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“Cal!” He didn’t even turn around as he shut the door behind him. This was probably the first day he actually wanted to go to work.
Her task would definitely be less stressful if she had someone else to help her—she knew from experience. Raising Cal and Ali had been much easier when Mark was actually around.
Kylie screamed in her arms. There were earplugs somewhere in the house—leftover from the nights when Cal and Ali had played dueling iTunes.
Two hours later—two hours filled with constant crying—she jumped when someone banged on her front door for the second time that morning. She didn’t want to answer. It was probably another frantic mother desperate for a babysitter.
The knocking persisted. She ignored it.
She tensed when she heard her name called impatiently from the other side of the door. Not a mother. The voice was male.
“Go away,” she muttered.
She settled Kylie into her
car seat and shook a grubby stuffed duck in front of her face. It didn’t work. She still wailed at the top of her lungs.
“Veronica, open the damn door,” Finn yelled from outside.
What was he doing here? Hadn’t he done enough?
She whipped open the door and appreciated the cool breeze that washed over her. Without a word, he scanned her body from head to toe. His intense stare increased her discomfort tenfold.
Just great. She’d spent the last two hours as a human receptacle. Pee, puke, and tears stained her clothing, and in some places, soaked. Exactly how she wanted the man of her dreams to see her.
But if she was honest, between pees and pukes, the little thing might just be adorable. Much more adorable than two tweens with fluctuating hormones. If only it would stop screaming.
“Doing some fall cleaning?”
“I— No. And Cal’s not here, if that’s why you’re here.”
He shook his head and his eyes grew wide as the ear-piercing wail of the baby carried from the living room.
“Why is the TV so loud?” He pushed his way through the front door into the living room and stopped short.
“It’s…not the television.” She gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and twisted, resting the mass on her left shoulder.
“Hey. What are you doing with a baby?” He turned and smiled at her. Why was he smiling at her misery?
“It’s my neighbor’s. Ali usually babysits, but the mother had an emergency and no other alternative. So I got the job.”
His lips curved at the corners of his mouth. “Having some trouble?”
Despite his teasing tone, she grabbed on to what tiny bit of sympathy she could, and broke down. “That baby is the spawn of Satan.” She choked back a sob. She wasn’t normally a crier, but two full hours of screams and wails would crack any normal person. Did the CIA take suggestions for torture tactics? This would drive even the most committed terrorist to confess.
“It’s just a baby, Veronica. You don’t have any practice.”
“And you do.”
“Sure I do. Gloria used to bring her grandchildren to Mom’s house all the time. Who do you think watched them while they were polishing off a bottle of wine?”
Veronica laughed at the memory. Those ladies did love their white wine. And Veronica had loved that despite their prominence and substantial financial portfolios, they hadn’t been pretentious or snobby. She remembered the stash of white wine in the basement—wine that came in a box.
“Doesn’t count,” she said with a shake of her head. “Her grandchildren were over the age of five by the time you started living with Vivian.”
He strode confidently into the living room and picked up the baby, cuddling it close to his chest. His soft, soothing sounds instantly calmed the little demon, who reached up and put her tiny hand on his face. Traitor! Okay, the baby was smart. Being swaddled against his strong, hard chest was the most safe, comfortable place in the world.
“What’s her name?” he asked.
