Suddenly Married by Loree Lough

double doors, Dara inspected the shelves, where cold cereals of every brand and variety filled one whole shelf. “Say…there’s pancake mix in here,” she said over her shoulder. “How about a nice, tall stack of flapjacks, instead of cereal?”
    “Flapjacks?” Bobby echoed, giggling. “That’s a funny word.” He marched around the kitchen, arms pumping, knees churning, repeating it like a chant. “Flapjacks, flapjacks, flapjacks.”
    “Be still, Bobby,” Angie said. And to Dara, “He’s such a baby.”
    He stopped midstep. Hands on his hips, he leaned forward. “I am not a baby!”
    “No. You’re six years old,” his sister noted. “So act it.”
    The boy met Dara’s gaze. Pouting, he asked, “Is marching for babies?”
    Down on one knee, she pressed a palm to his cheek. “Have you ever been to a parade?”
    “Of course we have,” Angie volunteered in his stead. “Every Fourth of July.”
    Ignoring the girl’s too-old demeanor, Dara said, “Then I’m sure you’ve seen all sorts of people—grown-ups included—marching. Musicians and soldiers and—”
    “And clowns! ” Bobby squealed.
    “It’s rude to interrupt,” Angie said.
    Dara made up her mind then and there to find out what was at the root of Angie’s rigid, unchildlike behavior. For now, though, it seemed in everybody’s best interests to distract her.
    “Where do you guys keep the maple syrup?”
    “‘Guys’ is not the proper way to refer to—”
    “Angie,” Dara said, hands on the child’s shoulders, “how would you like to help me make pancakes?”
    “Flapjacks!” Bobby corrected.
    Dara grinned at him. “Flapjacks.”
    The girl’s dark eyes brightened, widened, and a big smile lit up her face. “You mean it?”
    “Sure!”
    Angie clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “The only time we’ve ever had pancakes was in a restaurant. Father always burns them, and Mother never liked them.” She turned to her brother, still bouncing like a rubber ball. “Pancakes! Right here in our own kitchen!”
    “First,” Dara instructed, “we’ll need a great big bowl and one of those giant mixing spoons.”
    Bobby rummaged in a low cabinet, withdrew a stain-less-steel bowl large enough for him to sit in. When he held it out in front of him, he all but disappeared behind it. “How’s this?” he asked, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.
    It was, in fact, five times larger than necessary, but Dara didn’t have the heart to tell him that. “Perfect!” she said, putting it on the counter. “Now, how about a step stool?”
    “In the pantry,” Angie announced, dragging it from where it stood between the ironing board and a dustmop. The broom handle teetered for a moment before toppling from the pantry. “Watch out, Bobby!”
    But her warning came a tick in time too late. The handle landed square on the back of the boy’s head with a horrible thump that put him onto his hind end.
    Dara didn’t quite know what to make of the fact that the broom handle’s blow had knocked Bobby off his feet. It wasn’t as if it had been wielded, like a bat. Its slow descent surely would have smarted, but this? On her knees, she wrapped him in a fierce hug, kissing his temples and cheeks. “Oh, sweetie,” she crooned, “are you all right?”
    He was trying hard not to cry. “Yes, ma’am,” he said around a sob. Wincing, he rubbed his head. “I’m fine.”
    “Well, then, what do you say we get busy on those pancakes.”
    He grinned past his tears. “Flapjacks,” he corrected again.
    Laughing, Dara helped him up. “Maybe we can have the flapjacks ready before your dad wakes up.”
    “He’s sure gonna be surprised,” Bobby said, rubbing the back of his head.
    Dara couldn’t help but notice the way he staggered those first few steps. Lord, she prayed, frowning slightly, what’s going on here?
    No sooner had she completed the thought than the boy was back to hopping and skipping around the kitchen. Thank You! she