Wyoming Christmas Quadruplets. Jill Kemerer
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He didn’t have to do this alone anymore.
He gestured to the kitchen. “I’ll get the bottles.”
“Is it time to feed them?” She’d turned back to the babies and was strapping Max in the fourth bouncy seat.
“I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“Are they on a schedule? When was the last time they ate?”
“I feed them constantly, but they barely eat anything, if that makes sense. All I do is prep bottles and try to feed them, then another fusses, and it’s just...” He didn’t bother finishing. He’d always considered himself self-reliant, but the past days had driven him to his limit.
“The sooner we get them on a schedule, the better. I’m assuming their mother is resting?”
Belle was resting all right. And avoiding her children along with the real world. He pinched the bridge of his nose. That wasn’t fair. She was recovering from their births and needed extra help and a lot of patience.
“Why don’t you get the bottles and then tell me their names? We’ll feed them together.”
Relief jolted through him. He loped to the kitchen and measured out the formula. When the bottles were ready, he tightened both hands around all four and returned to the living room. Ainsley had wrapped Lila and Grace in lightweight blankets. A pastel baby quilt was spread out between the couches, and Ainsley had propped each girl on the infant support pillows he’d never figured out what to do with. All the babies were getting fussy by the time she swaddled Ben.
“Go ahead and feed the girls.” Holding Ben, she took the other two infant support pillows out of the pile of baby paraphernalia in the corner. Within a few minutes, all four babies were snuggled on the floor, happily eating. Marshall held the girls’ bottles while Ainsley held the boys’.
“I can’t believe it.” He glanced at Ainsley, sitting a few feet from him on the floor. “They’re all eating at the same time. None of them are crying.”
“Yeah, isn’t it great?” She grinned. “They’re so itty-bitty. Tell me about them. What are their names? Are there any health problems I should know about?”
“They’re all healthy. Each one weighs around six and a half pounds, except for Lila. She’s the smallest of the bunch.” He pointed to one of the girls. “By the way, this one’s Lila.” He continued down the row. “Grace is here. That’s Ben. And Max is next to him.”
“How do you tell them apart?”
Heat rushed up his neck. His method was probably stupid.
“Don’t laugh, but every morning I mark Grace’s pinkie nail with a Sharpie. And I mark Max’s with one, too. It’s simple to tell the boys from the girls.”
She chuckled. “Smart. I would have done the same, except I would have used nail polish.”
“Nail polish might be better. I have to reapply the marker often.”
“Well, I’m sure these sweethearts will be napping before we know it. Then you can introduce me to your sister, and she can go over the babies’ care with me.”
He tried not to grimace. He supposed her reaction was normal. Of course a baby nurse would expect the mother to go over the infants’ needs with her. But Belle had barely lifted a finger to deal with the children since they’d come home from the hospital last week. If Ainsley was looking for guidance from his sister, she was going to be disappointed. He hoped Belle didn’t make a scene. If Ainsley left, he didn’t know what he would do.
* * *
She’d been there for two hours and still hadn’t caught sight of the babies’ parents. Was Marshall the only one taking care of them?
Ainsley carried Max and Ben down a hallway to a bedroom with four white cribs. Marshall held the sleeping girls and carefully set them in the same crib. He hitched his chin for her to put the boys into one with navy sheets. When she’d gotten them settled, she tiptoed out of the room with Marshall at her heels.
Her initial plan of meeting the mother and father, going over the babies’ schedules and getting a tour of the place before crashing in her room for a while clearly wasn’t happening. The long drive from Laramie had wiped her out, but she’d be able to rest later. She hoped so, at least.
She made her way to the living room, swiping up empty bottles and taking them to the kitchen. The sink overflowed with dirty dishes. Half-filled baby bottles littered the counter. A canister of baby formula powder with the cover off was next to the coffeemaker.
“Uh, sorry it’s such a mess.” Marshall slapped the formula cover on, then opened the dishwasher and unloaded the top shelf. “Been chaotic around here.”
“I’m sure.” Maybe she was overreacting about not meeting the actual parents. His sister might have had complications from the birth. Now wasn’t the time to make snap judgments. She’d simply do her best to figure out what was going on. “So it sounds like you’ve been really hands-on with the quads. Is their mother having a hard time with recovery?”
“Um, I guess.” He didn’t look her way as he shoved dirty plates into the dishwasher. “I don’t know much about that stuff.”
No, the gorgeous cowboy in front of her couldn’t be expected to know about recovering from birth, could he? His formfitting black T-shirt had a drip of spit-up on the sleeve. A belt buckle with a tractor on it kept his jeans in place. She could easily picture a cowboy hat on top of his short dark hair. She wasn’t sure if his stubble was the result of not having time to shave or if he kept it that way on purpose. Either way, it added to his appeal. Or maybe the fact he’d been holding two tiny babies when he’d opened the door earlier made him a solid ten in her eyes.
A man who protected the helpless was an attractive man indeed.
If Marshall had told her he was the quadruplets’ father, she would have quit. It wouldn’t be fair to the babies’ mother or father to have a nurse who had the hots for their daddy. But since he was their uncle and single, she could stay with no guilt on her conscience. It wasn’t as if she was looking for romance, anyhow. After Christmas her sole focus would be on going back to Laramie, getting into the nursing program and finishing her degree.
“How long do they usually nap?” She peered around for the typical infant supplies. No clean bottles were lined up. She didn’t see a container with nipples or pacifiers. Where were the bottle brushes?
“Nap?” He finished loading the dishwasher, popped in a cleaning tab and pressed the start button. “They don’t usually sleep at the same time.”
“What do you mean?” She circled him to get to the sink and began filling it with hot water. Unscrewing the bottles, she dumped out the old formula into the adjoining basin before tossing them into the soapy water.
“It depends on when they’re eating. It’s like if one is sleeping, another is hungry.”
She checked under the sink for cleaning supplies. A bottle brush and a package of rubber gloves hid behind the dish soap. She slid on a pair of gloves and began washing the bottles.
“How does your sister manage them?”
“Belle?” He wiped his hands on a towel and leaned against the counter. “She’s been real tired.”
She rinsed the first bottle and looked around for a place to set it. “Do you have a bottle dryer? Or dish towel?”
“Yes. Here.” He flicked open a drawer and grabbed two dish towels. Slung one over his arm and spread out the other next to the sink. “I’ll take that. If you wash, I’ll rinse.”
“What about their father? Does anyone else come in to help? A night nurse? Grandmother? Anyone?”
She watched him out of the corner of her eye. The muscle in his cheek leaped.
“No, Raleigh