Free Beguiled Again: A Romantic Comedy by Patricia Burroughs Page A

remove all evidence of Magic Marker. Finally satisfied, she thumbed him toward the sink. “You’re next, Brad.”
    “But I already washed,” he protested halfheartedly as the washcloth dove behind his ear. Forty-five seconds later, she aimed him toward the sink to rinse. Anne-Elizabeth, her TCU Horned Frog sweatshirt pulled up to her eyebrows, her arms locked firmly over her head, shouted a muffled “No” from behind the horned frog’s lumpy belly.
    Cecilia fought the urge to yank the sweatshirt down and teach her daughter who was boss. Instead she tickled her exposed belly button with the washcloth. Immediately arms and sweatshirt dropped and somehow, amidst the ensuing squealing frenzy, Cecilia washed her daughter’s face passably clean. Next she ordered all three children into the living room and lined them up on the sofa, each on a separate cushion.
    “No touching, no name-calling, no moving for the next five minutes while I get dressed, is that clear?” she directed, switching on the television for good measure.
    Standing in the bathroom in her bra and half-slip, she heard the doorbell ring. “Nobody can play!” she called down the hall over the chorus of “I’ll get its” that reverberated off the walls. She listened long enough to hear Peter order whoever it was away, then she shut the bathroom door. Humming, she experimented with a pair of tortoiseshell combs, trying to decide whether to pull her hair to one side in an avant garde twist, or simply sweep it out of her eyes in a more traditional “motherly” style. Her hum grew in volume until her vocalizing bounced off the walls, pure tones of a more classical nature than her usual style. It was the bathroom that always did it to her—the acoustics gave her voice a richness that tempted her to attempt Puccini instead of Whitney. She broke off in mid-warble; she’d better hurry.
    When she emerged from the bathroom, her hair combed, teeth brushed and lips lined, she saw Jeff standing in the front doorway, outside the screen door.
    “Cecil, is that you?”
    “Eeek!” She ducked back into the bathroom and plastered her body against the door, her heart thumping a wild tattoo. Just exactly how dark was the hallway? She gulped, then thrust her head out. “Yes. What do you want?”
    “I have something for you... Peter wouldn’t let me in.” He sounded exasperated.
    “Just a minute!” She scanned the bathroom for something to put on, then called, “Brad, will you come here a minute?” When his carrot top poked around the bathroom door, she hissed, “Bring me my dress. And my sandals, while you’re at it!”
    He returned with the red silk she had worn Saturday night.
    “I meant the blue one!”
    “This one was on the floor. I figured you were gonna wear it again, or else you’d’ve hung it up, right?” He managed to keep such an innocent expression on his face, she could almost pretend there wasn’t a hidden barb in the eight-year-old’s remark.  
    Almost.
    Cecilia dropped to the chaise lounge and slipped on her sandals. “The blue dress, Brad. And hurry.”
    Minutes later she strolled out of the bathroom looking, well, if not like a million bucks, at least presentable, in a fit-and-flare knit dress that hugged her from neck to waist, then flared into a flirty skirt.  
    Red silk would have been a million, but entirely inappropriate for a family excursion.
    She walked to the door and she saw a mischievous sparkle in Jeff’s eyes, the playful twist of his lips.
    “Mom can’t play... what a shame.”
    Cecilia stopped short, her cheeks flaming. And when his eyes flickered down the front of her soft chambray dress, she had the distinct sensation he had more than an idle idea of what was beneath.
    She pushed forward and unhooked the screen. “I’m sorry. They should have let you in. I didn’t realize they would take me so literally.”
    “It was deliberate I’m sure.” He cast a sidelong glance into the living room, where Peter was