The Sweetheart Rules

by Shirley Jump

  Something she sympathized with. It brought out the side of her that wanted to help, to make it easier for him. When instead she should be cursing his name and wishing a packload of brats on his shoulders because of the way he’d ended things between them. Damn it, she still liked him, was still attracted to him. She needed some chocolate or some therapy or just some stinkin’ common sense. Mike wasn’t a keeper. He was the kind of man a smart woman threw back into the dating pool. Not the kind of man a woman like her tried to convert into Mr. Mom.

  Olivia picked up the dog leashes and reached for the door, then turned back. “It’s okay to take time for yourself, Di. The world won’t fall apart. I promise.”

  Diana thought of her troubled son. The custody threat from Sean. The uncertainty that loomed over her days like storm clouds. Then she thought of the bottle in the cabinet, of how close she had come to unscrewing the top. And in the process, unscrewing a lot more than just some Bacardi. She bit her lip and gave her sister a shaky smile. “Sometimes I feel like it already has.”

  Four

  Ten dollars sat in the repurposed pickle jar on the kitchen counter. Ten thin, pale, green George Washingtons giving Mike smug told-you-so smiles.

  “Daddy, that is a bad word. You can’t say bad words.” Ellie stood in the center of the kitchen barefoot, her long brown hair still a tangled disaster, two little fists perched on her skinny bathing suit–clad hips.

  “Yeah, dude, she’s right,” Jenny said. She was leaning against the doorjamb, munching on a Pop-Tart, heedless of the crumb pile amassing at her feet. “So pay up. Again.”

  Mike could swear he heard the Washingtons laugh as he stuffed number eleven into the glass container. “Will you quit calling me dude? I’m your dad, not your dude.”

  Jenny looked down at the floor and toed a circle of frosted pastry bits. Her hair swung around her face, obscuring her expression like a thick dark curtain. “Whatever.”

  He bristled at her tone, but opted to save that lecture for later. The girls had been through enough lately. They hadn’t asked about their mother, but Mike noticed their attention perk whenever his phone rang. Jasmine hadn’t called, and hadn’t returned his calls, and that silence seemed to have left a permanent thundercloud over the girls’ heads. Undoubtedly, they were less than happy to be stuck with their clean-freak, schedule-fanatic dad.

  It had taken some doing, but he had finally reached a tentative peace treaty with the oldest, and was still working on negotiations with the youngest. After a day of battles over cereal choices, beach rules, and chore divisions, Mike’s head was ready to explode with the stress of being off schedule and in the midst of disorganized chaos. Only a few days into his stay here, and already Luke’s house was decorated in Early Hoarder.

  It drove Mike over the edge. But trying to clean up after the girls was about as useful as trying to hold back the tide. And trying to get the girls to help?

  He had a better shot at negotiating peace in the Middle East.

  On top of that, they were thirty-one minutes and forty-five seconds late. For a man whose entire life was run by a strict schedule, every second that ticked by on the clock twisted another coil in his neck. Hence the three new Washingtons in the jar since two this afternoon. He’d tried everything he could think of to get the girls to cooperate, including bribes.

  Maybe he needed to try a different approach. One thing that serving in the Coast Guard had taught him—failure didn’t exist. There was no quitting, no walking away when lives were at stake. There was find another way. Period.

  He glanced at his girls, neither of whom were in any big hurry to go to what Jenny had deemed “a gross geezer gorgefest with smelly old people.” All afternoon, Jenny and Ellie had found a thousand other things to do instead of changing out of their damp, sandy bathing suits. They had lost the flip-flops they’d kicked off an hour earlier and had dumped a trail of beach toys from the front door to the back. It had taken way too much time to get the mess cleaned up, with Mike alternating between threats and bribes to get the girls to pitch in, neither of which worked. He’d ended up doing most of the work himself, finding an odd solace in setting the space to rights again, clearing the decks, so to speak, of dust and grime and the detritus of three people. But now they were late.

  Thirty-two minutes and fifteen seconds late.

  He inhaled. A long, deep, cleansing breath. Exhaled it. Checked his watch again. Thirty-two minutes, twenty-five seconds.

  “Girls.”

  Jenny tossed the rest of her Pop-Tart in the general direction of the trash barrel, then dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and opened up her sketchbook. Ellie started riffling through her box of toys. The TV droned on in the background with some inane children’s show featuring a nasal-voiced sponge wearing a pair of briefs. What the hell happened to Bugs Bunny? Mickey Mouse?

  “Girls!”

  Jenny ignored him. Ellie paused, then went back to her search.

  Thirty-two minutes, fifty-five seconds. Luke was waiting on them.

  Yeah, that was the reason Mike had changed his shirt twice, put on cologne, and spent extra time shaving. Because he gave a shit what Luke thought. Not because he was masochistically hopeful that maybe Luke had invited Diana.

  He didn’t know why he cared. Diana had homemade apple pie written all over her. A small-town veterinarian, for God’s sake. Mike usually went for the exact opposite—meaning a woman in a string bikini who didn’t want any strings. He’d tried that settle-down thing once before and failed. Big time.

  Thirty-three minutes, ten seconds. Hell, he didn’t even have time to think right now. Mike crossed into the living room, picked up the remote, and turned off the TV, then raised his voice, adding a stern edge to his words. “Jenny, Ellie, get changed, get your hair brushed. Now. Departure in two minutes. That’s an order.”

  On the base, when he used that tone, men snapped to attention, scrambled to get their tasks done. The Coast Guard had bred that air of authority into Mike, a necessary strength when the team was dancing with Death and relying on a bunch of new recruits who had yet to outgrow being arrogant, fumbling fools.

  Apparently the Coast Guard had never met the Stark girls, because neither of them were moved into action by his authoritative voice.

  “Why do we have to go?” Jenny asked. “Why can’t we stay here?”

  “Because you are not old enough to stay home alone. Now get dressed.” Thirty-three minutes, forty seconds. “We’re out the door in one minute and twenty-nine seconds.”

  “Why not? Jasmine always let us.”

  “For one, her name is Mom, not Jasmine, and for another, I doubt she’d leave an eight-year-old and a four-year-old home alone.”

  “She told us to call her Jasmine.” Jenny shrugged, like it didn’t matter, then she blew her bangs out of her face and went on, fists on hips, daring him to disagree. “And she does too leave us home alone. A lot. I know how to take care of myself. And of Ellie. So we don’t have to go with you.”

  To hear such adult statements coming out of a girl so small, a girl he remembered being born, brewed a mixture of anger and heartbreak in Mike’s gut. Anger at his ex for being such an irresponsible parent, then heartbreak that Jenny had skipped from eight to eighteen when he wasn’t looking. Jasmine had never been much for being reliable or warm and fuzzy, but he’d always figured she’d been a decent mother. For the thousandth time, he wanted to kick himself for living too far away to be more than a greeting-card parent.

  “So just go, dude,” Jenny said, returning to her paper, her hair swinging in front of her features again, her voice small and soft and resolute. “Just go.”

  The time clicked by on the kitchen clock. Humid summer air hung heavy in the room. On the TV, the annoying sponge show ended and a commercial for a water park came on. Jenny just stood there, waiting for him to leave.

  “I’m not leaving without you two,” Mike said. “Where I go, you guys go.”

  “Whatever.” Jenny scoffed.
“You say that today, and then tomorrow, you’ll—” She shook her head.

  “Tomorrow I’ll what?”

  “Leave,” she said, quietly, almost under her breath. “Like you always do.”

  A scythe scissored his heart into two pieces. He had no argument against the truth, and didn’t have a solution for the future. Yeah, he was going back, but this time, he vowed to return more often and to keep better tabs on Jasmine.

  “Just go, dude.” Jenny waved toward the door. “We don’t need a babysitter.”

  That scythe made a second slice of his heart. Was that how they saw him? As a babysitter, instead of a dad?

  What else would you call a guy who showed up a couple times a year for a few days?

  God, he sucked. This wasn’t how he’d planned it to be when the girls were born. He’d made a stab at the family-man thing, trying over and over again to work it out with Jasmine, to stay in one place longer than a few days, but every time he’d failed. The problem?

  Mike hadn’t the slightest freaking clue how to be a father. How to be anything other than a hard-charging, detail-oriented military man.

  He had thirty days to make the transition from babysitter to dad. At the very least, maybe it would be enough time for his daughters to begin seeing him as something other than the night warden.

  He cleared his throat and wished he had one of those newsstand magazines right now to tell him what to say. Instead, he just stood there like an idiot, as if some parenting genie would appear and guide the moment. “Jenny, I…”

  Jenny’s lower jaw wobbled and her nose wrinkled. “Will you just go to your stupid barbecue already?” He knew that tone, the one that said, Leave, because I don’t want to count on you being here. It rocketed Mike back twenty-five-plus years, to a moment on a sidewalk in a sunny neighborhood in Sarasota. Mike’s father, climbing into his bright white Buick sedan, giving Mike a short, staccato wave, then driving away. Mike had stood there on that sidewalk, holding in his tears until the Buick’s boxy tail disappeared around the corner.

  The Buick had never returned. And neither had his father. A few weeks later, Mike had been dragged into a whole different kind of hell, one no child should endure. No way was he going to let anything like that happen to his kids. Which meant he had to find a way to reach his daughters. To be a dad.

  Mike bent down and waited until his oldest daughter looked at him. Jenny had his eyes—the same ocean blue he saw in the mirror every day—but hers were filled with wary mistrust. She was such an echo of him, and she didn’t even know it. “I’m not going without you and Ellie. We stick together, kiddo.”

  She scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you and El are stuck with me, like it or not. And I’m stuck with you. Where I go, you go. I promise.”

  Her lip wobbled some more. “Promise?”

  He nodded, even as he wondered how he could keep a promise like that. Eventually, he’d be back in Alaska, and the girls—

  Well, he’d find a way to make sure they were okay.

  He chucked his daughter under the chin. “So go get ready and let’s go to the geezer gorgefest.”

  Jenny stared him down a moment longer, defiant, strong. Then the ice in her eyes thawed a bit, and she got out of the chair and headed over to El. “Come on, Elephant. Let’s find your shoes.”

  Five

  Luke draped his arm around Olivia’s waist, the move now as natural as breathing. How his life had changed in six months, in ways he’d never expected, never dreamed. Running the shelter with Olivia, getting engaged, regaining his sight and his health.

  Everything was different now, thanks to one stray dog, one determined woman, and one grandma’s not-so-subtle matchmaking. Chance, that stray dog, once near death, was now running around the yard, as exuberant as a puppy, while Olivia’s bichon, Miss Sadie, made a vain attempt to catch the golden’s tail.

  Luke’s fiancée—Lord, what a beautiful word that was—stood beside him, looking amazing in a pale blue sundress that offset her blond hair and wide green eyes, and kept his gaze focused on her bare arms and shoulders and incredible legs. Okay, on every inch of her.

  “How long until everyone goes home?” he said into Olivia’s neck, laying a kiss along the delicate warm skin. She fit against him like two pieces of wood dovetailing, something that still amazed him, even now. He loved her light floral fragrance, loved her flirty dresses, loved the way she had her hair up in a messy bun today, which gave him direct access to the tender valleys of her skin.

  She laughed, a merry, light, sweet sound. “Mike hasn’t even arrived yet. At least let the man eat before you kick him out.”

  He kissed her neck again, peppering a path along the soft edges of her hairline. Her perfume teased at his senses, reminded him of her waking up in his arms this morning, warm and sweet, and how wonderful it had been to ease into her body, into that feeling of home he found every time Olivia was near. “I hope he eats fast. I don’t want to wait that long to make love to my fiancée.”

  Another laugh. “Again? Already?”

  “You’re lucky I ever let you out of that bed.” He grinned.

  “Say it again, Luke.”

  “What? That you’re lucky I ever let you out of that bed?”

  “Not that.” She gave him a light swat. “The fiancée part. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that.”

  He chuckled, then leaned in to whisper against her ear, the heat of his breath mingling with the heat of her body. “If my fiancée wants to hear me call her my fiancée a hundred times a day, I’ll gladly oblige. Because I am madly in love with my fiancée. Enough?”

  Olivia giggled, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It’s a start.”

  “You two better get married quick,” Diana said as she strode across the lawn, looking like her older sister’s twin today in a pale peach dress that swirled around her legs and complemented the strappy gold flats she wore. Luke rarely saw Diana in a skirt or dress. Was it the barbecue or the guest list that had her dressing up? “You’re making all us single people jealous as hell.”

  Olivia laughed as she broke away from Luke and crossed to hug her sister. “Does it help that I made chocolate trifle?”

  “Definitely.” Diana grinned, then handed a big plastic bowl to Olivia. “I made salad. That should balance out the trifle.”

  “Of course. It’s the Diet Coke and large fries theory of counting calories.” The two sisters walked toward the picnic table, their heads together and their conversation flowing, as natural as two rivers in the woods. No one would ever guess they’d only met a few months ago. Diana helped Olivia arrange the dishes on the table, then headed inside while Olivia stayed outside to work on the flower beds lining the western wall of the house.

  Her brows knitted in concentration and her shoulders tensed as she slipped her hand between the tender annuals and tugged out budding weeds. Luke’s heart melted a little. His Olivia, who cared deeply about everything in her life, even the flowers struggling to grow in the Florida heat.

  She straightened and cocked her head to one side, grinning at him. “Hey, sexy, you better stop staring at my butt and get back to cooking before you burn something.”

  Luke laughed. “How’d you know I was staring at your butt?”

  “When are you not staring at my butt?”

  He feigned deep thought. “When I’m staring at your amazing breasts.” He wiggled his brows and gave her a leer.

  She shook her head, laughing. “Dinner now, loverboy. Breasts later.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “It’s a date.” She blew him a kiss, then went back to the flower beds—with a little extra sass in her movements that Luke took a second to appreciate before returning to the grill.

  Luke lifted the lid, grabbed the tongs and turned the chicken over, then dropped the heat a little more. If Mike didn’t show up soon, they’d be eating petrified poultry. It wasn’t like Mike to be even a split second late. May
be his friend had decided against coming after all.

  Luke was reaching for his cell when he saw Mike walking down the driveway, trailed by two little girls with the pissed off expressions of reluctant army conscripts.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Mike said. His face bore the strain of battle, one that clearly hadn’t ended well or easily.

  Luke bit back a laugh. “No problem. A little trouble mustering the troops today?”

  Mike rolled his eyes and waited until the girls peeled away from Mike and headed for the dogs, who had stopped running circles in the yard and were now resting on the shady grass by Olivia. “It would have been easier to stage an invasion of Russia.”

  Luke chuckled, reached into the cooler at his feet, and handed Mike a Coors. “I think you need this.”

  Mike accepted the beer with a grateful smile. “I need a part-time job is what I need. I finally resorted to paying them to come today. Between the toys I’ve bought, the pizzas I’ve ordered, and the chore bribing, not to mention the curse jar—”

  “Curse jar?”

  “Don’t ask. If I start explaining where that brilliant idea came from, I’m going to be broke by the end of the day.”

  The normally unflappable Mike, who had ridden through wild storms and life-or-death medical crises with calm strength, had been undone by a couple of winsome little girls in sundresses and flip-flops. Luke gave his friend a wry grin. “And what is the going rate for being seen in public with your father?”

  “Ten dollars.” Mike took a swig of the beer.

  “That’s not too—”

  “Ten. Per kid. Per hour.”

  Luke let out a low whistle. “For that much, I’d pretend to be your kid.”

  “You might have to. I have a feeling these two are staging a mutiny behind my back. Revolt against authority and all that.”

  “You, my friend, are the poster child for authority figures.” Luke had known Mike a long time, and if there was one man in the unit who stuck to the rules like glue, it was Mike Stark. He thrived on the detail-oriented life of the military. Being a stickler for an orderly, scheduled life was a great attribute in the Coast Guard; not so much with kids. Even childless Luke knew that, but he could see Mike had yet to accept the fact that his life off-base was bound to be chaotic. “I take it you aren’t having much luck keeping the peasants in line, Napoleon?”