Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas Gift\The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming\Santa's Playbook (49 page)

“Dad was a ticking time bomb,” his sister said on a sigh. “Overweight, hated to exercise, refused to quit smoking... Doesn't make it any easier, though. And Mom... She's kind of a wreck. The funeral's tomorrow. I doubt she'd expect you to come, I'm just going through her contacts list, calling everybody.”

No, he didn't imagine any of them would expect his presence. Even so... “Look, text me the particulars.... I can't promise anything, with the kids and all. Or even if I can get a flight, but...I'll see what I can do. If you think it'd make any difference...”

Sandy punched out a breath. “You have no idea how much Mom talks about you and the kids. How she shows off the pictures you send, how proud she is of you. I mean, God knows she never thought you guys would stay close—in fact, she didn't want it, said it would've made things too complicated. But yeah—it'd make a difference.” He heard a short, dry laugh. “Whether she'd admit it or not.”

All too clearly, Ethan remembered how crucial the support of friends and family had been during those first horrible days after Merri's death, that he would have never gotten through her funeral without it. “I'll get back to you later,” he said before disconnecting the call, then turned to find Jules giving him a quizzical look. He started working out the slipknots in the rope holding the netted tree on the roof. “My birth mother's husband passed away. I'm thinking... I think she'd appreciate it if I went out to the funeral. Which is tomorrow. Except everyone I'd ask to stay with you guys is either down with that crud going around or out of town.”

“I don't understand—if you barely knew him, why would you go to his funeral?”

The tree freed, Ethan thunked it onto the driveway. “Not for him, for Debbie. Because...I can't even imagine the courage it takes to give your own kid up for adoption. Being there for her now... It's the least I can do for her
. If
I can figure out how to get there.”

“Then you should totally go,” Jules said, nodding. “I can take care of the other kids—”

“No way.
No,
” he said when his little warrior tried to protest. He hefted the tree and lugged it through the open front door generously setting free the heat from inside. “It's very sweet—and brave—of you to offer—” he shut the door, leaning the tree against the entryway wall and sending the dog into a sniffing frenzy “—but that's far too much responsibility for a kid. What if there was an emergency? You can't even drive yet.”

“So I'd ask Rosie's mom—”

“Who has her hands full with her own kids. And I have no idea if I can even get a flight back tomorrow night—”

From the family room the twins sent up a roar. Ethan slanted a patient smile in their direction as Jules said, “How about Miss Jacobs?”

Ethan's head jerked toward his daughter. Then he laughed. “And here I thought you liked the woman.”

“No, I'm serious. You've seen her with the boys. With Bella. She'd be great. And no, I'm not trying to manipulate anything. I swear. But wouldn't she be a logical choice?”

“A few hours is very different from overnight. That's a huge imposition—”

“And I'll do all the cooking and make sure everybody gets their teeth brushed and stuff, I promise. She'd only be here as...backup. And the boys wouldn't be able to get anything past her, either.”

This was true. But—

“Dad. If she doesn't want to do it, she'll say so. But if you don't ask, you'll never know.” She dug his phone out of his jacket pocket, handed it to him. “So what've you got to lose?”

Only the last shred of dignity he still possessed, Ethan thought as he snatched his phone from his daughter and punched in Claire's number.

Chapter Nine

C
laire was staring at the inside of her fridge, wondering if this was the night she'd finally starve to death, when her cell rang. Seeing Ethan's number in the display, her very empty stomach jumped.

“I need a huge favor” rumbled in her ear.

“Define huge.”

“Like name your price, I'll pay it, huge.”

The hair prickling on the back of her neck, Claire tucked one arm over her stomach. In the background, she heard the boys yelling, the dog barking, Bella whining about something. “Wow. Okay. What—?”

“One of my half sisters called a little bit ago. Dave, my birth mother's husband, passed away.”

“Oh, Ethan, I'm so sorry—”

“Don't be. Not for me, I mean, I barely knew the guy. But for her... Yeah. I gather she's pretty torn up. The funeral's tomorrow, but no one else can stay with the kids while I'm gone. Everyone's either sick or away or already has kids or—”

“So you're asking me.”

After a moment of silence, he said, “I'm sitting here staring at the Travelocity screen, ready to book a flight to Cleveland. But only if you say yes.”

“Gee. No pressure or anything.”

That got a weary laugh. “Debbie—my birth mother—has no idea I'm even considering coming. And my sister understands why I might not make it. But I'd really like to be there.”

Claire shut her eyes. “Because you understand what she's going through.”

Long pause. Then, “Pretty much, yeah. For whatever that's worth. Also, Jules says she'll do all the cooking and oversee the hygiene routine. Since asking you was her idea.”

And that was
not
a pang of disappointment in the wake of his admission. Although knowing the request came from one of his kids actually made it a lot harder to say no. Which he undoubtedly knew. “So you need me to...?”

“Make sure the boys don't burn the house down, basically. And get bleeding children to the E.R., if necessary.”

Claire looked at the cat, zonked out on his back in the middle of the sofa, totally oblivious to the fact that his mistress was desperately trying to fend off an impending panic attack. But what was she gonna say? No?

“Okay. Book your flight.”

“You sure?”

“Ethan. Don't make me think too hard about this. Just do it.”

“O...kay. Plane leaves from Philly at eight tomorrow morning, so I have to be at the airport by six, six-thirty, meaning I'll have to leave here by five at the latest—”

“Then that's when I'll be there.”

“It's okay, Jules can hold the fort for a while. And they'll all be asleep—”

“I'll be there at five. Deal.”

She heard a huge sigh of relief. “Funeral's at one, I'll book a return flight for later that evening. I should be back home by eleven or so.”

“No hurry, we'll be fine.”

“You do realize your voice is shaking, right?”

“It's, um, chilly in my apartment.”

She heard a little “Heh-heh,” then he said, “I cannot tell you how much—”

“For cripes' sake—enough, already. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Except for one thing.”

“What's that?”

“There will be
no
bleeding. Understood?”

He laughed softly. “I'll make sure to pass along your instructions. And, Claire?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

After he finally hung up, Claire plopped on the sofa beside Wally, earning her an upside-down, snaggle-toothed, one-eyed glare. Charming. “Oh, God, Wally...what have I gotten myself into?”

The cat yawned, stretched, then drifted back to sleep as if to say,
Yo, not my problem.

* * *

Whoever came up with that thing about it being darkest before the dawn, Claire thought as she parked in front of Ethan's house the next morning, knew whereof he spoke. Dark, and damned cold. Shivering so hard her teeth rattled, she grabbed her purse and tote bag from the backseat, clutching her down coat closed as she scurried up the walk in her Crocs. Minuscule ice crystals assaulted her cheeks, making her flinch. Twenty percent chance of flurries, the Weather Channel said. Nothing to worry about.

Ethan opened the door before she reached it, bless his heart. For a moment, Claire frowned. He was dressed in a black suit and a camel overcoat, looking more like a corporate lawyer than a football coach. A seriously smokin' corporate lawyer—

“For the funeral,” he whispered as he shut the door, and she nodded. Right
.

Quit ogling, dummy.

Then, lowering his eyes to her penguin-dotted, fleece-lined pj bottoms, he smiled. “What on earth on you wearing?”

“Hey. Don't judge. They're warm.”

The dog appeared, yawning and wagging his stubby little tail. Claire scooped him up to burrow her freezing face in his soft, warm fur and got little doggy kisses in return. She giggled, and now it was Ethan who was staring.

“Anyway,” he said, “kids are still asleep. Bella usually gets up first, then Jules—she'll make breakfast—and you probably won't see the boys until noon. All the emergency numbers are on the blackboard in the kitchen, help yourself to anything in the fridge or whatever—”

“Dude. I've got this. Really.”

“I know, I know. But...” He glanced up the staircase anyway, and Claire pushed out a breath.

“But you've never left the kids with a stranger,” she said, and his eyes lowered to hers.

“You're hardly a stranger, Claire,” he said with a small smile. “And if I didn't completely trust you, I would have never asked you to do this. Besides, I leave them with ‘strangers' every day. Since I can't possibly vet everyone in the whole world. It's just—” another sigh “—I don't know why it feels harder now than it did at the beginning. But it does.”

Claire cradled the dog more tightly to her chest to keep from touching the man standing so close she could smell his aftershave. “We'll be fine,” she said. “I promise.”

Ethan gave her one last, long look before, with a nod, he finally left the house.

Leaving Claire acutely aware that, until he returned, she was responsible for every living thing under its roof.

Holy crap.

* * *

Tangled up in a cozy throw on the family room sofa, the dog smushed behind her knees, Claire awoke with a start some time later. Thick, pewter-hued light flooded the evergreen-scented room, revealing a small, very bed-headed child standing on the other side of the coffee table, frowning at Claire as she hugged some unidentifiable stuffed toy to her chest.

“I'm sick,” she croaked, and Claire sat up so fast the dog yelped.

“You are?” Claire said, her face scrunched, hoping like hell the kid would smile and say,
Just kidding, I'm fine.

Instead, Bella gave her a solemn, bleary-eyed—or Claire may have been the bleary-eyed one, much too early to tell—nod. “My node id all 'tuffed up. And my throat hurts.”

Somewhere in the middle of Claire's sleep-muddled brain, panic roared. Then reason wriggled past the panic, saying,
It's called a cold, Claire. Nobody's gonna die here.

She tried a smile
.
“You want some juice? Or maybe some hot tea?”

“Juice,” Bella said as a yawning, also bed-headed Juliette appeared in an outfit not dissimilar to Claire's, except with pups instead of penguins.

“Hey, Belly,” she said, stretching. “What's up?”

“She's not feeling well.” Claire pushed herself off the sofa and her feet back into her Crocs before heading toward the kitchen. “A cold, I think.”

“Oh, yeah? Come here, baby,” Juliette said, as Claire peered into the massive refrigerator. Which actually had stuff in it. Wow.

“Orange, apple or grape?”

“Apple,” Bella said. Claire grabbed the bottle and closed the fridge door, looking over to see Juliette press her lips to the baby's forehead. Like Claire's mother used to do with her, she remembered. Like the girls' mother had probably done with them, she thought as her throat clogged.

“Yeah, probably. She's not warm or anything. Just miserable, huh?” the teen said, and Bella nodded. Juliette patted the sofa and Bella climbed on, smiling a little when her sister wrapped her up tight in the abandoned throw. Ever the opportunist, Barney jumped back up to wedge himself between the child and the back of the sofa. Yawning, her arms folded over her chest, the teen then padded over to the breakfast bar, shaking her head at the cup Claire had poured the juice into.

“She still spills a lot. In the cupboard by the fridge? There's cups with lids and straws. Yeah, those.”

“Should I be doing anything else?” Claire asked, dutifully transferring the juice. “Like giving her cold medication or something?”

“Nah, we're pretty old-school around here. Liquids and rest, basically. As long as she doesn't have a fever, we're good.” She smiled. “Jeez, you sound like you never had a cold before.”

“And you sound like somebody's grandmother,” Claire said, and the teen laughed, then sneezed. And sneezed again. She grabbed a tissue from a box on the bar, sneezed a third time, then looked at Claire.

“Crap,” she said, and Claire thought,
Exactly.

* * *

The good news was, the twins did not get sick. At least they hadn't by midafternoon. Nor did Bella get any worse, even if she seemed disinclined to move from the sofa, where she enjoyed an endless stream of mind-numbing kids' movies the rest of the day. The bad news was, however, that Juliette toppled like a felled tree and ended up crawling back into bed within an hour of getting up.

Leaving Claire—who finally got dressed right around when the boys emerged from their room in time for lunch—to play nurse/nanny/entertainment director for two sick kids and a pair of prepubescent boys who ate like wolves and were clearly at a loss without their video games. Because, of course, Bella had commandeered the TV. And practically snarled at any suggestion she share. Cute but fierce, that one.

None of which Claire shared with Ethan when he checked in around three. Man had enough on his mind, he didn't need to know that 50 percent of his progeny was sick—especially since it was clear their maladies were not in the least life threatening—or that the other 50 percent had taken bitching and moaning to a new level. Not to mention arguing with each other. Over nothing, as far as Claire could tell.

“I called Jules,” he said, “but it went right to voice mail. She must've forgotten to charge her phone.”

“Maybe so,” Claire said, looking at the girl's phone where she'd left it before she'd done the zombie lurch upstairs and crashed.

“So everything's good? Kids all behaving?”

Upstairs, the boys started up again. Or still, since there really hadn't been much of a break that Claire could tell. “Of course, why wouldn't they be?”

His laugh sounded tired. “And did you think I couldn't hear that?”

“Criminy, you must have ears like a beagle.”

“It comes in handy. So? Truth.”

She sighed. “Okay, so the boys haven't shut up since they got out of bed, but I assume that's par for the course.”

“I'm so sorry—”

“Don't be. I'm making them clean their room—”

“What?”

“Clean their room. Was I not supposed to do that?”

“Are they actually doing it?”

“I have no idea, I haven't checked. But they're quiet—okay,
quieter—
and I don't smell smoke, so I'm counting it as a win.”

Ethan chuckled. “You fit right in,” he said, and terror wrapped its nasty little paws around her neck and squeezed. Hard.

“So how's it going for you?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Me? I'm fine. Although I think Debbie is still in shock. She's got her kids and grandkids here, though, so that helps. She'll...she'll be okay. Not at first, maybe. But eventually.”

Hearing the residual pain in his voice, Claire looked out the window. At the pretty, sparkly white
flurries
rapidly smothering the landscape. “How's the weather in Cleveland?”

“Messy,” he sighed out. “Wet snow, sleet.”

“Bad?”

“Enough to be taken seriously. How about there?”

“A few piddly flakes, off and on,” she lied, thinking if she said it enough, she could make it so.

“Look, if I get stuck, you can call Dad, he'll be glad to come over—”

“No way would I ask him to drive in this—”

Damn.

“What happened to
piddly?
” he said.

“So maybe a little heavier than that. But we're all cozy and warm, and I see there's frozen pizza—”

“Pizza? Jules said she was going to make beef stew.”

“Um...she had a paper to do or something, so we're going with pizza instead.”

“Whatever works. Listen, feel free to crash wherever. The sofa pulls out, but it's no great shakes. So use my bed, if you want—”

“Oh, no, I'm good with the couch. Hey, the boys need me, gotta go. And don't worry, okay? I've got it all under control, really.”

Then she hung up before he could hear the tremor in her voice. And only partly from the prospect of being on call all night. Because now that Ethan had planted the idea of sleeping in his bed in her head...

Yeah, the sofa would do
just
fine.

“Miss Jacobs?” She looked up to see Harry and Finn in front of her. “Can Finn and me go over to the Valencias and play in the snow?”

Oh, God. She'd forgotten that, as the one in charge, she'd be the go-to person for stuff like this. That she'd have to actually make decisions that affected people she wasn't related to. True, she did that every school day with her students, but this was different—

Jeez, woman—snap out of it!