She hid her smile at how discomfited he was and set her box of supplies on the counter. It was full of all the things she reached for when Biyen was sick, but Emma was equally prepared. There was already a plastic tub with a thermometer and teething gel along with a bottle of infant Tylenol and a dosing syringe.
Logan shifted Storm so he could tug open the snaps of her sleeper and bared her arm. She wasn’t having it. She cried even harder when he gently pinned her arm down for the minute the thermometer needed to get its reading.
It finally beeped and Sophie read, “A smidge over one hundred. Let’s see if this brings it down.” She gave the grape flavored medication a shake, then read the dosage schedule. “How much does she weigh?”
They double-checked the concentration and each other’s math, finally squirting a small measure of the syrup into Storm’s mouth.
She stopped crying as she decided whether she liked the taste or not, then fell back onto Logan, crying it out again.
“Let’s get a damp cloth and cool her off a little. Oh! Em has Popsicles for the kids, doesn’t she?” They had all had one the other night. Sophie opened the freezer. “They’re not ideal for rehydration, but it might calm her down and cool her off.”
It helped. Storm knew exactly what it was and reached for Sophie when she saw it.
“Do you mind holding her?” Logan asked. “I still smell like barf and have to clean her crib.”
“Of course. Come on, pumpkin.” Sophie carried her to the couch and sat with Storm sniffling in her lap. Storm kept one hand on Sophie’s to keep the orange Popsicle against her unhappy mouth.
Logan went up the stairs, then came back a few minutes later to carry a basket down to the basement. He returned wearing a blue T-shirt and brought a damp cloth.
Storm didn’t like the cloth on her hair. She promptly rejected Sophie with a wail and a reach for big brother.
“All right,” Logan murmured as he gathered her up. He paced and rubbed her back. “This is what happens when you get into Dad’s rye. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
“Something all the Fraser children learn the hard way, I presume,” Sophie said, setting the melting Popsicle on its wrapper.
“Oh, we never learn. We got into it a couple of weeks ago like a bunch of amateurs.” He touched his lips and dipped his chin to indicate Storm’s eyelids were drooping.
Sophie sat quietly, lulled by the sight of him soothing Storm to sleep.
The handful of times Sophie had played What-if with herself, wondering how Logan would have handled fatherhood, she had taken a dark comfort in believing he would have been terrible at it. He was as selfish as Nolan, but in different ways. He wouldn’t have left the payment of rent up to her, but he would have been single-minded about his own pursuits, not generous with himself or his time.
At least, that’s what she had always believed. Now, she wasn’t as sure. He was capable of holding a baby with tenderness and waiting patiently while she drifted off. He cupped Storm’s neck, set the backs of his fingers against her cheeks, and seemed satisfied that her temperature had come down.
He slipped upstairs and came back with a baby monitor.
“Where’s that Popsicle?” He looked around.
“I put it in the sink.”
“I would have finished it.”
“Do you want Storm’s plague?”
“Good point. You want one?” He went to the freezer for a fresh one.
“I’ll have an ice cream bar.” She’d seen the high-grade dark chocolate and almond-coated treats when she had retrieved the Popsicle.
He brought it to her and unwrapped a green Popsicle for himself.
“Thanks for coming. She had a fever after her shots, but it wasn’t serious, and Em handled it. I was ready to call a medivac.”
“I don’t think you’re there yet. If she gets worse or she’s still feverish in the morning, call across to the clinic in Bella Bella. See what they say.”
“What do you think it is? Flu?”
“She’s a baby. It could be anything. A virus or something she ate. She’s at an age where she’s putting everything she touches into her mouth. When Biyen was one, I caught him chewing a slug. He was mad as hell when I pried his teeth open and got it out.”
“That is the grossest story I have ever heard. And I’ve watched my brother eat bugs on his show.” He pointed his Popsicle at her.
“Toughen up. Parenting is not for the squeamish.”
“Exactly why I don’t want to be one.”
Well, that certainly slammed a door on this conversation.
She dropped her gaze and focused on finishing the ice cream she no longer wanted. She used the damp cloth to wipe her fingers when she was done.
“I’ll—”
“How did you do it?” he asked at the same time, voice pitched quiet enough she had to say, “What?”
“This.” He waved at the house. “Juggling a baby and work. How did you do it with your mom and everything?”
She couldn’t take that near awe in his gaze. She dropped her attention to a bruise on her knuckle she couldn’t remember getting. A pipe wrench in a small engine room, probably.
“I wasn’t working while she was sick. I should have found a job as soon as I realized I was pregnant. Then I would have been eligible for maternity benefits, but I stuck out my second semester at school. Mom didn’t have much left of the settlement from losing my dad, but it was enough for her to live on while she was in treatment. She left me what she could, and I lived off that until Biyen was a year old.”
“I guess Biyen’s father was there to take him when you needed to be with your mom.”
