Dirty Sweet Cowboy

“It’s fine. Really. I have no problem staying home with Gracie. You don’t have to babysit her, Hawk .”

Hawk looks panicked, then checks around, as if he’s making sure someone isn’t listening. I have a sudden flash of exactly who

he is concerned of overhearing .

“Why, Hawk Samuel McCormick! Are you using my daughter as a patsy to get out of something?” I ask with my hands on my hips .

Hawk feigns shock. “What? Me? No! Can’t I just want to spend time with niece and get to know her ?”

“He’s lying,” Anna says, not even looking up from her nails .

“I am not …”

“Yes he is,” Candy confirms with a laugh. “I powdered your tush when you were a baby, Hawk. Don’t for a second think I don’t know when you’re lying too .”

“Ma!” Hawk objects, his cheeks turning red .

I hold up my hands with a laugh. “This is silly. Sam, Candy, you two go out and have a lovely dinner. Anna, go on your date. Tell Sid I said thank you for his great work today. And Hawk, I will stay home with you and Gracie, but you can do the heavy lifting on keeping an eye on her, so you didn’t tell a fib to… anyone. Does that seem fair ?”

Everyone nods, and Anna jumps to her feet. “On that note, I’m going to go get ready. Sid is picking me up in an hour !”

Anna disappears upstairs, and Sam and Candy head out for town so they don’t miss their reservation. I look up at the clock and see it’s already late for Gracie’s dinner .

“Well, Mr. Babysitter, if you’re actually intent on taking care of my daughter tonight. She’s due for her supper. Do you want to cook ?”

Hawk goes pale. “I don’t… I’ve never… I mostly order out .”

I chuckle. “It’s never too late to learn. Come on.” I wave for him to follow me into the kitchen with Gracie, then point to Gracie’s high chair on the edge of the bar. Hawk stops in front of the sink as if he’s waiting for me to do something, but I just stand there .

“What… are you doing?” he asks, confused .

“Waiting for you to make dinner,” I say with a smile. His panic increases tenfold .

“I wasn’t kidding. I really have no idea what I’m doing .”

I point to the pantry. “You can make pasta. Anyone can make pasta. Take a box of noodles out of the pantry. Then fill the pot that’s already on the stove with water. Add a little salt, and turn it up high. Then get a jar of sauce from the pantry, put it in a smaller pot, and turn it on medium-low. Once you do all of that, dinner is underway .”

He shakes his head nervously. “Slow down. Once step at a time please !”

I burst out laughing. “Holy shit, Hawk. Have you even cracked an egg since you left home ?”

“I hate a lot of ramen in college. Then I started ordering out. I don’t think I have anything in my apartment but corn flakes and some fruit .”

I hand Gracie a bag of her favorite cereal to munch on, since I suspect this is going to take a lot longer than if I did it. “Well, you’re going to make pasta tonight if it kills us both. Just focus on boiling the water .”

It takes twenty minutes of patient directions, but finally, the pasta is in the pot of boiling water, and the sauce is bubbling gently. For a second, I consider suggesting he bake the pasta, but then I’m afraid his head might explode. When Hawk dumps the noodles into the colander, he has a look on his face like he’s just solved a complex scientific formula, and I can’t help but laugh at him. I let him put Gracie’s bowl together, then I sprinkle on a tiny bit of cheese and blow on all of it to cool it off, before handing it to her. She digs in happily with her hands, and I don’t make a move to stop her. Hawk reaches for the plates, and I cluck at him .

“What?” he asks, confused, as he turns around .

“Oh, honey. We aren’t eating that. I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge for her lunch tomorrow. Your father will probably eat it too. I’ll make us dinner .”

For a second, Hawk looks wounded. Then, he looks at the jarred sauce and kid’s noodles in the shape of teddy bears and laughs. “Yeah, okay. Maybe you should make dinner .”

An hour later, Gracie is playing happily in her playpen in the living room as Hawk keeps an eye on her, and I’m plating dijon-smothered chicken legs with broccolini and lemon-scented mashed potatoes. I whistle for him to come in to eat, and he walks in with Gracie on his hip .

“Where do I put her?” he asks as he eyes the food hungrily .

“Actually, why don’t you put her back in her playpen? We can eat in the living room and watch a movie or something. Your mother never lets us eat and watch TV in the house. I feel like being a rebel tonight.” Hawk laughs and takes Gracie back to her play area as I carry the plates out behind him. We sit on the couch next to each other, and Hawk snaps his fingers .