Daddy Daycare

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Shaking his head, grinning, Travis said, “What she looks like is rabid. You might want to slowly step back, then run get a few shots.”

“Don’t listen to the mean man,” she said to the dog, covering her shaggy ears. “He’s cranky because of the heat.”

Among other things, Travis thought, too exhausted to do much else besides stare incredulously as Gringo helped himself to the bologna sandwich.

“Oops,” Kit said, back to giggling. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to eat it. No doubt it was a reflex thing.”

“No doubt,” Travis said, marching into the kitchen to fix a duplicate.

Kit followed. “I’m sure in a week or so you’ll love the dogs as much as Marlene and Gary did.”

“Yeah,” Levi said, deep-sixing three large cans of Alpo into the under-sink trash. “Gary always had a soft spot for strays. Used to tease Marlene about being his best find.”

Travis choked on his first mustard-soaked bite. “He compared my sister to a stray dog?”

“Lighten up,” Kit said, slipping her arm around Levi’s waist. “It was a joke. Used to make Marlene howl.”

Levi kissed the top of Kit’s head.

Travis looked sharply away.

Along with the dogs, the lovebirds needed to go. On top of his sister’s death, he was in no way ready to deal with feelings for Kit he’d thought long gone.

“What’re you doing for supper?” Kit asked. “If you want, Levi and I could get you some takeout.”

“Thanks,” Travis said, “but I’m good. I might hit town later for a few essentials, though. Speaking of which, do you know where Marlene might’ve left the keys to her car?”

“Here,” Kit said, walking the short distance to a wall-mounted key rack currently holding more leashes and reusable plastic bags than keys. “It’s not fancy but gets the job done.”

Travis rubbed his forehead.

In light of the surprises he’d already encountered, he didn’t even want to imagine what his sister had found to be an acceptable ride.

“Now,” Kit said, taking Levi’s hand, leading him to the back door, “mothers start arriving at the daycare by five-thirty, so I’ll need you to be up and alert by then. Candy Craig’s usually the first one here, but she’s having car trouble and her ride can’t get her here till six. The two of you will have three children—and Libby—until seven-thirty, and I’ll be in to help around eight-thirty, so you should be fine until—”

“Whoa,” Travis said, shaking his head. “I don’t do children—as in multiple kids. Libby’s about all I can handle along with my regular workload.”

“Sorry,” she said with her usual grin, not looking remotely apologetic, “but until I find a replacement for Marlene, I was hoping you’d pitch in at the daycare. I meant to broach the subject earlier, you know, how it might be fun and educational for you to get practice with kids, but the dogs got in the way. My role these days is mainly managerial, stretching myself between all six franchises, but I’ll spend as much time as I can helping you learn the ropes. From Libby you already know baby basics, and Marlene told me you’re up to date on CPR through your company’s course. Trust me, for the short time you’re on your own, you’ll do fine.”

Travis growled.

“Oh, come,” she said. “It’ll be fun. Please?”

Lord help him, but in his already weakened emotional condition, Travis was unable to resist her charm. “I’ll only be alone thirty minutes?”

“Tops.” She shot him a toothy grin. Coincidentally the same one she used to wield when flirting him out of the last few M&M’s back when they’d been an item.

Knowing full well he wanted his sleep as much as he’d wanted that candy, he must have been temporarily insane to blurt, “Give me a little more instruction and I’ll do it.”

FRIDAY AT 4:48 a.m., Travis tried putting a pillow over his head to block what felt like the third eight-point-oh earthquake of the morning. Why had he agreed to work at the daycare for even thirty minutes? And while he was asking questions, why hadn’t Marlene mentioned her house being five feet from a railroad track?

Gee, probably because she knew he’d have told her to nix the deal—which, Marlene being Marlene, upon hearing his objections, would’ve only made her that much more determined to go through with a real-estate transaction only a train buff or a masochist would love.

Knowing he had to be up soon anyway, he grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand, putting in a call to this right-hand man to explain that his trip would take longer than expected. With a grunt he rolled out of the surprisingly comfortable black wrought-iron canopy bed. Though a little lacy for his taste, Travis would’ve given Gary a high five for allowing his sister to have her girlie way with the majority of the room that’d been finished in a sumptuous blend of old and new.

Antique dressers and side tables held both modern and vintage picture frames. The majority of smiling shots were of Marlene and Gary hamming it up. Newer ones included Libby. Quite a few were dog shots. Cocoa wearing a pumpkin suit for Halloween. Gringo begging. All three lounging on the front porch, tongues lolling on a sunny day.

Dark walnut floors covered in Oriental carpets laid at crazy angles shouldn’t have made sense but did. The walls were covered in four varied patterns—stripes and florals and dots and checks—of pale green paper, but even this somehow worked in the atticlike room with its five dormer windows and angled ceilings.

In the bathroom, decked out in more dark walnut with an antique white porcelain claw-foot tub, it looked as if Gary had had his way with the high-tech stand-alone shower with its assortment of buttons and nozzles.

Under streaming spray Travis braced his hands against the green-brown-and-black mosaic wall, letting the water ease kinks in his neck. Being early to work was no problem, but in his office he was king. He knew what to expect.

At his sister’s daycare he didn’t have a clue what—or even who—might crop up. Yesterday afternoon, while Kit had still been there, he’d asked her about the kids he’d be watching, but she’d been so animated in her descriptions that all he’d focused on was her. Her and the painful memory of how and why he’d ever let what they’d shared slip away. It wasn’t a topic he cared to dwell upon, leading him to rush her and Levi on their way so he could get those mangy mutts back out in the shed and himself into comfortable clothes—meaning boxers and nothing else.

The only way he’d gotten the apparently spoiled dogs outside was by flinging bologna onto the back porch as bait, then shooing them outside and shutting the door. Technically he wasn’t sure whether they’d made it to the shed or not. But they were dogs. What was the worst that could happen if they spent a summer night outside?

His mind’s eye flashed on those dog pics.

Then guilt settled in. The night was over now. No sense in rushing downstairs to let them in. But assuming they didn’t chew anything, maybe they could come inside on probationary terms.

Travis reluctantly finished lathering and rinsing, then dressed in navy slacks, starched white shirt and red tie. In deference to his casual setting, he skipped the suit jacket. Always one step ahead of him, his receptionist had phoned his housekeeper and asked her to pack Travis a week’s clothing, then meet him at the airport.

Libby had woken only once during the night, and after a quick feeding and diaper change she’d fallen right off to sleep.

In her nursery he flicked on the crystal lamp topping the dresser, then crept to her ultragirlie crib. She looked so content amongst the fuzzy pink blanket and pink gingham sheets and crib bumper that he hated waking her. He’d been surprised to see the bumper and blanket, as they’d been gifts from him. Picked from a catalogue and shipped with a brief note, maybe they hadn’t held as much sentimental value as, say, a gift Marlene had received at her shower, but he was glad all the same that she’d at least liked them enough to have put them to use.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he crooned, scooping up his niece only to tuck her against his chest. How come he didn’t smell this great in the morning? The scent of her pink lotion and the no-tears shampoo he’d used for her bath the previous night was still strong.

She gurgled, then fell right back asleep against him.

For a split second, unsure what to do, he vacillated between calling his secretary or, even better, Kit. But in the end he knew he’d have to start figuring out how to be a parent sooner rather than later. Besides, what if he’d called the emergency number Kit had left and Levi answered? The guy was nice and all. But Kit was one of those women who was hot but in a squeaky-clean, Mother Goose sort of way. Travis didn’t much approve of her being in bed with any man—let alone a hardware store owner. Even if the guy was her fiancé.

Okay, then, he thought, gingerly heading down the stairs. Who would he approve of Kit being in bed with?

Offhand, no one.

He didn’t have a clue why, but part of him felt proprietary where she was concerned, as if he’d had dibs on her under that mulberry tree all those years ago, and again at the swimming hole and even on her own bed the time her folks had gone to Little Rock for their anniversary weekend. Bottom line, if he couldn’t have her, then no one else should.

Ridiculous, but there you have it. As if any of the rest of his current life made the slightest sense.

In the kitchen he switched on the light, then eyed his sleeping charge. What was the protocol on morning feedings? Did he wake Libby to feed her? Or once he scoped out the daycare, would he find a spare crib for her to crash in? Even if there was a crib, would there be a blanket?—an appropriately soft and fuzzy one?

Shaking his head, he tromped back up the stairs for the pink one from Libby’s crib, then tucked it around her chubby bare legs and arms.

Back downstairs, it occurred to him that sometime during the day she’d probably need a diaper change. And what if it got cold? Sure it was June, but you never knew.

Back upstairs, he shoved a few diapers and the wipes in an oversize pink canvas tote dotted with dancing hippos. In case of sudden frost, he grabbed a mini coat and sweater from the cedar-lined closet. From the dresser he snagged three pairs of white socks. All of his finds in the bag, he repositioned Libby to his left shoulder, slung the bag over his right, then took off again for the kitchen.

Okay, back to the food issue. Now or later?

Taking a peek at Libby under the blanket—save for a small airhole, he’d put it over her head, since all those blowing air conditioners had made the house chilly—he didn’t think she looked all that hungry, so he just grabbed a few bologna slices for himself.

After adding three cans of formula, a can opener and a handful of bottle liners to the diaper bag, he was almost out the door when he figured the actual bottles might also be a good idea.

He took the key ring labeled Barn from the rack, then aimed for the door, when the phone rang.

He jumped, as did Libby, who then started to cry.

“Crap,” he said, picking up the phone. “Yes?”

“I take it you’re not a morning person?” Kit asked, her chipper tone a disgustingly happy cross between sunshine and daffodils.

“Sure I am,” he said, jiggling a still-whimpering Libby back to sleep. “After a gallon of coffee and a six-mile jog.”

“Six miles?” she whistled. “Impressive.”

Why did he get the feeling she was mocking him? “There a reason you called?”

“Just wanted to make sure you’re up. And to apologize for you having to work the early shift. Or, for that matter, having to work at all. I promise to find you a replacement ASAP.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said. “If I can handle million-dollar mergers, I can handle a few little kids.”

WAAAAAAAAAAA!

“I want Mooooom-meeeeee!”

Waaaahuh! Waaaahuh!

“That’s not the way you do it,” said eight-year-old Lincoln Groves, who would, with any luck, march his know-it-all behind onto the IdaBelle Falls day-camp bus at seven-fifteen. As for Candy Craig, she’d called at six-ten to say she wouldn’t be in at all. Travis had then phoned Kit, but she was at a center in the next county.

“Okay, then,” Travis bellowed above the racket caused by two howling babies and a freaked-out preschooler. Pausing before slashing the entire top from the packet of toaster-strudel icing, he asked, “How about telling me the right way to open this before your little sister blows her last gasket?”

The freckle-faced kid with Batman glasses took the blunt-nosed scissors and the icing, calmly clipping the corner off the package before returning it to Travis. “Now you can draw her stupid hearts and flowers. Otherwise it would’ve gushed out in a big globbery pile.” Shoving his glasses up his nose, he added, “She won’t eat it if it doesn’t have hearts and flowers.”

Eyeing the packet, then the kid, Travis figured Lincoln had a point on the smaller hole making for a more efficient drawing tool. Hmph. Learn something new every day. “Thanks.”

“Uh-huh.” Lincoln patted his little sis on her back.

A few seconds later Travis had drawn some semblance of a heart and a flower on Clara’s pastry, then plopped it on a paper plate and handed it to her.

For an all too brief instant she looked down at it, then up at him, then started screaming all over again. “This isn’t right! I want Mooooooom-meeeeeee!”

Apparently Clara’s show was so impressive even Libby and her pal, four-month-old Mike, stopped screeching from their high chairs long enough to look.

Sighing, Travis asked his assistant, “What now?”

“She has to sit there before she can eat. Rule number eight.” He pointed toward a pint-size booth, then at a large colorful sign mounted alongside a white marker board. Sure enough, right after No Biting, was rule number eight—Always Eat at a Table. For those who couldn’t yet read, pictograms got the points across.

Travis took the plate from Clara, then guided her to the booth. She calmly sat. Then, once he’d landed the pastry in front of her, she gave him a glare before digging in.

“You haven’t been doing this long, have you?” Lincoln inquired.

“No. Today’s my first day. But I’m getting better, don’t you think?”

After fixing himself a bowl of Cheerios, Lincoln perched alongside his sister and quietly munched.

All of a sudden, the big red barn with its cow-chicken-horse-and-pig-themed wallpaper and bright white-and-red interior grew suspiciously silent.

“Everything okay?” Travis asked Clara, who’d frozen with the pastry hanging from her mouth. “Are you choking?” In case the word was too big for the little girl, he held his hands to his throat and made gagging noises.

She shook her head.

Mike and Libby giggled.

“You’re funny,” Lincoln said.

“Thanks,” Travis said, shoulders proudly straightening. This was a tough crowd. “Any idea what’s bugging your sister?”

Frowning, the boy nodded.

“Well?” Travis asked, wrinkling his noise at the sudden foul smell. Had Libby or Mike dropped a bomb in their diapers?

Clara started wailing again, and apparently not wanting to be left out, Libby and Mike joined in.

“What’s the matter?” Travis shouted above the racket to the little girl.

“She prob’ly pooped in her pants,” Lincoln said. “She always gets that look and cries when she does ’cause she can’t chew and poop at the same time. Plus, she’s s’posed to be potty trained, so she thinks Mom’s gonna be mad.”

Sure. Made perfect sense. If you were nearly three.

“Clara, sweetie,” Travis said, “let’s somehow get you cleaned up.”

“I want Mooooom-meeeeee!”

“Waaaaaa huuuuh,” wailed Libby.

“Argh waaaaaaaa,” cried Mike.

“You’re supposed to do somethin’,” Lincoln oh-so-helpfully pointed out, looking bored with his hands flattened over his ears.

Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!

Travis had to look twice to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. But sure enough, as if he didn’t have enough going on already, all three dogs bounded into the room.

“How did they get in here?” Travis asked, scooping Libby, then Mike, into his arms while trying to shoo the dogs back out the open rear door. “And how did the door get open?”