Mark handed her a couple of the smaller drums. "Where do you want these? I bumped into your mom outside and she asked for a hand."
"I knew the children would enjoy each having an instrument," Yetta said. "Mark is very strong. We managed this in one trip."
Alexa spread the drums about in front of the yellow outline of the sun on the group rug. Her day-care students were resting in the smaller common room, and her preschool students were outside with Rita and the aides. They'd be back any minute, full of energy.
'Thanks, Mom. I really need to buy another storage shed."
Her mother added the two small drums she was carrying to the circle. "I thought you were going to convert the small bedroom into a storeroom."
Alexa's house had four bedrooms. The one her mother was referring to presently served as a guest room, but Alexa planned to turn it into a nursery. "Um, yeah, but I still have a few overnighters once in a while."
She looked at Mark and added, "Children. Children whose parents for some reason can't pick them up. Doesn't happen often, but the extra bed comes in handy."
She blushed when she realized her explanation sounded defensive. Brushing a few stray cookie crumbs off her jeans, she glanced at the big clock on the wall and said, "You're here awfully early. Did something happen?"
"I've been relieved of duty. Protocol. Best for all concerned, they told me. But, luckily for me, the suspension is with pay. So, since I don't have to go out and get a job flipping burgers to pay the rent, I'm available to help here. If you want me."
Alexa swallowed. Want him? What woman in her right mind wouldn't want a man like Mark? But none of those women had had her heart broken by him. Could Alexa handle working side by side with him? Indulging in one night of secret sexual fantasies was one thing, but working together was something wholly different.
She looked at her mother, who was watching them both. "Why don't you give it a try and see how it goes?" Yetta suggested. "Mark may change his mind about helping after he's sat through one music class."
Alexa glanced down at the circle of drums and stifled a smile. Her mother was right. Music day. Trial by fire...
Chapter 10
The pounding and crashing disharmony erupted like small, individual explosions behind his eyes. A dozen or more three- and four-year-olds with drums. What was Alexa thinking?
And, more importantly, where are her earplugs?
She held up her hand and said something that got swallowed up by the noise, then, to his surprise, the drumbeats lessened. Heads turned to look at her—a smiling pillar in jeans and a purple Dancing Hippo T-shirt.
"Remember. We start off every music class by listening.” She enunciated the last word slowly and succinctly.
The last drummer—a red-haired boy with a wild look in his eyes—put his hands in his lap, with assistance from a helper, who looked enough like the child to be his mother. "Sorry," the woman murmured.
"Very good. You're all using your ears." Alexa tucked her dark hair back and pushed on her ears so they appeared to wiggle. "Me, too."
The children giggled and followed suit.
"Where's Uncle Claude?" the redhead asked. "He has jumbo ears. I miss him."
Alexa made her bottom lip curl sadly. "Me, too, William. Maybe if everyone writes him a letter, we can send it to my cousin's ranch where Uncle is visiting and he'll come back to see us."
Mark vaguely remembered Claude Parlier as a jovial fellow with a big laugh. He didn't recall the size of his ears. Zeke had mentioned that Claude had been caught in the undercover sting that Grace's future husband had orchestrated. Apparently, he'd provided information to the D.A. in exchange for no jail time. Instead, he'd been remanded to his son's ranch.
Changing the topic, Alexa leaned forward as if to pick up her instrument—a lilac-colored tambourine adorned with multicolored silk ribbons. He could picture her dancing in costume to the passionate beat of the flamenco. God, he'd loved watching her dance.
"Wait," she said, her hands hovering over the drum. "We are going to take turns as we learn a new song. I’ll sing it first, then we'll do it together. You only touch the drum when you hear me say 'bar-rump-a-bum-bum.' Okay?"
Nearly every head nodded.
She cleared her throat and sang in a clear, crisp alto the words to a Christmas song that Mark had heard a thousand times, but never really listened to. “Come, they told me...”
Little hands flew with joy, but no rhythm.
Alexa lifted her hand. The discord stopped.
He braced himself for the next cacophony, but each drum session seemed a little more musical. By the last verse, the children seemed to have caught on and were actually trying to copy Alexa.
"Yeah," she cried, cheering joyfully. "You were marvelous. Next time, we'll sound like a real band."
She pulled what looked like a stopwatch from her pocket and said, "Okay. Two minutes of freestyle then we put away the drums. One, two, three...go."
She scrambled to her feet and backed up, covering her ears. The aides did the same, and Mark quickly followed suit. He walked to where Alexa was standing.
"Nice," he mouthed. '
Thank you," she returned.
He decided there was something to be said for lipreading—especially lips as pretty and voluptuous as Alexa's. Their gazes met for just a moment before she turned away. Had she read his mind? She'd always been good at that. Too good, at times.
After the two minutes of mind-numbing noise had passed, she blew a whistle. The drumming ceased—even the redhead kid stopped, thanks to his resourceful mother who snatched up the drum and walked away. The look on her face said she was trying to be a good sport, but the whole thing might be more than she could take. He knew the feeling.
While Alexa and her helpers got the children organized and washed up for a snack, Mark repackaged the drums. The mother who was volunteering stayed with him. "You're new here," she said. "Which of these little darlings is yours?"
"My son attends the after-school session. I was curious about the preschool, and Miss Alexa said I could drop in to check things out."
"Oh, you'Il be bringing your son's younger sibling, I take it. William wants a baby sister, but some days I'm convinced one is my limit. How many do you and your wife have?"
"My ex-wife—Braden's mother—isn't in the picture. He's an only child."
She nodded with a sort of resigned manner. "Oh. We see that a lot. More and more single fathers with full custody." She started pointing out which children came from broken homes. Mark decided he didn't like this woman, who hadn't even told him her name.
Alexa suddenly appeared and lightly touched the woman's arm. "Roberta, you're so good at getting the children settled in their chairs, would you mind...?”
"Of course, Alexa, I'd be happy to," the woman— Roberta—said before marching off to do her duty.
“Thanks, you're a gem."
A gem?
Alexa looked at him, the wry grin on her lips telling him she’d heard his silent question. "Volunteers are an important part of our program. Good for the parents to be involved and good for the children. Plus, the extra help allows me to keep my prices down, which is particularly important to single parents."
"I understand that, but do you ever think the moms are more work than the kids?" He leaned in to keep the comment just between them.
Her low chuckle crept into his chest and traveled lower. “Occasionally, but I’ll take whatever help I can get.”
She nodded slightly, and Mark looked past her to the three round tables with the small, primary-colored chairs. Roberta and her son seemed to be conducting a silent but intense war of wills. The mother won, but not without picking up her son and depositing him in the chair.
Mark smiled and was about to comment when Alexa dashed off. A little girl, the last in line at the sink, lost her balance and tumbled to the floor. Heedless of the puddles that had accumulated around the base of the basin, Alexa dropped to her bottom and pulled the crying child into her lap.
>
White-blond curls melded with Alexa's dark waves as she commiserated with the little girl. Mark's heart returned to a normal beat as soon as he realized there wasn't any real injury, but a tightness in his chest remained. The feeling was one he didn't recognize at first, then it hit him. Love. He was back in love with Alexa. Correction. He was still in love with Alexa.
Alexa had a headache. A stress headache. She could handle music class with fourteen overly ambitious, untrained drummers. She could handle bumps and bruises and hypochondriac mothers who thought every sore limb needed an X-ray. But she couldn't handle having Mark around full-time.
He was too large. Too dynamic. Too charming. By nap time, Alexa swore every one of her aides—even Rita, who would turn sixty-eight next month—was in love with him.
Without noticeable effort, he'd even won over Roberta Moorehouse, despite the fact that Alexa was certain Mark thought the woman was a gossipy twit.
"Headache?" a voice asked.
Alexa, who had been staring at her computer screen trying to decide whether or not to switch to a different brand of finger paint, looked up. "Oh, hi, Mom. I thought you went home."
"I did, but Katherine called to ask if I'd pick up Maya after school, and I thought I'd come over early so I could meet Mark's son. Is he here?"
Alexa's heart jumped in panic—for a second. Then she remembered. "Mark and Maya went to meet him. They'll be back any second."
The brief rush of adrenaline magnified her headache, but she did her best to pretend she was fine.
"Alexandra, even the strongest amongst us resort to aspirin on occasion. A little painkiller won't inhibit your ability to conceive."
Alexa felt her mouth drop open. The worst part of being Romani was the inability to keep anything private. From anybody. "How did you—?" She closed her eyes and shook her head. Why ask?
"Darling girl, you're my firstborn. I knew this day was coming. With your sisters' situations and all the talk online and in women's magazines about biological clocks and whatnot, I'd expected it before now."
"Really? You don't think I'm being foolish? Or selfish? Depriving a child of a two-parent family?"
Her mother smiled indulgently. "You are the least selfish person I know. I am, of course, worried about what this will mean to your health. A headache is one thing, but I remember all too well how debilitating the pain was before your operation. And I also remember the doctors telling you there was no guarantee the growths wouldn't come back if you stopped taking the birth-control pills."
"I know, Mom. But you always encouraged us to face the challenges in our lives head-on. The first time I had stage fright you told me, 'You can either get out on that stage and dance, or you can look back someday and wish you had."'
Yetta bent down and put her hand over Alexa's. "Speaking of dance, Grace has invited a band to play at the charity Christmas dinner at Romantique. She wants the Sisters of the Silver Dollar to perform."
Alexa groaned. As children, she and her sisters had danced for their father and he would toss coins at their feet. Big, shiny silver dollars that had been used in slot machines at that time. Eventually, the girls had developed several routines and danced at family functions. They'd kept the name: the Sisters of the Silver Dollar.
"That's big of her. I was planning on doing nothing for two full weeks."
Yetta chuckled and patted Alexa's hand. "Now, now, your sister has her own travails. She puts on a good show, but she's very lonely. And she misses the restaurant. If it weren't for this wedding she's planning, I'm sure she and Nikolai would be miserable."
Alexa nodded. 'That's true. When Grace is miserable, everybody is miserable."
'That's why I've decided to fly to Detroit to spend a few days with her."
Alexa pushed back from her desk in shock. 'That's sudden.”
"Jurek called and suggested it. He claims to have frequent flier miles to use up and bought me the ticket. I think he's lonely, too, although he won't admit it."
Jurek was Yetta's cousin several times removed. He was also Nikolai's birth father, although the two had only recently been reunited. Yetta and Jurek had grown quite close during the Charles Harmon fiasco, with Jurek moving next door into Claude's empty house so Yetta could help him recover his strength after some sort of surgery.
Jurek's quick trip to Michigan to see Nick and Grace had been extended when Nick's adoptive parents, who had recently retired, had asked him to house-sit while they went traveling.
"Wow. Well, that's great. Grace will be over the moon."
"I know she was just here, but we never really had a chance to talk. We might even find a wedding dress. And since you have Mark here to help, you should be just fine, right?"
Mark. The man she'd pretty well decided to ask not to come back, except to drop off and pick up his son.
Yetta leaned closer and said in a low voice, "Alexandra, be careful not to let the past obscure your view of the present. He's not the man he used to be, any more than you're the same girl you were eight years ago."
And, as if her mother had conjured him up, Mark walked through the door, preceded by two children, who were holding hands. Alexa couldn't prevent the smile that seemed to magically ease her headache. A smile that matched the happy look on Braden's face. A first. A joyful first.
"Is Rob picking up Maya after work?" she asked on impulse.
Yetta shook her head. "He's in the Bay Area on business. Katherine will be by after the restaurant closes."
'Then, let's go out for dinner. You, me, Mark and the kids. Somewhere fun."
Mark, who'd just returned from the coatroom, seconded her suggestion. "Good idea. Braden likes the buffet at the Palace Station."
"I believe I have some coupons," Yetta said. "I'll be right back. You two can work out the details."
Something about the way her mother phrased her comment made Alexa think that Yetta didn't intend to join them, but that was okay, too. Mark needed cheering up, and Alexa wasn't the kind of person who lied to herself. She enjoyed his company—even if working with him on a regular basis might mean stocking up on aspirin.
Chapter 11
"Daddy Rob is a lawyer. My other daddy lives in Reno. That's a long way from here, but we're going to drive there after Auntie Grace's wedding. Mommy says we can't go before then because Grace would track her down with a knife." She smiled. "Not really. But that's what Mommy said."
Mark was mesmerized by the articulate cherub sitting across from him at the Palace Station. The dining hall was massive and you practically needed a map to find the various food selections, but feeding Braden and Maya had been easy: pizza, burgers, spaghetti and Jell-O.
Since Yetta had bowed out at the last minute, Alexa had insisted that Mark fill his own plate while she waited at the table with the kids. His choices included shrimp scampi, rare prime rib, filet mignon wrapped in bacon, garlic mashed potatoes and several types of vegetables, along with a separate plate loaded with salads. Alexa had yet to return from her culinary quest.
"I haven't seen your mother or Grace in quite a while, but... " he said, after chewing and swallowing a bite of steak. "I can't picture either one with a knife."
"How come?" Maya asked, pulling free a piece of pepperoni, which she delicately nibbled on.
"Because they're not the violent type."
"I mean how come you haven't seen them for a long time?”
Oh. He looked at Braden who had his hands wrapped around a burger. "I was busy with my family and my job."
"Did you stop being friends with Aunt Alexa?"
"You could say that."
"How come?"
Damn, this girl is going to be a reporter when she grows up. “I think we should talk about you. What's Santa bringing you for Christmas?"
She abruptly dropped her chin and didn't say anything for a full minute. When she looked up, her big brown eyes were filled with tears that looked ready to spill over the rims. Mark had no idea what he'd said to make her cry. "Maya, what's wron
g?"
"William Moorehouse said Santa isn't real. He said mommies and daddies put presents under the tree and say they're from Santa, but they... they're... " Her voice turned thin and thready. "N-not." The last word came out with a hiccup.
Mark looked at Braden, whose bottom lip was beginning to quiver. Alexa...help.
As if she'd heard his silent plea, Alexa strolled up to their table and set down her heaping plate, but before she could sit, Maya burst into tears. Braden followed suit, less noisily, but salty drops started falling onto his pasta.
"Maya, love, what's wrong? Bray? Yikes. Is the food that bad?" She dashed around the table so she was situated between them and placed one arm around each child. "Kiddos, please. Tell me what's going on?" They both collapsed against her shoulders. Only then did she look at Mark.
He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "A certain little Scrooge at school told Maya there wasn't a Santa Claus."
“Oh. Oh. I bet I know who. But that doesn't matter. What matters is he was wrong." Maya picked up her head. "I know there's a Santa. I've met him."
Braden looked at Maya, his expression as skeptical as hers. Maya put their question into words. "Not the store Santa. The real Santa who lives at the North Pole."
Alexa nodded. "Yep. That one. When I was about Braden's age I caught him putting presents under our tree and we had a nice long talk." She stood up quickly to avoid a server hurrying past with a pitcher of water. "I'll tell you the story while you finish eating. Did you see the dessert bar? Ohmygosh, there's a zillion things to try."
Braden picked up his fork. Maya let out a weighty sigh and did the same. Alexa looked at Mark as she pulled up her chair and folded her napkin in her lap. He could see the sparkle in her eyes and wondered just how she was going to pull this potential tragedy out of the fire.
"Do you mind if I talk and eat at the same time?" she asked, taking a bite of sushi that she'd mixed with wasabi and soy sauce. Her eyes went wide as she chewed, but after a minute she said, "Umm. Good. Okay, where was I? The night I met Santa...”
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