The Trouble With Twins. Jo Leigh
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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,