Jackie Braun - Must Like Kids

foreign-made two-seater. If a car could scream “no kids,” this one would.

He was still dressed in a suit, although he’d thought to loosen his tie. Mirrored, designer lenses shaded his eyes. His appearance said important. It said, I wield power. He looked like anything but a fun-loving family man.

“I’ve got my work cut out for me,” Julia muttered and forced a smile.

It didn’t help that the first words out of his mouth were a complaint. “It’s broiling out here.”

“Be thankful we’re the home team today. Fans of the visiting team will be looking straight into the sun for the entire game.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

She shrugged. “I told you to change your clothes.”

She had, happily trading in heels and a skirt for shorts and flat sandals when they’d grabbed dinner at the deli. “This is T-ball.”

“I didn’t have time to stop off at my apartment if I wanted make it here on time. Our meeting earlier aside, I do try to be punctual.”

She nodded her acceptance of what she figured he intended as an apology. “You might want to lose the suit coat.”

“No need to say that twice.”

As Alec shrugged out of it, she tried not to stare, but her gaze was pulled to the firm upper body showcased in the tailored cotton dress shirt. Genetics alone weren’t responsible for those shoulders or that chest. He might spend a lot of hours behind a desk, but he made time for exercise. When her gaze returned to his face, she realized he was watching her. One side of his mouth was lifted in amusement. Heat that had nothing to do with the soaring mercury suffused her face.

She cleared her throat. “The tie, too,” she added after he carefully laid the jacket over his car’s seat.

“You’re the expert.”

He freed the tie with a gentle tug. Even though they were out in public, the gesture came across as intimate.

What was she thinking?

This time, the question Julia posed to herself had nothing to do with her spontaneous invitation to the T-ball game and everything to do with feminine awareness. Hormones she’d forgotten she had, started to sizzle and snap to life. It was ridiculous. It was a relief, a small voice whispered. Flustered, Julia glanced away, only to have her gaze land on Danielle, who was watching her, too.

“Who is this?” her daughter demanded bluntly.

Julia would have a word with her later about her manners. For now she said, “This is Mr. McAvoy. He’s a client. Alec, these are my children, Danielle and Colin.”

Danielle was undeterred. “Why is he here?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Colin said. “He wants to watch my game.”

“That’s right, champ.” Alec touched the brim of her son’s cap. The gesture came off as choreographed and his words sounded overly enthusiastic. While Julia gave him points for trying, his awkwardness around kids came through loud and clear.

Danielle rolled her eyes.

“We’re not champs.” Colin lowered his squeaky voice to a confidential whisper. “Just so you know, for T-ball, they don’t even keep score.”

“Oh.” Alec glanced over at Julia, his expression not so much sheepish as unnerved. No doubt about it. He was operating outside his comfort zone.

“Why is he here, Mom?” Danielle demanded again.

“Danielle,” Julia replied in a tone that was stern despite being soft. She sent an apologetic smile in Alec’s direction.

“It’s all right.”

It wasn’t, but Julia told her daughter, “Mr. McAvoy

doesn’t have children, but he needs to know a little bit more about them for his job. So, I have agreed to help him.”

“You’re not dating, though. Right?”

“No!”

“Good.” What was that supposed to mean? Danielle didn’t give Julia much of a chance to wonder, before adding, “So, we’re guinea pigs?”

“Actually, I think I’m the guinea pig,” Alec replied.

Danielle’s brows drew together in consideration. “Kids are a lot of work, you know.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Think you’re up to it?” she asked baldly. “Most single men aren’t.”

He glanced over at Julia, who smiled weakly. She’d never said as much out loud, but she was left to wonder if that was the message she’d been telegraphing.

“I hope so,” he answered. “My job is sort of depending on it.”

“You came to the right person,” Colin assured him with a gap-toothed grin. “Our mom knows everything.”

Alec wasn’t much for know-it-alls, but when they looked like Julia Stillwell, he was willing to make an exception, especially if her efforts succeeded in turning around his public image and professional future.

He had to admit, her kids seemed bright and well-adjusted...if a little outspoken in the daughter’s case. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree apparently. It was clear Julia loved them and, just as importantly, put them first. That was something his ex-girlfriend hadn’t done. Something his parents had never managed. The fact that she kicked off early on a regular basis and was willing to sit outside in the broiling sun at a T-ball game was proof of that. He couldn’t help wondering, what had happened to Mr. Stillwell?

The kids tumbled on ahead, Colin hoisting his equipment bag, Danielle carrying the water bottles.

Alec remembered his manners then.

“Can I carry something?”

“You can. Thanks.” Julia handed over a portable canopy. It folded up into a duffel bag that measured nearly four feet long. Alec frowned as he hefted it to his shoulder.

“This is heavy.”

“You can take the chairs, if you’d prefer.”

He bristled a little at that. “I’m not complaining. I’m just surprised you were able to carry this.” He

nodded to the chairs and her oversized purse. “And all that, too.”

“I’m a mom. We tote stuff around all the time.” She didn’t appear insulted as much as amused.

And sexy. Yeah, definitely sexy, with her sleek arms loaded in such a way that the strain caused her cotton T-shirt to pull across her breasts.

“Do I look frail?” she asked.

“You look...fit.” It wasn’t what he planned to say, but Alec figured the first adjective that had popped to mind might get him smacked.

They made their way to the diamond. Three small trees were staggered behind the home team’s bench. Every square inch of the meager shade they provided was occupied with people on blankets or seated in folding chairs.

“You’ve got to get here early to score a spot in the shade,” she said, noting the direction of his gaze. She nodded to the duffel bag he carried. “That’s why I bring my own. I learned that lesson the hard way the first year Danielle played.”

Her daughter had stopped to talk to a couple of girls who looked to be about her age.

“Does she still play?” Alec asked. She was a cute little thing despite her penchant for speaking her mind.

“T-ball? Not anymore. Too old. She played one year of coach-pitch baseball, but now she’s into soccer. She has a game on Saturday.”

“Are you telling me I need to clear my schedule again?” he teased.

Julia’s tone was thoughtful. “We’ll see. You might need another dry run, so to speak, before I turn you loose on kids who are more impressionable than mine.”

It was an interesting assessment. Alec wanted to be insulted, but before he could express any indignation, Julia was calling for her son to stop playing in the chalky dirt next to the home team’s bench. A couple of the other kids were doing the same thing, and their parents were after them too as soon as a stifling breeze kicked up and began carrying the dust out toward the spectators.

“Serious ballplayers, I see.”

The kids all wore bright orange jerseys and ball caps, sporting the sponsor’s name. If they were bothered by the heat or the now gritty air, they didn’t show it.