Читать книгу The Trouble With Twins - Jo Leigh - Страница 9

SHELBY PUT IT in gear. First, she assessed the situation. Gray was pretty hopeless. Not that he wasn’t trying, but he was as comfortable with the children as she’d be with wild badgers. And of course, the children sensed it and acted out. Jem in particular seemed determined to rattle Gray at every turn.

She shouldn’t be amused by all the shenanigans, but she was. The twins were just too clever and adorable, and Gray? It was something to see a man like him completely discombobulated. Everything about his clothes, his hair, his manner told her he was rarely out of control. She could imagine him with presidents and movie stars. But when Jem stuck his finger in Gray’s ear, the man was shocked insensible. He stammered, blinked, his cheeks turned bright pink, and all in all he made her melt like ice cream in September.

But she’d think about that later. Much later. When she was in the car. At home. At the diner. Oh, yes. If nothing else, this excursion was going to feed her fantasies for a good long time. Which could be pretty depressing if she let it be.

“Uh, Shelby?” Gray said from behind her. “Can they do this bath thing by themselves?”

“Not entirely. You need to be there to supervise.”

He stopped in the middle of the long hallway. “Supervise?”

She held back a grin. “It’ll be okay. Just remember to breathe deeply.”

“Oh, man.”

“If you’d rather clean the house and get their clothes together, we can trade.”

“No. I can do the bath thing. I hope.”

“I have complete faith.”

As they stopped at the bathroom door he gave her a look. A suspicious look with one brow raised. “Are you making fun of me?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes.”

“Great.”

She slid by him and put Scout down. It was all so odd. She felt exhilarated. Supercharged. As if the very air was filled with electricity. She didn’t want to leave the room. But the house was a disaster area, and if there was one thing she was good at, it was whipping a place into shape.

She turned on the water and made sure the temperature was right, then plugged up the tub. When she straightened, Gray had stepped back, his face a study in trepidation.

“Jem,” she said calmly, “Scout, you two know how to take a bath, right?”

“Yes!” they said simultaneously, with incredible vigor.

“You promise to wash behind your ears?”

“Yes!”

“And wash between your toes?”

“Yes!”

“And wash your hair?”

“Yes!”

She nodded. “Excellent.” She turned to Gray, who appeared a little more at ease knowing he didn’t have to do quite so much. Still, he looked like he needed a pep talk. She opened the linen closet and took out two nice bath towels and two washcloths. “It’s easy,” she whispered as she moved next to him to hand him the towels. “All you have to do is make sure that nobody drowns, that the water doesn’t get too cold and that they play nicely.”

He sighed, relaxing a bit more as his duties were explained.

“Then you dry them off by wrapping them in the towels. By then, I’ll be back with their clothes.”

“Clothes?”

“They can dress themselves.”

“Okay.”

She slugged him in the arm. “Buck up, soldier. I know you can handle it.”

He tried to smile. He didn’t succeed.

She left him there even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. He pulled at her somehow. Drew her to him with his palpable charm. And his vulnerability. It was the mixture, she figured, that made him so compelling.

When she got to the living room she did a quick survey. It was her first real look at the place, and only now did she see how beautiful it was. At least it would be when she got finished.

The living room was very large, white with pale peach trim, bleached wood floors with a multicolored rug under the leather couch. Gray’s brother and sister-in-law had done wonderful things with the walls. Three-dimensional art made of wood and rope and other natural materials tied everything together. The plants, mostly ferns, added even more life.

But all that wonderful decor was buried under a couple of feet of junk. She rolled up her sleeves and dove in.

By the time she’d collected all the toys and dirty clothes, she figured Gray was about ready for her help. After depositing the clothes in the utility room, she went in search of the kids’ room. It was upstairs, and it was a honey—one of those theme bedrooms she’d seen in magazines, the teddy bears’ picnic. The mural on the wall made her eyes pop with the bright colors and lovely details. The beds were made of thick wood, like slender tree trunks. The toy chest matched the wall, as did the dresser. How lucky Jem and Scout were to grow up here.

She found their clothes easily enough and was careful to pick out distinct styles for each child. A thump made her pause, then hurry downstairs.

She opened the bathroom door and stopped dead. Gray was on the floor, on his knees, right next to the bathtub. His sleeves were rolled past the elbows, and he had each hand on a child’s head, shampooing them at the same time. The kids were all smiles.

The floor had big wet spots, as did Gray’s shirt and pants, but it was altogether a picture of family bliss. “I can see you’ve got your hands full.”

He turned to her, and for the first time since she’d arrived, he seemed comfortable. “Did you know this stuff doesn’t burn if it gets into your eyes?”

“Yep.”

“Why don’t they do that with regular shampoo?”

“That, I don’t know.” She walked in and sat on the commode. “You guys look like you’re having a good time.”

Jem held up a green plastic frog. “I got this.”

“Very nice. What’s his name?”

“Frog.”

“Ah.”

Then Scout held up a small blue whale. “His name is Bobbo.”

“It is not,” Jem said.

“It is so.”

“Not.”

“So.”

“Kids!” Shelby got their attention, then smiled. “Did you wash behind your ears?”

They both nodded, dislodging Gray’s hands, which he rinsed before he stood up.

Scout slid under the water and came up sputtering but shampoo-free. Jem did the same a moment later. Gray shook his head at his wrinkled, wet clothes, and Shelby handed him one of the towels. Together, they dried the children and helped them dress. Shelby did the honors with the hair blower while Gray rinsed the tub.

The whole time, the kids chattered like little monkeys. Jem told her all about X-men. Scout had strong opinions about Barbie. And Shelby found herself wishing this was her life. That they were her twins. That Gray was her husband.

But, of course, it was all an illusion. A side trip from her real life. A brief, shimmering moment.

She sighed as she came back down to earth. “They’re—” She froze as her gaze went to Gray’s chest. He’d unbuttoned his shirt halfway. She could see a light sprinkling of dark hair on a chest so perfect it made her teeth hurt. Shelby felt her face go hot as she caught a glimpse of his nipple.

She jerked her gaze away, appalled at the turn of her thoughts. Good grief, she’d seen men’s chests before. And even though his was spectacular, there was no reason for her imagination to take her right to the bedroom. As if that were even in the realm of possibility.

“Did you say something about bed?”

She froze. “What?”

“A nap for the kids?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She rolled her eyes at her faux pas. “But I’m thinking it’s not going to happen right away.”

His gaze went to the youngsters, who where engaged in a contest to see who could make the most horrible face. “Right. So what’s the plan?”

“You get Jem, I’ll take Scout. Maybe we can find a movie they’d like to watch.”

“Pinocchio!” Scout shouted.

“Lion King!” Jem shouted even louder.

Gray grinned at her as he grabbed Jem by the waist and hauled him over his shoulder.

Shelby caught the look of jealousy on Scout’s face, so she bent down, caught the little one by the waist and hoisted her up like a sack of potatoes. Laughter echoed off the bathroom walls as she turned to head for the living room. After her first step, Scout grabbed hold of the bottom of her shirt.

Shelby knew what was going to happen seconds before it did, and there was nothing she could do short of dropping Scout on her head. Small fingers pulled the shirt up all the way to her bra.

Shelby turned to hide her back, but it was too late. Jem’s revolted “Eww” said it all. So did Gray’s sharp intake of breath.

“Hush, Jem,” Gray whispered.

All Shelby wanted to do was disappear. She lowered Scout to the floor, then tugged her shirt into place. Why had she worn this stupid blouse? Why hadn’t she worn her yellow top, which she tucked into her pants?

“Shelby?”

She ignored Gray’s tentative query. She didn’t want to explain about the fire. About the skin grafts. About the scars. “So which is it going to be?” she asked, forcing her voice to sound light and unconcerned. “Pinocchio or Lion King?”

The ploy worked. Scout raced out of the bathroom, and Shelby followed. The footsteps behind her told her Gray had put Jem down. By the time she reached the end of the hall, Scout and Jem were already at the VCR.

She walked a little faster, but it was no good. She felt him behind her even before he put a hand on her shoulder. She tried not to flinch.

“Shelby.”

“Look, Gray. I really do have to be going. I’m supposed to be on vacation here.” They reached the living room, and she turned to face him, determined not to let any of her roiling emotions show. “I wonder if you could point me to a place to stay for the night. Preferably something close to a restaurant.”

He looked at her for a long time. To his credit, his gaze stayed on her face. It didn’t wander to her waist, which was mostly what happened when someone saw her scars. She pretty much ceased to exist as a person. She became a fire victim, a giant scar.

“You don’t have to go,” he said, his voice so gentle she felt stabbed.

“I do, honestly. I do. I’ve had a good time here, though, and I assure you, you’ll do fine with the children. They’re good kids.”

The way he looked at her told her that he wanted to ask but he wasn’t sure he should. That was the problem. No one was ever sure.

“So, um, is there a hotel?”

He nodded. “In town. The Blue Point Inn. It’s a nice place and it has a great restaurant. It’s on Main by the movie theater, impossible to miss.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “I appreciate you letting me barge in. It was foolish of me to come all this way when the odds were so slim.”

“I wish I could have helped.”

“I know. But there’s still one more name on the list. With any luck, we’ll hit pay dirt.” Shelby turned and headed for the kitchen to get her purse. She hated walking in front of him. She knew that, now it was safe, he was staring at her back. Feeling sorry for her.

She grabbed her purse from the counter and made a beeline for the front door. She paused, however, when she got to the kids. What a dreamer she was. To have entertained the idea that she could have this. It would never happen. Not in a million years. “Bye, Scout. Bye, Jem. You two be good, okay?”

Jem nodded absently, but Scout came over, hugged Shelby’s legs, then looked up with her wide blue eyes. “Bye, Shelby. I liked your eggs.”

“Thank you, honey. It was a real pleasure.”

The little one’s arms still hugged her legs. Shelby moved them, which she hated, but tears threatened. Big, hot, sobbing tears. No way was she going to do that here.

The second she was free, she hurried to the door. After it was open, she called another goodbye over her shoulder. But she didn’t look back.

GRAY STOOD at the window and watched Shelby pull out of the driveway. He’d handled things poorly. He should have— What? Talked about it? Joked with her?

It was the kind of situation his sister knew how to deal with. Kate was always the one who made everyone feel at ease. How she did it was a mystery. Why hadn’t he paid attention? Learned something from her?

He knew exactly why. He was too busy thinking about himself. About his women, his workout schedule, his car, his jobs, then more about his women. That’s what his mother had meant, of course. Why she worried about him. Because he was a selfish ass. He couldn’t even take care of two little kids by himself.

As he headed to the couch, the little wooden boy on the screen sang too loudly even in this big room. Weren’t the kids sleepy yet?

See. Right there. He’d done it again. Not two seconds after identifying the problem, he’d gone right back into selfish mode. He wasn’t thinking that the kids needed sleep. It was all about him wanting peace and quiet.

He sank onto the sofa and tuned out the noise around him. Damn it, he’d liked her. He’d liked talking to her. What had happened to her? He was pretty sure it was scar tissue from a bad burn. Was it all over her back? All over her body?

He winced, thinking about the pain. About what she’d gone through. It must have been hell. She wasn’t bitter, though. Not at all. Instead, she was funny, warm and compassionate. Strange how tragedy affected people so differently. Some turned against the world, and some made the world a better place.

He’d be one of the bitter ones. Especially if he was disfigured. His self-condemnation was interrupted by a small girl climbing on his lap. She smelled like soap and childhood, and for a moment he let himself think only good things.

“Uncle Gray?”

“Scout?”

“Why was Shelby’s skin all ugly?”

The good thoughts vanished. “It’s different, Scout. Not ugly.”

“Why was Shelby’s skin all different?”

“I think she was burned, kiddo. It must have hurt a lot.”

Scout’s brows went down. “Did she play with matches?”

“I don’t know.”

Scout touched his cheek. Her little hand felt cool and soft, and it was such a spontaneous gesture he had to close his eyes. “She was a nice lady,” Scout said.

“She was.”

Her hand moved to his lips in a totally guileless gesture, and he kissed her fingers. Scout’s smile made him swallow hard.

THE ROOM wasn’t large, but it was pretty. From the second floor of the Blue Point Inn, Shelby could see most of Main Street from the window. It was a peaceful little town, like several she knew in this part of Texas. Folks had lived here for generations and would continue to live here for years to come. It was a place to raise children. A place to make a home.

Shelby turned from the window, and her eyes lit upon the phone. She should call the diner. She should call Garrett, Michael, Lana. But she didn’t trust her voice. Everyone would survive without hearing from her. Instead, she went to the bed and her suitcase. She’d packed for a couple of days, just in case, and she was glad of it. She wanted nothing more than to climb into something comfy and curl up on the big chair in the corner and read her book. No, that wasn’t true. There was one thing she wanted more. She wanted to stop thinking about Gray Jackson.

Her hand went to her stomach before she gripped the zipper of the small suitcase. Once she had it opened, she worked quickly, hanging up what needed to be hung and putting her toiletries in the bathroom. Then she took out a pair of red shorts and a white, oversize T-shirt. She got out of her jeans first, folded them and put them in the case, then she lifted her blouse over her head. She reached for her T-shirt, but her gaze caught on the mirror to her right.

Stopping mid-gesture, she turned to face her image. The scar tissue wasn’t too bad around her waist, thighs and chest. Nothing she couldn’t live with. Then she turned and looked over her shoulder. The sight made her cringe.

Most of her back was hairless, poreless fake skin. The redness was nothing like before, nothing like when it was new. But there was no way anyone would mistake it for the real thing—it wasn’t. It was mostly collagen fibers, not skin cells.

And it was ugly. The kind of ugly that scars the inside, too. The teasing never went away. The way a person’s face changed after seeing it was indelible. The fire had taken so much from her.

She closed her eyes as she pulled on her T-shirt. It was enough. She couldn’t afford to feel sorry for herself for too long. That led straight into a cycle of depression that scared the hell out of her. If only Scout hadn’t—

Her eyelids popped open. The most dangerous words in the English language were “if only.” Nothing could be done about the past. All that she had were choices in the now. She could choose to dwell on this or she could opt for healthy, nurturing thoughts.

She pulled on shorts, splashed some cold water on her face and got her book out of her purse. It was a long, juicy novel, one she’d been meaning to read for ages. The author was one of her favorites, which was a good thing. She needed to get lost. To stop being in this world and enter the fictional dream. Damn it, she needed a happy ending.