He begged to differ.
“Uncle Tris,” Everly yelled when he returned home. His five-year-old niece shouted everything lately.
“What can I do for you, Miss Everly?”
She giggled. “Tell Daddy I don’t have to have a bath tonight.”
“I don’t know.” He wrinkled his nose. “Is that stinky you I smell?”
It was a good thing she was already sitting on the floor because she fell over, laughing so hard that she scared her cat. Jellybean shot out of the room. Tristan didn’t blame him. The kid was loud, hyper, and a handful, but he wouldn’t have her any other way.
He wanted to go to his room and think about tonight. It was the first time in a year that he let himself have hope that he could penetrate Skye’s defenses. He’d need to be subtle about it. If he went in guns blazing, she’d shut him down so fast he wouldn’t have time to blink. He hadn’t missed how her eyes had lit up when he’d sworn to pay her back for her spider joke. She liked to play, so they would play.
But first he had his favorite—okay, only, but still favorite—niece to entertain. “Where’s your daddy?”
“In the bathroom making a bath. He’s going to make me take a bath. I don’t want to.” All of that was screamed at the top of her lungs.
Parker walked into the living room. “Come on, kiddo. When you’re all sweet smelling and in bed, Uncle Tristan will read you however many stories you want him to.”
Uncle Tristan narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Says you.”
“Please,” Parker said, glancing back as he carried Everly down the hall.
Parker’s favorite time with his daughter was her bedtime and reading her stories, so if he was begging Tristan to take over tonight, that meant inspiration had struck and he was anxious to get back to his studio. It also meant he’d lose track of time and be up all night, and Tristan would have to get Everly up, dressed, fed breakfast, and dropped off at school. That was okay. He’d learned long ago that having an artist in the family meant odd hours, and sometimes stepping up and taking care of that artist when he forgot to take care of himself.
When Parker had returned from France with a two-week-old baby in tow, it had been a surprise. He hadn’t told them in any of their phone calls that he had a baby on the way. Kade helped out when he was home on leave, but mostly it was Parker and Tristan raising her. Neither one of them knew a thing about taking care of a baby, and Tristan had been sure she’d be damaged for life, but they’d muddled through. In spite of their incompetence, Everly was a happy and delightful child.
“I don’t know why she fights taking a bath,” Parker said later, walking into the kitchen. “Once she’s in there, she doesn’t want to get out. She’s waiting for you to come read to her.”
“Who knows why a kid does anything.” Parker headed for his studio, and Tristan went to read a bedtime story to his favorite niece. He eased off the bed after she fell asleep, turned off the lamp, and left her snuggled up to Jellybean.
Fuzz followed him upstairs, went to his dog bed, and after making several circles, curled up with his stuffed bear, a toy he’d stolen from Everly when she was a baby. Tristan showered, slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms—something he’d had to start doing after Everly learned to walk and had no respect for a man’s privacy—and settled in bed on top of the covers. Usually, he read for a while until he got sleepy, but tonight, his mind was on a certain sheriff. He thought about her for a while, then came to a decision. It was time to make her think about him.
If she wasn’t interested in him, he’d move on. But she was. He could see it in her eyes, and in the way he’d catch her watching him. Something was holding her back, but he didn’t have a guess what the issue was. He’d make sure she was thinking about him, though.
He picked up his phone, typed a text, and sent it to her. “Let’s see what you do with that, Sheriff.”
Chapter Six
Why are aliens messy tea drinkers?
Skye stared at the text from Tristan. They had each other’s numbers in their phones in case there was an emergency of some kind. In the year she’d been sheriff, he had never once called or texted her for anything personal. She should ignore him. But she didn’t want to. If she responded, though, she’d only be encouraging him. Not a smart thing to do.
She set her phone face down on the nightstand. For thirty minutes she tried to go to sleep, but after tossing and turning, huffing and puffing, she grabbed her phone. She was going to regret this.
I’ll bite. Why?
Dots danced on the screen, disappeared, appeared again, then went away before starting up again.
I’ll hold my thoughts on biting for now. The answer is with flying saucers, it’s hard not to spill it.
She snorted at the answer, but her gaze snapped back to his comment on biting. What comments had he deleted before deciding on that one? Had one of them been a reminder that she had bitten his shoulder when she was coming apart in his arms? He’d responded to that with a low growl of pleasure, and just remembering that night sent heat spiraling through her. As if the phone was burning her hand, she dropped it to the bed.
Damn him for making her remember. Her phone chimed with an incoming text. She would not look. Five minutes later, she sighed, berating herself as she gave in and looked.
Goodnight Skye
She chewed on her thumbnail for a good minute, then shrugged.