Falling for a Father of Four

“Hey, Mat!” Brick had an annoying habit of shortening everyone’s name to a single syllable like his own. His carrot red hair had been shorn so close that the pink of his scalp shone through, and the prominence of his front teeth gave him a rabbity look. “How long you been home?”

“Just since Wednesday,” Mattie answered, as if that explained why she hadn’t seen him, when in truth she’d avoided him like the plague, even sneaking out of church early to avoid an accidental meeting. “Congratulations on your graduation.”

Brick stuck out his thin chest, his hands jingling the change in his chino pockets. “Thanks. It sure feels good to have that sheepskin!”

“What are you going to do now that you’ve finished university?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Take some time off, I guess. I’m kind of young to get tied down to a job already, and Mom wants me to think about grad school. I’ll probably do that. Right now, though, I just want to have some fun! Hey, how about taking in an early movie and—”

“Sorry,” Mattie interrupted. “I was just on my way out. I have a job interview.”

“A job interview?” This came from behind her, her father’s voice.

She turned, masking her irritation with a smile. “That’s right, and I really have to go. Mr. Ellis is expecting me.”

“Ellis?” Evans turned the name over in his mind. “Can’t say I know any Ellis.”

Mattie shot a pleading look over his shoulder at her stepmother. “Must be law-abiding,” Amy quipped with a wink at Mattie.

“What kind of job is it?” Evans wanted to know.

“Baby-sitting,” Mattie said easily, not yet ready to reveal that it was full time.

“Oh, well, then, that’s all right. But, honey, you really don’t have to work. You have your allowance and—”

“Dad!” Mattie closed her eyes in humiliation. “I’m not a child. I don’t need or want an allowance. I’m perfectly capable of earning my own way. If you hadn’t insisted I come home, I could have moved into a secretarial job in Stillwater.”

Evans waved that away with a deprecating chuckle. “You don’t want to be a secretary.”

Mattie had to bite her tongue to keep from asking how he knew what she wanted to be when she didn’t know herself—except that the idea of working with children did hold a good deal more appeal than remaining with the real estate firm for which she’d worked part time last semester. In fact, she hoped the Ellis household contained a number of children, two or three, at least. With another pleading look at Amy, she said, “I really have to go now,” and whirled away, flipping a wave in farewell. “So long, Brick. Say hello to your sister for me. Bye, Dad.”

“Hey, what about dinner?” Evans called after her, moving into the doorway.

“Oh, don’t worry about me!” she called back, hurrying down the walk toward her car. “I’ll get something later. Maybe Brick will want to stay.”

Evans frowned as she all but skipped down the walkway. He almost called her back, but his wife’s hand on his forearm stayed him. A glance in her direction told him that he was in danger of becoming the heavy-handed father again. With a sigh, he closed the door and turned back into the living room. “Well, Brick, how about it? Want to stay for dinner?”

Brick shrugged. “Sure!” Brick’s personal theory, well known to all acquainted with him, was that he ought never to turn down a free meal. Evans smiled lamely and went to change his clothes.

“She’s here!” Chaz announced, moving away from the kitchen sink where he’d kept watch through the window. Orren glanced up in time to see the late-model red two-door turn into the drive. It was a make with a good reputation for safety and dependability, yet had a racy look about it. A good choice for a second car, a single person more intent on value than prestige, or a teenager with particularly careful parents. He prayed it wasn’t a teenager—these kids of his would eat the average teenager alive—but he didn’t have time to watch from a distance as she got out of the car and moved toward the door. Instead, he ran across the hallway into his bedroom, where he dumped another armload of junk, kicking it out of the way as he wrestled the door closed and ran back to the living area. She knocked just as he moved on into the kitchen.

Motioning for Chaz to get out of the way, Orren crossed to the door, where he paused and pulled a deep, calming breath, drying his sweating palms on his jeaned thighs. He opened the door to a petite cutie with enormous green eyes and dark hair falling down her back in a sleek sheet. She wore a gauzy yellow blouse over a white tank top and a faded denim miniskirt, yellow sandals on her small, bare feet. She had that firm, fit look of the well-endowed teenager, but something about her face hinted that she might be older. Perhaps it was the carefully applied lipstick in a sensible shade of peach or the hint of blush across her high cheekbones. Whatever it was, it gave him a glimmer of hope.

“Mr. Ellis?” she asked. “I’m Matilda Kincaid.”

Nodding, he backed out of the doorway. “Miss Kincaid. Won’t you come in?”

She stepped up into the house and shrugged off the backpack she carried slung over one shoulder. Looking around in blatant curiosity, she spied Chaz and moved in his direction, hand extended. “Hello. I’m Mattie.”

“This is my son, Chaz,” Orren said, proudly dropping his hands onto Chaz’s stout shoulders as Chaz stiffly placed his hand in Mattie’s.

“Pleased to meet you, Chaz.” She smiled and lifted her gaze to Orren’s, the shock of those emerald eyes rocking him back a little. “Are there others? Children, I mean.”

She sounded almost eager, but Orren wasn’t taking any chances. She was young, but she handled herself with a certain maturity. He wouldn’t count her out until they’d talked—and he wasn’t about to scare her off, either. He nodded smoothly and smiled down at Chaz. “Son, why don’t you go and get Sweetums?”

Chaz’s pale blue eyes signaled his approval of this particular maneuver. Few females could resist the curly-headed little moppet with eyes the color of a summer sky. They’d spring Yancy and Jean Marie on her later, if things got that far. As Chaz went off to fetch his baby sister, Orren pulled out a chair from the kitchen table.

“Won’t you sit down, Miss Kincaid?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She hung her backpack on the back of the chair and gracefully lowered herself onto the seat, tucking her little skirt around her legs. Nice legs, Orren noticed, for a girl her age, that was. And perhaps finding out her exact age ought to be the first order of business. Counselling himself to patience, Orren doggedly observed the niceties.

“Can I get you anything? A cup of tea, maybe?”

“Oh, no, thank you. And please call me Mattie.” Her smile was slightly mocking as she added, “Miss Kincaid is my father’s maiden aunt.”

He felt himself smiling in response. “Well, you’re obviously no old maid, so Mattie it is. My name’s Orren, by the way. We can save Mr. Ellis for the fellows down at the shop. The mister is a way of reminding them who’s boss.”

“You’re young to be anyone’s boss, aren’t you?” she said smoothly.

He was shocked, and not just because he felt a hundred most days, but because she had so neatly turned the tables on him. He knew what it was like to be young and struggling. The world was full of folks who thought you had to be skimming forty to do anything worthwhile, and woe to the man who set out to prove himself capable before then. He just hadn’t expected the question from this little slip of a female. He pulled out a chair and dropped into it, saying defensively, “I’m twenty-eight.”

Her dark, slender brows rose in tandem. “My goodness, you were awful young when Chaz was born, then, weren’t you? What is he, nine or ten?”

“Eight.” Orren retorted. “Chaz is eight. He won’t be nine until November.”

“Ah. Then you were an expectant father at my age,” she announced, beaming at him.

Orren blinked, wondering how he’d lost control of this interview. The same way he’d lost control of his life, apparently—without even realizing it. A hushed squabble in the hallway alerted him to more trouble in the making. “Excuse me,” he said, rising and edging that way. Before he could get there, though, Jean Marie slithered through the open doorway, evading Chaz’s grasp. She glared at him mulishly, pushing her blazing red hair out of her face. He’d told her pointedly to brush it, but she seemed to think that taming her hair was the height of indignity. She targeted Mattie Kincaid with a frown that abruptly upended itself. This was no old meanie. This was a pliable, hoodwinkable youngster! Jean Marie beamed and headed for her. Orren caught her about the shoulders and redirected her toward the tattered brown tweed couch, saying, “This is Jean Marie. We call her Red, for obvious reasons.”

Mattie smiled at the girl. “Hello, Jean Marie. What beautiful hair you have.”

Jean Marie gaped and shoved at the unruly mess. “I don’t, neither.”

“Yes, you do. I think it’s very pretty.”

Jean Marie pulled a face at her father, all but sticking out her tongue, as if to say, “So there!”

Chaz edged into the room with the baby on his hip, an apologetic look on his face. Candy Sue rubbed her eyes sleepily, and Orren hurried to introduce her. “This here is Sweetums, uh, Candy Sue. She’s three, and Jean Marie here is six.”

“What a doll!” Mattie exclaimed, holding out her arms. Chaz gratefully delivered Candy Sue, who went to Mattie without the slightest hesitation. Why should she balk when she’d been passed from stranger to stranger her whole little life, Orren mused, fighting back the anger such thoughts always brought with them. Just then Yancy bolted into the room, bounced off the edge of the armchair and threw her arms around Chaz’s hips to stop and steady herself. Her thumb went immediately into her mouth. Her golden-blond hair had been pulled ruthlessly back from her face with a green plastic barrette, Jean Marie’s handiwork, no doubt. Chaz scolded her softly.

“You were s’posed to wait!”

“Ah wai’ed,” she said around her thumb.

“You were s’posed to wait till I come and got you!” he hissed desperately.