Uncle Sarge

No, he told himself sternly. He’d passed arctic, desert and jungle survival school, no sweat. He could surely handle two kids until tomorrow.

Famous last words, Rich couldn’t help thinking when, two hours later, he’d scraped the last of the cereal and strained peaches out of the jars. He’d managed to put together a peanut butter sandwich for Caitlyn with his right hand while he’d attempted to shovel food into Carter’s mouth with his left.

Rich wasn’t sure how much had gone into Carter. He must have scraped most of it off the kid’s face and the rest was splattered all over the kitchen. He sighed and looked around the filthy room. It looked as though somebody had fought a paint ball war in here. But, Carter was quiet for the time being, and that little piece of silence had to be worth all the mess. Rich slapped a couple of slices of ham between two pieces of bread and shoved them into his mouth. He guessed he’d have to hose down the kitchen, but for now he had to get the kids settled while he could. He didn’t know how long the lull would last, but he wanted to make the most of it.

He glanced at the clock. It was almost seven. Didn’t little kids go to bed by now? He didn’t suppose Caitlyn could tell time. Maybe, he could fool her into thinking it was bedtime even if it wasn’t. He looked down at Carter. His food-encrusted eyelids were definitely drooping.

“Okay. Time for bed. Go put on your pajamas.”

Caitlyn started to say something, but then closed her mouth. She turned as if to do his bidding, then stopped, looking like she was ready to cry herself. “I dunno where I’m s’posta sleep.”

Rich propped the baby over his shoulder, and felt a surge of an unfamiliar emotion when the kid snuggled up against him. “I guess you can sleep in Ski’s room.” He pointed toward Ski’s closed bedroom door, then he remembered the extensive collection of Babe of the Month posters on the wall. “Oops,” he said, yanking her back. “On the other hand, you can sleep in mine.”

He pushed open the door and ushered her in, pointing to his queen-size bed. “See, it’s big enough for both of you.” He started to put the baby down, but Caitlyn shook her head. “You hafta get his portacwib. He’ll fall off da bed.”

Portacrib? He’d seen Rebecca with a couple of suitcases, but he didn’t remember anything that looked like a crib. He looked back out into the living room to the pile of stuff Ski had dragged in before he left. There were more supplies there than he’d need for a two-week hike. He looked at the bewildering pile of kid paraphernalia and blew out a tired breath.

Caitlyn marched over to a flattened contraption of wood and mesh. “Tha’s it. You gots to unfode it.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, wondering how he could accomplish that and hold on to Carter, too. This project was going to take both hands.

“Can you hold your brother for me?” he asked, already knowing it wasn’t going to work.

Caitlyn shook her head. “Mommy says I might dwop him.”

Rich was beginning to run out of options here. If he put Carter on the bed, he might roll off. If he tried to hold Carter and assemble the bed, he’d surely drop the kid flat on the floor. That’s it. The floor.

He laid Carter down in the middle of the rug and held his breath to see if he repeated the siren routine. So far, so good.

The mechanism wasn’t too complicated, and Rich had the bed set up in short order. Just a few minutes and he’d have the kids squared away. Then he could clean up and catch some Z’s of his own. He reached for Carter to put him in the crib, but the prim expression on Caitlyn’s face stopped him. “Now what?” he asked irritably.

“You gots to put a sheet on,” she said as if he were the dumbest man in the world.

“You got one on you?” he snapped, his patience stretched as far as it would go.

“Huh?” Caitlyn had apparently not heard that expression before.

“Never mind.” He went to the hall closet and grabbed a sheet. The one with the beer can design. Carter wouldn’t know the difference. He’d thought they were cool when he bought them; now he was thinking otherwise. He clumsily covered the plastic mattress and looked at Caitlyn. She might only be four years old, but she was the expert in the room.

“Okay,” she said, looking like a less-than-pleased drill sergeant.

He put Carter in. The baby fussed a little, but seemed ready to go to sleep. He turned toward Caitlyn.

“You gots to change his diaper.”

He was afraid she’d say that. He turned back to the crib. Carter looked pretty cozy, and he was reluctant to disturb him, but he figured a kid with diaper rash would really be hard to deal with.

Rich managed to get the wet diaper off easy enough, but he didn’t have a fresh one to put on. He looked at Caitlyn. She pointed to another diaper bag.

“Mommy always throws a diaper over him until she’s done,” Caitlyn said matter-of-factly.

Rich wondered if she was shielding her daughter from a close view of the male anatomy, and decided as long as he stayed between her and Carter, he could manage until he got the new diaper and put it on him.

He turned back and quickly learned why Sherry covered him with a diaper as a jet of liquid squirted nearly to the ceiling. “Whoa! How the he—heck does one kid hold so much?” He tossed the disposable diaper over the stream, startling Carter and making him cry. This parent thing was tough duty, he couldn’t help thinking as he struggled to fasten the thing.

The diaper looked none-too secure, but it would have to do. He turned to Caitlyn. “Okay, young lady. Time for you to hit the sack.”

“I can’t go to bed until Mommy hears my prayers,” she said. “We gots to call her up.”

Rich rolled his eyes and blew out an impatient breath. “How ’bout I listen tonight?” he suggested, knowing instantly it wouldn’t fly. He still wasn’t sure what he’d done with the number, and if Rebecca had left him any, he didn’t know where they were.

“No. Mommy. I gotta say ’em for Mommy.” So far, Caitlyn had behaved like a trouper, but Rich had a sinking feeling he’d just run out of luck.

“I want my Mommy,” she wailed. Carter, who had almost drifted off to sleep, joined the chorus.

Rich had the greatest urge to join in, too, but that would solve nothing. He needed a kid expert, and he needed one fast. He called directory assistance and dialed the home number of the only person he could think of who might be able to help.

When she answered, he blurted out a desperate plea. “Jennifer, can you come over to my place? I need your help. Fast.”

Chapter Four

Jennifer switched the phone from one ear to the other as she listened to Rich’s panicked request. For one brief moment, she’d thought he was asking her for a date, but her fluttering heart skidded to a halt when she heard the unmistakable sound of a child crying in the background.

“Okay,” she said, tempering her disappointment. It was probably better this way anyway, she convinced herself. And her curiosity was running at full throttle. “Why don’t you tell me just what’s going on.”

She was on the living room phone, tethered by an eight-foot wire, and she needed to be in the kitchen. The spaghetti was past done, and if it didn’t get drained soon, all she’d have was mush. She stretched as far as the cord would allow her and turned off the stove and listened.

Rebecca Tucker had stuck Rich with Sherry’s kids. The woman had to be truly desperate if she was entrusting them to him. The man might be able to hack his way through a jungle with one hand tied behind him, but she’d bet he was clueless when it came to child care. Another wailing voice followed the first one.

She would definitely win that bet.

“Tell you what,” she finally said when Rich had finished his desperate explanation. The guy had to be at the end of his rope if he’d actually admitted that he needed her. Even if it was just to help with his niece and nephew. “I don’t have that much experience with kids, and I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I just got finished cooking up a batch of spaghetti sauce. I’ll bring it over. Once we get the kids settled, we can eat.” If they got the kids settled, she didn’t say. Of course, that meant that the noodles she’d already cooked were toast, but that couldn’t be helped. She had plenty more to cook later.

Jennifer could almost feel Rich’s relief coming through the phone wires. She wanted to think it was because she was coming, not to help with the kids, not to bring the food, but for herself. But she was realistic enough to know that wasn’t the case. Besides, she’d already learned her lesson about that kind of man. She didn’t need that.

Rich needed a woman to help with the kids. Period. Any woman who’d passed Child Care 101 would do.

Her experience with kids was limited, at best. She didn’t have many friends with children, and her siblings hadn’t started having theirs when she’d married and moved away. She wasn’t sure how much help she’d be, but she’d give it her best effort.

“Jennifer?”

She hadn’t realized that she’d been woolgathering and found herself blushing even though she was alone in the room. “Yes, sorry. I was thinking about the logistics of getting this stuff over to you,” she said. “I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

“Great! You don’t know how glad I am to hear that. I’ll be waiting.”

Probably watching at the window, Jennifer thought. Too bad the cavalry wasn’t going to be that much help. “Just one thing, Rich. Go ahead and let Caitlyn call her mother. I’m sure that will be the best thing for everybody.”

Rich mumbled something about not knowing what the number was, but Jennifer didn’t respond. She just hung up. She wasn’t sure why she’d just agreed to do this. She just knew she had to.

For the kids, she told herself.

She almost believed it.

FEELING SOMEWHAT relieved, Rich hung up. Jennifer was coming. Finally, an expert in the house. If he could only survive till she got here. Half an hour. He could do it.

He hoped.

In the meantime, he had to find the number so Caitlyn could call Sherry. She should have known that he wouldn’t make a satisfactory mom substitute, even if Rebecca didn’t. Hell, he didn’t even know that diaper thing.

He looked at Caitlyn, her pixie face puffy and wet with tears. She looked back, her eyes wide and questioning. For the moment, she wasn’t wailing, but her small body shuddered violently with residual sobs.

Rich took a deep breath.

“Caitlyn, did your Aunt Becky leave me any phone numbers in all that stuff?” He gestured toward the mountain of kiddie gear he’d yet to explore.

“Inna diaper bag,” she said, then wiped her nose with the back of her arm. “Mommy always puts a piece a paper inna diaper bag in case of a ’mergency.”

Rich exhaled and headed for the bag. He just hoped that Rebecca did the same thing. She wasn’t a mother, so she might not know.

That stopped him. Jennifer wasn’t a mother either. What if she didn’t know anymore about what to do with the kids than he did?

No, he wasn’t going to think that.

Even if she didn’t have real mother experience, surely mothering was a woman thing. Didn’t they have instincts? Wasn’t child care know-how part of the package?

He found a sheet of folded paper, with neat printing on it, tucked into a pocket on the outside of the diaper bag. The numbers.

Damn, it had every number imaginable on it. From Sherry’s to Rebecca’s home number—where Rebecca wouldn’t even be—to the pediatrician and poison control. Poison control? What did she think he was going to do with the kids, feed them tranquilizers?

Then he looked at Caitlyn, still sniffling, and glanced at Carter, whining in the tiny crib. It was tempting, but he did know better than that.

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