Читать онлайн книгу «Father Most Wanted» автора Marie Ferrarella

Father Most Wanted
Marie Ferrarella
Never let anyone get too close were the words single father Tyler Breckinridge chose to live by. And except for occasional bouts of loneliness, he did just fine…until his three little girls led him to lovely bookstore owner Brooke Carmichael.She was a woman whose sweet temptations made him forget his best-laid plans. And Tyler longed to woo Brooke with kisses that left her hungering for his touch. But he knew their future was one he could never claim, for he had secrets he kept under lock and key. Still, he would do almost anything to find a home in her arms…



Moonlight, coupled with longing and loneliness, did strange things to people, Tyler thought.
The moon was the loneliest of the heavenly bodies. He could feel its pull right now. Could feel, too, the pull of the woman standing before him.
For the past nine months he’d lived every day with an emptiness he hadn’t known what to do with. Tonight, for a small amount of time, he’d forgotten about that emptiness. Forgotten because Brooke’s words had somehow filled it. Her words, her laughter.
Her.
Had he thought it through, he wouldn’t have done it. But he wasn’t thinking. He was reacting.
As if hypnotized, Tyler lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, kissing Brooke very, very slowly. Just the way his heart was suddenly beating.
For the first time in nine months, he felt alive.

Father Most Wanted
Marie Ferrarella


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This one’s for
April,
who always makes me
smile

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One
“Ow.”
Brooke Carmichael pressed her lips together, sealing in any further sounds. The tips of her fingers where the hot espresso had sloshed over the side of the coffee container pulsed with pain. That’s what she got for not waiting for a cover, she thought.
Still hurrying, her eyes now riveted to the guilty container, she switched hands and shook the excess moisture off her fingers. The barely-out-of-puberty boy who was single-handedly manning Coffee Heaven’s counter had told her he was all out of lids, but there were some in the back.
Since he moved with the speed of a snail, his finding one didn’t sound like a feat that was going to be accomplished any time within the next half hour. Brooke didn’t have a half hour. She didn’t even have five extra minutes to spare. Since Heather had called saying she’d be late, there was no one to watch Tell Me a Story, the bookstore Brooke had owned for the past two years.
Ordinarily when Isaac, the regular clerk, was behind the trendy coffee-shop counter, the whole transaction took less than two minutes. But Isaac had been nowhere in sight and there was no way Brooke could begin the day without molten sludge oozing through her veins, waking her up. The coffee she’d had at home only got her as far as the store and no farther. She needed something guaranteed to jump-start narcoleptics before she could begin her work-day.
Her sister would pick today to be late. “When it rains, it pours,” Brooke muttered to herself.
Next time she’d bring a thermos, the way she used to when she’d been the only one tending to the bookstore. Having help had made her lax. She blew on fingers that still stung.
“Tiffany, where are you?” a male voice called.
Intent on not spilling her espresso again, Brooke didn’t see the tall, somber-looking man until it was almost too late. Coming to an abrupt halt, she barely avoided launching the contents of her container at him.
Her heart hammering, the fingers of her left hand christened in the exact same manner as the ones on her right and now smarting, Brooke narrowly avoided what could have been a very nasty accident.
Stepping back and to the side, Brooke realized that the man was not alone. He was flanked by matching bookends in the form of two identical little girls, no more than about five or six. Their dresses were similar, if not exactly the same, but one face was as close to a mirror image of the other as anything Brooke had ever seen. The man was holding their hands tightly and seemed to look through Brooke as if she wasn’t there.
Brooke’s gaze dropped to the twins again. What must it be like, she wondered, to know there was someone else walking around with a face exactly like yours? It might make an interesting children’s-book series. Something her father would have deftly written about, she thought with a bittersweet pang.
“Sorry,” she apologized when she caught her breath.
Oblivious to the near collision, the man hardly spared her a look. He seemed far more intent on finding this Tiffany person. Then, nodding vaguely in Brooke’s direction, as if the apology had replayed itself in his head, he hurried past her, the two little girls held fast in tow.
“Tiffany,” he called.
“No harm done, I guess,” Brooke murmured to herself, heading out into the mall.
The man no doubt had misplaced his wife, Brooke mused. He had that father-on-an-outing harried look. Turning back, she squinted, looking intently at the hand that held on to the little girl on his left. There it was, a wedding ring.
Had to be the wife, she decided.
Why were all the gorgeous ones taken? she wondered.
Not that she would be interested in the man one way or the other, she amended, entering her store. She was doing just fine the way she was, carving out her own business and her own niche in the world. At twenty-seven, she figured she was way overdue in both departments. She’d put in her time on the marriage-go-round and all it had done was make her dizzy—and incredibly cynical.
There was a time, she thought as she paused to straighten a display of books dealing with the adventures of a timid ladybug, when she would have said that there wasn’t a cynical bone in her body. But that was before Marc. Her ex-husband had done that to her, siphoned off her optimistic view of life and made her cynical.
Marc, with his dark good looks and his secret roving eye. Brooke sighed and shook her head, then took a long sip of her coffee.
Nope, she wasn’t going to spoil a perfectly lovely morning by thinking about the one dark spot in her life. The two-year-old divorce decree had physically removed Marc from her life; now it was up to her to eradicate all traces of him from her mind.
Taking another long sip of coffee, Brooke closed her eyes and waited for the double espresso’s effect to kick in. It didn’t take long. She blew out a breath. “Well, that’ll sure get you going in the morning,” she murmured.
As a rule, mornings in the mall were slow. Customers didn’t begin coming into Tell Me a Story until around noon or later. That was okay with her. Right now, Brooke decided, she could use a little alone time. She was comfortable with her own company. Always had been.
After a third sip, Brooke looked at the dwindling contents of her cup thoughtfully. There was a new trend taking hold amid the chain bookstores. She supposed she could go that route and start selling beverages. At least it would cut down on her making quick dashes to Coffee Heaven.
The next moment, the idea faded. Most of her customers were under four feet in height and tended to have sticky hands to begin with. Given her clientele, to provide only coffee was ridiculous. To provide punch and juice, instead, would be far from practical unless she began dealing in books with plastic-coated washable pages.
She thought of the man she’d almost bumped into. Maybe packets of vitamins for harried parents would be a better sale item. Something to help them keep up with their energetic offspring.
A smile curved Brooke’s mouth as her thoughts drifted to the past. She could remember her father commenting on that more than once. That he needed megavitamins just to keep up with her and Heather.
But that, she thought, was because Jonathan Carmichael had tried to do it all, be both mother and father to Brooke and her sister while he worked full-time at writing and illustrating children’s books. Her smile widened. He’d done a fair job of it, too. Not so much as a day ever went by when she and Heather didn’t feel loved. Most of the time, her father made juggling a million things look easy, but there were times, she knew, that it got to him. He tried not to show it, but she knew nonetheless. She was the older one and intuitive.
Now that she thought about it, the man she’d almost succeeded in dousing with coffee had that exact same harried look in his eyes.
She hoped he’d found his wife by now.
Sufficiently fortified with caffeine, Brooke threw the empty container into the wastebasket behind her cash register, then squared her shoulders. That new shipment of books in the back wasn’t going to unpack itself.
Making her way to the rear of the store and the storage room that also doubled as her office, Brooke stopped and sucked in her breath. She could have sworn she was alone, but there on the floor, making herself right at home, was one of the girls that man had had in tow just minutes ago. She’d obviously gotten away from him.
That was going to have to be fixed.
“Hi there,” Brooke said.
Large blue eyes, fringed with long black lashes, looked up at her before they returned to the books that populated the bottom shelf. “Hi.”
Brooke squatted down to the little girl’s level. Her young unchaperoned customer seemed to be scrutinizing the different titles on the book spines. Could she read them, Brooke wondered, or was she just pretending? Her own father had taught her and Heather to read at such an early age Brooke felt as if she’d been born reading. Maybe the girl’s parents had done the same for her and her twin.
In either case, Brooke knew that the last thing a child welcomed was a condescending adult. She knew she never had. She spoke to her the way she would to any adult. “May I help you find something?”
There was no shyness about the child. Instead, she seemed filled with purpose, a mission, and poise beyond her years. She nodded smartly before answering. “Yes, do you have any books about mommies?”
“I might. What kind of book did you have in mind?”
The girl hesitated, as if trying to find the right way to phrase what she was about to say. “One about finding one.”
Wasn’t that cute? She was trying to help her father find her mother by turning to a book for guidance. Whoever said reading was dead? Brooke nodded as if giving the choice serious consideration. “So, you’re looking for your mommy?”
The blue eyes took on a sparkle as the little girl looked up at her. “Yes. We all are.”
All. That would be her father and her sister, Brooke guessed. Ordinarily she would have led the girl to several books dealing with mothers. There was one about a lost bear cub Brooke particularly liked.
But the way she saw it, she had a far more pressing service to perform. “Well, right now, I think your daddy is going out of his mind trying to find both of you.”
The girl frowned thoughtfully, as if she didn’t quite follow that. “You know my daddy?”
“I don’t exactly know him,” Brooke confessed, trying to be strictly honest. Kids, she knew, respected and expected honesty. “But I do know what he looks like.” Brooke leaned her head in closer to the little girl, lowering her voice as if to share a secret with her. “Worried.”
There was a light in the blue eyes, as if a connection had just been made. The little girl nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, he does. He looks like that all the time now.” She turned her face up and frowned sadly. “Do you have any books to help?”
“No, but I think that taking you to him might help. A lot.” The poor man was already looking for his wife. Having to look for this little girl, as well, wasn’t exactly going to put him in a better frame of mind. Brooke stood up and took the little girl’s hand gently, drawing her to her feet. “What do you say we go look for him?”
It wasn’t unusual to have children wander into her shop. After all, she’d gone to great lengths to make it pleasing to the young eye. There were carefully painted murals depicting cartoon characters and fairy-tale folks either sitting, standing or comfortably sprawled out, their hands tucked around a good book. Blessed with her father’s gift for illustration, it had taken Brooke weeks to do, and she had purposely made it into an inviting peaceful version of Wonderland—if Wonderland had been a place where books were offered, instead of mind-confounding puzzles.
But usually any child who wandered in was soon followed by a parent or two. A parent who was happy to have a few minutes respite from the taxing job of parenting.
Brooke glanced toward the entrance. Mr. Drop-Dead Gorgeous with the worried frown was nowhere in sight. Not a good sign. She hoped he hadn’t gone off to the opposite end of the mall.
The little girl appeared undecided about whether or not to follow Brooke. Two large front teeth flanked by far smaller baby ones nibbled on her lower lip as she thought it over.
“Okay,” she finally agreed. “Daddy says we shouldn’t talk to strangers, but I guess you’re okay.”
Flattered, Brooke paused to make things clear. “Thank you, honey, but your daddy is right, you know. You shouldn’t talk to strangers.”
Walking out of the store, she drew the girl to her side and paused to press a button on the inside wall. A decorative gate, fashioned to look like the twining ivy that had grown around Sleeping Beauty’s castle while she took her extended nap, descended slowly into place. Brooke flipped a latch, locking it. Finding the little girl’s missing father could just possibly take longer than dashing out for a cup of espresso, and she couldn’t afford to have any more customers come wandering in. The way she saw it, she’d used up her luck with this one. The next pint-size customer might innocently or not so innocently make off with several books.
The little girl was still mulling over the warning she had just received. Confused, she looked up at Brooke. “Then I shouldn’t talk to you?”
Brooke looked around, trying to spot the man and his solitary daughter. She glanced at the girl’s face next to her. “I see we have a conundrum.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “We do? What’s a con—a ca—?”
“Conundrum,” Brooke repeated, grinning. “That means a tricky puzzle—like the one we’re in right now. You shouldn’t talk to strangers, which ordinarily would mean me, but you have to talk to someone because if you don’t, your daddy might not be able to find you. And I’m sure that would make him very sad.”
“He’s already very sad. Daddy’s been sad for a long time now,” the girl confided, then paused, thinking. Her eyes brightened as she looked up at Brooke. “If you tell me your name, then you won’t be a stranger anymore.”
There was a sweet innocence in the little girl’s thinking that touched Brooke. In this fast-paced world with its predators, things weren’t nearly that simple anymore. But right now, an explanation would only confuse things further, and time was probably of the essence.
“My name’s Brooke,” she told her.
The little girl cocked her head. “Like where water runs?”
Brooke laughed. “I guess that’s one way to describe it. Okay, now that you know who I am, let’s go see if we can find your dad.”
The smile went beyond cooperative straight to beatific. “Okay.”

A darkness closed around his heart. He knew that he was letting his mind get carried away, but nine months ago, he would never have dreamed that Gina’s life would be taken right before his eyes. Things like that only happened in the kinds of movies he didn’t care to watch.
As did kidnappings.
Even the hint of the word caused sharp chills to tingle their way down his spine. But what else could have happened? His daughter knew better than to wander off.
He’d only looked away for a second. But a second was all it took for something bad to happen.
He couldn’t think like that, he admonished himself. It would drive him crazy. And then where would the girls be?
“We’ll find her, Daddy,” Bethany told him. She sounded so much older than her years. Almost as if she were the parent and he the child.
Ironic humor tugged at his soul. “I’m supposed to be the one saying that to you.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. Ever,” he told her, toning down the fierceness in his voice. “Your sister, when we find her, however, does.” He looked down at the little girl on his left. “Are you sure she didn’t say where she was going?”
The girl shook her head, her dark curls bouncing like tiny springs. “She was just gone.”
Gone. The word echoed in his mind. No, he refused to let himself go there, refused to entertain any idea except that he would find her. He had to.
“Look, Daddy, over there!” Excitedly Bethany pointed beyond the carousel at the same moment she began tugging on her father’s arm. “There she is, with some lady.”
His heart iced over, the words registering before he had the opportunity to see for himself. He turned his steps in the direction Bethany was tugging, hurrying before he even looked at the terrain. He zigged around the heavyset security guard just in time. The older man looked at him oddly as he made his way to his daughter.
Good. Keep watching. Maybe we’ll need you.
But the instant he saw his wayward daughter, he knew he’d just allowed himself to overreact. Instinct told him everything was all right. His daughter wasn’t in any danger. This time.

For the second time that day Brooke came to an abrupt halt because of the tall dark-haired man. But this time it wasn’t to keep from colliding with him, it was because she was stunned. His matching bookends still flanked him.
Confused, Brooke looked down at the little girl whose hand was firmly tucked into hers. She was a dead ringer for the other two.
Somewhere, Brooke decided, there had to be an overheated cloning machine given over to producing tight, almost jet-black curls, rosebud mouths and big, luminous blue eyes with lashes any grown woman would kill for.
“They’re triplets,” the man said in answer to the silent question she knew had to be written all over her face.
“I noticed.”
She was addressing the top of his head. He’d lowered himself to his knees, wrapping his arms around the tiny recipient, nearly burying her in them.
“Tiffany, where did you go?” he asked.
Tiffany? This was Tiffany? Brooke looked down at the little girl, feeling foolish. She should have known better than to think a grown man would look that worried about a missing wife.
“Into her store,” the child said matter-of-factly, pointing a finger at Brooke. “She’s got the best books, Daddy. You gotta see them.”
“Maybe later,” he told her.
Regaining control over emotions that had been, only moments ago, stripped raw, he rose to his feet and looked at the woman beside his daughter. He’d learned to be a quick judge and at the same time not to trust his first impressions. But she looked harmless enough.
Not everyone was a threat, he reminded himself.
“I’m sorry if she caused you any trouble.”
Judging by his tone, Brooke thought, Tiffany was probably every bit the handful she appeared. Brooke’s eyes swept over the three impish curious faces. Maybe they all were. “No, no trouble at all. As a matter of fact, she was delightful.”
If it weren’t for the fact that their clothes were slightly different, Brooke wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. Her sympathy went out to the man and his wife. “Are there any more at home like her?”
“No, three’s about all I can handle.” He laughed softly, the deep sound undulating around the otherwise quiet early-morning mall. “Actually, more than I can handle, as you just saw. I should have grown a third hand the day they were born.” There was no mistaking the affection in his voice. He tried to pull his face into a stern expression as he looked down at his prodigal daughter, but failed. “Tiffany, what did I say about wandering off?”
Tiffany drew a deep breath before answering. “Not to.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman shaking her head and laughing to herself. “What?”
“Nothing.” But because she didn’t want him to think she was laughing at him, she explained, “It’s just that when I heard you calling Tiffany a few minutes ago, I thought you were looking for your wife.”
“No.” There was a quiet stillness in his voice. “I wasn’t.”
Uh-oh, looks like you’ve just trod on some toes, Brooke upbraided herself. Maybe she’d been hanging around children too long and absorbed their tendency to be too honest, she thought.
If he was about to say anything else, it was put on hold by his two other daughters, both of whom were determined not to remain on the sidelines for a second longer than necessary.
“I’m Bethany,” one announced.
“And I’m Stephany,” the other told her.
Dutifully Brooke shook first one hand, then the other. “Pleased to meet you, Bethany and Stephany. I’m Brooke.”
“And he’s Daddy,” Bethany nodded behind her at her father.
Brooke raised her eyes to his face. Amused by the introduction, she couldn’t help asking, “Does Daddy have a name?”
Was it her imagination, or had he hesitated before putting his hand out? “Tyler Breckinridge,” he told her after a beat.
He sounded so formal she wondered if the name was supposed to mean something to her. Was he known for anything? This was Southern California and you were as likely to run into someone famous as not. She’d once eaten dinner one table over from a movie star who’d won her young heart years ago. Out of makeup, it had been hard to recognize him.
She looked at Breckinridge closely, then decided he was merely being formal.
“Brooke Carmichael.”
She slipped her hand into his and shook it firmly. She saw a flicker of mild surprise in his eyes. He was probably accustomed to softer women who barely touched hands. Her father had always believed that a firm handshake was the mark of character, and she, he’d told her, had character to spare.
Brooke nodded in the general direction of her bookstore. “I own Tell Me a Story. I found Tiffany taking inventory of my books.” She smiled at the little girl. “Please feel free to drop by anytime with the girls.” Her smile broadened. “Tiffany can show you the way.”
Tiffany needed no more encouragement than that. “How about now, Daddy?”
Two more voices joined in, turning the entreaty into a choruslike refrain. “Yes, please, Daddy?”
“Please, Daddy?”
Tiffany turned up her face toward her father, triumph written all over it. “Three against one, Daddy.”
“I already told you, Tiff, this isn’t a democracy.” He looked at the other two. They had joined ranks with their sister. “It’s a dictatorship.”
If he meant that to be a no, he was going to have to be clearer than that, Brooke observed. Tiffany had already caught hold of her father’s hand and was pulling him toward the store.
“C’mon, Daddy, please?”
Breckinridge never stood a chance, Brooke thought. One look at his face told her that. The girls obviously held him in the palms of their hands. Just as she and Heather had held their father in theirs.
Idly, she couldn’t help wondering if the same was true of the girls’ mother.

Chapter Two
“Sorry about the bars.”
Brooke inserted her key into the lock and the green wrought-iron vines began to climb to the ceiling before they disappeared into the opening, leaving the entrance accessible.
“I’m a little shorthanded this morning, and while I’d like to believe in the goodness of my fellow man, I’d rather not leave temptation standing blatantly in front of him, either.”
Remaining where she was, Brooke pocketed the key. She knew enough to stand out of the way. Three could be a formidable number at times.
Like the first fireflies of summer, the three little girls scattered in different directions the moment they entered the store, guided in their selections by the murals that graced the walls. Bethany went to the learning section, Stephany gravitated to the area that abounded with fairies and elves, while Tiffany decided to explore the section that had a bevy of cartoon characters beckoning in welcome.
Watching them, Brooke smiled half to herself, half at the girls’ father. “I guess they all have their own personalities, even at this age.” She turned to him. “They’re what—five?”
“Six,” he corrected. “They’re small for their age. And as for their personalities—” he laughed softly to himself, thinking back for a moment, though in general he tried not to do too much of that “—they’re distinct, all right. They never mimic one another except when they try to put one over on me.” Even then, he was getting pretty good at telling them apart. At first glance they were absolutely identical. But there were small subtle differences. He’d learned to look for them. “I think they were their own persons from the moment they first opened their eyes in the delivery room.”
For a few seconds he allowed himself just to enjoy seeing them pore over the different books the store had to offer. They’d gotten their love of books from him. It was one of the things he could give them, besides his unconditional love.
Rousing himself, he turned to look at the woman beside him. He owed her, he thought. A lot. “I want to thank you again for finding Tiffany for me.”
She warmed to the sincerity in his voice. “You’re very welcome, but actually I’d say it was more a case of her finding me.”
Brooke paused, wondering if she should say anything further, then decided he should know. It was always best for a parent to have some clue about what was going on in his or her child’s mind.
“She told me she was looking for a book on how to find a mommy.”
“Oh.”
There was something in his voice she couldn’t identify. Surprise? Amusement? She couldn’t tell, and it was obvious she wasn’t about to get any further clues from him. Tyler Breckinridge didn’t strike her as exactly the gregarious type.
Nothing wrong with a man who wasn’t glad-handing everyone, she thought. Marc had been gregarious, and look where that had led.
Having done her duty, Brooke glanced around. She supposed she could busy herself with the shipment statement until his daughters made their selections, but she found herself wanting to remain right where she was, standing beside the tall, dark handsome stranger.
“Are you from around here?” she asked. He looked at her so sharply that she almost didn’t continue. It took her a second to retrieve her train of thought. “The reason I ask is that my bookstore has been open for a while now and I’ve never seen the girls in here before today.”
“No,” he replied quietly. “We’re not from around here. We just moved to Bedford recently.”
And, he thought, he was still trying to get comfortable amid all the new belongings he suddenly found himself with. Some highly paid, overly degreed bureaucrat’s notion of what suited him, Tyler supposed. But at least the girls were having fun, burrowing into this new life they found themselves facing. The resilience of youth never ceased to amaze him.
Brooke nodded. She could see why he had chosen to move here. The city’s reputation was excellent.
“Can’t beat Bedford for schools, weather or safety.” She scrutinized him for a moment, trying to see past the almost unsettling planes and angles of his tanned face and the deep-green eyes to the man beneath. “So, where is it that you’re from?”
Dark brows drew together as he regarded her warily. “Here and there. Why?”
“No reason.” She lifted a shoulder, letting it drop carelessly. “I just thought I detected a New York accent, that’s all.” Nothing thick or blatant, just a hint of one when he said certain words.
Tyler slipped his hands into his pockets, looking back to the girls. “No, never been to New York.”
Was it her imagination or had he lowered his voice just then? There were only his daughters and him in the store. Who was he lowering his voice for?
God, just listen to yourself, Brooke. You never used to be this suspicious. When was she ever going to be rid of that annoying touch of paranoia that seemed to almost constantly hound her thoughts?
“Have you? Been to New York?” Tyler added when she looked at him quizzically.
Boy, have I ever. But she made no effort to explain the wry expression she knew had twisted her lips. “Once. For a while.” Just long enough to have my heart broken.
He debated saying anything. He, above all, had come to respect privacy and minding his own business. But there was something in her eyes that prompted him to comment, “I take it that it wasn’t a pleasurable experience.”
Now there was an understatement, she thought. But she kept that to herself. Instead, she said only, “It started out that way, but no, not really.”
He wanted to say, “Me, too,” but that would be admitting he had been in New York, contradicting what he’d just said. He had to keep track of the lies or they would wind up tripping him up.
Lies were like shoots of ivy, their tendrils reaching out, hooking onto things that came in their path. Spreading until you weren’t sure just where they had begun or where they were going.
Turning his back to Brooke, he clapped his hands loudly, gaining his daughters’ attention. “Well, have you girls made a decision yet?”
None of them wanted to leave. “Just a little longer, Daddy,” Bethany pleaded.
“I want these, Daddy.” Coming over to him, Stephany produced a pile she had carefully garnered from the shelves.
Eyes as large as saucers, Tiffany quickly grabbed a handful of books without looking at their titles. Trying to lug her bounty over, Tiffany wound up dropping them on the floor several feet short of her goal. But her spirit wasn’t daunted. “If she gets that many, can I have the same, Daddy?”
Coming over to pick up the scattered spoils, Brooke laughed as she made eye contact with Tiffany. “Ah, eager customers. My favorite.”
She was surprised to have Tyler join her, quickly gathering the remainder of the fallen collection. He was attempting to look at least a little stern. “Girls, we talked about this.”
Closest to his right, Bethany frowned. “We talked about a lot of things, Daddy.”
Brooke knew a brewing storm when she smelled it and hurried to quell the waters.
“You know the best thing about my store, girls?” Rising, she deposited Tiffany’s fallen goods on the small reading table closest to her. She could put the books back in their places later. “It’s not going anywhere.” She looked at the three upturned faces in turn. “Which means that if you each just pick one book, you can come back with your daddy some other time and pick another one. And another after that.” She smiled warmly at them. “That means you have something to look forward to. And I get to look forward to seeing you all again. How about it? Sound like a deal?”
She already recognized Bethany as the serious one. Standing beside her father, Bethany nodded. “Sounds like a deal,” she agreed. “Okay.”
Eager not to be left out, Stephany echoed, “Yeah, okay.”
“Okay.” Tiffany sighed, glancing over her shoulder at the surrendered cache that had momentarily been hers. She began rifling through the pile. “I want this one now and this one later and this one…”
Tyler was tempted to physically separate Tiffany from the books, knowing that of the three of them, she was the one who had a penchant for prolonging things. There was somewhere he had to be within the hour, and he had already lost some time.
But instead of giving in to his feelings, he stepped back. “Make your choices, girls,” he instructed. “Put the rest back and meet me at the register.” Tyler turned from his trio and looked at Brooke. “Very nicely done.”
This time the lowered voice was perfectly plausible. Absorbing the amused praise, she smiled. “I’ve had lots of practice.”
He glanced at her hand. No ring. Still, that didn’t mean as much these days as it used to. Neither did wearing one. He still had his because he felt incomplete without it. As incomplete as he felt without Gina.
“Refereeing your own kids?” he guessed.
Brooke shook her head. It was her greatest regret. Marc had always told her that children would be something they would discuss seriously “later.” For them, later never came.
“No, I don’t have any. But I get lots of customers.” Her gaze swept over the girls, who were still solemnly making their choices. “And I’ve always loved kids. I worked at a preschool when I lived in New York.”
Tyler envisioned an arena of screaming children, all vying for attention at once. That had been his one and only experience with preschool. After that, Gina had taught the girls at home, inviting neighborhood children over to make sure that the girls learned how to interact with kids their own age.
“Was that part of the bad experience?” He realized that had to sound as if he was prying. “Sorry, none of my business.”
The man was far too polite for a New Yorker. That had to be a different accent she detected in his voice.
“No, it’s okay.” She waved away his apology. “I don’t mind answering. To be honest, that was the only part of the experience that was good. All the way through.” She thought of several children who had won her heart and wondered if they still remembered her. “I hated leaving them.”
He heard the qualification in her voice and waited. Finally he asked, “But?”
She deliberately pushed thoughts of Marc and his infidelities out of her mind. Why was she suddenly seized with a desire to unburden herself to a perfect stranger? The man had come looking for storybooks, not true confessions.
Brooke tossed her hair, forcing herself to sound cheerful. “But this is home and I needed to come home. You know how it is.”
“Yes, I do.”
There went her imagination again, reading things into his tone of voice.
But he did sound sad, she thought. Had returning home for him been a bad experience or was it the opposite? Did he long to return home only to know that for one reason or another, he couldn’t?
Not her place to ask. It was just going to be one of life’s little mysteries, she thought. Like where second socks disappear to between the laundry hamper and the dryer.
The winsome trio interrupted the conversation by trooping up to the register. Each placed her carefully decided-upon final selection on the counter. Tiffany vied for top honors, placing hers on top after Stephany had just done the same. Bethany gave both her sisters the evil eye, meant to quiet them.
Tyler hid his smile. Bethany had always been the one unofficially in charge.
“Okay, Daddy, we’re ready,” Bethany told him importantly.
“Excellent selections, ladies,” Brooke said as she scanned each book in turn, ringing up the sale. The register came up with the final total. She pointed to the figure. “And this, Mr. Breckinridge, is what they all come to.”
Stephany looked around, then turned her face up to her father, her small brows drawing together in confusion. “Who’s she talking to, Daddy?”
Bethany gave her a reproving look. “That’s Daddy’s grown-up name,” she informed her sister, then looked at her father for confirmation. “Right, Daddy?”
Brooke thought it a rather odd exchange. The girls were so bright about everything else. Why did something as ordinary as formally addressing their father cause any of them confusion?
“Right,” Tyler answered. Taking his charge card out of his wallet, he glanced at it before handing it to Brooke.
She could have sworn he looked just the slightest bit apprehensive. Probably wondering if his three little darlings had caused him to max out his card. The man tried to give the appearance of being in charge, but it was evident to anyone who paid the slightest bit of attention that the girls had him tied up in neat little knots around their small fingers.
The authorization number flashed, catching Brooke’s eye. She wrote it down on the three-layered credit slip before handing it to Tyler to sign.
He took the pen she offered him and began writing his name. Biting off an oath, he stopped. There was a touch of both frustration and sheepishness in his eyes as he looked up at her.
“I’m sorry, I was preoccupied.” His eyes indicated the slip. “I started writing down the name of someone I’m supposed to meet later this afternoon. Would it be too much trouble to write up another slip?”
“No, no trouble at all.” She reached into the drawer for a blank slip, then grinned. “I guess being around this handful might make anyone forget their name at times.” Lowering her eyes, she ran the credit slip through the machine, embossing it, then wrote in the pertinent information. Finished, she held out the slip to him while reaching for the one in his hand.
To her surprise, he ripped it up in front of her, then tucked the pieces into his pocket. “I’ll just get rid of this for you.” There was no room for discussion or dissent.
Brooke shrugged carelessly. It made no difference to her one way or another. “Been the victim of credit-card fraud lately?”
He looked up from the slip he was carefully signing. “What?”
She nodded toward his pocket. “You’re so careful with the receipt I thought that maybe someone had stolen your credit card before. You know, once burned, twice leery, that sort of thing.”
“Yes, something like that.” Finished, he handed the signed receipt to her, exchanging it for his card. He slipped the latter back into his wallet.
Nothing wrong with being careful, she thought, watching him. She smiled as she handed the large colorful bag with the girls’ purchases to him. There was a sleepy-eyed teddy bear, dressed in a nightshirt and nightcap, sitting and reading a storybook with his picture on the cover decorating the side of the bag. Stephany oohed over it.
My father would have been touched, Brooke thought. The teddy bear, Wandering Willie, had been his creation. “He was my favorite, too, when I was your age.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened. “Is he that old?”
“Tiffany.” Tyler flashed Brooke an apologetic look. “Everyone over ten is old to Tiffany.”
She’d taken no offense. “I remember how it was.” On impulse, Brooke rounded the register and walked them to the entrance. “Well, Mr. Breckinridge, you and the girls feel free to come back any time.”
The girls took the invitation as a signal to gang up on him again. Brooke was getting the distinct feeling that they did that a lot. She wondered which side his wife took.
“Can we come back tomorrow, Daddy?”
“Yeah, can we?”
“Please?”
“We’ll see,” he answered, but he had a hunch it was a foregone conclusion that they would be back, if not tomorrow, then soon. Besides, the woman was genuinely kind to his daughters. That put her store on the plus side. He smiled at her over his shoulder as he ushered the trio out. “Thanks again for all your help.”
Brooke inclined her head. “Anytime.” She completely missed her sister, entering from the opposite direction, until she almost turned into her.
Unmindful of the near collision, Heather stared at the departing quartet, specifically its tallest member. “Wow. Now there’s a man who looks good coming and going.”
Brooke could only shake her head as she retreated into the store. Heather’s official course of study at the university was child psychology, but there were times Brooke was convinced her younger sister’s real major was men. She certainly went through her share of them.
“Hello, Heather, so nice of you to finally decide to join me.”
Heather deposited her purse behind the counter with the kind of carelessness that came from someone who was carrying nothing worth stealing. “Don’t get snippy. My alarm clock didn’t go off.”
A knowing look creased Brooke’s face. “Was that before or after you threw it against the wall?”
Heather pried the lid off the café latte she had bought from the coffee shop. “I only did that once and that was because it woke me up when I had a terrible headache.” She sniffed. “I’ve been very nice to my alarm clocks ever since.” She ran her tongue along the inside of the lid before throwing it out, then sidled up beside Brooke. “And never mind me, just how did you help Mr. Gorgeous and just what did you mean by ‘Anytime’?”
Leave it to Heather to put the wrong spin on things. “One of his daughters wandered into the store. I helped reunite them, that’s all.”
“Obviously winning his undying gratitude,” Heather commented. She looked at Brooke, her eyes bright. “Sounds like a good beginning to me.”
Brooke knew where this conversation was going, and for once, the train was not going to leave the station. “In case you hadn’t noticed, little sister, the man has three daughters.”
“So?”
“So?” Brooke shut her eyes. There were times Heather was incorrigible. “So that usually means one wife somewhere.”
Taking a long swig of her coffee, Heather remained undaunted. “Not necessarily in the present tense.” She followed Brooke as she began replacing the books that had been part of Tiffany’s original selection. “Maybe he’s divorced and he’s got custody of the kids.”
Brooke turned around to look at Heather. Her sister had gained a thin white mustache, courtesy of the latte. Brooke paused to wipe it away with the tip of her thumb. “And your reasoning for this being?”
“Most dads don’t shepherd their kids through a mall in the middle of the week if there’s a mommy in the immediate picture,” Heather informed her smugly. “They do it on the weekends if they do it at all.”
Brooke remained unconvinced. “Maybe he’s trying to be nice, give his wife a break.” She inserted a tall storybook in between two others, careful not to bruise the spines. “He said they’d just moved here recently. Maybe she’s home unpacking and needed some time to herself.”
Heather drained her container, then sighed. “Why are you always so willing to look at the gloomy side lately? I can remember when there wasn’t a pessimistic thought in your head.”
“Yeah, well, so can I, but then I grew up,” Brooke said. “And what gloomy picture? There’s no gloomy picture. There’s no anything. We’re just speculating about a customer.”
“You’re speculating about a customer, and I’m speculating about a possible hunk.” Crumpling the container, Heather tossed it into the wastebasket. “I mean, he’s a hunk either way, but the question is, is he an available hunk?”
“No, that isn’t the question, because that doesn’t interest me in the slightest.”
Obviously frustrated, Heather threw up her hands. “And that’s exactly what I’m worried about. When are you going to get over it, Brooke?”
Brooke had no idea why her temper suddenly snapped. She’d been fine a minute ago. “Over what? Marc?” Her laugh was entirely without mirth. “I was over him the minute I filed for divorce.”
Heather shook her head. “I don’t mean over him—I mean over him.”
Brooke stopped replacing books and looked at her younger sister. There was no one she was closer to, but that didn’t mean the sisters understood each other all the time. “Are they teaching you English in that college of yours?” She looked back at the last book she was holding, trying to remember where it went. “Because if they are, I’d ask for my tuition money back if I were you.”
“You know what I mean.” Heather moved around until she could look directly into her sister’s face. Brooke was trying hard to ignore her.
That had never stopped Heather before. “Over what Marc did to you. Just because he cheated—”
Brooke looked at her sister sharply. “Cheated?” she hooted. “Cheated is having a one-night stand, not a touring season. Or seasons, as the case was,” she said. “I think the only one Marc didn’t wind up getting naked with was the mayor’s wife and her dog, and that was probably only because he couldn’t arrange a convenient meeting.”
Heather knew all about Marc. Her sister had broken down one night and given her all the gory details. Aside from seeing red, her main emotion had been concern about her sister’s health, until Brooke had assured her that she’d had herself tested for every sexually transmitted disease possible. She’d done it despite Marc’s assurances that he had taken proper precautions. The way she saw it, nothing he said was trustworthy.
Heather continued to press her sister. No matter how awful her ex-brother-in-law had turned out to be, it was time to leave the past behind and move on. “Still, one rotten human being doesn’t damn the whole species.”
“Maybe not,” Brooke allowed, “but it certainly makes you stop and think, doesn’t it?” An almost bitter reproachful smile twisted her lips. “About how blind you can be.”
Heather slipped her arm around Brooke. Five years younger, she was taller by two inches. “You loved the jerk. You saw what you wanted to see and he was clever.”
Brooke wasn’t about to excuse herself. “I thought I saw what was there.”
Heather wasn’t going to stand by and let her sister beat herself up. “You tended to think the best of everyone, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. But that was the old me. I’ve grown up.” Squaring her shoulders, she stepped back. “I’m a lot more suspicious now.”
Heather looked at her thoughtfully. There was nothing more in this world she wanted than to have the old Brooke back. The one who could laugh without reservation. Love without reservation. “But not a lot happier, are you.”
Picking up the shipping list, Brooke waved her hand at Heather. “Practice your child-psychology skills on someone else, little sister.” She waved the list in front of Heather’s face. “In the meantime, we have a large shipment of books to distribute over the shelves. Let’s get to it.”
Heather gave her a smart salute. “Aye-aye, Captain.”
“Good.” Brooke nodded. “Obedience. I like it. And while we’re at it, you can tell me exactly why you only got three hours’ sleep last night.”
Heather stopped short. “Four, and how did you know?”
Brooke grinned. “Because we live in the same house, remember? And I can hear the front door. And even if I couldn’t, I know you, little sister.”
She laughed as she threw an arm around Heather affectionately. “So, tell me all about it.”
That was as close as she intended to get to a date for a long, long time.

Chapter Three
Three leagues beyond bone-tired, Tyler sank into a recliner that was as close in size, shape and color to the one he’d left behind as he could find. It was the one piece of furniture he’d selected himself. The girls were in the family room, finally settling down to enjoy their new books. They’d had lunch in and dinner out, and somewhere in between, he’d done a fair bit of organizing around the house, but not nearly enough.
He looked at the clock in the den, wondering when he should become concerned.
Tyler passed his hand over his eyes, struggling to sort out his feelings from the quagmire he constantly seemed to find himself in. Mentally he took off his hat to Gina.
Until these past nine months, he’d had no idea just how much was involved in raising three children, let alone girl children. Never mind triplets. It was close to mind-boggling.
Gina had been the one to do most of the work, do it so well that he hadn’t even been aware that there was work involved. She had managed to make raising three girls look effortless. Gina, with her coal-black laughing eyes, had completely fooled him into thinking it was easy being a parent.
It wasn’t.
And even love wasn’t enough, though it helped smooth over a great many rough spots and blunders he’d made. It was hard doing what was required, what was needed, especially since half of him felt as if it was permanently gone.
He hadn’t recovered from being without Gina.
There were times, in the dead of night, when he felt completely overwhelmed by what he faced. When he didn’t know if he could actually manage and continue doing what was being asked of him.
But ultimately there was no way around it. He knew he had to do it. And he had to do it alone.
Time, everyone had said, would help him heal. Time was sure taking a hell of a lot of itself about it. The irony made him shake his head.
Impatience burrowed into the weariness, making itself known. He raised his eyes to the clock again.
She was late.
He felt a pang. Maybe Carla wasn’t going to call tonight. Maybe she couldn’t get away. They’d both agreed that she wouldn’t call him from the house. There could be consequences, and it was too much of a risk to take, even though everything so far appeared to be going smoothly.
But appearances could be deceiving, and he wasn’t about to take chances. Not with his sister’s life and certainly not with the girls’. Losing Gina had been far more than enough for him to endure.
The telephone on the side table next to him rang, slicing through the faraway sound of his daughters’ voices. Tyler quickly covered the receiver with his hand and yanked it up to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Is this the party to whom I am speaking?”
Dark half-formed thoughts vanished into the evening. “Very funny, Carla. I thought maybe you weren’t calling tonight.”
“Things came up.” He could hear the unspoken apology in her voice. “I couldn’t get away. Enough about me. How’s everything with you?”
He looked around the room with its unpacked boxes of possessions that had never been his. Possessions that gave credibility to the life he had assumed. The room reflected his life, as well. “Chaotic, utterly chaotic.”
The voice on the other end laughed with distant memory. “Sounds just like you. Are the girls adjusting?”
Pride whispered through him. His daughters were resilient and undefeatable. “Better than me.”
“They’re younger,” she said. “You’ve got more to deal with. But you’ll get used to it.” She paused, then added, “You were always good about rolling with the punches.”
He wished he shared her optimism. Wished it could snake its way through the phone lines and infuse him. Just long enough for him to get beyond the walking wounded and begin to move on. But it’d been nine months, and all he was doing was still going through the motions.
“I’m not now, Carla. This time it feels like I’m down for the count.”
“Not you. Never you,” she said. “Look, I’d better go, just in case.”
He glanced at his watch and realized that she must have looked at hers. Wariness had become second nature to him. “You didn’t use the same public phone, did you?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
He laughed, affection sneaking forward. “The jury’s still out on that.”
“Still have that wry sense of humor, I see.” And then her voice became softer, more serious. “I miss you.”
He wished she wouldn’t say that. But even so, the words comforted him. “Yeah, me too.”
“Watch your back.”
“Always.” It was never himself that he was concerned with. He had to be careful for the girls’ sake. Until he could be sure that everything was really truly over. Finally over. “Same time next week.” It was more of a hope than a question.
“I’ll try.”
He couldn’t ask for any more than that.
Tyler hung up and looked thoughtfully at the telephone. The only thing he had of the past was a disembodied voice whispering in his ear for the briefest of calls. Anything longer might be asking for trouble, at least for now, and trouble was the one thing he had to avoid at all costs.
So far, the cost had been very high.
A small figure stood in the doorway. Tyler separated himself from the past and returned to the present.
“Daddy, you promised to read to us.”
He rose. There were now three of them eagerly spilling into the room. “So I did. Which story shall I read first?”
“Mine.”
“No, mine.”
“Me first, Daddy.”
Three books from three different sets of hands were thrust at him from three different directions. Tyler smiled to himself. Here we go again.

“Okay, where do you want this, Oma?” Brooke asked. Her father’s mother had been “Oma,” the German word for grandmother, to her ever since she could remember.
A grunt accompanied Brooke’s question. Unable to see, she felt her way into the kitchen, shuffling as she went. But there was good reason for that. Somewhere on this floor was Jasper, her grandmother’s longtime pet. Thirty-one pounds of territorial, caramel-colored, generally unfriendly cat. There was no way Brooke wanted to take any chances of stepping on him. Jasper was as unforgiving as they came.
“Right on the table will be fine, dears,” her grandmother called out.
From the pitch, Brooke guessed that the woman who had spent more than twelve years raising Heather and her was not in the room with them now.
“Great. Now all I need to know is where’s the table.” Behind her, Brooke heard a loud thud. It was the sound of Heather depositing the box of books she had brought in with her on the floor.
“Well, I can tell you that it’s not here,” Heather announced, blowing out an exaggerated breath as she massaged one forearm.
Craning her neck as far as possible, Brooke tried to peek around the box she was holding. Hers was larger and heavier than Heather’s—she’d insisted on it. She managed to glimpse the edge of the kitchen table and hoped there was nothing on it as she made her way over. Finally finding something to rest the box on, she eased it onto the flat surface.
“It wouldn’t have killed you to help guide me, you know,” she said to Heather.
In response, Heather clasped her hands over her heart, rolled her eyes heavenward and pretended to sway. “Oh, yes, it would. The pain, the pain.”
“You are, you are,” Brooke responded before sucking air into her lungs.
She was going to have to get out more, she told herself. There was no reason to feel so winded, carrying books from the car in her grandmother’s driveway to her kitchen.
Of course, the books did weigh a million pounds…
Ada Carmichael came into the kitchen, a welcoming smile on her perfectly round face. She looked at the two girls she considered as much her daughters as her granddaughters, each, in her own way, so like their father. Great affection coursed through Ada’s veins as it always did whenever she saw the duo.
She looked from one box to the other before pausing to open the one on the table. “So, these are them?”
“These are them,” Brooke confirmed. Crossing to the sink, she poured herself a glass of water and drank half of it before continuing. “Seventy-five copies each of Willie Wanders off to the Wilderness and Willie Wanders Home. The hardback issues.” Her father’s creations, they were two of her personal favorites. “So, what’s up?” She placed an affectionate hand on her grandmother’s shoulder. The older woman barely topped five feet, and Brooke towered over her. “Are you planning to go into business yourself selling Dad’s books?”
Ada began taking out the books, placing them on the table in piles of five. “Not into business, exactly.”
Brooke studied her. She almost always knew when her grandmother was up to something. With an active mind and a body that refused to recognize its chronological age, there were times the woman was hard to keep up with. “Then what, exactly?”
Having made four piles, Ada looked at her oldest granddaughter proudly. “These are for the scouts.”
“Scouts?” Suspicion crept into her voice. She glanced at Heather, who merely shrugged her ignorance and went back to paying homage to the sprawled-out tabby on the floor, scratching him behind the ears. “What kind of scouts?”
“Little ones. I think they call them Brownies. Silly, naming them after something you bake in a pan. Do they still call them Brownies?” Ada asked.
“Yes, Oma, they still call them Brownies.” Brooke could remember her grandmother taking on a huge group of girls because Heather wanted to experience being a Brownie and there were no Brownie troops in the vicinity. Ada had started her own. Maybe her grandmother was getting nostalgic. “Did you volunteer to help some troop’s den mother out?”
“No.” Ada smiled at her matter-of-factly as she continued taking out books and placing them in neat piles of five. “I volunteered to be some troop’s den mother. Two troops, actually, but the second one’s only temporary, they tell me.”
Brooke should have suspected something like this was up, but she’d thought that her grandmother had asked for the books because she’d had a sudden whim to donate her father’s books to a local school. “Don’t you need a short person of your own before you can do that?”
“Not really.” Ada laughed at the quaint notion, moving around to gather books out of the box Heather had left on the floor. “And Elaine Wilcox is pregnant.”
Again Brooke looked at Heather, but her sister met her with the same uninformed expression. Big help she was. Just who was Elaine Wilcox? “There’s a connection here, right?”
“Of course there is. There’s always a connection, dear.”
“Okay, then, what is it?” Brooke took the books out of her hands, forcing Ada to stop and look at her in surprise.
“She can’t lead her troop anymore. Doctor’s orders. Something about a delicate constitution, she said. Sounds suspicious to me.” Ada shook her head. “But no one else could take over the troop and they were going to have to disband. Same with Sarah Nelson’s troop, but she’s just laid up with a sprained ankle. I couldn’t refuse them.” Ada looked into Brooke’s eyes. “You remember what it was like. If you could have seen all those long faces…”
“No,” Brooke said patiently, “I don’t remember what it was like. It was Heather who was a Brownie, not me.”
Bemused, Ada could only shake her head. “Oh, I am sorry, dear. Did you miss not being a Brownie?”
Brooke closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath. The conversation was going around in circles. Nothing new there. “No, not really.” Opening her eyes again, she pinned her grandmother with a look. Or tried to. “The point is, when and where did you see these long faces?”
Ada reclaimed her stack of books and continued divvying them up. “Monday. When I was driving home from my aerobics class.”
Ordinarily Brooke was very proud of her grandmother. A lot of other women of seventy-five had long since retired from life. Ada Carmichael believed in squeezing out every last drop that life had to offer. But this was squeezing it a bit too much.
“Maybe that aerobics class made you a little light-headed, Oma.” Brooke looked at the stacks and envisioned little girls to go with them. Energetic little girls. “This is a lot you’re taking on.”
Ada’s eyes met hers, amusement shining in them. “When has that ever stopped me?”
Brooke surrendered. Oma was what people liked to call an indomitable force of nature. There was no stopping her. “You’re right, what was I thinking? It hasn’t. But maybe someday it should.”
“We’ll talk about it then.” Finished stacking, Ada shifted her eyes to her other granddaughter. “You’re awfully quiet this evening, Heather.”
Still stroking the cat and getting infinite pleasure out of it, Heather looked at her sister impishly. She’d been biding her time, waiting for the right moment. It was here. “Brooke met a man.”
Brooke saw her grandmother look at her with sharpened interest.
Great, just great.
Leave it to Heather to get things all confused and sic Oma on her. Hoping to stem the tide she knew was coming, Brooke countered quickly with, “I meet men all the time in my store.”
Rising to her feet, Heather made a futile attempt to brush off the preponderance of cat hair she’d managed to accumulate in the short amount of time. “But this one made her smile. A genuine smile, Oma.”
Brooke gave her sister a withering look. Heather hadn’t even been in the store at the time. She’d just walked in a moment after Tyler and his daughters left. “How would you know?”
Undaunted, Heather grinned, lifting her chin. “I’ve got great distance vision.” For safety’s sake, she got on her grandmother’s other side, out of Brooke’s reach.
Blocking Brooke’s access to her sister, Ada looked up at her. “Tell me more.”
I’ll get you for this, Heather, Brooke thought.
She shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing to tell. He has triplets, one got lost, I helped her find him, he was grateful and they bought books.” She aligned the piles on the table with one another. “End of story.”
Ada looked genuinely saddened. “Pity. Grateful men are the best kind.”
Was everyone missing the obvious here? “He has triplets, Oma.”
The fact left the woman unfazed. “Was his wife with him?”
“No, but—”
“Aha.” Triumph made its appearance in her eyes. Ada cocked her head again. “Nice-looking? Him, I mean.”
“To die for,” Heather interjected.
“Aha.” Triumph went up another notch.
Fun was fun, but this was really getting out of control. Brooke placed her hand over the closest pile of books. “Stop saying that, Oma, or I’ll take back the books.”
But the books had been temporarily forgotten. “Did he pay cash?”
“No, a charge card.” Brooke’s eyes narrowed. Now where was she going with this? “What does that have to do with—”
“You have his name, then. Track him down if you like him,” Ada said.
Yup, way out of hand. Why did her grandmother insist on trying to match her up? She knew what she’d gone through with Marc, how badly her heart had been broken. She wasn’t about to go on that merry-go-round again, at least not anytime soon.
“Oma, I didn’t say anything about liking him.”
Ada’s sharp green eyes went right through her, saying she knew otherwise. “This is the first conversation we’ve had about a man who wasn’t your father that’s lasted more than six seconds.” Point driven home, she continued, getting down to the practical. “Now then, there are places on the Internet that can cough up entire histories of people if you know where to look.”
Brooke felt as if she was standing in the path of a runaway train, and if she didn’t do something right now, she was going to be flattened. In self-defense, she picked up a book and held it out to her grandmother. “Tell me more about this Brownie troop.”
Ada waved away the question and ignored the book. “You don’t want to hear about them.”
When pushed to the wall, Brooke could be every bit as stubborn as her grandmother. And right now she was being pushed. “Oh, yes, I do. Passionately.”
Momentarily diverted, Ada smiled. “Wonderful. Then you won’t mind if I bring them to the shop tomorrow. First thing in the morning. Only one troop at a time, I promise. It’ll be our first field trip.”
She’d walked right into that one. Brooke shot Heather a look that clearly threatened her with bodily harm if she dared to be late tomorrow.

There were thirty-eight Brownies in all.
Thirty-eight girls under the age of ten wandering through her store the next morning. For the most part, Brooke had to admit that they were quite well behaved.
Nonetheless, it didn’t hurt to keep her fingers crossed while they remained in the store.
Brooke leaned in close to her grandmother. Ada was surveying the scene much the way Queen Victoria might have at a family gathering—except with a great deal more amusement. “It looks like a miniature-Scout jamboree in here,” Brooke commented.
Ada nodded her agreement, then looked around. There was no one in the store except the Brownies. “I hope I’m not scaring away your business.”
Brooke began to deny the allegation, then thought better of it. “It’s for a worthy cause.”
“Speaking of business, here comes a customer.” Ada nodded to her left at the man entering the store. There were three little girls with him. Identical little girls. “That wouldn’t be your man, would it?” Ada asked, smiling.
Though Brooke loved the woman with all her heart, she fought the urge to stuff her into the supply closet—just until Tyler left. “Oma, you have got to stop listening to Heather. If you’ll excuse me.” She began to walk away to wait on Tyler.
“Never with more pleasure,” Ada said. If she could have, she would have given Brooke a push to send her on her way. “Heather was right. He is gorgeous.”
Brooke wished her grandmother came with a muzzle.
Tyler was looking around the store as she approached, and from where she was, he looked more than a little taken aback.
“Hi, I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.” She shifted her attention to the girls. “Finish your books already, girls?”
“Yes,” Stephany told her shyly.
Tiffany, it appeared, couldn’t take her eyes off the girls milling around the store, all of whom were glamorously older than she and her sisters and, thus, to be looked up to. “Why are those girls all wearing brown dresses? Do we have to wear brown dresses to be here?”
“You can wear whatever you like.” Brooke saw that an explanation was necessary. “They’re wearing brown dresses because they’re part of a group called Brownies. That’s the group you join before you become a Girl Scout.”
Bethany digested the information before looking up at her father. “Can we be Brownies, Daddy?”
One step at a time, he thought. “We’ll talk.”
Brooke had the impression that he didn’t think scouting was quite right for his daughters. She was getting the feeling that the man was the overly protective type.
“Is this a bad time?” he asked her.
He looked ready to leave and she found herself not wanting him to. “No, a good time. I like business.”
Tyler shook his head. She’d misunderstood. “No, I meant a bad time for us to stop by.”
She spread her arms, welcoming them all in. “The more the merrier.” And then she leaned back and said to him as if in confidence, “You know, it might not be a bad idea at that.”
He hadn’t been under the impression that they were discussing anything. “What might not be a bad idea?”
“Letting your girls become Brownies.” She knew her grandmother would welcome three new members. Nothing Oma liked better than a houseful of kids. “If they’re new in the area, I can’t think of a better way for the triplets to make friends.”
Her enthusiasm wasn’t shared. “They can do that in school.”
“True, but—” She took her cue from the look on his face. The look that told her she was trespassing. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to tell you how to raise your daughters.”
With the apology tendered, he felt like a heel. “And I didn’t mean to sound as if I was biting off your head.” He knew he was still far too edgy about the situation. He was going to have to work on that. “Actually I stopped by to ask if there was any way I could repay you.”
The last thing she wanted was for him to feel indebted to her. “For what? I really didn’t do anything.”
He wasn’t accustomed to selflessness and modesty in the same package. He put his hand on Tiffany’s shoulder. If he could, he would have had all three fitted with tracking devices. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
She pretended to go along with the idea. “Well, in that case, I’ll take a big-screen TV and a ticket for a round trip to Hawaii.”
He laughed. She had an offbeat sense of humor, but he liked it. “The girls were thinking more along the lines of going to that old-fashioned malt shop in the mall that sells candy.”
“The big place with the little tables,” Tiffany chimed in.
“Please?” Stephany asked.
“We want you to come,” Bethany told her.
She knew the place they were talking about. The one with the decadent chocolate sundae. “I think that might be arranged.”
He nodded toward the Brownies. “What about them?”
“Heather can handle them.” She indicated her sister in the far end of the store. “Besides, they can’t stay here forever. My grandmother just brought them by for a short field trip.”
“Your grandmother?” he repeated, puzzled.
Pausing for a second to locate her, Brooke pointed Ada out. “That sprightly-looking woman standing over by Rolphie the Runaway Rodent.”
“Your murals have names?” he asked.
She laughed and the sound charmed him, reminding him of notes plucked on a harp. “My murals are based on cartoon characters.”
“You should know that, Daddy,” Tiffany said.
He suppressed an indulgent smile. “I guess my education isn’t as complete as I thought.”

Chapter Four
Surrounded by the trio, Brooke wasn’t sure just which of the girls eagerly asked, “So can you go?”
She glanced toward the rear of the store again. Heather was helping several of the Brownies make selections. Second thoughts nudged forward. “Maybe I’d better check to see if Heather is all right with this.”
Leaving them at the front counter, Brooke threaded her way into the back. Oma, mercifully, refrained from following her. But she didn’t have to turn around to know there was a pleased smile on her grandmother’s face.
“This is your store, Brooke. You don’t have to ask if you can go on break.” Heather’s eyes danced as she took in the man in front and shifted back to her sister’s face. “Go, go, before they take back the invitation.”
“I’m not asking,” Brooke corrected. “I’m just letting you know.” But she had been asking, she thought. Asking and suddenly hoping that Heather would come up with a reason for her to stay.
Where had this sudden nervous flutter in her stomach come from?
She was being idiotic. It wasn’t as if this was a date, or even a meeting over coffee. She was just being polite to a customer, nothing more.
“Don’t let your imagination run away with you, Heather,” Brooke warned. “The man just wants to say thank-you by taking me to the soda shop.”
“Tell him there are other ways to say thank-you than by helping you get your daily chocolate fix,” Heather suggested.
Brooke began backing away. She didn’t want to keep Tyler and the girls waiting. “This way’s just fine with me. Besides…” Brooke silently raised her left hand and pointed to the third finger with her other hand, her meaning clear.
“Was that some kind of code?” he asked her when she joined him.
Tyler’s question caught her by surprise. Embarrassed, she struggled for a plausible explanation. The last thing she wanted was to underscore her embarrassment by telling Tyler they were talking about him and his availability.
“Um, I was just, um, reminding her to tie a string around her finger. The malt shop’s this way,” she said unnecessarily, hoping to change the course of the conversation.
Tyler glanced over his shoulder at the young woman remaining in the store. She waved at him, which he thought was rather odd. He looked at Brooke. Two of the girls had gotten between them. “Isn’t it usually the string that’s supposed to remind a person of something?”
“Heather’s too forgetful to remember to tie one on.” That sounded a little lame, even to Brooke.
“Is it hard to work with strings on your fingers?” one of the girls asked.
Looking at the child, Brooke tried to remember which one she was. “Sometimes, which is why she forgets to put them on. We’re here,” Brooke announced, relieved, pausing by the large menu that was mounted on a stand in the middle of the entrance. “See anything you like?”
“Everything!” the girls cried in unison.
She laughed, looking over her shoulder at Tyler. “Girls after my own heart.”
He nodded. “Mine, too.” His hand lightly pressed against the backs of two of them, he gently herded his daughters inside.
There were no tables for five, only for two and four, so he pulled a couple of tables together. To Brooke’s surprise, he helped her with her chair, ushering her in.
“You’re very courtly,” she observed. “Not that common these days.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Offended?”
“Pleased,” she countered.
“Me, too, Daddy. Do me.”
“Me.”
“No, me.”
He sighed, pretending to be weary, but the uplifted corners of his mouth gave him away as he did the honors on all three chairs one at a time. “I should have been an octopus.”
The girls giggled, except for Stephany, who shivered and closed her eyes.
They were a nice family, Brooke thought. She waited until he sat down himself before commenting on what he’d said when they’d walked in. “You don’t strike me as a man with a sweet tooth.”
He found himself smiling at the observation. A pervading fondness for chocolate was something else he shared with the girls, as well as with his sister. “Why?”
“Are your teeth really sweet, Daddy?” Tiffany looked at him curiously.
“Shh.” Bethany waved her hand at her sister to be quiet.
“It’s an expression people use when someone has a weakness for candy,” Brooke explained before looking at Tyler. “I just thought it was unusual because you look so…” She searched for a word and settled on “fit.”
The smile turned a handsome man into a man who was almost devastating. She found that it took her a second to remember to exhale and then reverse the process.
“Thanks.” He looked down at the paper menus on the tables, small replicas of the one at the entrance. “So, what’ll everyone have?”
The girls had already made their choices and vied with one another to be first in their declarations. Chocolate, strawberry and vanilla sundaes with pleas for plenty of chocolate syrup were ordered. Brooke wondered if their selection of flavors was a way to tell them apart.
Tyler’s dark blue eyes isolated the moment for her, fixed as they were on her face. “What would you like?”
Completely improbable, inappropriate answers popped up in her head. Heather’s influence, she thought, dismissing them all.
She found it harder to dismiss the feeling they created. Or the one generated by the way he looked at her.
He probably wasn’t even aware of it. “A strawberry-ice-cream soda. This is one of the few places that makes them the old-fashioned way,” she told him.
“One strawberry-ice-cream soda coming up,” he said, rising from the table and going to the counter to place the order.
“You like strawberry,” the triplet sitting directly opposite her observed, beaming. Something told Brooke she had just bonded with the little girl. She only wished she knew which one it was.
“It’s the first flavor I ever remember having.” She’d been about three at the time. It had come in the form of an ice-cream cone and she had worn it more than eaten it, according to the way her father used to tell the story. She just remembered liking the taste.

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