by Megan Kelly
“Uncle Dylan!” A small body hit his legs, arms wrapping around them and almost knocking him backward. He tightened his hold on the bags.
“Hey, squirt.”
“I’m not Squirt. I’m Caitlyn.”
“So you are. I can’t tell any of you kids apart.”
A gap-toothed grin shot his way as the girl backed up, not buying his tale. He played this game with all the children, pretending not to know which was which since Adam and Anne’s brood now numbered eight. After Mary had come the triplets, then Caitlyn, then the twins, and now baby Penny. Hopefully, Adam was done being fruitful and multiplying the earth’s population.
“Hi, Lily,” Cait said.
“Hi,” she whispered back.
“We got comp’ny.”
Dylan’s eyebrows rose at the term. Adam’s household had employed every girl in the town of Howard from age twelve up, usually several at a time. Younger sitters served as helping hands to the more experienced teens. Today his mother had planned to watch the children but was detained. He’d been enlisted to help out whatever new girl had been saddled with the Ross Rascals until she arrived. Other than the night before, he’d spent almost a week listening to his daughter cry herself to sleep. He’d be glad to be around children who liked him.
He and Lily had come for dinner Wednesday night after Lily had spent her first day at the Wee Care. A day she’d spent in Tara’s arms or on her lap, according to his mom. While he was grateful Lily had latched onto someone, it rankled that it hadn’t been him. Their lives would be easier if Lily could at least tolerate him.
Maybe his daughter recognized something in Tara that reminded her of her own mother. Both women had raised their babies without marrying the kids’ fathers. Perhaps that left some kind of aura children could sense. So, although it needled him, he could understand Lily’s link with Tara.
“Here, squirt.” He handed Cait one of the lighter food bags, the same size as the one Lily carried. “Take this to the kitchen.”
“I’m Caitlyn.”
“Oh, right. Sorry, Caity.”
He grinned as she walked off, shaking her head. Going after her, he glanced around, keeping an ear open. He had to turn and check to see if Lily followed him in, she was so quiet. The house seemed normal, neat and cheery, with toys in baskets pushed to the sides of the room to allow for walking. He heard muted music and figured nine-year-old Mary would be dancing in her room.
Setting his and Lily’s bags on the kitchen counter, he noticed the dishes in the sink. Someone was shirking his or her duties, taking advantage of the new babysitter. Good thing he’d come.
“Where do you think everyone’s got to?” he asked Lily.
She shrugged. She hadn’t spoken or looked higher than his T-shirt, but at least she’d responded. He counted it as a victory.
Movement outside drew him to the kitchen window. A profusion of bubbles blew past, their iridescent rainbows sparkling in the sun. He searched for the source and spotted the three-year-old twins, Brian and Bethany, with another boy around their size, puffing out soapy circles between their giggles.
Dylan frowned, trying to place the extra child. The kid faced away, but something about him looked familiar. With a snort of laughter, Dylan considered that maybe he wasn’t kidding Caitlyn, after all. Had he forgotten one of his nephews? While he watched the three-month-old, Penny, opening and closing her chubby hands as she lay in her carrier in the shade, the boy turned. Jimmy Montgomery.
His gaze flew across the yard, zeroing in on Tara with Mary and the six-year-old triplets forming a conga line. Their laughter lilted on the air, overriding the music. Caitlyn had obviously run through the house to join the others, and she now climbed on the wooden play set Adam had built.
Sunlight gleamed through Tara’s shoulder-length silver-blond hair. She laughed, easy and joyful, like one of the kids. He could rationalize the pull he felt. Any man would appreciate her beauty, like admiring a living work of art, but her attraction ended at the physical for him. Not only did she not seem to care for him for some reason, but when he looked at Tara, he thought of Rose and all she’d deprived him of with Lily. He recognized his attitude as unfair; he just couldn’t seem to shake it.
The dance line veered off to weave through five of the tall orange plastic construction cones the kids used for play. Caitlyn joined them as they ducked under the trapeze bar on the play set. When they jumped over a broomstick set on cardboard boxes, Dylan realized the dancers had journeyed through an obstacle course.
The music paused then played “Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes,” making Dylan groan. He’d never mastered the moves, which made his nieces and nephews laugh and heckle him. All the kids, including the bubble blowers, started dancing.
He waited until the song stopped before venturing out, with Lily silent alongside him. He didn’t want the kids taunting him to try to join in. His daughter didn’t think much of him as it was; he didn’t need her to know he couldn’t manage simple dance movements.
A squeal alerted him just before his knees were hit from behind, once again nearly toppling him. Brian jumped up and down near his feet.
“Uncle Dywin!” Brian’s twin, Bethany, stretched her arms toward him in the universal “pick me up” gesture, straining on tiptoe to get his attention. He swung her into his arms, then grabbed up Brian for a hug, too. His gaze met Tara’s as she crossed the yard. Lily rushed to her side.
“Your mom said she’d call in the cavalry to help me,” Tara said, giving Lily a one-armed embrace, “but I didn’t expect you.”
“Hi. Hey, kids,” he called to the rest of them, returning their greetings as they approached. “I brought food, but I guess you’ve eaten.”
Mary appeared at his side as the twins slid to the ground. “We had spaghetti.” He nodded.
“It was all I could think of,” Tara said, “that was fast, filling, kid-friendly, and easy to make a lot of.”
“I asked for pizza,” Mary said in a sulky tone.
“Pizza,” Christopher, the wild six-year-old triplet, exhaled the word with longing.
“Sorry,” Tara told them. “I didn’t want to turn on the oven with nine children to tend to.”
Dylan scowled at the kids. “Hey. Did you eat?”
They all nodded.
“Then be grateful you got food at all.” He eyed the triplets. “Are you supposed to clean up the dishes this week?”
Paul, Christopher and Jane nodded.
“I cleared the table,” Jane reported. “Paul scrubbed the plates and rinsed the milk out of the glasses.”
She looked at Christopher, who hung his head.
“I told them to come outside,” Tara broke in. “It isn’t his fault the dishes aren’t in the dishwasher.”
Chris beamed at her, avoiding his uncle’s eye.
“But maybe we should go in and get that done,” Tara added, reaching down to touch her son’s shoulder. “We could all use a drink to cool down.”
“We don’t got to go inside for that,” Caitlyn said. She ran to the back wall of the house.
“Cait,” Dylan called. “Hold on.”
She twisted the water faucet with both hands then grabbed up the hose.
“Not Cait,” she called. “Squirt.”
And she aimed the hose at Dylan.
Chapter Four
The kids squealed, running from the spray.
Tara watched them scatter, distancing herself from Dylan, who took the brunt of the shower. His stern, narrow-eyed countenance didn’t bode well for Caitlyn.
“You’d best turn off that water.” He locked gazes with the girl.
She shot him full in the chest, laughing. Tara gasped and darted a worried glance at Dylan. A hand fisted in the leg of her shorts. She wasn’t surprised to see Lily at her side.
“Caitlyn,” the oldest girl yelled. “Drop the hose.”
“Don’t do it, Cait,” Christopher argued, darting away from a blast of water as she turned in his directi
on. “It’s all you got.”
“Hey, boy.” Dylan glowered at him. “When I’m done with her, you’re next.”
Chris laughed and ran to the play set on the farther side of the yard.
Tara saw the water arcing her way as Caitlyn turned again. She pushed Lily behind her just as a cold stream pelted her before moving on. Tara straightened and shook back her hair. The three-year-old twins and Jimmy ran under and through the arch of water as though it were high summer rather than humid and close, with the threat of an impending storm. The baby lay asleep in her carrier in the shade, out of harm’s way.
Tara turned back to Caitlyn and Dylan, wondering how best to proceed. How strict was he? As their uncle, he had more authority here, but his general incompetence at fatherhood made her hesitate to trust him.
“This is your last warning, Caity.” Dylan crossed his arms.
She sprayed him in the face. Tara caught her breath in apprehension but the kids fell about the yard, holding their stomachs with laughter.
Dylan stalked toward Caitlyn, rubbing one hand over his face and holding the other out to ward off the spray. Caitlyn scooted sideways. With a lunge, Dylan grabbed the hose from her hands.
Tara frowned in confusion. The children continued laughing, so she halted her instinctive step forward.
“No, Uncle Dylan!” the girl shrieked.
“Too bad you didn’t think about consequences sooner, young lady.”
And he doused her with water.
The kids called out to her, either encouraging Cait to make a run for it or for their Uncle Dylan to “soak her good.”
Tara laughed, relieved he had a sense of humor. She caught sight of Jimmy, standing stock-still, watching with his mouth open, the only one other than Penny and Lily not laughing now. Being an only child, he was probably confused by the proceedings. Tara admitted to feeling the same. The Ross household reminded her of a circus. Wild and bizarre, but fun.
Dylan put an arm around Caitlyn’s stomach and lifted her off her feet. He dropped the hose and turned off the faucet.
“Now you’re gonna get it,” one of the boys called.
“You certainly are,” Dylan said. He tickled her belly.
“No!” Cait gasped through her laughter. “Stop.”
“Say ‘uncle,’” her oldest sister advised, inching closer.
“It’s too late for ‘uncle,’” Dylan said. “Her uncle has no mercy.”
Caitlyn pushed at his hands as he tickled her armpit. “Not there.”
“Take off her shoes,” shouted Christopher, the incorrigible triplet. “She’s really ticklish on her feet.”
Dylan stopped and slid Caitlyn to the ground. He turned to the boy. “And just where are you ticklish?”
Chris ran across the yard with Dylan following close behind, purposely not quite catching him as he darted this way and that. The twins and other two triplets took up the chase, staying behind Dylan. Even Caitlyn joined in.
At least the run would dry everyone out.
Except Jimmy, Tara realized. He stood avidly watching the action. She knelt beside him, Lily at her side.
“Is that man mad?” he asked.
“Nope.” Maybe crazy, she thought, but not angry, which was what worried her son. “It’s all a game.”
Jimmy turned to her. “So I could go run, too?”
She patted his arm. “Sure.”
He took off, galloping near the twins, Bethany and Brian, who attended the Wee Care with him.
She and Lily walked over to the oldest girl, who hovered near the tree with longing on her face. Tara could almost see the conflict in her mind, debating whether she should give up her nine-year-old dignity or miss out on the fun. “If you ran after them, you could catch up.”
Mary shrugged. “Uncle Dylan will catch Chris and tickle him, too.”
Her prediction came true just then. Dylan tackled the boy and started in as the others piled on. The kids began tickling one another and Dylan.
“Uncle,” he called, making them laugh harder. He rose, pulling some of the smaller children up with him.
“Shall we get that drink now?” Tara asked as Dylan drew near.
“I’ve had enough water, thank you,” he said.
They all laughed, while Caitlyn grinned with pride. Tara wished he didn’t look so huggable. Huggable men were off the menu till after the custody hearing, at the very least. Dylan Ross would never make it on her list. He had too many negative checkmarks, despite his skill as an uncle.
“But I could use some lemonade, if there is any.” He grabbed Penny’s carrier and led the way in like the Pied Piper, with nine kids and one bemused woman trailing behind.
How could he be so good with his nieces and nephews but have no clue how to connect with his own child? Of course, there were huge differences between the two roles. An uncle got to go home to peace and quiet, while parenting duties never ended.
“Let’s get dried off first,” Tara decided, “then we’ll get some drinks.”
“But I’m thirsty,” Christopher croaked dramatically, holding his throat with both hands.
Dylan caught his eye, and the boy subsided. Tara suppressed a smile. Had Dylan, the boy terror, once been as cute and spirited as Christopher? Dylan deposited the baby carrier on the floor and instructed two of the children to retrieve towels from the adjacent laundry room. Chris climbed onto the counter and handed plastic cups down to Caitlyn. One child opened the refrigerator door, and Dylan lifted the heavy pitcher. The Rosses worked like a well-tuned machine. Impressed, but with nothing to do, Tara pulled up a chair. Lily sank to the floor beside her.
Someone dropped a pile of towels on the table. Dylan pulled out a chair opposite her and called the twins. Tara grabbed a towel and rubbed Brian’s head, glad the boys’ short haircuts would help them dry quickly. Their run around the yard left Brian damp, although no longer dripping.
Dylan peeked under the towel he held and smiled at Bethany, revealing her messy shoulder-length brown hair. “Get me your comb, kiddo, and we’ll see about those tangles.”
“Okay.” She scampered off.
He grabbed the body nearest him, which happened to be Jimmy. Tara tensed.
“Hey,” Dylan said with feigned surprise. “You don’t look like a rascally Ross. How come you got soaked?”
“Caitlyn sprayed everyone,” her son replied solemnly.
“So she did. I’m their uncle Dylan. You’ve mostly been asleep when I’ve been around. Do you remember me?”
The boy nodded.
“Nice to meet you again.” Dylan threw the towel over her son’s blond head and rubbed gently. “Sorry you got caught in the cross fire.”
“The what?”
Dylan chuckled. “Got wet for no reason.”
Jimmy tented the front of the towel with two hands to stare out. “All us but Lily got wet, even Mom.”
Dylan studied Tara for a long moment.
She wished she’d tended to her own appearance before working on the kids. Drowned Rat wasn’t in fashion this year. Although why his opinion would even register on her radar baffled her.
Bethany rushed in with a pink wide-toothed comb. Dylan took it and steadied her between his knees.
She turned huge brown eyes to him. “Don’t puw it.”
“I won’t. You let me know if it hurts, okay?” He kissed the top of her head.
Tara continued to watch Dylan, trying to figure him out.
“Can you do mine, please?” Jane, the girl triplet, asked quietly at Tara’s side, drawing her gaze from the contradictory man across from her. Tara nodded. Jane handed over her hairbrush and turned her back to Tara, valiantly entrusting her with the task. Tara separated knots with her fingers, determined to live up to the shy girl’s faith. Not only did the girl’s hair resemble dark golden sand, it clumped like wet sand, too.
From the corner of her eye, Tara noticed Lily pull her ponytail over her shoulder and begin untangling it with her fingers. Dylan seemed g
entle enough combing Bethany’s hair. Lily’s topknot had been pulled through a rubber band and had snarly strands poking out. Unless he cut the band out at night, hopefully without cutting any hair in the process, removing it would be painful and damaging.
Dylan’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the display. “Not my mom,” he told Tara. He put the phone back in the pocket of his shorts.
“I can take care of the kids if you need to call your girlfriend or whoever.”
Dylan shook his head. “I don’t have a girlfriend, and I can call Cherise back later.”
“Why limit yourself to just one woman, after all?” Tara tried for nonchalance, but his attitude annoyed her. He had to be around thirty. Wasn’t it time to grow up?
Dylan narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
The oldest girl pulled a comb through her own dark blond hair while a straggly-haired Cait rocked the baby’s carrier. Tara finished Jane’s hair and smiled in response to the girl’s quiet thanks. “Can you loan me a ponytail holder for Lily?”
Jane’s gaze flickered to her cousin on the floor before she nodded and darted from the room. When she returned, she bent in front of Lily, her manner tentative, like one approaching a wild doe. “Do you want to borrow my brush?”
Lily took the brush and looked up at Tara. Without speaking, she expressed her need with those brilliant green eyes. Did she think Tara would refuse? Tara nodded and considered the girl in front of her. Jane held out the scissors she’d brought along.
“It’s the best way.” Jane took Lily’s hand. “Miss Tara’s going to cut the rubber band out, but she’ll be careful. She didn’t pull my hair even one time.”
Lily nodded and squeezed her eyes shut, her small hand going white around Jane’s.
Tara caught Dylan’s gaze and registered the dark look before he turned away. His jaw tensed.
She snipped the band and gently peeled it from the entangled strands. Jane’s breath whooshed out before she smiled at her cousin.
Dylan continued talking to the boys, and Tara realized he’d stopped to watch them. She ran her fingers through Lily’s long hair first then brushed it into a princess braid.
“I like that,” Mary said, surprising Tara. The girl hadn’t warmed up to Tara all day and had hardly spoken. “It’s easier than a French braid, the way you just flipped it around her face.”
