by Karen Muir
“I’m hungry,” Harry said.
Gina nodded. “Let’s eat.” She brought the lunch basket to the log where Will and the boys sat and passed out sandwiches soggy with lemonade.
“I guess the cap didn’t get fastened tight on the juice pitcher,” she observed.
Will and the boys had been the ones to pack the lunch, but Gina’s eyes met his with amusement, not blame. “Seagulls love tuna-lemonade sandwiches,” he said. He tossed a crust of bread several feet away onto the sand.
A large white bird landed and quickly scooped the crust up in its bill. Two others landed beside him and poked greedily in the sand. Harry and Ian threw bits of bread, too, and more gulls converged. It became a game to keep the crumbs away from the biggest and bossiest bird, who tried to grab them all.
Moments later, Gina glanced at him and gasped. “Oh no, Will. Your back is burning.”
Once more, he saw concern for him in her eyes. He liked it and wanted more. The wall she’d built between them had apparently taken a hit today. It was time to topple a few more bricks. “Would you mind rubbing sunscreen on my back?”
Turning from her startled look, he fished the lotion from one of the bags and handed it to her. When her grip tightened on the bottle, he stilled. Would she refuse? A moment passed before she moved behind him and placed her cool palm on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and his world narrowed to the warmth of the sun, the cries of the gulls, the lapping sounds of the water.
Savoring Gina’s caress, he longed to reach out and touch her, to hold her soft body against him. He envisioned the feel of her, her taste and her scent, until the sudden lash of his conscience made him flinch. His sexual attraction to her was inappropriate and wrong. She was his sons’ caretaker, the bridge connecting them to him. And far too valuable to risk losing to a failed romance.
With reluctance, he opened his eyes and stood. “Thanks, Gina. You saved me from a bad burn.”
“You’re welcome.” Capping the sunscreen, she turned away.
“Come play with us, Will.”
Surprised, he turned toward Ian. This was a first. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get out the Frisbee.”
A game of catch followed, and he discovered his boys had lousy aims. This would never do. Remembering the hours spent tossing a ball back and forth with his own dad, Will vowed to do the same with his sons.
The wind caught Ian’s next throw and took it high into the air. It landed at the feet of the frisky black lab, who snatched it up in his jaws and took off down the beach. The dog’s owners were nowhere in sight. Will gave chase and closed in, but just as he reached out, the animal veered sharply to the left in a burst of speed. When it happened again, he realized the dog was playing him.
He sat down on a log to catch his breath. The elusive dog appeared at his side, wagging his tail, and dropped the Frisbee at Will’s feet. Will grabbed it and rubbed the dog’s head. “Atta boy. You like to play, don’t ya.”
Harry and Ian ran to his side and began petting the dog, too. Gina approached, and the camera flashed.
“Let’s give the Frisbee a rest,” Will said. “It’s too windy. A kite would be better. We can make one tonight.”
“We don’t know how,” Harry said.
“I’ll show you.”
Harry’s close scrutiny told him he was being reassessed.
They drove home in silence, the boys too tired to search for red cars. The outing had gone well, but Will wondered if he could have done more. Reviewing Gina’s suggestions, he remembered one in particular: sing a silly song. His jaw tightened. He’d rather eat dirt.
Instead, he sang out boldly about the doggie in the window. No one joined in, and he felt like a fool, but he soldiered on solo through the first verse. He finished to total silence, broken seconds later by cries from both boys to “Sing it again!”
Once again, he filled the car with his booming voice. “How much is that doggie in the window?” When Ian and Harry chimed in with hearty “woof-woofs,” he laughed. Being silly with his boys made him feel like a kid again, too—happy and carefree.
The third time through, Gina joined in, too. About time. Her voice was pleasing and strong, but way off-key. His grin widened. She turned to him, laughing, and her smile sucker punched his gut. Entranced, he froze. His voice wavered; his brain stalled. The boys’ eager “woof-woofs” filled the gap.
She turned abruptly to stare out the passenger window, but not before he caught the approval in her eyes. Another first. He’d done something right. It made him want to sing more goofy songs. “Thanks for today,” he said. “Your suggestions were right on.”
She turned to him, her smile gone. “You take good notes. Retrieving the buckets was a game changer.”
“Hopefully, our next outing will be easier. And warmer.” Still no smile. And no reply. Would there be a next outing? She was back to being cool and distant, looking out her side window. The attraction he felt was apparently one-sided. Fair enough.
She was right to remind him of the roles they both played. She was the nanny his sons adored—the key to their newfound happiness. He was the employer, the daddy in training. For the sake of all of them, he had to keep that straight.
Chapter Six
While the boys napped the following day, Gina slipped safe-deposit box key R753 back into Will’s bedroom drawer. There was no way to tell where this key came from, and even if she knew, she’d learned through internet research only authorized persons could sign in to gain access to the box.
Discouraged, she sank down on Will’s bed. Her search for the missing diamonds had led nowhere, and she was drawn into the Sinclair family more each day. Yesterday at the beach, they’d laughed and sung together, and she’d felt like one of them.
Gently smoothing the bedspread with her fingers, she quickly pulled back her hand. She was starting to like Will too much. His rugged masculinity mixed with his tenderness with the boys was a powerful turn-on. She hugged her arms, knowing she had to fight it.
Later, when the boys woke, she sat with them at the kitchen table cutting out Play-Doh shapes.
“We went shopping last night,” Harry said, “and bought lettuce and tomatoes.”
“We got to push the cart,” Ian added. “It goes really fast.”
Harry nodded. “Will yelled, ‘Stop!’”
Picturing Will and his eager helpers, she laughed.
“We’re making spaghetti tonight,” Ian said, “and we want you to come.”
Bad idea. “Sorry, guys. Tonight, I’ve got to go grocery shopping, too. I’m out of milk.”
Harry handed her a pink Play-Doh heart. “You’ve got to come. We get to cook.”
Ian chimed in. “Me and Harry are cutting vegetables for the salad.”
“It’ll be good,” Harry promised.
“I’m sure it will be.” She hated to disappoint them, but she cared too much for these boys already. Staying for dinner would not be wise. The boys dropped the subject until their father came home later that afternoon. Sitting on the carpet playing Go Fish with the boys, she sensed his presence. He stood in the doorway, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his hair rumpled. Rough day? Their eyes met and held.
Glancing up from his cards, Harry spotted him. “Hey, Will, can we have Gina for dinner?”
Will’s mouth quirked at Harry’s phrasing, and hers did, too.
“She’s out of milk,” Ian said. “Let’s give ’er some of ours.”
She shook her head, but Will didn’t catch the hint. “Gina’s welcome to stay if she’d like. And we have plenty of milk to share.”
Further protests would be ungracious, so she smiled. “Well, I do love spaghetti.”
The boys cheered, and the threesome resumed their card game while Will went upstairs to change clothes. Moments later he returned, wearing a purple Husky T-shirt, walking shorts, and sandals. Gina caught her breath at his broad shoulders and muscular limbs—a warrior’s build. But his face had lost its hardness from the day they’d first m
et. He smiled more, and laughed, and showed incredible patience with his sons. His transformation was great for his boys, but it seriously undermined her objectivity.
Will led the three of them into the kitchen and rubbed his hands together. “I guess we should start by cooking the hamburger.” He turned to Gina, as though expecting her to take charge.
“Shared tasks,” she reminded him.
Brows lifted, he pointed to his chest. “Moi?”
She laughed and sat down at the kitchen table with the photo album she’d started of him and the boys. There were several good shots of them at the beach. The one with the black Labrador could be a Hallmark card. Will and his sons grinned happily. Even the dog was smiling.
Activity from across the room drew her attention. The clank of metal pans, the opening and closing of the refrigerator, the low-voiced exchanges between man and boys. “What are these red things, Will?”
“Radishes.”
“Can we eat ’em?”
“Sure.”
“I want a sharp knife.”
“Use a plastic one. It will cut the vegetables, but not you.”
“Can I cook the meat?”
“I’ll do the stove stuff. You guys make salad.”
Gina smiled at the picture of Will and Ian on their return from clothes shopping. Ian grinned proudly in his camouflage cargo pants with oversized pockets that snapped and a yellow SpongeBob shirt. Will had bought five identical outfits, along with bright yellow SpongeBob pajamas. Just the one pair.
The cooks began singing another dog song—“BINGO”—and she glanced up. The boys were perched on stools, sawing vegetables with plastic knives. Will stood reading the label on the jar of spaghetti sauce.
The touching scene raised questions in her mind. Was it possible to be a caring father as well as a thief? Her speculation shattered when three things happened at once. The pot of spaghetti boiled over onto the hot burner and hissed. Harry held up his index finger and yelled, “I’m bleeding!”
And Ian slid off his stool to recover the tomato he’d dropped and stepped on it squarely. “It’s squished,” he wailed, slumping to the floor.
Will grabbed pot holders and moved the boiling pot to a cold burner. Then wet a paper towel and wrapped it around Harry’s finger. “Hold onto this and squeeze just a little to stop the bleeding.”
She started across the kitchen to help as Will ran a comforting hand over Harry’s shoulder then turned and knelt to meet Ian at eye level. “Good thing we have more tomatoes, huh, pal. Let’s clean this up, then you can get another one.”
She stopped as he handed Ian another paper towel then got one for himself, and the two of them wiped up the squishy mess. As Will put their towels in the garbage, Ian opened the refrigerator and got out another tomato. Will turned back to Harry and unwrapped his paper towel, their dark brown heads bent close together.
“No more blood,” Will said. “Time for a Band-Aid.”
He got one from the cupboard, washed and dried off the cut, then bandaged Harry’s wound as Ian climbed back on his stool and cut a second tomato. Impressed, Gina returned to her chair. Will kept a cool head in emergencies.
The crisis resolved, he stood to give her a wide-eyed look of mock horror. “Is it often like this?”
She nodded. “Every day.”
The slow smile he gave her sent warm ripples clear to her toes. She returned his smile then looked back at the photo album. The camaraderie and heat growing between them grew stronger each day. His humor and sensitivity were stealing her heart.
Her brother insisted he was the thief. Both of them had been in the Vandenburg home the day of the theft, but others had been there, too. Kyle’s friend, Smitty, for one. Had he or another member of the work crew stolen the jewelry?
She considered the possibilities until a nasty smell drifted her way. She turned toward the bubbling sounds coming from the stove. “Something’s burning!”
Will swore and hurriedly slid the pan off the red-hot burner then stirred the spaghetti sauce with a wooden spoon. “It’s black on the bottom.” He flung a pot holder on the counter in disgust.
“Scoop off the top part that didn’t burn,” she suggested. “It might taste okay.”
Moments later, the foursome sat at the table. Will heaped spaghetti onto Harry’s plate and covered it with sauce. Gina did the same for Ian. “Dig in,” Will urged.
Harry took a bite, then stuck out his tongue. “This tastes yucky.”
Will sampled his and grunted. “It needs ketchup.”
He got a bottle from the refrigerator and poured a generous portion over his noodles. “There, that should do it.”
He took a bite and chewed slowly, then scrunched up his face. “Don’t eat it.”
“But we’re hungry,” Harry said.
Will heaped green beans and applesauce on Harry’s plate. “Fill up on this.”
He sighed as she did the same with Ian’s plate. “Tomorrow we’ll have hamburgers. That should be simpler.” He glanced at Gina. “Any suggestions?”
A couple came to mind—cook on low heat and keep the Band-Aids handy—but she shook her head. Will could only learn by doing. “Just keep at it. You’ll get it right.”
…
The Bony Hand gripped Will’s shoulders and shook him hard. He tried to shrug it off, but The Hand’s grip tightened. Swiping at it with his arm, Will encountered warm flesh. Startled, he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. In the dim light, he saw Gina bent over him.
“It’s after eight,” she whispered. “Don’t you have to be at work?”
Yawning, he noticed how good she smelled, like roses and fresh coffee. He wondered what she was doing in his bedroom until a third smell—wet canvas—brought it all back. He and the boys had slept outside in the tent last night.
He groaned at the stiffness in his back and the memory of setting up camp. The boys had been hyper and eager to help, getting in the way and misplacing items he set out. Finished with the tent, they’d poked twigs into the campfire and listened in openmouthed wonder to his gripping tale of the evil Bony Hand in search of his missing body. Later, he’d worried they’d have nightmares.
Gazing up at Gina, he pulled his bare arms free of his sleeping bag. “I’ll go in late.”
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “I’m the boss.”
She nodded. Her hair was pulled back in her usual tight braid, but in the tent’s dim light she looked softer and young. And very desirable.
“How did the boys do last night?” she asked.
Will glanced over to see them burrowed into their down-filled bags, small noses protruding and sleeping like logs. No Bony Hand nightmares. “They loved it.”
She grinned. “Did you love it, too?”
“Not so much. My air mattress went flat.”
“Uh-oh. Did you get any sleep?”
“Very little. Our ‘quiet’ little neighborhood comes alive at night.”
“How so?”
He grimaced. “It started with the mosquito buzzing my ear. The police sirens came next, which set the neighborhood dogs to howling.”
“Bummer.”
He frowned. Was that amusement in her voice? “The neighbor with the bad muffler left for work around four o’clock, and soon after a traffic helicopter thumped overhead.”
She coughed into her hand, clearly smothering a laugh. “Maybe you should stay home today.”
He shook his head. “I’ve got hungry mouths to feed.”
“And paychecks to write.”
“So true.” But he hated to shatter this special moment with her. Their hushed conversation felt like the early morning whispers of lovers. They were not alone, but the boys were dead to the world. He could easily cup his hand behind her neck and pull her down for a long, lazy kiss. Then curl up spoon-like behind her to savor her warmth as they drifted back to sleep.
Who are you kidding? Chiding himself for wicked thoughts, he pushed up on his elbo
ws. “Go make us some coffee before I shock you.”
She didn’t move. Was she held by the powerful attraction between them?
She stared at his bare arms and chest. “Aren’t you cold, sleeping only in pajama bottoms?”
He couldn’t resist. “What pajama bottoms?”
Despite the dark tent, he saw her cheeks redden.
“Coffee. Right.” She scooted quickly toward the door flap.
“Better hurry,” he warned. Before he turned caveman and dragged her into his sleeping bag.
She kept her back to him moments later as he crossed the kitchen shirtless and barefoot, wearing only jeans. He took the stairs two at a time, showered, and dressed hurriedly, grateful he had no morning appointments.
Wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt and khaki slacks, he returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table set with a bowl of oatmeal and sliced banana, a carton of milk, and whole-wheat toast. Healthy kid food. It looked good.
Gina wiped counters and washed dishes while he ate. Was she always this busy, or was he making her nervous? “Come join me,” he said.
She poured two cups of coffee and set one beside his bowl then sat opposite him with the other.
“Thanks… I like your outfit.” Less layered today, she wore a skirt that ended below her knees and a lavender tank top that fit snugly. What would it be like to sit across from her every morning? She seemed a part of the family now, and his fascination with her grew daily. Not the usual sort of woman he dated, yet despite her odd dress, she appealed to him. He sensed hidden depths he’d like to explore and wanted to have a conversation that, for once, had nothing to do with the boys.
Finished with his cereal, he pushed the bowl aside. “If you could have three wishes, what would they be?”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “A gourmet chef to cook my dinners every night. A maid to clean my house. And a winning lottery ticket.”
Not what he wanted to hear. “Seriously.”
“You’ll laugh.”
“Never.”
“Well…I wish I could sing like Christina Aguilera.”
