by Beth Andrews
Still, seeing the boys bare chested was a pleasure. They were both tall, their muscles well defined. Andrew was darker, his skin already a golden tan, his hair flopping in his face as he caught a pass from one of her brothers. Luke tackled him. Hard. Both of them rolling onto the ground only to get up grinning, slapping each other’s arms and backs, laughing, though Luke had just tried to drive Andrew’s face into the grass.
Boys. So weird.
Her brothers were in on the action, and they’d taken off their shirts, as well, their skinny bodies all arms and legs and slight ridges of their ribs.
And they were filthy. Covered in dirt and sweat.
She considered, seriously considered, leaving them there so she wouldn’t have to deal with them, wouldn’t have to try to convince four stinking, overexcited boys to come home and get cleaned up but they were her responsibility.
Her feet dragging, she stepped farther into the yard.
Luke noticed her first. Smiled at her. He’d only worked with her twice since starting at Bradford House Tuesday, and she’d kept her distance, hadn’t said much, but he insisted on being nice to her. Friendly. As if she’d ever believe he really wanted to be her friend. “Gracie. Hi.”
Andrew stopped playing and looked up. Blinked in surprise, then jumped to his feet. “Hey, Gracie.”
She nodded. “Boys,” she said to her brothers, who were begging Andrew to throw them the ball, “what are you doing?”
Three-year-old Caleb pressed against Luke’s leg and smiled angelically at her. “Hi, Gracie. Luke plays football,” he said with all the awe of someone who’d just met a member of the Steelers or something. “I caught his pass!” He glanced up at Luke. “Didn’t I?”
Luke grinned and ruffled Caleb’s sweaty blond hair. “You sure did, bud. It was a great catch.”
Usually, whenever Caleb saw Gracie, he raced over to her, but now he looked perfectly content to cuddle with some guy he didn’t even know.
Traitor.
“You’re not supposed to leave the yard,” she told her brothers. Her tone, sharper than usual, had Caleb’s lower lip trembling, had him edging closer to Luke.
Luke patted Caleb’s shoulder as if comforting him over his mean old sister’s bitchiness, which, of course, only made Gracie angrier. “They just sort of showed up,” Luke said. “They’re not bugging us or anything.”
“That’s not the point.” She didn’t want to be friendly with him, especially when Andrew was standing there watching her. She just wanted to get her brothers and get home.
Luke pulled a shirt on, while Andrew kept his off, tossed the ball from hand to hand in a way that made his biceps bulge. Was he doing that on purpose?
Six-year-old Christian blinked at her, all blond, blue-eyed, chubby-cheeked innocence. “We left you a note.” He elbowed his identical twin, Colin.
Colin nodded like a bobblehead. Not quite pulling off the innocent look Christian did—at least that gave her hope that Colin did, indeed, have a conscience. “Yeah. Conner wrote it.”
Conner, the oldest of the boys at almost eight, shoved Colin with two hands. “I thought you were going to write it.”
Colin shoved back. “I can’t write yet, stupid! I’m in kindergarten.”
“You’re in first grade now,” Conner shouted with another shove, knocking Colin on his butt.
Which, of course, set Christian off. “You can’t hit my brother!” he yelled with a bloodcurdling cry.
“They’re both your brothers,” Gracie pointed out, but Christian had already launched himself at Conner. The three of them fell to the ground with loud grunts, pointy elbows, kicking feet and fisted hands. Caleb raced around his fighting brothers, screaming his head off like a crazy person.
Gracie sighed at the lot that was her life.
“Uh, aren’t you going to make them stop?” Andrew asked while Luke just stepped back from the melee, a small smile on his face.
“Molly says it’s better for them to work their problems out on their own,” Gracie said. “Besides, to get them to stop, I’d have to wade into that.” She pointed at where the boys wrestled. “And I’m not about to do that. I made that mistake one time, and it wasn’t pretty.”
Mainly because she’d caught a bony knee to her stomach. She’d ended up struggling to get her breath back while they kept right on fighting.
Andrew looked at her as if she was nuts. No different from the way plenty of people looked at her, but it still stung.
Luke opened a cooler. “Want a soda?” he asked, as if they were at a wrestling match and should sit down and enjoy the show.
“Soda is just chemicals and sugar,” she informed him—yes, sounding prissy, but she was out of her element here, and she rarely felt that way.
His grin widened. “You sound like Drew’s mom. I had to bring this from home.” And he popped the top and drank what equated to diabetes and death in a recyclable can.
Andrew glanced at the house nervously, then back at the fighting boys. Winced when Conner caught a fist to the side of his head. “You sure you shouldn’t stop them?”
“They’ll run out of steam eventually,” she said, sounding funny—sort of stiff and offended, which wasn’t like her at all. “Then they’ll be best friends again.”
“Boys,” a sharp, female voice called. Gracie looked over to see Andrew’s mom, a pretty brunette with shoulder-length hair, light brown eyes and a penchant for frowning, in the doorway. “Stop that this instant!”
The boys, of course, didn’t stop. “My dad and Molly aren’t big on telling us what to do,” she explained because Andrew’s mom looked so freaked out and none too happy about being ignored. “They prefer to let us make our own mistakes.”
Gracie sent a pointed glance at Andrew, who had the decency to blush and duck his head.
“But they’re fighting,” Ms. Denning said with a feeble hand wave. “They’ll get hurt.”
“Probably.”
Leo Montesano, firefighter and gorgeous human being extraordinaire, stepped onto the deck and Gracie’s heart gave a happy sigh. The man was pure eye candy with tousled dark hair, tanned skin and a tall, muscular body. He glanced at his girlfriend—though Andrew’s mom was way too old to be called that—then at the boys. Whistling a tune Gracie couldn’t identify, he crossed to the hose, turned the water handle and tugged it forward.
Gracie considered telling him to stop, since she’d be the one to get the boys cleaned up, but they were already so filthy the water couldn’t hurt. Besides, this was obviously a fight that wasn’t going to end quickly or well on its own, and she really didn’t want to drag all the kids to the ER because someone broke a bone.
Again.
So she stepped onto the porch as he turned the hose on full blast, dousing her brothers.
Colin broke first—jumping up with a scream. He got a mouthful of water for his efforts. The other two took more convincing, but the water must have been cold enough that it forced them apart. But then, in the ways of little boys, which Gracie just did not understand, they started yelling joyfully and laughing, enjoying getting soaked.
“Me, too!” Caleb shouted at Leo. “Squirt me, too!”
Leo obliged, though he didn’t use as much water pressure, and sent Caleb into a fit of giggles.
“Boys are so strange,” Andrew’s mom murmured.
Gracie could only nod in agreement.
By the time Leo turned off the hose, Gracie’s brothers were soaked and running around on the wet grass, Sauron barking crazily next to them.
“Come on,” Gracie said. “Let’s get home. You need to put on dry clothes.”
“No, we don’t!” Colin shouted.
And he stripped naked. Right there in front of everyone.
From behind her, Gracie heard Andrew’s mom gasp, then mutter a prayer of thanksgiving that her child wasn’t an exhibitionist. By the time she went inside, Christian and Caleb were both naked, too, and the twins were chasing each other, trying to hit each other with
sticks they’d picked up.
Luckily, Conner only took off his shorts, but he joined in the game.
“Take it back to our own yard,” Gracie called out to them and, miracle of miracles, they actually listened and went running off toward home. “And don’t you dare go inside and wake up the babies.” She turned to Leo who was winding up the hose. “Thank you.”
Though she wasn’t sure she agreed with using force to get her brothers to listen, it was sort of nice having someone help her get them under control. She faced Andrew. “I’m sorry they bothered you.”
“They didn’t,” he said, but then his phone buzzed and he checked it. He sent Luke a furtive glance, then muttered something about being right back. He walked away, texting as he went.
Gracie’s cheeks burned at his dismissal. Well, hadn’t she told him back on Valentine’s Day that they weren’t going to be friends? She shouldn’t be disappointed that he’d taken her at her word.
Luke began picking up her brothers’ clothes, and she hurried over to stop him, sending one more glance at Andrew’s back. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s not a problem,” he said, apparently not bothered to be holding their underwear. When she tugged on them, he lifted his eyebrows. “Gracie. Really. I’ve got them. You might want to get your dog, though.”
It was then she noticed Sauron hadn’t gone with the boys but was rolling in the mud. She shut her eyes. Ugh. Why her?
“Sauron, stop it,” she demanded, snapping her fingers. He sent her a look that said “Are you kidding me?” and went right back to rolling. She grabbed his collar and yanked, but all she managed to do was get him to his feet. She set her hands on her hips. “Go home.” For added affect, she pointed toward their yard, where she could now hear a bloodcurdling scream that sounded like Colin’s.
Just when she thought she was going to have to drag him the entire way home—and moving 150 pounds of wet, dirty and now very stinky dog when you topped off at 105 wouldn’t be easy—Luke whistled.
“Sauron,” he called. “Come on, boy.”
Her dog lifted his head, then ran over to Luke, who gave him an affectionate pat.
They walked together through Gracie’s yard, Sauron practically glued to Luke’s side. When they reached her back door, which the boys had left wide open, Sauron raced inside. She could hear the boys inside as they wrestled around. It was only a matter of time before the younger two woke up. “I can take those now,” she said, holding out her hands for the clothes.
“I’ll help you get them into the wash.”
Then Luke stepped into her house, and she wasn’t sure what to do, but she realized she probably should follow him. Luckily, they were in the mudroom where two washers and a dryer were.
“Your brothers are cute,” he said as if he meant it.
“They’re cuter when they’re clean. Do you have younger siblings? You’re very good with little kids.”
“I’m the youngest, but I have an older brother and sister. My parents had me later in life, one of those surprise babies. So now I have nieces and nephews.” The baby started crying, the sound coming through the monitor attached to her hip.
“There’s another one?” Luke asked.
“Two more. My stepmother always wanted a big family, and my father can’t say no to her. About anything. Though he did promise me that they’ll only have one more and stop at an even number.”
“Wow. I guess they keep you all busy.” He opened the washing machine’s lid and added detergent. Then he tossed all the clothes in without a thought as to running colors or anything. Just like her dad when he did the wash. Must be a Y chromosome thing.
“On the plus side,” she said, wrinkling her nose at Colin’s shirt, “this is the first time Colin’s taken this shirt off in almost a week. At least we can get it washed. Hopefully he’ll want to stay naked for a while, or else he’ll have a fit about it.”
Luke laughed. “Man, when I was a kid it was my Power Rangers costume. My mom said I wore it for weeks on end. It got so bad she had to burn it, then she felt so guilty, she went out and bought me a new one.”
Her lips twitched. “I remember when you had that orange-striped shirt in fourth grade. You wore it every other day. You looked like Charlie Brown.”
“Hey, I liked that shirt.” He leaned against the machine as it started.
He was so handsome, her stomach did this little flop, which was stupid because he was way out of her league. He was just like Andrew, and she didn’t want to go down that road again.
Besides, Luke had a girlfriend. The beautiful Kennedy.
Gracie wondered if he knew his girlfriend was basically walking, talking evil?
She cleared her throat. The baby had settled down again, and the older boys were quiet, which meant they were either watching TV or were doing something wrong and possibly illegal. “Thanks for carrying the clothes over,” she said, “and for playing with the boys.”
“They really weren’t bugging us or anything,” he assured her. “I hope they don’t get into trouble for leaving the house without telling you. I should have asked if they were allowed to be over there.”
“They’re not your responsibility.” They were hers. At least part of the time.
“It was fun.” His phone buzzed, but he didn’t take it out, didn’t check it like most people did—as if whatever message they’d received would disappear if they didn’t look at it right away.
Still, it was awkward, having popular, handsome Luke Sapko in her laundry room, his clothes splattered with mud. “I’d better check on the baby,” she said, though the monitor was quiet now. “And I have to give Sauron a bath, so...”
“Need any help?”
She blinked. “No. Thank you, though.”
“Oh. All right. Well, I guess I’ll go.” He gave her a salute and another of those grins. “See you at work.”
“Yeah. See you.”
He walked away.
So what if he seemed disappointed? Why would he want to stick around? They were coworkers. Not friends. He’d just offered to help her because he was nice. Incredibly, surprisingly nice. It didn’t mean anything.
Even if part of her wished it did.
* * *
“NO,” C.J. SAID into his phone to his assistant, Julia, “I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“You do realize we’re in the middle of a merger here, don’t you?” Julia asked.
His fingers tightened on the phone as he got out of the rental car. “I’m well aware of everything that goes on with the company.” He opened the back door and pulled out a suitcase. “Everything’s under control.”
Julia made a humming sound. “Your father never would have left town with this much going on. With so much hanging in the balance.”
C.J. slammed the door shut. “Senior believed in delegating when necessary. Which was why he always insisted on having the best people work for him. Roger can handle this.”
“He’d better be able to,” Julia said of the company’s vice president—a job Senior had always hoped Oakes would take over. “I only have a few more years until I retire, and I want to make sure you don’t do something stupid and cost me my pension.”
She hung up. C.J. shoved the phone into his pocket. Julia had worked for Bartasavich Industries for over forty years and had been his dad’s assistant. C.J. hadn’t had the heart to hire his own assistant after his dad’s stroke but he wished he had. He didn’t mind Julia speaking her mind. Other people’s opinions didn’t bother him.
Not when he had final say.
But he was tired of being compared to his father. He was proud of Senior, knew how hard he’d worked to make the company what it was, but C.J. wanted to make his own mark. Leave his own legacy.
Not be known only as Senior’s oldest son. His namesake.
C.J. climbed the porch steps, noted how well maintained the bed-and-breakfast was, with new siding and windows, the lawn lush and green. In the background he heard a mower,
could smell the scent of freshly cut grass. The sun was warm on his head, the day bright and hot.
At least, by northern standards. This was nothing compared to the oppressive heat he’d left in Houston.
There was a plaque stating that Bradford House was listed on the historical registry of Shady Grove. He wasn’t sure of the protocol, so he stepped inside the foyer, where it was cooler, the colors rich and inviting, the ceilings high, the woodwork gleaming. He could see two rooms—a library and what looked to be a living room, both comfortably furnished.
The sound of footsteps made him look up, but it wasn’t Ivy coming down the wooden stairs, but a very thin, tall woman with a soft smile and a reddish tint to her hair, which was pulled back in a tidy braid.
“Hello,” she said. Even her voice was soft, like the colors she wore—a pink top and light blue jeans. “May I help you?”
“This is Bradford House?” he asked, though he’d read the plaque stating it was.
“Yes. I’m the manager, Fay Lindemuth. Do you have a reservation?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, giving her his most charming grin, “but I’d like one.”
Her own smile stayed merely polite. “Let’s see what we can do for you, then. Follow me, please.”
She led him into the office, then indicated the chair across from a small desk, while she sat behind it and booted up a computer. “How long would you like to stay with us?” she asked.
“Indefinitely.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
He sent her a grin, hoping to put her at ease. “I have some...unfinished business here in Shady Grove. And,” he added, wondering if bringing in a local connection would help his case, “my brother lives in town.”
“Your brother?”
“Kane Bartasavich.”
Her expression softened. “Oh, yes. He’s marrying Charlotte Ellison. We’re hosting Charlotte’s bridal shower this October.” She typed something into the computer. “I’m afraid we’ve never had a guest stay more than two weeks, so you’ll have to bear with me. Now, what kind of accommodations are you looking for?”