market for a man. She had enough on her plate just keeping herself focused, thank you very much. She had no desire to offer her heart up on a chopping block again. The last time she’d done so, two years earlier, had been her final graduate course in that foolishness. She’d finally learned her lesson.
She looked at Garrett’s house again. She blew out a noisy breath and pushed open her car door, reaching in the backseat for the overnight bag she’d packed. She slung the strap over her shoulder. The bag didn’t weigh a lot. She didn’t need much, after all. Six days spent taking care of children didn’t require much fanciness in the fashion arena.
She had barely started up the sidewalk leading to the house when she heard a baby’s infuriated yowl. She hurried her pace, bounding up the steps to the screen door. She lifted her hand to knock, then jumped back when the door flew open.
Darby looked down to see Regan a moment before the little girl pounced on her legs, nearly taking them both right back down the porch steps. Darby hastily grabbed the rail for balance and realized that another person had appeared in the doorway, too.
She patted Regan’s back and tried to mentally force blood to circulate through the girl’s strangling grip on her legs. “Hello. I’m—”
“Hallelujah, extra hands have arrived. You must be Darby. I’m Carmel.”
Before Darby could blink, the other woman—shorter than Darby, and that was saying something—wrapped her hand around Darby’s arm and dragged her and Regan through the door. “Garrett,” she called over her shoulder as she pulled the door shut and fastened the latch. “The savior has arrived.” Liquid brown-black eyes turned back to Darby. “Thank God you’re here. We’re drowning.”
Darby flushed. Regan finally let go of Darby’s leg and lifted her arms. She picked up the child and tried not to wonder too hard over who Carmel was.
“We don’t got a pool anymore to get drownded in,” Regan whispered worriedly in Darby’s ear. “Are we gonna go ’way like Mommy and Daddy?”
Darby hugged the girl and set her on her feet, keeping hold of her little hand. It didn’t matter who Carmel was. Darby’s purpose here was clear in her mind. “No,” she told Regan calmly. “Where’s your uncle Garrett?”
“In the kitchen,” Carmel answered. She straightened her shiny red shirt and patted down her equally flaming shoulder-length curls before turning on her spiked heel and clattering down the tiled hallway toward, Darby presumed, the kitchen.
Feeling like a faded dishrag in the wake of Carmel’s, well, color, Darby followed. She noticed the playpen in the living room, the toys littering the floor, the full laundry basket sitting on the couch. The kitchen was no better. The bottom cupboard doors were all opened, and pots and pans and plastic bowls and lids spilled out onto the linoleum.
It looked as if an earthquake had hit.
And smack in the middle of it sat the triplets, lined up in their trio of high chairs. Keely was the one caterwauling, but Garrett, who sat in front of the high chairs on a straight-back kitchen chair with green goop dripping down the front of his white shirt, appeared to be the one in true pain.
He looked over at Darby, and his face was so grim and determined that she had to fight a smile. Then he raked his hand through his hair, leaving a streak of green lumps behind, and Regan made a little gasping sound. As if she wanted to laugh but couldn’t quite get the sound out.
“Nice look for you there, boss,” Carmel said smoothly. She was gathering up an enormous neon-yellow purse, clearly planning her escape route. “Too bad the folks from GQ aren’t here with their cameras.”
“Darby, this pain in the rear is my assistant, Carmel Delgado. Carmel, Darby White.”
“Nice to meet you,” Carmel said cheerfully. “I’m outta here to my nice motel room that has a working air conditioner and room service for dinner. Unlike this place.”
“Carmel—”
“See you tomorrow!” She clattered back out of the room. In seconds they heard the slam of the screen door followed by the roar of a car engine.
Darby realized she was staring at Garrett and quickly looked down at Regan. It was well after eight o’clock. And the house was definitely warm, still retaining the heat of the day even though it was very pleasant outside now. “Have any of you eaten dinner?”
Regan shook her head.
“Where’s Reid?”
“Digging up the backyard, most likely. It seems to be something that he really excels at,” Garrett answered. He’d turned back to the babies. Keely’s yelling had, thankfully, subsided.
“Go get Reid,” Darby instructed Regan. “And wash your hands, then come and sit at the table.”
The little girl didn’t look thrilled, but she went. Darby set her overnighter on the floor by the wall and looked at Garrett.
“Don’t say it,” he said flatly. “They should have been in bed an hour ago. And I have been trying to give them dinner for two hours now. I was gonna order pizza or something, but Regan vetoed everything I suggested. Whatever she says, Reid pipes right along with her.”
“Actually, I was going to say that you might have better luck with the triplets if you gave them some finger food. They’re at the age where they want to feed themselves. Or try, anyway.”
“Which would explain why they’ve been throwing their food back at me,” he muttered. He scooted back the chair and rose, seeming to realize what a mess his shirt was. Dusky color rose in his throat, and Darby told herself she was not charmed. This was just a job.
She walked purposefully to the refrigerator and opened the door. The offerings were slim, but he did have eggs and milk. She pulled out both and set them on the counter, then began opening cupboards—the ones up top that hadn’t already been divested of their contents. “Why don’t you get cleaned up, too,” she suggested without looking his way.
He went.
And Darby breathed easier. She found a clean dishcloth and wiped up the mess the triplets had already made, then gave them each a handful of dry cereal. Regan trooped in with a disheveled Reid, and they disappeared in a room off the kitchen. She heard water running, then giggles.
Darby figured she’d go into the bathroom later and find bubbles and water flooding half the room, but she didn’t care. The children were giggling and the happy sound warmed her. Then, overhead, she heard a hideous, groaning rattle of pipes.
A shower, she realized. And a prompt vision of Garrett pulling off his food-decorated shirt popped into her mind.
She shook her head sharply and reached for the waffle iron that sat on the floor under the table. Waffles and scrambled eggs for dinner wasn’t exactly imaginative. But it would have to do for now. Until she could get to the grocery store and stock up on—
“Whoa, Nellie,” she muttered out loud. All she needed to worry about was the next few days. After that, Mr. Garrett Cullum and his crew would have to depend on other arrangements. Darby was only here as a stopgap.
Garrett paused in the doorway to the kitchen. It looked almost like the kitchen that had come with the house when he’d first rented it a few weeks ago. Except for the row of high chairs and the kids, that was.
And except for a rusty-haired sprite who’d worked wonders in a bare half hour. Then, as if he’d cleared his throat or stomped his foot to announce his presence, Darby turned around and looked at him.
His chest locked up for a second. She’d rolled up the short sleeves of her tan T-shirt, displaying the sleek, perfect curve of her shoulders. He managed to smile crookedly and drag his eyes from the T-shirt that clung damply to her chest. So she wasn’t quite as bony as he’d thought. “Looks like you were target practice for someone yourself,” he said.
Darby’s eyes flicked to Regan, and she smiled