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Touching the paper to his brow in salute, Ben steered his nieces out of the building and toward his car. He settled both girls into the back, buckling Mollie into her booster seat. Afterward, he made a cursory check of Erin’s buckle. The first day he’d driven the girls, Erin had thrown a fit because he’d yanked on her belt. Now Ben played it cool. She’d insisted she was eight and not a baby who needed help buckling herself in. But Ben had seen some nasty injuries to kids who weren’t properly fastened in their seats. So he continued to discreetly check her buckle.
Placing Abby’s new address on the dash, Ben realized he’d wrongly assumed Elliot’s home would be adjacent to his church. This address was a mile or two beyond that. Beach property, unless he was way off base.
As the house numbers counted upward, he knew he was right. When at last he reached the address, he stopped and stared. The place was a rambling two-story structure built on a knoll. The backyard probably sloped to the beach. Ben imagined the view of Alki Point would be spectacular from an upper deck he could see, it extended all the way around the house. Gray shake siding, typical of homes built in the 1900s, was warped and weather-faded, but to Ben, it added to the overall charm.
“Why are we stopping here, Unca Ben?” Mollie kicked restlessly at the back of his seat.
“This is where Mrs. Miller said Abby’s staying. Did you know she’s caring for the Drummond boys? I think you girls know the twins.”
“Noah and Michael pull my braids,” Erin announced. “Why is Ms. Drummond staying with them at this old house? I like where she lived before. She had an awards party for her students there. It’s nicer.”
Ben was at a loss. How should he answer Erin? According to a newsletter the school had sent home to parents and guardians after the quake, Mr. Conrad had spoken to all classes about the personal losses many of their classmates had suffered. Ben himself had attended quite a few funerals. Too many. Wanting to spare the girls needless anguish, he’d gone alone to pay his respects. Now Ben wondered if he shouldn’t have at least discussed Abby’s situation with the girls.
“Erin, will you unbuckle Mollie?”
“They’ve got bicycles,” Mollie said loudly. She pointed to a cluster of bikes and trikes in a detached garage whose door opened onto the street near where her uncle had parked. “Maybe the twins will let us ride, huh, Erin?”
Erin scowled. “They’re boys’ bikes, Mollie. We’re wearing dresses.”
“So?” Mollie skipped ahead toward concrete steps leading up to the house. “I’m wearing tights. So what if somebody sees my slip? It’s the new one Mommy bought me before school started. That’d be okay, wouldn’t it, Unca Ben?”
Ben glanced quickly around the area and determined that the sidewalk was fairly flat in spite of the hilly terrain. The neighborhood looked peacefully rural. “Sure, Mollie girl. You’ll have to ask Abby first, of course.”
Erin gripped her sister’s shoulder, making the younger child flinch. “Mommy always said we had to change out of our school clothes before we play outside.” The girl faced Ben. “We have books to read until we go home. Here, Mollie, this is your library book.” Erin shoved a thin volume into her sister’s hands.
Since the girls had returned to school after spring break, anything Ben allowed Mollie to do, Erin contradicted. Her every sentence of late began with Mommy says or Mommy did. Ben had no idea how to counter that. He’d hoped that, over time, Erin would grow to accept his authority. He hadn’t wanted to lay down the law, but plainly he couldn’t let her bossiness continue. It wasn’t fair to Mollie. Furthermore, there was no need for Erin to burden herself with parenting chores. Yet this wasn’t the time or place for a family showdown. “Stellaluna.” Ben read the name on Mollie’s book. “I haven’t read this story, Mollie. Did your teacher help you select it?”
Nodding, Mollie shook off Erin’s hand and skipped alongside her Uncle. “It’s about bats. A mama and baby bat. Will you read it to me, Unca Ben?”
“Later, princess. After dinner.” He smiled down at her as he reached over her head to ring the old-fashioned door bell. The bell not only didn’t ring, it fell off in Ben’s hand.
Erin sounded horrified. “You broke Miss Abby’s door bell.”
Not knowing what to do, and because he heard laughter and thumping inside, Ben set the pieces of the bell on the porch rail and knocked loudly.
A sandy-haired boy of six or seven yanked open the door and squinted at them from brilliant blue eyes.
“I’m a friend of Abigail Drummond’s. Is she home?” Ben asked.
“Did you come to help with the toilet?” The boy’s voice seemed too deep for his age. “Water’s running all over upstairs. Aunt Abby’s mad at Mike ’cause he didn’t tell her sooner that he flushed a dead fish, and the strainer, too.”
The boy threw the door wide and beckoned them in. Ben herded the girls into a tiled entry. From there he had a clear view into a large living room. It boasted a sweeping staircase and vaulted ceilings. Colored fish tanks took up one whole wall, which would explain the dead fish in the toilet. A birdcage, home to a squawking cockatiel, hung in a bay window. The disorder of it all shocked Ben.
A little boy with bandaged legs occupied a huge recliner. Coloring books, crayons, toys and Tupperware containers were spread everywhere around him. Though pale, the kid seemed oblivious to the din. A TV blaring. A radio or CD playing. A raucous bird. And kids. Everywhere, kids.
Twins older than the boy who’d let Ben in, plus another—a mirror image of the first one—huddled midway up the stairs. All were high-fiving each other, and in general making too much racket to realize they had visitors.
All at once, a foot-high replica of an off-road truck, complete with oversize balloon tires, bounced and rumbled down the long expanse of stairs. At the bottom, the wheels spun a few times, then the truck careened across slick maple floors. Its bumper whacked Ben hard on his shins, and brought the truck to a halt. Not, however, before Ben glimpsed a rat—no, a gerbil, he decided—with a bottle cap tied to its head. Belted into the front seat of the motorized truck, the animal had obviously withstood the bumpy ride down all those steps and when one of the boys got him out, the gerbil seemed none the worse for wear.
Ben might have taken the cheering boys on the landing to task for their foolish stunt had he not been blindsided by a barking, slobbering brown and white dog that jumped on him and stared him straight in the eye. Were Ben any less nimble, he’d probably have been knocked off his feet, and would’ve been in danger of being licked half to death. As it was, he dodged and mostly managed to evade the wet, pink tongue.
Erin and Mollie screamed. Both girls dropped their books and took refuge in a corner of the massive entry as far as possible from the boisterous dog.
Above the racket, Abby’s voice floated down the same stairs that had so recently served as the Indy 500 for the truck with its gerbil driver. “Boys, will you hold the noise down to a dull roar? Somebody see what’s wrong with Ruffian. Please, guys, cut me some slack. If I don’t get this water valve shut off, you five will be building an ark.”
The boys on the stairs at least had the grace to nudge one another and clam up sheepishly for a minute. Then one of the two older kids spotted Ben. “Aunt Abby!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Reed let some strange guy in off the street. Do you want me and Mike to call the cops?”
Ben heard Abby yelp, followed by two loud bumps, followed by what might have been a muffled curse. By then he’d corralled the rambunctious boxer, a half-grown pup, Ben saw, seconds before a disheveled-looking Abby hove into view. She leaned over the bannister, brandishing a very large wrench. Her red hair, always hard to tame, stood in wild disarray. Her blue jeans were rolled up to her knees and showed signs of sogginess, as did the long tails of a too large man’s shirt. Dirt streaked her face, hands and arms. Even with all that she managed to look appealing to Ben.
“Ben? Noah scared me! I thought Ruffian had cornered a burglar or at the least a vagrant. I’m glad to see you, but I’m afraid I can’t talk at the moment. I’m kinda busy.” She waggled the wrench.
“So I see. The girls and I stopped by to see how you’re doing.”
Bending lower, Abby zeroed in on the pale faces of the frightened girls. “Erin, Mollie, hi! Boys, you know the McBride girls. Honestly, guys, where are your manners? Put Ruffian in the laundry room until he settles down. Invite Erin and Mollie in. Find a game everyone can play. Make it an easy one for Sam, okay?” She gazed helplessly at Ben. “If you care to supervise, Ben, I just need a minute to deal with a situation. There’s fruit punch in the fridge. Michael will show you where to get clean glasses. Or there’s coffee in the thermos by the stove if you’d rather.” She pulled back, then ducked down again to peer at Ben through the white balusters. “Better yet, I could use a man with a strong arm and a clear mind up here.”
Recovering from his shock at seeing such chaos around a woman he always found to be orderly in all things, Ben dredged up a rakish grin. “Let me settle the girls, Abby, and I’ll be right up.”
“Uncle Ben, I don’t want to stay here.” Erin sidled up to her uncle. “This house is dirty, and that dog slobbered all over me.”
“Erin McBride,” he said sternly. “Start by apologizing to Abby and the boys. While you figure out what you need to say, I’ll lend Abby a hand. Later, if you girls behave, I’ll get you some juice.”
Mollie’s face fell. “I didn’t say the house was dirty. Why can’t I have juice?”
One of the boys—Michael, Ben thought—relieved his death grip on the boxer’s collar. “I’m big enough to pour juice,” the boy declared. “Go ahead and help my aunt. I’ll take care of stuff down here.” He puffed out his thin chest.
Abby, who’d heard the exchange, called over the railing, “Wash your hands first, Mike. And while you’re at it, refill Sam’s glass. Sam? You doing okay, my man?”
A meek voice responded from the confines of the big chair. “I have to go potty. When’s the toilet gonna be fixed?”
“Oh, sweetie. The hall bathroom works. Darn, give me a minute to take off my shoes so I don’t track water downstairs. Then I’ll take you.”
“That chore I can handle like a pro,” Ben informed her. “If it’s okay with Sam, that is. Hey, guy, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dr. Ben Galloway. My father, Dr. Kirk Galloway, fixed your legs.”
Sam’s eyes grew round and he shoved thick auburn curls off a pale forehead with a freckled hand. “’Kay. You look nicer. Dr. Kirk never smiles.”
Ben lifted the boy, doing his utmost to support the right leg which was casted all the way to the boy’s hip. Sam wore a short cast on his left. Ben guessed the kid wouldn’t be walking anytime soon. He wondered why Abby didn’t have household help. The ages of the children seemed reason enough to seek assistance. To say nothing of the sheer hours involved in maintaining this household.
No wonder Abby looked as if she’d dropped twenty pounds. Ben guessed dashing up and down stairs a hundred times a day would burn a lot of calories.
“There you go, Sam.” Ben straightened after maneuvering them both into the small half bathroom. He glanced up, feeling a drop of water strike his ear. He identified a water stain on the ceiling, which seemed to grow larger as he studied it.
Jeez, Abby probably didn’t know her problems weren’t limited to the upstairs. The flooded commode must be directly above this one. “Hey there, Sam, let’s not dally. I’d just as soon neither of us had to be treated for ceiling plaster falling on our heads.”
The child’s lips quivered. “I wish Daddy was here. Will that phone in your pocket call everywhere?”
“Pretty much,” Ben murmured, still focusing his attention on the damaged ceiling tiles while he helped Sam tie his robe. “Do you have a friend you’d like to call? If you tell me where I can find his number, I’ll dial for you.”
Donning a serious expression, the boy waited patiently while Ben washed and dried his hands. “I don’t got the number for heaven. Maybe it’s in my daddy’s ’puter. Mommy said Daddy put everybody’s number from church on his ’puter. And Daddy said God’s the most important member of his church. So I think God’s number hasta be there.”
“Oh. Oh, Sammy…” Ben patted the sad-eyed child’s back as he carried him to his recliner. “I wish making contact with the Almighty were so simple. But…he’s everywhere, you know, watching over us. Like…maybe the reason I picked today to visit your aunt is that I’m supposed to help her.” Ben gave the four-year-old a coloring book and opened it to a picture of a partially colored ark. “Ah…I believe your aunt was saying you guys might need one of these,” he teased.
He needed to get out of the room before Sam asked more questions. Ben figured he was the last person able to explain why any supreme being let kids lose their moms and dads. He left the room no wiser than before.
Upstairs, he put his foot into two inches of water on the bathroom floor.
Abby was draped over a gurgling commode, mumbling at a pipe wrench that kept slipping off a valve cap. Rolling up his shirtsleeves, Ben relieved Abby of the wrench. He threw his considerable muscle into budging the solidly stuck shut-off cap.
“I think it gave a little,” Abby said. “Ben, I’m sorry you walked into this mess. Oh, there…you got it. Oh, no! The valve twisted off.” A gusher shot everywhere. “Ben, make it stop!”
Leaping aside, he swore roundly.
“Shh.” Abby clapped a hand over his mouth. “We don’t use language like that in this house.”
“Apparently you don’t ask for help in this house, either. Why are you just standing there watching Old Faithful? Get me a damn phone book.”
“What for?”
“Something you should’ve done at first splat. To call a plumber.” So saying, Ben whipped out the phone Sam thought he could use to call heaven. Directory assistance was close enough to heaven’s hotline to suit Ben. As he was connected to a local plumber and gave the man terse directions to the house, Ben wrapped a white towel around the broken pipe to stem the geyser.
“My best Egyptian cotton towel. Ben, what are you thinking?”
“Something else I should’ve done when I first walked in,” he growled, closing off her sputtering tirade with a kiss that drove the air from her lungs.
CHAPTER FIVE
BEN SET ABBY DOWN, then had to grab her arms to hold her upright.
A bit stunned, she did rally. “Here I thought my day had tanked. If that’s your standard method of dealing with hysterical women, Dr. Galloway, I can see why your practice grows by leaps and bounds.”
Laughing, Ben leaned in for another, slower, more sizzling and satisfying kiss. “This brand of superb bedside manner is reserved for an elite few, Ms. Drummond.”
“You’re full of it, Ben, you know that?” Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder and down the hall, Abby segued to a new subject. “How are the girls? I thought Erin looked…different. But I guess that’s understandable, since everything’s changed because of the quake.” She shrugged. “Which may be all it is with Erin. I shouldn’t forget she’s by nature a serious child.”
“True. But you’re dead on, Abby.” Ben bent again to twist the soaking white towel tighter. “Erin’s not bouncing back. Not like Mollie, anyway. Erin’s whole personality has nose-dived.”
“With time and hugs, maybe she’ll be her old self again. It’s been almost two months. But it feels like forever. I still step into a room and expect to see Elliot and Blair.” Her eyes were glossy, and she turned aside. “Nighttime is the hardest on the boys.”
“For the girls, too.” Ben’s back tensed. He should be the man with answers.
Abby stroked a hand up his side. She thought how good the hard outline of his ribs felt, and wondered if men didn’t need the hugs she’d spoken of.
She missed Ben’s touch. Even if they’d had a casual dating style, they’d been demonstrative with each other. Whenever they saw each other, Ben had doled out a squeeze or two. Vastly different from the brief impersonal brush of their cheeks at their respective family funerals. Different, too, from the almost desperate kiss Ben had just delivered.
Would their lives ever get back to normal? The first few weeks after the quake, Abby thought Ben had disappeared from her life. On those occasions, an ache settled in her chest. And yet she’d accepted that was the way things might have to be.
Abby understood that she and Ben had obligations and responsibilities that came before any personal wants or needs. For perhaps the first time, she realized what it felt like to walk in her brother’s shoes. Elliot, who’d selflessly put his life on hold until she was grown and off to college. Did she owe his children any less?
Straightening away from the valve again, Ben started to take Abby in his arms. A commotion downstairs split them apart. Although Abby had wrenched loose from his touch and taken a step back before the disturbance began. “Sorry, Ben. I’m afraid the timing here is off. Besides which, Ruffian’s going crazy in the laundry room. I think the plumber’s arrived.”
Ben tried to reconnect with Abby’s eyes, to no avail. Giving up, he said magnanimously, “I’ll stay right here, if you’d care to rescue the poor man. Send him on up. Since I made this major mess, I’ll do the explaining. Maybe you could spend a few minutes reassuring Sam. He’s down there coloring an ark like mad. I’m afraid he’s worried his home’s in danger of floating away.”
“Poor Sam. I only just brought him home from the hospital today when all heck broke loose. I’d checked the twins out of school early so they could ride along. We’d barely gotten home when Brad reported that Mike had scooped a dead fish out of one of the tanks. The minute he flushed it, he dropped the strainer.” She rolled her eyes. “I tried the plunger. That did nothing, except maybe compound the problem. You showed up as I decided I’d better shut off the water to the toilet tank.”
They heard one of the boys bellowing for Abby. “Go,” Ben urged. “By the way, you maybe should also check on the status of a gerbil. The older twins had him in a remote-controlled truck. They sent him down from the second landing.”
“Noah and Mike,” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Harry’s their gerbil. Brad and Reed have hamsters. Yesterday I caught them harnessing their pets to G.I. Joe’s parachutes. Luckily I caught them before they dropped them over the bannister. I don’t know why Blair didn’t go completely gray.”
“Hmm. I wonder if that’s what my nurse Anita meant when she said I should jump for joy that I have girls to raise instead of boys. You ought to meet her, Abby. She raised six boys on her own.”
“And she’s still sane?” Shaking her head, Abby turned and walked out. Ben heard her tripping lightly down the stairs.
It was twilight by the time the plumber finished, took the check Ben wrote out, packed up his tools and left.
“Ben, you shouldn’t have paid the bill. It’s my house. Well, not mine, actually,” she amended when the twins declared the house belonged to them.
“I broke the shut-off valve,” Ben said by way of explanation.
“Yes, but the problem occurred before you set foot in the house. And…speaking of feet… Your Italian leather loafers are history, pal.”
Ben surveyed his soaking shoes as well as the lower edges of his slacks. “Abby, you’ve got no idea what gets dripped on the shoes of a pediatrician throughout a normal workday.”
“I think I have a fair idea. You still shouldn’t have to pay,” she murmured.
“I paid the plumber because you said you’d feed this hungry mob.” His sudden boyish grin creased his cheeks, which had begun to sport a five-o’clock shadow. “My stomach is growling.”
“My guys missed lunch as well as dinner. Hey guys—and I’m including girls—how about I order in pizza tonight?”
Erin Drummond, who hadn’t budged from one small corner of the couch since they’d first arrived, was the lone dissenter. “I want to go home, Uncle Ben.”
Kicking off his shoes and peeling off wet socks, he walked barefoot to the couch and sat beside her. “Hey, mouse, what gives? I know you like pizza.”
She held herself stiffly aloof. “I don’t like it here. It’s noisy, and boys are dorky. Noah keeps saying he’s going to turn that awful dog loose.”
Abby gasped. “Noah David Drummond. I’m ashamed of you. What do you have to say for yourself, mister?”
The boy’s square jaw lifted pugnaciously. “Let them go home. Who wants Erin Drummond hanging around looking bug-faced?”
Mollie flew at Noah. “My sister’s not bug-faced. You take that back.” She punched him in the mouth and blood spurted.
Although Abby reached for the combatants, Ben moved faster. But Noah shoved Mollie hard. Her back struck the recliner, causing Sam as well as Mollie to cry out.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Erin cried, slamming her book closed as she popped to her feet and glared at Noah. She stretched out a hand toward Mollie.
Ben’s two-fingered whistle rent the air. “Time out,” he snapped, his scowl sufficient to send both girls scurrying toward the door. The older twins froze in place. The younger ones dropped the Hot Wheels cars they were lining around the room’s perimeter. Kneeling next to Sam, Ben softened his voice while he efficiently checked the boy’s legs for possible injury. Then he examined Noah’s swelling lip. Used to the sound of crying, Ben didn’t realize all the other kids had joined the chorus. Not until he rose and assured Abby that Noah was okay.
“What’s gotten into the ones who weren’t involved?” he asked Abby.
“Perhaps we should postpone sharing pizza,” she responded, circling her arms around the four boys. “It appears we’ve all had an eventful day. I’m sorry, Ben. We didn’t have a chance to catch up.” She checked her watch again, but instead of meeting Ben’s confused eyes, she let her gaze stray toward the kitchen, where the dog had set up a racket again.
