Sue Swift - His Baby, Her Heart

“Alex, use the little bathroom here to clean up. Dinner’s in five, okay?” Dena held the front door open for him. “Kids, help me set the table.”

If I cared about Alex, I’d be really worried about him, Dena thought as she led the twins and the dog to the kitchen. Despite herself, her heart went out to the poor guy. He’s devastated by losing Tamara. Dena knew a dose of the twins would lift his spirits. Jack and Miri could test the patience of several saints, but they were sweet children who adored Alex.

Dena had worked hard to make her kitchen a cozy, homey place. A white-tiled counter separated the work space from the breakfast nook, where her family ate most meals at a big, wood farmhouse table. The twins’ artwork decorated her refrigerator. Her daughter seemed to prefer flowers, butterflies and turtles, while Jack consistently drew houses with three-person families outside the front door. He even tried to include Goldie, though without much success.

Miri went to the low, whitewashed cupboard that housed the silverware and plates. “One, two, three.” She counted blue-and-white gingham place mats. “Four, ’cuz Unka Alex is here, huh?” She put them on the table.

“That’s right, darling.” Dena turned to the refrigerator. She removed salad makings and put them on the wooden counter next to a bowl.

As Jack clattered flatware onto the table, Alex emerged from the hall. He’d washed and taken off his jacket, loosened his tie. He’d even rolled up his starched shirtsleeves, baring tanned, brawny forearms sprinkled with tiny blond hairs. They caught the light, glittering gold.

Dena’s heartbeat quickened before she looked away, reminding herself that she had no business noticing Alex’s arms. She had a legal contract with the husband of her deceased half sister. Period.

Alex sniffed. “Something smells good. Chicken?”

“Yeah.” Dena opened the lid of her Crock-Pot, releasing a steamy, aromatic cloud. She poked the contents with a knife to make sure the fowl had cooked through.

He hovered behind her, too darn close. She scented a faint whiff of his aftershave, a fresh lime fragrance, tinctured by the grass that probably still clung to his pants. His nearness was simultaneously seductive and irritating. She didn’t enjoy being crowded, but ignored her discomfort.

Peeking over her shoulder, he said, “How long did that cook?” His breath puffed on her neck.

The little hairs at her nape prickled and lifted. With a nervous gulp, she managed to focus on his question. “I started it before I left this morning. You just put everything in and it cooks all day. It’s really easy. Do you have a Crock-Pot, Alex?” She replaced the lid.

He shook his head. “Before I met Tamara, I was the fast-food king. She cooked, but made it clear I wasn’t welcome in the kitchen.”

Dena could understand that. “Your condo’s kitchen is pretty small.” He was making her crazy, his masculine presence somehow taking up all the room in her large work space.

“Can I do anything to help?”

She tried hard to overlook his engaging smile. This is Alex, Dena. You don’t like Alex, remember? “Sure. Why don’t you take care of the salad? All you need to do is rinse the vegetables and cut them into bite-size pieces.”

“Dena, I’m not a complete moron.” Chuckling, he leaned against the counter. “I can make a salad.”

She grinned. “You said you were the fast-food king. I took you literally. When did you eat your last home-cooked meal?”

“At Irina’s after the funeral.” He tore apart a lettuce.

“That was more than six months ago, for heaven’s sake. You’re overdue. Alex, I’m sorry. We should have asked you over sooner, but—”

He stopped her with an upraised hand. “It’s all right. The time just slipped away from us. Plus, I’ve been making an effort to stay busy.”

Dena tried to suck air into her suddenly tight chest.

“Oh, God, Alex, I still miss her so much.” Shaky, she braced herself against the counter.

He moved in to hug her, and amazingly, his closeness wasn’t oppressive, but just right. “Hey, none of that,” he whispered into her ear. The small hairs at her temple shifted with his breath, tickling pleasantly. “If you start, then I’ll start, and that can’t be right for the kids.”

She hugged him back, surprised by his warmth and affection. “I know.” On the other hand, she didn’t want to give her children the wrong impression of her relationship with their uncle Alex. After gently freeing herself, she walked to the table to supervise the twins, who’d watched, big-eyed.

“Miri, get the plates,” Dena said, putting a casual note in her voice. “Jack, we’re having soup tonight, so fetch me bowls, okay?” Returning to the kitchen, she unplugged the Crock-Pot and poured off the broth that had cooked with the chicken and vegetables.

Jack walked behind Alex, carrying four bowls to Dena.

“Good job, Jack.” She stroked his dark, silky hair. “You did that with both hands. That was smart.”

“What are you doing now?” Alex asked. The man was as curious as several cats. Opening a package of peeled baby carrots, he added half to the salad.

“Serving the soup. The twins like theirs lukewarm, though getting Miriam to eat it rather than bathe in it is always a chore.” Dena scrutinized her daughter. Miriam now sat at her place at the table, hands folded, doing a “perfect child” imitation.

Dena knew better. Giving Miri a hard stare, Dena set bowls of soup at each place.

“Can I pretend that it’s Japanese soup?” Jack asked. He stood on a chair to peer into his mother’s face.

She looked into her son’s round brown eyes, so like Steve’s, but his open expression belonged only to Jack.

“I want you to try to use the spoon rather than pick up the bowl, okay?” Dena ruffled his hair, then checked the table, moving a couple of misplaced forks to their proper locations. “Sit down, please.”

Alex chopped a tomato. “How soon is dinner? I’m ravenous.”

“I bet, especially since you haven’t had a decent meal for a long time. Did you also quit running?” Dena tried to check out the bod under Alex’s fitted vest, shirt and trousers. He looked as though he was still in pretty good shape, despite his unhealthy diet. Wide shoulders tapering to slim hips and tight buns. Yum.

What was she thinking? She returned her attention on her children, where it belonged.

“Um, well, I’ve been concentrating on my work lately. I should probably start to jog again.” He put the salad bowl on the table and sat in one of the empty chairs.

“That’s Mommy’s place,” the twins chorused.

“Sit there.” Miriam pointed an imperious finger.

Alex obeyed.

Dena drew in a breath. Unwittingly, Miriam had seated Alex at the head of the table, the spot Steve had occupied. Alex looked great in her husband’s place, as though he belonged in it.

Dena swallowed. “Work. Right. Are you using work to, um, escape?”

He picked up his plate, examining it. “Kind of. You know, I like this Beatrix Potter china.”

Dena noticed he’d quickly changed the subject.

“You gave it to us, Unka Alex. When we was three.” Miri tapped her spoon against her plate.

“Were three,” Alex said.

“Were three,” Miriam repeated obediently. She must have liked the ringing noise, because she whacked harder.

Dena took the spoon away. “No.”

Miri pushed out her lower lip.

“Miri, you’ll get the spoon back if you eat your soup like a good girl.”

The lip retracted. “Okay, Mommy.”

Finding Miri unusually cooperative, Dena eyed her daughter with suspicion. Was her baby girl coming down with something? Dena felt Miri’s forehead. She seemed fine. Maybe she was on her best behavior for Alex. If so, “Unka Alex” would be asked for dinner more often. Dena beamed at Alex.

Alex smiled back, unexpectedly cheered. Dinner proceeded without either twin swimming in the soup or even getting messy. Alex found himself both surprised and impressed by Dena’s parenting skills. He’d been reading about the subject because he didn’t want to repeat the mistakes of his mother and father. He could tell that Dena did many things right. Maybe it wasn’t her fault that the twins occasionally acted up.

His thoughts strayed to Dena’s ex. Steve, whom Alex had considered a nice guy, had shocked everyone when he disappeared into the Arabian desert. How could he have left his family? Alex looked around the table at three happy faces. He’d wanted this all his life.

Miriam stabbed a carrot with her fork and held it up to the light. “Carrot,” she solemnly told her mother.

“That’s right, Miri. Tell Uncle Alex about the carrots you grew, honey.”

Miriam turned to him. “We grew carrots, Unka Alex. In preschool.”

Alex said, “Were they nice carrots?”

“No.” Miri shook her head in a decisive motion. “They was freaked.”

“They were forked. ” Dena’s girlish giggle blended with her daughter’s. “Do you remember why?”

“Mommy said the ground had rocks. The carrots grew around the rocks. They went weird.”

Jack thrust out his little chest. “My cokes was perfect.”

“Your cokes?” Alex was mystified.

“Cukes,” Dena said. “Miriam, are you going to eat those carrots?”

Miriam, who’d been toying with her food, dropped her fork with a clatter and a guilty expression. “No,” she said, sounding firm.

Alex wondered what Dena would do. Forbid dessert? Force Miriam to stay at the table until all her food was gone? He prepared to mentally take notes.

“Umm. Maybe I’ll eat your carrots, then.” Dena reached for Miriam’s plate.

Miri frantically waved her hands. “My carrots!”

“Maybe Jack wants some more carrots.” Dena looked at her son’s dinner. “He’s finished all of his.”

“No no no no no!” Dragging her plate closer to her, Miriam enthusiastically crunched a carrot.

“Nice job, Dena.” Alex swallowed a bite of the delicious chicken.

She winked at him, then put a finger to her lush lips in a hushing motion.

Was her sassy wink deliberately flirtatious?

No. It couldn’t be. Alex decided he was dreaming.

“I’m done, Mommy.” Jack took his plate over to the sink and carefully pushed it onto the counter, several inches higher than his head.

“Thank you, Jackson. You may go pick a book.” Dena glanced at Miriam.

“I’m done, too. See?” Miriam pointed.

Using her fork, Dena flipped a lettuce leaf away from a corner of Miriam’s plate. Beneath it hid a piece of chicken.

“Have you had enough to eat?”

“Uh-huh.” Miriam batted green eyes, very like Dena’s. She had Steve’s dark hair combined with her mother’s eyes and skin. One day, she’d break hearts. Did Dena break hearts? “I want to go now.”

Alex saw a frown crease Dena’s face. “Well, you had enough chicken and salad, and you drank your soup without making a mess. Okay, you can go. I’ll be in soon to help you brush your teeth.”

Miri left, and Alex asked, “Will they be all right wandering around unsupervised?”

Dena laughed. “They don’t generally get into much trouble inside the house. This place is child-proofed, and their routine is to look at books quietly after supper.” She adjusted the opening of her robe over the upper curves of her breasts.

The pink chenille robe warmly hugged her generous body. He bet Dena was a cozy, snuggly handful. He looked away. “Miriam didn’t eat all her food.” He hoped he didn’t sound critical, especially since he and Dena seemed to be getting along so well…as long as he didn’t ogle her. “Is that all right?”