Adventures In Parenthood

“I don’t want a bath,” Sienna said, her arms buried in Scout’s fur, her cheek resting on the cat’s back.

“You had gymnastics. Your mom’s rule is baths before bed after activities.”

“Maybe tonight we can skip baths,” Aubrey said brightly. “Rules are made to be broken. Right, girls?” She winked at Sienna, who managed a crooked smile.

“A bath will relax them, and they’ll sleep better,” he said, trying to catch her eye, get her to present a united front.

“Auntie Aubba said we can skip,” Ginger said.

“Your parents put me in charge and I say you’re taking baths.”

“You can’t make us. You’re not our dad. Our dad is gone. This is our house. We own it. Now we make the rules.” Sienna was getting wound up, scaring herself, testing the limits.

He opened his mouth to say something firm, but Aubrey spoke up. “Have you girls ever seen a cat dive?”

The twins’ eyes zipped to Aubrey.

“If you take your baths, I bet I can get her to dive for you.”

“Really?” Sienna asked.

“Really. Scout loves water. We have lots of adventures in lakes and rivers.”

“You’re kidding,” Dixon said.

“I never kid about Scout the Adventure Cat, do I, girls?”

“Never,” Sienna chimed in. He noticed the little girl’s eyes were the same shade of blue as her aunt’s. They had the same noses and straight, red-blond hair, shiny as spun bronze. “Come on, Ginger.” Sienna bounded off the bed and headed out the door.

“Great diversion,” Dixon said to Aubrey. She’d shifted the girls’ attention away from the impasse. “Would you mind managing the bath? I should check messages. I turned off the sound so the girls wouldn’t hear anything upsetting before they knew. I likely got a call from the funeral director.”

“No problem.”

Aubrey headed after the girls, and Dixon tackled the machine, which had a message from the mortician, as well as tons from friends offering condolences, food and help, their voices full of shock. Rachel had done her job.

He’d torn off the note with the appointment time at the mortuary, when shrieks drew him down the hall to the bathroom. Were the girls fighting?

As soon as he walked in the door, he got hit in the crotch with a cup of warm water.

“Whoops, accident,” Aubrey said, but she’d clearly done it on purpose. The girls burst out laughing, which, no doubt, had been the point.

“It’s a water fight, Uncle Dixon,” Sienna explained.

“I can see that,” he said. There was an inch of water on the floor and the bath mat was soaked.

“Get her back,” Ginger said, holding out a plastic measuring cup brimming with soapy water.

“Hit me with your best shot,” Aubrey said, giving him the same grin she’d delivered on the cliff in Mexico when she’d dared him to jump.

“You look pretty wet already.” Her hair dripped appealingly, her shirt clung to her breasts.

Don’t stare. There are children here. Despite himself, he flashed on a memory of that night, carrying her back to her room, dripping wet, her silk dress all but transparent.

Forget that. Don’t think about that.

“You look like you peed your pants, Uncle Dixon.” Sienna pointed gleefully.

“Splash his legs so it looks like he was wading,” Aubrey said, clearly working to stay cheerful for the girls’ sake.

Sienna tossed a bowl of water at his slacks. Both girls squealed with delight at the results.

The bath was supposed to relax the girls, not hype them up, but he was glad to see smiles and hear laughter, even if it had a hysterical edge.

Giving in, Dixon sat on the wet floor, drenching his backside, too. The steamy air smelled like the cherry of the girls’ soap mixed with the spice of Aubrey’s perfume.

He found himself studying Aubrey. She was as strikingly pretty as when he’d met her at the wedding, with an expressive face, full mouth and remarkable eyes. Arresting. That was the old-fashioned word for her brilliant blue gaze, which stopped you in your tracks, made you want to raise your hands in surrender.

Arresting? Jesus.

His gaze shifted to her body, shapely and athletic. Her deep tan and sun-streaked hair were evidence of hours spent outdoors. Damn. A sigh escaped his lips.

The sound made Aubrey look his way, catching him still staring.

Luckily, Ginger broke the spell. “Scout picked up a block from the bottom of the tub, Uncle Dixon. Can we show him?” The question was for Aubrey.

“I think Scout’s done for the night,” Aubrey said. The cat sat on the padded toilet seat wrapped in a towel, fur fluffy, eyes closed in an expression of serenity. “So are we, right?”

Dixon held out a towel for each girl, then took two more from the shelf, handing one to Aubrey before he kneeled to sop up water from the floor. She did the same and their hands met in the middle of the room.

Dixon met her gaze, and received a sexual jolt.

Aubrey’s eyes lit up, as if she’d gotten the same charge. “We crashed, girls,” she said, clearly covering for the high-voltage moment.

He remembered her as a very physical person. She touched you when she talked, as if to ground herself, fingers brushing your hand, squeezing your upper arm, patting your back. That was how they’d ended up dancing at the wedding. She’d kept touching him, coaxing him, until the next thing he knew he was on the dance floor. And he hated dancing.

Earlier tonight, when she’d stopped him with a hand so she could glop goo on the girls’ ice cream, her touch had somehow steadied him for the task of telling the girls the terrible news. At least that was non-sexual. There was no place for sex here. Not in their situation, and certainly not around the girls.

Now Aubrey launched into a camp song about a frog that required her to bug out her eyes, stick out her tongue and make a gulping gargling sound during the chorus.

The girls were transfixed. The woman knew how to have fun, for sure. He’d seen that in Mexico.

Eventually, they herded the girls to their room, and Aubrey challenged them to see who could get into their pajamas first.

Afterward, tops mis-buttoned, bottoms inside out, the girls argued about who’d won.

“I’d say it was a tie, wouldn’t you, Dixon?” Aubrey said.

“I won,” Sienna insisted. “You just don’t want Ginger to cry.”