A Ready-Made Family. Carrie Alexander

shrugged. “That depends on the situation.”

      “You’re the soldier, then.”

      “The soldier?”

      “Rose told me. One brother in the Army, one brother…” She trailed off as if embarrassed.

      Jake gave her a look. “In the big house.”

      “Where’s the big house?” the little girl asked. She pointed. “That one?”

      “A different kind of house, honey.”

      “Prison,” Howie said. He was looking at Jake with the same rounded eyes his mother used. “Were you in combat?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Are you going back?”

      “I’m retired now.”

      Howie squinted. “You don’t look that old.”

      “I’m thirty-nine. Old enough to retire from the Army. I enlisted when I was eighteen.”

      “My mom got married when she was seventeen.”

      “Oh?” Jake watched the emotion that crossed Lia’s face before she felt his interest and made herself go blank. He directed his comment at her. “You went through a different kind of combat, huh?”

      She let out a little snort. “You could say that.”

      “We’re divorced from Daddy,” piped up Kristen Rose.

      Lia clenched her hands. “I’m divorced, not you kids.”

      “Then when can we see Daddy again?”

      “I don’t know.” Lia evaded Jake’s curiosity by reaching for the discarded clothing. She got one whiff and dropped the garments. “The smell is really bad, even on Howie. We’re going to have to do something about it or we won’t be allowed into a motel.”

      The boy cocked his head. “A motel? But—”

      “Hush, Howie. We’re going to a motel.” Lia sent a distracted but apologetic smile at Jake. “We’ve caused enough trouble for Mr. Robbin.”

      Jake knew that he ought to keep his mouth shut and let them leave. He wanted them to go. He had big plans for the place and he surely didn’t want to work around the distraction of three kids and a needy woman. Only the thought of Rose scolding him for being a bad host in her stead made him speak up. “You’re going to run off and leave me stinking like this?”

      Lia showed surprise. “Well, of course I’d like to help, but I don’t know what I can—”

      “I know,” Howie said. “We have to take baths in tomato juice.”

      “Sounds kind of icky, but if you want to try it…” Lia looked at Jake. “Do you have any tomato juice?”

      He thought of the nearly bare cupboards and fridge. Chili and beans, a few cans of tuna. Beer, mustard, ketchup. “I sincerely doubt it.”

      “I, um, I guess I could go to the store.”

      Jake had heard the racket when they drove up. That car shouldn’t go anywhere until he’d taken a look at the engine and the brakes. “You can take my truck.”

      Lia hesitated, looking worried. “All right.” She reached for her daughter’s hand, protective as a mama bear. “We’ll all go to the store for tomato juice.”

      “I’m staying here with Jake,” Howie announced.

      “Oh, no, you’re not.”

      Jake tightened his jaw and kept silent. For about two seconds. Then he glanced at Howie’s hopeful face. “It’s okay. He can stay.”

      The boy beamed.

      Shit, Jake thought, but mostly out of habit. “He reeks too much to go in my truck.”

      Howie sniffed himself. His narrow chest expanded. “Yeah, I reek.”

      Lia aimed the big blues at Jake. “Are you sure?”

      He scowled, not used to being questioned. “I know my own mind.”

      “Lucky you.”

      Lucky? “And I don’t say what I don’t mean.”

      Her stare became skeptical. “That must be interesting.”

      “Not so much. I also know when to keep my mouth shut.”

      “Huh. There’s a talent.”

      She sounded weary, maybe a little wistful. Jake’s antennae went up, before he reminded himself that she was a mom who’d been on a road trip with a broken-down car and three children who weren’t shy about their opinions.

      She looked the worse for the wear. Her pale blond hair was caught up at the back of her head with straggly wisps hanging loose. A wayward bra strap peeked out from the sleeveless pink blouse that was wrinkled and untucked from a pair of baggy shorts. Nice legs. But no tan. White socks sagged at her ankles. Her five-dollar-bin tennis shoes were scuffed and fraying at the pinkie toes. Around one wrist was a rubber band, a grimy braided string knotted into place and a stretchy bracelet made of pink sparkly frills and doodads.

      Jake’s eyes went back up. Lia’s face was pretty enough when she wasn’t looking hassled or worried, but she wasn’t his type. Not that he actually had a type except for knowing from the age of sixteen what he didn’t need: women who clung, women who whined, women with great expectations.

      Since he’d been back in Alouette and seen tough little Wild Rose so happy and content with her fiancé, there’d grown a few doubts in Jake’s mind that maybe the Robbin siblings weren’t destined to be loners after all. He’d even experienced a rare loneliness, on his own, without his squadron, without orders, without a firm plan for the future. Rose had been thrilled to have him back—hell, she’d hugged him so hard he’d had bruises the next day—but she’d also been busy with her new family and wedding plans. When the twittering bridesmaids had descended, Jake had made himself scarce.

      He ran a hand through his damp hair, already grown out some from its Army-issue zip cut. Rose would read him the riot act if he didn’t offer her friend a place to stay. But she was on her honeymoon for a week or so, which would leave him with too many days of goggle-eyed attitude, worship and questions from the Howard children. What he’d get from Lia was anyone’s guess.

      Jake kept his mouth shut, not so sure he wanted to find out.

      Lia had taken another sniff of Howie. “It’s not that bad. You should come along so we don’t impose on Mr. Robbin more than we already have.”

      Howie’s face fell. “But I stink.”

      She gave him a stern look. “Not that bad. You’re mostly smelling Mr. Robbin.”

      Howie looked at Jake, hoping for help.

      He shrugged. If Lia was going to be stubborn, he wouldn’t insist.

      Now she was looking doubtfully at his heavy-duty pickup truck, a GMC Sierra, parked in front of the main house. “You know how to drive a stick?” he asked and tossed her the keys that had been in his pocket when he’d gotten skunked.

      She caught them, her expression remaining hesitant even when she nodded. “I can drive a stick. But I need— I need—” Now she was pained. “Money,” she finally blurted. Her face went red. “For the tomato juice. I’ll have to get a lot of the large-size cans to make a bath for…” Her gaze skipped across his chest before pinning itself on his left ear while she said in a rush, “A big man like you.”

      “No problem. My wallet’s inside. In fact, if you don’t mind, you can pick up a few groceries for me while you’re at it.” The thought at the back of his mind was that the food was actually for them, but if she was broke, he didn’t want her to feel like a charity case. “Milk, bread, eggs,