Free Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) by Ann Christopher Page A

helplessly. “I washed her clothes last night. Maybe she’s sensitive to the detergent I used. Or it could be the lotion I just put on her.”
    Justus studied Maya carefully. “Well, should we call the doctor?”
    “No-ooo!” Maya violently shook her head. “I don’t want any shots!”
    “I don’t think we need the doctor just yet.” Angela tried to sound like she’d had vast experience with children and rashes. “It’s just a rash. I have some calamine we can put on it. We’ll watch her and see how she does.”
    Justus nodded, looking relieved. He seemed perfectly willing to defer to Angela’s decision, as if, simply by virtue of her ovaries, she knew more about kids than he did. Turning back to Maya, he nuzzled her ear.
    “Did you sleep here last night?”
    “Yeah.” Maya’s head bobbed eagerly. “In the big bed.”
    Justus’s eyes widened. “The big bed! Did you fall out?”
    “No.” Her smile faded. “Uncle Justus, when can I go home?”
    Angela froze.
    Justus stiffened, his stricken gaze holding Maya’s innocent, trusting one. He shot Angela a look over Maya’s shoulder, and she tried to smile encouragingly, but her mouth had other ideas.
    “Well, little girl,” he said softly, smoothing a braid, “you know Mommy and Daddy—”
    “Are in heaven,” she said dully. “But maybe they’re back now.”
    Justus paused, his mouth twisting with Herculean effort as he strained to master his emotions in front of Maya.
    Angela ducked her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, determined not be the weak link here. If he could keep it together, so could she.
    “They’re going to stay in heaven with God, little girl,” he told Maya gently. “They’re not coming back here.”
    Maya’s lips quivered.
    “But they’re watching out for us, all the time,” Justus continued. “So you have to listen and clean up your room and go to school and work on your letters and numbers and do all the things you always do, okay?”
    Stormy-eyed now, Maya squirmed and pushed on his chest. Justus reluctantly swung her down. Maya climbed back on the sofa and grabbed her dog.
    “Aunt Ang-la doesn’t even have Nick,” she said sourly.
    Justus straightened and caught Angela’s eye.
    She shot him a grateful smile. “Good job.”
    Nodding, he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and studied the floor.
    “I’m bo-ored.” Maya flopped onto her back and stomped her bare feet into Angela’s hundred-dollar embroidered pillows.
    Angela instinctively opened her mouth to stop her—today’s children had no respect for nice furniture or other people’s belongings—but it belatedly occurred to her they all had more important things to worry about.
    Justus, meanwhile, strode into the kitchen, where he filled the sink with soapy water. “Measuring cups?” he asked Angela. “Turkey baster?”
    “Second drawer,” she said, pointing.
    Maya stopped stomping the pillows and looked around to watch the proceedings.
    Justus found the items and dumped them into the water.
    Maya’s flip had apparently been switched, because she sat right up and stared. “What’s that?” she demanded.
    “What, this?” Justus shrugged with elaborate indifference. “Oh, nothing. Just some water play.”
    “Water play!” Squealing, Maya jumped off the sofa and ran into the kitchen, where she grabbed one of the heavy chairs, shoved it across the floor to the sink, climbed up, and happily splashed in the water like a two-armed duck.
    Justus grinned and sauntered over to Angela. “She’ll be there for hours.”
    “Well, aren’t you just the cock-of-the-walk?”
    His grin widened. “I like to think so.”
    They laughed together, but then Maya generated a wave that soaked the front of her clothes, the countertops, and the rug underneath her chair.
    Angela’s inner Martha Stewart cringed. “Who’s going to clean this mess up?” she demanded of Justus.
    He raised his brows. “Last time I checked, water didn’t leave a