The Acquired Bride
Teresa Southwick
The Storkville Scoop"From the Stork's Mouth…"Storkville is all abuzz about the shotgun vows of tycoon Quentin McCormack. The CEO's latest acquisition is a single mother of triplets! Quentin and his blushing new bride Dana Hewitt have been spotted around town sharing passionate glances and blissful smiles. However, speculation is running rampant about the newlyweds because insiders report they've only known each other a few months.Many a socialite has tried to win Quentin's heart and some folks are wondering how a down-on-her-luck homemaker roped a wealthy bachelor who swore he'd never settle down. Although the couple insist they fell in love at first sight, what magic does Dana have to snare the most powerful man in Storkville?
“What do you say to an evening wedding? Tomorrow?” Quentin asked.
“All right,” Dana said.
Her head spun. How had this happened? Forty-eight hours ago she’d spilled coffee on him and vowed to find a way to clear the Hewitt name. Now she was marrying the guy and changing her name to McCormack. In the contrition department, that seemed excessive. She reminded herself that it was to their mutual advantage.
She almost believed that. This deal was mostly for her, but she was desperate. Somehow she would make it up to him. But she was going into this marriage with her eyes wide open. Her terms. She was in control. Yesiree.
But when Quentin turned the full power of his blue eyes on her, she couldn’t help thinking that control was such a tenuous thing….
The Acquired Bride
Teresa Southwick
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
TERESA SOUTHWICK
is a native Californian who has recently moved to Texas. Living with her husband of twenty-five years and two handsome sons, she is surrounded by heroes. Reading has been her passion since she was a girl. She couldn’t be more delighted that her dream of writing full-time has come true. Her favorite things include: holding a baby, the fragrance of jasmine, walks on the beach, the patter of rain on the roof and, above all, happy endings. Teresa also writes historical romance novels under the same name.
Storkville folks hardly remember the day the town bore another name—because the residents keep bearing bundles of joy! No longer known for its safe neighborhoods and idyllic landscape, Storkville is baby-bootie capital of the world! We even have a legend for the explosion of “uplets”—“When the stork visits, he bestows many bouncing bundles on those whose love is boundless!” Of course, some—Gertie Anderson—still insist a certain lemonade recipe, which is “guaranteed” to help along prospective mothers, is the real stork! But whether the little darlings come from the cabbage patch or the delivery room, Storkville folks never underestimate the beauty of holding a child—or the enchantment of first love and the wonder of second chance….
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 One
He’d been slimed!
Quentin McCormack looked down and watched cotton candy, Hawaiian punch and chocolate mix together and slide down his leg. The triple whammy.
Then he met the worried, gray-eyed gaze of the pint-sized linebacker who’d collided with him. Contrition was written all over his face and Quentin hadn’t the heart to reprimand the little guy, even though the trousers were new and expensive. He also hadn’t a clue how old the boy was, but he was definitely too little to be wandering around alone.
“You okay, buddy?” he asked.
The boy, who barely came up to Quentin’s knee, nodded tentatively.
“Where’s your mom and dad?”
His only response was a shrug. Quentin surveyed the lunchtime crowd. It was August and hot. Hannah Caldwell had just cut the ribbon to open her new day-care center. Most everyone in town was there for the ceremony because Storkville took its responsibility to children very seriously. Which made him wonder who would let their child wander unattended.
He glanced at shop windows up and down Main Street. “Do your parents work nearby?” he asked.
“Mommy works at bad nets and boots,” he said proudly.
Quentin frowned. Sounded like a sporting-goods store named by someone unclear on the concept. He must be missing something.
Just then he heard a female, panic-tinged voice calling, “Lukas!” He looked down at the child. “What’s your name?”
“Wookie,” he answered.
“Like the Star Wars character?” he asked. He wouldn’t be surprised. For all he knew the boy was speaking an alien language. Ditto, he thought when the child looked at him as if he had two heads.
The crowd parted and two feet from him, Quentin saw a frantic-looking woman holding the hands of two little girls with tear-streaked faces. His breath caught as he stared at her. Shoulder-length, chestnut brown curls framed a heart-shaped face with the biggest, most expressive gray eyes he’d ever seen. She wasn’t tall, maybe five foot two, but her slender body, with curves in all the right places, was his fantasy come to life.
Lightning.
A direct hit. He couldn’t have felt more zapped if he’d been standing in an electrical storm holding a kite string with a key attached.
Because of the crowd on blocked-off Main Street, she didn’t notice him or his new little friend. They were standing in front of the sprawling three-story Victorian house with wraparound porch and enclosed backyard containing play equipment that was now BabyCare. To get the woman’s attention, he held up his hand, then curled his fingers into his palm when he noticed it was shaking. She finally looked directly at him and he pointed down.
“Is he by any chance yours?”
Bingo, he thought when her shoulders drooped with relief. She was beside him in three strides and squatted down on a level with the child.
“Lukie, you scared me half to death,” she said in a voice that was three parts concern and one part anger. Then she pulled him into her arms for a viselike hug. “Don’t ever run off like that again, young man.”
“His name isn’t Wookie?” Quentin asked.
She stood and smiled, taking his breath away for the second time in two minutes. “His name is Lukas and articulating L’s is a challenge for a three-year-old.”
“Hewwo, Mommy,” the child said, his red-stained mouth turning up in a grin.
“Hi, Lukie.” She looked back at Quentin and shrugged. “See what I mean? His sisters have the same problem.”
“They’re all three?” he asked, surveying the children, who were about the same size. Stunned, he watched her nod. “You must be from Storkville,” he said, shaking his head.
“You mean because the stork who visits Storkville bestows many bouncing bundles on those whose love is boundless?” she asked, her gray eyes twinkling.
“That’s the legend,” he concurred.
“I think the stork had a navigational malfunction that day because he visited me in Omaha. And—” she glanced at the three children with infinite love “—I don’t know if he bestowed bouncing bundles as much as the triple whammy.”
“My exact thought,” he said, remembering his close encounter of the gooey kind. “But not about children. Cotton candy, red punch and chocolate is an awful lot of junk food for a little guy like this,” Quentin commented. “Not to mention the fact that he’s running around unsupervised, Mrs.—”
Her eyes suddenly reminded him of a sky on a stormy day and he braced himself for a zap of bad lightning.
“Dana Hewitt,” she said introducing herself. “I’m aware that a three-year-old needs supervision, Mr.—”
“McCormack. Quentin McCormack.”
If possible, she looked even more annoyed. “Of the McCormacks, Storkville’s founding family?”
“The very same.” So she knew who he was and that he didn’t have to wonder where his next dollar was coming from.
“Great,” she muttered. Then her chin lifted slightly, reinforcing her defensive body language. “Do you have children, Mr. McCormack?”
“I’m not married,” he said.
“That’s not what I asked. Your marital status doesn’t preclude fathering children.”
“For me it does. I would never be that irresponsible.” He met her gaze and realized that she barely came up to his chin. He was six feet tall, which made her—really small.
“Have you ever heard the saying ‘Never judge a man—or woman, until you’ve walked in their shoes’?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Here’s another one. When you have triplets, we’ll talk.” She reclaimed the hands of her two still-sniffling girls. “Not that it’s any of your business, but each of the children was allowed to choose one treat. While I was paying for them, Lukie grabbed his and the girls’ too and took off while my back was turned.”
“I see.” What he didn’t see was where her husband fit into all this. Why wasn’t he with her to help corral three small children? “I didn’t mean to judge. You’re right. I haven’t a clue how to deal with one child, let alone three the same age. Sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” she said. When she looked at her son, her anger faded and a different sort of look suffused her features, an expression that was both mad and tender. “You are in a lot of trouble, young man. Never, ever run off like that,” she said again.
“Wanted a b’loon,” the child said, his bottom lip slightly thrust out. “No time out, Mommy.” He shook his head and backed up into Quentin’s leg.
“I know you wanted a balloon. But we can’t always have everything we want when we want it. Especially on our budget.”
One of the little girls looked tearfully up at Dana. “Mommy, make Wookie give me my cotton candy.”
“Me, too,” the other girl chimed in.
“Taking your sisters’ treats…” Dana heaved an exasperated sigh and shook her head at her son. “Your attention span isn’t long enough for the time out you deserve. Give Molly back her cotton candy and Kelly her chocolate.” She looked closer and for the first time seemed to notice his empty hands. “You couldn’t have eaten all of that so fast. The spirit is more than willing, but the tummy is way too small.”
Quentin saw the exact moment when she started to put together what happened. Her gaze went to her son’s sticky empty hands, then to the circle of goo surrounding his own Italian leather loafers, then finally up to his designer pant legs that were now so stiff they could stand up by themselves.
Her eyes and mouth opened wide and rounded into Os. “Good heavens,” she said. “Please tell me, my son didn’t do that to you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Accidents happen.”
“Oh, Lukie, tell Mr. McCormack sorry.”
The boy looked up at him. “Sorry, Mr. Mac.”
“It’s okay, pal,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair.
“It’s Mr. McCormack,” she corrected her son.
“That’s a pretty big mouthful,” he said. “Mac’s fine.”
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this Mr. Mc—”
“Please call me Quentin.”
“All right, Quentin,” she said. “I insist you let me have your trousers cleaned for you.”
“That’s a tough one. Unless you want me to drop ’em right here in front of God and everyone on Main Street.”
She blushed and the look went straight to his heart, infiltrating his defenses without firing a shot. Of course it didn’t hurt that she had a sweet smile, with full, sensuous lips, and curls around her face that looked as if a man had run his hands through her hair while kissing her senseless. The combination was his second triple whammy in the last five minutes.
She shook her head. “No, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t drop your pants right here. I want to do the right thing, but something tells me a public display of that nature would be stickier than the puddle at your feet.”
“I agree,” he said grinning. He had a feeling his smile was way too wide, but maybe it would hide his reaction to her.
“But I insist you send me the cleaning bill.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“But how can I repay you for this?” she asked.
“You can answer a question for me.”
“All right,” she agreed.
“What kind of establishment is Bad Nets and Boots?”
“Excuse me?” She looked at him blankly.
“Lukas told me that’s where you work.”
She laughed, a merry sound that knocked on the door closing off his heart. Avoiding emotional entanglements was his stock in trade. He’d learned that women were more interested in his checkbook balance than in the man who signed the checks.
“I manage a store here in town. It’s called Bassinets and Booties,” she explained.
“Ah. That explains why I’ve never seen you before.”
“You mean you’ve never shopped our aisles of smiles containing diapers, cribs and layettes?”
“Can’t say I have.” He couldn’t help joining in her laughter. Then, he asked, “And where does Mr. Hewitt work?”
He wanted to kick himself when a dark look erased the merriment from her face. In its place she wore a pinched expression that pulled her full lips into a straight line. “There is no Mr. Hewitt. He passed away.”
“I’m sorry,” he said automatically.
Except he found himself very much not sorry that she was unattached. But he couldn’t help wondering if part of the Storkville legend had touched her long-distance. Was her love for the husband she’d lost boundless? He hoped not.
As soon as he’d thought it, he was appalled. What had gotten into him? He’d been slimed on the outside and now he knew it was merely a visible manifestation of what he was like on the inside. Worse, he didn’t know what to say to get past the awkward moment.
He could only come up with, “You’re very lucky to have the children.”
“Don’t I know it. And no one is going to take them from me,” she added emphatically.
“Why would anyone take them?” he asked, puzzled.
“A better question would be why would anyone but me want them,” she shot back. “They’re demanding, rambunctious, active. They do everything in triplicate.” She nodded forcefully. “But Molly, Kelly and Lukas are my whole life.”
“I envy you. My whole life is business and it’s not nearly as exciting as your children.”
“Should I be flattered or insulted? What kind of business are you in?” she asked.
Her face appeared innocence itself, but he read between the lines of her question to another one: How much money do you make?
“I deal in investments. Finances. A little of this and that,” he said vaguely. “That’s not the same as the commitment you’ve made. Your children are lucky to be on the receiving end of such unconditional love.”
“They might trade a small percentage for an extra pair of hands,” she said ruefully. “Sometimes these three seem like twenty. But thank goodness I found a job in Storkville. I relocated here about six months ago and found that it’s a wonderful place to raise children. If Lukie had gotten away from me anywhere else—” She suppressed a shudder at the unthinkable.
“Why did you leave Omaha?”
There was a troubled, faraway expression on her face. But all she said was, “I had no family left. I’m an only child and my parents are both gone. And—the memories there were too much. I decided to start over here with the children.”
“It’s Storkville’s gain,” he said.
“Thank you.” She glanced guiltily at his pants. “Not necessarily yours, though. Are you certain you won’t let me pick up the cost of dry cleaning?”
Clear, beautiful gray eyes looked into his own. Odd, he thought. He wanted to drown in her eyes. He blinked a couple of times, mentally shaking himself. He was a by-the-numbers businessman, not a poet. What was he thinking—drown in a woman’s eyes? Get a grip, McCormack.
He might have been able to rein in his acute response if the rest of her hadn’t inspired him, too. Her petite form fit nicely into a pair of black slacks topped by a black-trimmed beige sweater. Her breasts, not too big or too small, filled out the sweater perfectly, as if it was made for her. In fact, he couldn’t help thinking that she would fit him nicely, as if she was made for him too. Whoa, Mac.
“Mommy, I hafta go.” One of the little girls—Kelly or Molly?—tugged on her hand.
No, don’t go, he thought. He felt like he could stand there and talk to her forever.
Dana looked down at her daughter. “Okay, sweetie.”
Dana turned back to Quentin and said, “I think I’d better get the children home. Let me know if you change your mind about the cleaning charges,” she offered.
“I won’t. But thanks.”
Dana released one of the girls and instructed Molly and Kelly to hold hands tight. Then she took her son’s sticky fingers in a firm grip. “I appreciate your understanding about Lukie. Somehow, I’ll figure out a way to thank you. Goodbye, Quentin.”
He searched for something to say that would keep her there a little longer, but came up empty.
He watched her walk away, and the crowd swallowed Dana Hewitt and her brood before his lightning-fried brain functioned normally again. He realized he hadn’t asked for her phone number. He could always drop by the store, or…
No.
This was for the best. He would bet everything he owned that she was still getting over the loss of her husband. But because of all he owned, it was necessary to question the motives of every woman he met. And Dana was especially risky. He was pretty sure she didn’t have a lot of money to spare.
He looked down at his pants. In spite of the spectacle he must make, he grinned. Cute kids—especially Lukas. But the fruit didn’t fall far from the tree. Cute mom.
Now he would do himself a favor and forget her.
“I guess that does it.” Cleland Knox, owner of Storkville’s insurance agency and president of the chamber of commerce, consulted his notes.
It was October first and the merchants of Storkville were meeting in the town hall to discuss the tentative schedule of holiday events, from Halloween to Christmas and New Year’s. When finalized, it would be printed and posted all over town.
Dana, sitting in for her boss, fidgeted in her chair. She wondered if her hair and clothes looked all right. Normally, she didn’t question her appearance. Ordinarily, she did the best she could with what she had. But tonight wasn’t normal or ordinary. Quentin McCormack was sitting behind her.
Goose bumps that had nothing to do with the chill in the hall skittered up and down her arms. She had carried around a mental picture of the brown-haired, blue-eyed hunk ever since she’d first laid eyes on him in August. His cover-model good looks had been responsible for her not noticing right away what Lukie had done to him. And that was because her gaze had only strayed as far from his face as to his impossibly broad shoulders and his flat abdomen. Only later had she noticed his muscular thighs encased in the expensive material—and covered with gunk.
“Is there any other business?” The C.O.C. president interrupted her delicious yet mortifying daydream.
Dana raised her hand. “Mr. Knox?”
He looked into the crowd. “The chair recognizes Mrs. Hewitt of Bassinets and Booties.”
She suppressed a grin at his formality. He and his wife Grace were regulars in the store, frequently buying toys, clothes and furniture for their four grandchildren.
“Mr. President, I just wanted to make sure that the Bassinets and Booties holiday party, fashion show and raffle are on the schedule. I didn’t see it on the rough draft.”
Dana had just come up with the idea a couple days ago. Her boss had loved her suggestion for the store’s Christmas promotion this year. Every merchant planned something and the events were staggered so that people could get to them all. It was also a last big push that boosted sales through Christmas and the end of the year.
Cleland scanned the paper in his hand and nodded. “I have it penciled in here. Don’t worry. It will be on the final schedule. Second Saturday in December,” he confirmed.
“That’s right,” she agreed. “Thank you.”
“The weekend after that is Santa’s visit to the kids at BabyCare. That okay with you, Hannah?”
“Wonderful,” the woman sitting to Dana’s left answered. “And don’t forget the costume party for the kids at the day-care center the week before Halloween.”
The blond highlights in Hannah’s brown hair glowed beneath the town hall’s fluorescent lights. But that was nothing compared to the sparkle in her brown eyes. And that had everything to do with Jackson Caldwell, the love of her life, who was sitting beside her. Her face was so bright, she could have lit the town of Storkville for the entire holiday season, Halloween and Thanksgiving included.
Dana sighed. She envied them. They’d been childhood sweethearts who had recently been reunited and rekindled their love. Together they were caring for, and falling in love with, the twins abandoned at the day-care center a few days after she’d first met Quentin.
What would it be like, she wondered, to find a love that neither time nor adversity could kill? Her one and only experience with romance hadn’t shown her. And she wasn’t likely to get another chance—even if she wanted one. Her job hindered her from meeting unattached men. And then there was the issue of her three children. They would be enough to scare even the most intrepid man into a monastery. But she adored them and they came first.
“Mr. President?”
Dana would have known Quentin’s deep voice anywhere. She blushed, remembering how its timbre lowered a notch as he joked about dropping his pants right there on Main Street so that she could have them cleaned. Her heart beat faster at the image. He was pretty spectacular with his pants on and she suspected he was something of a religious experience with them off. Merely an objective observation. Her heart might be romantically challenged, but her eyesight was twenty-twenty, uncorrected.
“The floor recognizes Quentin McCormack.”
“I just want to remind everyone of the Halloween costume party at the McCormack estate on Saturday, October twenty-eighth. Invitations will go out in the next couple of days. But my parents and I would like you to put the date on the calendar. We’re hoping for a big turnout.”
“Got it down, Quentin. Anyone else?” Cleland scanned the room. Satisfied that no one else had anything to add, he banged his gavel. “Meeting adjourned. My mouth has been watering for some of Doris and Vern Feeney’s cherry pie. They were kind enough to bring some over from the diner.”
“I’ve brought some of my special lemonade,” Aunt Gertie piped up. In her late sixties, she was a petite, silver-haired woman with twinkling brown eyes and a magic brew “guaranteed” to help along prospective mothers trying to get pregnant.
A line formed beside the refreshment table. Dana didn’t even need to look to know who had stepped behind her. Quentin McCormack. The scent of his cologne was permanently embedded in her memory. He was close enough so that she could feel the heat of his body. And what a very tall body he had, she thought, her heart fluttering. Okay, so being romantically challenged didn’t preclude some involuntary spasms.
Dana poured herself coffee, then glanced at him. “Hello.”
Her knees went weak at his oh-so-attractive smile. She debated the pros and cons of turning completely around. On the one hand, not looking at him would be incredibly rude. On the other, if she faced him, she would have to deal with the full effects of Storkville’s sexiest man.
She took a deep breath and turned around.
“Hi,” he answered. “I see you’re avoiding Aunt Gertie’s lemonade,” he said, ladling some into his cup. “It’s made with Storkville springwater,” he added.
“So I’ve heard, along with the rumor about it causing pregnancy. But I see you’re not afraid.”
Grinning, he said, “For obvious reasons. But you shouldn’t be either. The last time I took biology, they were teaching that there’s only one time-honored way to produce a baby,” he said, his voice lowering with the suggestive comment. “And it doesn’t include storks or finding bundles under cabbage leaves.”
“I’m not taking any chances,” she said firmly.
“For three very good reasons.” He chuckled.
As she spooned sugar into her cup, she concentrated on controlling her shaking hands. He was a tycoon—Storkville’s answer to Donald Trump—according to teenage town gossip Penny Sue Lipton, who worked after school at the day-care center. Still, the man had been more than kind to her son, even after being on the business end of his cotton candy. Nine out of ten tycoons would have chewed Lukie up and spit him out, not asked him to call them Mr. Mac. However much she rationalized her reaction to him, she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that she found Quentin McCormack super-appealing.
With her coffee carefully cradled in both hands, she tried to inch away from the table, but she was trapped. People were behind her and one incredibly sexy tycoon blocked her from the front. She blew on the contents of her cup as she searched for an escape route, or failing that, something to say. “How are you?” she finally asked.
“Fine. And you?”
“Busy,” she answered automatically.
He studied her face. “You look tired.”
“Just distracted,” she said.
“If anyone else said that to me, I’d figure it was just small talk. In your case, you’ve got reasons times three why your focus is fragmented. How are the kids?”
“Great,” she said.
“Are they excited about the holidays coming?”
“That’s hard to say. They remember a little from last year. But it wasn’t a very happy time.” The expression on his handsome face was so kind and sympathetic she found herself telling him more. “Their father was in an automobile accident almost a year ago.”
“I’m sorry,” he said automatically.
“He was in a coma for a week before he died on Christmas Eve. It was a rough time for them. Their recollections are vague, thank goodness. I hope to replace those memories with happy ones this year.” But if her in-laws had their way, that wasn’t likely. She couldn’t suppress the shiver of apprehension that slithered through her.
“Is something wrong, Dana?” he asked.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” she answered.
Just then Cleland Knox, in line behind Dana, backed into her, knocking her forward. The sudden movement caused her to launch the contents of her cup. It arced onto the front of Quentin’s sport coat, the stark white shirt beneath, and the front of his pants.
Stunned, she stared open-mouthed at the liquid soaking into his shirt and dripping down his flat-as-a-washboard abdomen. “Oh, Quentin, I’m so sorry.”
Quickly, she grabbed the stack of napkins from the table beside her and began to blot him. At least the coffee had cooled and didn’t scald him. If only she could say the same for herself—she was hot and bothered. She tried to ignore her response to touching the abdomen she’d admired. But her stomach fluttered like a thousand butterflies in flight.
“I can’t believe this,” she said as she stood back to survey the results of her efforts. Without soap, water and some strong stain remover, there wasn’t much more she could do.
“It must be in the genes. Like mother, like son,” he teased. He studied her face and added, “That was a joke, Dana. And it was an accident.”
After watching her work, Cleland said, “My apologies. You all right, Dana? Sorry, Quentin. The missus keeps telling me to watch where I’m going.”
“No harm done,” Quentin said graciously.
“Again, I must offer to pay any dry-cleaning costs.” Dana twisted her hands together.
“Why, he wouldn’t dream of letting you do that. He’s got more money than God,” Cleland said with a laugh. Then someone from across the room called him over.
“He’s right, Dana. It’s not a big deal. Forget it.”
“If you say so. I just can’t believe the Hewitts have clobbered you twice. But I promise I won’t come near you again.”
“Ever?” he asked.
Was that disappointment on his face?
“Not while I’ve got food or drink in my hand,” she qualified, trying to quell the glow his expression had caused.
“Deal,” Quentin said. “But it wasn’t your fault.”
“Still, if this keeps up, you won’t have any decent clothes left. I know how hard it is to get stains out.”
“Not as hard as it’s been to get you out of my thoughts,” he mumbled.
“What was that?”
“I said, you should know with your tots. About stains, I mean,” he added.
“You can say that again.” She met his blue-eyed gaze, which held an intensity that stole the breath from her lungs. Suddenly he grinned and it was as if the heavens had opened and the earth stood still. Her heart skipped.
“From now on, I’ll wear a raincoat when I’m around you,” he teased.
“Go ahead. Joke about it. But truly, I feel just awful. This time, I will make it up to you.”
No excuses. Time and money were hurdles she could overcome with ingenuity. Before another twenty-four hours passed, she would do something to show him how very sorry she was. The only question: how do you make amends to a man who has more money than God?
Chapter Two
The morning after the chamber of commerce meeting, Quentin entered his office and sat down behind his desk. At the same time, the intercom buzzed and he pushed the button. “Yes, Doleen?”
“You have a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“Sheriff Malone is here to see you, Mr. McCormack.”
“Send him in.”
Quentin figured he was making a pitch for the police department’s Halloween fund. Usually one of the deputies made a phone call; it was good that the sheriff was making a personal appeal. The man kept too much to himself. And the annual event was a worthy cause. The money raised was used for a haunted house to keep the kids supervised and out of mischief. Every year, Quentin made a generous donation. After all, Storkville was all about kids.
A vision of Dana Hewitt and her three children flashed through his mind. It was something that had been happening on an alarmingly regular basis ever since he’d met her. Even though he’d done his darnedest to forget her. It might be easier if he could put his finger on exactly what made her so unforgettable.
After seeing her again last night, sleep had been elusive. When he’d finally managed to doze off, his dreams had been of Dana. He’d never met a woman who had captivated him so quickly and so completely.
When his office door opened, Quentin was relieved that he didn’t have to pursue his last thought. Then he noticed the grim look on the sheriff’s face. Tucker Malone was tall, imposing and probably intimidating to someone on the wrong side of the law. His brown hair showed silver at his temples. His eyes, the color of dark chocolate, hid secrets that Quentin had a feeling were painful. Not a stretch, since he’d been an undercover detective for the Chicago police department. Quentin didn’t know the sheriff well, but he liked and respected him.
He held out his hand. “Good morning, Tucker.”
“Quentin,” the sheriff answered, firmly clasping his outstretched hand.
“Have a seat,” he said, indicating one of the leather wing chairs resting in front of his desk. Then he sat down on the other side.
“Thanks. But this isn’t a social call,” the sheriff answered, lowering himself into the chair.
“Oh?”
“It’s about the twins abandoned at the day-care center.”
Quentin had heard that the sheriff had been called in because no one had claimed the babies. Since then, Tucker had been following up every lead. But Quentin had no idea why he’d come to see him. He had no information to aid in the search.
Tucker cleared his throat. “There was a rattle found with the twins’ belongings when they were left at Hannah’s.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He nodded. “Good. I’ve been trying to keep details quiet. Cleaner that way.”
“Did it lead you to the mother?”
“No. But maybe the father.” The man’s piercing gaze never wavered.
Quentin tensed as he went cold inside. “What are you implying?”
Tucker pulled a long-handled, tarnished metal rattle from his shirt pocket. “I think this might belong to you. It’s silver. Expensive. And has the McCormack crest on it.”
“Are you sure?” Quentin asked. Stunned didn’t come close to describing how he felt.
“The markings are faint so it took me a while to place it. But you’d know best.” He held it out.
Quentin hesitated a moment. “Will I smudge any fingerprints?”
One corner of the sheriff’s mouth turned up. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows on TV.” He shook his head. “It was dusted for prints, but we couldn’t get a clean set.”
Quentin took the rattle and examined it. Several moments later anger sliced through him as he recognized the nearly worn-away family crest. What the hell was going on? “This is a McCormack heirloom, all right.”
“Any idea why it was with the twins?”
He shook his head. “Not a clue.”
“Would it have something to do with you being their father?” Tucker asked grimly.
“No.”
“That’s it?”
“I can do self-righteous indignation as well as the next guy. I could raise my voice and pound on the desk, but it wouldn’t make my answer any more true. I’m responsible about that sort of thing.” He remembered using almost the same words to Dana. “I’m as certain as I can be that I have not fathered any children—let alone the boy and girl left at Hannah’s.”
“I’d like to keep the rattle. It’s still evidence,” Tucker explained. Quentin handed it over. Some of the sheriff’s tension seemed to ease as he took the long silver handle and replaced it in his pocket. “You didn’t give the rattle to anyone?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea how it came to be with the babies?”
“No.”
“Who would have access to it on the estate?”
“Everyone who comes into the house. There’s a display of heirlooms in one of the bedrooms. And you’ve been in Storkville long enough to know that there are numerous social and charitable functions held at the McCormack estate. I’ll check with my mother and see if she’s noticed anything missing.”
He nodded. “You do that. In the meantime, you might want to have a DNA test.”
“But I—”
“If you’re innocent, Quentin, you have nothing to worry about. Why not take steps to clear your name? It’s the only way to be sure.”
The man had a point. “I’ll call the lab and make an appointment.”
Tucker stood up. “Good.” He went to the door, and started to turn the knob. “Quentin?”
“Sheriff?”
“I just want you to know that I’m keeping this investigation as quiet as I can.”
“Thanks, Tucker.”
“I’m not doing it for you. I don’t want this case compromised by publicity. If it’s the last thing I do, I will find out who those kids belong to.” His voice was laced with anger and something that felt like regret.
Then he was gone.
Quentin ran his hand through his hair. In spite of his own denials, he realized that there was a good chance the sheriff believed he had abandoned those babies. If he was ever lucky enough to have children, no way would he turn his back on them. Still, it was a good thing he’d made his donation to Hannah’s day-care center anonymously. That information, along with the rattle, would probably convince Storkville’s lawman that he was guilty beyond a doubt.
He didn’t care what Tucker Malone thought. But if Dana Hewitt heard of the suspicions regarding him, what would she think? Nothing good, he figured. And he realized he wanted her favorable opinion. He picked up the phone. One DNA test ASAP.
After hours, Quentin looked out his office window. The day had started out with a visit from the sheriff and had gone downhill from there. He was glad it was over.
He studied the lights in businesses up and down Main Street. He could almost see Bassinets & Booties from here. A vision filled his head: mahogany hair, gray eyes, full lips. Dana. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman he’d tried to forget after their first meeting.
“Mission impossible,” he said ruefully.
Since their encounter the previous evening, his thoughts of Dana had heated up. And not just because she’d baptized him with the contents of her coffee cup. He’d spent a restless night dreaming of running his hands through her hair, kissing her until they both went up in flames. His intercom buzzed, startling him.
He swiveled his chair away from the window and answered. “Yes, Doleen?”
“You have a visitor.”
He wasn’t expecting anyone. This was the way his day had started. He groaned. Not Sheriff Malone again. Since he wasn’t the babies’ father, what more could there be to talk about? His stomach knotted when he remembered his own secret. Had Tucker discovered that he was the day-care center’s anonymous benefactor?
“Who is it?” he demanded, dreading the answer.
“A woman and three adorable children,” Doleen answered, a smile in her voice.
Dana and her kids, he thought. He’d tried all day to shake his dismal mood. Now he was as excited as a teenage boy going to the prom with the most popular girl in school.
“Send them in,” he said.
A moment later, his office door opened and Lukie raced toward him. Quentin stood in front of his desk and braced himself for impact. He bent down and lifted the little guy into his arms.
“Hi, Lukie.”
“Hi, Mr. Mac.”
They grinned at each other. Then he saw Dana, standing in the doorway with Molly and Kelly. He drank in the sight of her like the plains soak up the first rain after a drought. He could hardly breathe. If anything, she grew more beautiful every time he saw her.
He looked closer and noticed that her eyes lacked their special sparkle. Her full mouth turned up in a smile of greeting, but he knew it was the generic one she used for customers at the end of a particularly long day. She seemed tired, or tense. Or both.
“Hello, Dana,” he said. Then to the two girls now clinging to her legs, “Hi, Kelly. Hi, Molly. Thanks for coming to see me.”
Shyly, they hid their faces in their mother’s red dress, but in such a way that they could peek at him.
“You remembered their names,” Dana said. This time her smile was genuine and for just a moment her eyes shone.
“Of course.” He tried to sound casual, but inside he was doing the touchdown dance at pleasing her. “Although they look so identical, I’d crash and burn if you asked me to address them by name and be correct.”
She laughed. “When they were born, I knew that would be a problem. So I came up with a cheat sheet. Molly has a small mole, or beauty mark as I refer to it, just to the right of her mouth. M for Molly and mole.”
“Clever mother,” he said.
“Thank you. One tries even if one isn’t always successful.” There was an edge to her voice that made him suspect a double meaning to her words. And another black look replaced the pleasure on her face. “But I didn’t barge in to dazzle you with my foxy maternal instincts.”
She just dazzled him with her foxy self, he thought. Then he noticed the basket in her hands and remembered her promise to make retribution for dumping coffee on him. He wanted to tell her she could dump as often as she wanted if it meant he could spend time with her. He realized that he very much wanted to do that.
“Why did you drop in and dazzle me?” he asked instead.
She smiled. “If you’ll put my son down, we’ll do our thing.”
“There you go, big guy,” he said, setting the boy on the rug.
He raced over to his mom, and Quentin realized Lukas had only one pace: light speed. Dana bent down and together they moved forward and handed him the green-cellophane-wrapped basket.
“For you,” Lukie said proudly. “Cuz me and mommy spilled.”
“Thank you.” Quentin took the basket. At the same time, he got a whiff of Dana’s fragrance and realized he could find her in a pitch-black room. The memory of her scent would haunt him forever.
The thought made him hot all over. In his shaky hands, the cellophane snapped, crackled and popped. Not unlike what was going on inside him. Could she tell? He glanced at her to see if she’d noticed.
But she was watching Lukie, who had lost interest in the peace offering. The boy had crawled under his desk and was now on the other side diddling with his computer keyboard.
“Lukie, don’t touch Mr. Mac’s things,” she warned him.
“Okay,” he said and stopped. For a moment.
“I should have left them with Hannah for a few more minutes while I made my peace offering,” she said. “But they’re there all day and I hate to leave them longer than I absolutely must.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. I like seeing them. And this is great,” Quentin said, peering at the wrapping. It was not quite transparent enough to see the contents. “But you really didn’t have to do it.”
“It’s no big deal. But do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with a contrition offering for a man who has more money than God?”
As always, his warning signals went up at the mention of his money. “It’s the thought that counts,” he said automatically.
“That’s a cliché, but I hope you really mean it,” she answered.
“Open your pwesent,” Lukie said. He raced around the desk. “Mommy and me wapped it. Me and my sisters maked cookies.”
“Way to go, buddy.” Quentin looked at the boy’s mother. “When did you have time?”
She shrugged. “They get up at the crack of dawn. We baked this morning before work and day care.”
Quentin put the basket on his desk and untied the ribbon. Inside he found cookies, muffins and peanut brittle. Nestled in the center of the baked goods there was an envelope. He opened it and found a gift certificate to the local dry cleaner.
“Perfect,” he said chuckling. He met Dana’s gaze. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
The children lost interest as soon as the basket was opened and they drifted away. Quentin noticed the girls quietly checking out the magazines sitting on the table in the corner.
“Don’t touch things,” Dana warned them. “You too, Lukie. Put down Mr. Mac’s eyeglasses.” The boy had retreated to the other side of his desk again and was examining the glasses Quentin used for computer work.
Quentin studied Dana. She was definitely tense. He hoped she wasn’t really worried about spilling on him. Or was something else bothering her?
“The kids are fine, Dana. It’s their job to explore,” he said gently.
“And it’s my job to pay for what they destroy in the process of doing their job,” she said. Glancing around his office she continued, “And you have a wonderful office with all kinds of things to break.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“So much to explore, so little time,” she said, giving his work space an admiring glance.
He followed her gaze. He liked it and was pleased that she approved. On the hunter-green carpet, his oak desk and computer return filled the center of the room. Across from it was the soft brown leather sofa. From time to time, he had picked out pieces of art and knickknacks that caught his fancy. The cost hadn’t fazed him.
A worried frown marred her smooth forehead. “But do you have something against plastic?”
“Excuse me?”
“Everything in here is breakable. I’d better get the children home before you regret that we dropped in. Dropped being the operative word.”
“Don’t go yet,” he said before he could stop himself. “The carpet is thick. Things bounce.”
“I’m glad. Because my budget doesn’t have much bounce,” she said ruefully. “But we’re doing fine financially,” she added quickly.
To reassure her or himself, he wondered. He decided to change the subject. “How’s business?”
“Good. Storkville is a wonderful community for a baby store. The population is growing steadily, hence the store is doing well. I think word is out about what a great place it is to raise children.” Her pretty face clouded. “Which is probably why the twins were left with Hannah. I hope they find whoever abandoned those babies.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said, uncomfortable with the direction his change of subject had taken her.
“There should be a special place in hell for someone like that. Who could walk out on their children? Steffie and Sammy are so adorable. I worry about Molly, Kelly and Lukie every moment I’m not with them.”
Had she heard that the sheriff suspected him of fathering the twins? He studied her reaction, trying to decide if her tirade was general or specific to him. Suddenly an alarmed expression suffused her features and she hurried around his desk.
“Lukie, put that down,” she said, removing a ceramic paperweight from the child’s hand. She glanced ruefully at Quentin. “Something tells me you don’t do much business with three-year-olds.”
He laughed. “No. But I’m looking into it.”
He realized he wasn’t joking. The moment she’d walked into his office with her munchkin marauders, their energy and innocent curiosity had lifted his spirits. He liked watching them. He liked watching her. He would like to have them around. A lot.
He wondered if Aunt Gertie’s lemonade, which he’d sipped the night before, was to blame for his thoughts. The rumor was that it was supposed to help women get pregnant. Could it put thoughts of settling down with a ready-made family into a lonely bachelor’s head? Even one who had been avoiding gold diggers all his adult life?
Did Dana fall into the gold digger category? His every instinct said no. She had ignored him after their first meeting. His gut told him she wouldn’t be here now if not for the lucky coffee accident last night. And she’d had a little help from the mayor. He made a mental note to send Cleland Knox a special greeting when the holidays rolled around this year.
With her son’s hand firmly gripped in her own, Dana walked back around in front of him. “If your clientele expands to children, I’d advise you to kid-proof your office. Otherwise the pressure will age you before your time.”
“I’m not worried. Relax, Dana. They’re things. Replaceable.”
“Easy for you to say,” she said, sighing loudly as Lukie pulled his hand from hers and wiggled back under the desk. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Kelly and Molly touching a crystal bell on a shelf in the curio cabinet in the corner.
“Put that down, girls,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Please don’t touch.”
“But, Mommy,” Kelly said.
“It’s pretty,” her sister continued as if she was finishing the thought. “When the light shines it makes wed, and bwue.”
“Me see,” Lukie said, quickly moving beside them.
“No, Lukie.” Dana started toward the trio. “Don’t touch it.”
“Wanna see,” he said.
He grabbed it. When he turned toward the light, the delicate handle hit the shelf and broke off. Then he dropped the bell and it shattered against the base of the cabinet.
“Oh,” Dana said. “Oh, no.”
Quentin stepped in. He gently moved the children away from the broken glass. “Don’t touch,” he warned quietly. “The pieces are sharp. They can cut you. Are you all okay?” They nodded, but he scanned them quickly and didn’t see any blood, so he figured no one had been hit by flying glass.
Lukie stared up at him with a contrite expression that looked awfully familiar. “Sorry, Mr. Mac.”
“Accidents happen, buddy.” He stooped and picked up the pieces of crystal.
When he met Dana’s gaze, he realized she was more fragile than the bell. Her gray eyes shimmered. “I’ll bet that cost at least as much as my monthly grocery bill,” she said.
Close, he thought. But how did she know its value? If she was on a tight budget, would she have any idea what the replacement price was?
She bent and took Lukie’s arm. “Son, that was a no-no. I asked you not to touch Mr. Mac’s things. No cartoons after supper,” she said sternly. “Straight to bed.”
“No, Mommy.” The little boy’s mouth quivered. Then he started to cry.
The next thing Quentin knew, Molly and Kelly were sobbing. Dana looked at him helplessly. “I’m so sorry. Somehow, I’ll make it up to you. I wonder how many cookies I’ll have to bake. I—I have to g-go—”
“Don’t cry, Dana.” Quentin moved toward her and reached out a hand to comfort her.
She backed away. “Please don’t touch me. I have just about enough self-control to make it home with the triplets before I lose it. But if you’re nice to me, that time frame c-could be c-considerably shorter.”
He pulled her into his arms and felt her body shake. He heard a sob before she put a hand over her mouth.
“M-mommy? Sorry, Mommy. Don’t cwy,” Lukie said, burying his face in his mother’s leg. The girls followed suit.
Group hug? Quentin thought ruefully. He disengaged himself from the crying quartet and pressed the intercom for his secretary.
“Yes?”
“Doleen, I could use your assistance.”
“Right away.”
The next moment his door opened and super-efficient Doleen Powell walked in. Short, brunette, and wearing wire-rimmed spectacles, she was a bundle of energy. “How can I help, Quentin?”
“What would it take to coax the children into your office?” he asked.
“Food.” She glanced at her watch and nodded. “It’s after six. They’re probably hungry and tired. Can’t do anything about bedtime, but I could call for a pizza.”
“Pizza?” Lukie said, anticipation chasing the tears from his eyes.
“I like pizza,” Molly said. Kelly nodded enthusiastically.
Doleen smiled. “Do I know kids or what?”
“There will be something special in your Christmas bonus this year,” Quentin said more grateful than he could say.
“There always is, boss,” she answered. She looked at the kids. “You guys want to help me call for the pizza?” When they nodded, she held her arm out toward the door and said, “Come into my office.”
The three children ran to the door. As she ushered them through it, Doleen said, “Your mom is going to talk to Mr. McCormack for a few minutes while we have pizza in here. Is that okay with you guys?”
“Yay,” they said together just before the door closed.
Quentin looked at Dana. Tears streaked her face. Red rimmed her eyes. She sniffled loudly. And God help him, she’d never looked more beautiful. He went to her and pulled her back into his arms. Sobs shook her.
“I—I warned you not to touch me.”
“No guts no glory,” he said as lightly as he could with his heart beating like crazy. She felt so delicate, so fragile—so soft, so warm. Completely wonderful. He didn’t know how, but he knew this breakdown was not her style.
Her tears dampened the front of his blue dress shirt. “There’s never a raincoat around when you need one.”
“Not again,” she said trying to pull away.
“That was a joke, Dana. Lighten up. Cut yourself some slack. You’re a single mom. Three kids would be a handful for two parents.”
Instead of helping, his words sent her into another crying spell. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He rubbed her back and whispered meaningless words meant to comfort and reassure.
When she was finally quiet against him, except for an occasional hiccup, he said, “Now, I think it’s time you told me what’s really going on.”
Chapter Three
Dana had never been so mortified in her life. Breaking down like that! Quentin must think she was a raving lunatic. And she couldn’t blame him. But, God help her, she didn’t want him to think that. Maybe there was a way to salvage the situation.
“What makes you think there’s something going on?” she hedged.
She backed away from him and reached into the pocket of her dress for a tissue. A mother of three always had one.
“You’re not the kind of woman who breaks down like this. It’s not your style.”
He was right. But how did he know that? She’d been with her husband over three years and he’d never realized that about her. The last time they’d talked, he’d told her to stop with the tears. A classic female manipulation, he’d called it even though he’d never seen her cry more than once or twice.
“How do you know what my style is?” she asked curiously. “After all, we barely know each other.”
“I size people up pretty quickly. The day Lukie got away from you, you were anxious and frantic. But not—” he met her gaze “—hysterical. This is not your usual unflappable style,” he said again.
He stuck his hands in the pockets of his navy pinstripe slacks as he met her gaze. Her tears had blotched his powder-blue shirt, reminding her that he’d held her while she cried. No man had ever held her while she cried. He’d been nothing but kind since they’d met. Correction, kind and sexy. And he was entitled to the same treatment—the kind part, not the sexy. It was her attraction to him that had made her words sharper than she’d intended. She didn’t want to be attracted to him, or any other man.
As much as she’d tried to tell herself that she wasn’t attracted, her body shivered, shuddered or sizzled just because he smiled, spoke or sized her up in his charming, devastating way. But that was her problem and certainly no excuse for her behavior.
He deserved an explanation. She sighed. “You’re right, Quentin. There is something wrong.”
He reached out a hand and curved his strong, lean fingers around her elbow. “Let’s sit down over here and you can tell me about it,” he said leading her to the sofa.
His touch discharged sparks of warmth through her and made her legs as weak as a newborn colt’s. With an effort, she pulled herself together. She would not humiliate herself further by collapsing at his feet.
He saw her to the leather couch and she lowered herself onto the supple cushion, then stifled a sigh of appreciation. Why should it surprise her that it was soft and comforting like everything else in his office? Like Quentin himself. It was also expensive. She’d lived with Jeff Hewitt long enough to know quality when she sat on it, and this was about as quality as it came. Thank goodness the children would be eating their pizza anywhere but here. But she completely trusted his secretary to watch over them. Probably because the woman worked for Quentin aka Sir Galahad.
She met his expectant gaze and wondered where to start her explanations. Best to jump in with both feet, she decided. She sat up straighter. “My husband’s parents are threatening legal action to take the children away from me.”
“What?” His deep voice wrapped around that one word and vibrated with anger. “Why?”
“For starters, they never approved of me. My background and upbringing was very different from their son’s. Jeff came from money and social position. I was raised in a blue-collar, working-class family. There was lots of love but not much money.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he answered.
Dana thought a wary look flickered in his blue eyes, but then it was gone. She continued, “I’m proud of who I am, where I came from. It makes me sad that my parents didn’t live long enough to know my children. Especially since the Hewitts have never accepted me.”
“It’s their loss.”
“It’ll be mine,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Unless I can convince them to leave me and the kids alone.”
“It explains a lot. Like why you were so outspoken about the abandoned twins.”
She nodded. “I’m facing the possibility of losing my children, my life,” she whispered, “and someone just walked out on Sammy and Steffie.” She shook her head. “It’s inconceivable to me how anyone could do that. It’s been weeks, and no word—” She stopped as emotion choked her.
“I don’t understand how your in-laws could do anything.” Something flickered in his eyes as he changed the subject back to her problem. “No court in the country would take the triplets from you. You’re a loving, caring mother.”
“Thanks,” she said, his praise filling up a hollow place inside her. “But they’re wealthy. I’m afraid if they pour enough money into the fight, they can do whatever they want. I don’t have enough to hire an attorney, let alone put up more than token resistance. So far it’s just talk. But—” She stopped and caught her top lip between her teeth.
“Tell me what they’re saying.”
“That I’m a single parent with three children. That I came from nothing and that hasn’t changed.”
His mouth twisted, telling her that he disagreed with her words. “What about your husband’s life insurance?”
“There wasn’t any.” When an angry scowl took hold of his features and he opened his mouth, she held up her hand. “It’s a long, sad story. Don’t ask. The point is, I don’t have much money.”
“Lots of people raise families on limited incomes. It’s not grounds for removing the children.”
“They criticize the fact that I have to work full-time to provide for myself and the kids. Lukie and Kelly and Molly are being raised by strangers who can’t give them the time they need. Or bring them up as Hewitts should be.”
“Again, lots of families are in the same boat. Two-income households are a fact of life in this country. That’s why day-care centers like Hannah’s are so vital.”
“I agree,” she said. She tried to suppress her shiver of excitement at his passionate support and was dismally unsuccessful. His outspoken championing of children was so appealing. It made her want his arms around her again. But not just for comfort. She had the most absurd desire to know what his lips would feel like against her own. With an effort she said, “But all the Hewitts can see is that their grandchildren are being raised by their inferiors.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I tried to get them to come to Storkville and see for themselves what the town is like. I urged them to meet Hannah and her staff, as well as the volunteers at BabyCare, so they would be reassured that the triplets’ environment is safe and nurturing. I suggested that the situation is a good thing, that meeting different people will make them well-rounded individuals. Many people have a lot to offer them.”
“And?”
“They hung up on me. The last thing they said is that I’d be hearing from their lawyer.”
He took her hand in his large warm one. “I’m really sorry, Dana. What can I—”
“Oh, before the lawyer threat, they said it’s not safe for one woman to raise three kids without a husband. It’s dangerous, because they’re a handful.”
He shook his head. “Almost my exact words a few moments ago. No wonder you lost it. I’m sorry. I was trying to make you feel better. Instead, I practically paraphrased your in-laws.”
“There’s no way you could have known. They’re adamant that the children would be better off with them. It’s a household where money is no object and there would be a mother and father.”
“Father?” he said. He said the one word thoughtfully and almost to himself.
Dana could almost see the wheels in his mind spinning. His eyes shone with an inner excitement. What in the world was he thinking?
She knew she should take her hand from his, but she couldn’t bear to relinquish the warmth, the support, the connection. It felt so wonderful, as if she wasn’t alone. Although she knew that was silly. She was in the fight of her life and she had no one in her corner. She was more grateful than she could say that he’d listened as she unburdened herself.
“Quentin, if I thought for a moment that the children would be happy with them and thrive in that environment, I would give them my blessing. But I know them. George and Beatrice Hewitt are narrow-minded and selfish. They would pawn the kids off on servants. The triplets would be so lonely in that sophisticated, adult atmosphere. It’s not a place for children. It’s too adult. It’s like—” she stopped searching for an example.
“My office?” he offered wryly.
In spite of her worries, she couldn’t help smiling. It felt good and she was grateful to him for pulling it out of her. “No,” she denied. “This is a warm atmosphere that just happens to be filled with breakables.”
His grin was fleeting. “You can’t let them win, Dana.”
“I won’t,” she said firmly. “But part of me worries that they’ve got a point. To someone who doesn’t look deeper, they appear to be the salt of the earth. Worse, they’re something I can’t be. A mother and father.”
He stood up suddenly and Dana missed his warmth beside her. He stuck his hands in his pockets and started to pace.
“Quentin?”
He didn’t seem to hear her. He kept walking and occasionally ran his fingers through his hair.
“Quentin? What is it?”
He turned to her and there was an intensity in his expression that she found thrilling. Not to mention sexy as all get-out. “Quentin, say something. I don’t know what to do.”
“Marry me.”
In her whole life, Dana had never been on the receiving end of a jaw-dropping remark. But the two words made her jaw drop. She was completely speechless.
With hands on his hips, he stood in front of her and stared down. “What do you say?”
She shrugged, shook her head in disbelief, and extended her hands in a helpless gesture.
“C’mon, Dana. It’s easy. There’s just one three-letter word I want to hear.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“That’s not the right one. But the question is valid.” He took a deep breath. “It’s the answer to both our problems.”
“I thought I was the only one with a problem.”
Shaking his head, he said, “Lady, I could give you an earful about problems. For starters, having a wife would be practical for me. I’m the president of the company and it would be sensible for business and society functions. A settled CEO helps stabilize stock prices. Our investors don’t trust uncertainty.”
He had an odd look on his face, as if something else was troubling him.
“I could shoot that full of holes, Quentin. But let’s say for a moment that I buy it, what would marriage do for me?”
“I could give you and the kids security.”
She stood up. “I’m not a charity case, Quentin. I can take care of my children.”
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