“Why?” Nash said from the hall.
“Because we are females, Nash. It’s that time when we paint our toenails, ponder world affairs, pretty gowns, handsome men—” she winked at the girls, shampooing their hair “—soothe broken hearts and plan our futures.”
“Broken hearts” clung to his mind and his throat tightened. Her voice was soft, her Southern accent refined and cultured, like his mom’s. “I don’t see the point of it,” he said. “Get in, get out. Turning into a prune is a waste of time.”
Hayley rolled her eyes and the girls copied her. “That’s why you are a man and we are women. You will never understand.”
“A girl thing,” he said.
“Yes. Okay, ladies, time to rinse.”
This was the hard part, Nash thought. Kate was scared to death of getting soap in her eyes. The water ran, but he didn’t hear the usual complaints, and he peeked inside the room. Kate had a washcloth pressed tightly over her eyes and Hayley was doing her best to keep it from getting wet. Well, heck, he did that all the time, but got nothing but screams. When Kate was done, Hayley wrapped her head in a towel, then focused on Kim. Nash darted back when they stepped from the tub.
A few minutes later Kate said, “Okay, Daddy, you can come in now.”
Nudging the door open, he swung around the door frame and smiled. “I knew my babies were under all that dirt.” He kissed each twin, then reached for the comb. Kim winced before he even started.
Standing behind Kate, Hayley cleared her throat. He looked. She worked through the tangles in record time and Nash copied her moves, starting from the bottom in small increments. Kim twisted, looking at him and smiling. While they blow-dried pounds of hair, Nash’s gaze kept slipping to Hayley’s reflection in the mirror. She looked like the wild redhead he’d fallen in love with, and he’d never allowed himself to imagine her like this, with his daughters. He didn’t want to consider how good it felt to have her here. She wasn’t staying.
“You both have such beautiful hair,” Hayley said, stroking the brush through Kate’s long curls. Nash smiled at Kate’s contented expression. She was almost purring.
The girls thanked her politely. “Daddy thinks we should get it cut.”
Her gaze slid to Nash’s. “That might not be such a bad idea, just for the summer. It is hot.” His shoulders drooped a little and Hayley could tell he was relieved by the suggestion. “Think about it. We can look at magazines for a cut you’d like.” The girls weren’t receptive.
“Bedtime,” Nash said.
The girls headed to their room, which was most of the upper floor, while Hayley gathered the wet towels.
“Thanks, Hayley.”
She straightened, smiling.
“I would have spent half the night trying to get that bath done, with twice as much mess and a bucket of tears. I’m grateful.”
Warmth spread through her. “No problem.”
“I’ve been going through girl-panic like that for a week now.”
“Just respect their privacy. Believe me, this is just the start of it.” He groaned, reaching to help clean up, but she stayed his hand. “I have it. Go to your daughters.”
He nodded, then walked into the bedroom and settled the girls into bed. He was at a disadvantage, just being male, and he realized how much his daughters enjoyed a younger more sympathetic female than Mrs. Winslow in the house. Mrs. Winslow was always ready to go home about this time of night, he recalled, and now he wondered if she was really ill or just tired.
Hayley stepped into the bedroom half an hour later and found Nash asleep in the chair between the twin beds, a storybook on his chest and his hands clasped around each of his daughters’. The tender scene stabbed through her with a longing so keen her breath snagged in her chest. Oh, to be loved and needed like this, she thought. To have a home and family. Nash was trying hard to be both father and mother and make a living at the same time, and she thought of how hard it must have been for her own father, raising her alone. She glanced around the room, just now noticing that, while there were several framed photos of Nash and the girls and other relatives, there were none of Michelle. None anywhere else in the house, either. Nor had the girls mentioned her. Not once. But then, Hayley thought, she rarely spoke of her own mother, her memories too faint to recall. Kim and Kate probably had no recollection of their mother. Since Michelle had died when they were infants, they’d never known her and really had no concept of her. Was that why there were no pictures?
Hayley moved to Nash, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. He stirred.
“You’re going to regret it in the morning if you sleep in that chair all night,” she whispered close to his ear.
His lips curved softly, his eyes still closed. “You still have the sweetest voice, Hayley.”
“Say that when I get hopping mad.”
His forehead wrinkled for a second. He’d never seen her mad. Not even hurt, really. He’d never given her the chance. He opened his eyes. Hayley was covering up his children, tucking their stuffed toys close. Her hand lingered over Kim’s hair, and his throat tightened at the sight. Her expression was incredibly tender, and Nash thought of how easily Hayley gave, as if she’d known his girls for years.
He looked at his babies. How could their mother have walked away without a backward glance? The memory tormented him at times like this, when he knew his girls were missing a mother. He reminded himself that Hayley was temporary. And he didn’t want his daughters to get so attached to her they’d be hurt when she left. But with Hayley, he thought, as she whispered good-night and swept past him, well, it was just plain hard to keep “temporary” in his mind.
Nash stayed in his office most of the next day, working on bids for the coming auction. The house was surprisingly quiet, and though he made progress in his work, the lack of activity and his curiosity forced him out. The house was immaculate, and something heavenly simmered on the stove. He sampled a taste of the stew, nearly burning his tongue. He called out. No answer. And he realized just how big this house was when he was alone. A rare occurrence, he knew. Grabbing his hat and striding to the front door, he flung it open and stepped onto the porch. He spied Hayley out by her car, then trotted down the steps and crossed the driveway.
With his daughters playing close by, she was bent under the open hood of her car, grease on one bare thigh.
Nash peered under the hood. “Good Lord, is that a pair of panty hose for a fan belt?”
She jerked upright, knocking her head into his chin.
“Ow, yes, it is.” She rubbed her head. “A girl has to make do when she’s alone on a dark country road.”
“All the more reason to get a better car. This thing is falling apart.”
“Not quite yet.” She leaned back under the hood to adjust the panty-hose belt. “Besides, Lurlene just needs a rest, dontcha, baby?” She patted the fender. “Can you hand me the torque wrench?” She waved at the toolbox behind her. He pushed the wrench into her hand.
“Why
