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“No! What are you doing?” Shandie blurted out, flinging the screen door open in a panic. “You know better than that!”
An unrepentant Kayla laughed and ran, squealing as she did, “But I’m pitty!”
Shandie hurried inside. “Come in,” she called over her shoulder to Dax, knowing it came out more as an order than an invitation and that he probably didn’t want this evening prolonged any more than it had to be and wouldn’t have accepted the invitation had she extended it. But as it was, she couldn’t merely leave him standing on the porch in the cold and she had to get to her daughter and that wig.
“Kayla Jane Solomon! Don’t you run away from me! Stop right now!”
“I’m pitty!” the three-year-old repeated.
Shandie followed her to the right of the entryway into the living room, but the little girl had already ducked into the coat closet and slammed the door after her when the babysitter appeared from the kitchen with Kayla’s yellow security blanket in hand.
“I just read her a story and put her in bed upstairs. We forgot Blankie so I came down to get it,” a wide-eyed Misty explained.
“It’s okay,” Shandie assured the fifteen-year-old. Then, in a louder voice aimed at her daughter, Shandie said, “I mean it, Kayla. Come out here now!”
Giggles preceded the scant opening of the closet door as the tiny child peeked through the crack. “I’m pitty,” she insisted yet again.
“You know you aren’t supposed to touch those wigs. Get over here so I can take it off without ruining it.”
Her daughter finally complied and stepped from the closet. The black wig was even more askew after the little girl’s mad dash. It had slipped too low on her brow and was far enough over her eyes that Kayla had to tip her head far back to peer out from underneath it.
Dax had joined everyone in the living room by then, and Shandie caught sight of him. She was shocked to see that a small smile had eased the dark frown he’d worn since leaving the restaurant at the Thunder Canyon Resort. If Kayla’s misbehavior had accomplished it, it was almost worth it to Shandie.
But that still didn’t mean she could let the child get away with what she was doing.
Shandie bent over and very carefully removed the wig. “You know you are not to touch these,” she told her daughter firmly as she gently set it on an antique table against the wall.
“’Cuz they’re the sick ladies’ hairs,” Kayla responded, reciting by rote what Shandie had explained to her more than once. “But I was bein’ pitty.”
“You can be pretty some other way, but you never, ever touch these.”
Kayla rolled her big blue eyes and reluctantly conceded. “I won’t.” Then she noticed Dax and cast him a smile. “I played with the motorcycles. Misty helped.”
“And then I really did put her in bed,” Misty said meekly. “I really did, and I told her to stay there while I came downstairs just to get the blanket.”
“I’m sure you did. I know this isn’t your fault. It’s just something Kayla will do when she gets wound up,” Shandie told the teenager as she accepted the security blanket from her.
Then Shandie returned her attention to her daughter and said, “Kayla, go back to bed. I’ll pay Misty and then I’ll be there to tuck you in.”
“I don’ wanna go to bed. I wanna play motorcycles with Dax-like-Max-the-dog,” Kayla said.
Shandie had to lunge to catch the tyke as Kayla tried to run again.
“Like I said, wound up,” Shandie repeated to her onlookers as she settled her daughter on her hip.
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