Hot Stuff

PROLOGUE

YANK MORGAN WAS A BACHELOR, a gambler, a ladies' man and completely unprepared for the sight sitting before him. Three little girls in descending height and matching dresses stared at him with wide eyes and expectant expressions. Ages twelve, ten and eight, they were his sister's children. Nieces his assistant Lola bought birthday and holiday gifts for, signing his name to the cards. Kids he saw a few times a year for an hour at a time. That was about to change.

Thanks to a chartered plane crash in the Andes, his sister and her husband were gone, leaving Yank as guardian of their three girls. Frustrated by the notion and emotionally devastated by the loss, Yank balled up the note left by the attorney and tossed it across the room, not even aiming for the garbage can.

The oldest girl, Annabelle, shot him a scowl, then quickly schooled her features into an unreadable expression. He wondered if she was afraid of him but before he could ask, one of her sisters chimed in.

"Mama was right about him. Uncle Yank's a pig," Sophie, the middle one, said.

"Shh." Annabelle placed a hand over her lips. "Don't be rude. He's the only relative we got left." Her eyes, big and wide, showed all the fear inherent in those words. So much so that he was determined to do his best by all three of them.

The youngest, whose name he thought was Michelle, bent down and picked the paper up off the floor. Before she tossed it into the trash, Yank caught sight of her white panties beneath her short dress.

"Well I'll be damned. You've got a bow on your butt," he muttered aloud.

His niece turned. "You have a foul mouth, Uncle Yack."

"That's Yank and you're darned right I do. Any of you got a problem with that?" he asked all three girls.

Annabelle immediately shook her head. She obviously understood the value of staying on his good side. He liked her intelligence in a bad situation, but worried about how he'd handle her as she got older. It wouldn't do to have a kid smarter than him living in the house, he thought wryly. Maybe the other two weren't as swift.

"If you can curse, does that mean I get to do what I want, too?" The youngest faced him, hands on her hips, a determined tilt to her chin.

She obviously had gumption. "That depends. What do you want to do?"

"Ditch the dress!"

Yank chuckled. Maybe this parenting business wouldn't be so hard after all. "I think that can be arranged. You're Michelle?" he asked.

She nodded. "But you can call me Micki."

"Nobody calls you Micki and besides that's a boy's name," her middle sister complained.

"Micki it is," Yank said, thinking of his idol, Mickey Mantle.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Tomboy," she called her sister.

"Barbie doll," Micki yelled back.

With each word, their voices escalated and Yank cringed. Annabelle jumped between them and stamped her feet. "You two behave," she said, but in trying too hard, the words came out just as loud and whiny as her sisters'.

And that was Yank's introduction into the world of little women. He had no clue what to do with any of them.