The Marine's Babies. Laura Marie Altom

which is a record since their arrival.”

      “I figured introducing solid food would help. But then for all we know, they’ve been used to it.” She buttered his toast, and then eased four strips of bacon alongside his eggs. Setting the plate and utensils in front of him, she asked, “Anything else before I check on the babies?”

      “Yes.” He stood, walked to the cabinet to grab an extra plate, fork and napkin, and then pulled out the chair alongside him. “Join me. The last thing I intended when hiring you was for you to be my own personal serving wench.”

      “I know,” she said, fidgeting her hands along the seat back of the nearest chair. “But I don’t feel comfortable sharing a meal with you.”

      “Why?” he asked, already divvying up the food. “Because yesterday, in the park, I thought we’d had a connection.”

      “That was different,” she bristled.

      “How so?” He dug into his portion of the meal.

      “We were discussing parenting. Sharing a meal would be…different.”

      Shaking his head, he laughed. “You’re a tough one to read, Emma Stewart. Please, sit. Promise, I won’t bite a thing besides my food.”

      She sat, but didn’t like it. The man was too playful for her tastes.

      He shoved her plate and fork toward her. “Try some. It’s good.”

      “I usually just have a bagel for breakfast.”

      “That’s why you’re so skinny.” He helped himself to a piece of her toast. “Ask me, a woman needs meat on her bones. Something for a man to hang on to.”

      Her mind’s eye focused on an image of him spooning her. How it might feel being cocooned by his strength. Heat flamed her cheeks. She hastily feigned interest in her food.

      “I’m not too skinny,” she snapped. “There’s no such thing.”

      “Think what you want, but trust me, you’re a decent-looking woman. If you’d pack a little junk in your trunk, I’ll bet you wouldn’t be able to keep guys away.”

      Momentarily stunned, she just sat gaping at him. “Please tell me you didn’t say what you just said.”

      He shrugged, and then calmly forked the last bite of his eggs. “In my line of work, I might die tomorrow. I believe in calling it like I see it.”

      “Yes, well, I believe this conversation is out of line.”

      “I’m sorry,” he said, blinding her with that slow, sexy grin. “My bad. You already have a guy, don’t you? Since you don’t wear a ring, I assumed you were single, but—”

      Since her incident at the hotel, she’d permanently removed her wedding ring.

      “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I am single. And I intend to stay that way.” Pushing her chair back, she stood. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to do what I was hired for, and check on the babies.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” Jace said, sending her a playful salute.

      “QUESTION,” Jace asked Granola the next morning while performing his helicopter’s flight check. The previous day’s storms had burned off, leaving clear skies with unlimited visibility. Wind out of the south at ten knots.

      “Shoot,” Granola said, voice muffled into his flight helmet’s microphone.

      “You know this nanny I’ve hired?”

      “Yeah. Altitude two-two-zero reached.”

      “Check. One-two-zero K-T-A-S reached. No unusual vibrations. Control position normal.” Jace confirmed the maneuver area was clear before launching the next portion of the test. “She’s a sharp cookie. Cute, too.”

      “No rotor instability,” Granola said when Jace had finished his portion of the test. “You thinking of asking her out?”

      “No way. Wouldn’t she be morally off limits?” Jace initiated a climb.

      “I don’t see why. Control positioning check.”

      Grunting, Jace performed a series of left-and right-bank angle turns. As expected, everything checked out fine. Returning to base at normal cruising altitude, Jace said, “She used to be some kind of financial guru. She’s not married and she doesn’t have kids, but damn, does she know her way around babies.”

      Granola suggested, “Maybe, like Pam, she grew up in a big family?”

      “Maybe.”

      “You ever think of asking her all of this instead of me?”

      “S’pose I could,” Jace said, banking left, “but she’s kind of frosty.”

      “How so?”

      “I don’t know. Sometimes she just rubs me the wrong way. Like she expects me to be something I’m not.”

      “Like a father?” Granola asked.

      “Think you’re funny, do you?” Jace threw the helicopter into a hard and fast sixty-degree bank.

      “MOM,” Emma said into her cell while filling her Volvo’s empty gas tank. “I promise I’m fine. Happy even.” The twins were strapped into their safety seats with the front windows down, so the air inside the vehicle didn’t get too hot.

      “That’s quite a change from the last time we talked. When I told you to get on with your life, I was hoping for that to happen sometime over the next few months. Not in a few days.”

      “What can I say? An opportunity came up, and I went for it. I’ve always loved children. You were the one who told me I should borrow some. So, that’s essentially what I did.”

      “Great. For once you actually followed my advice. But honey, gauging your happiness level, somewhere along the line you’ve forgotten these aren’t your children.” Her mother’s insinuation that Emma somehow didn’t already understand this fact was insulting. “Plus, you don’t even know the man you’re working for. What if he’s some kind of deviant?”

      Topping off the tank, Emma sighed. “He’s not a deviant, Mom. He’s a Marine. I seriously doubt any guy the U.S. Marine Corps trusts with a multi-million-dollar piece of equipment is going to go Hannibal Lecter on me.”

      “I didn’t say he was, honey, only that I’m worried about you. Just a week ago, you were so deep into your own thoughts you could hardly carry a normal conversation. Now, you’re all of a sudden healed. Don’t you think I should be concerned?”

      What Emma thought was that her mom should mind her own business.

      Emma said her goodbyes, grabbed her receipt from the pump and then climbed back behind the wheel of her car.

      Beatrice was cranky—had been all through their trip to the grocery store—and was fitfully crying. “We’re on our way home, ladybug,” she soothed, checking on her in the rearview mirror.

      She popped a sing-along children’s disc into the CD player, and turned the volume to High.

      Bronwyn, at least, happily kicked and cooed.

      At the house, Emma made quick work of unloading the babies, then the groceries. Bronwyn seemed content on a pink quilt on the living room carpet, lying on her back, grinning at the mirror and dangling shapes on her baby gym. Beatrice, however, wasn’t so easily amused.

      After trying a bottle, baby-food peaches and pears, a diaper change and burping, Emma settled for good old-fashioned rocking in Jace’s navy leather recliner.

      Cradling her close, tucking Beatrice’s head beneath her chin, Emma sang softly. “Hush little baby, don’t you cry, Momma’s gonna sing you a lullaby…”

      Soon