Angels Everywhere - Debbie Macomber [64]
“No one ever told me toddlers could be so exhausting,” Leah admitted.
“Here,” Andrew whispered, gently lifting Scotty from her arms. “Let’s put him to bed.”
Moving around her husband, Leah turned back the sheets and Andrew carefully laid the sleeping child onto the mattress. Covering him with the quilt, Leah bent down and kissed her godson’s forehead.
Neither Andrew nor Leah were in any hurry to leave the room. Standing next to her husband, she nestled in the warm security of Andrew’s arms, her head resting against the solid wall of his chest.
“He’s really something, isn’t he?” Andrew said softly, so as not to disturb Scotty’s sleep.
“He’s a ball of energy.”
Andrew kissed the side of her neck. “Come on, I think we could do with a nap ourselves.”
From the way he made the suggestion, Leah knew resting was the last thing on her husband’s mind. She caught his eye, and whispered regretfully, “Andrew, we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Scotty might wake and—”
“Do you think Doug and Pam worry about that? Besides, I can be real quiet, and with some effort so can you,” he whispered, steering her toward their bedroom.
Sometime later, Leah woke to the sounds of someone hopping up and down at the foot of her bed. She rolled onto her back to find Scotty doing a marvelous impression of a kangaroo.
“Hi, Scotty.”
He was holding onto his front with both hands, his eyes wide and appealing.
“Scotty?” she asked, sitting up, clenching the sheets to her breasts. “Do you need to go potty?”
“That would be my guess,” Andrew said, yawning. “Come on, fellow, I’ll show you the way.” Lifting the boy into his arms, Andrew carried him to the bathroom.
Leah grabbed her sweater and finished dressing. “How’s everything going in there?” she called out.
“Not good. He seems to need something.”
“What?”
Scotty apparently didn’t trust Andrew to properly relay the message. “I need my blanky . . . I need my blanky . . . I need my blanky.”
Leah retrieved the yellow monstrosity in record time and rushed back into the bathroom, where Andrew was holding Scotty over the toilet seat. The boy grabbed the blanket, and held it against his face. As soon as the blanket was in position, he released a long, grateful sigh and relaxed.
When Scotty finished, Andrew sagged onto the side of the bathtub. “What was that all about?”
“Pam said something about forgetting his toilet seat. He must have been terrified of being perched up there.”
Andrew looked at Leah and she looked at him and soon the two of them dissolved into giggles.
“I’m a big boy,” Scotty insisted, looking downright proud of himself, his laughter mingling with theirs.
Monica was convinced Michael would guess that Chet was hiding behind the door in the other room. Why Chet felt he needed to disappear, she could only speculate.
The man was a fool to show up at the church this way. She’d wanted to shout at him, and throw the entire contents of her filing cabinet in his face. Heaven knew he deserved that and far worse. Why, she should have slapped him silly.
She would have, too, if she hadn’t been so pleased to see him.
“Your hair looks especially nice today,” Michael said with glowing approval.
“Thank you.” Knowing Chet, it was probably all he could do to keep from leaping out from behind the door and commenting that he’d been the one to suggest the change.
“I’m playing the piano for the Methodists’ church cantata this evening,” Michael was saying. “Their regular pianist came down with the flu. I thought I’d stop by and see if you’d like to come along.”
“Tonight?” Monica asked, stalling for time. In truth she was looking for an excuse, anything to get out of this date, but nothing readily presented itself.
“I mentioned this evening to your father and he said you didn’t have anything planned,” Michael pressed.
“No, I don’t believe I do.” So her father had put him up to this. She should have realized that sooner.
Michael hesitated, glancing at her as if he were waiting for her to say something more. Uncertain, Monica steadily met his look.
“Did Lloyd mention anything about dinner?”
“Dinner?” She