Six and Counting

Chapter 2

            Shane McNeal woke up the next morning at the godforsaken time of seven A.M. After a cross-country flight the day before, he lay on his back for a few moments, trying to figure out why he was even awake at this hour. And then he heard the whispers outside his door; childish whispers. Remembering his housekeeper and her clan, as well as the disastrous discussion from the night before, Shane flopped his head back on the pillow, wondering how today was going to pan out. Just then he heard the hissing murmur of Mrs. Wakeland in the hallway outside his door.

                “Get downstairs right this instant you two! You’re not even supposed to be on this floor. Now, go!”

                “We just wanted to see him again,” whined a little boy voice, but it faded away with all of their footsteps.  Silence ruled once more.

                Realizing sleep was unobtainable now, Shane climbed out of bed, put on his usual weekend clothes of plaid sweats and a T-shirt, brushed his teeth and ran his hands through his tangled mop of dark hair. Presentable by single guy standards, he padded out of his room and down two flights of stairs to the living area.

             The expansive great room was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing uninterrupted views of the Pacific. But it was the much closer spectacle that grabbed Shane’s attention. Pandemonium and mayhem reigned. The Wakeland twins were at the kitchen table playing in their cereal bowls and giggling maniacally; the two middle children sprawled on his leather sectional, arguing over the T.V. remote while cartoons on two rival channels switched back and forth by whichever child was in control at the time.  The eldest girl, Dana, who had introduced herself so maturely last night, was running around in a sports uniform with only one shoe, frantically looking under furniture for its mate. Shane froze in the doorway, his eyes finding Mrs. Wakeland, dressed similarly to him, but more wide awake and barking orders worthy of a five-star general.

             “Dana! Your shoe is under the coffee table and your carpool is here. I’ll see you at the game later. Darcy and Danielle, pick a channel or I will! And give me those bowls you two, since you’re not eating anyway!—“

               Emily looked up at that moment and spied her boss standing in the doorway, preparing to bolt back upstairs. Blowing a wisp of hair out of her eyes she gamely offered, “Good morning, Mr. McNeal. Would you like a cup of coffee and a croissant?”

              “Coffee? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, yeah, I could kill for a cup—“

               When five sets of widened eyes glared at him, Shane realized “kill” was a bad word in little kid-dom and shrugged an apology at Mrs. Wakeland while carefully entering the kitchen on bare feet. Moving to the professional quality coffee maker, Emily snagged him a mug and poured. Without turning she asked, “Sugar? Cream?”

                “Black and strong. Thanks.” Shane reached around her to take the cup. Emily watched him as the author sipped the brew with closed lids and a satisfied smile.  Opening his eyes and looking at her with a smile he said, “Perfect.”

             Shane turned toward the French doors leading to the deck, saying easily over his shoulder, “When you get a chance, join me out here. I can wait for the croissant till then.” Letting the door shut behind him, he made his way to the rail overlooking the gray Pacific. Emily grunted to herself and turned back to the kids, who had watched the entire grown-up exchange.

            “Mom, are we gonna have to move again?” Emily’s fearful eight-year-old, Darcy, asked as she studied the male stranger outside.

                “I really don’t know, sweetie. I guess I’ll find out in a minute.” Kneeling in front of her second eldest Emily continued reassuringly, “Whatever happens is meant to be, honey, but as long as we’re together we’ll be okay, right?” She brushed the hair back off Darcy’s forehead and kissed her there, then stood.

                “Can you watch the twins for just a sec, while I take Mr. McNeal his croissant?” At her daughter’s quick nod Emily picked up the roll and stepped outside. Immediately Shane turned from the handrail as she approached, taking the croissant from her hand. They both leaned on the railing, though Emily kept one eye on the kids in the house.

                “Did you sleep okay?” Emily asked conversationally while Shane savored his breakfast and the fact that Mrs. Wakeland appeared to be a first-class baker. He began nodding, trying to swallow the flaky pastry before replying.

                “I always do here. This is a very relaxing place for me.” He paused, making sure he had the woman’s full attention. Tread carefully, McNeal, he admonished himself as he considered the housekeeper.

                 “Now, are you ready to talk about options that don’t include sleeping with me?”

                Looking everywhere but at the suddenly kind-sounding author, Emily hung her head, hiding the heat she now felt in her face.  “I apologize for lashing out at you last night. It wasn’t my place—“

                With a vigorous shake of his shaggy head, McNeal interrupted, “An apology isn’t necessary. I was tired last night and I just said whatever came into my head. I can tell by looking at the place that you treat it like your own.” Shane licked his fingers, and their eyes met over his sticky hands. He grinned straightforwardly, and Emily cautiously smiled back.

                “I think we should just keep everything the way it is right now. No need to upset the apple cart, so to speak,” McNeal continued, eyes leaving hers to study the gray Pacific under a thick marine layer.  

              “If it doesn’t seem to be working out for either of us, we’ll just tell the other one. If you need to leave, give me at least two weeks’ notice, and if I decide differently, you won’t have to leave till you find another place, okay? It would be a shame to see you go, especially with the kids in school and all. Does that seem fair?”

                Emily studied Mr. McNeal. He looked boyishly charming today, with wind ruffled hair, an engaging smile playing beneath his moustache, and clear eyes behind glasses. He seemed honestly concerned that she might refuse his offer, which thought pleased Emily immensely. She would not be uprooting her beleaguered family after all. Breathing a sigh of relief, Emily held out her right hand to shake the author’s.

                “Deal.”

                When his fine-boned hand clasped her equally slim one, another jolt of awareness jarred Emily, and she let go quickly. A quirk of his dark brow signaled Shane noticed her response, but he let it slide.

                 Shouts from inside the house snapped the couples’ attention from each other to the French doors, where four happy, young faces pressed against the glass, watching them. Apparently the children approved of what they had witnessed.

                “Obviously they endorse our agreement,” Shane observed drily as his housekeeper immediately straightened and turned toward the house. Glancing back over her shoulder she said,

                “They didn’t want to move again. None of us did. I can’t thank you enough for keeping me—us—on. I’ll make sure you don’t regret it. The move was rough the first time,” and she disappeared quickly inside. Shane watched the boy and girl twins (he didn’t know their names yet) latch onto each of Emily’s legs, grinning up at her as she tried to walk with their added ballast. The older two girls crowded close, and Emily wrapped her arms around both of them. The loving tableau through the tinted glass doors tugged at the area around Shane’s heart. His decision was the cause of their happiness. He went to the beach steps for his run, a secret smile on his own face.