“Both.” He grinned. “Besides, I have an image to uphold. I am Army. I am strong.”
“Yet a two-year-old child can break you with one wail.” She liked that about him. Tough guys were sexy. Tough guys wrapped around a toddler’s little finger were ten times sexier. “You are mush.”
“Can I help with anything?”
She glanced around. The kids had set the dining table earlier, with slightly less grumbling and sigh-heaving than usual. Jacob had filled four glasses with ice and put them on the table, and a newly purchased sippy cup full of milk was waiting in the refrigerator. “If you can take this plate into the dining room…” She braced one salad bowl in the crook of her elbow, picked up the other serving dishes, and led the way.
“Abby, Jacob, Mariah, dinner’s ready!”
While the kids gathered and settled in, Therese returned to the kitchen for drinks. When she came back, Keegan and Jacob were seated on one side of the table, Abby and Mariah on the other, the little one sitting atop a pile of cushions so she could reach. Therese slid into her own chair, laid her napkin on her lap, then automatically extended both hands. “We say the blessing.”
“She does,” Abby muttered. Heaven forbid that anyone think she had something in her life to be grateful for.
Therese ignored her comment, as she always did, then belatedly realized she would be holding Keegan’s hand. Something fluttered through her. Anticipation, pleasure. She tamped it down. She wasn’t starved for human contact. She held hands, patted shoulders, and gave out hugs every day. And this was for a prayer, for heaven’s sake. It was no more personal than a handshake.
On her left, Mariah readily took Therese’s hand. Little ones were generally good about that. On her right, Keegan was a little slower, his hand a lot bigger, rougher, stronger, his fingers wrapping around hers in a manner that was way more personal than a handshake.
Her insides fluttered again.
She bowed her head and was about to pray when Mariah piped up. “Bless this food. Amen. Let’s eat.”
Jacob snickered. Abby giggled. “My mother was lucky to get all five of us at the table at one time, so she had to get the prayer out fast,” Keegan said apologetically.
Therese smiled at Mariah, beaming with pride for her blessing that had earned a laugh. “That was a good job, sweetie.” But it was harder to release Keegan’s hand than it should have been.
Once the dishes had been passed and everyone’s plate was full—if the single rib and tablespoon each of side dishes on Abby’s plate could be considered that—Therese asked, “How is your brother?”
Keegan speared a grape tomato in the corn salad. “The surgery went well. He was awake and talking this afternoon.”
“What was wrong with him?” Abby asked.
“He fell off a roof and hit his head.”
“Why was he on a roof?”
“Because he’s a roofer. That’s what he does.”
She wrinkled her nose distastefully. “What? He can’t do any kind of normal job?”
“Don’t mind her.” Jacob grinned at his sister. “She’s been dropped on her head a bunch of times.”
“Jerk,” she said.
“Freak.” His taunt was followed by a commotion that ended with him grunting and Abby smirking.
“No more kicking under the table,” Therese warned. “Behave.”
Abby smirked again, but this time Jacob mirrored it. She might have struck first, but he would get back at her. He’d learned patience from his father. He would wait for an opportune time, meaning when Therese wasn’t around and his sister was least expecting it.
The skirmish didn’t deter Abby. “If your brother had surgery, why are you here and not there?”
Before Therese could admonish her again, Jacob did. “Because, of course, you love me so much, you can’t imagine not giving up everything, anything, to be with me, can you?”
“Oh, gross.” Abby leaned closer to Mariah. “You are so lucky to be an only child. Brothers are nothing but trouble.”
Mariah’s only response was a big grin before she shoved another fistful of rib meat into her mouth.
When the meal was done, Mariah appeared to be wearing as much food as she’d eaten. Barbecue sauce ringed her mouth and coated her fingers, and both her shirt and napkin were heavily stained. Even her curls on one side were crimson. As Abby stood up, the girl grabbed for her, toppling the cushions and leaving Abby only two choices: catching her or letting her fall.
Therese gave silent thanks that Abby opted to catch her, stickiness and all, but stiffened, waiting for her outburst. She wasn’t the only one. Keegan’s chair scraped as he started to rise, his protective-father instincts surfacing, and Jacob looked apprehensive. Even Mariah was still, legs dangling in the air, her fat little lip starting to tremble, not sure what she’d done but aware it was wrong.
For one endless moment the very air seemed to vibrate while Abby stared at the stains newly transferred to her white souvenir shirt from a Hollywood movie studio tour. Finally, her sharp intake of air broke the tension. “Eww, gross. You need a bath and your hair shampooed.”
Mariah’s gaze darted toward Keegan, her hair swinging. “No bath. No shampoo. No no no no.”
“Lucky for you, I don’t do kid baths. Come on, we’ll clean up upstairs. And by the time we’re finished, Jacob will have already cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher”—starting toward the door, she stuck her tongue out at her brother—“and all we’ll have to do is eat brownies.”
When they left the room, Therese unloosed a slow breath. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” Jacob agreed. Then he shrugged, and some of his usual sullenness returned. “Of course she skips out on chores again.”
Keegan sat down again as Jacob stood. The boy grabbed two handfuls of dishes and headed for the kitchen.
Therese bent to retrieve the napkin that had fallen from Keegan’s lap and laid it on the table, set her own napkin on top of it, then, as if a miracle hadn’t just occurred, narrowed her gaze on him. “What’s behind the ‘no bath, no shampoo’?”
Chapter 10
Keegan’s nerves were slow to settle. He hadn’t overreacted in expecting a major tantrum from Abby. The people who knew her best had, as well. If she’d yelled at Mariah or swatted or shaken her, he would have…He wasn’t sure what he would have done, but he would have done something. It wasn’t like Mariah had deliberately gotten herself or Abby dirty. Everyone had known after watching her eat cake last night that she was enthusiastic about food and feeding herself.
But Abby had responded with so much more restraint than anyone gave her credit for. The shirt looked brand new, but she’d blown it off. She might be ticked off inside, but if that was the case, he appreciated her keeping it there.
Absently he stacked the remaining plates, gathering the silverware onto the top dish. “I gave her a bath this morning. That’s what you do with kids, you know. Bathe them. Sometimes twice in a row.”
Without further prompting, he recounted the morning’s experience, puking and all, and Therese laughed. “This is shampoo your mom packed for her?”
He nodded.
“Didn’t you realize baby shampoo doesn’t burn or sting?”
“How am I supposed to know? I haven’t been a baby in a lot of years, and she was screaming like I’d gouged her eyes out with a dull spoon.”
“She was tweaking you. Kids do that. As long as you give her the response she wants, she’ll keep doing it.”
He shifted his gaze upward, where the sound of running water sounded distantly. “Yeah, older kids do that, too.” Her faint grimace showed that she’d gotten his message. “I think Mariah’s goal for this trip is to make me feel incompetent. I’ve faced raging fires, combat, and injuries you wouldn’t want to imagine. I’ve saved lives when people were trying to take mine. And this thirty-pound pink and purple mess of blond curls can make me quake in my boots.”
Maybe it would have been different if she really was his
daughter, or if Sabrina had let him believe she was. He would have been there from the beginning; he would have felt an emotional bond; he wouldn’t have been trying to keep his distance.
Therese’s smile was sweet and a little dreamy. “Yeah. Isn’t it wonderful?”
She’d missed the baby parts, she’d said last night, and she hadn’t just meant she wasn’t physically there for Abby’s and Jacob’s infant/toddler years. She’d been denied the whole experience, with her stepchildren, with children of her own. The fun part, the anticipation, the cute and cuddly stages, the bonding ages.
Before Keegan responded to her last comment, Jacob came in for another load of dishes. “I made coffee and cut the brownies and put them on a plate,” he said as he loaded up again.
“Thanks.” Therese was too busy scenting the rich caffeine in the air to notice the crumb of chocolate in the corner of the kid’s mouth.
Keegan pantomimed wiping his own mouth, and Jacob grinned, swiping his on his shoulder before he left.
“I saw that.” Therese stood, then neatly scooted her chair under the table. “I may just be a stepmother, but I know real mother things. Jacob puts the brownies on a plate to hide the fact that he’s already sampled them. Abby hides her shampoo and pretends she’s out because she likes mine better, and neither of them has ever, ever used the last square of toilet paper in the bathroom. It disappears magically, spills happen spontaneously, empty milk cartons march themselves back into the refrigerator, and food disappears without being eaten.”
Keegan pushed his own chair in, then did the same with the kids’. “But they do dishes, he makes coffee, and she keeps Mariah happy. What more could you ask?”
Her smile was agreeable but strained.
In the kitchen, she poured two cups of coffee, then he circled the counter, standing beside her while she stirred cream and sugar into hers. The space between the island and the counter hadn’t seemed so cramped before dinner, but they’d been the only two in the entire room. Jacob took up twice the space his physical size accounted for as he rinsed plates, scraped leftovers into storage containers, and loaded the dishwasher. It forced Keegan and Therese into close quarters around the coffeemaker.
Close was fine with him.
“It’s a nice night. Let’s sit outside,” she suggested. She placed a saucer with a half dozen brownies on top of her coffee mug, grabbed a handful of paper napkins, and headed toward the French door. “Jacob, will you tell Abby she can send Mariah out here if she wants?”
He grunted in response.
Keegan followed Therese onto a patio that was unimpressive compared to the rest of the house. A gas grill occupied one corner, hidden beneath a dusty cover, and wood chairs with bright yellow cushions filled the rest of the space. It looked an awful lot like the patio off his apartment, which was nothing special, either, except her chairs were a lot nicer.
The grass was a little shaggy, and the flowerbeds were empty except for decaying mulch. His mother would have already planted enough flowers for any five yards. Before the major’s death, he suspected Therese would have had these planted as soon as the frost danger was past.
“My uninspired yard.” Her voice was soft in the dim evening, calm and soothing. It was a good voice for reading bedtime stories to children. For telling bedtime stories to their father. It was sweet, mellow, her native accent diffused by her years in Georgia and Oklahoma. If he hadn’t known she was from Montana, it wouldn’t have been among his first five guesses.
“You should see my friend Carly’s yard. She planted a truckload of flowers a week or two ago, and it’s so bright and colorful. Now they’re putting in a fountain. I’m jealous.”
He sat in the chair beside her and took one of the brownies from the plate resting on the arm of her chair. “You have plenty of room for a fountain.”
“I don’t actually want one. I’m just jealous that she’s getting stuff done. Painting her house, rearranging things, getting ready…”
Getting married and moving on with her life, Keegan added silently. And not dealing with stepchildren who didn’t adore her.
“Not that she doesn’t deserve every bit of happiness she’s found,” Therese went on. “God knows, she’s earned it. I’m just…jealous.”
What was he supposed to say to that? Things will get better? Your stepkids will learn to love you or grow up and move out eventually? You’ll move on with your life? It would be at least seven years before she could reasonably expect both kids to move out. Maybe once they were in college and needed a home only for weekends and breaks, their mother would feel like being a mother again.
No matter how old they got, they would always need a home for more than just weekends and breaks.
“What is it you want to get done?”
She slid farther down in the chair, her long legs stretched out in front of her, and cradled her coffee in both hands as she stared across the yard. A moment or two passed with no sound but their even breathing and the occasional snuffle from a neighbor’s dog, hidden from view by the wood fence.
Finally she sighed. “I want things settled with the kids. I want…” Another sigh, and her voice softened. “I don’t know what I want.”
What things needed settling with Abby and Jacob? He couldn’t see much changing there. Abby would mature as she got older, but she was always going to be a drama princess who wouldn’t appreciate all Therese had done for her until she was grown and a mother herself. Jacob was ahead of his sister on that. He didn’t cut his own mother as much slack as Abby had. But he was still a kid, with all the fun of middle and high school ahead of him.
Behind them, the door opened, and Mariah dashed across the patio, passing so close that Keegan smelled her shampoo. Her skin had been scrubbed clean, and in place of her dirty clothes, she wore a T-shirt with a glittery crown on the front. The hem had been tied into a knot to keep it from dragging the ground, and a ribbon looped through the sleeves and flopping in a bow at her neck stopped it from sliding off her shoulders, and she clearly loved it.
Her mother had left her, her father was dead, and nobody else wanted her, but she was thrilled to be wearing one of Abby’s shirts. How long would she be so easy to please?
Abby and Jacob followed her out, Jacob sprawling into the chair on Keegan’s right, Abby going to stand in the grass beside Mariah. “I put our clothes in the laundry room,” she said with a look that made clear she had no faith in Keegan’s ability to properly do laundry.
It was no easier being found wanting by a thirteen-year-old than a two-year-old.
“If you tell me where you got your shirt, I’ll replace it,” he said evenly.
She opened her mouth, drew a breath, then closed it again. “It doesn’t matter.”
Keegan glanced from her to Therese, who was watching Abby with a bemused expression. My stepdaughter spent spring break in California with her mother, she’d told him when they’d met in Walmart. Abby must have gotten the shirt on-site, a keepsake to remember the visit with Catherine. It wasn’t something he could just replace, and that made him feel worse about it.
“I’m a kindergarten teacher,” Therese remarked. “I’m the queen of stain removal.”
“My mom might arm-wrestle you for that title.”
She looked at him, one brow arched, but her lips twitched with a smile. “First you think your ribs are better than mine, now you think your mother can remove stains better than me. You’re awfully full of yourself, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “Five kids, remember? Three of them boys. And I concede to you on the ribs. Mine are still the Logan family’s best, but yours are better.”
“Thank you,” she said primly. “Tiffany Wheeler didn’t raise any slackers.”
“Tiffany? Your mother’s name is Tiffany?”
“Grandma Tiffany and Grandpa Clyde.” That came from Jacob, with a snort from Abby.
Therese’s smile was gentle, softening everything about her. “That name has been the bane of her existence. She’d
go by her middle name, except she doesn’t have one. Gran said she couldn’t find another name she liked that sounded good with it, but Mom’s convinced she wanted to be positive Mom was stuck with Tiffany.”
“It’s not a bad name,” Keegan said. “I’ve known a half dozen Tiffanys.”
“Over the age of sixty?”
“No,” he admitted. “But it could have been worse.”
Her smile faded a little, and she sighed softly. “Yeah, things could always be worse.”
Silence settled around them, uncomfortable, as if everyone was considering what would constitute “worse” for them. They had already been through so much that it was a scary thought. Therese might not have even a small part of her husband left without the kids, though it didn’t take a genius to see that they weren’t holding together the way a family should. Abby could fall out of favor with the popular kids at school, since Keegan had no doubt a girl as pretty and confident as she was did hang out with the cool kids. Jacob…well, he wasn’t sure what Jacob would hate to lose about his life. His video games? His height and brawn? His sports skills?
Keegan was lucky. He’d seen some horrible things in war. He’d lost friends. He’d had someone else’s child dropped into his care. But he liked his job. He loved his family. He didn’t regret his past, was okay with his present, and looked forward to the future. He had a good life.
The moment was broken by Mariah tugging at Abby’s hand. “Play with me, Abby.”
“What do you want to play?”
Mariah wrinkled her face as if it was a tough decision. “Hide-and-seek.”
Jacob scoffed. “Even Abby can win at that. There’s no place to hide.”
Abby kicked his foot.
“The baby doesn’t need great places to hide.” Therese’s tone held a note of warning.
“Neither does Abby. If she can’t see you, she thinks you can’t see her, either.”
Abby started to kick him again but instead straightened her shoulders and sniffed. “You’re such a moron. Come on, Mariah.”
A Man to Hold on to (A Tallgrass Novel) Page 17
