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But Christmas and family and all of the joy others seemed to associate with this time of year meant little to him. Caitlyn had told him that his parents had died some time back, which probably explained why he remembered them with a sense of distance, as if the scenes had happened long ago.
After many more stops and an interminable number of hours, he had: a temporary driver’s license, a temporary bank card, a promise of credit cards to come, a bank teller who’d fallen all over herself to give him access to his safe-deposit box...and a dark-haired enigma of a woman who’d stuck to his side like glue, determined to help him navigate the exhausting quagmire reentering his life had become.
Why was she still here?
Why did her presence make him so happy? She somehow made everything better just by being near him. And sometimes, she looked at him a certain way that burrowed under his skin with tingly warmth. Both had become necessary. Unexpectedly so.
He studied her covertly at lunch on the third day after he’d pounded on the door of his Malibu house, delirious and determined to find answers to the question marks in his mind.
What he’d found still hadn’t fully registered. Caitlyn was an amazing woman and his kids were surprising, funny little people. Together, they were a potent package. But how did that make sense? She wasn’t their biological mother.
While Antonio absently chewed on a thick sandwich designed to put back some of his lost weight, Caitlyn laughed at Leon as he shoved his food off his tray to the floor below.
She’d insisted on the triplets sitting at the table when the adults had meals, even though the babies ate little more than puree of something and bits of Cheerios. Antonio wouldn’t have thought of having infants join them, but with the additions, eating became something more than a routine. It was a chance to spend time with his children without expectation since Brigitte and Caitlyn handled everything.
Secretly, he was grateful Caitlyn hadn’t skipped through the door the moment he’d given her the out. In the hazy reaches of his mind, he had the distinct impression most women would have run very fast in the other direction from triplets. He couldn’t understand Caitlyn’s motivation for staying unless she thought she’d get a chunk of his estate as a thank-you. Which he’d probably give her. She deserved something for her sacrifices.
“Your turn.”
Antonio did a double take at the spoon in Caitlyn’s outstretched hand and blinked. “My turn to what?”
“Feed your daughter. She won’t bite you.” Caitlyn raised her brows and nodded at the spoon. “Of the three, Annabelle is the most laid-back about eating, so start with her.”
Since he couldn’t see a graceful way to refuse, he accepted the spoon and scooted closer to the baby’s high chair, eyeing the bowl of...whatever it was. Orange applesauce?
Scowling, he scooped some up and then squinted at the baby watching him with bright eyes. How was he supposed to feed her with her fingers stuck in her mouth?
“Come on, open,” he commanded.
Annabelle fluttered her lashes and made an uncomplimentary noise, fingers firmly wedged where the spoon was supposed to go.
He tried again. “Please?”
Caitlyn giggled and he glanced at her askance, which only made her laugh harder. He rolled his shoulders, determined to pass this one small test, but getting his daughter to eat might top the list of the most difficult things he had to do today.
Antonio had learned to walk again on the poorly healed broken leg that the Indonesian doctor had promised would have to be amputated. He’d defied the odds and scarcely even had a limp now. If he could do that, one very small person could not break him.
He tapped the back of Annabelle’s hand with the edge of the spoon, hoping that would act as an open sesame, but she picked that moment to yank her fingers free. She backhanded the spoon, flinging it free of Antonio’s grip. It hit the wall with a thunk, leaving a splash of orange in a trail to the floor.
Frustration welled. He balled his fists automatically and then immediately shoved them into his lap as horror filtered through him. His first instinct was to fight, but he had to control that impulse, or else what kind of father was he going to be?
Breathing rhythmically, he willed back the frustration until his fists loosened. Better.
His first foray into caring for his kid and she elected to show him her best defensive moves. Annabelle blinked innocently as Antonio’s scowl deepened. “Yeah, you work on that technique, and when you’ve got your spinning backhand down, we’ll talk.”
