HEATHER MACALLISTER - The Bachelor and the Babies

“Most people aren’t trying to sleep at noon on Saturday.” He tossed the soggy paper towels into the sink and ripped more off the roll.

Carrie yawned, stretched her arms, and the hem of her sweatshirt rose. “They are if they work nights.”

“So what do you do?” Jon asked over his shoulder after glancing at the silent Harrison.

“I review music groups at local clubs. And if a place is new, I’ll mention the decor, tone and the sort of customers they’re trying to attract. Anyway—” she yawned again “—after I get home, I’ve got to write the reviews. I usually go to bed about ten or eleven o’clock in the morning.” Raking her hair back from her face, she padded into the room. “So what’s all this?”

For some reason, the sound of a female voice had quieted the babies.

For some reason, the way Carrie casually manhandled her curls had quieted Harrison.

It was left to Jon to introduce himself. “I’m Jon, Harrison’s brother. This is—”

“A baby!” Carrie had passed the couch and could see the front of the fireplace. Cooing, she knelt on the floor. “May I hold her?”

“Him,” Harrison said, unwillingly reminded of the long-ago evening when he and Carrie had sat in that very spot and had eaten her vegetarian lasagna in front of the fireplace. “My nephews are visiting me for a while.”

Jon handed a freshly diapered Matthew to Carrie.

“Aren’t you just adorable? What’s your name?”

“Matthew,” Jon answered.

“Matthew, you’re just a doll. A great big doll.” Carrie’s voice had gone all high and gooey as she repeated more nonsense.

But to Harrison’s surprise, Matthew had stopped fussing and was smiling.

Something about seeing Carrie with the baby made Harrison want to smile, too. Matthew grabbed a handful of her dark hair. Carrie promptly retaliated by raising his shirt and tickling his tummy. The baby squealed.

Harrison grinned at Jon, only to find his brother regarding him thoughtfully.

Harrison guessed those thoughts concerned Carrie and whether or not there was something going on between them. “No,” he mouthed.

“Why not?” Jon mouthed back over Carrie’s bent head.

Because. Harrison knew there was a good reason—probably several good reasons. He simply couldn’t think of them right now, not with Carrie looking all casually soft and approachable.

“Down!” Nathan had finished destroying his food.

Harrison, grateful for the interruption, removed the tray. Before he could set it on the counter, Nathan arched his back, slid down the seat and landed on the floor on his well padded rump. “Joose,” he said and patted the floor. Then he picked up a stray Cheerio and stuck it into his mouth.

Harrison grimaced.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot to warn you about the high chair trick.” Jon had arrived in the kitchen. “I also forgot the diaper pail. I’ll snag one when I buy the plugs and the door latches.”

Nathan got to his feet and ran toward his father. Jon picked him up. “You’re wet.” He pointed to the dark area on the front of Nathan’s overalls.

“Joose,” Nathan said.

“You can get going,” Harrison offered. “I’ll clean Nathan up.”

Jon raised his eyebrows and grinned, setting Nathan on the floor. “Good luck.”

Harrison had a feeling he wasn’t referring to the kids.

Within moments, Harrison was alone with a half-dressed Carrie.

“Da-dee!” Nathan shrieked.

Okay, not alone.

Matthew had tired of pulling Carrie’s hair and was puckering his face.

“Hey, Harry, I think he’s hungry. Can I feed him his bottle?”

Bottle. Right. “Uh...”

Nathan escaped the kitchen and flung his orange-juice soaked body out the door.

Harrison ran after him and scooped him up before he reached the stairs. Then he kicked the case of formula inside his foyer and let the door slam shut.

“Da-dee!” Nathan made a full-body imprint of orange juice on the front door.

“And what have we here, Matt?” Carrie was bent over a diaper bag.

Harrison was so thrown off balance by the knowledge that he’d lost control of his house and the people currently within it, that he didn’t even stop to enjoy the view.

Carrie stood and held up a bottle in a thermal container. “Should I heat it up first?” she asked.

“Uh, whatever,” Harrison said as he wrestled a crying Nathan into the spare bedroom, tried to open his suitcase with one hand and keep Nathan from spreading orange juice with the other.

Eventually he succeeded in undressing Nathan, only to realize that all the diapers were in the living room.

He returned to the living room to find that all was quiet. Carrie stood in front of the windows, swaying slightly and feeding Matthew a bottle. She smiled at Harrison, all traces of her earlier grumpiness gone.

“You’ve done that before,” Harrison commented.

“Actually, no.” She looked down at Matthew. “But there doesn’t seem to be much to it.”

Harrison hoped there wasn’t.

“Da-dee!” Nathan, wearing only socks, and damp socks at that, streaked by.

“Daddy’s going to be back in a little while, sport,” Harrison tried to reassure him. “Hang in there.”

“But what are you going to tell him when Daddy doesn’t come back? From the looks of this place, I’m guessing that they’re here for more than the afternoon.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Whatever you do, don’t lie to him.”

Nodding, Harrison picked up a box of diapers.

“Hey, Harry, those are baby-size. The toddler ones are in the purple bag.”

Harrison squeezed the diapers in annoyance before exchanging them. “Please do not refer to me as Harry,” he said, adding, “Harry and Carrie sounds like a vaudeville team.”

She flashed him a grin. “I like it.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, what do you want to be called?”

“Harrison.”

“No kidding? I thought that was a name your mother saddled you with.”

Tamping down his annoyance, Harrison corralled his nephew and the correctly sized diapers. “It was her maiden name.”

Carrie raised her eyebrows. “Gotcha.”

There was nothing to “get.” Harrison liked his name just as it was.

Conscious that Carrie was a witness to his first attempts at undressing and dressing a tiny, uncooperative human—all prior humans had been more than cooperative—it took longer than he would have liked to get Nathan taped into his diaper and snapped into clean overalls. After two futile attempts to put his shoes back on—when had Nathan’s feet turned to jelly?—Harrison decided to let the little boy run around barefoot.

And run was the operative word. Until Jon returned with the outlet plugs, Nathan couldn’t be trusted to keep from electrocuting himself, so Harrison wasn’t making much progress in unpacking the suitcase.

To Nathan, it was all very amusing to run squealing down the hall and watch Uncle Harrison lumber after him. Only Uncle Harrison was not amused.

Carrie was. He could hear her laughing. Okay, fine. Let her deal with the electricity addict. Harrison was going to unpack.

“Nathan, want to play a game?” he heard from the living room.

“Game,” repeated Nathan.

“It’s only for big boys.”

“Game!”

“Can you take this bundle to your uncle Harry?”

Not Harry. Sure enough, Harrison heard Nathan’s voice, “Hawee?”

“Yeah, you know, the tall grumpy dude in the bedroom?”

Harrison heard plastic crackling and Nathan arrived, carrying diapers. “Hawee?”

Knowing he was forever condemning himself to being called “Harry,” or a version of it, Harrison mustered a big, “Thank you, Nathan! You’re a big help. Let’s build a diaper house under the window.”