Chapter Two
“I’m not wearing a jacket.” Six-year-old Myla stomped her foot and pressed her hands against her hips.
Wes Caldwell recognized the stubborn set of her jaw. Had seen it many times on Myla’s mom. If he didn’t regain control now, all bets were off. “Then we’re not going to get a pumpkin today.”
“Oh well.” Myla gave a flippant shrug of her shoulders.
“Fine.” He took a deep breath and silently recited the state capitols until he could respond without frustration. “If you don’t want to go, then you can clean your room. I’ll call Nana and tell her we’re not going.”
“But I don’t wanna clean.” Her tiny lips started trembling. “I want to see Nana.”
Had he been too harsh? He stunk at this parenting thing. “If you want to go to the farm and choose a pumpkin, then you need to wear a jacket. It’s too cold today for only a shirt.”
He’d explained it to her already—no less than five times. Even went so far as to open the door and let the cold air blow in.
She’d still insisted she didn’t need to wear a coat.
She chewed on her bottom lip, the fight in her eyes evident. “Can I wear my princess sweatshirt?”
This is what my life has come to—negotiating with a child. A smile tugged at his lips. Myla was a handful, but he loved her to pieces. “Yes.”
The tension eased from her small body, and she ran to him and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Uncle Wes. You’re the best.”
“So are you, My.” He returned her hug then patted her shoulder. “Go on, now, get your sweatshirt on. If you’re good, we’ll eat dinner out on the way home.”
Her eyes grew wide. “From the yellow M?”
He laughed at her name for the popular fast food joint. As a toddler, she’d had her own names for different places, and over the years, they’d stuck. “I had something a little nicer in mind.”
“But what’s better than their cheeseburgers?” She scrunched her nose. “Mommy always got me extra ketchup to dip it in.” At the mention of her mom, Myla’s face fell. “When’s Mommy coming home?”
How did he answer? To a child, a year was forever. “Just as soon as she’s well enough to take care of you again.”
“I miss her.”
“Me too, squirt, but she’s in a place that will help her get better.”
“So she doesn’t sleep all the time?” Myla looked up at him with innocent fawn-brown eyes. For all she’d gone through in her short life, she’d blessedly came out unscathed.
“Yes.” His chest constricted when he thought of his niece alone in the house with her passed-out mom.
His sister.
Jenna’s battle with drugs and alcohol came to a crashing climax two weeks ago. For as long as he lived, he would never forget the image of the ambulance speeding away from her house as he pulled onto her street.
He’d found his mom inside, her arms wrapped around Myla who was crying and afraid she’d never see her mother again. Although he’d wanted to rush to the hospital, he’d stayed behind with Myla so Mom and Dad could go and be with Jenna. He’d dealt with the police reports and social worker who’d shown up.
By the next morning, once Jenna pulled through, she checked into a six-day detox facility, and Wes had accepted temporary guardianship of Myla. A week later, Jenna had been admitted to a year-long recovery facility, and Wes agreed to take Myla for the duration of that time.
What a crazy few weeks it’s been. Caring for Myla wore him out—he didn’t remember having that much energy and attitude as a child—but he didn’t regret his decision. Dad often traveled for his job as a compliance inspector, and Mom helped when she could, but her lupus flare-ups limited her. She did provide a freezer full of meals, for which he was grateful.
Too long a bachelor, he’d become accustomed to takeout meals and sandwiches. He wasn’t a parenting expert by any means, but even he knew a child couldn’t thrive on corndogs and chicken nuggets. And cheeseburgers from the yellow M, of course.
“Why are you looking at me like that, Uncle Wes?” Myla stared at him with her head tilted. Everything about her appearance took after her mom and the Caldwell side of her, from her chocolate brown eyes to her hair that matched. None of her physical qualities could be attributed to her deadbeat dad.
“Just thinking how lucky I am to have you living here with me.” He winked and grinned. “Go get your sweatshirt on so we can leave.”
She ran down the hallway and into her room. Several minutes later, after Wes was about to check on her, she emerged into the hallway wearing her prized princess sweatshirt. “Do you like princesses, Uncle Wes?”
