LITMIR.BIZ

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bump on the head and the doctor wants to make sure she’s okay.”

      “She will be, right?” Alexei’s eyes rounded on Hallie and for a second Luke tasted the kid’s fear.

      “You bet,” Hallie confirmed.

      “No doubt about it,” Luke added, hoping on top of hope.

      The boy swung around. Accusation sharpened his eyes. “Then why didn’t you leave her car at the hospital?”

      “She can’t drive,” Luke said amiably. “And her groceries need a refrigerator. Want to help carry them in?”

      “Daee?” The baby pointed a wet finger at Luke.

      “No.” Alexei grabbed her hand. “That is not Daddy.”

      The toddler squirmed in Hallie’s arms, reaching for Luke. “Daee!”

      “No, Josie,” Alexei repeated. “No-ot Daddy.”

      Joselyn’s face scrunched. “Daee,” she cried. “Daaeee!” Her little legs kicked as she held her arms toward Luke, almost unbalancing Hallie. Fat tears plumped in the baby’s eyes.

      Luke’s heart beat behind his tongue. The kid’s going to fall. Before he could think, he lifted her from Hallie’s straining arms. “Hey, there,” he said.

      Joselyn latched on to him, a tenacious koala cub. Tiny hands gripped the first part they touched: his hair and neck.

      “Easy does it.” Her sharp little nails would leave their mark. She was heavier than he’d expected. A warm, sweaty bundle. “I’m not your daddy, Josie-Lyn,” he soothed, patting her back awkwardly, “but if you’ll be quiet now, I’ll hold you, okay?”

      Alexei scowled. “It’s Joselyn.”

      “Oh.” Luke felt like a fifth-grader unable to wrap his tongue around aluminum.

      The child cuddled her head on his shoulder. Her fingers eased on his flesh and scalp.

      She smelled of sweetness, of innocence. God, what if he dropped her? Or squeezed too hard? He knew zilch about babies. Had never wanted to find out. Ah, Ginny.

      Hallie laughed. “Relax, Uncle Luke.” She stroked Joselyn’s soft curls and smiled up at him. “Looks like you’ve got a friend for life.”

      “No, he doesn’t.” Alexei’s eyes dared defiance. He stomped into the house, the pup galloping behind. Seconds later an inside door slammed.

      “What’s got into him?” Luke asked as he jiggled Joselyn in his arms.

      “Oh, don’t mind Alexei. He’s worried about his mom. Guess I would be, too, if my dad just died.”

      Luke and Hallie carried ten bags of groceries into Ginny’s kitchen. The melted ice cream had to be tossed down the sink. The milk and yogurt still smelled and tasted okay, but a frozen chicken had partially thawed: tomorrow’s supper. If he had time tonight, he’d buy her several new packs of frozen vegetables.

      Joselyn dogged Luke. She clung to his legs when he stood still, and toddled after him with tears in her eyes when he moved around the kitchen island helping Hallie store the groceries. He was terrified he would step on the baby.

      Alexei holed up in his room.

      After setting the table, Luke walked down the hall, Joselyn at his heels. Nerves tight—what did he know about ten-year-old boys?—he knocked on the door Hallie had pointed out. “Alexei?”

      No answer.

      Luke cracked open the door. The kid sat at a computer. Under his chair lay the pup, gnawing on an old shoe.

      “Supper’s ready.”

      “Go away.”

      Joselyn pushed past Luke’s legs. “Ep-say. Um!”

      Alexei swiveled in his chair. “Who asked you, huh?”

      Halfway across the floor, the little girl stopped. She looked back at Luke. Her bottom lip poked out. His heart took a slow revolution.

      “I don’t care if you dislike me, boy,” he said mildly. “Just don’t take it out on your sister.”

      The kid scowled. “Leave me alone. You’re not my father.”

      The words struck. Hard. If he and Ginny hadn’t… “No,” Luke said and inhaled an unfamiliar regret. “Nor am I trying to be. But I’m sure your father taught you some manners. You forgot them already?”

      Alexei blinked. His cheeks flushed. He faced the computer screen. “I’m busy.”

      Sometimes it was easier to simply do, rather than discuss. That much he’d learned from watching his brothers with their kids. Luke walked to the computer and punched Power.

      “Hey! That’s not how you shut off a computer.”

      “Pretend an electrical storm hit a line. Now, come to supper. It’s not polite to let Hallie wait.” He strode out of the room.

      Joselyn toddled after him. “Daee!”

      Damn. How could he convince this tyke he wasn’t her father, didn’t want to be her father, or anyone else’s father?

      Waiting in the hallway, he watched her rush toward him in a waddling run, arms upheld. Resigned, he picked her up and headed to the kitchen. “There, there.” He patted her little spine. “No one’s going to leave you behind.”

      “Alexei coming?” Hallie asked. She had prepared a quick meal of ravioli, toasted garlic bread, salad and corn on the cob.

      “Dunno.” At the moment, Luke didn’t much care. Well, he did, but he had no clue on how to handle a prepubescent’s attitude. Thing was, Alexei reminded Luke of himself at that age—lugging a monstrous chip on his shoulder and a snarl on his lips.

      A thread of kinship with the boy tugged Luke’s heart.

      He lowered Joselyn to the floor as he sat down at the table. The baby immediately climbed his knees, wanting his lap. Lifting her, Luke let her settle, her dumpling weight suddenly welcome.

      Hallie mashed the ravioli for the baby, then spooned a few kernels of corn onto her plate. “Mix those in.” His niece handed Luke a minuscule, round-tined fork.

      He stared at the foreign utensil between his big, clumsy fingers. How the hell did you feed a sixteen-month-old baby with something so ridiculously dwarf-sized?

      Before he could maneuver the instrument, Joselyn grabbed it from his hand and stabbed the mixture on her plate.

      Okay. That’s how.

      Luke watched the child feed herself. A corn kernel plopped onto her bib and she carefully picked it off with elfin fingers. The scent of the simple meal made his stomach growl. He looked around. Toys were scattered across the floor. A pair of women’s ice-blue shoes waited near the back door. This is how a home should be, he thought and sat in stunned awe.

      Minutes ago, the idea would have been lost on him. Growing up under the rule of Maxine Tucker’s sharp tongue, he’d learned early that family did not mean Mayberry reruns. Going to bed at night didn’t ensure tuck-ins or children’s Bible stories. If his toys had ventured more than ten feet from their toy box on a day his father wasn’t home, Maxine might have slapped him upside the head while she railed all his inadequacies in her drunken slur.

      And she damn well never let him sit on her lap—not that he could recall.

      Hail to home, sour home.

      Then he’d met Ginny. Sweet, loving Ginny, who would have given her right arm to have a family.

      Luke surveyed the clutter on the floor. Looks like you got your wish, Gin.

      But not with him. No, he’d been too set on beating Maxine’s taunts out of his head. “You’ll never amount

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