The Magnificent Seven. Cheryl St.John

managed to make her chin quiver. “She tried to make me draw pictures I don’t want to color.”

      Mitch propped a small ladder from the ground to the doorway above. He picked up Taylor. “Let’s get this cut cleaned and bandaged.”

      Heather moved back and watched him enter the kitchen and sit his daughter on the chair she’d earlier occupied.

      “Look what I made, Daddy.” Ashley held up the picture she’d drawn.

      Mitch praised her artwork and accepted the plastic first-aid kit Heather supplied. He paused in cleaning his daughter’s knee to survey Heather’s expression.

      Feeling helpless, she merely raised a brow. He must feel this way all the time.

      Taylor immediately started to cry again. “My leg hurts!”

      Mitch met Heather’s gaze, his confusion obvious. “Here, let me get a bandage on, and you can go rest for a while.”

      “Can I watch a video?”

      “Sure, as long as you’re sitting quietly.”

      Over his shoulder, Taylor gave Heather a smug look and allowed her tears to subside.

      Heather did a slow burn. “It’s still lesson time,” she said. “I planned videos for after lunch.”

      Mitch straightened. “Couldn’t we bend the schedule just a little to accommodate today’s problems?”

      “May I have a word with you alone?” she asked.

      “Can I have a cookie, too?” Taylor asked.

      Mitch glanced from his daughter to Heather.

      “They haven’t had lunch yet,” she supplied.

      “Excuse us for a minute,” Mitch said. “Girls, you sit here while I talk to Heather.”

      Wondering all the while what she’d gotten herself into, Heather followed him into the living room. He led the way, as though he’d taken charge of this situation, and his assumption ruffled her.

      “It seems to me that constantly bending the schedule—and the rules—is the main problem here,” she said in a low, controlled voice.

      His expression darkened. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I know they’re not angels. I haven’t known what to do with them most of the time. But I think they need a little flexibility.”

      “Maybe it’s stability they need.”

      His eyes seemed to soften. And his voice, when he spoke again, was laced with a combination of vulnerability and tenderness. “Can’t there be both?”