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On a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon six days later, Summer climbed out of her Escalade in front of a two-story home with pale blue aluminum siding and navy shutters. At one time, the house must have been an L-shaped ranch like many of the other homes in this neighborhood. The original lines were still in existence on the first floor, but the second story with its more modern arched windows and vaulted ceilings was obviously a dormer that had been added at a later date.
Pressing the key fob, she locked the Escalade with a quick beep-beep. In case of a last-minute reprieve, she planned to keep all her belongings in the back, except for her purse. Wishful thinking, but she’d cling to the last viable thread that another option might reveal itself before she moved in with Craig Hartmann and his family.
Lifting a hand to her forehead, she shaded her eyes from the strong sun. A sense of doom wrapped her like a wet blanket. One deep inhale.
Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.
She sidestepped the two fallen bicycles, the umbrella stroller that held a toddler-sized Baby Dumbo, and the garden hose that snaked across the uneven pavement. The grass, weed-choked and patchy brown, apparently hadn’t seen water from that hose for several days. She shook her head and studied the rest of her surroundings. Aside from the dying grass, the foundation plants—no, scratch that. The dried-up brown stalks that used to be foundation plants desperately needed replacement, as did the gutters with their dented and askew leaders. A wrought iron railing bordered the two concrete steps that led to the front door.
Look how drastically her life had changed. Six months ago, she had lived in a house that, compared to this place, was the Taj Mahal. And yet, like the real Taj Mahal, her former house was nothing more than a beautiful tomb. This home resonated with life—not in the garden, of course, but in the clutter and disarray.
A thousand questions buzzed in her head. Could she really do this? Handle two grown men and three children? And a dog? With absolutely no experience? What if she screwed up? What if the children hated her? What if the decent man she met in April’s office was just a front and the obnoxious Cliff Hanger was her “real” employer?
Reaching the storm door with a torn screen that served as the home’s front entrance, she pressed the bell. No sound echoed from the chimes. She pressed again, this time straining to hear any kind of signal from inside the house. Nope. Silence. Apparently, the bell was broken.
Well, she’d assumed Craig had underestimated his desperation at their first meeting. Now the proof glared at her through dirty windows, dried out plants, and a dozen other home basics that needed repair or attention.
She knocked. Immediately, a dog’s deep bark intruded into the midday stillness. A hand yanked away the striped linen curtain at the bay window on her right, and a dark-haired boy appeared behind the glass.
“Grampaaaaaa?” he called out over the incessant barking. “Some lady’s at the door.”
The thunk-thunk of heavy footfalls erupted, followed by the opening of the front door.
Whump! A very large yellow dog collided with the screen.
On a shriek, Summer stepped back and toddled on the stoop. Mistake number one. She should have opted for sneakers rather than heeled sandals. Regaining her balance, she studied the golden retriever who practically pushed his face through the screen while barking a clear warning to stay away. That explained the condition of the storm door.
“Brandy, get down,” a basso voice grumbled, and a man popped out from the shadows to yank the dog away by the collar. He had eyes the same neon blue as his son’s, but his hair, though just as thick, shined silver. Despite the time displayed on her watch—three o’clock—the bear of a man wore a red plaid pajama top with black sweatpants. An incongruous addition, a delicate-looking little girl with a tumble of dark curls brushing the straps of a pale yellow nightgown, snuggled into one shoulder. The blue-eyed child wore a shy smile on her waif face.
Want zapped Summer in the heart. Never in her life had she craved anything more than to hold this precious little angel. To keep from reaching out to take the ethereal girl, she clutched her Coach bag with both hands.
“Hi. I’m Summer Raine, from Rainey-Day-Wife. I have an appointment with your family today. You must be Mr. Hartmann.”
“Call me Ken.” He swung the storm door open wide. “And come on in, Miss Raine.”
When she stepped inside, blessed cool air blasted her face.
“I just put on a fresh pot of coffee so I hope you’ll share a cup with us. Fair warning, though. It’s decaf because I’m no longer allowed the hard stuff. Doctor says it increases my heart rate.” He leaned forward and winked. “So does a pretty girl, but if he tells me I hafta stop looking, I’ll be finding another cardiologist.”
With the outside temperature hovering near ninety-five degrees, the last thing she wanted was hot coffee, but good manners insisted she accept her host’s request. And she wouldn’t risk alienating her client over such a minor irritant.
Instead, she flashed a smile that suggested the idea thrilled her to her pink-polished toenails. “That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll ice it for you,” Ken murmured. “That was a test.”
“Oh?” She paused, gauged his expression, and found his face blank. “Did I pass or fail?”
“Don’t know yet.” Shrugging, he turned away from her. “It’s not a one-question test.”
In other words, Grandpa didn’t approve of her interference here. Forewarned was forearmed, she supposed.
She stood in the dark-paneled narrow foyer and glanced at the photos on the wall. The little angel, Madison, in a lime green bikini grinned from a beach, a crude sandcastle standing clumsily beside her. Two adorable dark-haired boys wearing baseball uniforms—one in red and black, the other gray and royal blue—showed off shiny gold trophies. Craig Hartmann embraced all three children plus the dog in front of a Christmas tree dripping with candy canes and white lights.
While the photos distracted her, something cold and wet poked underneath her sundress and into her butt. She screeched and whirled to find the dog, its mouth stretched into a canine smile.
“Brandy,” Ken scolded. “Don’t be rude. Leave the lady alone. Go lay down.”
Nails clicking across the hardwood floor, the blond bimbo of the dog world bounded out of the entry area.
“Sorry about that,” Ken said, then jerked his head. “Come on. Everybody else is in the kitchen.”
He led her past a cozy living room with a dark brown velvet sectional. Against the far wall, a large screen television and DVD player ruled over some kind of gaming console. Black cords snaked into the corner near a set of floor speakers. Empty videogame cases covered most of the bare floor. In the center of the area rug sat a miniature track of race cars and a large pink Victorian style dollhouse. A dozen naked Barbies ringed the outside. She frowned.
Didn’t anyone insist these children pick up their toys? No doubt about it. Craig Hartmann needed help. Not only in maintaining order, but in teaching his children responsibility.
On the outskirts of the living room, a staircase led to the second story. They passed a closet door or two, around a corner...
There should have been a sign that read, Welcome to Chaos Central.
In a large, but cluttered eat-in kitchen, two dark-haired boys sat at an octagon-shaped glass table, bowls of orange macaroni and cheese and tall glasses of chocolate milk before them. While Ken strapped the little girl into a booster seat attached to a third chair, Summer drank in the mess around her.
The same disorganization she’d noted outside showed here. Sports equipment littered the floor: baseball gloves and caps, football helmet, a bat bag, and a rainbow of plastic water bottles caged in a black wire holder. Dirty dishes covered every inch of counter space, along with clear plastic canisters of sugary cereals and a box of dog treats.
A reminder ran through her head like a prayer. I love a challenge, I love a challenge...
“Craig says you’re here to help us.”
She looked around at the clutter, the children, the lone man who fussed with the coffee pot and frowned. “Where is Craig?”
Had he abandoned her to this whirlwind on Day One?
“Dad’s in the basement,” one of the boys replied, “trying to fix my football pads.”
“What’s wrong with your pads?” Ken whirled from the coffeemaker. He held a glass carafe filled with liquid the color and consistency of used motor oil.
Mistake number two, Summer. You should have requested ice water.
Another glance around the kitchen.
In a hermetically sealed bottle.
She stifled another shiver, but revulsion slipped an icy finger up her spine.
“Dad says the shoulder pads are too big.”
Summer thought back to her notes, then pointed thumb and index finger pistol-style at the boy with thick dark hair, stick-straight, and bangs that brushed his round gray eyes. “You’re Nate.”
“Yeah.” He cocked his head. “How’d you know?”
“Your dad told me you love football.”
“What else did he tell you?”
“What did he tell you about me?” the other boy demanded. In contrast to Nate, Scott’s hair curled wildly, and his eyes held more of a smoky blue hue.
“What about me?” the little girl parroted.
Summer held up a hand for silence. “One at a time. Please. He told me about all of you.”
Scanning the floor, she quickly determined that between the scattered clumps of pet hair and the various sports equipment, her purse would only survive unscathed if she kept it close. She pulled out a chair across from the boys, sat, and clutched the Coach in her lap.
“Let me think now...” She paused, drawing out the anticipation.
Ken eyed her speculatively as he placed a muddy beverage in a tall glass near her right hand. Not a one-question test, she remembered. On barely a glance, she lifted and sipped. Mistake number three. Even with ice, milk, and sugar, the coffee jolted like battery acid. Biting back a grimace, she smiled her thanks at Ken. The first thing she planned to unpack from the SUV was her single-serve coffee-maker system. If she stayed.
“Come oooooooonnnn!” Scott bounced in his chair. “What’d Dad say?”
A sudden awareness filled her senses. The air crackled.
A slight hum reverberated beneath her skin as Craig’s voice sounded from behind her. “Don’t pester Miss Raine, guys. Just eat your lunch. You’ve got an hour before we’re out the door again.”
She turned and found him less than a foot away. He looked exhausted, purple rings under those gorgeous eyes, deep lines in his forehead, as if he hadn’t slept since the last time she saw him. From one hand dangled a large plastic contraption that reminded her of the upper half of a kiddie suit of armor.
Those were the shoulder pads for Nate? No wonder Craig thought them too big. She couldn’t imagine that skinny boy forced to wear a hard plastic straitjacket.
“These should work now,” Craig said and hefted the pads to show Nate. “We’ll check ‘em after lunch.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
At last, Craig turned his attention to her. “Summer, thanks for coming. I see you met the gang.”
“We were just getting to the introductions.”
“Okay, then. Allow me to do the honors. That’s Nate on your left, Scott on your right.” His arm brushed her shoulder as he pointed to the little angel. “And Maddie over there. Obviously, you met my dad. And everybody, this is Miss Raine—”
“Summer,” she corrected.
Clink! Scott dropped his spoon into his empty bowl. “Wait. Your name is Summer Raine?”
Her lips quirked in a smile. “‘Fraid so.”
The boys burst into raucous laughter and, after a quick look of puzzlement creased her brow, Maddie joined in. Even Ken loosed a chuckle.
“That’s enough,” Craig growled, but his mouth twitched.
“Thank you, everyone. I can see I’ll receive a great deal of cooperation from this group. Maybe I should just go back to the office...”
She managed to swerve a quarter turn before Craig gripped the chair to stop her.
“No.” His hands slid forward to grip her fingers. Tingles skittered up her bare arms. “God, no. Please.”
When she grinned, he relaxed, but sent a scathing look toward the children. “I want you to be very nice to Miss Raine, guys. She’s going to be living here to help take care of us.”
Nate picked up a spoonful of macaroni, shoved it in his mouth, and then asked, “Why?”
Summer cringed at the display of orange mush behind his teeth.
“For starters, so you learn not to talk with your mouth full.” Craig’s eyes narrowed in the boy’s direction.
“We’ll definitely be spending some time on manners,” Summer warned the boys. “As well as picking up your toys and getting organized.”
Craig cast a sheepish glance around the room. “Sorry. I really wanted to clean up a bit before you got here, but time slipped away from me.”
“It’s okay,” she lied and surreptitiously pushed the glass of iced battery acid out of reach. “That’s why I’m here, right? To make things easier for you. I’d rather base my conclusions on the reality of a bad day than a perfect one. Bad days, in my opinion, are more common.”
“Well, they don’t get much worse than today.”
“My fault,” Ken interjected.
“No, it’s not,” Craig replied.
Sharp looks flew between the two men, the meaning lost on Summer.
“What did Dad say about us?” Nate chimed in.
“He said if you continue to lollygag when you should finish lunch, you’re going to be late for your ball game,” Craig replied, then returned his attention to Summer. “What do you say I take you on the tour while the boys finish up here? Then we’ll unpack your belongings and get you settled.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Pasting a broad smile on her face, she rose from her seat. “Let’s get started.”