Calder Promise (Calder Saga 8)

Desire tingled through Laura at

the look of promise he gave her. Rather than let him see it, she challenged instead, “Why are you so insistent on staying here? Are you hoping that I’ll regard you as brave and heroic?”

“Perhaps it’s simply that I suspect you don’t have a clue how to change a soiled nappy.”

It took her a second to remember that “nappy” was the English term for diaper. “And you do?” She eyed him skeptically.

“I had some experience at it when my nephews were small,” he replied.

“Really? I would have thought that was the nanny’s job.”

“Even a nanny is entitled to a free day. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“How incredibly domestic you sound,” Laura mocked.

Sebastian sighed in disappointment. “You were supposed to remark on what an excellent husband I would make.”

“You would—for somebody else,” she added naughtily. “But you have convinced me. You can stay here and deal with the soiled nappy; I’ll go to the store.” Smiling, she touched his cheek in farewell and headed for the door.

It was a good forty-five minutes later when Laura parked the pickup in front of the house, collected two sacks of groceries from the back of the truck, and started up the front walk. Sebastian was at the front door, holding it open for her to pass through.

“There’s more in the back of the truck,” she told him as she went by.

One eyebrow arched at the sight of the half dozen sacks that remained. “Did you buy out the store?”

“You were the one who said the shelves were bare,” Laura replied over her shoulder. “Where’s the kitchen?”

“Straight back.”

The little girl came running to meet her, swinging the bedraggled doll by its arm. Gone were the pajamas, the dirty face, and the diaper smell. Even her hair had been combed and pulled back from her face by a pair of pink barrettes that matched the pink dress she wore.

The change in the little girl’s appearance wasn’t the only thing Laura noticed as she passed through the front of the house. The living room had been tidied, the clutter picked up, books and magazines stacked neatly on the coffee table, and the toys stowed in a basket.

When she reached the kitchen, Laura suspected that Sebastian’s hand had been at work there as well. Both the countertops and table were cleared. She shoved one grocery sack onto the counter and set the other one beside it, then left to bring more, passing Sebastian along the way.

It required two trips by each of them to unload the truck. When Laura returned from the second trip, she caught the boy perched on the counter, trying to rip open a bag of potato chips. He jumped to the floor the instant he saw her. Before he could run off with his prize, Laura grabbed the back of his shirt collar.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Without losing her grip on the boy, she snatched the bag from his hand, hauled one of the kitchen chairs up to the sink counter, and lifted him onto it. “I see Sebastian wasn’t able to corral you. Before you eat anything, you’re going to wash those dirty hands.” She handed him a bar of soap and turned on the faucet. When he threw her a measuring look, she responded with a no-nonsense one of her own. “I mean it.”

Deciding that she did, he pushed his hands under the water. While he went about washing his hands, Laura opened the sack of chips, shook a few into a bowl, and set it on the kitchen table.

“That’s all you can have for now,” she told him. “And be sure to share with your sister.”

Sebastian joined her in the kitchen with the last two sacks, his glance sliding to the boy. “I see he came out of hiding.”

“I caught him trying to steal the bag of potato chips.” She gave the boy a towel to use to dry his hands and turned off the faucet. After two quick wipes on the towel, the boy jumped off the chair and ran to the table.

“According to the little girl, his name is Mike,” Sebastian murmured as he began removing the food items from the sacks. “Her name is Amy.”

“She looks like an Amy—now.” Laura used the pause to lend emphasis to the latter word, then sent him a teasing glance. “Where did you learn to fix a little girl’s hair? Certainly not from looking after your nephews.”

“Would you believe that was my first attempt?”

“Really?” she said, admitting to a little surprise.

“It was. Although”—Sebastian paused to briefly comb his fingers into her hair—“I have played with a woman’s hair on occasion. It can be quite stimulating. Remind me to demonstrate.”

She laughed in her throat even as her pulse quickened. “You never give up, do you?”