Do You Take This Baby?. Wendy Warren

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СКАЧАТЬ She was toast, and the wedding was tomorrow.

      “Auntie Gem! Auntie Gem!”

      Her brother David’s six-year-old twins, Violet and Vivian, ran over and grabbed her hands.

      “Do you wanna see the floor where we get to dance tomorrow? We know where it is! Come on, we’ll show you. Come on, Auntie Gem! Come on!”

      Resisting the yanking of her appendages, she instead pulled the chair with her and frowned doubtfully into freckled faces topped by curly auburn hair. “Do I know either of you? You don’t look like anyone I know.”

      “We’re your nieces!” Vivian, the bolder of the two, told her indignantly. “You knowed us since we were babies.”

      “You changed our diapers,” Violet, the more serious of the two, pointed out.

      “Really?” Bending toward each in turn, she sniffed. “No, you don’t smell like those kids. They were stinky.”

      Both girls dissolved into giggles as Gemma cuddled them.

      “We’re not stinky anymore, Auntie Gem,” Violet informed her. “Mommy says we have to take a bath once a year, whether we need it or not.”

      Gemma grinned. “Yeah, I do the same. Once a year, no excuses.”

      “I knew we had something in common.”

      The deep voice had them all raising their eyes. Ethan was looking right at her, azure gaze steady, his smile an ad company’s dream.

      Gemma glanced around, wondering if the groupie bridesmaids, as she was starting to think of them, were going to pop up in a second. But nope, amazingly, he was alone.

      “Your fellow bridesmaids are with Elyse and Minna,” he supplied as if reading her mind, “making sure there are enough mirrors for everyone to get ready tomorrow. First one who calls a mirror gets to use it.” He arched a brow. “You want me to take you to them so you can stake your claim?”

      “I’m not very competitive. I’d rather take my chances with a compact. How about you? Shouldn’t you be duking it out with the groomsmen for mirror rights?”

      The perfect lips unfurled into an electrifying grin. “Nah. I just roll out of bed, and I’m pretty already.”

      He may have been joking, but it was the gospel truth. Not that she’d seen him straight out of bed, but... Gemma sighed. It only took a glance to realize he’d been gifted. If she was plain as brown bread, he was red velvet cake.

      “I think I can guess who these lovely ladies are.” Ethan looked at the two girls who were staring at him, a bit intimidated. Getting down on his haunches to make his six-foot-three-inch body less imposing, he said, “Your dad is Gemma’s brother. Am I right?”

      Protectively, Gemma pulled her nieces closer. That is the kind of smile for which you do not fall.

      Vivian spoke up first. “No. She’s our aunt.”

      Ethan pursed his beautiful lips. (And, really, why were those wasted on a man? The Cupid’s bow looked drawn on.) “Hmm. So that would mean your father is Gemma’s...grandfather?”

      “No!” The girls rocked with laughter.

      “Your father is her...great-grandfather?”

      “No!”

      “Her son?”

      “No!”

      Ethan scratched his head. “I guess I’m not good at this. Never mind. What were you talking about again—oh, yeah, bathing habits. Let’s see, I try to shower when there’s a full moon—”

      “Okay, that’s too much info,” Gemma interrupted.

      His devilish expression seemed to reach out and grab her. “For them or for you?”

      Violet wriggled off the chair. “We want to show Auntie Gem where we’re gonna dance.”

      Leaping to the floor after her sister, Vivian craned her neck to look up at Ethan. “You can come with us.”

      “Sure.” He glanced at Gemma. “If we go before the return of the bridesmaid brigade, I would be eternally grateful.”

      “Too many adoring fans for you to juggle at once?” she asked, rising.

      “Yeah, I usually have my manager do that.”

      Vivian grabbed her sister’s hand and raced ahead with her twin. “Follow us!” she called back as they ran along the wide-planked wood floor to a carpeted hallway that led to the reception room.

      Gemma walked more sedately by Ethan’s side. “So, Ethan,” she said, “the last time I saw you, you were taking care of a baby. Or did I dream that?”

      “Do you dream about me often, Gemma?”

      She looked up sharply. “Only when I have indigestion.”

      He grinned, but the smile faded quickly, replaced by fatigue. “I do still have the baby,” he answered her.

      Gemma’s heart thudded strongly in her chest. Questions tumbled through her mind. She chose the most boring one. “Have you told anyone else in town?”

      “No. Have you told anyone?”

      “No, of course not. You didn’t tell me I could.”

      He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Good. I don’t think I could handle the press right now.” Gazing at her speculatively, he commented, “You always did have good principles, Gemma.” A hint of mischief returned to his eyes. “Except that one time.”

      She knew, of course, exactly what he was talking about: when she’d discovered he hadn’t wanted to take her to the homecoming dance, that he’d had to be persuaded, she had paid him back by playing a trick on him. A rather mean—and rather effective—trick.

      Preferring their current topic, she asked, “Why are you taking care of a baby? You said it’s not yours. Whose is it, then? How long are you taking care of it?” She wrinkled her nose. “I have to stop saying ‘it.’ Is the baby a boy or girl?”

      Ethan smiled. “Still don’t want to discuss the great homecoming debacle, huh?” They walked a few more paces, following her skipping, giggling nieces. “I’m taking care of Cody—who is a boy—for someone close to me. I’d like it to keep it quiet for now. The media is a funny thing, Gemma. Journalists twist stories all the time to find a hook that will sell. I’d like to stay under the radar as long as I can.”

      “Staying under the radar isn’t your usual MO, is it?” She winced. That sounded snarky. “I mean, the media’s been good to you, haven’t they?”

      “I’ve made a good living off the media, and they’ve made a good living off of me. But this isn’t business. It’s personal.”

      She nodded. “Your world is different from mine. So much larger. Thunder Ridge is a fishbowl. In Portland, СКАЧАТЬ