blinked back the sheen that had blurred his vision and swallowed against the swelling in his throat. “Nah. Too much hot sauce on my crawfish, that’s all.” He caught the boy to him in a playful hold and scrubbed his knuckles across his head, tousling the dark curls. “You didn’t sprinkle more hot sauce in my jambalaya while I wasn’t looking, did you, Claude?”
Claude giggled and swore that he hadn’t.
Sensing a potential for roughhousing, the little boy’s older cousins sprang from their seats. “I did it, Uncle Mitch! I put more hot sauce in your jambalaya!”
“No, I did!”
“I did.”
Their impish grins and teasing claims eased some of the tightness in Mitch’s throat. Allowing himself the luxury of a moment, he captured as many kids as he could at one time, tickling each one he caught. They shrieked with laughter, scurried around him and mounted their own attack, some leaping onto his back from behind.
Mitch swore to himself that he’d bring his daughter home to join in the fun with her cousins. To dance to her uncle Mazoo’s fiddle. Eat her grand-mère’s jambalaya. Wrap her papa around her little finger.
He’d bring Camryn back here, too—to resolve the legal glitches in their divorce proceedings, and to face the judge who had granted them joint custody. Despite the failed divorce, they were legally separated, and that custody agreement was legal and binding. She’d had no right to leave the state of Louisiana, or to keep his daughter away from him.
Yes, indeed, she would face the judge and pay whatever price he set for violating a court order. Maybe that would stop her from running away with Arianne again.
LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, KATE rolled the stroller up to the gate of the clubhouse area just in time to watch parents clamber out of the swimming pool with infants and toddlers in their arms, rivulets of water trickling from matted hair, slick swimsuits and sagging diapers. As everyone headed toward lounge chairs and beach towels, the instructor called out reminders of next week’s class.
Drat. Kate had been hoping to watch at least some of this afternoon’s swim class in session. The walk through the two adjacent subdivisions had taken longer than she’d expected, though. There’d been so many distractions along the way—flowers to sniff, kitties to pet, neighbors to enchant with Arianne’s sunny, drool-shiny smile. And then there was Arianne’s fondness for flinging her toys out of the stroller, just for the fun of having Kate retrieve them. The walk had taken considerably longer than expected.
Which was fine with Kate. It seemed to her that the journey itself was just as important as the destination—and they’d had a lovely journey. Maybe they would watch the swim class next week. At the neighborhood Fourth of July party yesterday, the lifeguard in her own subdivision had recommended this particular instructor for infant swimming lessons. Kate wanted to see for herself what methods the woman used.
She peered at the parents trudging past her toward the parking lot. A few moms and dads were talking and smiling. Others looked exhausted and harried. And…frustrated? Not a good sign.
Kate approached one young mother who had emerged from the pool area with a towel-wrapped infant huddled against her shoulder. Smiling at both the baby and his mother, Kate introduced herself as a resident from the neighboring subdivision. “I’m thinking of enrolling my nine-month-old for swim lessons. Are you happy with the classes so far?”
“Oh, absolutely.” The deeply tanned brunette, who smelled of chlorine and suntan lotion, lovingly towel-dried her son’s reddish, downy-fine curls. “Davey has learned so much in just two months. He can already hold his breath underwater. And he’s only ten months old.” She fairly beamed with pride.
“That’s great. Does he enjoy the lessons?”
“Enjoy them?” She sounded surprised at the question. “Well, actually, he’d rather just play around in the pool with his toys than do what the teacher says. I suppose that’s only to be expected.” A flicker of frustration disrupted her smile. “And for some reason, he resists floating on his back.”
Warning bells sounded in Kate’s head. If any amount of coercion was involved in teaching a baby to swim, the instructor was probably teaching at her pace rather than the baby’s. And, from the articles Kate had read on the subject, she’d learned that back floating was a skill to be explored later in a baby’s progression.
No, she wouldn’t subject Arianne to the stress of these particular lessons. She wanted her to enjoy learning, not shy away from it. She wanted the lessons to be a happy, peaceful time. An opportunity for physical and spiritual enrichment. A chance for her and Arianne to grow closer.
Maybe she should look into mother-baby yoga lessons, instead. “Thanks for the information,” Kate said. “I think I’ll wait another month or so before I sign Arianne up for swim lessons, though. You know, I’ve read some highly informative articles about infant swim lessons on the Internet.”
“Really?”
Unable to resist the chance to save Davey from distressful lessons that might negatively affect his attitude toward learning, Kate told the woman how to find the articles she’d read.
Arianne, meanwhile, dropped the teething ring she’d been gnawing on, emitted a joyous squeal and pointed a stubby little finger at the pool. “Fwim!” Shifting her bright brown eyes to Kate, she repeated, “Fwim?”
Kate smiled at her with all the pride, warmth and tenderness brimming in her heart. Only nine months old, and she could already say fwim. She clearly had genius potential. “No, sweetie. We can’t swim today. Tomorrow, maybe. In our own pool.”
Arianne returned a still-hopeful gaze to the pool. Kate pulled a small foil-wrapped pack from her purse, knelt beside the stroller and distracted the little brown-eyed blonde with a teething biscuit.
Davey’s mother shifted her towel-swathed son to her other hip and smiled at Arianne. To Kate, she said, “She’s adorable. And she looks so much like you. You couldn’t deny she’s yours even if you wanted to.”
Kate felt her smile falter. Couldn’t deny she’s yours. If only that were true. “Thanks. I…I guess I’d better head back home. It’s quite a walk.” After wishing the woman luck with Davey’s lessons, Kate wheeled the stroller toward the sidewalk.
And tried not to let the innocent remark hurt too much. Hard to do, though, when the wound was still so raw. Because regardless of the fact that Arianne resembled her—same honey-blond hair, same brown eyes, even the same little cleft in her chin—she wasn’t Kate’s. Not biologically, or even legally, as of yet.
Her real mother had been killed.
Camryn.
A bittersweet pang went through Kate, as it always did when she thought of her sister. Then the grief set in. She was gone—her glamorous, high-flying rebel of a twin who had vexed her, angered her, worried her sick, but always brought tales of wild urban adventures that made Kate’s own life seem boring in comparison. Camryn had been a dreamer, outrageously self-centered and as flighty as a kite in a high wind. She’d always gravitated toward the wrong crowd, set her sights on impractical goals and gone about reaching them in the hardest possible way. They’d argued more often than they’d laughed together, but her rare visits had added a certain zest to Kate’s workaday life. There would be no more surprise-packed visits from out of the blue.
After
