Page 8 of Tru Blue
Truman eyed Lincoln, who was nearly asleep, with the bottle hanging on his lower lip. He set the bottle in the cart beside Kennedy, who was struggling to keep her eyes open, and lifted Lincoln to his shoulder, patting him until he let out an airy burp. This pushy chick knew what she was talking about.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Truman.”
“Truman. I like it,” she said, as if he needed her approval. “And the kids?”
He eyed the children, feeling territorial.
“They must have names,” she coaxed.
“Kennedy,” he relented, then brushed his cheek over the baby’s and said, “Lincoln.”
Her eyes brimmed with amusement. “Does your mother have a thing for presidents?”
Before he could think of an appropriate response, she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the cart and said, “Okay, then. Let’s get your stuff. What do we need?”
There were worse things than being helped by a hot chick with a sense of humor. He picked up her basket and said, “Clothes, food, car seats, and a bed.”
“A bed?”
“For him.” He nodded at the baby.
“A crib. And car seats? You have no car seats? How did you get them here?” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Lordy, what was your mother thinking? She could have given you a few lessons in childcare.”
That might be hard, considering she’s dead.
GEMMA PUSHED THE overloaded cart into the dark parking lot, while Truman carried both sleeping babies like they were additional appendages. They left a second cart holding the crib and the playpen Gemma had convinced Truman to buy, along with a few other essentials, in front of the store for him to pick up after the kids were settled in his vehicle. She was curious about why the kids were dressed in his shirts, and why at least Kennedy didn’t have shoes on, but every time she pried—which she’d done often over the past hour—he changed the subject. He was so protective and loving toward them, she let it go, despite her curiosity.
“This is my truck.” He stopped beside an old blue truck, the type with front and rear seats. “How do you know so much about kids?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I own a princess boutique. You should bring Kennedy down for social hour sometime. It might help bring her out of her shell.” She met his sharp, serious gaze. His eyes were the bluest of blue, and beyond compelling, but they were also haunted and wary, moving stealthily over the parking lot.
“Princess boutique? I’m not even going to try to guess what that is.” He unlocked the door and laid Kennedy on the seat. She stirred, and he leaned in, whispered something, and brushed a kiss to her cheek.
Everything he did with the children was touching and tender. When they were shopping, he hadn’t gotten irritated when Kennedy got whiny. He’d simply lifted her into his arms and soothed her. She’d seen parents less patient with their own children, and these were only his siblings. She wondered why he had them, and for how long, given all the things he’d had to purchase. She was glad she was there to help, or he’d have forgotten shoes and baby wash and other things big brothers didn’t ever think about.
“Want me to hold Lincoln while you get the car seats ready?” She reached for the baby and he bristled. “Truman, do you seriously think I’d help you buy all this stuff and then do something harmful to your baby brother? I’m offended.”
A pained expression washed over his face. He lowered Lincoln from his shoulder and kissed his cheek. Love thickened the air between him and the baby, and it was just about the most beautiful thing Gemma had ever witnessed. It lasted only a few seconds, but in those seconds she knew this big, burly man’s heart was wrapped around his two precious siblings.
“I’m sorry.” The edges of his mouth tipped up in a small smile, the only smile she’d seen that wasn’t aimed at the children. It was the slightest shift in his expression, but it softened all his rough edges, and when he set those emotive blue eyes on her, her stomach tumbled.
“I appreciate all of your help. I’m just not used to…” His jaw clenched. “I just want to be careful with them.” Careful didn’t begin to describe how he was with them. Attentive, protective, and loving might scratch the surface. When he’d told her about their diaper rashes, the pain in his voice and expression had nearly taken her to her knees.
