She didn’t mention that last part, though. If she was going to marry Mick, she had to get her family used to the idea gradually.
Not that they wouldn’t see right through her. But she was going to do her best to pretend this was a real courtship and a real marriage. She’d thought long and hard about what Mick had said the other night. He didn’t want a temporary solution, and she agreed. Billy and Amanda deserved better. When it came to family, they deserved the real thing.
Or at least a reasonable facsimile.
SELLING SHARON on letting him have the kids for the weekend hadn’t been tough. She’d even permitted him to give her another lecture as part of the bargain.
“Fetal alcohol syndrome isn’t the bogeyman, Sharon. This is real, serious trouble we’re talking about. That baby—” he’d glanced at her still slender stomach “—could be handicapped for life with learning disabilities and behavioral problems.”
“I already promised I wouldn’t do any more drinking.” She’d been in her housecoat, her hair a mess. Sharon was only in her mid-twenties, about five years younger than him. But she looked about ten years older. Life had been hard on her, but she’d been hard on herself, too.
“Go visit your sister in Banff,” he suggested. “A change of scene might do you good.” If she stayed here in this house, dwelling on her loneliness, he didn’t see how she’d avoid the bottle.
Sharon looked around, as if only just becoming aware of what a disaster her home was. “I should really clean up this mess.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he promised. Perhaps his cleaning lady would do the extra job—if he paid double. “You need to have some fun. Here, let me give you money to buy gas and to take Carrie out for a nice dinner.”
He handed over a hundred-dollar bill, praying he wasn’t financing another terrible drinking binge.
“A nice dinner…” Sharon sounded as confused as if he’d spoken in a foreign language.
“Sure. Get all dressed up and go to the Banff Springs Hotel for the evening. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Mick bundled the kids in their snowsuits, boots and mittens. “Say goodbye to your mom, kids. We’re having a sleepover at my place.”
He had a hamper of dirty clothes to take with him, plus Amanda’s favorite stuffed animal, some kind of turtle, and her blankie. When he’d asked Billy if he wanted to bring anything special along, Billy just shook his head.
That had been several hours ago. Since then, he’d taken the kids for a play in the park, then brought them home to settle in before Kelly arrived at six for pizza. He got out the box of toys he kept handy for their visits, then zipped down to the basement to put in a load of laundry.
He’d left them alone for two minutes, maximum three. When he got back, they were still standing in exactly the same spot. Billy gazed longingly at the television in the corner.
“Can we watch cartoons?”
“Maybe later.” Although he’d purchased a few Disney movies, he suspected they both put in too many hours in front of the television at home. “Want to make a puzzle? Or build something with these blocks?”
“Sure.” Billy plopped onto the floor, his brown eyes serious.
“Which one?”
Billy shrugged.
“Okay, then. Let’s do the puzzle. Want to help, Mandy?”
She, too, sat as obediently as a well-trained lapdog. Remembering what a chatterbox she’d been just months earlier, at her third birthday party, Mick felt like weeping.
The three of them put the puzzle together in silence. Mick couldn’t think of anything to talk about with these small, hurting children. He wondered if they were missing their mother, but he was afraid to ask in case the answer was yes. He didn’t want to return them to Sharon. If she’d taken his advice and gone to Banff, that wouldn’t be an option, anyway.
By six o’clock he felt desperate. Billy and Amanda were like two well-behaved robots. He wished he could figure out what they really wanted, what they were thinking. But they seemed content to do whatever he suggested. When they finished the puzzle or the game, they just looked at him, waiting for his next suggestion.
The doorbell chiming at five minutes after six was a desperately welcome interruption. He opened the door to Kelly, who wore jeans, and a pale yellow sweatshirt under her jacket. Her hair was tied back from her face, and she carried several shopping bags.
He hung up her coat, then motioned to the living room. The kids were still sitting on the floor around a simple board game they’d been playing.
“Billy, Amanda? This is my friend Kelly. Remember, I said she’d be joining us for pizza?”
Mick could tell Kelly was nervous. She was smiling, but she’d dropped the bags and was gripping her hands behind her back.
“Hi, Billy. Hi, Amanda. Are you playing Trouble? I used to play that game with my niece.”
Billy nodded, then stood. Like a shadow, Amanda followed him, taking a few steps closer to Kelly.
“I know you,” Billy said suddenly.
Mick felt his heart leap against his rib cage. Sharon hadn’t been clear on how much of that scene at the Thunder Bar M the kids had seen. So no one knew if Billy or his sister had witnessed Kelly shooting their father.
“Do you, Billy?” he asked, striving to sound nonchalant. He should have been smarter than to expose them to this, to take the chance of upsetting them. As if they hadn’t been through enough—
“You’re the lady in the car,” Billy said. “Who sits and watches.”
Kelly had been visibly expecting a verbal blow. This seemed to surprise her. “That’s right.”
“Did my daddy send you? To look out for us?”
“Oh, Billy…” Kelly angled her face toward the door, putting a hand up to veil her expression.
Mick felt bad for her. But at the moment, his nephew was his prime concern. He dropped to one knee and put his hand on the small boy’s back.
“That’s an interesting thought, Billy. Who knows.” He glanced up at Kelly, who was rubbing away a tear with the sleeve of her yellow sweatshirt. “Maybe he did.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE TOPIC WAS DROPPED when the pizza delivery-man arrived. Perfect timing, thought Mick, for taking the pressure off the kids and Kelly.
“Where do you want to eat?” Kelly asked, as he pulled a twenty and a five from his wallet.
“In the kitchen. There’s no dining room in this house. I’ve confiscated it for my office.”
“How about I set out plates and cutlery.”
They couldn’t really need forks and knives for pizza, but Mick told her to go ahead. The kids stayed with him, their eyes on the fragrant cardboard box. Neither said a word, but they sure looked hungry. Maybe he should have offered them an afternoon snack.
“Okay, then,” Mick said once the door was closed. “Let’s go dig in.”
“Should we wash our hands first?” Kelly stood in the hall off the kitchen.
“Yeah. Right.” He veered toward the bathroom, and the children followed. A quick soap-up and rinse, and they were finally ready to settle around the kitchen table.
Mick pulled back the cardboard lid on the extra-large pizza. “We’ve got half pepperoni and cheese, half vegetarian. What kind would you like, Mandy?”
The little three-year-old