Free Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls) by Melinda Leigh Page A

Then you add water and shake it up.”
    “Good to know. I’m probably going to need your advice from time to time.” Grant rooted through the bag and came up with a can of formula. “Is this it?”
    Carson nodded. Grant read the back of the can and mixed up the formula. The baby’s fussy sounds escalated into crying. A high-pitched shriek pierced the kitchen. Grant jumped and fumbled the bottle, catching it just before it hit the floor. Faith launched into a scream that sent a flood of apprehension through Grant. Holy . . .
    “Hurry up!” Carson covered his ears with his hands.
    “Hello, Faith.” Grant crouched in front of the wailing baby and unsnapped the car seat’s harness. He picked her up, his efforts to be gentle hampered by her stiff body and kicking legs. He hadn’t held a baby since Carson was born. He’d forgotten how fragile they seemed. He settled in a kitchen chair and tucked her in the crook of one arm. She took the bottle with a greedy mouth, her big eyes staring up at him with rapt attention while she sucked away between hiccups. He snatched a tissue from the box on the table and wiped the tears from her face. A small current of relief eased though him as she calmed and drained the bottle.
    “Now what about us, Carson?” he asked.
    “I’m not hungry.” Carson sat next to him, resting his head on a bent arm, watching. At least while he’d been helping, he’d been reactive. Purple smudges underscored his eyes. Freckles popped on fair skin. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
    “I am. Any suggestions for lunch?”
    “Waffles.” Carson slid out of the chair. On his way past, he gave his baby sister an affectionate pat on the head.
    “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Grant said. “I could sure use a nap.”
    Carson pulled a box of waffles from the freezer. He dragged a step stool to the counter, eyed his uncle, and then loaded the toaster. When the waffles popped out, he put them on a plate. “Daddy always eats four, and you’re bigger than him.”
    Eats. Present tense.
    The ache in Grant’s heart swelled until he wasn’t sure he could swallow food. He cleared his throat. “Thanks. I don’t think I can eat so many, though. Are you sure you can’t help me out?”
    Carson plunked a bottle of syrup down on the table. He went back to the cabinet for another plate, forks, and knives. “Mommy likes me to set the table.”
    “You’re doing a great job.” Grant kept his voice clear. Obviously, Carson wanted to talk about his parents, so talk they would, even if Grant would prefer to bury his grief until it had formed a solid scab like the thickened skin over the bits of shrapnel in his leg. His to-do list rearranged itself. Lee’s estate issues got bumped. Call school about grief counseling shot up to number one, and buy books on children and grieving took the number two spot. He’d need to read a baby book, too. Kate probably had one or ten around the house.
    Carson moved a waffle onto the second plate. He poured syrup over it until it floated.
    Faith’s bottle was empty. Grant set it on the table and eased her over one shoulder. She let out a reverberating belch that would have impressed a mess tent full of recruits. He put her back in the car seat and helped Carson cut his waffle. They dug in together. Two kids, both eating. So far, so good.
    Carson gave his baby sister a suspicious glance but finished his breakfast.
    Grant loaded the dishwasher. Now what? He’d planned on getting the kids to take a nap so he could dig into Lee’s paperwork and make a few calls. Grant needed to know more about his brother’s life. Maybe he’d ask Ellie Ross next door. She seemed kind and intelligent. And pretty. Not that that mattered.
    “What do you want to do?” he asked Carson.
    The boy lifted a shoulder. Kids needed fresh air, right?
    “Do you want to go outside and play with the dog?”
    Carson shook his head. He looked like he would pass out where he sat. Grant spied