Babes in Arms by Kathleen O'Brien

Author:Kathleen O'Brien
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2002-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

SWEET APPLES, the farmer’s market at the edge of town, opened early on Sunday mornings, so Heather began dressing the Stewberts as soon as they woke up. She wanted to get there before all the best vegetables were gone.

She put the boys in something simple—soft blue sweatpants and blue-and-white-striped knit tops. At first she had been enchanted by their elaborate sailor suits and brand-name tailored rompers. But she’d quickly learned that the boys weren’t dress-up dolls. They were active little people who wanted to be comfortable while they played.

Plus, what with one accident or another—at one end or another—they each went through about five changes a day. Heather had learned to judge an outfit by one standard only: how easy was it to get on and off?

One Stewbert found the dressing process highly amusing today. As he sat on the changing table, he was flailing his arms and squealing his pleasure.

“Shh,” Heather said softly. “How is Uncle Griffin going to sleep if you keep making so much noise?”

“He’s not,” Griffin said dryly from the doorway. “Luckily, he wasn’t trying.” He sauntered in, cup of coffee in hand. “Need any help?”

Griffin, whose shift had just ended, looked tired, but he was wearing a jacket, and his coffee was in a to-go mug, so obviously he was telling the truth. He wasn’t planning to sleep. He was going out.

“That’s okay,” she said, glancing down at the Stewbert who was still on the floor, waiting his turn. “They’re loud, but actually they’re being cooperative this morning. Besides, you had them all night. Aren’t you ever going to grab some sleep?”

Griffin shook his head, bending over to hand the baby his new favorite toy, a yellow plastic car with bug eyes that wiggled rather salaciously when the wheels rolled. They had privately named it Alton.

“Not yet. I’ve got to take some pictures. I agreed to get some spring shots for the chamber. Granville Frome is about to have a stroke because May tourism has been declining in Firefly Glen for six-point-three straight years.”

Heather wrestled Stewbert’s arm into his sleeve, then kissed the fat little fingers as they emerged. “Oh, really? And is that a big problem?”

“Apparently. Granville devoted ninety minutes and seventeen full-color charts to the subject at the last chamber meeting.”

She laughed. Both Stewberts looked up at her and smiled. They were always ready to share a good laugh.

“Well, let’s see. Spring…” she mused, trying to finesse a sneaker onto Stewbert’s foot, which was difficult because he kept mischievously curling his toes. “I know! I’m headed over to Sweet Apples, and Mary told me that their orchard is absolutely spectacular this year. Why don’t you go with us?”

Even before she saw the guarded look come over his face, she regretted making the suggestion. Of course he didn’t want to go.

In fact, he had been markedly distant these past few days. The baby transfers were made with the minimum amount of interaction. When Heather arrived, Griffin didn’t linger. He didn’t chat, or stay for one last game of peekaboo with the Stewberts, the way he once had.

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