“Well?” Chelsie asked.
Leaning against the mantel for support, he focused on the ever-present picture of Jared. Help me out here, little brother. No response came.
Griff thought of his niece. Did Chelsie’s ability to hurt him really matter in the scheme of things? Hell, yes. Did he have a choice? Absolutely not.
He looked at Chelsie. “There’s no need for you to contemplate walking out of Alix’s life. You’ll always be important to her, her one link to her mother. You’ll get a vote in how things go,” he said with more certainty than he felt.
He’d given her more than she asked for. Once the decision had been made, he couldn’t seem to help himself. Her emotions, which always seemed to bubble at the surface and which she did little to hide, affected him in myriad ways, none of which he understood.
“Thank you.” Her eyes misted, sparkling with unshed tears.
“You’re welcome.” Griff sensed her reaction went beyond gratitude. He’d missed an important clue, a key to understanding Chelsie better. But he wasn’t about to push. Alix needed him and they’d covered enough ground for one night. There would be plenty more.
“I knew you’d see how important it is for Alix that we end this family-like scenario correctly when the time comes. We’ll work it out. After all, we’re doing this for her, remember?”
* * *
Mrs. Baxter finished the last of her dinner and placed her napkin on the table. “This is the first night Mr. Stuart hasn’t made it home for dinner since I started working here.”
Chelsie smiled. “That’s because his practice is picking up. There’s not a lawyer alive who doesn’t understand the meaning of long hours. Don’t throw your food, sweety.” She bent to retrieve the vegetables Alix had not so subtly dropped on the floor.
“Well, I’m sure he feels more comfortable staying out knowing you’re here.”
“I’m sure he does.”
Griff probably welcomed the reprieve from the polite formality of the last few evenings. Please pass the salt. Thanks. Silence. Please pass the potatoes. Thank you. More silence. Dessert? None for me, thanks. Chelsie nearly cringed at the memory. Only Alix had rescued them from freezing around each other completely.
“Since you’ve agreed to come by, he’s much more relaxed. Even Alix senses the change.”
Chelsie arched an eyebrow. Had the older woman slept through the last few evenings? “Relaxed is hardly the word I’d use.” Chelsie redirected Alix’s spoon away from her hair.
“I’m not talking about the Cold War you two have set up.” Mrs. Baxter chuckled. “Tension’s been so thick you could cut it with a butter knife.” She patted Chelsie’s hand. “You’ll get used to each other. This arrangement’s a blessing.”
“You mean you don’t mind? I was concerned you’d feel slighted.”
“By you? You’re her aunt, for goodness sake. Besides, before I took this job, I suggested to Mr. Stuart that he might want to hire someone younger for this position. Cooking, cleaning, keeping up with a two year old. Whew,” she said, wiping a hand over her brow.
Chelsie laughed, but she knew the woman’s gray hair was an illusion and that she had both the stamina and the desire to care for the little girl. “What did he say?”
“That he didn’t need some young girl practicing at playing mommy. Asked me if I could handle the job, and when I agreed, he hired me. But I don’t mind telling you, the days are long.”
“How have the nights been this past week?” Chelsie knew her scheduled time with the little girl, as well as with Griff, hinged upon Alix’s moods and sleeping patterns.
“After the day I put in, I pretty much sleep like the dead. Mr. Stuart says they’re still the same. But Alix isn’t. She’s a happier child.”
“I’m glad for that, but time works miracles. Like I told Griff, you might find her emotional recovery and my presence are just coincidence.”
She shook her head. “Nonsense. Anyway, you lighten my load, and that’s a big help.”
“Unfortunately, it’s only temporary.”
“We’ll see.” A kindly smile touched Mrs. Baxter’s lips.
Chelsie ignored the comment. If the older woman held out any hopes of something permanent forming between her and Griff, she’d be disappointed. They could barely manage to relax enough to be in the same room. Not that Chelsie wasn’t fully aware of him every moment they were together. She just wasn’t fool enough to act on the attraction.
Chelsie reached for the dirty dishes.
“I can handle things in here,” Mrs. Baxter said, taking the plate out of Chelsie’s hands.
“Okay. I’ll give little Miss Manners here a bath.”
She scooped up the child and began the ritual that was now second nature. Funny how fast she’d fallen into the mommy role. The thought frightened her, because it was the very thing she’d promised herself would not happen.
Alix shrieked and smacked her chubby hands against the water, causing a small wave to cascade over the side of the tub and drench Chelsie’s shirt. Chelsie pulled at the beige silk camisole and groaned. “Good going, squirt. Now I’ll have to stop home before I go back to the office.”
A last-minute hearing in the judge’s chambers had delayed her, so she’d had no time to go home and change clothing. She glanced down and frowned. Obviously, taking off her suit jacket hadn’t been the way to avoid getting soaked. That she couldn’t stay one step ahead of a two year old was more embarrassing than she cared to admit.
The little girl laughed and splashed again. Chelsie chuckled and resigned herself to another long night. Griff might hope to gain sleep from this arrangement, but Chelsie certainly could not. Between her heavy caseload, her volunteer work at the shelter, and her hours with the Stuarts, she had little if any time left for sleep.
Despite all the pain that could result from this arrangement, she wouldn’t give up one second of her time with Alix. Chelsie knelt over the edge of the bathtub and attempted to rinse shampoo out of the squirming child’s hair.
Alix splashed again. Chelsie laughed and splashed back. Why not? Her shirt was already saturated and the little girl loved the water play. After exhausting both herself and Alix, Chelsie attempted to pull her out of the tub, though by the child’s screams of protest, Chelsie was the only one worn out.
“Mrs. Baxter had the right idea. Maybe I should have volunteered for dish-washing detail,” she murmured.