by Susan Gable
After a quick kiss and some whispered assurances that she'd do a great job with the twins, Jake had grinned at Harley as he ushered the Spandlers out the door.
She traversed the living room to perch on the arm of the sofa near the girls' toy box. "Well, ladies, it's just you and me now. What are we going to do tonight?"
"Buiwd!" Hope announced, holding up a square wooden block.
"Cowor!" demanded Grace, jumping to her feet. "Where my crayons? Where my book?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of watching a video. What do you say?"
"Me want to cowor!" Grace shouted.
Harley held up her hand. "All right, we'll color. I'll get the stuff, you guys go and sit at the table."
She retrieved the fat crayons and coloring books from the bottom drawer in the kitchen and laid them on the dining room table. The girls knelt on chairs at either end. "Okay, here you go." She handed each child a book and a box of crayons. "Make a pretty picture for your mommy."
She'd just lowered herself into a chair and propped her chin on her palm when the front door opened again. "Oh, great, now what?" She moaned, levering herself from the chair. "You girls sit here and color nicely. I'll be right back."
"Jake?" Dusty's voice carried from the foyer into the living room.
Harley trudged through the room to find Jake's brother, snow-suited baby in arms, setting a bulging diaper bag on the tiled floor. "Jake's not here, Dusty. He went out with the Spandlers."
"The Spandler Hotel Spandlers?" Dusty paused in the process of opening Matthew's zippers.
"That'd be them."
Dusty cursed under his breath. "I thought Jake was watching the twins tonight."
"I'm watching the twins tonight."
Dusty raised an eyebrow, then narrowed his eyes.
Something in his expression irritated the hell out of her. "What, you don't think I can manage them?" Like everyone else, with the exception of Jake, his judgment of her was based on her past, and she was sick to death of his condescending attitude. She folded her arms across her chest. "The girls and I are having a wonderful evening."
Something gave way in Dusty's eyes. "Glad somebody is. Poor Kate." He started to rezip the baby's snowsuit.
"What? Poor Kate, what?"
"We had dinner reservations at the Stone Inn tonight. It's the anniversary of our first date."
"Oh, that's so sweet."
Dusty sighed. "She's been looking forward to it for weeks. Then our baby-sitter called at the last minute, saying she's sick." He transferred the baby to his other arm. "She'd better be sick. If she ditched us tonight to go on a date herself, I'll make her wish she was sick."
How romantic, taking his wife out on the anniversary of their first date. Again she realized there was more to Dusty than the ex-con-hating, brother-protecting ogre he seemed to be in her presence.
An insane idea occurred to her. Maybe she could be mother material. This would be a good test to find out, to prove the smug Dusty and everyone else—including herself—wrong. She'd certainly failed as wife material earlier in the evening, but maybe that wasn't her fault. Jake didn't normally socialize with such rich, snobbish people. If she could prove to herself that she wouldn't be a complete disaster as a mother, maybe she could accept his offer. Maybe they could be a real family, despite her past.
"I'll watch Matthew for you, Dusty." She held out her arms for the baby.
Dusty eyed her warily. "You?"
She made a big show of glancing around the foyer. "I don't see anyone else. I'd hate it if Kate was disappointed."
The twinkle in his blue eyes reminded her of Jake for a second before it was replaced with skepticism. "I don't know. You'll have your hands full as it is."
"I need to learn sometime, Dusty."
"So learn on someone else's kid, not mine."
Harley shrugged. "Okay, whatever. Tell Kate I'm sorry you guys didn't get to go to dinner. I have to go and see to the twins. 'Night." She began to walk away.
"Wait!" He sighed again. "All right. There's a bottle of breast milk in the diaper bag. Put it in the fridge till later. Clean clothes, diapers and wipes in the bag. Here's his favorite pacifier." Dusty handed her a blue-and-white ring. "My cell number is in there, and I've already told you where we'll be."
"The Stone Inn." Harley nodded and held out her arms once more. This time Dusty reluctantly passed his son into her care.
"We shouldn't be more than two hours or so." He narrowed his eyes again. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"
"Hey, one baby and two little girls. It's nighttime. They should be falling asleep. How hard can it be?"
* * *
An hour and a half later, as she bounced a screaming infant and tried to ride herd on two overactive little girls who seemed to believe sleep was a dirty word, Harley had an all-new appreciation for exactly how hard it could be.
The baby cried, tucking his head into her chest as she tried to get him to take the bottle. "I know, I know, Matthew. But there's nothing there, pal. You're going to have to make do with the bottle." Harley paced a circuit across the living room.
Matthew finally latched onto the latex nipple and began to suck.
She sighed in relief. "That's a good boy."
With the baby silent, she realized just how quiet it was in the house. The hair on the back of her neck tingled. Too quiet. "Girls, where are you?" Maybe they'd finally fallen asleep? Yeah, right, and maybe they'd decided to tear apart the transmission in her truck and rebuild it.
A smattering of giggles came from the direction of the dining room.
"That does not sound good." Doing her best to feed Matthew and race across the living room at the same time, Harley skidded to a stop in the dining room archway. "What do you think you're doing?" she shrieked.
Purple crayon in hand, Hope turned away from the wall to smile at her. "Coworing. Make pretty picture for Unka Jake."
"Oh, yeah, I'm sure he's just gonna love it." Harley crossed the room, setting the bottle on the dining room table. She snatched the crayon from the chubby hand, carefully balancing the baby in her left arm. "Hope, you can't color on the wall. You have to color on paper or in coloring books. That's it."
A trail of red intersected the purple lines running across Jake's chair-high wood paneling. "Where's your sister?" she asked the little girl.
"Under da table." Hope pointed.
Matthew began to cry. Harley repositioned him on her shoulder and bent over. Sitting directly in the middle of the space, Grace was peeling the covers off crayons. A small mound of paper littered the floor in front of her.
"Grace, come out of there." A muscle twinged in Harley's back and Peanut kicked her solidly in the stomach. "Hey, you're getting in on the act, too, Peanut? Thanks a lot."
She straightened, pressing one hand to her spine. "That wasn't a very smart move." Jostling Matthew against her shoulder, Harley pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. "Grace, I mean it. Come out from under there."
"No."
Hope got down on the floor and crawled under a chair.
"Hope, don't you dare. Your sister is being very naughty. I want you to go in the living room and play with the blocks, okay?"
Hope stared at her for a minute.
"Please, Hope?"
The child stuck two fingers in her mouth and nodded her head, then crawled out from under the chair and scampered toward the other room. The textured bottoms of the pink flannel foot-sleeper she wore whisked against the floor as she scooted away.
One down, one to go. "Grace, I'm warning you. I'm going to count to three, and if you're not out, then I'll…"
What? What the heck would she do if the kid refused to come out? Drag her out kicking and screaming? That would mean she'd have to get down there herself.
Why didn't kids come with instruction books? She'd rather drop an entire new engine in a car than deal with this. She'd rather deal with an insurance adjuster. She'd rather have a root canal. Performed by an insuran
ce adjuster.
See? You're not mother material.
Had it been this kind of thing that had caused her own mother to flee? Had she simply been overwhelmed by the demands of caring for a child?
Matthew clenched his hands into fists, tightened his body and let out a wail loud enough to be heard clear across the lake in Canada. Harley shot out of the chair, jiggling him. "Shh, shh, Matthew. It's okay. What's the matter, huh?" She patted him on the back, rubbing circles and gently thumping him. A loud burp preceded the sensation of oozing wetness on her neck, running under the collar of her shirt. "Never mind. I get the picture."
Still bouncing the baby lightly, Harley walked into the kitchen, retrieving a dishtowel. She mopped up the mess he'd created. Irving circled her ankles, mewing plaintively. "Forget it, cat. I've got enough going on right now. You'll have to wait to eat."
Whining and scratching came from the other side of the door to the garage. The dogs. She'd forgotten all about them. "Sorry, boys. You can just stay out there. I'll let you in later." Like after Jake came home.
Neck cleaned as much as she could manage one-handed, Harley strode back into the dining room. Grace now sat on top of the table, unwrapped crayons scattered around her.
Grateful she didn't have to crawl underneath to haul the child out, Harley opted to ignore the fact that Grace was sitting on the table. "Give me those crayons, young lady. You do not color on walls, do you hear me?"
Grace helpfully held out a green crayon.
Harley grabbed it and placed it in the box. "Let's put the rest in the box, Grace." She sighed in relief as the little girl did as she asked.
They came up two crayons short.
"Grace, where are the red ones?" Harley glanced around at the floor, but didn't see the MIA colors. "Did you leave them under the table?" She dreaded the idea of bending over like that again.
"No. Red crayons aw gone," Grace sang.
"All gone? What did you do with them? Did you throw them in the garbage?"
The little head shook, bouncing the freshly washed blond hair.
Suddenly exhausted, Harley was no longer in the mood for games. "Then where are they?"
Grace opened her mouth and pointed to her tongue. "In your mouth? I don't see anything—ohmigod, you ate them?" She leaned closer. Telltale shards of red wax clung to the little molars. "Grace, you don't eat crayons!"
Stay calm, stay calm. Harley snatched up the box, turning it until she found the words she sought.
"Nontoxic. That means if you eat them, nothing will happen, right?"
Matthew chose that moment to begin crying again.
Oh, yes, she made a fine mother figure.
Harley bolted for the kitchen and grabbed the phone. Cradling the receiver against her shoulder and juggling the infant in her arms, she flipped open the phone book on the counter. A quick call to poison control set her mind at ease, reassuring her that Grace had not been poisoned, that nontoxic meant exactly what she'd thought. She didn't need to do anything, the nurse told her, nature would take care of the crayon in the toddler's tummy. Though if for some reason nature didn't take care of it, the child needed to be observed for signs of severe stomach pain in the next day or so.
That meant she had to tell Mel she'd let her kid eat a crayon. What a night this had become. First she'd made a fool of herself in front of Jake's most important client, and now she was realizing just how much work actually went into being a mother.
What else could go wrong?
As if in answer, Matthew tensed his body in her arms. Harley peered down at his face, all scrunched up again and turning red. A rather large stench emanated from the tiny body. "Oh, Matthew. Thanks a lot. You couldn't save that for your father?"
Harley carried him into the living room. She passed the twins playing happily with the blocks, then went to the foyer to collect Matthew's diaper bag.
Laying the baby on a blanket on the sofa, she began the task of changing him. The sleeper outfit he wore posed few problems. The snaps along his legs opened easily, and she lifted his feet from the clothing. She tried to recall all the times she'd watched Jake change a diaper. "Okay, you have to help me," she whispered. "I'm new at this, so be gentle with me."
The baby kicked his legs.
"Yeah, right." She unfastened the tabs at his waist, and peeled the diaper down. "Oh, man! This qualifies as toxic cleanup. Call the EPA." Harley grabbed a wipe in one hand and the baby's ankles in the other. Once she had him completely clean, she tossed the dirty wipes inside the messy diaper and rolled it up. She maneuvered a clean diaper under the baby. "Hey, that wasn't too bad." As she lifted the front flap, a yellow stream caught her right in the chest. Quickly lowering the flap over the baby's stomach, she managed to catch the last of the urine in the diaper. "Puked on and peed on. Thanks again, Matthew."
She pulled out another clean diaper. "Are you all finished now? Can I put this one on and be safe?"
The baby cooed in delight, wriggling and waving his hands. Harley fastened the sticky tabs around his waist, then tucked his feet back into the sleeper. She began to fasten the endless row of tiny snaps.
A scream of pure pain ripped through the air. Harley swung around.
Hope clutched her face, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Harley jumped up, racing to the child. She scooped her off the floor and into her arms. "Hope, what happened? What's wrong?"
Toddler tears flooded Harley's shirt.
She carried the little girl into the kitchen and sat her on the counter. Gently grasping the tiny hand, she peeled the fingers away from Hope's cheek. "Let me see what happened."
Just below her eye, right across the cheekbone, the skin appeared puffy and red.
"We can fix that, Hope. No problem." Harley wrapped an ice cube in the corner of a clean kitchen towel and pressed it against the swollen cheek. "How did this happen?"
"Grace hit me."
"What did she hit you with?"
"A bwock."
"Aah." Harley turned to glance at the doorway, where another little blond head peeked around the corner. "Grace, you have been very naughty tonight. I want you to go and sit on the sofa. You hurt your sister." Harley gathered Hope into her arms again, holding the ice on her face.
A thump sounded in the living room.
Harley's heart stopped.
Matthew's piercing scream demanded immediate attention.
"Damn, oh damn!" Harley set Hope down just inside the living room and raced to the sofa. The baby lay facedown on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, still hollering loudly.
"Ohmigod, Matthew!" Harley knelt beside the baby, hands trembling. She gently rolled him onto his back. Already a discolored lump the size of a small egg protruded from his forehead. He waved his arms and legs, hands tightly fisted. Harley picked him up and cradled him against her chest. "Easy, easy, shh, it's going to be all right."
Behind her, both twins cried and yelled.
Harley wished she could cry and yell, too.
How could she have left the baby on the couch like that? What the hell was wrong with her?
She raced into the kitchen with him for more ice, which she wrapped in a paper towel. Matthew howled even more loudly when she gingerly placed the ice against his goose egg.
"Har-we, Har-we!"
Back to the living room. Screaming baby in her arms. Two whining and crying toddlers bouncing on opposite ends of the sofa.
Matthew wouldn't settle down.
Hope wouldn't keep the ice on her cheek.
Harley's stomach churned in response to all the crying and the overwhelming guilt rushing through her. She tried patting Matthew's back, rocking him, singing to him.
Oh, yes, she'd make a perfect mother. A few hours caring for children, and two of them were hurt, while one had eaten something not meat to be eaten.
Jake heard the screaming before he even opened the front door. Chaos swirled around him as he entered the house. Hope flung herself off the sofa,
throwing her arms around his legs. He picked her up.
Harley hurried across the room with Matthew in her arms. "Oh, Jake, thank goodness you're home! I can't get him to stop crying."
A gust of cold air blasted Jake from the foyer. "I didn't know you were watching Matthew tonight. What's he doing here?"
"Never mind that! He fell off the sofa and hit his head on the coffee table. He's got a bump on his forehead—"
"What?" Dusty roared from behind him. "How the hell does a baby fall off a sofa?" He shoved Jake aside and snatched his son from Harley's arms.
"I don't know. I'm sorry!" Harley followed Dusty to the couch. He laid the baby down and began examining him.
"You don't know? Weren't you watching him?" Harley twisted her hands together.
Jake knew that if there'd been any paper within reach, her fingers would've been shredding it. He jostled Hope in his arms, trying to settle at least one of the kids. "Dusty, calm down and let Harley explain."
"Explain? What's to explain? I left my son in her care and she's so damned incompetent that he got hurt."
"I was changing his diaper and then I had to get some ice for Hope and—"
"Hope got hurt, too? What were you doing, sleeping on the job?" Dusty unfastened the baby's clothes, checking him from top to bottom.
Harley shook her head.
Jake lifted the cold, wet towel from Hope's face and examined her injury. "What happened, squirt?"
"Grace hit me wif a bwock."
"He's got a bruise on his arm, too!" Dusty scooped Matthew back up and whirled on Harley. "Teenage baby-sitters can manage better than you. What the hell kind of a mother are you going to make? That baby doesn't stand a chance!"
All the color drained from Harley's face and her eyes widened. Her lower lip quivered. She backed away from Dusty, hands covering her abdomen. "You're absolutely right," she choked out, then turned sharply and vanished down the hall.