She thought she’d sworn off military men for good…
Sam Kercher is every inch a wickedly hot Marine. Tall. Sexy. Lethal. When his best friends call in a favor, Sam is forced to face an entirely new line of duty—playing nanny for their newly divorced sister and her squirming seven-month-old twin boys. If Sam can dissemble an M16 in his sleep, diaper duty should be a cakewalk…right?
Unfortunately, Operation Nanny isn’t quite that simple. Sheridan has sworn off overbearing military men, so Sam must protect her from her dirtbag ex without revealing just how much he has in common with her brothers. Or that he’s been ordered not to touch her. Ever. Problem is, Sheri’s one hell of a gorgeous woman, capable of making this hard-bodied Marine even harder. And Sam wants her bad.
Protect the girl. Care for the babies. Hide his identity. And keep his hands off. But even the most disciplined Marine has weaknesses…and Sheridan is one Sam might not be able to resist.
Information:
Title: Marine for Hire (Front and Center)
Author: Tawna Fenske
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Length: 245
Release Date: Fenruary 2014
ISBN: 978-1-62266-474-0
Imprint: Brazen
Excerpt:
©2014 Tawna Fenske
Chapter One
The chain saw snarled in Sam’s hands. He plunged it into the log, rewarded by the spit of wood chips and a mechanical growl of protest from the machine.
Sam could relate. At least that was his sentiment as the unmarked black car crawled slowly up his father’s driveway, drawing closer by the second. Government car, from the look of it. More military officials wanting to discuss what happened in Kabul? Like Sam hadn’t already talked about it plenty.
Okay, fine. He hadn’t. Still, that didn’t mean he was in any mood to do it now.
He killed the chain saw, but kept it in his hands. Might as well look the part of a man who didn’t want to be disturbed. He waited, tense but unmoving, as the car eased to a halt in front of him. Its tinted windows reflected the towering pines behind him, along with Sam looking like he’d spent the morning mud wrestling a tree trunk. The passenger took an unnecessarily long time opening the door, and he waited, breathing in the scent of damp leaves and fresh sawdust. The car door swung wide, and an expensive Italian loafer stepped onto the wet gravel driveway, followed by another.
In an instant, the tension drained from his shoulders.
“Holy shit, Mac,” Sam said, lowering the chain saw. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Mac got out of the car and took three steps toward him. They clapped each other on the shoulders and conducted a complicated ritual that was equal parts hug and sucker punch to the gut.
Sam drew back first, brushing sawdust off the front of his T-shirt as he surveyed his old pal. Mac wore his usual dark sunglasses, despite the fact that it was an overcast afternoon in the forest outside Portland, as opposed to a beach bar in Jamaica on a summer afternoon. Mac’s clothes were black—of course—and the whole suit looked like it cost more than Sam’s car.
Sam looked down at his own dusty T-shirt and tried to remember if he’d worn deodorant. Or taken a shower.
“Sam,” Mac said, straightening his lapels. “Nice to see you. You’re looking good. A little shaggy and rumpled, but it works for you.”
Nope, definitely no deodorant. Sam covertly sniffed his own T-shirt and grimaced. Oh well, it was just Mac.
“Military grooming standards weren’t exactly required on my last mission,” Sam said. “Figured I’d wait on a haircut ’til my leave is up. Not much need for starched uniforms or pressed fatigues out here.”
“Good. That’s good.” Mac nodded with something that looked oddly like approval. “I heard you were up here helping your dad and stepmom get ready for winter.”
“Yeah, doing a little caulking, cleaning out the gutters, stockpiling firewood, that sort of thing.” He quirked an eyebrow at Mac, not willing to let the statement go unquestioned. “You heard?”
Mac waved a dismissive hand, and Sam did a mental eye roll. His friend had unlimited resources when it came to gathering information and pretty much everything else he wanted. It was no secret that whatever Mac did for a living was—well, secret.
They’d met playing football in college before the Marines, both ambitious young men driven by overbearing fathers and too much testosterone. Sam had stuck with the program, training as a sniper and making a pretty good career at it.
At least until Sam’s whole world had come undone.
Mac, on the other hand, had gotten out of the military and moved on to some sort of top-secret government work that kept him out of the country a lot. Whatever it was he did now, it made him extremely wealthy.
Mac probably never forgets deodorant.
“So,” Sam began, brushing his free hand over his dirty jeans. “What’s up?”
“You’re on leave for another couple weeks?”
He resisted the urge to grit his teeth. “I’m still considering getting out.”
“But you haven’t dropped your letter. You know damn well it takes a while, and all your shit is still in storage in Hawaii.”
“For now.”
Mac cleared his throat. “So. What are your plans until then?”
“You’re looking at it.”
Mac nodded, surveying the property with a calculated expression. “A couple weeks of work. Probably much quicker work if Grant and I pitch in to help. Or we could always hire a crew to come out and—”
“Grant?” Sam asked, confused now. “Isn’t your brother stationed in Benghazi right now? And why would he help my parents with yard work?”
Mac turned back to him, and Sam caught his own disheveled image in the reflection of his buddy’s glasses. He had a streak of mud on one cheek, and he hadn’t shaved all week.
“You like kids, right?” Mac said. “I mean, you have all those nieces and nephews.”
Sam frowned. “Sure, kids are great. My sister’s having another little girl in April.”
He nodded as though making a mental list. “Can you operate an oven?”
“Microwave. Oh, and I baked brownies once. Laced ’em with Ex-Lax as a prank for some SEAL buddies at a party.”
“How do you feel about Kauai?”
Sam raised an eyebrow and wondered—not for the first time—if Mac had gone crazy. “Is this some kind of psych exam where you’re going to show me ink blots and ask whether I fantasize about badgers wearing men’s underwear?”
Mac folded his arms over his chest. He didn’t answer the question. “You remember my sister, Sheridan, right? I think you met her once at a party in college.”
At the mention of Sheri’s name, Sam felt several pints of blood drain from his brain and pulse toward other extremities. He thought about those thick, chocolaty curls and those huge brown eyes, and that perfect, heart-shaped ass and—
“I think I remember her,” he said, straining to keep his voice casual. “Blond, right?”
“You know goddamn well she’s a brunette, just like I know goddamn well you didn’t stop staring at her that whole night at the party. That’s not why I’m asking. Her douchebag husband left.”
Sam blinked. “What? Didn’t they just have a kid?”
“Two kids. Twins. Seven months old, and Lieutenant Limpdick ran off with a stripper he met in Arkansas. We’re dealing with the situation.”
He refrained from asking who “we” might be or what “dealing with the situation” entailed. Probably best not to know. “Weren’t they stationed in Honolulu?”
Mac nodded. “Sheri’s still there. Well, on another island now. Kauai. She has a friend there, and she just got a job as an accountant on the Pacific Missile Range Facility.”
“Civilian gig?”
“Yeah. Great pay, good bennies. But she’s a single mom, and she needs a nanny. A good nanny. Someone who can cook and who’s great with kids and housekeeping and M40 sniper rifles.”
“You got that job description on Craigslist?”
“And maybe black-belt level karate skills,” Mac continued, ignoring him. “And the ability to use power tools.”
“You can’t be serious.” Sam shook his head, propped the chain saw against a stump, and rubbed a smear of mud off his forearm.
“Why not? You’re supposed to report for your new command in Hawaii in a couple weeks anyway. In the meantime, Sheri needs someone to watch out for the twins. And her.”
He touched one hand to the utility knife on his belt and stared Mac down. Then he remembered it wasn’t possible to stare Mac down, especially since the guy never removed his sunglasses.
He tried reasoning instead.
“Aren’t there services for this sort of thing? There have to be a thousand people more trained to be nannies.”
Mac leaned against a tree, his arms still folded. “No one with your unique qualifications. And not anyone who happens to owe me a favor.”
Sam sighed, already knowing how this would end up. “I appreciate you saving my life in Baghdad. I do. But can’t I just buy you a beer or a car or something?”
“No.”
“I’m not following why you want me looking after your sister and her kids. Why me?”
“She’s alone,” he snapped. “For the first time in years with two little babies and a new job and a dickhead ex-husband I don’t trust. Grant and I are going to be out of the country and our folks are all the way over in Honolulu and God only knows where Schwartz is. None of us will be around to keep an eye on Sheri in Kauai and make sure she’s safe.”
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
Mac ran his hands through his hair, looking rattled for the first time in the whole conversation. “Lieutenant Limpdick is a real piece of work. The divorce didn’t go well, and he’s still harassing Sheri. His orders have come through, but he’s got two more weeks before he has to leave.”
“He’s still attached to the command in Hawaii?”
“Yes. He’ll be back in the islands any day now. While he’s there, I don’t want him getting anywhere near Sheri and her boys.”
“He’s dangerous?”
“He’s never been physically violent with her, but he’s unpredictable. I worry he’ll try to win her back and won’t take no for answer, or that he’ll show up and make life hell for her. He’s a manipulative prick and a threat.”
“A threat you want controlled.”
“Precisely. Look, it’s not just the ex, Sam. There are bad drivers in Hawaii. And sharks. Plus Sheri’s never been good about locking her doors or windows, and what if—”
“I’ve got it,” Sam said, holding up his hand. “You guys have always been overprotective. This takes the cake, though, even for you.”
Mac gave a curt nod. “Our family would feel better if someone we know and trust was looking out for Sheri and the twins.” He hesitated, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “There’s one catch.”
“Only one?”
Mac ignored him. “Sheri has a problem with controlling military men meddling in her life.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“She can’t know we’re sending a bodyguard to watch over her, and she definitely can’t know you’re a Marine.”
Sam shook his head. “Your whole family is military to the core. She’d peg me as a Marine before I got through the front door.”
Mac stared him up and down, considering. “Not necessarily. This disheveled look you’ve got going on right now is working for you. You look like hell.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “You’re aware that this is insane, right? I don’t know how to cook or change diapers or get baby vomit out of cashmere.”
“It’s Hawaii. No cashmere needed, and baby vomit blends nicely into floral-patterned shirts.”
“You’re missing the point.”
Mac didn’t respond, just stared at him through those dark lenses with his hair unruffled in the breeze. “This is your chance to make things right,” he said. “After what happened in Kabul, it’s how you prove to yourself again that you’re a good guy—a guy who knows what it means to serve and protect and follow orders.”
Mac’s words sliced through him, and Sam’s fingers clenched in an unexpected fist. He wasn’t sure who he wanted to punch. Himself, mostly.
Sam swallowed. “Sheri needs someone right away?”
“Just for a couple weeks. I’ll find her a real nanny when Limpdick’s out of the picture. Oh, and there’s one other thing.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to remind him that just one catch had already morphed into more.
Mac folded his arms over his chest again. “Keep your hands off my sister.”
Sam blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. She’s vulnerable. With Limpdick out of the picture, she needs time to recover.”
He heard a rushing sound in his brain, not unlike the night he met Sheri at that party in college and she’d been wearing that huge, goofy smile and pink lipstick and that crocheted white bikini that hugged her curves and showed the perfect outline of her nipples and Sam had tripped over a piece of driftwood and fallen face-first into all that luscious cleavage and—
“When do I start?”
…
Sheridan Patton-Price set two mugs of tea on the table before retreating to the kitchen for the creamer she was pretty sure expired a week ago.
“Um, Sher?” called her best friend, Kelli. “I think you forgot something in the tea.”
“What’s that?”
“The tea.”
“Right.” Sheri sighed and pulled two tea bags out of the cupboard. She trudged back to the table and plunked a bag into each mug before dropping heavily into a chair. It was the first time she’d had a moment to sit for—days? Months? How long had the twins been napping?
“You look like you could use this,” Kelli said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a flask emblazoned with a Hello Kitty emblem. She splashed a healthy dose in both mugs and replaced the flask in her bag. “Bourbon. The good stuff. Were you up all night again?”
Sheri nodded, pulling off her eyeglasses. She used the temple piece to stir her tea, wondering if normal moms had clean teaspoons in the house.
“I think the twins are teething,” Sheri said, taking a tentative sip of tea. “How do I know for sure?”
“When they get teeth?”
“Thanks. The only woman in the world who knows less about babies than I do, and I choose to ask her for advice on child rearing.”
Kelli beamed. “You’re welcome. I consider it my duty to make you feel better about yourself. Want me to show you the cellulite on my ass?”
“I’ll take a rain check. Though I do like the idea of looking at an ass I don’t have to clean with a baby wipe.”
Kelli picked up her mug and knocked back half the contents in one gulp. Good idea, Sheri thought, and followed suit. She felt guilty drinking bourbon at noon on a Thursday, but there wasn’t much that didn’t make her feel guilty these days. For starters, she was pretty sure she was the most ill-prepared mother on the planet. She’d fought valiantly to hide it, beginning the moment the nurse handed her twin boys and Sheri asked numbly, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Am I sure what’s a good idea?” Kelli asked.
“What?”
“You’re talking to yourself again.”
Sheri sighed and tugged at the string on her tea bag. “Sometimes I think there was a day someone handed out all the mothering instincts. All the women got in line, but I couldn’t find my keys or my glasses, and by the time I made it there, all they had left was a box of day-old doughnuts and a penchant for complicated algebra.”
“I must’ve been in line behind you then,” Kelli said. “That’s when they handed out the ability to take care of four-legged creatures instead of two. Makes me a pretty good vet, though.”
“At least I can come to you if the twins show signs of ear mites or kennel cough.” Sheri took another sip of tea, enjoying the warmth of the bourbon sliding down her throat. “I spent all morning thinking Jeffrey was Jackson and Jackson was Jeffrey. And then I got halfway through putting on their diaper rash cream before I realized it was toothpaste. What kind of mother does that?”
“Well, they are twins. And now their little backsides are minty fresh and tingly.”
“I joined a Mommy and Me group last week, and the other moms made me feel guilty about using disposable diapers on an island that already has a trash problem. I’m trying to switch to cloth, but do you have any idea how much work it is to wash diapers for two babies?”
“I love you, Sher,” Kelli said, touching the back of her hand. “And I’ll gladly hold your hair back if you need to puke in a barroom toilet on girls’ night. But there’s no way I’m helping you wash diapers.”
Sheri laughed and swallowed the last of her tea. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said as she set her mug down. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” Kelli said, squeezing her hand. “And I’m especially glad your douchebag ex is gone.” She frowned. “Was that too insensitive?”
“Please. I spent three years married to Captain Insensitive. At this point you could tell me to go fuck myself and I’d feel giddy someone’s talking dirty to me.”
“Is he still harassing you?”
Sheri shrugged. “I stopped answering his calls.”
“Maybe you need a big, burly boyfriend around to scare him off. I could fix you up with someone.”
“No way.” Sheri shoved her mug away. “The last guy you tried to fix me up with asked me to starch his dress whites on the first date.”
“Lesson learned. No more military men for you, I swear.”
“No more men, period. Not right now.”
Kelli shrugged. “Sooner or later, you need to get your mojo back. I stashed a box of super-magnum-jumbo condoms in your medicine cabinet for when the time comes. You’re welcome.”
“You’re hopeless.” Sheri grinned. “I promise I’ll let you know when I’m ready to embrace my inner slut. In the meantime, I’m just glad to be here.”
Kelli squeezed her hand. “I’m so happy you’re finally on Kauai. This is a tough place to find a job, and it’s even tougher to land a civilian gig at PMRF. Did you nail down your start date?”
Sheri nodded. “Monday morning. That’s assuming the new nanny checks out. My brother insisted on hiring her, so we haven’t even met yet. He’s bringing her by in a few hours.”
“Your brother? Which brother?” Kelli’s face lit up with excitement and Sheri fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“MacArthur. Mac. You remember him from college?”
“I sure do. God, I had such a crush on him—”
“What if they love her more than me?” Sheri interrupted, not wanting Kelli to meander too far down the path of lusting after her commitment-phobic brother. “The twins, I mean. What if they love the nanny more?”
“Impossible. You’ve got great tits.”
“Thank you. Exactly what every woman wants to be appreciated for.”
“You know what I mean. For—uh—nursing and stuff. Not that your nanny won’t have tits, but yours are dinner. You win.”
“I’m bottle-feeding. And giving them soft foods from a jar instead of organic pureed stuff I made myself. More things that make me a horrible mother.”
“You’re not a horrible mother. Knock that shit off or I’ll put you in a headlock.”
Sheri smiled, mostly because she knew Kelli wasn’t kidding. Her friend might look dainty with her minuscule stature and a penchant for pastel sundresses, but Sheri had watched her wrestle a 160-pound pit bull to the floor of her vet clinic, and once saw her knock out a drunk frat boy with one punch when he tried to grab her ass.
Anyone who messed with Kelli lived to regret it.
The doorbell chimed, and Sheri jumped in her chair. In the back bedroom, both babies began to wail.
“Shit,” she muttered, springing up from the table with a glance out the door at the big black sedan parked in her driveway. “Mac’s early. You want to let them in, or calm the boys down?”
“A choice between ogling your hunky brother or getting pooped on. That’s a tough call.”
“Door!” Sheri ordered as the bell chimed again and the boys went on screaming. She ran for the twins’ bedrooms and scooped up Jeffrey—or was it Jackson? No, definitely Jeffrey, though she had to check the back of his left thigh for the little birthmark to be sure. She cradled him in the crook of one arm, bouncing like a drunken kangaroo until his cries turned to soft whimpers. She laid him back down in his crib before leaning down to scoop up Jackson.
She wished she could still hold both of them at the same time. Maybe a bigger, more competent woman could. Hopefully the nanny was one of those hefty, matronly types with huge arms and the strength of a linebacker. Or maybe one of those earthy, crunchy women who could strap both babies into one of those complicated slings Sheri could never quite figure out.
“Shhhhh. Mommy’s here,” she whispered, bouncing the baby some more. She wasn’t sure if the bouncing and declaration was comforting or more of an annoyance, but it was the best she had to offer.
“Hey Sher?” Kelli called from the living room. “You might want to come out here right away.”
“Just a minute,” she singsonged, trying to keep her voice light to avoid making the twins scream. “I’ll be right there.”
“You know that thing I said about the nanny’s tits?” Kelli said, and Sheri turned to see her friend in the doorway with an odd expression on her face. “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.”
Kelli stepped aside like a magician revealing a rabbit behind a curtain. But there was no rabbit.
Instead, there was the biggest, burliest hunk of man flesh Sheri had laid eyes on since the day she and Kelli crashed a calendar shoot of shirtless Navy SEALs.
She swallowed hard, taking in the massive biceps, the chest that strained against a too-thin T-shirt, the ramrod posture she’d seen in every member of her military family dating back to the photos of Great-Great-Great-Grandpa Garrison in his Civil War uniform.
She swallowed again, wondering who’d sucked all the air from the room. Wondering, absurdly, if Kelli was joking about those condoms.
Chapter Two
Sam watched as the little blonde who’d led them through the house stepped farther into the bedroom and grinned at him and Mac. He stepped into the space behind her, conscious of the fact that he filled the whole doorframe.
Sheri stared at him, unblinking. Her feet were bare, and she wore knee-length sweatpants that looked like they’d been caught in a wood chipper. He couldn’t tell if she was braless under her T-shirt or just very, very lush. She wore no makeup, and her chocolate curls were twisted into a sloppy topknot with something that looked like smushed carrot at the end of one ringlet.
He had never seen anything so beautiful.
“What the hell?” she asked.
Okay, so the admiration wasn’t mutual.
Mac cleared his throat, and Sam stepped aside to let his pal through the door.
“Hey, Sher,” Mac said, gathering his sister and the whimpering baby into a gentle bear hug. “We caught an earlier connection out of Honolulu, so we got here sooner than expected. How are the little guys doing?”
Sheri pushed herself out of the hug and gave her brother a kiss on the cheek, then shifted the baby to one arm and slugged Mac hard in the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, but you could have called, jerk!”
“And wake up the baby? Er, babies.” Mac peered at one nephew, then the other. “God, they’re getting big. Can I hold him?”
“Here, take Jackson. Er, Jeffrey. Whatever.” She thrust the squirming infant into his arms, smiling at her brother despite the fact that she also looked like she might want to strangle him.
Mac pulled the baby against his chest as Sheri turned to pick up the other infant fussing in his crib. Sam took another step toward them and offered his best trust me, I’m harmless smile.
“May I?” he said, nodding toward the baby. “I have a nephew the same age. Seven months, right?”
Sheri stared at him like he’d suggested they take off their clothes and finger-paint rainbows on each other’s chests, and he regretted his words instantly.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Her tone wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t friendly, either.
Sam glanced at Mac, who was suddenly very interested in the top of his nephew’s head. When Mac finally met his eyes, he wore the same expression he had when the two of them got busted stealing an opposing team’s mascot in college.
Mac cleared his throat. “Sheri, you remember Sam Kercher? Sam and I played football together in college. You two met at a party once.”
“We did?” Sheri turned back to Sam, who forced himself not to move as she studied him. “Sorry, I don’t remember. College was an awfully long time ago.”
Sam wasn’t sure whether to feel disappointed or pleased she didn’t recall the dorky guy who face-planted into her cleavage and then attempted thirty seconds of awkward conversation that had clearly stuck a lot more firmly in his brain than hers.
Either way, one thing was pretty clear.
“So, uh, Mac didn’t tell you about me?” he asked.
Sheri’s brow crinkled and she turned to look at her brother. “Tell me what?”
Mac cleared his throat again and shifted the baby against his chest. “I’ve spent the last two weeks conducting a pretty intensive search for your nanny, Sher. I invested a lot of time and money in the process. I met with placement agencies, advertised the position, and interviewed qualified domestic help from around the world.”
“Very thorough of you. What a loving brother,” Kelli said, beaming at Mac like a puppy eyeing a hump-worthy shin.
“Obviously, you gave me your list of criteria,” Mac continued. “Excellent cooking skills, good with children, experienced with diapering and childproofing a home, willing to do basic housekeeping, comfortable with a live-in position—”
“You can’t be serious,” she said, her face registering the fact that she’d caught on to what Mac was driving at. “You hired Beefcake here as my nanny?” She looked at Sam, then flushed. “No offense. I’m sure you’re very nice.”
“On occasion,” Sam said, and took another step forward. “It’s Sam, actually, but we can go with Mr. Beefcake if that’s more comfortable.”
She blinked at him. “Sam,” she repeated. “Sammy the Nanny? You look more like a soldier. Or a lumberjack.”
“I can assure you Sam is none of those things,” Mac said. “He’s a nanny. A very experienced nanny with all the qualifications you’re seeking.”
“I think the term is manny, actually,” Kelli offered. “You know, a male nanny?”
Mac jostled the baby in his arms, though it was evident he had more need to soothe his sister. “It’s a very common trend in families lacking a male role model—”
“There’s no shortage of male role models in these kids’ lives,” Sheri snapped. “I have more brothers than pubic hairs, though right about now I’m thinking one less would be great.” She froze as though replaying her last words in her mind and not liking the sound of them. “Less brothers, not—”
“There’s an aesthetician in Princeville who does a great Brazilian bikini wax,” Kelli offered, grinning. “I’ve got you covered there.”
Sam was still reeling from the odd turn in conversation and from the fact that Mac clearly hadn’t told Sheri anything about hiring him as her nanny. Maybe Mac was counting on her not being able to say no once he was in the house. A dirty trick, since she started her new job in a few days and wouldn’t have time to find a nanny last-minute. Still, he felt lousy about it. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should leave. Maybe he should just thank them all for their time and—
“Shit, I think it just pooped,” Mac said, and held the baby out in front of him like something contaminated, putting as much distance as possible between his chest and the squealing infant.
“Mac!” Sheri yelled, grabbing for her son. The jostling proved too much for the twin she already held, and he shrieked like he’d been stuck with a toothpick. Sheri stumbled as she tried to grab the baby from her brother’s arms while still keeping her grip on the other.
Sam jumped. “Here, let me.” He snatched the baby from Mac’s arms and turned to Sheri. “Where are the diapers?”
She opened her mouth to say something, but he didn’t wait. Spotting the changing table in the corner, he hustled the baby over and planted him on the cushioned surface. With one hand holding the little guy in place, he grabbed a baby wipe from the warmer, testing first to make sure the temperature was okay.
He’d watched his sisters do this a million times, and he’d downloaded a diapering tutorial that he’d watched on his laptop on the flight over.
You can do this, he commanded himself. Think.
The baby screeched with displeasure. He studied the squirming bundle and tried to remember the steps in the video.
Point the barrel in a safe direction and move the selector level to “safe” before pressing the magazine release button and—
Shit, no. Those were the steps for disassembling an M16 rifle.
Well, same idea, Sam thought as he stripped off the waterproof pants and the soggy cloth diaper, using one hand as a shield in case the little guy decided to demonstrate his aim. The diapering video he’d watched only dealt with the disposable kind, not these cloth things. He was way out of his league here, but maybe some of the steps were the same.
Pull the charging handle toward the rear of the rifle and press the bottom of the bolt catch—
Dammit, no. Something about safety pins or lotion maybe?
He held the little guy in place with one hand as he grabbed a clean diaper and some pins from the basket beside him. Frowning in concentration, he cleaned off the baby, trying not to gag as he reminded himself he’d seen worse things in military mess halls.
Unthread the sling from the metal loops on the buttstock and barrel to remove the sling from the rifle.
No, no! Goddammit, concentrate. Or maybe those really were the right instructions? He ankle-lifted the baby and slid the fresh diaper under him, then got to work folding and fastening.
He stabbed himself with a diaper pin but didn’t flinch, even when he saw blood welling on the tip of his thumb. He grabbed another diaper wipe and surreptitiously swiped the digit before fastening the last pin in place.
He surveyed his work, nodding once. Not bad. Not bad at all. He’d once set a platoon record for speed of rifle assembly. This wasn’t so different, and he hadn’t gotten shot in the face.
“There you go, little guy,” Sam said gently patting the baby’s bare belly. “Nice job.”
The baby gave him a toothless grin and gurgled. He grinned back and scooped the baby in his arms, turning to face his audience.
Everyone stared, no one uttering a sound. Sheri had put the other baby back in his crib at some point, so he stepped forward and placed the fresh-smelling infant in her arms.
“Here you go,” he said, feeling stupidly dizzy as his forearm brushed her breast. “Good as new.”
She blinked at him, then looked down at the baby. When she looked back at Sam, he felt his heart flip over in his chest.
“Thank you,” she said.
“No problem,” he said, wondering how he could possibly feel so electrified by her with his hands covered in baby lotion and his shirt reeking of reprocessed Gerber.
He picked up the soiled diaper from the changing table and handed it to Mac without tearing his eyes off Sheri. Mac grunted in protest, but took the diaper anyway.
Sheri smiled at Sam. “When can you start?”