Page 7 of Tru Blue
“There,” she said tenderly, smiling at Lincoln. “That should help.”
Sure enough, Lincoln drank the formula. Kennedy beamed at the woman, who was looking at Truman like she was trying to figure him out. That was his cue to leave.
“Thanks,” he said, and took a step toward the front of the cart.
“Do you know how to burp him?” She glanced in the cart again. “Because it looks like this is Daddy’s first day care assignment.”
“They’re my siblings,” he said flatly. “And yeah. I can burp him. I think.”
“Do you have burp rags?”
He cocked a brow.
She rolled her eyes and smiled at Kennedy. “Time to educate your big brother.” She began weeding through the formula and diapers in the basket. “Too big, too small. Wow, big brother will spare no expense to diaper you guys. I like that in a man.” She smiled up at him as she set the inappropriately sized diapers on the shelf and tossed in a few others. She stretched to reach a high shelf, the edge of her expensive blouse lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of tanned, taut stomach.
She might be pushy, but there was no ignoring the effect her curvy body had on him. Great, flash a little more skin and I’ll be juggling a baby and a hard-on. It took all of his willpower to look away.
“They size these by weight,” she explained. “But they’re always off. So I’d try Swaddlers and Cruisers for him, and are you in pull-ups yet?” she asked Kennedy, who simply blinked up at her.
“Diapers,” Truman answered, though he had no idea what pull-ups were.
“Soon enough,” she said, and patted Kennedy’s head. She loaded up the cart with several packages of diapers. “Now, about these formulas. There are all types. How old is he?”
“I don’t know. A few months.” How the hell did she know he was a boy?
Hands on hips, she eyed him skeptically. “Thought they were your siblings.”
“They are,” he growled, reminding himself she was trying to be helpful and she was easy on the eyes. This was also the happiest Lincoln had been since he’d rescued him from that hellhole. Even though he hated asking for help—ever—he could use a little guidance on this messed-up night.
“Sorry,” he said more kindly. “I’m not sure exactly how old they are.” Because I had no clue they were alive until tonight.
She leaned over the cart and smiled at Kennedy again. “How old are you, sweetie? Two? Three?”
Kennedy leaned away, her eyes darting up at Truman.
“Oh, you’re a shy little one,” the woman said. “Well, I’m Gemma Wright, and I was a shy little girl, too. Let’s get you what you need.” She set her hands beside Truman’s on the cart handle and set those riveting emerald eyes on him again. “You obviously can’t push the cart and feed your baby brother. What else do we need?”
“We?”
She sighed, as if she was tiring of his attitude, and picked up the magazine he had dropped earlier. “Parenting. Good choice.” She looked at his white-knuckled grip on the cart. “Are you afraid I’ll steal her? Seriously, just chill a little so we can get your babies out of here and they can get some sleep.”
She glanced at the Parenting magazine, then leaned in closer, filling his senses with the faint scent of vanilla and woman. He’d never paid much attention to vanilla, but he knew he’d never look at it the same again.
She lowered her voice. “Obviously you’re trying to be a good big brother. I can walk away and leave you to fumble and juggle your way around Walmart, or you can chill out and take advantage of an offer from a night owl who enjoys helping scary-looking men.”
“Why would you help someone who’s scary-looking?” he asked gruffly.
She raked her eyes down his body with more than a hint of interest, licking her lips as her eyes drifted up again. She caught him watching her and rolled her eyes. He’d obviously misread her. What did he know about women like her? She was dressed in slacks and a blouse that probably cost more than his monthly rent.
“You’re not that scary. Besides, I can see you’re a softy by the way you treat the kids.” She brushed her fingers over Lincoln’s head. Then she grabbed a bag of something from the shelves and tore it open, laying a white cloth over Truman’s shoulder. “Put him on your shoulder and burp him so he doesn’t get a tummy ache.”
