the door, Emma pausing long enough to give her uncle a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and a declaration of love. He was grinning when he turned to Claire.
She wanted to kill him. Her fingers itched to let sail a handy custard cake. In a voice that bordered on shrill, she demanded, “What about my kitchen?”
His smile drained from his face like ale from a new tap. “I’ll clean it up.”
“Sure you will.” Claire shot him a scathing look. If he cleaned as well as he disciplined those children, it wouldn’t be safe to boil water in her kitchen. She eyed the cake, seriously considering the idea of making him wear it. “Why in the world didn’t you have the girls clean up their own mess?”
He rolled up his sleeves. “You’ve never seen them clean. Since I have to go in behind them anyway, I might as well do it myself the first time.”
Claire’s attention snagged on his muscular forearms and she absently wondered what physical work he had done to develop those muscles. When he headed for her kitchen, she gave her head a shake and redirected her attention to the matter at hand. “But think of the lesson you are teaching them that way. It’s wrong.”
He halted abruptly and twisted his head. His deep green eyes bore into hers as he flatly stated, “It’s not my job to teach them lessons. My job is to keep them safe until Trace and Jenny get home.”
Claire leaned against the doorjamb, her arms folded. Watching him dip a rag into a pan of sudsy water, it was all she could do not to shoo him away and tackle the cleanup herself. But principle glued her shoes to the floor, and she remained standing in the doorway secretly impressed by the attention he paid to scraping every bit of goo from her worktable.
A banging noise out in the alley caught her attention, and when she crossed to the window to investigate she spied a smear of what appeared to be strawberry preserves on her brand new curtain. Slowly, she shook her head. “You aren’t doing your brother and his wife any favors by spoiling the girls in the meantime, McBride.”
“I know.” His tone was unrepentant “I don’t like getting after them. None of their…mishaps are malicious. They just seem to have noses for trouble.”
“Bloodhound noses,” she grumbled. That’s what her father had always said to her. That Claire had a bloodhound’s nose for trouble. She knew the girls’ antics— the mess in her kitchen included—weren’t malicious. Watching those girls was like watching herself years ago.
The Menaces’ current mess didn’t compare to the one she’d made when she’d attempted to bake her first cake unsupervised. But she had managed the cleanup all by herself. Took her an entire day. She’d had to miss the barbecue out at Riverrun Plantation. But she’d been better for the lesson, hadn’t she? Hadn’t she benefitted from the discipline in the long run?
Claire filled a pan with cool water, then removed the curtains from their rod and put them to soak. “They skipped school and destroyed my kitchen, and all you do is make them see to their missed assignments. That’s not enough, McBride. Children need to learn that actions have consequences.”
“Maybe so, but I don’t have to be the one to teach them.” Finished with the worktable, he filled a basin with warm water off the stove, added soap flakes, then piled in some of the dirty dishes lying around the room. He lifted Claire’s favorite ruffled apron from a peg on the wall and, to her amazement, tied it on. When he plunged his hands into the sudsy water, he added honestly, “I want them to like me.”
That stopped her completely. She gawked at him. Tye McBride was big and broad and oozing masculinity. And wearing a frilly apron and washing dishes because he wanted his nieces to like him.
He glanced in her direction and smiled sheepishly.
In that exact moment, Claire fell just a little bit in love.
***
TYE GAWKED at her and wondered what had put that peculiar
She wanted to kill him. Her fingers itched to let sail a handy custard cake. In a voice that bordered on shrill, she demanded, “What about my kitchen?”
His smile drained from his face like ale from a new tap. “I’ll clean it up.”
“Sure you will.” Claire shot him a scathing look. If he cleaned as well as he disciplined those children, it wouldn’t be safe to boil water in her kitchen. She eyed the cake, seriously considering the idea of making him wear it. “Why in the world didn’t you have the girls clean up their own mess?”
He rolled up his sleeves. “You’ve never seen them clean. Since I have to go in behind them anyway, I might as well do it myself the first time.”
Claire’s attention snagged on his muscular forearms and she absently wondered what physical work he had done to develop those muscles. When he headed for her kitchen, she gave her head a shake and redirected her attention to the matter at hand. “But think of the lesson you are teaching them that way. It’s wrong.”
He halted abruptly and twisted his head. His deep green eyes bore into hers as he flatly stated, “It’s not my job to teach them lessons. My job is to keep them safe until Trace and Jenny get home.”
Claire leaned against the doorjamb, her arms folded. Watching him dip a rag into a pan of sudsy water, it was all she could do not to shoo him away and tackle the cleanup herself. But principle glued her shoes to the floor, and she remained standing in the doorway secretly impressed by the attention he paid to scraping every bit of goo from her worktable.
A banging noise out in the alley caught her attention, and when she crossed to the window to investigate she spied a smear of what appeared to be strawberry preserves on her brand new curtain. Slowly, she shook her head. “You aren’t doing your brother and his wife any favors by spoiling the girls in the meantime, McBride.”
“I know.” His tone was unrepentant “I don’t like getting after them. None of their…mishaps are malicious. They just seem to have noses for trouble.”
“Bloodhound noses,” she grumbled. That’s what her father had always said to her. That Claire had a bloodhound’s nose for trouble. She knew the girls’ antics— the mess in her kitchen included—weren’t malicious. Watching those girls was like watching herself years ago.
The Menaces’ current mess didn’t compare to the one she’d made when she’d attempted to bake her first cake unsupervised. But she had managed the cleanup all by herself. Took her an entire day. She’d had to miss the barbecue out at Riverrun Plantation. But she’d been better for the lesson, hadn’t she? Hadn’t she benefitted from the discipline in the long run?
Claire filled a pan with cool water, then removed the curtains from their rod and put them to soak. “They skipped school and destroyed my kitchen, and all you do is make them see to their missed assignments. That’s not enough, McBride. Children need to learn that actions have consequences.”
“Maybe so, but I don’t have to be the one to teach them.” Finished with the worktable, he filled a basin with warm water off the stove, added soap flakes, then piled in some of the dirty dishes lying around the room. He lifted Claire’s favorite ruffled apron from a peg on the wall and, to her amazement, tied it on. When he plunged his hands into the sudsy water, he added honestly, “I want them to like me.”
That stopped her completely. She gawked at him. Tye McBride was big and broad and oozing masculinity. And wearing a frilly apron and washing dishes because he wanted his nieces to like him.
He glanced in her direction and smiled sheepishly.
In that exact moment, Claire fell just a little bit in love.
***
TYE GAWKED at her and wondered what had put that peculiar
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