As if that would help anything.
Every surface seemed coated with cake batter or flecks of frosting. The floor was covered with a thin layer of dry cake mix. An egg had rolled off the counter, the yolk broken and seeping into the old cracked linoleum.
Even the kids were covered with stuff.
Moisey had gotten her hands in the frosting and had it smeared all over her face. Heavenly had orange streaks down the front of her too-short shirt. Little Oya had it in her hair and squeezed between her chubby fingers.
She needed a bath.
God help him!
He’d already been through that ordeal several times.
Soap and slippery skin and a chubby baby were not a good combination.
Yeah. Three of four girls were filthy, but Twila was clean as a whistle, glossy dark hair pulled into a neat braid, dark eyes flashing with worry and fear.
“I am watching the clock, Uncle,” she said in that clipped precise tone of hers.
“Is there a reason you’re doing that?”
“Do you know where the boys are?” she answered, her gaze darting to Rumer, her eyes widening in surprise.
“The boys?” Of course he knew where they were. They were playing forts in the living room.
He frowned.
Except they weren’t. The room had been empty.
“Upstairs?” he answered, but he didn’t hear them, and Maddox and Milo were never ever quiet.
“No. They have gone to get me a present, and I have told them to return in five minutes.” She looked down at the watch. “They have two more.”
“A present, huh?” Good for them. He’d sure as heck dropped the ball on that one. He hadn’t even known it was her birthday until Heavenly had dragged him away from his research at five o’clock in the morning and told him that they needed to make a cake. Stat.
Five hours later, and he was still trying to get that done.
“What kind of present are they getting you?” He grabbed another wad of paper towel and scooped up the egg. The scrap bucket was supposed to be in the mudroom, but it was sitting next to the door, the foul aroma of mixed-bag rot permeating the room.
He tossed the egg on top of the mess and lifted the bucket.
“A goldfish,” she replied. “From the river.”
He stopped. One foot in the mudroom. One foot in the kitchen. Entire body suddenly stiff with dread.
“Did you say the river?” he asked, meeting her eyes.
She nodded. Just a little tiny movement of her chin, but God!
The river!
And, two seven-year-old boys who either could or could not swim. He had no idea, because he didn’t really know any of these kids. Sure, they were his nieces and nephews, but up until he’d become Mr. Mom, he’d spent a few hours a year with them. Tops!
“Are you sure?” he said, his body cold with fear.
Sunday had lost her husband. If she came out of her coma and found out she’d also lost two sons . . .
“Twila! Are you sure?!” he snapped when she didn’t answer immediately, and then he felt like an ass, because her chin wobbled, and he knew she was fighting tears.
“Yes. I told them there were not goldfish there, but they said they could probably find one,” she finally said.
And then, of course, he was dropping the bucket, crap sloshing all over the floor and his feet as he took off out the back door, leaving the girls and Rumer Truehart, the burnt cakes, and the mess behind him.
Chapter Two
Rumer ran after Sullivan, because what else was she supposed to do? She certainly wasn’t going to stand around hoping for the best. Lu had raised her to be proactive, to get her hands dirty, to act when others wouldn’t. Truehart women weren’t damsels in distress, sitting in their towers, praying someone would rescue them. They might be terrible at sewing hems and choosing men, but they were damn good at fighting battles for themselves and others.
She followed Sullivan past a new-looking SUV, a faded-red Chevy passenger van, a two-story garage. She chased him across the old dirt road and into a field of wild grass and brambles. In the distance, the Spokane River wound a lazy path across the horizon. Shallow and calm in some areas. Deep and dangerous in others.
People died there all the time. Adult people who should know better than to risk being swept away by the current. Little kids didn’t usually think past the moment, and she could picture any one of the third-graders she’d taught going off on a goldfish-finding expedition, not giving a thought to rushing water, frigid temperatures, or slippery rocks. She didn’t know how old the twins were, but if they were young enough to think there were goldfish in the Spokane, they weren’t old enough to be near the river by themselves.
Thanks to Sullivan’s quick pace, they crossed the field in record time, sprinted across a bed of wilted wildflowers and headed down the steep embankment that led to the river.
Sullivan seemed to have no difficulty navigating the nearly vertical slope.
Rumer, on the other hand, slipped and slid her way down, reaching for scrub-like bushes that jutted out from the rocky bank, doing everything in her power to not tumble headfirst into the water.
“Careful,” Sullivan said, grabbing her hand and helping her the last few feet to the river’s rocky shore.
“Thanks,” she responded, her hand still in his.
She would have pulled away, but he was running again, tugging her toward a small shed-like structure a few hundred yards upriver. She couldn’t see a dock. Just the blue-green river and the pine trees that jutted up from the opposite bank.
“Milo!” Sullivan shouted. “Maddox! You two had better not be playing in the river!”
No response.
“Boys!” he tried again.
Rumer could hear the desperation in his voice, feel the tension in the fingers that were still woven through hers.
He was terrified.
So was she.
The river was rushing past. Other than that, the morning was silent and still. Eerily so. Nature had movement and sound. When it didn’t, trouble was brewing.
“Milo?! Maddox?!” she shouted.
A towheaded boy ran around the side of the boathouse. Maybe seven. Scrawny. Feet kicking up pebbles and sand as he beelined it toward her.
Another boy ran after him, just as blond. Just as scrawny.
“Mom!” the second boy shouted, and Rumer’s heart dropped.
He must have heard a female voice and thought his mother was home from the hospital. He was racing toward her, smiling as if every wish he’d ever made had come true.
She knew the moment he realized the truth.
He skidded to a stop a few feet in front of her, his smile disappearing.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded as his brother stopped beside him.
“Maddox,” Sullivan cautioned. “What did I tell you about language like that?”
“Not to use it at school,” the boy replied, his eyes still fastened on Rumer. “And, I’m Milo.”
“I told you not to use it at all,” Sullivan corrected. “And, you’re Maddox.”
“Prove it.” Maddox’s hands were fisted, his jaw tight. He had a thick purple scar on the side of his neck that looked like it was from a burn. Another smaller scar peeked out from beneath his too-short jacket sleeves.
“Milo doesn’t have a scar on his neck,” Sullivan pointed out. “And you don’t have one on your cheek.”
Maddox’s scowl deepened, his gaze cutting from Rumer to his uncle.
If looks could kill, Sullivan would be dead.
“I know things have been tough around here since your parents’—” Sullivan began, his voice gentler than Rumer would have imagined it could be.
“I’m going back to the house.” Maddox cut him off, tossing the words over his shoulder as he raced to the embankment and began climbing.
His twin was right behind him, silently following in his footsteps. Aside from the location of their scars, they looked exactly a
like: same height, same weight, same hair and eyes. Same lanky arms, long legs, and oversized feet. They’d be tall, one day.
If they survived childhood.
“Damn,” Sullivan muttered.
“He seems a little angry.”
“His dad is gone. His mother is in the hospital. He’s got a clueless uncle living with him. He’s a cauldron of boiling rage, and I don’t blame him.”
“What about Milo?” she asked, watching as the boys reached the top of the embankment and took off. Hopefully for the house.
“I couldn’t tell you. He doesn’t talk much, and I’ve been too busy trying to put out the fires his brother is setting to sit down and try to have a heart-to-heart.” He started walking, and she followed, her feet digging into soft pebbly earth, the cuffs of Minnie’s pants dragging. She would have hiked them up, but the damage had already been done. Both cuffs were stained. She wasn’t sure, but she thought one might be ripped.
“A counselor might be able to help all the kids with this transition,” she suggested, picking her way across smooth river rocks and sharp twigs.
“They’re seeing the school counselor.”
“Is it helping?”
“Does it look like it is?” he asked wryly as he started up the steep slope.
“It’s going to take time, Sullivan,” she panted as she tried to get up the embankment. That seemed to be as treacherous as going down had been.
Maybe more so, because she wasn’t panicking now. She was thinking things through, trying to find hand and toeholds, digging her feet into soft earth and wrapping her fingers around scraggly bushes. She slipped, rocks and dirt rolling out from under her and dropping straight into the river. She hadn’t realized how easy it would be to tumble into the Spokane.
“You okay?” Sullivan called.
“Peachy, but falling into the river and drowning will make finding a job a lot more difficult,” she murmured as she reached for the next bush.
“That’s for damn sure,” Sullivan responded, wrapping his hand around her wrist and pulling her up. One minute she was struggling. The next she was at the top, his warm hand still wrapped around her wrist.
And, God! It felt good.
“Thanks,” she managed to say, tugging her wrist from his and rubbing at the spot where his fingers had been, trying to will away the warmth that seemed to linger there.
He noticed.
Of course.
His gaze dropped to her wrist, and then settled on her face. “No problem. Now that you’ve met the boys, are you still game to be interviewed for the job?”
He was direct and to the point.
She liked that.
What she didn’t like was the way she felt when she looked in his gorgeous eyes. The little shivery awakening in the pit of her stomach. The warmth in her cheeks. The way she had to fight to keep her hands at her sides rather than reaching to brush away the smudge of frosting on his neck.
“I might not be the right candidate for the job,” she hedged. The pay was great. She could use the money. The kids obviously needed someone who could provide a little stability, a little maternal love, and a whole lot of structure. And, the house. God! The house! That was a mess she could have cleaned up in two shakes of a stick, if she wanted to.
But, Sullivan was trouble.
Lots of it.
And, she’d already decided she was going to avoid that.
“How about you let me decide that?” he asked.
“The thing is—”
“You came here, Rumer. You obviously need a job.”
“Just until my grandmother’s medical bills are paid off.”
“Has she been ill?”
“She had a heart attack and triple bypass surgery. We’re fortunate she survived. I took a leave of absence from my teaching job to help while she recovered.”
“You’re a teacher?”
“I did tell you I had a degree in special education,” she pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean you had a job in it,” he replied.
“I did. I work at a Montessori school in Seattle. I’ve been there for six years. I’m contracted again for the fall of next year. This year, though, is a bust.” They’d reached the road. If she turned east, she could find her way back to the truck, call someone to tow her out of the ditch and go back to the homestead.
But, of course, she kept walking with Sullivan, taking two steps for every one of his.
“And, that’s why you’re looking for work?”
“Like I said, Lu has medical bills that need to be paid.”
“Lu?”
“My grandmother.”
“You’re on a first-name basis with her?”
“We didn’t meet until I was fourteen. I called her Lu to annoy the hell out of her in the hope that she’d send me packing.”
“I see,” he responded, scanning her from head to toe again.
“I doubt it,” she replied, and he shrugged.
“You didn’t have an easy childhood. You probably spent time in quite a few different homes before Lu found you. You understand a lot more about being a tween girl like Heavenly than I ever could. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty damn sure you’re a grown-up version of my oldest niece,” he said matter-of-factly. “Am I wrong?”
No, damn it, he wasn’t.
He’d hit every nail straight on the head.
“Look,” she said, totally avoiding his question, because there was no way she’d ever admit how right he’d been. “It’s obvious you need full-time help. I’ve got obligations to my grandmother. Until she’s able to muck stalls, carry feed, and groom her horses, I need to be there on the weekends when her part-time help isn’t. Obviously, that’s not going to be a good fit for the job you’re offering.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“I’ve already explained,” she said. “Lu owns Sunshine Acres. She trains horses for therapy work and has a few dozen clients with a variety of disabilities who come and ride. Most of them like to ride on the weekends. I can’t just abandon her on her busiest days.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“My brothers have been trying to fly in every weekend to help, so you can have Saturday and Sunday off. Probably Friday evening, too. Will that work?”
“Yes,” she said without thinking.
“Great.” Sullivan opened a dingy white gate that led into the overgrown backyard, smiling into her eyes as she walked past.
That’s when she realized what she’d said.
What she’d agreed to.
“What I mean is, it could work. If you offered the job, and I accepted it. I’d really need to discuss things with Lu. She may need me more than I’m thinking. She’s very particular about the way things are done at the homestead.”
“Homestead?”
“The farm. That’s what she’s always called it. No television out there. No cable. No Wi-Fi. She didn’t have running water in the house until the year I moved in. She needed it to get approved as my guardian. Otherwise, she probably still wouldn’t have it.”
“Your grandmother sounds like an interesting person,” Sullivan commented, apparently determined to ignore the fact that Rumer had backtracked on her agreement regarding hours of employment.
“Lucille Ball Truehart is one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.” And, that was the God-honest truth.
“Lucille Ball?” He touched her back as she made her way up the back steps, and the little shiver in her stomach turned into a dozen butterflies taking flight.
“Her mother was big into television when Lu was born.”
They’d reached the backdoor.
Finally.
Which was great, because she needed to say her good-byes and be on her way.
“You have an unusual name, too. What was your mother into?” he asked.
“Drugs.” Once again, she opened her mouth without thinking. Once again, she spoke the God-honest truth.
/> “Like I said,” he responded. “You’re a grown-up version of my niece. Right now, she really needs someone like you in her life.”
The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.
It was in his eyes, too. In his face, and she couldn’t resist it any more than she could resist loving six kids who were obviously hurting and troubled and in need of a person who understood that.
And, therein lay the crux of the problem.
Rumer never gave just a piece of herself. She was all in or she wasn’t in at all, and the Bradshaw kids? They needed all-in. They needed someone who was willing to love them and then let them go. Rumer didn’t think she could be that person any more than she thought she could spend five days a week working for Sullivan and not fall a little in love with him.
She knew her strengths and her weaknesses.
This man and those kids?
They were her Kryptonite, her Achilles’ heel, the things most likely to shatter her heart.
“I need to go,” she murmured, brushing past him and heading back down the stairs.
“Isn’t your truck in a ditch?” Sullivan called as she reached the corner of the house.
Right. It was.
“I’ll call a tow truck.”
“Is it a pickup?”
“Yes.”
“I can pull it out for you.”
“There’s no need—”
“Your truck wouldn’t be in the ditch, if my niece hadn’t walked out in front of you. The least I can do is pull it out so you can be on your way. Can I have your keys?”
He seemed to understand that she wasn’t going to accept the cook / housekeeper / nanny job. That being the case, the sooner she got away from the house, the kids and him, the better.
“They’re in the ignition,” she said.
“My SUV is over near the barn. We can use that.” He was already fishing in his pocket, dragging out car keys.
“You go ahead. I’ll walk.” Because, she wasn’t getting in a vehicle with him. She wasn’t going to sit in a warm cab, listening to whatever style of music he liked, making small talk.
That’s how things had started with Jake—a broken-down car, a ride home. Three weeks later, their first date and then their second. She’d fallen for his charm and his smile, and she’d told herself that they had so much in common they were guaranteed a happily-ever-after. Both college students studying teaching. Both into jazz music and slow dancing. Neither drank to excess, smoked, or did drugs. Both wanted to settle down after college, get married, have a couple of kids.
Home with You Page 3
