A Game Of Chance. Linda Howard

“Brace yourself,” he advised. “Barrie and Nick are home.”

      Seconds later the front door opened and a shriek filled the house. “Unca Dance! UncaDanceUncaDance-UncaDance!” The chant was punctuated by the sound of tiny feet running and jumping down the hall as Nick’s celebration of his visit came closer. Chance leaned back in his chair and opened the office door a bare second before Nick barreled through it, her entire little body quivering with joy and eagerness.

      She hurled herself at him, and he managed to catch her with his free arm, dragging her onto his lap. She paused to bestow a big-sisterly kiss and a pat on the back of Zack’s head—never mind that he was almost as big as she was—then turned all her fierce attention to Chance.

      “Are you staying dis time?” she demanded, even as she lifted her face for him to kiss. He did, nuzzling her soft cheek and neck and making her giggle, inhaling the faint sweet scent of baby that still clung to her.

      “Just for a few days,” he said, to her disappointment. She was old enough now to notice his long and frequent absences, and whenever she saw him she tried to convince him to stay.

      She scowled; then, being Nick, she decided to move on to more important matters. Her face brightened. “Den can I wide your moborcycle?”

      Alarm flared through him. “No,” he said firmly. “You can’t ride it, sit on it, lean on it, or put any of your toys on it unless I’m with you.” With Nick, it was best to close all the loopholes. She seldom disobeyed a direct order, but she was a genius at finding cracks to slip through. Another possibility occurred to him. “You can’t put Cam or Zack on it, either.” He doubted she could lift either of them, but he wasn’t taking any risks.

      “Thank you,” Barrie said dryly, entering the office in time to catch his addendum. She leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, at the same time lifting Zack from his arms so he could protect himself from Nick’s feet. All the Mackenzie males, at one time or another, had fallen victim to a tiny foot in the crotch.

      “Mission accomplished?” Zane asked, leaning back in his chair and smiling at his wife with that lazy look in his pale eyes that said he liked what he was seeing.

      “Not without some drama and convincing, but, yes, mission accomplished.” She pushed a feather lock of red hair out of her eyes. As always, she looked stylish, though she was wearing nothing dressier than beige slacks and a white sleeveless blouse that set off her slim, lightly tanned arms. You could take the girl out of the finishing school, Chance thought admiringly, but you could never take the finishing school out of the girl, and Barrie had gone to the most exclusive one in the world.

      Nick was still focused on negotiating riding rights on the motorcycle. She caught his face between her hands and leaned down so her nose practically touched his, insuring his complete attention. He nearly laughed aloud at the fierce intent in her expression. “I wet you wide my twicycle,” she said, evidently deciding to cajole instead of demand.

      “Somehow I missed that,” Zane murmured in amusement, while Barrie laughed softly.

      “You offered to let me ride your tricycle,” Chance corrected. “But I’m too big to ride a tricycle, and you’re too little to ride a motorcycle.”

      “Den when can I wide it?” She made her blue eyes wide and winsome.

      “When you get your driver’s license.”

      That stymied her. She had no idea what a driver’s license was, or how to get it. She stuck a finger in her mouth while she pondered this situation, and Chance tried to divert her interest. “Hey! Aren’t those new shoes you’re wearing?”

      Like magic, her face brightened again. She wriggled around so he could hold one foot up so close to his face she almost kicked him in the nose. “Dey’re so pwetty,” she crooned in delight.

      He caught the little foot in his big hand, admiring the shine of the black patent leather. “Wow, that’s so shiny I can see my face in it.” He pretended to inspect his teeth, which set her to giggling.

      Zane rose to his feet. “We’ll put the boys down for their naps while you have her occupied.”

      Keeping Nick occupied wasn’t a problem; she was never at a loss for something to say or do. He curled one silky black strand of her hair around his finger while she chattered about her new shoes, Grampa’s new horses, and what Daddy had said when he hit his thumb with a hammer. She cheerfully repeated exactly what Daddy had said, making Chance choke.

      “But I’m not ’posed to say dat,” she said, giving him a solemn look. “Dat’s a weally, weally bad word.”

      “Yeah,” he said, his voice strained. “It is.”

      “I’m not ’posed to say ‘damn,’ or ‘hell,’ or ‘ass,’ or—”

      “Then you shouldn’t be saying them now.” He managed to inject a note of firmness in his tone, though it was a struggle to keep from laughing.

      She looked perplexed. “Den how can I tell you what dey are?”

      “Does Daddy know what the bad words are?”

      The little head nodded emphatically. “He knows dem all.”

      “I’ll ask him to tell me, so I’ll know which words not to say.”

      “Otay.” She sighed. “But don’t hit him too hard.”

      “Hit him?”

      “Dat’s de only time he says dat word, when he hits his dumb wid de hammer. He said so.”

      Chance managed to turn his laugh into a cough. Zane was an ex-SEAL; his language was as salty as the sea he was so at home in, and Chance had heard “dat word,” and worse, many times from his brother. But Mom had also instilled strict courtesy in all her children, so their language was circumspect in front of women and children. Zane must not have known Nick was anywhere near him when he hit his thumb, or no amount of pain could have made him say that in her hearing. Chance only hoped she forgot it before she started kindergarten.

      “Aunt Mawis is goin’ to have a baby,” Nick said, scrambling up to stand in his lap, her feet braced on his thighs. Chance put both hands around her to steady her, though his aid probably wasn’t needed; Nick had the balance of an acrobat.

      “I know. Your daddy told me.”

      Nick scowled at not being the first to impart the news. “She’s goin’ to foal in de spwing,” she announced.

      He couldn’t hold back the laughter this time. He gathered the little darling close to him and stood, whirling her around and making her shriek with laughter as she clung to his neck. He laughed until his eyes were wet. God, he loved this child, who in the three short years of her life had taught them all to be on their toes at all times, because there was no telling what she was going to do or say. It took the entire Mackenzie family to ride herd on her.

      Suddenly she heaved a sigh. “When’s de spwing? Is it a wong, wong time away?”

      “Very long,” he said gravely. Seven months was an eternity to a three-year-old.

      “Will I be old?”

      He put on a sympathetic face and nodded. “You’ll be four.”

      She looked both horrified and resigned. “Four,” she said mournfully. “Whodadunkit?”

      When he stopped laughing this time, he wiped his eyes and asked, “Who taught you to say whodathunkit?”

      “John,” she said promptly.

      “Did he teach you anything else?”

      She nodded.

      “What? Can you remember it?”

      She nodded.

      “Will you tell me what they are?”

      She rolled her eyes up and studied the ceiling for a moment, then