Four Little Problems

“Last time I saw him move that fast was after there was a small explosion in the boys’ restroom.” Patrick’s tone was dry. He shook his head mournfully, as if to say, “What did I expect?”

Emily wanted to sit down in the middle of the floor and cry.

But there was still one child left unaccounted for.

“Where’s Jeremy?”

“Upstairs. Reading.”

Jeremy, the good child. At least she’d been blessed with one kid who seemed to have both feet on the ground. Literally, and figuratively speaking.

“What’s Clifford barking about?” she asked.

Both boys shrugged.

“He was howlin’ earlier,” Mark offered.

Oh, no. “What did you feed him? He only howls when he’s about to—”

Emily slapped a hand over her mouth. She advanced on the black Lab, grasping him by the collar and marching him out the door.

That left only the two cats barreling through the house as if possessed.

“Catnip?” She didn’t really need to ask.

The boys nodded and giggled.

“You two say good-night to Mr. Stevens, go brush your teeth and get to bed. And I better see clean teeth, not just wet toothbrushes. I’m on to that trick.”

The boys stepped in front of Patrick, gazing upward with awe. “G’night, Mr. Stevens.”

“Good night, boys,” came his strangled reply.

Emily wouldn’t have been surprised if Patrick had run from the house screaming.

But instead, his eyes sparkled, as if he were having a hard time containing laughter.

And for some reason that made Emily mad.

“Mark, Ryan, bed. Now.”

They trotted up the stairs, the picture of obedience.

Then Emily turned her attention to Patrick, who grinned.

“You think it’s funny? You think you could do better? I might just leave right now. As the only adult, you’re honor bound to watch them until I get back.” She’d made up the rule, but it sounded good.

And evidently Patrick took her at her word, because he became very serious. The Patrick she was accustomed to.

“Yes, ma’am.”

If he saluted, she’d have to kill him.

Fortunately, he didn’t.

PATRICK WAS VERY AWARE of Emily’s presence as she peered over his shoulder at the computer screen.

“Nothing there,” she said. “Next page?”

“You’re sure you read that?”

“I can speed read.”

Evidently, he must’ve allowed his shock to show.

“What? Lots of people speed read.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

“Or are you just surprised I know how to read the words with more than one syllable?”

Patrick winced. She was dead on.

“Why is it that men assume I must be stupid? Just because I’m, um, full-figured and tell a joke here and there.”

He eyed her cautiously over his shoulder. She made him nervous, standing so close, her breath warm on his ear. If he turned a fraction more, he’d have a tantalizing view of the lace playing hide-and-seek with her cleavage.

“Voluptuous and irreverent.”

“What?”

“That’s how I think of you.”

“Oh.”

Emily remained silent after that.

He hoped she knew he meant it as a compliment. And hoped she didn’t realize how totally distracting the combination was.

Closing his eyes, he tried to summon the image of Ari and Kat, laughing at the antics of dolphins.

It worked. Emily’s curves were no longer an issue. Patrick was a man with a mission.

The documents flew by, a journal-like testimonial to how overscheduled Tiffany Bigelow had been.

Along about page four, Patrick started to sweat. Tiffany had apparently been unwilling or unable to refuse a single request for funds. A little mental math told him she’d promised more money than the PTO was likely to raise in four years, let alone four months.

His heart sank. He no longer wanted to think about Ari and Kat at Sea World. Because, instead, all he saw was the sad acceptance in their dark eyes. And the I-knew-it-was-too-good-to-be-true slump to Kat’s shoulders. Worse would be Ari’s devastation, because he’d believed Patrick’s promises with his whole being.