Project: Daddy. Patricia Knoll

      “They checked out, even though that girl you had listed, Carolyn, said she hadn’t seen you in five years.”

      Paris’s hands drifted up to play with the collar of her blouse. “Has it been that long?”

      “And the man—your family doctor? Well, he could barely stop laughing long enough for me to ask the questions, but he did confirm the excellent state of your health.”

      “Laughing?”

      “Apparently, he thought the idea of you being a housekeeper and nanny was pretty funny.”

      “Well,” Paris said primly. “Dr. Gaddis is…easily amused.”

      “Mm-hm.”

      He obviously didn’t believe that stretching of the truth, so she dropped it and said, “The important thing is that they could vouch for my character, right? So my two-week trial is on?”

      “Looks like.” Mac tilted his head and gave her a speculative look as if once again, there was more he wanted to say. Instead, he turned abruptly and started from the room. “I’m going to bed. Wake me if you need help with the kids in the night.”

      Paris stared at his disappearing back. “Well, I’ll be darned,” she murmured. In one breath he’d virtually turned the kids and their complete care over to her, and in the next, he’d subtly reminded her that he was watching her closely.

      It wasn’t fair, she thought grumpily, as she switched off the living room light and made her way to her own room. She wanted to slot him into a neat pigeonhole in her mind, but he wouldn’t fit.

      Her father had been a robust, yet simple man whose life had revolved around planting and harvesting, watching the weather and gauging how many cubic feet of water he would need for irrigating his celery crop. Her husband Keith had been sweet and shy, eager to please absolutely everyone around him.

      This man had more facets than a fistful of diamonds. She frowned at that poor analogy. There was nothing precious or jewel-like about him, though he certainly seemed to have the hardness of a diamond. Bemused, she prepared for bed.

      Paris woke up when a small hand pinched her nostrils shut. Gasping, she jerked into wakefulness and reached out to grab Elly’s wrist and pull it away.

      “You ’wake?” the little girl whispered, putting her face up close to Paris’s.

      “I am now,” Paris admitted, struggling upward. She reached out to snap on the light.

      In the sudden brightness, she and Elly blinked at each other. The little girl’s fiery curls tumbled about her face, her eyes were full of tears and her bottom lip trembled. She clutched a tattered stuffed rabbit to her chest and was holding one of its ears to her cheek.

      “Simon wants to sleep with you,” she announced. “He’s scared and he wants to get in your bed. He wants me to be in your bed, too.”

      “He does?” Trying hard to focus and clear sleep-fog from her brain, Paris looked around the room. It was empty except for her and Elly. “Where is he?”

      Elly turned. “He’s goned,” she said, alarm rising in her voice as she scooted off the bed and hurried from the room.

      Paris threw back the covers, grabbed for her robe and rushed after the little girl. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and fumbled for the belt as she shuffled into the hallway. Elly was already in her own room, frantically searching the playpen for her little brother when Paris joined her.

      “He’s not here,” Elly wailed. “Somebody’s got him.”

      “No, no, we’ll find him,” Paris assured her, sweeping Elly into her arms. The little girl immediately curled her arms around Paris’s neck in a stranglehold. A soft cry behind them told her where the little boy was. Paris turned and hurried back to the hallway, where she found Simon sleepily fumbling at the knob of Mac’s bedroom door. He couldn’t quite reach it, and his groggy efforts were heartrending to see.

      Paris rushed to him. “It’s okay, Simon. Come with me,” she whispered, staggering slightly as Elly’s weight around her neck pitched her forward. She stumbled against the door just as it was swept open by Mac. Paris barreled into him.

      “Oomph,” he grunted, taking the impact of her head against his chest muscles.

      Paris bounced back, her ears ringing. Were his pectoral muscles made of iron, she wondered, as she struggled to keep her grip on Elly. Mac’s arm shot out automatically to hold the two females upright. His free hand slapped the hall light on and they all squinted in its brightness.

      “Oomph,” Simon repeated softly, wrapping himself around Mac’s legs, then said “oomph” again as if the sound of it pleased him and his fright was forgotten. Calm now, he looked up to see what everyone else was going to do.

      “What’s going on?” Mac asked, his voice low and knotted with sleep.

      “The children woke, and…” Paris began, pushing away from the disturbing strength of his arms and clutching Elly to her like a shield. She wished she had a free hand to smooth her tumbled hair and make sure her knee-length robe covered her decently, then wondered why she cared. No one else did.

      “We wanna sleep with you,” Elly said, bringing Paris back to the reason for these midnight wanderings. “Me and Simon.”

      Paris blinked at her. “I thought you wanted to sleep with me.”

      “Yeah.” Elly’s tangled curls bounced as she nodded vigorously. “We do. Don’t we, Simon? Elly and Simon want to sleep with you.”

      “Seep,” Simon confirmed, and popped his thumb into his mouth.

      “You can’t have it both ways, Elly. You can either sleep with your Uncle Mac, or with Paris,” she pointed out, automatically picking up on Elly’s habit of speaking of herself in the third person.

      “Unka Mac and Pris,” Elly said, nodding as if the adults had finally understood and it was all settled. She lifted herself in Paris’s arms and tried to peer past the shoulders that were blocking the doorway. “Let’s go.”

      The four of them in the same bed? Paris’s eyes widened then shot from the bed to its owner, who was treating them to his familiar scowl. He didn’t seem to like the idea any better than she did. Bolstered, she said, “No, Elly, we can’t do that—”

      “Why not?” Mac interrupted.

      Alarmed, Paris met his gaze. “Why, we just can’t, that’s all. It would…it would set a bad precedent,” she finished lamely.

      “It would mean we’d all get some sleep,” he responded.

      Paris swept a stunned look over his face and across his chest. Oh yeah? She barely kept herself from voicing her skepticism aloud. “No, it would be best if I took the children into my bed, and we slept there.”

      Simon grunted to be picked up. Mac glanced down, looking momentarily baffled, then realized what the boy wanted and bent to lift him into his arms. Simon didn’t curl trustingly against Mac the way Elly was doing with Paris, but he did reach out and begin twining his fingers through Mac’s chest hairs, plucking at them happily.

      “Ouch,” Mac said, starting to pull the baby’s hand away. Realizing that hurt worse because of Simon’s grip, he winced and gingerly peeled the little fingers off instead. He looked from one child to the other. “How about it, kids, do you want to sleep with Paris?”

      “No,” Elly said firmly. “Pris and Mac and Elly and Simon.”

      Mac yawned. “Makes sense to me. Come on. There’s room for all of us.”

      He stepped into the room and Paris could see his bed. His room was the only one she hadn’t entered that day and she didn’t look at it now. Her gaze sought out the bed and stuck there.

      Indeed, there was room enough for all of them. It was king-sized