~ Who's Watching The Kids ~

by

Christy Cameron

"Dev?" another child’s voice yelled. "Where’d you go?"

"Over here." The bushes shook a few yards to Sara’s right.

A small pair of sandaled feet scuffed through the grass and passed in front of the hedge.

Sara caught a glimpse of a floral print skirt and deduced that this must be Bethel.

"What are you doing?" the girl’s voice scolded. "You’re not supposed to get dirty. That nanny’s coming."

Sara bit her lip. A little dirt was nothing compared to the first impression she was about to make.

"I’m not getting dirty," Devon announced with an air of self-importance. "I’m helping this lady look for her cat."

"What lady?"

"The one with her head in the fence."

Sara had a sudden desire to kick herself--and probably would have if she could have figured out how, considering the position she was in.

"Devon," Bethel’s tone was skeptical, "you know Uncle Jake doesn’t like it when you make up stories."

"I’m not making it up."

"You are, too!"

"Am not! I can prove it."

Footsteps stomped in Sara’s direction. She shrunk back, praying that some benevolent spirit would grant her the power to disappear before the shrubs could part.

No such luck.

"See?" Devon pulled back the branches and smirked triumphantly.

A second freckled face, framed with longer red hair, gave Sara a wide-eyed perusal, then turned to Devon. "What’s she doing in there?"

"I told you." He sighed with exasperation. "She’s looking for her cat."

"To tell the truth--" Sara let out a short, nervous laugh. "--I-I seem to have another problem."

They looked at her with interest.

"I think I might be... well..." She braced herself for their reaction. "...stuck."

"Stuck!" The pair gaped.

For a split second, she dared to hope they wouldn’t laugh.

But they did.

Loud, high-pitched whoops filled the air. Devon doubled over and slapped at his knee. Bethel disregarded her earlier admonitions to him and threw herself down to roll in the dirt.

Sara’s face flamed. She wondered if their reaction was any indication of what their uncle’s might be, but doubted it. Judging by the stiff formality of Jake Wardell’s letter, the attorney was some grumpy, hunch-backed old man who had long since lost his sense of humor. No doubt he would be angry--and with just cause. Anyone who couldn’t handle herself with some semblance of dignity should not be in charge of two impressionable children, let alone a classroom full of them. Maybe it was best that she didn’t fulfill her dream of becoming an art teacher. Maybe this was fate.

She blinked back tears as the twins’ laughter began to subside.

Bethel was the first to catch her breath. She wiped at her own eyes and looked up at Devon. "How are we going to get her out?"

We! Sara started and bumped her shoulders against the bars. What did she mean we? Weren’t they going to get an adult? "You guys, I think--"

"I know!" Devon began to hop around in excited circles. "We’ll do what Uncle Jake did when I got my foot stuck in the vacuum cleaner."

Sara tensed. "Vacuum cleaner?"

"Yeah!" Bethel jumped up and clapped her hands. "That’ll work!"

Sara’s stomach tightened. She tried her best to maintain a rational tone. "You know, it might be a good idea to--"

"Run in and get some butter, Dev." Bethel pointed to the house.

"Oh! No!" Sara grabbed for his ankle.

Eluding her, Devon spun around and sped towards the house.

Bethel tilted her chin and gave Sara a look of confidence. "He’ll be right back."

She let out another nervous laugh, certain that any further objection was pointless. Hanging her head, she tapped anxiously at the bars with her thumbnails while Bethel kicked at an exposed shrub root.

Butter. Of all things. Could this experience possibly get any worse?

Wait a minute... butter! Of course!

Her rhythmic clicks came to an abrupt halt.

Why hadn’t she thought of butter herself? It might not be the cleanest method of escape, but it was by far the best. Though she would still lose the job and all possible hope of paying her tuition at The School of The Art Institute, she would get away without having to face old hunch-backed Jake. That in itself was some consolation--that and the fact that at least this time around, her reason for missing out on college wouldn’t involve her old infatuation with Scott.

The back door slammed.

Eager now, she looked up at the sound of running feet. This was going to work. It had to.

Devon broke through the bushes. Breathless, he shoved a plastic container into Bethel’s hand. "Here."

The girl glanced down at the jar in his hand. She frowned, then smacked him on the arm. "You dummy! This is peanut butter! It’s for getting gum out of your hair, not for getting people unstuck."

Sara sagged with disappointment.

Devon assumed a defensive stance. "The regular kind was all in the ‘frigerator. It doesn’t work when it’s hard, dummy."

Bethel pursed her lips and seemed about to reply, but stopped. She held the jar out and gazed at it for a long moment, then looked from it to Sara and back again.

Sara squirmed.

"It is kinda greasy." Bethel unscrewed the lid and peered inside. She smiled at Devon. "Let’s try it."

Sara gasped. She watched in horror as the twins scooped up handfuls and advanced on her.

"No! Don’t!" She put up her hands.

The pair dodged her attempts to ward them off and began to slather the peanut butter behind her ears.

"Please! There must be another way!" Sara tried to stand up but was stopped cold by a horizontal rail that linked the bars together. She fell painfully back to her knees and began to flail about like a dog trying to slip its collar.

"Hold still." Bethel dug out another gob and reached menacingly towards her.

"Bethel? Devon?" a masculine voice boomed.

The pair glanced over their shoulders then looked at each other. "Uncle Jake!"

Four panicked eyes turned on Sara.

Stunned, she blinked.

The twins scrambled up and darted off into the bushes, jar and lid in hand.

Sara shook her head. Deserters. And taking the evidence with them, too.

"Is that you in there?" The deep voice drew nearer. "What are you up to?"

Sara squinted through the bushes and saw a tall, surprisingly erect figure draw closer over the shaded lawn. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if not being able to see this man would somehow hide her from him.

His footsteps came to a halt before her. Leaves rustled.

"I thought I told you two not to--what the hell?"

Sara opened her eyes. A pair of long legs encased in black trousers stood before her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to raise her head.

Her line of vision passed over a set of trim hips, a narrow waist and a broad chest. The top two buttons on a striped polo shirt hung open to reveal a bit of tanned skin and dark hair. Just about the time she began to take in the confused expression on the chiseled, barely wrinkled face, her ear brushed against the fence.

A dollop of peanut butter plopped to the ground as she met the gaze of her would-be employer.