, and you can.” Gritting her teeth at his renewed sobs, she helped Harry pour batter into the sizzling skillet. Ian fled the room, which made her uneasy, but returned minutes later wearing a purple shirt, blue swim trunks, and yellow rain boots.
She nodded. “I like it.”
While Harry ate his pancakes, she and Ian cooked more. The boys ate, then Harry was at her again for the water fight. His demand put a crimp in her plan to search the den. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” she said.
“You can wear a towel, like yesterday.”
“Towels fall off when you move.”
“You promised.”
Ian appeared at her side and handed her a bundle of blue- and white-striped flannel.
She unfolded it carefully. “These look like your dad’s pajamas.”
Ian shook his head. “He’s not our real dad.”
Thinking she’d misunderstood, she looked down at his solemn face.
“Our mom’s coming to get us,” Harry added. “Soon as she finds out where we are.”
She stared at the boys in amazement. Had Will lied? Ian and Harry looked too much like him not to be his. But what about his wife? “How did you come to live with Will?” she asked.
“He came to our house and took us,” Harry said.
She bit back her shock. Had these boys been snatched from their loving mother? No, that couldn’t be. Will lived too openly to be a noncustodial abductor. His wife must be dead, like he’d said. But why didn’t the boys know that? And why did they deny Will was their father? These poor little guys were very confused.
Her grip tightened on the flannel pajamas. In counseling sessions, she’d been labeled a rescuer. She picked up litter, sent money to environmental causes, and pulled her brother out of scrapes. Now Ian and Harry were tugging on her sympathies, too, a tug she must resist if she was to help Kyle. Despite the hurt she saw in the young faces before her, this was not her battle to fight.
She looked down at the wadded bundle in her hands. Wearing Will’s pajamas was way too personal. They carried his scent, and they’d brushed his bare skin. Everywhere.
She opened her mouth to tell the boys no but stopped at the hopeful gleam in their eyes. This water fight meant the world to them, for some reason, and that realization overcame her objections. She couldn’t give Ian and Harry forever, but she could give them now.
She smiled. “Okay, guys, wait here while I change.”
Both boys let out a whoop as she ducked into the bathroom off the kitchen. Ian and Harry were going to get the water fight of their lives. Even if it meant wearing Will Sinclair’s pajamas.
…
An hour later, they sloshed back into the house, drenched but laughing. Gina marched both boys upstairs for dry clothes. Ian balked at getting dressed again, so she tried the pancake contingency she’d used earlier. “We’re going downstairs to play, Ian. Come join us when you’re dressed.”
Harry helped bring the wet towels and clothes and Will’s pajamas to the laundry room. Gina put Ian’s bedding in the dryer and put on a second load to wash. Then she and Harry went to the family room and got out wooden blocks. Harry liked to build tall towers and knock them down, she discovered.
She worried about Ian, whom she’d left naked and sulking in his room, but he appeared minutes later, wearing a tank top and shorts.
A high-pitched squealing drew her back to the washing machine. The squealing stopped when she lifted the lid to shift the clothes but resumed when she lowered the lid. She stood, hands on hips, as the squealing was joined by a rhythmic rubbing sound. As the machine began to rock, she smelled burnt rubber.
Cripes! She shut off the washer, filled to the brim with soapy water and clothes. This appeared to be a job for a repairman. In the silence, she heard yelling and hurried back to the family room in time to see Ian heave a six-inch wooden block at Harry’s tower. The block sailed past its target and hit the large picture window with a loud crunch. Spider-leg cracks speared across the width of the glass. Gina gasped then swore.
Both boys turned to her, their mouths round O’s. “That’s a bad word.”
She knelt to make eye contact with Ian. “Why did you throw the block?”
“Harry knocked over my tower.”
“Did not,” Harry countered.
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did—”
“Okay, okay.” She raised her hands, palms out. “Let’s pick up the blocks and get out Play-Doh.”
Moments later, Harry and Ian were cutting out Play-Doh cookies at the kitchen table, and she slipped back to Will’s den. The bottom side drawer of his desk was locked, and she searched in vain for the key. Disgruntled, she returned to the kitchen and found Ian and Harry eating their dough.
“Boys, no!” she said, thrusting paper napkins at each of them. “That’ll make you sick. Spit it out.”
“They’re our cookies,” Harry protested.
“They’re pretend cookies.” She sighed. It was obvious she couldn’t leave the boys alone for one minute. Her only hope was to get them to take a nap, which meant she’d have to tire them out. “Let’s make real cookies.”
“Okay.” Their eyes gleamed.
An hour later, flour coated the kitchen table and floor, as well as the boys. But they smiled as the first batch of cookies went into the oven. The kitchen phone rang. It was Will. “How’s it going?”
“Just great,” she assured him. Except for the broken washing machine and the cracked window.
“Are the boys dressed?”
His deep, male voice sent shivers of arousal down her spine. She hadn’t noticed his sensual tone before. She’d been too focused on his gladiator looks. “Yes, both of them are dressed.”
“Has Ian had a bath?”
“He and Harry both.”
“How was breakfast?”
“We made pancakes,” she said. “Now, we’re making cookies.”
He paused, and she sensed his doubts.
“Let me speak to Harry.”
“Certainly. I’ll untie him from his chair.”
“What?”
“Just kidding.” She thumped her forehead. Ditch the attitude.
Harry took the receiver and answered his father in monotones—“yeah” and “no.” Ian came next and was equally terse.
When she took the phone back, Will said, “I’ll be home around four o’clock. Be sure to call if you have a problem.”
“You bet.” She hung up the phone then turned to see smoke pouring from the oven. The cookies were burning! She raced to the oven and whipped out two trays of smoldering black mounds. She swore again, and Ian started to cry.
“It’s okay,” she said. “We’ve got more dough.”
The burnt cookies went in the trash, and the boys spooned more globs of dough onto the trays. When the second batch went in, she set the oven timer and took a deep breath. Was it only twelve o’clock?
The boys wanted Ants on a Log for lunch and had Gina cut celery sticks to fill in with peanut butter and raisins. Harry and Ian ate several then munched their misshapen cookies. At one o’clock, she suggested they take a nap. She could use one herself.
But no, they wanted to play. At her suggestion they read books, Harry shook his head. “Naw, we’ve read all our stuff.”
“I want to read about dinosaurs,” Ian said.
“I’ve got an idea,” she said. They could walk to the library she’d noticed a few blocks away and check out books on her King County library card. The long trek would surely tire the boys. Hand in hand, they set out and returned an hour later, each of them carrying plastic bags filled with their selections.
When she finished a second story, their eyes were closed. Finally. I’ve worn them out.
She’d give them a minute to sink into deep sleep then resume what might be her last search of the house. Leaning her head back on the couch, she closed her eyes. She would start with Will’s black filing cabinet. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself opening the top drawer.
A swarm of butterflies flew out, and Harry and Ian leaped to catch them, squealing and knocking over several block towers. The center drawer of the desk began spewing black smoke. Gina grabbed a potholder to wrench it open with one hand while picking up the jangling phone with the other. Will’s velvet voice purred in her ear. “How’s it going?”
“Just great!”
The boys became burning bundles in her arms, and she grew uncomfortably warm. She lifted her head and opened her eyes to check Harry. Sleeping soundly, he looked innocent and sweet, not at all the bratty beast who’d confronted her yesterday with his water gun. She ran her fingers through his thick brown hair and across his damp brow. She turned to do the same to Ian then, sensing movement, glanced up to see Will approaching slowly.
Caught in the crosshairs of his gaze, she froze. He stopped in front of her and slowly loosened his tie. A surge of attraction stirred low in her belly. Why did she find this man so compelling? Framing Kyle meant he had the morals of a snake.
“Sorry to wake you.” His midnight-soft voice held a hint of laughter.
“No problem.” Damn. Will was here, and her chance to search the rest of his house was gone.
The twins stirred at her sides and awoke.
“Hi, guys,” Will said. “How was your day?”
Harry rubbed his eyes. “Ian broke the window.”
“Gina broke the washing machine,” Ian countered.
“We had ants for lunch.”
Stunned, Gina looked from one boy to the other. The debrief continued.
“Gina said a bad word.”
“Two times,” Ian confirmed.
At the shock in Will’s eyes, she groaned. She was toast.
He knelt to examine the stack at her feet. “I see you got some books.”
“Yeah, we went to the library,” Ian said.
Harry was not done ratting her out. “We made cookies and got flour all over the floor.”
Ian frowned. “They were black.”
“We had a water fight.”
“Gina wore your pajamas.” Hands over their mouths, the boys snickered.
Will stood, his brows raised. Her cheeks burning, Gina studied the carpet.
“Sounds like you had a busy day,” he said.
“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “It was cool.”
Gina smiled. It had been cool, but she was going to be fired for a dozen reasons. Time for a quick exit. She scooted off the couch and turned to the boys. “Thanks for letting me spend the day with you guys.”
She shook their limp hands. “Goodbye, Harry. Goodbye, Ian.”
Disappointed frowns replaced their smiles, and guilt gnawed at her. She had earned the boys’ trust, and now she was leaving.
“I’ll see you out,” Will said.
“No need.” But he and the boys trailed her to the door as she kicked herself for botching her one-day trial. Maybe it was for the best. Ian and Harry were troubled boys who needed a real caregiver with lots of kid skills, not a clueless pseudo-nanny who was out to nail their dad.
She reached the front door and turned to give the boys a parting wave. As she lifted her hand, Will turned to Harry and Ian and said, “What do you think guys? Shall we ask Gina to come back again next week?”
Chapter Three
The following morning, Gina was on her knees in her backyard garden, setting out tomato plants. Sinking her fingers into rich, dark soil usually helped her sort out problems. But the question that had robbed her of sleep last night persisted. What would happen to Ian and Harry if their dad went to prison?
Would Will’s parents be able to care for them full-time? Maybe the boys had other family—aunts or uncles. Will was strict with his sons, but they’d miss him terribly.
Kids are resilient, and it’s not your problem. She grimaced. Yeah, right.
She attacked a deep-rooted dandelion with her trowel. Her weed-choked garden reflected her long absence documenting the effects of acid rain in the Canadian wilderness for her master’s thesis. And healing from the painful breakup with her fiancé.
Done planting, she pulled off her gloves and sat cross-legged on the lawn. It felt good to be back in the house she loved, a surprise inheritance from her elderly landlady.
Her cell rang, and she snatched it up, glad to see it was Meg. “Hey girl, glad you called. Tell me you’re coming home.”
“I’m too busy becoming a star.”
Gina swatted a hovering gnat. “How’s that going?”
“Sell-out performances and great reviews. Not bad for a sweet old lady like me. Bumping off lodgers to steal their money is hard work, you know.” Meg’s theater troupe was currently performing Arsenic and Old Lace in Boston.
“Getting along better with your director?”
Meg growled. “Not so much. He’s very intense.”
“Is he cute?”
“More manly than cute. Not that it matters. I’ve sworn off men for eternity.”
“Oh, right.” Meg had an ex-fiancé, too.
“So how is your life?”
Gina ran her fingers lightly through the grass. “I saw pictures of Barry and his new girlfriend online yesterday. They look happy.” She swallowed hard. “They’re pregnant.”
“What? You haven’t cut him from your life? Stop torturing yourself.”
“I loved the man, Meg, and I still wish him well. I just couldn’t give him the family he wanted. I’m no good with kids.” Her own childhood had been way too dysfunctional.
“So you’re no good with kids, yet you’re tending two rascally boys. How’s that working for you?”
“Ian and Harry aren’t so bad. They actually like me.”
“They don’t know you like I do.”
She laughed. “Gee, thanks.”
“What did you do with the munchkins all day?”
“We made pancakes for breakfast then had a water fight. After that it was blocks and Play-Doh and a hike to the library. We made cookies, too.” She smiled, remembering Harry and Ian cracking eggs into a bowl and picking out bits of shells. Spooning flour into the measuring cup, sometimes onto the floor. Snitching chocolate chips when they thought she wasn’t looking.
Meg yawned loudly. “Sounds exhausting. Got plans for today?”
“I’m going to visit Kyle.”
“Oh.” Meg’s tone cooled.
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about the trial while I was gone. I’d have come straight home.”
“Maybe he thought he could get away with it. They still haven’t found those diamonds.”
“Maybe he’s innocent. That’s what I believe.”
“It’s time you eased off the big-sister role. You’ve looked after Kyle since you were kids.”
“Meg—”
“You had to, I know, in order to survive. But Kyle’s an adult now, and it’s time to live your own life.”
Gina breathed out slowly. Meg meant well, but she didn’t understand. Growing up, it had been her and Kyle against the world—her mother, one of her angry boyfriends, sometimes the police.
She glanced at her watch. It was ten a.m. “Meg, you’re my rock, but I’ve got to go.”
“Me, too. Catch you later.”
Gina tipped her face skyward, reluctant to leave the warmth of the sun and the scent of flowers. It soothed her troubled soul, even as it made her sad. Kyle was locked up and wouldn’t smell flowers for a very long time.
A
patch of golden poppies swayed in the breeze. Kyle had lived in her house during her stay in Canada and planted those poppies, knowing how much she loved their colorful blooms. She loved her brother, too, and could never turn her back on him when he needed her most.
She stood and brushed the dirt off her knees then hurried toward the house. Time to change clothes and summon a smile for today’s visit with Kyle.
…
The stone-gray prison complex was enclosed with chain-link fencing, topped by coiled razor wire. Gina crossed the paved parking lot to the visitor check-in center. Her stomach tightened as she stored her purse in a locker and passed through the metal detector. Kyle was in a medium-security facility, less at risk for the horrors that happened elsewhere. But she feared he was losing his spirit. His casual affection had been replaced by extreme eagerness to see her.
She joined a group of visitors to walk through the guard-operated sliding doors that led to a large cafeteria. Seated at one of the four-person tables, she eyed the vending machines and the table stacked with board games. A handful of guards patrolled the room. At nearby tables, inmates sat with their families and friends. In the children’s play area, a burly prisoner with a ponytail and tattooed arms held his curly-haired daughter in his lap, reading The Three Bears.
Would Will read stories to Harry and Ian in a place like this one day? She cringed at the thought, yet she couldn’t let her brother rot in prison for another man’s crimes. Kyle was the only family she had.
They had the same mother, but Gina’s father was a mystery. Kyle’s dad, Jim, fresh out of the navy when he learned of Kyle’s existence, had married their mother, Rita, and become a caring parent to them both. Gina had won smiles from the stepdad she’d adored through good behavior and good grades.
Their family had lived happily for almost five years, until Rita resumed drinking and told Jim she’d lied. He was not her son’s biological dad. Jim had taken off, leaving them shattered. Kyle’s grades had plummeted, and he’d acted out. She’d focused on her studies to block out her pain.
Watching the door, her heart wrenched as her brother entered the room looking endearingly scruffy. He needed a haircut. She stood, and he moved toward her to envelope her in a fierce hug. He held on so long and so tight, tears stung her eyes.
