“Fine,” he grumbled. He pulled at the tabs like he was ripping off a Band-Aid, and the front of the soiled diaper dropped forward.
Bran closed his eyes and shook his head. “What does my brother feed this kid? How could something so small produce so much…” Harlow started kicking her legs, and Bran’s eyes rounded. “Shi—I mean, shoot.”
He plucked four or five wipes and started dabbing at Harlow’s bottom like he was cleaning a contamination zone.
Ireland was laughing now. Loudly. Holding her stomach for support. And drawing eyes from the other side of the room.
“You’re not helping,” Bran said, sweat beading his brow.
“Okay…” She sucked in a breath and tried to stifle her giggles. “You hold her legs and wipe, and I’ll distract her.” Ireland reached for a toy across the carpet and dangled it above Harlow’s head, making funny faces while she tried to get the baby to reach for it.
A flurry of wiping ensued, and then—“Oh God.”
Ireland looked back. He’d done a fairly good job of cleaning up. “What’s wrong? You’re almost finished.”
“There’s…stuff…in her…” He held up his hands. “I can’t. Wes! Get your ass in here.”
“Don’t be a wuss,” came Wes’s loud reply from the outside patio. The sliding glass door was open and Wes was flipping burgers at the grill.
“I’m going to kill him,” Bran said, and looked at Ireland. “It’s in her…parts. Do I leave it there?”
“Absolutely not. She’ll get an infection. Make sure you wipe front to back.”
Bran’s lip curled. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Don’t push the poop toward her delicate stuff. Wipe from the top toward the changing pad.” She motioned the action, and he frowned.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Bran closed his eyes and wiped the baby the way Ireland had showed him. He popped one eye open, and gave the baby one more wipe. “Good?”
Ireland peered over. “Good. Now carefully switch out the dirty diaper, pulling the tabs to cover the wipes you put there, and tuck the fresh diaper under her bum.”
Bran did as she said—surprisingly well, actually.
She nodded. “Put some ointment on her so she doesn’t get a diaper rash, close the tabs, and you’re finished.”
Bran used a fresh wipe and cleaned his hands. He dug in the diaper bag, searching, as he held down Harlow’s kicking legs. The baby was wiggling to and fro like crazy after being forced in one place for so long, and Ireland was running out of toys to distract her.
Bran pulled out ointment and put some on his finger, then quickly slathered it on her bottom. He secured the tabs of the diaper in place and held up his hands as though he were being timed.
Ireland reached over and redid the tabs so that the diaper fit more snugly. “Congratulations, you successfully changed your first diaper.”
Harlow flipped over and crawled away without her leggings, her little bottom booking it across the carpet to Hunt, who quickly swooped her up and into his arms.
Bran wiped his brow with his forearm. He threw the diaper-changing products into the diaper bag and picked up the poopy diaper with his forefinger and thumb. “I don’t suppose you know what to do with this?”
“Wes or Kaylee will show you where to put it.”
Bran crossed the room to Kaylee, and Ireland made her way to the bathroom she spied near the front door. She hadn’t bothered closing the door, as she was only washing her hands, and Bran walked in while she was finishing up.
“Excuse me,” he said, and started to back out.
“I’m all finished. It’s yours.” She grinned. “You did a good job out there.”
He frowned comically as she dried her hands on the towel and they switched positions. Bran started washing his hands vigorously. “I love Harlow, but damn, changing diapers? I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”
Ireland glanced back, wondering how strange it was for them to be talking in the bathroom. The scene was intimate, as though they’d stolen a moment together. “No one likes changing diapers, but someone’s got to do it.”
He dried his hands on the towel and turned toward her. “You don’t think it ruined my masculine mystique? Changing diapers isn’t how I typically woo women.”
