“I think she has her father’s smile,” Betsy said quickly, with a broad smile toward Tate that made him inwardly wince. Seriously, did the woman have no sense of self-preservation? Kim was going to strangle her yet.
He stepped forward quickly and cleared his throat, giving Kim a meaningful look.
He heard her take a breath before saying evenly, “Grandma, this is Tate Price. Tate, my grandmother, Wanda Dyess.”
He gave her his most winning smile, the one that almost always elicited a positive response from kids and senior citizens. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dyess.”
She eyed him somewhat sternly through her glasses. “You might as well call me Grandma,” she said somewhat grudgingly, not notably charmed. “Everyone else does. While they’re around.”
“Oh, Tate’s going to be around awhile,” Betsy said, giving him a smug pat on the arm as she shot a look at her sister.
Treva frowned. “If you’re going to serve that concoction you brought, Betsy, you’d better get it out of the fridge. I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m ready for this meal to get started.”
“What can I do to help?” Tate looked at Bob as he asked, since Bob seemed to be doing the majority of the work.
“Don’t you worry about anything.” Betsy patted his arm again. She was beginning to make him feel like a pet poodle. “We’ll take care of setting out the food. Go visit with Kim and Mother until we call you to eat.”
He glanced toward the table. Kim had taken a seat next to her grandmother, who was studying Daryn with a slight smile. Grandma looked as though she’d have liked to hold the baby, but didn’t quite trust her arthritic hands. She contented herself with reaching out occasionally to pat a leg or an arm. Holding her toy monkey snuggled in one arm, Daryn sucked on a finger, leaned back against her mother and studied her great-grandmother curiously, occasionally giving her a damp smile around the little digit.
“Yes, she’s a very good baby,” Kim was saying as Tate moved to stand behind her chair. “No trouble at all.”
Her grandmother nodded. “You’re still doing that therapy job?”
“Occupational therapy. Yes, I still love it.”
“I’ve been getting some occupational therapy for my hands lately. For the arthritis. Helps me some.”
“I’m glad it helps you. I work with quite a few arthritis patients, myself. I’d be happy to answer
any questions while I’m here, if you have any.”
“Could be I’ll think of some later. So who watches the baby while you’re working? Tate?”
“Tate has his own business to run, Grandma. Daryn is enrolled in an excellent day care program. She’s very happy there.”
“Hmm. Day care centers are full of germs. Hope you’re giving her plenty of vitamins.”
“She’s very healthy.”
Kim didn’t lack for childcare advice when she was around her family, Tate mused. He wondered if she was aware that her first response toward suggestions from her relatives was defensiveness. He hadn’t seen her react that way toward advice from friends, at least not during their months of lunches together. He supposed her complex past relationship with her family had something to do with the difference, but he suspected her own fears and insecurities about being a single mom had become more pronounced this weekend.
Abandoning the armchair psychology, he leaned down to pick up Mr. Jingles when the toy landed on the floor. He was beginning to believe Daryn was dropping the monkey on purpose, just to watch him pick it up. The twinkle in her innocently widened eyes when he returned it to her seemed to confirm his suspicion.
“I’m on to you, kid,” he warned her with a smile.
Clutching the toy to her chest, she giggled at Tate. As their gazes met, his smile became a full-blown grin.
Okay, the kid was a cutie. And well aware of it. A guy would have to be careful or he’d find himself wrapped right around her little fingers. A very dangerous position to be in, considering how fragile those tiny fingers really were. It was no wonder Kim had so many qualms; there was so much to worry about when it came to raising a child, from nutrition to safety to education to character building. Terrifying.
Grandma Dyess’s still-sharp eyes zeroed in on him. “Betsy just told me you’re in the landscaping business, Tate. How’s that going?”
“Very well, thank you. My business partner and I are quite pleased with our company’s growth during the past year.”
“What do you call it?”
“Price-Daugherty Landscape Design. Not the most original name, but at least I got top billing,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.
She just looked at him. He still hadn’t elicited a smile from her. Tough audience, he thought with a swallow.