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“All right, they’re my world within my world, but don’t tell them that. I’ve had enough clashes with that lot to last me a lifetime. They think I’m the reformed bad boy turned golden boy now, so don’t you dare burst their bubbles.”
“Uncle James.” Bethany, the youngest of Tammy’s girls, came running into the parking area wearing a pink, fairy-tale princess-style dress covered in satin and lace as she made a beeline for him. She was six or seven, a gorgeous angelic looking little girl, with long flowing dark ringlets that were sopping wet.
“Have you been swimming without me?” James teased, crouching to the ground, his suit jacket scuffing the dirt as he bent to pick her up.
“Mom told us, ‘Get in that pool and get rid of some energy or you’ll be strung up before Uncle James gets here’.” We both chuckled at her impersonation of her mom with a scratchy voice more suited to a Halloween witch.
“I’m here now, so you can misbehave as much as you want since I’ve got plenty of bail money.”
“What’s bail money? Is that like the hay in our barn back home?” she asked. We chuckled again.
“Not that kind of bale, honey. How are those sisters of yours doing?”
“So-so,” she replied, wriggling down to the ground. “Come on, I kept you a seat at the table before Uncle Sawyer gets here. You know what Belle’s like with that lot. She hogs all the best seats near Grandpa, and we always end up in the middle where we have to sit the whole darn time until all the adults are done eating.”
“What about Milly?” I asked, trying to join in the conversation. Bethany stopped and squinted at me for a few moments then her jaw suddenly dropped, and her eyes widened when she thought she recognized who I was.
“You’re her, aren’t you?”
“Her?” Both James and I said at once. A small pang of anxiety shot through me because it was clear from the child’s understanding she had heard some adults talking about me.
“Yeah, Uncle James’ girlfriend. Aunt Billie’s friend … and Uncle Sawyer’s.”
“Anyone else’s friend?” James inquired good naturedly, when I was far too busy wondering what had been said about me.
Bethany searched her hairline then shook her head. “Nope, I think that’s it.”
“Shall we go inside?” James urged, smoothing the way by changing the subject. I glanced at him and wondered if he’d been worried she may have repeated something negative about me.
With every step nearer the house my heart pumped faster. I felt hot and sweaty, and nervously wiped my hot hands on my pants. In that moment, I hadn’t felt as nervous since I’d interviewed for my first internship decades before. James eyed me from the side and chuckled, and I guessed he had read my worried look.
“It’s a birthday lunch, Tricia, not an execution.” He smiled, took my hand, pulled me close, and moved his hands to the sides of my face. Stopping, he looked into my eyes and there was the instant connection between us that both instilled me with confidence and quieted my mind. “You’re beautiful. You’re amazing. You’re mine. Remember those three things and you’ll be terrific today.”
Thanks,” I mumbled. I felt embarrassed to have looked so weak.
“I love you, Tricia, and they’ll love you too. Don’t forget this isn’t your first rodeo at the Wild penitentiary.” His eyes told me everything I had needed to know. He looked excited and proud to be with me, and his comment made me smile.
Entering the house, we followed Bethany as she sashayed down the hall, her hard plastic, dress up heels click-clacking noisily on the marble as she walked. James and I shared a look and we both bit back grins when we found her funny.
A bout of raucous laughter was quickly followed by excited chatter in the distance. It startled me and I froze. James took my hand again, squeezed it tight, and flashed me a sympathetic smile. “Come on, I love you, you got this,” he muttered softly.
“Yuk,” Bethany shot back looking over her shoulder, having heard James tell me he loved me and we both laughed. The tension I’d held inside instantly drained.
Seconds later we were in the kitchen. Tammy, Caitlin, their husbands, and James’ father sat around the huge rectangular table. The children looked as if they’d been let loose in a candy store unsupervised and had been experiencing a sugar rush.
Harriett came from behind us and tapped James and me on the shoulders. “There you are. We had begun to think this big guy had been keeping you in his dungeon,” she joked.
“Uncle James,” Milly and Belle shouted in unison when they noticed him, ran over, and hugged him.
“Hey, my beauties, I’ve missed you young ladies.” Their smiles lit up their eyes when he hugged them back and my heart squeezed at how much those girls adored him, followed quickly by regret that James wouldn’t have a child of his own.
“Do you really have a dungeon, Uncle James?” Brock, the ten-year-old adopted son of Caitlin asked in awe.
James snickered, obviously loving all the attention from the little ones. He smirked and blew out a breath. “Figure of speech, Brock, I live in a penthouse apartment, remember?” Brock looked relieved and went back to coaxing Bethany to ride piggyback.
“Tricia, it’s lovely to see you again,” Harriett gushed, pulling me into a genuine warm embrace.
“Yes, Tricia, we were beginning to think he’d never bring you here,” his father agreed.
