Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,16

busy—”

“I have no schedules!” Florence laughed. “And please, call me Florence. I’m pleased to death to spend a day with your children. I miss all the little ones at home.”

Sloan couldn’t prevent her startled glance from flying to Wesley’s face. He read her unasked question and threw up hands in mock protest. “Not mine!” he laughed. “I told you I was riddled with nieces and nephews—four of whom live with me. I went into the Thoroughbred business with my brother.”

“Oh,” Sloan murmured, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks. “Well, uh, Florence, let me show you a bit of the house. The refrigerator is stacked with sandwich meat—”

“Which we won’t need,” Florence supplied cheerfully. “We’re going to have our picnic here. Wes had them make us two baskets at the deli,” she explained. “So you just tell me any special instructions.”

“I really don’t have any special instructions,” Sloan murmured, leading Florence on a quick tour of the downstairs. “If you need anything, Jamie will help you. Their rooms are full of toys and books...” Sloan grinned sheepishly as they returned to the living room. “I’m not sure what else I should tell you.”

“We’ll get along famously,” Florence said with assurance.

Sloan was sure that they would. The little woman who had breezed into her life along with Wesley was like a fairy godmother. Mature, confident, cheerful. The type person who made you immediately feel as if everything was all right.

“Well...” Sloan murmured again, surprised and a little disoriented to see that the children had already lost their shyness. Jamie was having a very mature conversation with Wes, and Laura and Terry were looking at Florence with eager anticipation. “I’ll just get my sunglasses...”

No one seemed to notice as she ran back into the kitchen and searched the ledge above the sink which was a catchall. She dug her glasses out of a pile of coupons and savings stamps, pausing for a breath of air.

She felt as if she were walking on clouds. It was actually Wes who had brought the magic into her life. He lifted a hand, went poof, and all her problems were solved. He thought of everything. Their day stretched brightly before them—free and clear.

Of course, her problems would all come back in the morning. But she was—all scheming aside—exhilarated by the idea of the picnic she was about to go on. She was anxious...eager...

“Sloan! What are you doing, having those sunglasses made?” Wesley’s demand, called from the living room, rang with a teasing tolerance.

“Coming!” she called in return.

Sloan paused for a second as she entered the living room unnoticed. Florence, despite her rather severe, hawk-shaped nose and the ramrod posture of her tiny frame, was perched easily on the floor while she drew the children out, telling them about Kentucky and all the horses, ponies, and dogs and cats that lived on the farm. Wesley was beside her, allowing a giggling Jamie to climb upon his powerful shoulders.

“Mommy!” Jamie cried, seeing her at last. “Wesley is giving me a ride.”

“So I see.”

Wesley grinned up at her a little sheepishly. “All set?”

“All set.”

“Okay, Jamie,” Wes said, setting his small charge down. “We’ll be back in a bit. Take care of Florence.”

“I will,” Jamie vowed gravely.

Sloan kissed each of her kids and followed Wes to the door. She glanced back to Florence and started to open her mouth.

“I’m fine!” Florence insisted before she could say anything. “You two get going and have a nice day.”

“We are going,” Wesley answered for her, clamping a hand over Sloan’s mouth, which brought a burst of laughter from the children. “Bye—and you all have a nice day too!”

Sloan was giggling as Wesley led her out to his car, a plush, comfortable Lincoln, with his hand still clamped over her face. He released her only to usher her inside. “You,” he accused as the car leveled onto the highway, “are a very protective parent.”

“I’m sorry—” Sloan began.

“Don’t be sorry,” Wes interrupted, his right hand momentarily squeezing hers before returning to the wheel. “I think it’s a wonderful trait. If I ever have kids—which I hope to one day—I think I would be every bit as protective.”

Sloan smiled a little uneasily. She wondered what he would think if he knew she was already planning on his having kids—three, ready-made. But she didn’t spend much time brooding. Even the weather seemed to benignly assist her in her secret quest. The sun shone golden in the sky, and a gentle breeze stirred to keep the heat from