LITMIR.BIZ

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table. Sitting in the chair next to his son, he asked, “What’re you eating, bud?”

      Quinn gurgled and waved his hands in the air. “Bah!”

      “Really?” he teased his son. “Sounds good.”

      “It’s a teething biscuit,” Pandora explained. “Soothes his gums. Plus, buys me time to fix him a proper lunch.”

      “Ah....” Calder nodded. “How’d you learn about babies?”

      For a moment she froze, then slipped into autoresponse mode, glad for the distraction of putting veggies in the fridge. “Mostly classes and on-the-job training. This is my first full-time position with infant care, but I’ve worked part-time for three other families. Little Jonah, an eleven-month-old, was my biggest challenge. He was a jumper. That baby was nearly the death of me. He’d try escaping his changing table, crib, playpen. Can’t imagine the trouble he’s going to cause his future teachers.”

      Calder laughed.

      Inside, she felt the stirrings of guilt. More and more, he seemed like a great guy. She wished she could’ve just told him about Julia, but that would only raise more questions—some of which she may not have been able to answer. As Natalie reminded her, she was entitled to her private life. Her only job requirement was giving expert care to Quinn.

      “No kidding. I hope Quinn doesn’t try to pull that kind of stunt,” Calder said, still chuckling.

      While putting pork chops, chicken and beef in the freezer, she said, “I’m making Quinn pureed peas for lunch. Would you like the grown-up version with a grilled chicken breast?”

      His grin did funny things to her stomach. “Thanks for the offer, but I had lunch back on base. Speaking of which...” He stood, then kissed the top of Quinn’s head. “Guess I’d better head back.”

      Pandora understood Calder’s work was important, but once he was gone she struggled with the oddest sensation. Something akin to clouds blocking the sun.

      * * *

      ALL AFTERNOON, stuck in a stuffy classroom, Calder found his mind drifting to his brief time with Pandora and Quinn. There was so much he needed to learn about his son, but considering how Calder had come to be a father, he’d had a hell of a time adjusting. Sure, he’d read a few baby books, and the first week, his mom had come from North Carolina to help him through the initial crisis, but there were still times he wondered what had happened to his life.

      Opening his apartment door to find a wailing, six-month-old baby blocking the way had been a shocker, to put it mildly. Quinn had been bundled in a beaten-up carrier, talking to his pinkie finger.

      Since then, everything felt upside down. Calder always seemed to be rushing to catch up. Temporary sitters and day care never seemed to work out and, until finding the agency that had provided him with Pandora, he’d feared maybe having to take an extended leave until his kid started school.

      Calm, capable Pandora struck him as an oasis in his child-care desert.

      Tonight, instead of rushing around trying to figure out formula ratios and how to scrub Quinn without getting soap in his eyes, Calder figured that thanks to the new nanny, he was back to business as usual.

      He’d grab a beer with Mason, Heath and Cooper—maybe even chat up a hot blonde.

      Four hours later, Calder shared a table at a favorite SEAL hangout, Tipsea’s, with his boys. “This is the life, huh, guys?”

      Mason ate a pretzel. “I don’t know. At lunch, when Garrett was showing around all his family pics... Made me wonder if we’re missing something, but then gazing out on tonight’s sea of available beauties, I’m thinking I like my current life just fine. Can I get an amen?”

      Calder and Mason clinked longneck brews.

      At the opposite end of the table, Cooper raised his beer.

      “You three keep living the dream...” Heath fished in a pocket of his camo fatigues. “But it’s time for me to move on. Lookee what I bought for Patricia’s birthday.” He withdrew a black velvet box, flipped open the lid to display a decent-size rock.

      “Whoa—you don’t mean move on as in leaving the SEALs, do you?”

      Heath almost choked on his beer. “Oh, hell, no. Just that she means the world to me and I want her to be my wife. We all saw the drama Deacon, Garrett and Tristan went through in their love lives, and I don’t need it. She’s the woman for me. Done. End of story.”

      “Good for you, man.” Mason patted his back. “I felt that way once.” He shook his head and laughed. “Good thing I came to my senses.”

      Calder laughed his ass off.

      Heath flipped them both the bird. “Yuk it up. I’m gonna be the one sleeping on clean sheets every night that I’m home with a good meal in my belly and a nice, soft woman to hold.”

      “Should we check this guy for fever?” Cooper asked.

      “Oh—I’ve got one.” After pushing back his chair, Heath stood. “It’s called Patricia Fever. I’m going home to her right now. You idiots are just jealous.”

      After lover boy took his leave, Calder ordered a burger. Once the waitress left, he said to his friends, “We should stage an intervention. Clearly, Hopper’s traveling down a dangerous path.”

      “No kidding,” Mason said.

      Calder’s dad loved the ladies, but he had this old-fashioned thing about marrying them before sleeping with them. He was now on his sixth wife, which Calder saw as ridiculous. Though his mom had long since happily remarried and Calder viewed his stepdad as a great guy, he still wanted nothing to do with the institution of marriage. To his way of thinking, marriage only kept good men down. Calder enjoyed women too much to ever settle for one. And truthfully—he winked at a saucy redhead—as much as the ladies seemed to enjoy him, it’d be a damn shame to forever take himself off the market. Vowing to remain available was his gift to womankind.

      At least that’s what he told himself, and anyone else who cared to ask why he was still single. In the dark of night, Calder suspected the real reason, but no way was he ever acknowledging the fact.

      He, Mason and Cooper drank in silence for a while, staring out at the crowded dance floor. It was Eighties Night and Duran Duran blared over the sound system about hungry wolves.

      Mason was first to break the conversational silence. “I’ve bitched about Melissa so much, you guys could probably recite my story for me. But in all these years, you two have never told yours.”

      Calder said, “That’s because I don’t have one.”

      Cooper tipped his cowboy hat. “Same here.”

      Mason twisted to face them. “You’re telling me neither of you have ever been serious with a member of the fairer sex?”

      “Nope,” Cooper said. “Damn proud of it.”

      “Amen, brother.” Calder and Cooper clinked beers.

      Mason whistled. “You two are a rare, fortunate breed.”

      Calder grinned. “We know.”

      Only after downing his burger and taking a spin on the dance floor with not one blonde but three, Calder spotted a brunette who reminded him of the new nanny. His stomach lurched upon the realization that despite all his bragging, he’d enjoyed sharing a conversation with her in his kitchen, watching his boy chow down on his cookie, more than he had spending the past three hours in this bar.

      * * *

      PANDORA JUMPED WHEN the front door opened and in walked Calder. Almost nine, with Quinn long since tucked in for the night, she’d been alone for so long that the house almost felt as if it were her own.

      “What’s going on?” he asked, opening the entry-hall closet to set his motorcycle helmet on the

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