Jacks Are Wild by Pamela Burford

Author:Pamela Burford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2011-06-07T00:00:00+00:00

7

“MY WHAT?”

“Your saddlebags, darling,” Winston said pleasantly. He sat next to Meg on the sofa and gave her jeans-dad thigh a brisk pat. “You’ve been rather sedentary since our arrival, and I thought you might enjoy a bracing walk in the evening air to work off that turkey sandwich.”

“And my saddlebags.” Since when did she have fat thighs?

Daisy squirmed on her lap, a Dr. Seuss book clutched in her hands. “Where are your saddlebags, Mommy? I wanna see your saddlebags!”

Jack was leaning against the stone mantel watching Marie and Nora sprawled on the braided rug, playing Scrabble junior. He glanced at Meg, his expression bland. Too bland. She knew he was eavesdropping.

“My flabby thighs will have to wait,” Meg said tightly. “I promised Daisy we’d read her favorite story, The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins.”

Daisy bounced on her lap. “I wanna see your saddlebags!”

Winston chucked the little girl under her chin. “You’ll have ample opportunity to see them, my dear. They’ll get bigger and bigger if Mommy keeps procrastinating this way. We’ll just have to remind her again later, won’t we?”

What the devil had gotten into him? Meg felt Jack’s gaze on her. He quickly returned his attention to the Scrabble game, one hand covering his mouth in a contemplative pose, as if he was fascinated by the tiles Nora was arranging on the playing board. Something about this whole thing didn’t scan.

Marie said, “Stupid is spelled with a u, not two o’s, stupid!”

“I’m not stupid!”

Jack said, “Marie, is that the way to help your sister learn how to spell? You promised to be patient when you asked her to play with you.”

Nora said, “I don’t want to play with stupid Marie!”

Contrition softened Marie’s features. “Trn sorry, Nora.”

“Stupid!”

Jack caught Meg’s eye, and they shared a look that made the last two years melt away. Exasperation, amusement and saintlike patience were all rolled into one little lopsided smile. Just like the old days.

Not sparing a glance for Winston, she said, “Mommy’s body-sculpting session will have to wait We have a story to read.” She settled Daisy in her arms and opened the book. “In the beginning, Bartholomew Cubbins didn’t have five hundred hats. He had...’” She paused expectantly.

‘“Only one hat’!” Daisy chimed in, her chubby finger more or less following the type on the page.

Winston said, “Didn’t you read that story to her yesterday?”

Her fingers tightened on the book. “Yes.”

“Well, darling, don’t you think you should offer the child some variety? As I understand it, the scope of children’s literature nowadays is truly remarkable. Certainly you can find something more educational than this fanciful tale written in...” He pried the book from her hands and flipped to the copyright page. “My word—1938! Fourteen years before I was born!”

“No! That ancient?” Meg yanked the book back. “I don’t expect you to know this, Winston, but repetition helps to develop a child’s reading skills. Children become attached to particular stories and they want to hear them over and over. According to the experts, that should be encouraged.

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