again?"
"This time she's just sick. I guess she'll feel better if we don't give her any trouble."
"I don't mean to cause trouble.'' Ben's voice was very young and very small.
"I'm sure you don't." Dylan thought of himself, of how he'd pushed and tugged and pressured. His job. But it didn't go very far toward the guilt.
"I didn't really mean to push Chris down in the mud," he mumbled.
"I didn't think you did." But Dylan had meant to push Abby up against a wall.
"Mom would've punished me."
"I see." Dylan found himself admiring Ben's candor, but now he'd have to do something, and what the hell did be know about handling kids? He dragged a hand through his hair and tried to be logical. "I guess we'll have to think of something. Want me to go push you down in the mud?"
Ben glanced up warily. After meeting Dylan's eyes, he laughed. "Then Mom would be mad at you."
"Right. Why don't you do Chris's chores tonight?"
"Okay." That was no big deal. He liked spending time with the horses, and Chris usually got in the way.
It both pleased and surprised Dylan that he could read the boy's mind. "That includes the dishes—it's Chris's turn."
"But—"
"It's a tough old world, kid." Dylan tugged his earlobe and went to see to his other charge.
Abby awoke to the sounds of an argument. An argument in whispers was still an argument. Opening her eyes, she focused on her sons, who were standing at the foot of the bed.
"We should wake her up now," Ben insisted.
"We should wait until Dylan conies up."
"Now."
"What if she still has a temperature?"
"We'll take it and find out."
"Do you know how?" Chris demanded, ready to be impressed.
"You use that little skinny thing. We just put it in her mouth, then wait."
"While she's asleep?"
"No, dummy. We have to wake her up."
"I'm awake." Abby pushed herself up against the pillows while both boys eyed her.
"Hi." Not at all sure how to deal with a sick mother, Ben fooled with the bedspread.
"Hi yourself."
"Are you still sick?"
Her throat was so dry that she was surprised she could talk at all. Every muscle in her body rebelled as she pushed herself up a bit higher. "Maybe a little."
"Do you want my crayons?" Not one to stand on ceremony, Chris crawled onto the bed to get a closer look.
"Maybe later," she told him, running a hand through his hair. "Did you just get home from school?"
"Heck, no. We've been home forever. Right, Ben?"
"We had dinner," Ben confirmed. "And did the chores."
"Dinner?" After she'd cleared her mind of sleep, she saw that the light was dim with evening. A glance at the clock had her moaning. She'd lost another three hours. "What did you have?"
"Tacos. Dylan makes them real good. Do you have a temperature?" Interested, Chris put his hand on her head. "You feel hot. Do you have to take medicine like Ben and me did? I can read you a story after."
"You can't read," Ben said in disgust.
"I can too. Miss Schaeffer said I read real good."
"Kid stuff, not Mom's kind of stories."
"Fighting again?" Dylan walked in with another tray. "It's nice to see everything's normal. Scoot over, Chris. Your mom has to eat."
"We all made it,'' Chris told her as she shifted aside. "Dylan made the eggs and Ben heated the soup. I made the toast."
"Looks great." She wished she could toss it, tray and all, out the window. When Dylan arranged the pillows behind her, she glanced up and saw the grin. Apparently writers read minds. Since he did, he'd also be aware that she had no choice but to eat.
"Dylan said you need your strength," Ben put in.
"Did he?"
"And Dylan said we had to be quiet so you could rest. We were real quiet." Chris waited for his mother to sample the toast he'd smeared overgenerously with butter.
"You were very quiet," Abby told him, washing down the soggy toast with juice.
"Dylan said he'd play a game with us later if we didn't mess up." Chris sent him a sunny smile. "We didn't, did we?"
"You did just fine."
Unwilling to let Chris get all the attention,
"This time she's just sick. I guess she'll feel better if we don't give her any trouble."
"I don't mean to cause trouble.'' Ben's voice was very young and very small.
"I'm sure you don't." Dylan thought of himself, of how he'd pushed and tugged and pressured. His job. But it didn't go very far toward the guilt.
"I didn't really mean to push Chris down in the mud," he mumbled.
"I didn't think you did." But Dylan had meant to push Abby up against a wall.
"Mom would've punished me."
"I see." Dylan found himself admiring Ben's candor, but now he'd have to do something, and what the hell did be know about handling kids? He dragged a hand through his hair and tried to be logical. "I guess we'll have to think of something. Want me to go push you down in the mud?"
Ben glanced up warily. After meeting Dylan's eyes, he laughed. "Then Mom would be mad at you."
"Right. Why don't you do Chris's chores tonight?"
"Okay." That was no big deal. He liked spending time with the horses, and Chris usually got in the way.
It both pleased and surprised Dylan that he could read the boy's mind. "That includes the dishes—it's Chris's turn."
"But—"
"It's a tough old world, kid." Dylan tugged his earlobe and went to see to his other charge.
Abby awoke to the sounds of an argument. An argument in whispers was still an argument. Opening her eyes, she focused on her sons, who were standing at the foot of the bed.
"We should wake her up now," Ben insisted.
"We should wait until Dylan conies up."
"Now."
"What if she still has a temperature?"
"We'll take it and find out."
"Do you know how?" Chris demanded, ready to be impressed.
"You use that little skinny thing. We just put it in her mouth, then wait."
"While she's asleep?"
"No, dummy. We have to wake her up."
"I'm awake." Abby pushed herself up against the pillows while both boys eyed her.
"Hi." Not at all sure how to deal with a sick mother, Ben fooled with the bedspread.
"Hi yourself."
"Are you still sick?"
Her throat was so dry that she was surprised she could talk at all. Every muscle in her body rebelled as she pushed herself up a bit higher. "Maybe a little."
"Do you want my crayons?" Not one to stand on ceremony, Chris crawled onto the bed to get a closer look.
"Maybe later," she told him, running a hand through his hair. "Did you just get home from school?"
"Heck, no. We've been home forever. Right, Ben?"
"We had dinner," Ben confirmed. "And did the chores."
"Dinner?" After she'd cleared her mind of sleep, she saw that the light was dim with evening. A glance at the clock had her moaning. She'd lost another three hours. "What did you have?"
"Tacos. Dylan makes them real good. Do you have a temperature?" Interested, Chris put his hand on her head. "You feel hot. Do you have to take medicine like Ben and me did? I can read you a story after."
"You can't read," Ben said in disgust.
"I can too. Miss Schaeffer said I read real good."
"Kid stuff, not Mom's kind of stories."
"Fighting again?" Dylan walked in with another tray. "It's nice to see everything's normal. Scoot over, Chris. Your mom has to eat."
"We all made it,'' Chris told her as she shifted aside. "Dylan made the eggs and Ben heated the soup. I made the toast."
"Looks great." She wished she could toss it, tray and all, out the window. When Dylan arranged the pillows behind her, she glanced up and saw the grin. Apparently writers read minds. Since he did, he'd also be aware that she had no choice but to eat.
"Dylan said you need your strength," Ben put in.
"Did he?"
"And Dylan said we had to be quiet so you could rest. We were real quiet." Chris waited for his mother to sample the toast he'd smeared overgenerously with butter.
"You were very quiet," Abby told him, washing down the soggy toast with juice.
"Dylan said he'd play a game with us later if we didn't mess up." Chris sent him a sunny smile. "We didn't, did we?"
"You did just fine."
Unwilling to let Chris get all the attention,
Similar Books
