Page 36 of Marrying the Nanny

“Good luck with that. Babies are not known for being predictable.”

“No?” He snorted and wandered to the window. She heard him swallow and his voice grew more somber. “It’s why I was never going to have kids. Too much responsibility when Mom is more than I can handle sometimes. I haven’t told her yet that I’m staying longer. I was seriously hoping I’d be able to tell her Logan would take Storm to Florida, or Trystan would raise her with the wolves.”

“Pretty sure that’s exactly what’s happening.” When he turned with one brow lifted, she suggested, “Three bears?”

He snorted, looked at Storm. “Goldilocks.”

Storm gave him a milky grin around the bottle nipple.

Emma watched a flash of something streak across Reid’s expression before he schooled it and drew a slow breath, turning his attention out the windows again.

She wanted so badly to go over and rub his back and say, It’s okay to love her. It would come if she gave them space for it, she realized with a wrench in her heart because it meant she would have to back off.

“Maybe I’ll, um”—she had to clear an ache from the back of her throat—“I’ll try to get a little more sleep before Logan takes over. He’s not as enthusiastic a pupil as you are. Likes a lot of hand-holding.”

Reid’s brows shot up.

“Not that kind.” Her heart gave a little skip that made no sense. “Moral support.”

“All right. G’night.”

It was growing light out and, as it turned out, her effort was wasted. She stayed awake thinking about the way Reid’s face had changed when his sister smiled at him.

*

“What do you mean play with her?” Logan asked a few hours later. “Trystan gets to play with tools, and I have to play with a doll?”

“Quit being such a baby. Hey”—Trystan paused on his way toward the stairs from the basement, a level in one hand, a stocked tool belt slung around his hips—“I’m not the baby anymore.”

“No, you’re not. Welcome to being a forgotten middle child.”

“I’d stick around to hear how hard that’s been for you, but your feelings have never mattered.” Trystan headed up the stairs.

“It’s that charm that makes you so qualified for living by yourself in the woods,” Logan called after him.

“Teach her the fine art of trading insults once she learns to talk,” Emma said. “For now, you could put her in the Jolly Jumper while you put her high chair together. Or we could go for a walk. Put Storm in the sling? Wander over to see your mom at Sophie’s?”

Logan’s expression altered, then blanked to unreadable. “I’m not wearing a baby like a cross-your-heart bra. Let’s stick with the Jolly Roger thing.”

“It’s amazing that your mother didn’t want to stick around for this nonstop comedy act of yours. Do you make enough to support yourself?”

“I work for tips.”

“Don’t run with scissors.” She wound her way through the cluttered basement toward the washer and dryer.

“You’re faster than I gave you credit for.”

“Chase me with a spider. You’ll see how fast I am.” She collected the exerciser from the cloth bag she stored it in. “I usually put her in that door when I’m folding laundry.” She pointed to the door into the rumpus room.

“And catch up on which sexy doctor is having an affair and whether the cabbage soup diet really works?”

“Are you accusing me of watching daytime television? Because you’re sounding more familiar with it than I am.”

“I like to have it on while I work. Why? Are you judging me? I thought this was a safe space for sharing, Emma.”

“Is that what this is?” She entered the room he was sharing with Trystan. “You and Trystan talk about boys while you brush each other’s hair and fall asleep?”

“You’ve been peeking in.”

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