Four Reasons For Fatherhood. Muriel Jensen

around to help.

      A tall man in a beige raincoat stepped out onto the sidewalk. He frowned apparently at the sight of the small crowd leaving the church.

      “Uncle Aaron!” John shouted. They were the first words except for “yes” or “no” the boy had spoken since Susan had sped across Princeton to care for him and his brothers.

      The man opened his arms and bent down to scoop up the boy as he flew at him.

      “Who’s that?” George asked. He was four.

      “I Guess it’s Uncle Aaron,” six-year-old Paul replied sagely. “Come on!”

      The two boys ran to the man. He lowered John to his feet to embrace the other two boys.

      Susan tried not to be offended by their traitorous behaviour. She’d run to be with them the moment she’d received the news that their mother, Susan’s cousin, and their father had perished in a commuter-plane crash off Catalina Island.

      Ringo, the fifteen-month-old in her arms, was grateful to be held, a source of security within the chaos his little life had become. George was warm and sweet, and Paul seemed to observe and analyze everything. But though the boys knew her well, they resisted her efforts to help them with their grief, because John, almost eight, the eldest and therefore the leader, was keeping his distance, unwilling to let anyone try to take his parents’ places.

      Susan watched the man, who was down on one knee on the sidewalk drawing the boys into the circle of his arms as they talked. His hair was dark blond and a little rumpled from the blustery late March weather.

      Hazel eyes focused on one boy after the other as he spoke earnestly to them. George on his raised knee, Paul leaning against him on one side and John on the other.

      So, this was Dave’s brother, Susan thought. She’d never met him, but Becky had told her about her clever in-law with the multi-million-dollar computer-software company. “He’s a great guy, but when he’s working he’s all business, and when he’s playing he’s the quintessential playboy. He visits at Christmas every four or five years and calls occasionally, but he has very little time for domesticity.” Then Becky had smiled; Susan had been visiting shortly after John was born. “That’s why Dave and I would like to name you in our will as John’s guardian should—God forbid—anything happen to us.”

      Susan had agreed without even stopping to consider, certain that nothing could happen to the robust young woman of twenty-one and her twenty-four-year-old husband.

      But apparently God hadn’t forbidden, and eight years and three more children later, Susan was having to live up to her promise.

      She was more than willing. Becky had been her childhood companion, and, after their parents had passed away, her only tie to family.

      She couldn’t help, though, feeling resentful of the boys’ business-mogul/playboy uncle, who hadn’t bothered to get in touch until last night, four days after the accident. Who hadn’t even made it to New Jersey on time for his brother and sister-in-law’s memorial service today. And who now had the boys mesmerized like some London Fog-clad Svengali.

      Then he got to his feet and bringing the boys with him, met Susan at the bottom of the steps.

      He took Ringo from her and hugged him. The toddler allowed it, though he studied him a little warily.

      “Hey, pal,” the man said, “I’m your uncle Aaron. I’m glad to see you got the Bradley good looks, too.” He pinched Ringo’s nose between his knuckles and the boy giggled.

      Aaron Bradley’s gaze moved to Susan and rested on her a moment before he spoke, as though he thought he might analyze and understand her first.

      It surprised her when she saw the slight shift in his eyes from open friendliness to cautious reserve. Had he been able to read her resentment?

      He held Ringo in one arm and offered her his free hand. “You must be Susan,” he said closing his hand over hers. It was large and warm. “We spoke last night on the phone. I’m Aaron Bradley, Dave’s brother.”

      She smiled politely. “Yes, I know,” she said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

      “Thank you. I’m sorry for yours.” He withdrew his hand and angled his chin toward the church. “I can’t believe I missed the memorial service.”

      “Crisis at the office?” she asked. The question had been a little glib, and she saw in his eyes that he’d noted that.

      “Fog in San Francisco, actually,” he replied after a moment, his voice quiet and controlled. “My connecting flight got socked in for a couple of hours.”

      “Aaron,” a male voice called from behind Susan. “Hi. I’m sorry about Dave.”

      Aaron’s grim features brightened into a smile as he extended his hand again. “Micah! How are you?”

      A big dark-haired man in a cashmere coat came around Susan to shake hands with Aaron Bradley. “I’m good,” he said. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to see you, but when you weren’t in church, I was afraid something prevented you from coming.”

      “I was just telling Susan that my flight was delayed by fog in San Francisco. Susan, I’d like you to meet Micah Steadwell, an old school friend of mine. Micah, this is Susan Turner, Dave’s wife’s cousin.”

      Micah took her hand and brought it to his lips to plant a kiss on her knuckles. His courtly behavior was a surprise, but didn’t seem like an act. He was a man, she guessed, with a unique style.

      “Hello Ms. Turner,” he said gravely. “I’m so sorry about your cousin.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Steadwell,” she replied.

      Micah turned to Aaron. “Are you taking the boys home with you?”

      Aaron indicated Susan with a jut of his chin. “No, Dave and Becky wanted Susan to have custody.”

      Micah nodded. “Of course. Well.” He clapped Aaron on the shoulder. “I own the Knight Club now, near the Princeton Shopping Center. I’d like you and Susan to come as my guests before you go home. I know you don’t feel like partying, but I’d love to treat you to dinner if you have time.”

      Aaron shook his head apologetically. “Doesn’t look good. I’ll only be here a couple of days. But I appreciate that you came, Micah.”

      “Sure.” Micah shook his hand again and handed him a business card. “We’ll have to stay in better touch. Mom and Ross said to say hello.”

      Aaron nodded. “Give them my love.”

      “Will do. Bye, Ms. Turner.”

      As Micah left Aaron pointed behind him to the limousine, the liveried driver waiting by the rear passenger door. “Susan, let me take you and the boys home.”

      She pointed to a man and woman standing off to one side, waiting. “Those are friends of Dave’s and Becky’s who drove us to the church. They’re waiting to—”

      He handed Ringo back to her. “You get the boys into the limo and I’ll explain.”

      He had covered the few steps to the waiting couple and was already smiling and shaking hands before she could protest. As large drops of rain began to fall, accompanied by a low rumble of thunder, she herded the other three boys toward the limo with her free hand.

      The driver, a rotund older man with a cheerful expression, opened the door for them and held Ringo for her while she climbed inside. Then he handed the toddler in.

      The boys were immediately pushing buttons opening and closing windows and the privacy panel, turning on the small television, discovering the wine decanter and glasses.

      Since she’d arrived in their home, Susan had learned that a mother of four boys should be equipped with eight arms.

      She was still trying to reclaim control when Aaron