didn’t make a living swinging a big stick and beating the crap out of other people.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
“Of course not. That’s what this interview is about.”
Sierra lifted Fern out of the seat and set the infant in her lap. She smelled like baby shampoo and powder. Fern fixated on the gold chain hanging down the front of her blouse and grabbed for it, so Sierra tucked it under her collar. “She’s so big.”
“Around fifteen pounds I think. I remember my sister-in-law saying that they were average size for their age. I’m not sure what they weighed when they were born. I think there’s a baby book still packed away somewhere with all that information in it.”
They had been just over six pounds each, but she couldn’t tell him that or that the baby book he referred to had been started by her and given to Ash and Susan as a gift when they took the girls home. She had documented her entire pregnancy—when she felt the first kick, when she had her sonogram—so the adoptive parents would feel more involved and they could show the girls when they got older. And although she had included photos of her belly in various stages of development, there were no shots of her face. There was nothing anywhere that identified her as being the birth mother.
Ivy began to fuss—probably jealous that her sister was getting all the attention. Sierra was debating the logistics of how to extract her from the seat while still holding Fern when, without prompting, Cooper reached for Ivy and plucked her out. He lifted her high over his head, making her gasp and giggle, and plunked her down in his arms.
Sierra must have looked concerned because he laughed and said, “Don’t let her mild manner fool you. She’s a mini daredevil.”
As he sat on the floor across from her and set Ivy in his lap, Sierra caught the scent of some sort of masculine soap. Fern reached for him and tried to wiggle her way out of Sierra’s arms. She hadn’t expected the girls to be so at ease with him, so attached. Not this quickly. And she expected him to be much more inept and disinterested.
“You work with younger babies?” Cooper asked.
“Newborns usually. But before the NICU I worked in the pediatric ward.”
“I’m going to the market,” Ms. Densmore announced from the kitchen. Sierra had been so focused on the girls she hadn’t noticed that it was big and open with natural wood and frosted glass cupboard doors and yards of glossy granite countertops. Modern, yet functional—not that she ever spent much time in one. Cooking—or at least, cooking well—had never been one of her great accomplishments.
Ms. Densmore wore a light spring jacket, which was totally unnecessary considering it was at least seventy-five degrees outside, and clutched an old-lady-style black handbag. “Do you need anything?” she asked Cooper.
“Diapers and formula,” he told her. “And those little jars of fruit the girls like.” He paused, then added, “And the dried cereal, too. The flaky kind in the blue box. I think we’re running low.”
Looking annoyed, Ms. Densmore left out of what must have been the service entrance behind the kitchen. Sierra couldn’t help but wonder how Coop would know the cereal was low and why he would even bother to look.
“The girls are eating solid foods?” she asked him.
“Cereal and fruit. And of course formula. It’s astounding how much they can put away. I feel as if I’m constantly making bottles.”
He made the bottles? She had a hard time picturing that. Surely Ms. Cranky-Pants must have been doing most of the work.
“Are they sleeping through the night?” she asked him.
“Not yet. It’s getting better, though. At first, they woke up constantly.” He smiled down at Ivy affectionately, and a little sadly, brushing a wisp of hair off her forehead. “I think they just really missed their parents. But last night they only woke up twice, and they both went back to their cribs. Half the time they end up in my bed with me. I’ll admit that I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Alone.”
“You get up with them?” she asked, not meaning to sound quite so incredulous.
Rather than look offended, he smiled. “Yeah, and I’ll warn you right now that they’re both bed hogs. I have no idea how a person so small could take up so much room.”
The idea of him, such a big, burly, rough-around-the-edges guy, snuggled up in bed with two infants, was too adorable for words.
“Out of curiosity, who did you think would get up with them?” he asked.
“I just assumed … I mean, doesn’t Ms. Densmore take care of them?”
“She occasionally watches them while I work, but only because I’m desperate. After raising six kids of her own and two of her grandchildren, she says she’s finished taking care of babies.”
So much for Sierra’s spinster theory.
“Is she always so …” She struggled for a kind way to say nasty, but Cooper seemed to read her mind.
“Cranky? Incorrigible?” he suggested, with a slightly crooked smile that she hated to admit made her heart beat the tiniest bit faster.
She couldn’t help smiling back.
“She won’t be winning any congeniality awards, I know, but she’s a good housekeeper, and one hel …” he grinned and shook his head. “I mean heck of a fantastic cook. Sorry, I’m not used to having to censor my language.”
At least he was making an effort. He would be thankful for that in a year or so when the twins started repeating everything he said verbatim.
“Ms. Densmore isn’t crazy about the bad language, either,” he said. “Of course, sometimes I do it just to annoy her.”
“I don’t think she likes me much,” Sierra said.
“It really doesn’t matter what she thinks. She’s not hiring you. I am. And I happen to think you’re perfect for the job.” He paused then added, “I’m assuming, since you’re here now, that you’re still interested.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Absolutely. Does that mean you’re officially offering it to me?”
“Under one condition—I need your word that you’ll stick around. That you’re invested in the position. I can’t tell you how tough that first week was, right after …” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and blew it out. “Things have just begun to settle down, and I’ve got the girls in something that resembles a routine. They need consistency—or at least that’s what the social worker told me. The worst thing for them would be a string of nannies bouncing in and out of their lives.”
He would never have to worry about that with her. “I won’t let them down.”
“You’re sure? Because these two are a handful. It’s a lot of work. More than I ever imagined possible. Professional hockey was a cakewalk compared to this. I need to be sure that you’re committed.”
“I’m giving up my apartment and putting my dad in a home that I can’t begin to
