A Father for Her Triplets

“It’s a wedding cake. Bride’s from Frederick. It’s a big fancy, splashy wedding, so the cake has to be exactly what she wants. Simple. Elegant.”

Suddenly the pieces fell into place. “And that’s your business?”

“Brides are willing to pay a lot to get the exact cake that suits their wedding. Which means a job a month supports us.” She glanced around. “Of course, I inherited this house and our expenses are small, so selling one cake a month is enough.”

“What do you do in the winter?”

“The winter?”

“When fewer people get married?”

“Oh. Well, that’s why I have to do more than one cake a month in wedding season. I have a cake the last two weeks of April, every weekend in May, June and July, and two in August, so I can put some money back for the months when I don’t have orders.”

“Makes sense.” He drank his coffee. “I guess I better get going.”

She smiled slightly. “You never said what brings you home.”

Not sure if she was trying to keep him here with mindless conversation or genuinely curious, he shrugged. “The family jewels.”

Missy laughed.

“Apparently my grandmother had some necklaces or brooches or something that her grandmother brought over from Scotland.”

“Oh. I’ll bet they’re beautiful.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve yet to find them.”

“Didn’t she have a jewelry box?”

“Yes, and last night I sent my mom pictures of everything in it and none of the pieces are the Scotland things.”

“So you’re here until you find them?”

“I’m here till I find them. Or four weeks. I can get away when I want, but I can’t stay away indefinitely.”

“Maybe one of these nights I could grill chicken or something for supper and you could come over and we could catch up.”

He remembered the afternoons sitting on the bench seat of her grandmother’s picnic table, trying to get her to understand equations. He remembered spring breezes and autumn winds, but most of all he remembered how nice it was just to be with her. For a man working to get beyond a protracted divorce, it might not be a bad idea to spend some time with a woman who reminded him of good things. Happy times.

He smiled. “That would be nice.”

He made his way back to his house and headed to his grandmother’s bedroom again. Because she’d lived eight months of the year in Florida and four months in Maryland, her house was still furnished as it always had been. An outdated floral bedspread matched floral drapes. Lacy lamps sat on tables by the bed. And the whole place smelled of potpourri.

With a grimace, he walked to the mirrored dresser. He’d looked in the jewelry box the night before. He could check the drawers today, but he had a feeling these lockets and necklaces were something his grandmother had squirreled away. He toed the oval braided rug beneath her bed.

Could she have had a secret compartment under there? Floorboards that he could lift, and find a metal box?

Looking for that was better than flipping through his grandmother’s underwear drawer.

He pushed the bed to the side, off the rug, then knelt and began rolling the carpet, hoping to find a sign of a loose floorboard. With the rug out of the way, he felt along the hardwood, looking for a catch or a spring or something that would indicate a secret compartment. He smoothed his hand along a scarred board, watching the movement of his fingers as he sought a catch, and suddenly his hand hit something solid and stopped.

His gaze shot over and there knelt Owen.

“Hey.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Hey. Does your mom know you’re here?”

The little boy shook his head.

Wyatt sighed. “Okay. Look. I like you. And from what I saw of your house this morning, I get it. You’re a bored guy in a houseful of women.”

Owen’s big brown eyes blinked.

“But you can’t come over here.”

“Yes I can. I can get through the bushes.”

Wyatt stifled a laugh. Leave it to a kid to be literal. “Yes, you can walk over here. It is possible. But it isn’t right for you to leave without telling your mom.”

Owen held out a cell phone. “We can call her.”

Wyatt groaned. “Owen, buddy, I hate to tell you this, but if you took your mom’s phone, you might be in a world of trouble.”

He shoved up off the floor and held out his hand to the little boy. “Sorry, kid. But I’ve got to take you and the phone home.”

Wyatt pulled the hedge back and walked up the steps to Missy’s kitchen, holding Owen’s hand. Knocking on the screen door, he called, “Missy?”

Drying her hands on a dish towel, she appeared at the door, opened it and immediately saw Owen. “Oh, no. I’m sorry! I thought he was in the playroom with the girls.”

She stooped down. “O-ee, honey. You have to stay here with Mommy.”

Owen slid his little arm around Wyatt’s knee and hugged.

And fifty percent of Wyatt’s childhood came tumbling back. he hadn’t been included in the neighbor kids’ games, because he was a nerd. And Owen wasn’t included in his sisters’ games, because he wasn’t a girl. But the feeling of being excluded was the same.

Wyatt’s heart squeezed. “You know what? I didn’t actually bring him home to stay home.” He knew a cry for help when he heard it, and he couldn’t ignore it. He held out her cell phone and she gasped. “I just want you to know where he is, and I wanted to give back your phone.”

She looked up at him. “Are you saying you’ll keep him at your house for a while?”

“Sure. I think we could have fun.”

Owen’s grip on his knee loosened.

She caught her son’s gaze again. “If I let you go to Mr. McKenzie’s house for a few hours, will you promise to stay here this afternoon?”

Owen nodded eagerly.

Her gaze climbed up to meet Wyatt’s. “What are you going to do with a kid for a couple of hours?”