Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Harlen
Six Years Later
Hearing Ava cry through the baby monitor on the nightstand, and feeling Harmony starting to get up, I place my hand against her round stomach to still her. “Stay, I got her.”
I kiss her bare shoulder then roll out of bed and head out of our room, down the hall to our five-year-old daughter Ava’s room. Seeing her shadowy figure sitting up in bed, I walk across the dark room and flip on her lamp. The base is the head of a unicorn, the shade a soft cotton candy pink that is the same color as pretty much everything else in her bedroom.
“You okay?” I ask my baby girl, picking her up when she holds her arms out to me, and she shakes her head.
“There’s a monster.” She sniffles, and I run my hand down the back of her long, soft hair as she tucks her face into my neck and wraps her tiny arms around my shoulders.
“There’s no monsters in here, baby,” I assure her quietly, feeling her shake.
“There is. I saw it.” She pulls her face out of my neck to look at me, and then points. “It’s in the closet.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” She nods, and I give her a squeeze then kiss her forehead.
“Okay, let me get my sword.” I go across the room with her still in my arms and pick up the plastic silver sword leaning against the wall by the door. Taking hold of the hilt, I whisper, “You open the door to the closet, and I’ll kill him.”
Nodding, she leans over and opens the door to the closet then quickly tucks her face into my neck. Like I do at least a few times a week, I swing out the sword, making grunting noises, spinning around and dancing, and then finish with a downward plunge into the imaginary monster’s chest.
“There. He’s gone,” I say, and Ava lifts her head and looks around the room then peeks into the closet. “See? All taken care of.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” God, no matter how many times a day I hear her call me that, it never gets old.
“You’re welcome, baby. You ready to get back into bed?”
“Yes.” She nods. Dropping the sword back to its spot by the door, I carry her to her bed and lay her down, pulling the blankets up around her shoulder and kissing the top of her head. “Is tomorrow doughnut day?” she asks, sounding already half asleep.
I grin. “Yeah, baby. Tomorrow’s doughnut day.”
“Yippie,” she whispers, as her eyes slide closed.
“See you in the morning.” I kiss her hair once more, turn out her lamp, and then head across her dark room. Climbing back into bed with Harmony, I fit myself against her back and rest my hand over our soon-to-arrive second daughter.
“Harlen Alistair MacCabe, the Scottish lord and slayer of monsters,” she says, and even though I can’t see her face through the dark, I know she’s smiling.
“Do anything for my girls.”
“We know.” She scoots back, cuddling closer.
“Sleep, Angel.”
“Still so bossy,” she mumbles, sounding like she’s still smiling.
Ignoring her comment, I kiss the top of her head then listen to her breathing even out as she falls back asleep.
Harmony
Four Years Later
“No, it’s mine!” Ava cries, holding a pink-frosted sprinkled doughnut over her head, just out of her little sister’s reach.
“No, I want it!” our daughter, Lillian, yells, standing on her tiptoes trying to reach the doughnut but failing, since she’s about a foot and a half too short.
“How about neither of you get it?” Harlen growls, and I look down at our six-week-old son Alistair to hide my smile from our girls.
“Dad, that’s not fair! I saw it first,” Ava says, and I’m sure if I looked up at her, she would be jetting out her bottom lip in a pout, a look she has perfected over the years. A look that normally gets her whatever she wants from her daddy. I also know she’s lying. When Harlen came home and dropped the box of donuts on the table, both girls opened the box at the same time, and both of them reached for that doughnut at the same time. Ava just got to it first.
“Give me the doughnut, Ava,” he orders, and I look up just in time to watch him hold out his hand and her place it in his upturned palm.
“Daddy,” Lillian whispers in horror, as he shoves the whole thing in his mouth and swallows it without really even chewing.
“Now it’s gone. Pick another one, stop arguing, and go watch TV,” he orders, and I hold back laughter, because he’s seriously funny when he’s trying to be tough. Something he’s not very good at being with his babies.
“Need some milk, honey?” I ask, and his eyes come to me and narrow. “What? Just asking.” I bite my lip, and his eyes drop to my mouth then down to our son that is attached to my breast, where he’s enjoying his Saturday breakfast. When his eyes meet mine again, I see frustration there. Then again, he hasn’t gotten laid for over six weeks. I just got word from the doctor that the seal could finally be broken a couple of days ago, but with the girls and a new little one, we haven’t had a chance, so he’s not the only one who’s frustrated.