Chapter 3
JACE
“I can’t remember the last time the Grain Store did something other than the ugly duckling.”
I throw a look over my shoulder, noticing the same tried-and-true decorations strung up in the local feed store’s booth.
Owen’s right—Brian has used this theme for so long, I didn’t even register that the booth was decorated.
Even the little pool full of ducklings isn’t novel—those are here every week.
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?”
“I guess. But he’s not winning.”
“I don’t think Brian’s gonna be heartbroken over that one.”
I don’t actually know what the prize is this year, but in the past, it hasn’t been something that was worth a whole lot more than bragging rights.
Pulling out my phone, I flip through the email that we got earlier this week with the details, trying to find if they listed what everyone was competing for.
Bingo.
“As always, we will have two contests,” I read, trying to do my best impression of Marty Barrowcliff, the leader of the town’s women’s club, who organizes this silly thing every year.
“Back by popular demand is the fan-voted category, as well as the committee-judged categories. Top prize this year will be a five-hundred-dollar gift certificate to the Grain Store.”
I look at Owen, and his face says the same thing I know mine does—that answers that.
“Duckie!”
A little voice fills the air, right as I feel a nudge against my knees.
I look down, watching as a little boy pushes past us, not caring about anything—or anyone—in his way en route to his goal.
My eyes are glued to the mini human, his bright smile infectious.
I have no idea how old he is—I’m shit at that kind of thing—but he can’t be more than three or four, his legs moving as fast as they can.
Which I have to admit, is a decently impressive speed.
“Whoa,” Owen comments, holding his hands up, trying to move out of the way. “Watch out, someone’s on the move.”
I laugh, his overexaggerated response in his jovial tone a stark contrast to the conversation we were just having. My eyes are glued to little man though, something about him stealing my attention.
“Duckie!”
I laugh again, turning to watch him, ready to make a comment to the kid, when I’m cut off by an unmistakable sound.
Splash!
I gasp, my eyes going wide as he climbs into the kiddie pool, water sloshing over the top as he falls to his knees.
Oh, shit…
Instinctively, I turn and lunge toward the kiddie pool, my heart racing.
Yes, it’s only a couple of inches of water inside a plastic tub, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe.
All it would take is this little guy hitting his head on the way down for something bad to happen in that water.
Not to mention it’s filled with ducks and whatever the ducks brought with them—or are leaving behind.
Gross.
I reach for the kid, his giggles continuing to ring out as I slip my hands under his arms and lift him from the water. Part of me expects him to scream or try to wriggle out of my hold, but he doesn’t. He just giggles even more, like my lifting him up is his own personal roller coaster.
“Whoa there, little man,” I say, keeping my voice as light as I can considering my heart pounding against my chest. I don’t want to frighten him. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Duckies!”
“Yes, those are duckies.”
I set him down, taking a quick inventory of his person to make sure he didn’t get hurt during his duck pond dive. He looks to be fine, other than his pants being soaked. Not sure I can say the same for the ducks, but they aren’t my concern.
Throwing a look to Owen, I hope that he can read my mind, wanting to try and find something to help dry this guy off. He seems to, turning to Brian, asking him something I can’t quite make out as I turn my attention back to the child before me.
“I play with duckies.”
I chuckle, my heart squeezing at how adorable he is. Too cute to be scolded, even though that would probably be the right thing to do. Not that I have room to talk—this is exactly the shit my brothers and I would have pulled at that age.
“I see that,” I reply. “But we have to stay outside of the pool to play with the duckies. We don’t want to scare them.”
“I scare duckies?”
His tiny bottom lip quivers, worry filling his blue eyes. Oh, shit…
Owen appears behind him, handing me a small towel over the kid’s head. I take it, keeping my smile as big as I can as I try to dry off his pants and shoes. This might be a fool’s errand, but I’m going to try nonetheless.
“I think they’re okay, but we don’t want to scare them, do we?”
“No.” He shakes his head hard, the worry in his eyes lightening.
Fuck, he’s adorable.
“I’m Jace. What’s your name?”
“Otis.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Otis.”
“Is nice to mee you too,” he returns, his little kid speak shining through his well-taught manners. Whoever he belongs to clearly made those a priority.
“Where are your mommy and daddy?”
“With Paps.”
Paps. Okay…I don’t know who that is. I glance up at Owen, who shrugs in response, clearly not having any kind of idea either. Paps…Paps…who on earth in this town could be Paps?
Anyone, actually. Because that sounds exactly like the kind of southern nickname one would give anyone. For any reason. Which means I have nothing to go off of here, and am unlikely to get more out of little man.
“Right…” I respond, trying to buy some time. “How does a cinnamon roll sound?”
“Yummy!”
That’s what I thought.
More importantly, my own mommy, Miss Belle, is working Dolly’s booth today, since Dolly is still training her new gal at the diner.
Between her and my older brother Anton, who oversees the agriculture department of the family business and also has a stand at the farmers’ market, conveniently right next to Dolly’s, we should be able to deduce who Paps is. Maybe. I hope.
“Cinnamon rolls it is.” I nod, pushing to my feet.
Holding out my hand, I offer it to Otis, ready to hold on to this guy for dear life. Somewhere in this farmers’ market is a set of parents who are panicked beyond belief, going out of their minds looking for him. It’s on me right now to keep him safe.
“Up?” Otis asks.
Up?
I look at him, his request taking a second to fully register. By the time his arms are raised, I’m on to him, and already kneeling back down to lift him up. I pull him against my chest, his wet pants soaking into my shirt as he wraps his legs around my torso and his arms around my neck.
“Hold on tight!” I tell him. Otis does as asked, hugging me even closer.
Shifting to support his weight, I can’t help but notice how easily and perfectly he fits in the space on my hip. Like he and I do this all the time. Like he’s mine. My heart squeezes all over again, this time getting my pulse in on the action and skittering, loving this way too much.
I need to stop myself, because he is most certainly not mine.
One has to have had a woman in their life in order for this to be the result, and based on his age, there is no math on this planet that works that out.
More than that, he doesn’t even belong to one of my siblings.
Making it so I’m not even Uncle Jace to this little guy.
Still, with each step we take toward my family’s tents, Otis calling out all the different things he sees along the way, I think I fall a little more for him.
Maybe I can still be Uncle Jace somehow.
“Boo-ey!”
What?
Otis points, doing a little dance in my arms, excitement making his little body vibrate.
“Boo-ey! Boo-ey!”
Boo-ey?! What on earth is Boo-ey?
Then I see it. In fact, it’s damn near impossible to miss.
Perched directly in front of the Hayes fruit stand is a massive blow-up figure of an animated blue dog. A beloved children’s character that even a bachelor like me has heard of.
“Boo-ey!”
Bluey…
Walking toward the booth, Otis still wiggling in my arms, I try and figure out what exactly is going on over here. Sure, it’s the last market of the season, and there is a contest going on, but I’ve never known my brother to participate. Ever.
Today, however, he not only has an inflatable, but he’s wearing a matching T-shirt and hat. It’s like the twilight zone up in here.
“What the fu—" I stop myself before I fully drop the f-bomb, realizing in the nick of time that there are little ears close by. “What on earth are you wearing?”
“Boo-ey!”
“See, the kid knows,” Anton answers. “It’s Bluey.”
“I know who Bluey is. What I don’t understand is why you have him on your chest.”
“Whose kid?” Anton asks, not bothering to give me the explanation I’m clearly looking for.
“You first.”
“Sawyer insisted we needed a theme.”
My brother shrugs, like he had no say in the matter.
Which, knowing his fiancée, might be the truth.
She’s the only woman on this planet willing to put up with him, the voice of reason to his need to poke and annoy all of us around him.
I wouldn’t put it past her that she laid down the law on how this was all going to go down.
“Who is this?” Miss Belle coos, appearing out of nowhere.
A former Miss Georgia, our mother is a Southern belle to the core. Everything she does is graceful and polite, but don’t be fooled—she’ll chew you up and spit you out with nothing more than her words without thinking twice, all with a smile on her face.
More than that though, she’s a mom to the core. And she has never once stopped mothering the seven us—despite the fact that we are all full-grown adults. Four of whom are married. The only difference to her is now she has a son-in-law and three daughters-in-law to mother as well.
“Otis,” I answer. “Little man, this is Miss Belle, my mama. Can you say hi?”
“Hi!” Outstretching a little hand, he waves, once more melting my heart.
“Well, hello, Otis. You look like you’re all wet.”
“I played with duckies.”
“Did you now…”
“He climbed into the duckie pool in front of the Grain Store tent, and we aren’t sure where his parents are, so I thought maybe we could have a cinnamon roll while we try to figure that out.”
“Oh, goodness. Yes, let’s get you a snack,” Miss Belle says, her voice changing pitch as she talks to Otis.
I kneel down, ready to let Otis go off with Mama, giving her the chance to play grandma for a moment.
Now that some of my siblings have settled down, both she and my father have taken to not so subtly hinting that they are ready for new titles any day now.
Giving her a little one to play with for a bit should help that grandma fever. Unless it makes it worse.
In which case, I’m going to have to come up with a damn good apology to my siblings.
“No!” Otis squeals as his feet hit the ground.
“What?” I ask, confused. “You don’t want a cinnamon roll?”
“Yes, but no let go.” He clings to me tighter, burying his head in my neck.
Oh, fuck me. What am I supposed to do now? Other than not let go. Because there is zero chance of that. Not with that cute little voice asking. Pretty sure at this point he could ask me to rob a bank, and as long as he did it in his little kid broken grammar and that squeaky voice, I’d comply.
“It’s okay, Little Man, I won’t let go.”
I stand back up, shifting him to my other hip, wondering how much longer I can actually hold him. I didn’t think he was that heavy at first, but that was before his dead weight sat on my joints for ten minutes. Fuck, how do parents do this?
Weaving back behind the table, I smile at my mother, taking the cinnamon roll Dolly baked this morning from her and holding it up to Otis. She smiles back knowingly, her eyes full of amusement.
“I think someone likes you,” she whispers.
Otis takes a big bite of the pastry that is almost as big as his head, smearing frosting all over his face—and my shirt.
“You were the same way, you know. Wanted to always be holding on to me or your daddy. Like you were afraid that we might disappear if you weren’t physically connected to us. ”
“Safety first,” I joke.
Well, half joke. As the personal safety guru of the family, that’s my life motto. I believe in it wholeheartedly—whether it concerns your person, property, or some activity you’re doing. No reason to be reckless.
“Clingy is the word most parents go with,” she sasses back.
Whatever…
“Let me make a call and see if anyone has reported a missing kiddo,” she adds. “You two enjoy that cinnamon roll.”
We do just that, Otis letting me sneak in a bite or two, but mostly keeping it for himself. He’s made a pretty good dent in it, considering his size. Apparently the kid has my appetite too.
Nope…not thinking about him like that…
“Otis!”
A shrill, panicked voice calls out, stealing our attention. I scan the crowd, but Otis finds her first, knowing who he’s looking for. Rocking in my arms, he reaches out, almost dropping his treat.
“Mama!”
My stomach flips, both thankful we found her and sad that my time with my new friend is coming to an end. I have no idea what I would do with someone this age in my life; bachelorhood does not lend itself to small children. Still, I grew kind of attached to this one pretty quick.
Maybe my parents are on to something with the hints about my brothers and sister reproducing.
“There you are!”
A frazzled brunette skids to a halt right in front of us, her face flushed from both her running around and her clear panic over the missing kid. Can’t blame her there. She sucks in a long, heavy breath, her hand flying to her chest, relief visibly washing over her.
I scan her up and down, taking in the beauty that stands before me. Fuck, is she pretty. And I can’t help but notice the lack of wedding ring.
Until our eyes meet. And I realize exactly who is standing in front of me.
You have got to be fucking kidding me…