Chapter Eight
Sam bent low over the double stroller and adjusted the small hat shielding Jeffrey’s face. He did the same for Jackson, stretching down to pick up the bottle of juice the little guy had dropped.
Or thrown, more likely.
“Buddy, knock it off,” he murmured, retrieving the bottle from beneath a stroller the size of a small automobile. “Your mama made this for you. It has five kinds of fruit juice plus a bunch of vitamin powder and nutritious crap. She wants you to grow up big and strong and smart.”
Jackson seemed to consider that for a moment, then tossed the bottle on the ground again.
Sam bent down again. “At least you’re consistent.”
The baby shrieked with frustration, and his brother joined in, a chorus of unhappy baby. Sam rocked the stroller again, hopeful they weren’t headed for another meltdown. They’d had a rough morning after Sheri left for work, with the twins screaming for an hour straight. He’d brought them here to Smith’s Tropical Paradise, hoping a stroll around the thirty-acre botanical garden on the Wailua River might offer a welcome distraction. If nothing else, the boys’ shrieks blended harmoniously with the squawking of tropical birds and the constant cluck of chickens that seemed to be everywhere on this island.
“Look, buddy—it’s a flower,” he said for the hundredth time, pointing out something orange and shaped vaguely like a hand grenade.
The boys stopped screaming, momentarily distracted by the peacock strutting past. He couldn’t blame them for being fussy, really. They probably missed their mom.
Sam could relate.
All day, he’d been catching himself mid-grin at the memory of Sheri pressing her body against his, arching her back to kiss him, demanding “Kiss me” in her breathy, delicate whisper that made his gut clench. If only they hadn’t been interrupted—
“No,” he said out loud, and both babies looked up. He forced another smile and patted Jeffrey’s head. “Not you guys. You’re doing great. Your uncle, on the other hand—”
He trailed off there, figuring it was best not to alert the boys that Uncle Mac would gleefully castrate their caregiver for what had nearly transpired outside their bedroom the night before.
He pictured her again, warm and willing and so soft pressed against him with her curls brushing her shoulder blades and twining around his fingers. God, she’d even smelled good. Like spices in the kitchen and some sort of tropical flower. And the way she’d responded when he touched her, curving her body against him, nipping little kisses down his throat, driving him mad with heat and desire and those sweet little moans.
“Your mom,” he murmured to the boys with a reverence that surprised him. He bent down to retrieve the bottle again, tucking it into the back pocket of the stroller before handing the baby a teething ring instead. “She is some kind of woman.”
Jeffrey yawned, while Jackson gummed the teething ring a few times, then tossed it out of the stroller. Sam caught it with one hand before a peacock could peck it. He tugged off the stretchy band holding his sunglasses around his neck and coiled it around the ring. Tying a couple knots, he secured it to the top of the stroller. Then he tested it out, making sure there was no way the little guy could strangle himself.
“There you go. Try throwing it now.” He handed the ring back to Jeffrey, who frowned, then put it in his mouth.
Sam straightened up and pushed the stroller forward, pushing aside his thoughts of Sheri at the same time.
Keep your hands off my sister.
Mac’s words echoed in his ears, and he shook his head to clear his remaining visions of Sheri. Aside from Mac’s order, there were a million reasons getting involved with her was a terrible idea. The ink was barely dry on her divorce papers, and the last thing she needed was another messy relationship. Especially not with a military jerk.
She doesn’t know you’re military, his subconscious pointed out, and he felt a stab of guilt for lying to her.
Her declaration about lying and Mac’s warning about touching Sheri bounced around Sam’s brain in a cacophony of angry words. It would be stupid to get involved. He was here to protect her, to keep her idiot ex away from her and the boys. Mac had made the mission pretty clear.
And the last thing he needed was to screw up another job by failing to follow orders.
“It won’t happen again, I swear,” he said aloud, more for his own sake than for the babies. They gurgled in the stroller, and Jackson waved one fat little fist as if in salute to the giant rooster strutting past. A peacock fanned his tail nearby, turning in circles to show his vibrant plumage to a female. The air was heavy with the smell of tropical flowers and the buzz of insects. It certainly was beautiful here.
He looked fondly down at the boys. Jeffrey squealed and tried to throw the teething ring again, then shrieked as it spun overhead like a pi?ata.
“I’ve got this situation under control,” he added, giving the babies a reassuring smile.
Jackson smiled back and farted. At least, Sam thought that’s all it was. Then he saw the telltale seepage leaking through the onesie and realized he’d made a terrible miscalculation.
“Oh, shit.”
Literally.
Jackson started laughing, but it quickly turned to howls of distress. Jeffrey joined in, wailing with an urgency that made the peacocks scatter.
Frantic, Sam patted himself down, looking for something to make the noise stop. “I forgot the diaper bag. Dammit.” He scanned the gardens, hoping to see some other parent strolling nearby with the necessary provisions.
There was no one.
Sam was on his own in this bizarre, foreign jungle with two comrades equally unprepared for this mission. He scooped up the baby, glancing around for a faucet or someplace he could clean the little guy.
Jackson howled louder.
“Don’t worry,” he panted. “I’ve got your back, buddy. Semper fi.”
Cradling the baby in one arm, Sam jerked his dive knife out of the pocket on the back of the stroller. He’d felt silly stashing it there when he left the house, but now he was grateful to have this crucial tool of his trade.
“Hang on, man—I’ll get you out of this.”
Sam slid the blade between the buttonholes on the onesie. With one swift stroke, he sliced the stained fabric from the baby’s delicate skin. Jackson blinked, mesmerized into silence. Sam made quick work of the diaper, letting it drop to the ground like a fallen warrior.
A really smelly fallen warrior.
“I’ve got you,” Sam told Jackson, striding toward the pond ten feet away. He called over his shoulder to his brother in arms. “You stay put, Jeffrey! I’m not leaving, I swear. I’ve never left a man behind.”
“Behind,” Sam repeated, turning his attention back to the naked behind entrusted to his care. “Sorry, man—it’s the only way.”
He stooped down and stuck a finger in the water to test the temperature. Finding it pleasant, he took a deep breath and plunged Jackson’s bare bottom into the pond. The baby squealed, equal parts confusion and delight. Sam swished him around making motorboat noises as he washed away evidence of a hard-fought battle.
Sam lurched upright again, spinning the baby around in an effort to air dry him. Jackson waved his arms, enthralled with his own nakedness.
“I know the feeling,” he muttered, sprinting back to the stroller to search for anything resembling a diaper. Could he weave one from palm fronds? Fashion something out of peacock feathers?
Nope. There was only one option.
“Sometimes a man has to make sacrifices on the battlefield,” Sam said solemnly, placing Jackson back in the stroller.
Straightening, Sam picked up his dive knife and grabbed the hem of his favorite Tennessee Titans T-shirt. He sliced it from his body, stretching the fabric out to form a crude sling.
Grabbing Jackson again, Sam dropped to his knees with the T-shirt spread on the grass in front of him. He placed Jackson on it, swaddling the baby awkwardly with the soft fabric. He looped shreds of navy cotton to create a sort of loincloth, careful to make sure all the vital parts were covered. He folded and tied, fashioning a bowline on a bight, a half hitch, and several more knots he’d forgotten the names for.
When he finished, Sam sat back on his heels and wiped his brow, admiring his work. It didn’t look half-bad. From a distance, it almost resembled a onesie with a built-in diaper.
“There,” he said, patting Jackson’s belly. “It’s not pretty, but it’ll do the job.”
Jackson smacked his heels on the grass and laughed, a musical baby giggle that made Sam smile in spite of himself. In the stroller, Jeffrey hooted with glee. Sam stood up and tickled Jeffrey’s belly as he put Jackson back in the stroller.
“Don’t you go crapping yourself, too,” Sam told Jeffrey as he strapped the other twin in beside him. “I’m fresh out of T-shirts.”
He tickled each baby again, making them both giggle harder. Another peacock strutted by, intrigued by the noises, and the babies squealed. Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the Baggie of birdseed. He tossed out a handful, and the boys chorused with joyful shrieks as peacocks ran from all directions to claim their prize.
Sam was so focused on the task that he didn’t hear the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Sam?”
He whirled around to see Sheri standing beside him, a strange expression on her face. She looked lovely and sun-kissed and very, very perplexed.
“Sheri—what are you doing here?”
“I saw your note on the kitchen table,” she said, stepping closer with her eyes flicking across his chest. “I got off a little early since I was just doing orientation stuff. I hadn’t been out here to explore the gardens yet, so I thought I’d come join you and check the place out. Um, Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“I know Kauai’s a casual island, but they usually want people to wear shirts in a place like this.”
“Right. Um, yeah. Got it. Just wanted to get a little sun while we’re strolling the gardens.” He kept his back turned away from her, making sure she didn’t spot the tattoo on his shoulder blade.
She stared at him with an expression he couldn’t read. Eyeing his abs or questioning his sanity? He couldn’t tell. He gave her a hopeful smile, doing his best to radiate the energy of a competent, experienced caretaker.
She flushed and looked away, turning to fuss over the babies.
“How are my little guys? How are my babies? How are my best, best men?” She paused, hesitating a moment before scooping up one of the twins. “Sam?”
“Yes?”
“Why is Jackson wearing an outfit that says tits?”
“Tits?”
“Yes, tits. I mean, I know he’s a fan and all, but—”
“Titans,” Sam said, doing a mental head-smack as he looked down to see the awkwardly folded wording on his shirt. “Tennessee Titans. Yes, see, I can explain.”
She gave him an expectant look, not angry or judgmental, but clearly a bit baffled.
“Right, uh, in some European cultures, there are special swaddling techniques caretakers use to create a sense of security and calm for babies experiencing traumatic events like teething or weaning or the first time being away from their mothers—”
“Swaddling techniques?”
He nodded, knowing he was digging himself in deeper here, but not seeing any way out. “How about I tell you all about it over dinner?” he said, nodding toward the exit. “And you can tell me all about your first day at work. Did things go well?”
“Very well,” she said, bending down to place Jackson back in his seat. She cooed at Jeffrey, who cooed back and reached up to touch her hair and bat at her necklace.
The interaction gave Sam a prolonged moment to take in the beautiful curve of her ass in that skirt, and he wondered what it would be like to cup his hands around it. Or maybe if she stayed bent down like that, he could push her skirt up and slide his hands over her breasts as he moved behind her and—
“Don’t you think so?”
He snapped his eyes off her ass and blinked. “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”
“It’s beautiful here. I had a friend who got married at Smith Gardens. I got to stroll around for thirty minutes or so before I found you, but I’d love to come back sometime.”
“The boys really seemed to enjoy it,” he said. “They’ve been entranced by the peacocks all afternoon. I even bought some little bags of birdseed so we could feed them. The birds, not the babies. The twins didn’t eat birdseed.”
Much, he amended silently, thinking it best not to mention his ill-advised attempt to let the boys feed the birds. It had resulted in a quick call to Poison Control to make sure it was okay for babies to ingest small amounts of millet.
Sheri smiled. “I’ve always wanted to come to one of the luaus they hold here at night. I’ve heard they give the most amazing lays.”
“Lays?” Sam’s brain short-circuited, trying not to picture Sheri topless in a hula skirt.
“Leis. You know, rings of flowers?”
“Right. Yes, definitely. Maybe we can all come back sometime for a luau and bring the boys.”
His heart twisted a little at the thought of that, knowing this happy little family charade would be over the instant Lieutenant Limpdick took off in two weeks. After that, Sheri would need a real nanny, not a bodyguard.
He looked down at the boys and smiled, making a mental note to find a pair of plush peacocks for them to remember him by.
She smiled back and began to push the stroller toward the exit while Sam made a hasty effort to scoop up the soiled onesie and diaper and stuff them into a nearby trash can. Sheri moved ahead, her hips swaying softly in her tight skirt.
“Oh, wow,” she called. “I never would have thought of that.”
“Of what?” he asked, wiping his hands on his shorts as he hustled to catch up with her.
“The sunglasses cord on the teething ring. You made this?”
Sam shrugged. “It solved the problem.”
“You even figured out how to rig it up so he can’t choke himself on the cord. You’re a smarter mom than I am.”
She said it with a smile, but there was something sad in her eyes. She steered the stroller over some grass and onto a paved pathway, her expression oddly wistful.
“I don’t think I’d go that far,” he said, following her toward the exit. “I spent ten minutes this morning trying to wipe poop off Jeffrey, only to realize I was scrubbing a birthmark.”
She laughed. “It’s how I tell them apart sometimes. Is that bad to admit? That I can’t tell my own children apart? God, I’m sure normal moms—”
“Why do you always say that?”
She gave him a startled look. “What?”
“That crap about normal moms. What the hell is a normal mom?”
She studied him for a moment, then looked away, maneuvering the stroller over a bump in the paved path. “It always seems like all the other moms out there were implanted with some sort of mommy chip. Something that gives them instant skills at properly dressing their babies and soothing owies and singing lullabies and all of that. I’m just standing here hoping no one notices I put my kid’s diaper on backward.”
Sam shook his head. “You look like you’ve got it pretty dialed in to me.”
She looked up from the pathway and gave him a small smile. “I appreciate that. But from where I stand, you’ve got more of a mommy chip than I do.”
He felt a little twist of guilt knowing he’d handed the boys a snack of whole carrots this morning before remembering they didn’t have teeth. Then he’d stood there like an idiot while Jackson tried to stick the carrot in his ear.
Mommy chip indeed.
Sam cleared his throat. “Well, if there are normal moms and abnormal moms, and you’re the latter, I’ll take abnormal any day of the week.”
She blinked, and for a moment, he thought she might cry. “That is the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”
He grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to tuck a long curl behind her ear, or tell her he could think of a dozen nice things to say or do to her that might make her week.
“Come on, let’s get home for dinner,” Sam said, hoping like hell he’d be able to assemble something vaguely edible after spending an hour on the phone that morning while his sister coached him on cooking techniques. “I’m making something extra special to celebrate your first day.”
“You really are amazing,” she said, smiling as she pushed the stroller through the gate and out into the parking lot. “I can’t believe my brother found you.”
He fell into step beside her, trying not to feel like the biggest jerk on earth.