Who's the Daddy (Crescent Cove 3)

Laurie Hamilton stood up at the back of the room and spun around. “Gurt. He put gurt on me!”

I stood up. “Weston.”

“I didn’t. I swear.”

I sighed. “Then why is your hand all sticky?”

He dragged the palm of his hand down his khakis. “No, see.” He held up his hand. It was still outlined with GoGurt, the favored snack time choice for many of the students.

“First of all, it’s not snack time for another…” I looked up at the clock.

“Hour,” Wes said glumly.

Well, at least he was listening when we went over how to tell the hands on the clock. “Exactly. And I don’t know about you, but I like to actually eat my yogurt.”

“I do too. But she did it.”

Laurie ran up the center aisle, still screeching. “My princess hair!”

“All right, hang on.”

But Laurie would not be calmed. Waterworks sprang from her huge blue eyes and her face went red and blotchy. In between each hiccuping sob, a random word came out. Dress, pony, magical. I wasn’t sure how they fit together until she spun around and her long blond hair was matted with yogurt.

The dancing tail of ribbons in her hair ended in stars and were now smeared with grape GoGurt.

Perfect.

I glanced over at Weston. “Did you do this?”

He fisted his hands at his sides. “No.”

“He did,” Laurie screeched.

“Okay, honey. We’ll fix it, but you have to calm down.” I took her hand and brought her over to my desk where I had my emergency repair kit. Baby wipes, Tide Pen, prewrapped cheap brush. I was ready for anything. Another compartment had things for a more bloody event.

I took my kit and led Laurie to the classroom sink. “Weston, you too.”

“No!” Laurie cried out again.

Patience. I had it. I’d been trained to find it and bake it into the marrow of my bones, but it was Friday. And my patience quota had died out when we’d made handprint leaves for the tree yesterday.

With paint.

I was officially frustrated. At least I still had plenty of soap at the small sink we had in the classroom. “I have to clean you both up. Wes, please wash your hands first.”

“I gotta go to the bathroom, Miss Kelsey.”

“Do you really have to go? Or just so you won’t get into trouble?”

He started dancing from side to side and I sighed. “Go.”

Wes took off at a run.

“Take the hall pass,” I called out.

I sagged a little at the smear of yogurt he left behind on my desk. Where had that come from?

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