Corporate Daddy. Arlene James

fever thermometers.

      Before he could take in the rest, the door opened at the end of the foyer and a series of bangs and grunts alerted him that even more was coming. He moved in the direction of the noise. Emily was struggling to get Amanda Sue, her diaper bag and a couple of plastic sackfulls of groceries into the foyer.

      “Here, let me help,” he said, taking both bags. No sooner had he set them down in the living room than she informed him that more waited in the car.

      He hauled in jars and jars of toddler food, boxes of dry cereal, milk and diapers. “Where do you want it?”

      Emily had collapsed onto the sofa among the toys, Amanda Sue in her lap. A long lock of sandy-brown hair had pulled loose from Emily’s ubiquitous bun to lay across her shoulder and chest. He hadn’t realized that her hair was so long or shiny. As he watched, Amanda Sue reached up and absently coiled the silky lock around one little hand, rubbing her eyes with the other fist even as she wriggled in an attempt to get down. Though bedraggled and exhausted, Emily, nevertheless, held on. She stared at him for a moment, sans glasses, then sighed.

      “I assume you know where your own kitchen is.”

      “What about the diapers?”

      “Upstairs with the rest of this stuff,” she said, waving a hand wearily.

      He wondered where upstairs he was supposed to find room for a department store but wisely kept the thought to himself. After carrying the bags into the kitchen, he stowed the milk in the refrigerator and left everything else on the counter.

      When he returned to the living room, he found that Emily had kicked off her shoes and closed her eyes. The look on her face as she flexed her toes might have been pain or pleasure. He noted with unexpected interest that she wasn’t wearing stockings. Her straight, knee-length skirt had hiked slightly, giving him an excellent view of her long, slender legs. Funny, but now that she wasn’t groomed to within an inch of her life, she was surprisingly appealing. Rumpled suited her. Usually, it was the other way around with the women he knew. She seemed to sense his presence and opened her eyes.

      “You’ve certainly been busy,” he began, only to find himself being shushed.

      “Don’t wake the baby,” she whispered, tucking the escaped lock of hair behind her ear and nodding down at her lap. Amanda Sue lay sprawled across her, eyes closed, bottom lip protruding in a perpetual pout. “She can’t sleep long or she won’t sleep tonight,” Emily went on, “but if she doesn’t get a short nap she’s going to be too wound up to sleep at all. And God knows I could use a few minutes peace.”

      He lowered his voice to say, “Why don’t we put her down in another room?”

      Emily rolled her eyes. “We can’t do that. She could fall off a regular bed or wake up and climb down, in which case the room will be wrecked before we even know it, providing she doesn’t break her neck first, of course. You have to put together the crib.”

      Logan knew she was right. He’d never seen a kid who moved as fast or was as determined as this one. He took off his coat, stripped away his tie and rolled up his sleeves before reaching for the big, flat box containing the crib parts. “Where should I put it?”

      “Upstairs, the bedroom farthest from the landing.”

      Grimacing, he began dragging the unwieldy box up the stairs. Putting the crib together took hours and every tool in the house, or it seemed so, anyway. When Emily came upstairs with Amanda Sue on her hip and a stack of linens tucked under one arm, she took one look at the as yet lopsided crib and the pieces still littering the floor and quipped, “Want me to call a rocket scientist?”

      “Yeah, would you?” he retorted. “I’m thinking of exploring outer space.”

      She laughed. “It’s not as daunting as it seems.”

      “I know. I’ve almost got it. Won’t take a minute more.”

      She dumped the linens on the dresser. “I was talking about parenthood.”

      Unconvinced, he said nothing to that.

      “I took the liberty of making us some dinner,” she said.

      That was good news. “Great! I’ll be right down.”

      She nodded. “I’ll start feeding the baby.”

      He quickly finished up, put away the tools and carried them back downstairs. Emily had set the table in the kitchen. He’d had it made to match the planked fronts of the cabinets and countertops which were accented with black wrought iron.

      “It isn’t much,” she said, “just sandwiches and salad.”

      “Sounds good to me,” he assured her, eyeing his baby daughter. “What on earth has she got all over her?”

      “Squished carrots and beef weiners,” Emily answered offhandedly.

      A fat plastic spoon with a short, curved handle lay on one corner of the high chair tray. He was about to ask why Amanda Sue wasn’t using it when she picked it up, banged it loudly against the tray and threw it to the floor. Emily calmly picked it up and carried it to the sink, washing it while Amanda Sue dug into the food on her plate with both hands and crammed it into her mouth.

      “Why is she doing that?” Logan asked, disgusted.

      “Amanda Sue prefers to feed herself,” Emily explained mildly, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “It’s typical behavior for children her age.”

      He walked around the table and took his own place, eyeing his messy daughter warily. As he devoured his meal, he marveled as Emily ate her own dinner and still managed to get some of Amanda Sue’s inside her with the clean spoon, all without relinquishing the utensil to Amanda Sue’s stubborn grasp or getting covered in mush herself. Moreover, her sandwiches were tasty and the salad crisp. Best of all, though, was Emily’s iced tea.

      “You’ll have to show me how you make your tea,” he said, sated and content.

      She shook her head. “My mama wouldn’t like that. It’s a—”

      “Ma-ma!” Amanda exclaimed, suddenly struggling to get out of her chair. “Mammma!”

      “Secret,” Emily finished, grimacing sheepishly. “Sorry.” She worked with Amanda Sue for several minutes, offering her first the spoon and then the cup before the cries subsided. Logan sighed. How was he going to raise this little girl without her mother? There was so much he didn’t know or understand.

      “Kitchen or baby?” Emily asked, interrupting his thoughts.

      “Huh?”

      “Do you want to clean up the kitchen or the baby?”

      A no-brainer. He was clearing the table before Emily could get to her feet. She stripped the baby, wiped her face and hands with her filthy shirt and helped her out of the high chair, carrying her away. A few minutes later, Logan had loaded the dishwasher—a relatively new experience for him as he usually left his dishes in the sink for the housekeeper—stowed the leftover salad in the refrigerator and tackled Amanda Sue’s high chair with a roll of paper towels. When he was done, he wandered out into the living room and looked around him in dismay. Resigned, he started moving everything upstairs.

      He made the last trip, then wandered down the hall to the bathroom. The door was open, and Emily’s patient murmur, overlaid with sounds of splashing and squeals of glee, was clearly audible. Logan leaned a hip against the frame, his hands sliding into his pants’ pockets and observed.

      Emily knelt beside the tub, a towel draped across her upper body, for all the good it had done her; her skirt and sleeves were soaked. A naked Amanda Sue was strapped into an ingenuous plastic seat with suckers on the feet that fixed it to the bottom of the tub. Her wet hair plastered to her head, she was happily smacking the surface of the water with her hands and forearms, splashing walls, floor, herself and Emily.

      “She really seems to like the water,”