Lead Him Not Into Temptation (Redemption Book 2) (20 page)

“No worms, ask for the good stuff,” Emma repeats from the pep talk I gave during breakfast. I informed them how Casen would try and make them fish with worms, but if they wanted to get a good fish they need to use salmon eggs. I fully intend on coming out ahead on this fishing trip.

The boys join us and begin running the lines on the poles. “What kind of bait does everyone want?” Casen asks and looks to the girls to back up his plan for victory.

“I want to use the worms!” Blake shouts excitedly. I don’t really think he cares if he catches fish, Blake would be happy playing in the wiggly worms. I shake my head at his naivety. Casen lets him stick his hand in the plastic container and his face lights up at the sensation of the worms on his skin. As soon as his worm in on the hook and cast into the water, he moves on to the next pole.

Abby gives me a look of confidence and requests Power bait for her red fishing pole. She takes a seat in a lawn chair and begins practicing casting and reeling it in, over and over again instead of letting the line sit in the water.

Olivia isn’t the slightest bit interested in fishing and has focused her energy on the butterflies in the grass behind us. Thank goodness for the dual leash invention I’ve attached to her and Hendrix. As long as she doesn’t eat any of the bugs, we should be good to go.

Emma and Grace have a different plan in mind. I give them a look and a nod when Casen asks about their lines. “We want the good the stuff,” Emma announces, looking to Grace. They grab their fluffy purses and open them with a devilish smile. “We brought scrambled eggs.”

“We’re going to catch the biggest fish, huh, Jen?” Grace adds as they each pull out handfuls of their breakfast leftovers. Apparently, we had a breakdown in communication or at least a mistranslation.

“You plan on fishing with scrambled eggs, girls? I’ve never heard of that,” Casen inquires as he puts together his own line.

“Jen said you would try and make us use worms, but we aren’t falling for it,” Grace explains with her clean hand securely on her hip to emphasize her point.

“Yeah, we’re going to help Jen win!” Emma says, throwing her hand in the air and then looking for a high-five from me. Playing the middle ground, I give her a gentle tap in the middle of her palm as a reluctant, half-assed high-five. I figure it still counts.

“Oh, really?” Blake interrupts.

“Um, yeah,” Grace responds, throwing as much attitude as her little voice and body can put together.

“How about the loser has to make lunch?” Casen says. “You guys and your scrambled eggs versus us boys and our worms.”

I look back and forth, unsure how to proceed. If we were using salmon eggs against his worms I would totally take the bet, but freakin’ scrambled eggs? Those girls are killing me. If I end up having to cook lunch, our trip may get cut short because of food poisoning. There is no sense in pretending I can cook anything except popcorn; and let’s face it, even that isn’t a sure thing.

Before I can give my opinion on the bet, the girls are jumping up to shake Casen’s hand to accept the challenge. They rush to me and help load up their lines. I pack them as best I can with their eggs and launch their lines into the lake.

“Oh my God! My line is moving,” Abby shouts just as I get everyone settled. She’s jumping up and down, waving her hands around, unsure of what to do with the bobbling pole. I grab it from where it’s wedged on her chair and hand it to her.

“Start reeling it in, hun,” I tell her, helping her to hold the rod. Skipping along the top of the water as the line is brought in, her fish is gorgeous. Huge and slippery, we struggle to get it off the hook and onto the cord we have set up to store the fish we catch, but we accomplish it with gigantic smiles on our faces.

Just as we finish loading up Abby’s line with bait again, our Barbie and Hello Kitty poles baited with scrambled eggs begin to wobble. “We got one, too!” the girls scream.

“Um, since your pole isn’t really doing much, you think you could help for a second?” I ask Casen triumphantly. Surprisingly he hops up and helps Emma with her line.

“Wow, girls, I think you might be on to something,” he says as uses the net to capture Emma’s fish, which is the size of a whale.

The girls couldn’t lose; they would throw out their lines and immediately reel them back in. It isn’t long before Blake makes his way to our area begging for scrambled eggs. Thankfully, the girls take pity on him and share their eggs. Soon he, too, catches a fish.

By the time we’re done, there is no question who won our battle of the sexes challenge. At camp, everyone enjoys the fish Blake and Casen prepare and the girls are even decent sports about winning, rarely throwing their victory in the boys’ faces.

By mid-afternoon the heat of day has us sweating to death and we veto the hiking idea, opting instead for the water gun fight.

“Kids versus adults,” Blake suggests. “We’ll even let you have Henri,” he adds to sell his idea. The kids all cheer and we have no option but to agree to the teams.

“Our only stipulation is you stay in our camp area and you have to keep Olivia with you at all times so she doesn’t wander off,” I declare.

“Agreed,” Blake and Abby both say. “We need time to prepare, though,” Blake adds.

We nod and hand over a pile of water guns, which are already filled, and a bucket to fill with water to refill their guns. Everyone separates and prepares for the water war of the century.

Casen and I work together to fill our guns and devise a plan to pick off each kid, one at a time. Grabbing our rubber bucket, loading our pants with water pistols, and holding super soaker Nerf guns, we exit the camper ready for battle.

Our competition has been hard at work as well. Each kid is decorated in war paint, either with mud or makeup. The minions are all armed and ready to take us out.

“Ready! Set! Go!” Casen shouts, prompting everyone to scream and run toward each other firing their weapons in a steady stream of water. Judging from the soaked status of everyone involved, I’m not seeing how there can be a clear winner, but we’re having fun so it makes no difference.

One-by-one, we each surrender when we run out of water. When it’s all over we each find a place in the sunshine and lie out to dry off. With Abby on one side of me and Olivia on the other, I relax and enjoy the moment. That is until my nose senses something vile. No, vile isn’t a strong enough word, pungently horrendous might do a better job.

I follow my nose and it directs me to our little Olivia. I take a deep whiff and instantly pull away. Poop, she smells like human shit. Turning to the group, I begin my interrogation. “Guys, what did you use for your war paint?”

“We used mud,” Blake answers, pointing to himself and Abby.

I look to Grace and she immediately shakes her head. “No way, mud is gross. Emma and I used our makeup.”

I look to Casen, and he looks as confused as I feel. “Who painted Olivia?” I ask. Everyone looks around shaking their heads. No one fesses up to painting her, so I go to the source. “Olivia, how did you get your war paint?”

“Me painted,” she says, pointing to the stripes running up and down her arms and on her cheeks.

“Very nice, baby. What did you use to paint?”

“Poop!” she shouts with a smile. “Me made poopy paint.”

My compassionate smile fades into a look of disgust. I slowly turn to Casen as my dry heaves begin. “I can’t. You have to deal, Casen,” I whisper in-between heaves. “I just can’t do poop.”

“To the camper everyone, let’s cleanup for dinner and s’mores,” he laughs. I follow behind as all the kids head to the camper, Olivia with an enormous smile of pride on her face from her handiwork. “Poop, the kid painted herself with poop,” I whisper to myself in disbelief as we head to the bathroom to wash the war paint away.

The cars are packed, and we make it back to Vivian’s house in record time. More than likely it’s because they slept the whole way home, thus no potty breaks. The entire drive home, I replay the weekend over and over in my head and think about how surprisingly well Casen and I handled it.

Feeling relatively proud of my parenting experience and even happier about spending the weekend with Abby, I pull into Vivian and Brooks’ driveway, content with how things went, yet ready to hand over the keys to the mom van.

I turn off the ignition and turn in my seat to face the kids who’ve begun to wake up. “Rise and shine, everyone. Review time. What are we going to share with your moms and dads?”

“We caught big fish and ate lots of s’mores,” they repeat in unison.

“And what do we not talk about because it never happened?” I continue.

“Poopy paint,” they all respond.

I whip back around in my seat and hit the button to open the doors. “Nice job, crew. Thank you for using Jen’s mobile service. You may now vacate the van, using the nearest exit.”

Fuck yeah, I have this mom shit in the bag.

Seven Months Later

Jen

I never got the chance to do the nesting thing the first time around, and this time, Casen has prepared enough for both of us. It’s 3 a.m., only a week from my due date, and of course I’m up for yet another bathroom break. Casen is asleep, enjoying a solid night’s rest. I don’t remember what eight hours of sleep is like, but I’m positive I was a much friendlier person then. Quietly tiptoeing down the hallway, I stop outside the nursery to peek in on all that Casen has done already for our little guy.

Pushing the door open, I pick up a stuffed animal from his crib and sit down in the rocking chair we found at an antique store. The nursery is primed in superhero décor, which Casen has assured me will yield us a miniature dark knight and not a Howard Walowitz. I caved and now there are giant Captain America and Batman canvases hanging above his bed instead of footballs or sailboats.

Running my fingers through the fur of the teddy bear, my mind wanders to the last time I was days away from having a baby. The dread of having to give her away, the shame, the sadness; I didn’t want that day to ever arrive. I’m thankful for my aunt’s deception, because it has given me a second chance to correct that wrong…make Abby a part of my life instead of a memory of my past.

Now here I am, on the verge of having another child, a child I didn’t think I deserved to have. For the first time in a long time I’m excited for what the future holds, not just for me, but for the family I now have.

“Everything okay, sparky?” Casen whispers, leaning on the doorframe. He is absolutely scrumptious with his brown hair in disarray, and dark grey sweats hanging off his sculpted hips. It’s a shame I can’t even reach my own ass to wipe it, or I might act on the urge. I’m bendy, but maneuvering around this belly would require Cirque du Soleil training.

I smile at the thought of our sex life returning to active status…six weeks from now. “Yup, I’m good,” I murmur back as I continue rocking. “I can’t believe in less than a week, this room will have our baby in it and then Abby will be moving in.”

“It feels surreal, huh?”

“Are you sure you’re all right with everything?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t worry, but there are times I’m afraid Casen will feel overwhelmed and want to walk away. I know it’s my own insecurities, but every once in a while they creep into my mind.

Casen enters the nursery and kneels at my feet, grabbing my hands. “Jen, I love you more than I thought it could be possible to love someone. I love you, not only because of who you are, but because of what you have given me…a family. I could never be anything but grateful.”

It’s exactly what I needed to hear to calm my rising anxiety. He kisses my expanding belly and stands. “Come on, love, let’s go back to bed,” he says, offering me his hand like he has a million times over the last nine months. Just like I have a million times before, I slide my hand in his.