Falling for a Father of Four. Arlene James
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curly-headed little moppet with eyes the color of a summer sky. They’d spring Yancy and Jean Marie on her later, if things got that far. As Chaz went off to fetch his baby sister, Orren pulled out a chair from the kitchen table.
“Won’t you sit down, Miss Kincaid?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She hung her backpack on the back of the chair and gracefully lowered herself onto the seat, tucking her little skirt around her legs. Nice legs, Orren noticed, for a girl her age, that was. And perhaps finding out her exact age ought to be the first order of business. Counselling himself to patience, Orren doggedly observed the niceties.
“Can I get you anything? A cup of tea, maybe?”
“Oh, no, thank you. And please call me Mattie.” Her smile was slightly mocking as she added, “Miss Kincaid is my father’s maiden aunt.”
He felt himself smiling in response. “Well, you’re obviously no old maid, so Mattie it is. My name’s Orren, by the way. We can save Mr. Ellis for the fellows down at the shop. The mister is a way of reminding them who’s boss.”
“You’re young to be anyone’s boss, aren’t you?” she said smoothly.
He was shocked, and not just because he felt a hundred most days, but because she had so neatly turned the tables on him. He knew what it was like to be young and struggling. The world was full of folks who thought you had to be skimming forty to do anything worthwhile, and woe to the man who set out to prove himself capable before then. He just hadn’t expected the question from this little slip of a female. He pulled out a chair and dropped into it, saying defensively, “I’m twenty-eight.”
Her dark, slender brows rose in tandem. “My goodness, you were awful young when Chaz was born, then, weren’t you? What is he, nine or ten?”
“Eight.” Orren retorted. “Chaz is eight. He won’t be nine until November.”
“Ah. Then you were an expectant father at my age,” she announced, beaming at him.
Orren blinked, wondering how he’d lost control of this interview. The same way he’d lost control of his life, apparently—without even realizing it. A hushed squabble in the hallway alerted him to more trouble in the making. “Excuse me,” he said, rising and edging that way. Before he could get there, though, Jean Marie slithered through the open doorway, evading Chaz’s grasp. She glared at him mulishly, pushing her blazing red hair out of her face. He’d told her pointedly to brush it, but she seemed to think that taming her hair was the height of indignity. She targeted Mattie Kincaid with a frown that abruptly upended itself. This was no old meanie. This was a pliable, hoodwinkable youngster! Jean Marie beamed and headed for her. Orren caught her about the shoulders and redirected her toward the tattered brown tweed couch, saying, “This is Jean Marie. We call her Red, for obvious reasons.”
Mattie smiled at the girl. “Hello, Jean Marie. What beautiful hair you have.”
Jean Marie gaped and shoved at the unruly mess. “I don’t, neither.”
“Yes, you do. I think it’s very pretty.”
Jean Marie pulled a face at her father, all but sticking out her tongue, as if to say, “So there!”
Chaz edged into the room with the baby on his hip, an apologetic look on his face. Candy Sue rubbed her eyes sleepily, and Orren hurried to introduce her. “This here is Sweetums, uh, Candy Sue. She’s three, and Jean Marie here is six.”
“What a doll!” Mattie exclaimed, holding out her arms. Chaz gratefully delivered Candy Sue, who went to Mattie without the slightest hesitation. Why should she balk when she’d been passed from stranger to stranger her whole little life, Orren mused, fighting back the anger such thoughts always brought with them. Just then Yancy bolted into the room, bounced off the edge of the armchair and threw her arms around Chaz’s hips to stop and steady herself. Her thumb went immediately into her mouth. Her golden-blond hair had been pulled ruthlessly back from her face with a green plastic barrette, Jean Marie’s handiwork, no doubt. Chaz scolded her softly.
“You were s’posed to wait!”
“Ah wai’ed,” she said around her thumb.
“You were s’posed to wait till I come and got you!” he hissed desperately.
Orren cast an anxious glance at the prospective baby-sitter. Mattie, however, laughed and rocked forward onto the edge of her chair, Candy Sue cuddled in her lap. “And what’s your name, sweetheart?”
Yancy pulled her thumb from her mouth and answered importantly, “I’s Yancy Kay.”
“And how old are you, Yancy Kay?”
Yancy held up four fingers, carefully folding back her wet thumb.
Mattie spread a smile over them, saying, “Is this everyone?”
Orren nodded morosely. “This is the lot.”
Mattie squirmed in her chair as if just barely able to contain her glee. “Let me see if I’ve got everyone down.” Her gaze lit on Chaz. “Chaz is the oldest at eight, and a very good big brother, too, I’m guessing.”
Yancy threw both arms around him again, exclaiming worshipfully, “Bubby!”
Mattie laughed. Orren joined her belatedly, wondering what she found so delightful. Chaz just looked confused. Mattie turned her smile on the sulky one.
“Jean Marie of the beautiful hair is six,” she recited, “and I’m guessing she has a temper to go along with that blaze of red.”
Jean Marie stuck out her bottom lip and folded her arms emphatically, proclaiming Mattie correct, but her vivid blue eyes gleamed with secret delight. Orren shook his head. Mattie went on to the thumb sucker.
“Miss Yancy Kay is four and loves being babied by her big brother.”
Yancy responded by trying to squeeze Chaz in two.
Mattie wrapped her arms around placid Candy Sue and tickled her lightly, saying, “And Candy Sue is everybody’s three-year-old Sweetums.” Candy Sue giggled that delightful baby laugh that could still lift Orren’s beleaguered spirits. Mattie laughed with her, then hugged her hard.
Jean Marie got up and walked over to Mattie’s chair, leaning against it in disarming familiarity. “If you come work for us, will you try to make me brush my hair?” she asked challengingly.
Mattie smiled. “Nope.” Jean Marie gaped for a second time. Mattie added, “But you won’t get my special snacks if you don’t.”
Jean Marie clamped her mouth shut in a frown. “What special snacks?”
Mattie shrugged. “Brush your hair, and you’ll see.”
Jean Marie scowled. Maybe this one wasn’t quite so easily managed, after all.
Orren had to hide a smile. He waded through the children toward the table, saying to Chaz, “Son, take the girls out back to play while I talk to Miss, um, Mattie.”
“Is that your name?” Jean Marie demanded, eyes narrowed. “Mattie?”
“Yes, it is,” came the smooth answer. “Miss Mattie to you. It’s short for Matilda.”
Put firmly in her place, Jean Marie brought her hands to her hips and announced baldly, “I don’t like her.”
Orren glared and opened his mouth to lay down a scathing scold, but Mattie Kincaid, in her cool, unflappable style, beat him to it. “Now, Jean Marie,” she said calmly, “you might as well know right now that those bullying tactics won’t work with me. My father’s a policeman, you see, and he taught me that bullies are usually more scared than anyone else and they act all tough to hide it. So what are you scared of, Jean Marie, a little old hairbrush? Or maybe you’d rather have some warty old witch who’d spank you and put you to bed without your dinner instead of making you delicious snacks and keeping