Under Seige by Catherine Mann

the floor. "Pour slower, maybe."
    Kathleen started to swing her spit-polished boots from the chair across from her then stopped. Her camouflage uniform stretched across her stomach. She sank back into her seat at the white spindle table and hitched Patrick up on her shoulder. "Can you two handle it? By the time I manage to roll out of this chair, that fudge will have petrified."
    Ivy steadied the pan under the stream, her chestnut ponytail swaying as she adjusted. "We've got it.
    Right, Julia?"
    "You betcha." Julia smiled down at a miniature version of Zach's face. All those angular features that looked so strong on a man made a tough handle for a little girl, but Ivy would grow into a stunning woman.
    Julia risked a glance at Kathleen to check her son. "Stay put, Kathleen. You've already done plenty coming straight over after your drive to help out. Just keep holding Patrick while we talk." She continued the steady stream of words in time with the pouring chocolate. "Everything I've learned in Early Infant Stimulation classes says talking to him nonstop is the best thing I can do to help his language stay as close to on track as possible. The week after my folks and Lori left, I talked myself hoarse. So talk. Please!"
    "That, I can do."
    Soft baby coos in response swirled through the kitchen, and Julia tried not to think of how much she would miss those reassuring sounds when she returned to work.
    Kathleen lifted Patrick nose-to-nose. "Too bad we don't have my chatty hubby around for that one, huh?
    He could gab your ear off."
    Julia's laugh was cut short by Ivy's squawk. "Hey! Watch out!"
    "Oops, sorry." Julia slowed the stream of chocolate to a trickle and reminded herself not, under any circumstances, to look through the screen door again at the driveway—at the empty spot Zach's truck would soon fill.
    Too bad the window over the sink offered an eyeful of the darkened street. Ivory lace curtains framed her view. Rows of near-identical military brick houses lined the road with porch lights blazing a welcome home. Families waited inside, trusting that their person would walk up those steps just as she had trusted one time too many almost ten months ago.
    Hands trembling, Julia set the pot back on the counter to hunt for a larger spatula, desperate for anything to do to stay busy and distracted. Since rushing to Zach's house the night before, there had barely been a free second to breathe. With school and homework all today, it seemed there hadn't been time to think.
    Now, with him due home soon, she couldn't do anything but think about his voice reaching to her through the telephone. The most capable man she'd ever met uttering words she'd never expected to hear from him.
    / need your help.
    Enticing words. Seductive words.
    Dangerous as hell words.
    Don't think. Stay busy.
    Julia rifled through the drawer, but Pam had left precious little of her favorite cooking utensils behind. All that remained was an abandoned mishmash of gourmet gadgetry—tiny pastry brushes, a grapefruit knife, an egg-poacher. Where was an old fashioned, cheapo spatula for a clueless fudge cook?
    Ivy swiped a dribble from the side of the pot and sucked it off her finger. "Umm. Good. Hey, maybe we could crunch some candy canes on top. That would be kinda like Mom's triple-layer mint brownies."
    "Maybe I should call Shelby to do this part." Or turn over the whole dang pot to Shelby so she could feed it to the dog. "We should work on your science project anyway. How about we build another level for your nature habitat?''
    Man, she would rather tinker with a hammer, some nails and a block of pine, instead of fudge as gritty as sandpaper.
    Another fast shake of Ivy's head sent her hair swishing. "We should finish this first. I like cooking with you."
    Of course she did, but then any female mother-figure would have fit the bill. Poor kid. "Me too, sweetie.
    This was fun."
    Julia swirled the grapefruit knife through the unmelted blobs of marshmallow