The class had begun three years earlier with one lonesome little girl, Lana, the child of a single father who was desperate to round out his daughter’s life with the happiness she’d lost along with her mother. Cindy, full of love she’d yet to give anyone, lavished it on Lana, finally coaxing smiles, then laughter from her sad little face. Then another emotionally scarred child had come along. And another.
Katherine had encouraged Cindy when she’d suggested forming a group. And the Rainbow class was born. Children continued to join, all with a variety of needs, no two the same. Yet they came together in the Rainbow class, a healing, nurturing place.
Normally days spent with her “Rainbow” kids were ones of great satisfaction. But the nagging feelings she’d carried with her from the house had stolen some of that pleasure.
As she pulled into her driveway, Cindy couldn’t halt a jolt of apprehension. It wasn’t a simple emotion, but one tied in to her feelings for Flynn, his obvious dissatisfaction and the grand mess she’d made by inviting him to stay in her house.
For the first time since purchasing the winsome Victorian, she was reluctant to enter. Her throat caught—this, her place of refuge, was no longer a sanctuary. Forcing the dregs of her energy to respond, she pushed open the front door.
And entered chaos.
The triplets, who appeared to have dragged every toy in the house to the front hall and parlor, were running through both rooms as though flung like buckshot.
Paralyzed for a moment, she watched in stupefied fascination as Flynn entered the hall and tried to harness the girls.
He glanced up just then, all his earlier stiff resentment gone, replaced by a sheepish embarrassment. “It’s really not as bad as it looks.”
She placed her purse on the hall table. “That’s a relief.”
“Nothing’s broken—I put all the fragile stuff up high.” Cindy glanced at her assortment of antique scarves and shawls that normally hung from a brass rack near the door. Apparently the triplets had tugged them free. Now they were strung haphazardly over and across the rich marquetry floors. Sunlight from the second-story rotunda usually shone on the intricate pattern of oak, bird’s-eye maple and rare East Texas long leaf pine. Now, however, it was hardly visible under the mess.
“Things got a little out of control,” Flynn admitted.
“So I see.”
Flynn followed her gaze, releasing a low groan. “I didn’t realize they’d gotten into your scarves, as well. To be honest, I thought once I’d put the breakables out of reach, they’d be safe while I mopped the kitchen floor.”
Amazed, she stared at him. “Why did you feel you had to mop the floor? I just did it—”
“Breakfast,” he explained, the one word conveying paragraphs.
“Oh.”
He met her gaze. “I know I said I didn’t need any help, rather emphatically if I remember correctly. Truth is, back home we had a housekeeper. While she wasn’t their nanny, she kept all the messes and spills cleaned up. I never realized how difficult it would be to watch the girls and clean up their fallout.”
She felt a chuckle unexpectedly germinating and tried to suppress it. “Sometimes things aren’t as easy as they appear.”
He glanced around the nearly destroyed area. “I’d say that was an understatement. Unless you have a strong objection, I’d like to find a housekeeper as soon as possible.”
Cindy allowed a fraction of her smile to escape. “I don’t think that’s really necessary.”
“You want to live like this?”
“That’s not necessary, either.” She kept her tone mild, guessing the end of his rope was nearly frayed. “I often have four or five children here at one time. But it does take a little organization, some planning.”
He stared at her in disbelief.
“I do have a grasp on those concepts,” she told him wryly.
“Still—”
She held up one hand. “I’m really not accustomed to depending on others, especially in my own home. To be honest, it would seem like an intrusion. How about if we try it my way for, say, a week? If it doesn’t work, we’ll look into finding a housekeeper.”
“A week?”
She chuckled. “You sound about the girls’ age. It’s a week, not a year.”
“Maybe so. But the week I’m anticipating will seem like a year.”
Cindy bent down, retrieving a hand-beaded silk shawl that was the prize of her collection. “Look at it this way. Your stuff’s in storage so I’ve got the most to lose.”
“Point taken. I just hope you don’t regret your offer.”
Regret. It was her constant companion, a reminder she couldn’t shake with hurricane force winds. But having become an expert at disguising her feelings, she only smiled, edging toward the kitchen. “I’d better check things out, start on dinner.”
“The floor’s clean,” he responded.
She glanced at the wreckage in the parlor and hall and nodded. “Well, that’s one positive.”
“Don’t worry, Cindy. I’ll put things back to rights.”
She disappeared into the kitchen. It wasn’t possible, she knew. Even if the house was fashioned into Architectural Digest perfection, things could never be made right. Not while he held her heart in his hands, and didn’t even realize he controlled its very rhythm.
Dinner was spectacularly uneventful. Only a few spoonfuls of mashed peas landed on the floor, soon wiped clean. Flynn wasn’t certain just how Cindy had accomplished it, but control prevailed throughout the meal. But it wasn’t a disciplinary nightmare. To the contrary, the girls were happy, easy to handle.
Perhaps it was a woman thing, he mused. Julia had always had just the right touch with the girls, as well. But that wasn’t something he expected Cindy to share with her sister.
Bathtime was also competently and quickly accomplished. Soon, the girls were snuggled in their sleepers, tucked into their matching beds.
More than a bit amazed, Flynn studied Cindy as they reached the bottom of the stairwell. He wondered if she was part magician, making the care of the triplets seem effortless.
Having reassembled much of the parlor, he began gathering some of the scarves still strewn across the floor.
Cindy stooped down, as well, carefully picking up each ancient slip of fabric.
“These are really…different,” Flynn finally decided aloud.
“That doesn’t exactly sound like a compliment.”
He held up one sheer red scarf, threaded with gold, edged with long strands of dark fringe. “They suit you.”
Her smile was wry. “Again, I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
Flynn paused, the scarf awkwardly filling his hands. “Look, I know we don’t see many things the same way.” He held up the exotic red silk. “But I don’t have any frame of reference for stuff like this.”
“Granted,” she replied, a touch of a sigh flavoring the solitary word. “Julia was always practical, unlike me. Cotton versus silk, that was us.”
He studied the weariness she couldn’t quite disguise. “We haven’t gotten off to the best start, have we?”
She shrugged. “It’s a big adjustment. You’re used to running things your way.”
“And