Uncle Sarge. Bonnie Gardner

      Chapter Four

      Jennifer switched the phone from one ear to the other as she listened to Rich’s panicked request. For one brief moment, she’d thought he was asking her for a date, but her fluttering heart skidded to a halt when she heard the unmistakable sound of a child crying in the background.

      “Okay,” she said, tempering her disappointment. It was probably better this way anyway, she convinced herself. And her curiosity was running at full throttle. “Why don’t you tell me just what’s going on.”

      She was on the living room phone, tethered by an eight-foot wire, and she needed to be in the kitchen. The spaghetti was past done, and if it didn’t get drained soon, all she’d have was mush. She stretched as far as the cord would allow her and turned off the stove and listened.

      Rebecca Tucker had stuck Rich with Sherry’s kids. The woman had to be truly desperate if she was entrusting them to him. The man might be able to hack his way through a jungle with one hand tied behind him, but she’d bet he was clueless when it came to child care. Another wailing voice followed the first one.

      She would definitely win that bet.

      “Tell you what,” she finally said when Rich had finished his desperate explanation. The guy had to be at the end of his rope if he’d actually admitted that he needed her. Even if it was just to help with his niece and nephew. “I don’t have that much experience with kids, and I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I just got finished cooking up a batch of spaghetti sauce. I’ll bring it over. Once we get the kids settled, we can eat.” If they got the kids settled, she didn’t say. Of course, that meant that the noodles she’d already cooked were toast, but that couldn’t be helped. She had plenty more to cook later.

      Jennifer could almost feel Rich’s relief coming through the phone wires. She wanted to think it was because she was coming, not to help with the kids, not to bring the food, but for herself. But she was realistic enough to know that wasn’t the case. Besides, she’d already learned her lesson about that kind of man. She didn’t need that.

      Rich needed a woman to help with the kids. Period. Any woman who’d passed Child Care 101 would do.

      Her experience with kids was limited, at best. She didn’t have many friends with children, and her siblings hadn’t started having theirs when she’d married and moved away. She wasn’t sure how much help she’d be, but she’d give it her best effort.

      “Jennifer?”

      She hadn’t realized that she’d been woolgathering and found herself blushing even though she was alone in the room. “Yes, sorry. I was thinking about the logistics of getting this stuff over to you,” she said. “I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

      “Great! You don’t know how glad I am to hear that. I’ll be waiting.”

      Probably watching at the window, Jennifer thought. Too bad the cavalry wasn’t going to be that much help. “Just one thing, Rich. Go ahead and let Caitlyn call her mother. I’m sure that will be the best thing for everybody.”

      Rich mumbled something about not knowing what the number was, but Jennifer didn’t respond. She just hung up. She wasn’t sure why she’d just agreed to do this. She just knew she had to.

      For the kids, she told herself.

      She almost believed it.

      FEELING SOMEWHAT relieved, Rich hung up. Jennifer was coming. Finally, an expert in the house. If he could only survive till she got here. Half an hour. He could do it.

      He hoped.

      In the meantime, he had to find the number so Caitlyn could call Sherry. She should have known that he wouldn’t make a satisfactory mom substitute, even if Rebecca didn’t. Hell, he didn’t even know that diaper thing.

      He looked at Caitlyn, her pixie face puffy and wet with tears. She looked back, her eyes wide and questioning. For the moment, she wasn’t wailing, but her small body shuddered violently with residual sobs.

      Rich took a deep breath.

      “Caitlyn, did your Aunt Becky leave me any phone numbers in all that stuff?” He gestured toward the mountain of kiddie gear he’d yet to explore.

      “Inna diaper bag,” she said, then wiped her nose with the back of her arm. “Mommy always puts a piece a paper inna diaper bag in case of a ’mergency.”

      Rich exhaled and headed for the bag. He just hoped that Rebecca did the same thing. She wasn’t a mother, so she might not know.

      That stopped him. Jennifer wasn’t a mother either. What if she didn’t know anymore about what to do with the kids than he did?

      No, he wasn’t going to think that.

      Even if she didn’t have real mother experience, surely mothering was a woman thing. Didn’t they have instincts? Wasn’t child care know-how part of the package?

      He found a sheet of folded paper, with neat printing on it, tucked into a pocket on the outside of the diaper bag. The numbers.

      Damn, it had every number imaginable on it. From Sherry’s to Rebecca’s home number—where Rebecca wouldn’t even be—to the pediatrician and poison control. Poison control? What did she think he was going to do with the kids, feed them tranquilizers?

      Then he looked at Caitlyn, still sniffling, and glanced at Carter, whining in the tiny crib. It was tempting, but he did know better than that.