Gwynneth Ever After (9 page)

“Am I allowed in on the fun?” she asked.

Gareth glanced at her, his grin filled with mischief. “We were just deciding on dinner,” he said.

“French fries!” Nicholas shouted.

Gwyn pursed her lips, trying to look severe. “You’re spoiling them. Fast food is for weekends.”

“And for chicken pops?” Maggie asked hopefully.

Gwyn caved with a laugh. “All right,” she said. “For chicken pops, too. But only on the first day. You need good food in your tummy to help you get better.”

“Wanna see the effelant on my tummy?” Maggie held up her pajama top proudly. Gwyn walked over to the island and admired the colorful creation on her daughter’s spotted, round little belly.

“It’s beautiful, sweetie. Very elephantish.” She looked up to find Gareth regarding her strangely.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m not sure – yes, I am. The glasses. I knew there was something different. I didn’t know you wore them.”

“Only for close work. A sign of my advancing age.”

“You didn’t have them at the theatre when you were sketching.”

And she didn’t know he’d observed her that closely.

“I was afraid to take them out of my bag,” she admitted. “In case I annoyed you any more than I already had.”

“You didn’t annoy me.”

She frowned. “You told me I did.”

“No, I agreed that you’d distracted me.” He quirked an eyebrow in a gesture of wicked amusement. “That’s entirely different.”

He lifted Nicholas down from the counter. “Nicholas and I are going to get dinner. What would you like?”

“I’ll get my purse – ”

“Don’t worry about it. My treat.”

“You’ve done enough already today,” Gwyn objected. “You’re not paying for my kids’ dinner too.”

Gareth rolled his eyes. “If you tell me one more time that I’ve done enough today, I will throw something at you,” he threatened, to the great amusement of her children. “Now, what do you want to eat?”

Taking in the somewhat steely expression in his dark eyes, she bit back another objection. “Nothing, thanks. I’ll make something later.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“We’ll be back in a few minutes, then. And I like them, by the way.”

“What?”

“Your glasses. They suit you. You look very – ” he paused, and his gaze traveled over her calf-length wool skirt and snug-fitting, long sleeved tee-shirt, both in shades of charcoal gray. Then he shot a quick, sidelong look at her three children and cleared his throat. “Refined,” he finished.

Taking Nicholas, he departed, leaving Gwyn with the distinct, breathless impression that had they been alone, he might have chosen a far different adjective.

Maggie’s good humor and willingness to be entertained by Gareth ended shortly after dinner. At the sound of a tap at her door, Gwyn looked up from the computer to find him standing in the doorway, her tearful daughter in arms.

“Has she had enough?” Gwyn asked.

“I think so. She’s pretty itchy and uncomfortable.”

Gwyn slid her glasses off and placed them beside her keyboard. Rising, she reached over to switch off her desk lamp.

“It sounds like it’s time for another bath. What do you think, sweetie?” She took Maggie from Gareth. “Poor baby, it’s lousy, isn’t it?”

She kissed the top of her daughter’s head, stroking her back as she followed Gareth into the kitchen office. Maggie snuggled miserably against her.

Gareth frowned. “Is she all right? Do you want to take her to a doctor or something?”

Gwyn smiled at his concern. “She’s fine, I promise. The first few days are bad, until all the spots appear and crust over. Nights are always the worst.” Gwyn glanced down at the bundle in her arms. “I don’t imagine either one of us will sleep much again tonight, will we, love?” she murmured.

“Can I get Nicholas ready for bed for you?” Gareth asked.

Gwyn shook her head. “I can manage. Whether you want to hear it or not, you
have
done enough today. I don’t even know where to begin thanking you.”

“I’m glad I could help out.”

Gareth stretched out a hand. Gwyn’s heart stuttered, then sheepishly resumed its normal beat when strong fingers swept a lock of hair back not from her face, but from her daughter’s. She closed her eyes against a disappointment she had no right to feel. Gentle fingers tilted her chin upwards. Her eyes flew open again to meet Gareth’s.

“You look completely done in,” he said, his voice gruff. “Let me stay and get Nicholas ready for you. I assume Katie can get herself ready?”

“Yes, but – ”

“You’re going to be up most of the night, remember? You may as well take advantage of me while you can.”

At his choice of words, Gwyn’s eyes flashed up to meet his, but the expression there seemed quite benign. Feeling like Maggie’s “effelant” had migrated to her stomach, along with a great many of its friends, she asked, “Are you sure?”

“Of course. You get Maggie into a tub, and Nicholas can show me the routine.”

“All right. Thank you.” She meant it from the bottom of her heart, and his smile told her he knew that.

“You’re welcome.”

Gwyn paused in the kitchen doorway. “Oh, and Gareth?”

He turned.

“He gets one story,” she said. “Not three. And yes, he has to brush his teeth, and no, he can’t sleep in his clothes so he can be ready early in the morning to watch cartoons.”

“Are you telling me your son is a con artist?”

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “Gotcha. Do you want me to get Katie moving, too?"

“Tell her she has fifteen more minutes.”

Chapter 12

Gwyn sat on the closed toilet seat, watching Maggie swim “like a mermaid” in the bathtub. Chin propped in hand and elbow resting on knee, she listened to the sounds drifting to her from down the hallway. It felt so odd, sitting here while someone else tended her child–
 

No, that wasn’t quite true. Many times Sandy or another friend had pitched in with the kids’ evening routine, and she’d listened to them without this strange hollowness beneath her ribs. This was different.

Maggie drew her attention to her swimming attempts, and Gwyn dutifully watched and praised. But her attention again, drawn by the voices from Nicholas’ room. The high-pitched giggles and shrieks of her little boy mingled with the deep tenor belonging to Gareth.

She sucked in a quick breath. That was it. Nicholas had never had a man ready him for bed before. Sandy’s husband, Rob, had played ball with him in the back yard or taken him fishing on occasion, but he’d never participated in the more intimate family routines. No man ever had. Gwyn’s dates had been rare at best, had never amounted to anything approaching serious, and had never, ever touched her children’s lives.

Nicholas laughed again. Her heart constricted.
 

Katie came in to brush her teeth, pausing to give her an enormous hug.

Gwyn returned the gesture in surprise. “What was that for?”

“You looked sad,” Katie said. “I wanted to make you happy.”

“I’m not sad, sweetie,” Gwyn denied, with a tiny laugh. “I have you and Maggie and Nicholas. How could I possibly be sad? But thank you for the hug anyway.”

...you and Maggie and Nicholas...

But never any man. She’d been so busy protecting her children that she’d never stopped to consider that she might have deprived them, too. Until now.

“Right, here’s another one for teeth,” Gareth said, making an appearance in the bathroom doorway with a giggling, pajama’d Nicholas slung over his shoulder. “Where shall I dump him?”

“In the baftub!” Maggie shouted, joining in her brother’s laughter.

Gareth glanced at Gwyn. “I see the oatmeal bath is working magic,” he observed.

He swung Nicholas off his shoulder and set him on a stool beside Katie, who handed him his toothbrush.

Gwyn pulled herself together, tucking her thoughts away until she could take them out and examine them again later. When it was safe to do so. When Gareth was gone.

“It generally does, as long as they remain in it. And as long as the spots are in the right places. Poor Katie had most of hers on her face – they were a little hard to soak in a tub.” She grimaced at the memory.

“Don’t most kids get this at the same time as their siblings?” Gareth asked. “Weren’t the twins born yet?”

“Yes, but they were only a few months old, and they managed to avoid it. At the time, it was a blessing. It was my first year on my own. I’m not sure I could have handled all three.” Gwyn tapped Nicholas on the shoulder and held out her hand for his toothbrush. He handed it over obediently and opened his mouth for her to continue the brushing job.

She looked up at a suddenly quiet Gareth and found his dark brows almost converged over his nose.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head, the frown clearing. “Nothing,” he said.

But he somehow managed to give her the impression of the exact opposite.

She went back to brushing Nicholas’ teeth, acutely aware of Gareth’s eyes following her every movement. Katie finished her own teeth, dropped her brush into the holder on the counter, and sidled past Gwyn. She paused to drop a kiss on top of Maggie’s head.

“’Night, Mags. Hope you’re better soon.” She looked hopefully at Gwyn. “Can you still read me a story, Mommy?”

“Of course, sweetie. We’ll read the next chapter.” Gwyn watched her trot off with a wide, happy grin, then glanced at Gareth.

“
Harry Potter
,” she explained. “Sandy gave it to her for her birthday and we’re almost done. All right, bud,” she said to Nicholas. “You’re done. Rinse and spit, then have a drink.”

Nicholas complied, then turned to Gareth. “Ready!” he announced, sliding his small hand into the man’s. “We can read the Grinch.”

Gareth looked doubtful. “Isn’t it a bit early for Christmas stories?”

Gwyn laughed. “Are you kidding? We read that one year round. You ought to try it on a sticky July afternoon.” She leveled a severe look at her son and reminded him, “One story, Nicholas. And no hassling Gareth.”

To the sounds of Gareth’s deep voice drifting in from the twins’ room, Gwyn dried off Maggie, slathered her spots with calamine lotion, then dressed her in fresh pajamas. Together, they tiptoed into the bedroom, finding Katie drawn there as well, and settled onto Maggie’s bed to listen to the rest of the story, brought to magical life in a way that Gwyn had never achieved.

The story ended, and Gareth looked up at them all from the rocking chair, his eyes twinkling. “What’s this, an audience?”

“We couldn’t help ourselves,” Gwyn said. “That was marvelous.”

“You were even better than Auntie Sandy,” Katie told him.

“High praise indeed,” Gwyn said. “Sandy has been the world’s best storyteller around here for years.”

Gareth chuckled. “My agent will be pleased to know I’m making a reputation for myself.” He looked down at Nicholas, nestled into the crook of his arm, and handed him the book. “I think this makes it your bedtime, my friend.”

Nicholas took the book and slid off Gareth’s lap. He cast a sly, pleading glance at Gwyn. “Just one more?” he asked.

Gwyn raised an eyebrow. With a defeated sigh, her son crossed the room to replace the book on the shelf. Minutes later, both he and Maggie were tucked into bed, and Gwyn began the final kiss-and-hug routine.

Or what used to be the final one.

Tonight, as she leaned over Maggie, her daughter whispered a request in her ear. Gwyn smiled past a lump in her throat.

“I’ll ask,” she said. She looked over at Gareth, waiting in the doorway. “Maggie would like to know if she could please have a kiss and a hug from you, too.”

Gratified surprise flickered across Gareth’s expression and he detached himself from the door post.

“I would be honored,” he said. He duly delivered a kiss-hug to first Maggie, and then at Nicholas’ demand, to him as well, before joining Gwyn at the door again.

She pulled the door partway closed, reminded Maggie to call her if she woke up, and turned to find Gareth leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Her heart skipped a beat, then, when she met his dark gaze, skipped several more. Visions of their parting scene the night before danced through her head. She smoothed damp palms against her skirt.

“How long do you think she’ll sleep?” Gareth asked, nodding towards Maggie’s door.

“If I’m lucky? An hour or two. I’ll just keep giving her baths as she needs them, and then bring her into bed with me when I come up later.”

“You’re going to be tired tomorrow.”

“Nothing I haven’t been before, I can assure you,” she said dryly. “Parenthood and exhaustion are synonymous, didn’t you know?”

A shuttered expression crossed Gareth’s eyes, so fast it was gone before she really had time to register it. He changed the subject. “How are Nicholas and Katie getting to school in the morning?”