Grant called as he approached the doorway to Gemma’s bedroom. The springs of her mattress squeaked beneath the pressure of her enthusiastic bouncing. “No more jumping on the bed. You need to settle down now or you’ll never get to sleep tonight.” She plopped onto the bed cross-legged and swiped a curl from her flushed face as he entered the room. “But it’s only eight o’clock.” “Since when do you tell time?” “Miss Andrews taught me.” She motioned toward the nightstand where the alarm clock sat along with a doll and a coloring book and crayons. “That’s a digital clock…they’re easy. See, it says eight-o-three.” Grant tweaked Gemma’s nose, feeling the heat that emanated from her flushed cheeks. Her chest held a slight rasp as she sucked down a breath. He thought of the inhaler he’d left on the kitchen counter; he should have brought it up with him. “That makes it three minutes past your bedtime and time to settle in for the night.” “But you promised a story.”
