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“No!” they both yelled in unison.
Too late. Luke stomped down on the last juice box. The liquid exploded in a spray and drenched everything in sight. Including them.
Michael grabbed him and hauled him up in his arms. “You are in big trouble,” Michael warned. “Wait till your mother gets home and I tell her what you did.”
Maggie smothered a mad giggle at the whole ridiculousness of the situation. Her fake husband stared at her in astonishment. “You think this is funny?”
She bit her lip. “Well, kind of. I mean, it’s so bad I feel like I’m on Punk’d.”
“Can you clean this up while I give Luke a bath?”
She glanced at the mess. “But I have the baby. He’s quiet, and I’m not removing my finger until it prunes and falls off.”
He seemed caught between the two scenarios, unsure which was worse. “Dios, fine. Come help with the bath then.”
She trudged after him, and he peeked in on the other two. “You guys stay right here and play until Luke is out of the bath. Then bedtime for everyone. Capisce?”
“Yes, Uncle Michael,” Robert stated solemnly.
Maggie glanced at him with suspicion. Somehow those chocolate-brown eyes seemed funny, as if he had some other master plan in mind. She ignored the crazy gut instinct and sat on the toilet seat while Michael plopped Luke in the bath. “So you’re telling me your cousins do this for fun every night?”
He poured in bubbles and shook his head. “Something tells me they are more organized than us. But yes, I am sure this is what most of their evenings are like.”
She rocked Thomas and tried not to sound curious. “What about you? Is this what you want, too?”
He seemed to think about the question. Then nodded. “Si.”
“Really? All this glamour?” She lifted a brow. “Do you realize there won’t be any sophisticated dinners, or working late to close a deal, or jetting off to some tropical island on a moment’s notice? You’d willingly give up your freedom?”
For a brief moment, a melting tenderness passed over his features as he gazed at the naked boy in the tub. He ruffled his nephew’s hair and looked straight into her eyes.
“Yes.”
His answer rocked through her and made her want. Imagine a man who wanted to come home to this type of chaos? Who willingly chose to be part of the mess and enjoy every crazy part?
“Hi, Uncle Michael!”
They both turned toward the sound. A four-year-old ghost boy stood in the doorway grinning. Maggie blinked and stared harder. The only features still visible were his eyes, a touch of golden-brown hair, and a flash of red lips. The toddler looked like a demented child Joker. And why was he naked?
She braced herself for an explosion but Michael remained calm. “What did you do, Robert?”
“I found this bottle in Aunt Maggie’s purse!” he declared with pride. “Lotion!”
Maggie closed her eyes.
Michael pinned her with his own assessing gaze. “Hm. I thought I told you to put your purse on top of the refrigerator so it wouldn’t be a temptation.”
She huffed out a breath. “I hid it behind the couch because I had no time! As soon as I got through the door Lizzie and Brian shot out like their asses were on fire. Now I know why. Why would someone ever want another one after Robert?”
The giggling mad Joker cackled. “Ass! Aunt Maggie said ‘ass’! Ass means butt. Ass, ass, butt, butt.” The song went on and Maggie shuddered.
“Use that word again and I will wash your mouth out with soap,” Michael said. “Now, get into the bath.”
“Um, Michael?”
“What?”
“You’re going to have some trouble. The lotion is waterproof. Won’t come off for hours.”
Michael plucked his second nephew off his feet and placed him in the tub. He rested his hands on his hips as if anticipating a huge business deal. Damn, why did he look so adorable mussed, wet, and smelling of apple juice? “We can do this.” He rubbed his hands together, knelt beside the tub, and grabbed the washcloth. “Can you check on Ryan for me?”
Maggie shifted the baby to her other hip. Her finger released with a wet pop. Thomas stared back with wide eyes and a drooly grin, and her heart shifted. The trusting innocence in his gaze made her want to be worthy. What was happening to her?
She walked into the boy’s bedroom. “Ryan, where are you?”
“Here!” He crawled out of the closet with his Thomas the Tank Engine T-shirt hiked up over his belly and stuck his hands in the air with sheer pride. “I do dough!”
Yep. He did dough all right. Maggie took in the red and green clay that plastered his body and face. Thomas shrieked in pleasure and stuck both hands into her hair. The laughter bubbled up inside and threatened, but she wasn’t sure if it was the giggles of a person turning insane like the Joker, or a way to cope with madness. “You did great, buddy. Follow me; it’s bathtime.”
“Bath!”
He darted out the room and into the bathroom and she followed. With a decisive click, she closed the door behind her and trapped everyone into the tiny bathroom. Steam billowed and fogged the mirrors.
“You gave them the Play-Doh, huh?”
Maggie nodded. “Yep. In my defense, I thought it was child-friendly. Live and learn. Figured if we’re all in here together, nothing else can happen.” She shot him a worried look. “Right?”
“Let’s pray.” With efficient motions, he stripped Ryan and placed him in the tub with his brothers. “I think I need help here. I’m on the second washcloth and the lotion is only half off. Can you scrub Ryan?”
“What about the baby?” Thomas cackled and reached up and shoved a handful of her hair in his mouth. He emitted sucking sounds of ecstasy. “Ah, gross,” she moaned, trying to disengage herself. “Can I put him down on the ground?”
“Yeah. Make sure there isn’t anything he can reach first.”
She gave a good scout to make sure there was nothing but a messy floor covered with bubbles from the splashing. She yanked two towels from the rack and spread them down, then placed Thomas in the middle. His fists clenched in her hair again and he howled, refusing to let go.
“Ouch, ouch. Michael, help me.” Firm hands carefully disentangled the baby’s fists from her aching scalp. The lower lip quivered. A howl echoed through the small space and her nerves screeched in agony. No wonder they said a baby’s cry could make a person crazy. She’d do anything to stop him. “Oh, God, he’s crying again. Give me the rubber ducky there.”
