handful of Cheerios onto Dylan’s highchair tray. “One at a time!”
She chuckled at her son’s mischievous expression when he scooped a bunch of the crunchy O’s into his chubby little hand and shoved them all into his mouth. Seeing two stuck to his cheek made her laugh harder and got the happy baby bouncing gleefully and smacking his hand on the chair’s tray.
Because it was so early, both of them were still dressed in their jammies. Dylan was sporting a onesie that read I am a Jedi like my Father before me . Cameron picked it up at a kids’ boutique last time they shopped in Vegas. It was so apropos she wished he’d gotten one in every size up to a 3XL so their son would have a ready supply as he grew up.
She was barefoot, hair in a messy pony, and wearing no makeup. The thin white camisole she threw on along with a plain pair of panties was beneath her favorite robe—a soft pink cashmere shortie with a double wrap sash.
At that particular moment, she was damn glad for the efficient sash because she wasn’t alone in the kitchen. Finding herself barely half-dressed and under the stern, watchful eye of a complete stranger standing ominous guard in the kitchen doorway was not how she saw this morning unfolding.
Thinking she should wipe her son’s face, Lacey started for the washroom just off the kitchen when the hulking sentry who watched her like a hawk moved in front of her.
“Sorry, ma’am.” The hand he held up to prevent her from moving about freely showed a tribal tattoo wrapping around his wrist. It reminded her of the one decorating her husband’s muscled bicep.
Annoyed, she crossed her arms and stared down her polite guard. This was her home, darn it. Who the heck did he think he was telling her she couldn’t go to the bathroom?
“Either let me grab my son’s washcloth from the washroom or go get it for me.”
She made this demand with barely concealed exasperation. Viewing the man with a less-than-friendly expression, she was hard pressed to keep a rude eye roll off her face.
Someone ought to tell these government trolls that the whole men-in-black thing was a yawn fest. When an entire circus of black-suited operatives invaded her quiet morning routine and started barking directives, she almost laughed at the absurdity of the cliché come to life. There wasn’t anything funny, though, about the tense conversation she knew was going down in her living room.
Standing her ground, Lacey all but tapped her bare foot as she stayed put and glared at her guard dog, arms crossed with a deep scowl on her face.
She could see him weighing the options. Deciding to keep his job rather than cave to her mean-Mom face, he took three swift steps into the hallway, glanced at her, and said, “Stay there, ma’am,” and then hurried into the bathroom.
“Oh, and grab the Vaseline off the counter too.”
He was back less than ten seconds later, handing her the soft baby washcloth and tub of goo. Having won this particular battle, she graciously accepted the items and returned to her son’s side.
By the time she cleared the highchair’s tray, washed Dylan’s face and hands, and handed him his sippy bottle, a good ten or fifteen minutes had flown by. That was when she heard raised voices. Her guard heard them too and glanced down the long hallway separating the kitchen and great room from the expansive living room.
Lacey froze. She didn’t like the sound of her husband’s voice raised in anger. Didn’t like the dark, menacing air of the response she couldn’t quite make out. Something wasn’t right. Goose bumps spread across her skin.
Her eyes darted to Dylan. Placing her body between Cameron’s son and what was happening was one hundred percent protective mom. Another series of noises invaded her senses from a different direction. Heart pounding, she shot her hand out as a reflex to shield her baby. Too much was happening too fast.
Long, tense seconds passed. She looked briefly at the suit of
She chuckled at her son’s mischievous expression when he scooped a bunch of the crunchy O’s into his chubby little hand and shoved them all into his mouth. Seeing two stuck to his cheek made her laugh harder and got the happy baby bouncing gleefully and smacking his hand on the chair’s tray.
Because it was so early, both of them were still dressed in their jammies. Dylan was sporting a onesie that read I am a Jedi like my Father before me . Cameron picked it up at a kids’ boutique last time they shopped in Vegas. It was so apropos she wished he’d gotten one in every size up to a 3XL so their son would have a ready supply as he grew up.
She was barefoot, hair in a messy pony, and wearing no makeup. The thin white camisole she threw on along with a plain pair of panties was beneath her favorite robe—a soft pink cashmere shortie with a double wrap sash.
At that particular moment, she was damn glad for the efficient sash because she wasn’t alone in the kitchen. Finding herself barely half-dressed and under the stern, watchful eye of a complete stranger standing ominous guard in the kitchen doorway was not how she saw this morning unfolding.
Thinking she should wipe her son’s face, Lacey started for the washroom just off the kitchen when the hulking sentry who watched her like a hawk moved in front of her.
“Sorry, ma’am.” The hand he held up to prevent her from moving about freely showed a tribal tattoo wrapping around his wrist. It reminded her of the one decorating her husband’s muscled bicep.
Annoyed, she crossed her arms and stared down her polite guard. This was her home, darn it. Who the heck did he think he was telling her she couldn’t go to the bathroom?
“Either let me grab my son’s washcloth from the washroom or go get it for me.”
She made this demand with barely concealed exasperation. Viewing the man with a less-than-friendly expression, she was hard pressed to keep a rude eye roll off her face.
Someone ought to tell these government trolls that the whole men-in-black thing was a yawn fest. When an entire circus of black-suited operatives invaded her quiet morning routine and started barking directives, she almost laughed at the absurdity of the cliché come to life. There wasn’t anything funny, though, about the tense conversation she knew was going down in her living room.
Standing her ground, Lacey all but tapped her bare foot as she stayed put and glared at her guard dog, arms crossed with a deep scowl on her face.
She could see him weighing the options. Deciding to keep his job rather than cave to her mean-Mom face, he took three swift steps into the hallway, glanced at her, and said, “Stay there, ma’am,” and then hurried into the bathroom.
“Oh, and grab the Vaseline off the counter too.”
He was back less than ten seconds later, handing her the soft baby washcloth and tub of goo. Having won this particular battle, she graciously accepted the items and returned to her son’s side.
By the time she cleared the highchair’s tray, washed Dylan’s face and hands, and handed him his sippy bottle, a good ten or fifteen minutes had flown by. That was when she heard raised voices. Her guard heard them too and glanced down the long hallway separating the kitchen and great room from the expansive living room.
Lacey froze. She didn’t like the sound of her husband’s voice raised in anger. Didn’t like the dark, menacing air of the response she couldn’t quite make out. Something wasn’t right. Goose bumps spread across her skin.
Her eyes darted to Dylan. Placing her body between Cameron’s son and what was happening was one hundred percent protective mom. Another series of noises invaded her senses from a different direction. Heart pounding, she shot her hand out as a reflex to shield her baby. Too much was happening too fast.
Long, tense seconds passed. She looked briefly at the suit of
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