A Father for Her Triplets. Susan Meier

box?

      Looking for that was better than flipping through his grandmother’s underwear drawer.

      He pushed the bed to the side, off the rug, then knelt and began rolling the carpet, hoping to find a sign of a loose floorboard. With the rug out of the way, he felt along the hardwood, looking for a catch or a spring or something that would indicate a secret compartment. He smoothed his hand along a scarred board, watching the movement of his fingers as he sought a catch, and suddenly his hand hit something solid and stopped.

      His gaze shot over and there knelt Owen.

      “Hey.”

      He rocked back on his heels. “Hey. Does your mom know you’re here?”

      The little boy shook his head.

      Wyatt sighed. “Okay. Look. I like you. And from what I saw of your house this morning, I get it. You’re a bored guy in a houseful of women.”

      Owen’s big brown eyes blinked.

      “But you can’t come over here.”

      “Yes I can. I can get through the bushes.”

      Wyatt stifled a laugh. Leave it to a kid to be literal. “Yes, you can walk over here. It is possible. But it isn’t right for you to leave without telling your mom.”

      Owen held out a cell phone. “We can call her.”

      Wyatt groaned. “Owen, buddy, I hate to tell you this, but if you took your mom’s phone, you might be in a world of trouble.”

      He shoved up off the floor and held out his hand to the little boy. “Sorry, kid. But I’ve got to take you and the phone home.”

      Wyatt pulled the hedge back and walked up the steps to Missy’s kitchen, holding Owen’s hand. Knocking on the screen door, he called, “Missy?”

      Drying her hands on a dish towel, she appeared at the door, opened it and immediately saw Owen. “Oh, no. I’m sorry! I thought he was in the playroom with the girls.”

      She stooped down. “O-ee, honey. You have to stay here with Mommy.”

      Owen slid his little arm around Wyatt’s knee and hugged.

      And fifty percent of Wyatt’s childhood came tumbling back. he hadn’t been included in the neighbor kids’ games, because he was a nerd. And Owen wasn’t included in his sisters’ games, because he wasn’t a girl. But the feeling of being excluded was the same.

      Wyatt’s heart squeezed. “You know what? I didn’t actually bring him home to stay home.” He knew a cry for help when he heard it, and he couldn’t ignore it. He held out her cell phone and she gasped. “I just want you to know where he is, and I wanted to give back your phone.”

      She looked up at him. “Are you saying you’ll keep him at your house for a while?”

      “Sure. I think we could have fun.”

      Owen’s grip on his knee loosened.

      She caught her son’s gaze again. “If I let you go to Mr. McKenzie’s house for a few hours, will you promise to stay here this afternoon?”

      Owen nodded eagerly.

      Her gaze climbed up to meet Wyatt’s. “What are you going to do with a kid for a couple of hours?”

      “My grandmother kept everything. She should still have the video games I played as a boy. And if she doesn’t, I saw a sandbox out there in your yard. Maybe we could play in that.”

      Owen tugged on his jeans. “I have twucks.”

      Missy gave Wyatt a hopeful look. “He loves to play in the sand with his trucks.”

      He shrugged. “So sand it is. I haven’t showered yet this morning. I can crawl around in the dirt for a few hours.”

      Missy rose. “I really appreciate this.”

      “It’s no problem.”

      Twenty minutes later, Missy stood by her huge mixer waiting for her gelatin mix to cool, watching Owen and Wyatt out her kitchen window. Her eyes filled with tears. Her little boy needed a man around, but his dad had run and wanted nothing to do with his triplets. Her dad was a drunk. Her pool of potential men for Owen’s life was very small.

      Owen pushed a yellow toy truck through the sand as Wyatt operated a pint-size front-end loader. He filled the back of the truck with sand and Owen “drove” it to the other side of the sandbox, where he dumped it in a growing pile.

      Missy put her elbow on the windowsill and her chin on her open palm. She might not want to get involved with Wyatt, but it really would help Owen to have him around for the next month.

      Still, he was a rich, good-looking guy, who, if he wanted to play with kids, would have had some by now. It was wrong to even consider asking him to spend time with Owen. Especially since the time he spent with Owen had to be on her schedule, not his.

      She took a pitcher of tropical punch and some cookies outside. “I hate to say this,” she said, handing Owen the first glass of punch, “but somebody needs a nap.”

      Wyatt yawned and stretched. “Hey, no need to worry about hurting my feelings. I know I need a nap.”

      Owen giggled.

      Wyatt rose. “Wanna play for a few hours this afternoon?”

      Owen nodded.

      “Great. I’ll be back then.” He grabbed two cookies from the plate Missy held before he walked over to the hedge, pulled it back and strode through.

      Watching him go, Missy frowned thoughtfully. He really wasn’t a bad guy. Actually, he behaved a lot like the Wyatt she used to know. And he genuinely seemed to like Owen. Which was exactly what she wanted. Somebody to keep her little boy company.

      She glanced at the plate, the empty spot where the two cookies he’d taken had been sitting. Maybe she did know a way to keep him around. Since he was in his grandma’s house alone, and there was only one place in town to get food—the diner—it might be possible to keep him around just by feeding him.

      That afternoon Missy watched Wyatt emerge through the hedge a little after three. Owen was outside, so he didn’t even come inside. He just grabbed a ball and started a game of catch.

      Missy flipped the chicken breasts she was marinating, and went back to vacuuming the living room and cleaning bathrooms. When she was done, Owen and Wyatt were sitting at the picnic table.

      Marinated chicken in one hand and small bag of charcoal briquettes in the other, she raced out to the backyard. “You wouldn’t want to help me light the briquettes for the grill, would you?”

      Wyatt got up from the table. “Sure.” Grabbing the bag from her arm, he chuckled. “I didn’t know anybody still used these things.”

      “It’s cheaper than a gas grill.”

      He poured some into the belly of the grill. “I suppose.” He caught her gaze. “Got a match?”

      She went inside and returned with igniting fluid and the long slender lighter she used for candles.

      He turned the can of lighter fluid over in his hand. “I forgot about this. We’ll have a fire for you in fifteen minutes.”

      “If it takes you any longer, you’re a girl.”

      He laughed. “So we’re back to high school taunts.”

      “If the shoe fits. By the way, I’ve marinated enough chicken for an army and I’m making grilled veggies, if you want to join us for dinner.”

      “I think if I get the fire going, you owe me dinner.”

      She smiled. She couldn’t even begin to tell him how much she owed him for his help with Owen, so she only said, “Exactly.”

      She