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“Babysitting? Chief, I don’t know the fist thing about kids. I’m happy to help, but I don’t think I’ll be much use.”
Hank chuckled, patting Buster on the shoulder.
“I know enough for both of us,” Hank reassured him. “It’ll just be easier to manage all six of them with two of us.”
“And you’re sure Sawyer is fine with me helping out? She doesn’t exactly have the highest opinion of me.”
“Kyra talked with her. Just show up tomorrow afternoon, and it will be fine.”
Despite Hank’s insistence, Buster wasn’t sure he believed it would all be fine. Kyra Storm, Hank’s sister-in-law and the widow of Hank’s late brother George, got along fine with Buster, but her friend, Sawyer, was another matter. Buster and Sawyer had gotten off on the wrong foot, and it had been all stumbles since then. Not that the kids seemed to notice. Sawyer’s kids and Hank’s nephews often played at each other’s houses, and with Buster spending more time at the Storm family home, Sawyer’s three boys had gotten used to saying hi to him in passing before rushing off to play whatever it was they were playing on any given day. Usually something that involved lots of running, yelling, and the occasional brandishing of a stick.
Buster spent the rest of that day filling out and filing bits of paperwork for the sheriff’s office (because who better to make do all the grunt work than the new guy, right?) before heading home. He had the next two days off, which meant he had the entire morning to worry about the upcoming babysitting. Should he bring something? The Storm house had plenty of food and toys, and Hank had said to just show up, but still. Of course, if he brought the wrong thing, that would only further worsen what Sawyer thought of him. It wasn’t so much that her opinion mattered as that Buster hated making a bad impression on anyone even obliquely related to Hank. He’d already done enough damage on that score in Philadelphia, thank you very much.
In the end, Buster showed up empty-handed. He arrived at about the same time that Sawyer was dropping off her kids, which meant he got to see the slightly sour expression on her face as he greeted Hank.
“You almost look more afraid of this than facing down Marino’s men,” Hank teased.
“It’s just not something I’ve done before, ch-uh, Hank,” Buster said, just barely managing not to use the nickname ‘chief’ in Sawyer’s presence. He got why it was a problem, he did, but it still slipped out sometimes when he was well, trying to act more confident than he felt. You know, like when he was doing something as terribly unknown and stressful as babysitting. God, he wanted to sink into the floor. Adjusting his coat Buster followed Hank into the house.
Sawyer’s boys were already running wild through the house with Hank’s two nephews while Kyra and Hank’s mother, Rosemary Storm, got ready to head out with Sawyer.
“Hank, I just got Rosie down for her nap, so she should be good for an hour or two,” Kyra told Hank, speaking about her youngest, Hank’s only niece. “Buster, ready for your first taste of babysitting?”
“Sure,” Buster said. “They’re all shorter than me, at least, so I got that going for me.”
Hank snorted, but Kyra laughed, and since it was her children Buster would be helping look after, hopefully that meant his nervousness was fine.
“You two almost ready to go?” Sawyer asked, sticking her head in the door.
“You, just wishing Hank and Buster good luck with our little terrors,” Kyra said cheerfully. “Lead the way.”
Sawyer tossed one last, suspicious look Buster’s way, and then she was leading Kyra and Rosemary out the door, leaving Buster and Hank alone with a house full of rambunctious children. At least little Rosie was asleep. Hank caught one of the boys—Buster thought maybe it was Paul, Hank’s younger nephew, but he wasn’t entirely sure—by the arm and asked him to get the others.
“Rosie’s sleeping, so screaming inside the house has to wait until later,” Hank told the boys after they’d gathered with him and Buster in the living room.
With them all together in one room, Buster was more confident that the boy Hank had first talked to was his nephew Paul. Thought he didn’t look much like Hank, Paul did, with his round cheeks and stocky build, looked a lot like his older brother, Georgie, and both boys resembled their late father, George. Buster had only seen George briefly, but the moment of his death was forever burned into Buster’s mind along with the shame that Buster had not been able to prevent it. Sawyer’s sons, by contrast, were all long limbs and knobby joints. Buster could recognize the youngest, Phillip, but he still wasn’t sure which of the older two was Floyd and which was Gary.
“We weren’t screaming,” either Floyd or Gary protested. “We were just playing loudly.”
“Whatever you want to call it, it’s too loud to happen during Rosie’s nap,” Hank said.
“What about coloring?” Buster suggested. “That’s fun, right? And it doesn’t involve so much yelling.”
“That’s boring,” protested Paul.
“Boring? What are you talking about?” Buster asked. “Who doesn’t like coloring?”
“We wanna play hide and seek tag!” little Phillip declared.
“That is not a quiet game,” Buster said. He’d been dragged into hide and seek tag once before, when he first met Hank’s sister-in-law and nephews. He still wasn’t entirely clear on all the rules, but it had been an exhausting morning, and he had no wish to relive it.
“How about regular hide and seek?” Hank suggested, grinning at Buster’s reluctance to play hide and seek tag. “Outside and away from the back room, that way Rosie shouldn’t wake up.”
“Okay, then Phillip has to be it!”
“That’s not fair! I’m always it!”
“Yeah, cuz you’re the littlest.”
“Rosie’s littler!”
“Rosie’s not playing. You-”
“I’ll be it first,” Hank said, deftly herding the arguing boys to the door and ushering them into the yard before their arguing could wake Rosie up anyway. He gestured to the low, stone wall that ringed the porch. “Here, this will be the base. Now, I’m going to count to twenty, so you better start hiding.”
The boys whooped with glee and took off running in search of hiding spots before Hank could even start counting.
“And what am I supposed to be doing?” Buster asked, smiling at how at ease Hank was around the kids.
“Didn’t you hear? You have a count of twenty to hide.”
Buster’s smile dropped a little.
“Seriously?”
“One. Two. Three …”
As Hank grinned and began to count, Buster hastily looked around the yard for space enough to hide his full-grown self. The kids had of course already taken all the best hiding places—behind the trees, under the stairs to the secondary house, out by the woodpile—which left very few options. With Hank rapidly approaching twenty, Buster through himself down flat behind a jumbled pile of bicycles, hoping his clothing didn’t stand out too much.
“Twenty. Ready or not, here I come.”
To Hank’s credit, he did a good job pretending to struggle to find everyone. Even from his hiding space by the bicycles, Buster could hear giggling from behind the woodpile that he was pretty sure was coming from Phillip, but Hank peered around, making a big show of checking behind the laundry line and inside the empty garbage can that was sitting next to the house before making his way towards the giggling. Hank had almost reached the woodpile when Georgie and Gary (or maybe Floyd?) jumped out from behind the stand of trees and made a break for the base. Hank immediately pivoted and ran towards them. While Hank’s back was turned, Buster crept out of his hiding place and over to the woodpile.
“Think we should make a break for it?” he asked Phillip.
The boy nodded, grinning.
“Alright, on the count of three then,” Buster whispered, keeping an eye on where Hank was chasing Georgie and probably-Gary. “One, two. THREE!”
Phillip raced for the base as fast as his little legs would take him, Buster keeping pace behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Buster saw Hank tag the two older boys, then turn towards the house.
“He’s seen us!” Buster yelled. “We gotta reach the base!”
Hank was gaining on them, his long legs easily covering the distance across the yard. Ahead of Buster and Phillip, Paul and probably-Floyd had reached the base and were cheering them on, gesturing wildly to urge them to run faster. Buster could easily have outrun Phillip, but as Hank drew level with them, he instead threw himself sideways, making sure he stayed between Hank and the little one. Hank grinned and all but tackled Buster while tagging him. Phillip heard the commotion. For a moment, his steps faltered as he looked back at where Buster was picking himself up out of the dirt.
“Run, Phillip, run!” Buster cried, and Phillip took off at full speed again, reaching the base just before Hank could tag him.
“Well, since Buster nobly sacrificed himself, he can be it next,” Hank said. Turning to Buster, he added, “You’re in charge while I make dinner.”
“What-I-are you sure?” Buster asked.
“You’ll be fine,” Hank said, smiling slightly and patting Buster’s shoulder. “I’ll be in the kitchen if anything comes up. Keep them busy until Rosie wakes up from her nap.”
And with that, Hank abandoned Buster to the tender mercies of his nephews and their friends.
“I suppose you’re still not up for coloring,” Buster said, turning to the boys.
“Bo-ring,” the boy who was probably Floyd said decisively.
“Uncle Hank said you’re it next,” Georgie said, grinning at Buster.
“Alright, alright, then you’d better get to hiding,” Buster said, dusting himself off and turning to lean against the wall of the ‘base.’ “One, two, three …”
The boys scattered, shrieking gleefully.
It was just as exhausting as the last time Buster had played with them, thought at least this time he didn’t get roped into giving any piggyback rides. It was surprisingly difficult to catch any of the boys without just straight up tackling them, and since Buster was pretty sure that suspect take-down tactics were not the sort of thing to use on small children, or even medium-sized ones like Georgie and Floyd, that meant a lot of huffing and puffing and trying to tag them in a way that wouldn’t squish them. It took a couple of rounds, but at last, Buster was able to tag Georgie and pass on the baton of being it, though he had a sneaking suspicion that Georgie had taken pity on him and allowed himself to be caught.
By the time Hank called them for dinner, Buster had been it two more times, but had also successfully tagged someone else two more times, so he counted that as a win. The only boy who hadn’t been tagged it was Paul. Hank’s younger nephew was surprisingly quick for someone so short and had easily dodged all attempts to tag him. Rosie was up from her nap when Buster and the boys went in to wash their hands and was already seated at the table next to Hank, giggling and playing with her napkin.
“Butter!” she exclaimed, catching sight of Buster.
“Butter?” snorted Floyd.
“Yeah, she can’t say Buster’s name right yet,” Georgie explained for his sister. “Like how she calls you Foyd.”
“Okay, but Butter is hilarious,” Floyd said. “It matches his hair color.”
“He is right here,” Buster said, crouching down so Rosie could show him her napkin creation. It vaguely resembled … yeah, Buster had no idea what it resembled, but she was clearly very proud of it, so he made the appropriate sounds of appreciation, which seemed to satisfy her.
Dinner was a simple affair, burgers and a salad. The boys absolutely inhaled their food, but Buster ate more slowly, enjoying each bite. Hank had apparently inherited his mom’s cooking skills, and even after months in town, Buster still wasn’t over how good everything tasted when he ate over at the Storm house. Hank ate bites of his food in between helping little Rosie with her dinner, coaxing her to eat the tomatoes from her salad with a skill and gentleness that made Buster smile.
“What?” Hank asked, catching sight of Buster’s smile.
“You’re good with kids,” Buster said. “I wouldna thought that when we first met. You were so mean to me.”
“In my defense, I thought you were a criminal.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
Hank snorted, nodding to the boys to clear their plates.
“Is that so?” Hank said, smiling back at Buster.
Since Hank had cooked, Buster washed the dishes while Georgie and Sawyer’s too older boys dried them, and Hank, Paul, and Phillip entertained Rosie.
“Can we tell ghost stories?” Gary asked as they finished putting away the last of the plates.
“Rosie’s too little for ghost stories,” Georgie said, immediately speaking up for his sister. “She’ll have nightmares.”
“Rosie’s too little for everything fun,” Gary grumbled.
“Instead of telling a scary story, why don’t you tell an adventure story?” Buster suggested.
“I don’t know any adventure stories,” Paul said.
“Well, then, make up one of your own.”
“Wait, you can do that?” Paul asked, gaping at Buster as if he’d suggested that the table was about to sprout wings and fly.
“Sure, why not?” Buster said. “Stories gotta come from somewhere.”
“Let’s tell a story about a wolf, no, a dragon!”
“How about a wolf that turns into a dragon!”
“Yeah, and this guy rides on it and fights monsters and things!”
Hank wordlessly pulled out paper and crayons, setting them on the now cleared table for the children to begin illustrating their adventure story.
“Oh sure, now they want to color,” Buster muttered.
Soon enough, the papers were filled with colorful drawings detailing the adventures of Sir George-no-Phil-no-Hamish-no-what-kind-of-name-is-Hamish Unnamed Adventurer who could wait on a name until after dessert, who, along with his faithful wolf-dragon steed, traveled the world and battled monsters all while trying to find his way back to his home in a secret valley, where his brave son and clever daughter waited for him to return. As the adventures grew more detailed, the kids moved from drawing them on the papers to acting them out around the kitchen table. Soon, Buster and Hank were roped in to play the parts of various monsters and obstacles that Sir George-Phil-Hamish Unnamed Adventurer faced. Gary and Paul took turns playing the adventurer while the two oldest boys, Georgie and Floyd, played the part of the wolf-dragon, Georgie for when the wolf-dragon was being ridden, as he was strong enough to carry the younger boys on his back, and Floyd when the wolf-dragon was battling another creature, as he was the best at the dramatic howls. Phillip and Rosie took the parts of the adventurer’s children, with Phillip making himself a blanket cape to show how brave his character was, and Rosie wearing a flower in her hair because “it’s pretty.” As Phillip and Rosie’s roles expanded to aiding the adventurer from afar through the use of magic (“See? It’s a magic flower.”), Buster got the distinct impression that storytelling was rapidly turning into ‘putting on a play.’
“It’s getting kinda late,” Buster realized. “Didn’t you say their bedtime was eight?”
“Usually,” Hank said, grinning as little Rosie waved her flower threateningly at Buster, and Buster obligingly clutched his chest and fell over backwards in a dramatic heap. “But a sleepover is a special occasion, and it’s the weekend, so they get to stay up an extra hour tonight.”
“Oh, boy, an extra hour,” Buster said as Paul-as-the-adventurer tackled one of his shins and Floyd-as-the-wolf-dragon tackled the other.
Hank looked away so Buster wouldn’t see his smile. If you’d asked Hank on the day they met if he’d ever expect to see his niece and nephews playing with Buster, the answer would have been a resounding no. Now, however, Hank couldn’t help the warm swell of fondness that seeing Buster playing with the kids brought to his chest.
“I wanna show Mama,” Rosie loudly declared a few minutes later, after she and Phillip had just choreographed a particularly convoluted magical conjuring scene with help from Georgie and the others.
“Mama and Grandma won’t be back until after you’re in bed,” Hank told her.
“Wanna show Mama,” Rosie insisted.
“Don’t suppose you have a camcorder somewhere?” Buster asked Hank as the boys chimed in with their wishes to also show off the play.
“No, we don’t,” Hank sighed. “Which I guess means we’ll have to put the play on tomorrow.”
“Oh, joy. That means I get to see how Sawyer reacts to her boys beating the sh-uh, stuffing out of me.”
“No swearing around Rosie,” Georgie said, which Buster thought was a little unfair, as he hadn’t actually used a swear word. On the other hand, it was kinda sweet how protective of his little sister Georgie was. Buster wondered if Georgie’s dad had been as protective of Hank when they were little.
“Can we really do the play tomorrow?” Paul asked, tugging excitedly on Hank’s arm. “Really, really, Uncle Hank?”
“Of course,” Hank said, smiling fondly at Paul. “Wouldn’t want your mom and grandma to miss out on such an adventure.”
After several more full rehearsals of the play, the last two of which were actually close to the same story, Hank was able to persuade the kids to put the acting to rest in exchange for dessert, which it turned out was homemade cookies. Rosie very solemnly presented both Hank and Buster with half a cookie each, telling them it was for the good job they did ‘being the bestest monsters.’ Never had a cookie tasted sweeter to Buster.
With some cajoling from Hank, the children decided against any more rehearsals before bed. Buster stayed to clean up all the craft supplies in the living room while Hank oversaw the routines of toothbrushing and getting changed into pajamas.
“Can we rehearse again tomorrow, before we show Mom and Grandma?” Paul asked as Hank was getting everyone tucked in for the night.
“Sure you can,” Hank said, crouching next to his nephew and keeping his voice low so as not to wake the already sleeping Rosie. The children had elected for a group sleepover on makeshift beds in the living room made from couch cushions, blankets, and a truly staggering number of pillows. “Sawyer’s not coming to pick up Floyd, Gary, and Phillip until around lunchtime, so we can practice after breakfast.”
At last, all the children were settled in their beds and on their way to being asleep. Hank and Buster crept out of the living room and headed over to the small—well, to Buster, it also looked kind of like a living room, only smaller—the small room with a couple rickety chairs and a very saggy couch that separated Hank’s bedroom from the side door. The guest bedroom that Buster used whenever he stayed over was just down the hall.
“Are we gonna have to deal with them waking up in the middle of the night?” Buster asked as he sank down onto the couch, stretching out the kinks in his back from bending down to pick up all the craft supplies.
“Probably not,” Hank said, settling on the other half of the couch as if his niece, nephews, and their friends hadn’t just run him ragged. “Rosie’s been sleeping through the night for a while now, and you tired out the boys pretty well with hide and seek.”
“Glad to hear my suffering did something useful,” Buster said, tipping his head back against the couch with a groan. “I don’t know how Kyra manages them all the time. They’re exhausting!”
“They’re kids,” Hank said, chuckling. “Besides, you’re telling me after that dramatic dive you made to keep Phillip from getting tagged that you weren’t having any fun?”
Buster cracked open an eyelid just far enough to see Hank grinning at him, that annoyingly self-satisfied smirk making Buster’s stomach do a small flip.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t fun,” Buster admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t exhausting!”
Hank just laughed, allowing himself to press into Buster’s side. The couch was technically long enough that Hank could have squeezed himself off to the side to avoid touching Buster, but then, if he’d been worried about being in Buster’s personal space, he wouldn’t have chosen the couch instead of one of the chairs in the first place.
“Oh, you think my suffering is funny, do you?” Buster asked, completely failing to keep the smile off his face as he looked over at Hank.
“Maybe a little,” Hank said, voice soft as he reached out a hand to brush a stray lock of hair out of Buster’s face.
Buster melted, leaning into the gentle touch, his aches and pains briefly forgotten. He and Hank spent, well, a lot of time together, most of Buster’s free time, really, but with Hank’s family or people from the town usually around, it was rare for them to have a quiet moment alone like this. The closest they usually came was out trail riding, and nice as it was to be just the two of them beneath the vast expanse of sky, it didn’t lend itself to softness and intimacy quite the same way as when they were tucked side by side like this.
“Only a little?” Buster teased, keeping his voice just as soft and reaching out a hand of his own to tuck a loose hair behind Hank’s ear.
Hank rolled his eyes slightly, biting back a smile. Instead of answering, he leaned forward, catching Buster’s mouth in a gentle kiss, lips warm and firm against Buster’s. Buster’s eyes fluttered closed, and he let Hank take the lead. It wasn’t the first time they had kissed, but it was close to it, and Buster could still hardly believe it was really happening, that Hank’s fingers in his hair and Hank’s hand on his collar were really there, tugging him closer. Buster brushed his own hands down Hank’s torso, feeling the lean muscle hidden beneath Hank’s loose shirt and delighting in the way Hank’s breath hitched ever so slightly when Buster’s hands brushed his waist, Hank’s hand tightening possessively in Buster’s hair.
Freeing Buster’s mouth, Hank moved his attention sideways, lips ghosting across the stubble that Buster would have to trim in the morning, and planted a soft kiss on the edge of Buster’s jaw. Buster tilted his head into the touch and felt Hank grin against his jaw before planting another, soft kiss, fingers combing through Buster’s hair and rubbing gently against his scalp. Buster sighed, relaxing against Hank’s shoulder.
“You’re good with your hands, you know that, chief?”
Hank chuckled, the low sound rumbling through Buster where the two of them were pressed together.
“And you’re falling asleep,” Hank said, leaning back against the couch, but keeping his arm around Buster so that Buster stayed tucked against him, Hank’s fingers still rubbing soothingly through Buster’s hair.
“Yeah, it’s been a long day, I guess.”
“Hm, suppose it has.”
Hank was warm, his shirt smelling faintly of straw and grass, and Buster couldn’t bring himself to move, to dislodge Hank’s fingers from his hair even as their movement slowed. His own hand had settled loosely at Hank’s waist. Buster could feel his eyes closing, the weight of them growing by the second. In a moment, he would get up to go to his room for the night, but not yet. He wanted to spend just a little longer with Hank, savoring the memory of Hank’s lips against his, the way Hank had curled his fingers into Buster’s shirt. Just a moment longer, here in this warmth and comfort.
~
The light above the side door was on when Rosemary and Kyra got back, but to their surprise, the light on the porch was not, nor were there any signs of light from the living room. Since Sawyer’s children were having a sleepover, the three women had gotten a late dinner at Mo’s Diner after the movie (“Give the boys time to get the kids to sleep before we get back,” Rosemary joked.), and Sawyer had headed home after, promising to be back around one in the afternoon to collect Floyd, Gary, and Phillip.
“I bet the kids all wanted to sleep together in the living room,” Kyra said, realizing why her brother-in-law would have turned off the porch light. “I guess we’d better go through the side door.”
The side door was actually on the same wall as the porch, tucked back behind it and leading into what had once been the main room of a separate house, but now acted as a small, secondary living room to the main house. Hank’s bedroom branched off from the little living room directly across from the door, and the hall connecting the little living room to both the guest bedroom and the main living room was on the side closest to the porch. Opening the door quietly to avoid waking the children presumably sleeping in the main living room, Rosemary and Kyra were surprised to find both Hank and Buster asleep on the small couch in the corner. The light in the little room was on, casting soft shadows over their sleeping faces where they lay tangled together. Buster was sprawled across Hank’s torso, head pillowed on Hank’s collar bones, while Hank’s fingers were threaded through Buster’s hair. Neither man stirred so much as an inch as Rosemary and Kyra shushed each other before moving into the hallway.
“Looks like the kids wore them out,” Kyra whispered after she and Rosemary had tiptoed past the sleeping children in the living room and into the kitchen. “At least they managed to get everyone to bed first.”
“Everyone except themselves,” Rosemary said, shaking her head fondly. “They didn’t even make it to one of the bedrooms.”
She picked up a heavy blanket from the folded stack of laundry on one of the kitchen chairs and tiptoed back into the little room. Carefully, so as not to wake the sleeping men, Rosemary tucked the blanket around them, doing her best to get Hank mostly covered without completely burying Buster in the blanket. Buster stirred briefly, but only to bury his nose more deeply in Hank’s shirt, prompting Hank to turn slightly, curling around Buster. Rosemary smiled and turned out the light. Retreating once more to the kitchen, she left them to sleep in the darkness and the warmth of each other’s company. Her boy had kept people at arm’s length for too long. She didn’t know why he was able to let Buster in, but she was glad of the change.
In their little blanket nest, Hank and Buster slept on. If in the morning, they were treated to some light teasing by Kyra over how easily the children wore them out, they took it in good humor. And if Rosemary caught the lingering glances they tossed each other over breakfast when they thought nobody was looking, well, she kept that observation to herself, smiling into her coffee and watching her boy light up with all the happiness she could wish for him.