The Trouble With Twins

She felt sorry for him. Tackling one child this age was an exercise in stamina, but two? She gathered a few other plastic dishes then went through the swinging doors into the kitchen. It was neater in here. The oatmeal box was out, the milk carton, too, and the can of coffee was open next to the pot. Nothing a little spit and polish wouldn’t take care of. But first, lunch.

In the refrigerator, she found eggs, milk and butter. Along with the bread on the counter, it was all she needed. Oddly, there was a large assortment of sauces and condiments on two racks, but then, this was Texas. She didn’t see many fresh fruits or vegetables, though. With two youngsters, that wasn’t good. She took out the ingredients she required.

The battle continued outside. She heard Gray Jackson’s calm, reasoned voice as he tried to inform the children that lunch was coming soon. Shelby was no expert on child care, but she did know that when hunger struck, reason had no foothold.

She got to work. Instead of scrambled eggs or French toast, she decided to be a tad more creative and make them something she’d liked as a child.

As she cooked, her thoughts shifted from the children to Uncle Gray. Interesting eyes. They were like his name. More gray than green or blue. But they weren’t dull. On the contrary, she saw intelligence there. And humor. Which was right up there on top of her hit parade.

Shelby had always been wildly attracted to men with dark, thick hair. Add his angular nose and chin, pecs to swoon over and a butt made for jeans, and she was practically a goner. Not that she could ever get a man like him. But it didn’t hurt to dream, right?

What was this man Gray doing alone with his niece and nephew? Where were their parents? Whatever the situation, it really was none of her business. Except that Gray Jackson was more than likely one of the triplets Mrs. Jackson had delivered, which meant this was, after all, another dead end. She wasn’t going to find any answers here. Still, it wouldn’t do any harm to ask.

She turned down the flame under the eggs. He certainly was tall. Over six feet. And in wonderful shape. She’d checked out his shoulders as he’d sunk in his chair. And checked out other things as he’d walked toward the living room. Very, very delicious. And, undoubtedly very, very taken. A man like that wouldn’t be alone. And even if he was…

“You almost done in there?” Gray called from the living room. “The natives are about to revolt.”

“One second. Tell them to sit at the table.”

“Right.”

She heard an impressive whine, something along the lines of, “I don’t wanna.” The crash of a chair tipped over, which explained the sound she’d heard at the front door, followed by childish laughter. These kids needed lunch, a bath and a nap.

She put the fried eggs on one big plate, then used Cheerios and shredded wheat to make faces with the eggs as eyes. She picked up two small plates as she headed toward the danger zone.

The children were sitting. And so was Gray. Only they were all on the floor. “Is that where you want to eat?” she asked.

The kids screamed, “Yes!”

“Then that’s where you shall eat.” She put the big plate between them and gave them a second to look at it.

Scout pointed. “It’s a clown.”

“It’s a big poop,” Jem countered.

“It’s lunch,” Gray said, his voice as weary as the sigh that followed. He looked at Shelby and tried to smile. “Jem is big on poop these days.”

“So I gathered.”

“His mother says it will pass.”

“Everything does.” She crouched beside them, grateful she’d worn jeans instead of a skirt, and served each of the kids one egg and split the cereal between them. They tackled the food as if they hadn’t eaten in a week.

Gray stood up, watched the children for a moment, then turned to her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You want some coffee?”

“I’ll get it. You sit down. How do you like it?”

“Hot,” he said. “And black.”

She nodded, then went to the kitchen.

GRAY STARED at the swinging doors as they swayed on the hinges. He always felt like a cowpoke at his brother’s. At least the urge to bolt had left with the propitious arrival of the redhead from Austin. Her hair was an interesting color, a mixture of copper and rust and gold. He liked that she wore it down past her shoulders so it swayed, too.

She had nice eyes. Wide. Green. Filled with amusement. It didn’t even bother him that her amusement was at his ineptitude. What in hell had he been thinking? No way he should be taking care of these kids. Someone would end up in the emergency room before he was through, and that was the last thing Ben and Ellen needed.

The woman came back carrying two cups of coffee. He took a moment to check her out. A little rounder than he was used to, but nice. An hourglass shape that would have knocked them dead in Marilyn Monroe’s day. She put her coffee down first, then turned the other cup around so he could take it by the handle. Her nails were painted the same color as her hair. “Did you tell me your name?”

“I don’t think so.” She sat across from him. “It’s Shelby. Shelby Lord.”

“It’s a real pleasure, Shelby. You couldn’t have come at a better time. Another few minutes and I would have raised the white flag.”

She smiled, her lush lips curving easily over straight, white teeth. “So how did you end up in this mess?”

He shook his head. “I was a fool. An arrogant idiot. I didn’t know, honest. I haven’t been around kids much. Especially not twins. And certainly not on my own.”

“Their parents?”

“My sister-in-law, Ellen, had to go see a specialist in Dallas.”

“She’s ill?”

“Yeah. But it’s not dire. Not yet. And now it looks like things are going to be fine.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I thought so. Which is why I said I’d watch the kids.” He sighed again. Sipped some coffee. “I’ve been staying here for the last couple of months, although this is my first time watching the kids by myself. Ellen and Ben made everything look so easy. Ha.”

“So you’re not from here?”

“Originally, yes. But I’ve been away for years. Los Angeles, mostly.”

“Ah, but you’ve come back to your roots, eh? Home to stay?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. If I get the job I’m hoping for.”

“What’s that?”

“Marketing. There’s a company out here, Lattimer Spices. They make barbecue rubs and specialty sauces. They’re going national and they need someone to head the operation.”

“That explains the racks of jars in the fridge.”

He winced. “I’m supposed to go to the grocery store.”

“It might be a good idea.”