The Nanny Bombshell
Michelle Celmer
“If I tried to kiss you right now, you wouldn’t stop me.”
The thought of Coop leaning over the console and pressing his lips to hers made her heart flutter and her stomach bottom out. But she squared her shoulders and said, “If you tried to kiss me, I’d deck you.”
He threw his head back and laughed.
“You don’t think I would do it?”
“No, you probably would, just to prove how tough you are. Then you would give in and let me kiss you anyway.”
“The depth of your arrogance is truly remarkable.”
“It’s one of my most charming qualities,” he said, but his grin said that he was definitely teasing her this time.
Maybe the confidence was a smoke screen, or this was his way of testing the waters. Maybe he really liked her, but being so used to women throwing themselves at him, the possibility of being rejected scared him.
Weirdly enough, the idea that under the tough-guy exterior there could be a vulnerable man made him that much more appealing.
Dear Reader,
I have a confession to make. I don’t like sports.
Yes, you read that right. I don’t like them. Baseball, football, hockey, soccer … they all bore me to tears. I don’t even watch the Olympics. Which is why it makes no sense that I love romance novels with sports-playing heroes, and why I decided, after twenty-eight books, to finally write one myself. And frankly, if Cooper Landon could climb off the page and actually play hockey, I’d probably learn to love the game. Because let’s face it, what could be sexier or more heartwarming than a big, tough—and let’s not forget clueless—guy falling for a pair of adorable infant twin girls?
That’s probably why Sierra Evans, who’s not so crazy about sports herself, or men like Coop, can’t resist him. Especially when the twins are her own daughters—a fact that she left out when she took the position as their nanny. But the closer she and Coop become, she knows that eventually the truth will have to come out. Still there are some secrets, devastating ones, that must stay hidden away forever or it could mean never seeing her daughters again.
Until next time,
Michelle
About the Author
Bestselling author MICHELLE CELMER lives in southeastern Michigan with her husband, their three children, two dogs and two cats. When she’s not writing or busy being a mom, you can find her in the garden or curled up with a romance novel. And if you twist her arm really hard, you can usually persuade her into a day of power shopping.
Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, or write to her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017, USA.
The Nanny Bombshell
Michelle Celmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my granddaughter,
Aubrey Helen Ann
One
This was not good.
As a former defensive center, MVP and team captain for the New York Scorpions, Cooper Landon was one of the city’s most beloved sports heroes. His hockey career had never been anything but an asset.
Until today.
He looked out the conference room window in the Manhattan office of his attorney, where he had been parked for the past ninety minutes, hands wedged in the pockets of his jeans, watching the late afternoon traffic crawl along Park Avenue. The early June sun reflected with a blinding intensity off the windows of the building across the street and the sidewalks were clogged with people going about their daily routine. Businessmen catching cabs, mothers pushing strollers. Three weeks ago he’d been one of them, walking through life oblivious to how quickly his world could be turned completely upside down.
One senseless accident had robbed him of the only family he had. Now his brother, Ash, and sister-in-law, Susan, were dead, and his twin infant nieces were orphans.
He clenched his fists, fighting back the anger and injustice of it, when what he wanted to do was slam them through the tinted glass.
He still had his nieces, he reminded himself. Though they had been adopted, Ash and Susan couldn’t have loved them more if they were their own flesh and blood. Now they were Coop’s responsibility, and he was determined to do right by them, give them the sort of life his brother wanted them to have. He owed Ash.
“So, what did you think of that last one?” Ben Hearst, his attorney, asked him. He sat at the conference table sorting through the applications and taking notes on the nanny candidates they had seen that afternoon.
Coop turned to him, unable to mask his frustration. “I wouldn’t trust her to watch a hamster.”
Like the three other women they had interviewed that day, the latest applicant had been more interested in his hockey career than talking about the twins. He’d met her type a million times before. In her short skirt and low-cut blouse, she was looking to land herself a famous husband. Though in the past he would have enjoyed the attention and, yeah, he probably would have taken advantage of it, now he found it annoying. He wasn’t seen as the guardian of two precious girls who lost their parents, but as a piece of meat. He’d lost his brother two weeks ago and not a single nanny candidate had thought to offer their condolences.
After two days and a dozen equally unproductive interviews, he was beginning to think he would never find the right nanny.
His housekeeper, who had been grudgingly helping him with the twins and was about twenty years past her child-rearing prime, had threatened to quit if he didn’t find someone else to care for them.
“I’m really sorry,” Ben said. “I guess we should have anticipated this happening.”
Maybe Coop should have taken Ben’s advice and used a service. He just didn’t feel that a bunch of strangers would be qualified to choose the person who would be best to care for the twins.
“I think you’re going to like this next one,” Ben told him.
“Is she qualified?”
“Overqualified, actually.” He handed Coop the file. “You could say that I was saving the best for last.”
Sierra Evans, twenty-six. She had graduated from college with a degree in nursing, and it listed her current occupation as a pediatric nurse. Coop blinked, then looked at Ben. “Is this right?”
He smiled and nodded. “I was surprised, too.”
She was single and childless with a clean record. She didn’t have so much as a parking ticket. On paper she looked perfect. Although in his experience, if something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. “What’s the catch?”
Ben shrugged. “Maybe there isn’t one. She’s waiting in the lobby. You ready to meet her?”
“Let’s do it,” he said, feeling hopeful for the first time since this whole mess started. Maybe this one would be as good as she sounded.
Using the intercom, Ben asked the receptionist, “Would you send Miss Evans in please?”
A minute later the door opened and a woman walked in. Immediately Coop could see that she was different from the others. She was dressed in scrubs—dark-blue pants and a white top with Sesame Street characters all over it—and comfortable-looking shoes. Not typical attire for a job interview but a decided improvement over the clingy, revealing choices of her predecessors. She was average height, average build … very unremarkable. But her face, that was anything but average.
Her eyes were so dark brown they looked black and a slight tilt in the corners gave her an Asian appearance. Her mouth was wide, lips full and sensual, and though she didn’t wear a stitch of makeup, she didn’t need any. Her black hair was long and glossy and pulled back in a slightly lopsided ponytail.
One thing was clear. This woman was no groupie.
“Miss Evans,” Ben said, rising to shake her hand. “I’m Ben Hearst, and this is Cooper Landon.”
Coop gave her a nod but stayed put in his place by the window.
“I apologize for the scrubs,” she said in a voice that was on the husky side. “I came straight from work.”
“It’s not a problem,” Ben assured her, gesturing to a chair. “Please, have a seat.”
She sat, placing her purse—a nondesigner bag that had seen better days—on the table beside her and folded her hands in her lap. Coop stood silently observing as Ben launched into the litany of questions he’d asked every candidate. She dutifully answered every one of them, darting glances Coop’s way every so often but keeping her attention on Ben. The others had asked Coop questions, tried to engage him in conversation. But from Miss Evans there was no starry-eyed gazing, no flirting or innuendo. No smoldering smiles and suggestions that she would do anything for the job. In fact, she avoided his gaze, as if his presence made her nervous.
“You understand that this is a live-in position. You will be responsible for the twins 24/7. 11:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. on Sundays, and every fourth weekend from Saturday at 8:00 a.m. to Sunday at 8:00 p.m., is yours to spend as you wish,” Ben said.
She nodded. “I understand.”
Ben turned to Coop. “Do you have anything to add?”
“Yeah, I do.” He addressed Miss Evans directly. “Why would you give up a job as a pediatric nurse to be a nanny?”
“I love working with kids … obviously,” she said with a shy smile—a pretty smile. “But working in the neonatal intensive care unit is a very high-stress job. It’s emotionally draining. I need a change of pace. And I can’t deny that the live-in situation is alluring.”
A red flag began to wave furiously. “Why is that?”
“My dad is ill and unable to care for himself. The salary you’re offering, along with not having to pay rent, would make it possible for me to put him in a top-notch facility. In fact, there’s a place in Jersey that has a spot opening up this week, so the timing would be perfect.”
That was the last thing he had expected her to say, and for a second he was speechless. He didn’t know of many people, especially someone in her tax bracket, who would sacrifice such a large chunk of their salary for the care of a parent. Even Ben looked a little surprised.
He shot Coop a look that asked, What do you think? As things stood, Coop couldn’t come up with a single reason not to hire her on the spot, but he didn’t want to act rashly. This was about the girls, not his personal convenience.
“I’d like you to come by and meet my nieces tomorrow,” he told her.
She regarded him hopefully. “Does that mean I have the job?”
“I’d like to see you interact with them before I make the final decision, but I’ll be honest, you’re by far the most qualified candidate we’ve seen so far.”
“Tomorrow is my day off so I can come anytime.”
“Why don’t we say 1:00 p.m., after the girls’ lunch. I’m a novice at this parenting thing, so it usually takes me until then to get them bathed, dressed and fed.”
She smiled. “One is fine.”
“I’m on the Upper East Side. Ben will give you the address.”
Ben jotted down Coop’s address and handed it to her. She took the slip of paper and tucked it into her purse.
Ben stood, and Miss Evans rose to her feet. She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder.
“One more thing, Miss Evans,” Coop said. “Are you a hockey fan?”
She hesitated. “Um … is it a prerequisite for the job?”
He felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Of course not.”
“Then, no, not really. I’ve never much been into sports. Although I was in a bowling league in college. Until recently my dad was a pretty big hockey fan, though.”
“So you know who I am?”
“Is there anyone in New York who doesn’t?”
Probably not, and only recently had that fact become a liability. “That isn’t going to be an issue?”
She cocked her head slightly. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Her confusion made him feel like an idiot for even asking. Was he so used to women fawning over him that he’d come to expect it? Maybe he wasn’t her type, or maybe she had a boyfriend. “Never mind.”
She turned to leave, then paused and turned back to him.
“I wanted to say, I was so sorry to hear about your brother and his wife. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love.”
The sympathy in her dark eyes made him want to squirm, and that familiar knot lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his Adam’s apple. It annoyed him when the others hadn’t mentioned it, but when she did, it made him uncomfortable. Maybe because she seemed as though she really meant it.
“Thank you,” he said. He’d certainly had his share of loss. First his parents when he was twelve, and now Ash and Susan. Maybe that was the price he had to pay for fame and success.
He would give it all up, sell his soul if that was what it took to get his brother back.
After she left Ben asked him, “So, you really think she’s the one?”
“She’s definitely qualified, and it sounds as though she needs the job. As long as the girls like her, I’ll offer her the position.”
“Easy on the eyes, too.”
He shot Ben a look. “If I manage to find a nanny worth hiring, do you honestly think I would risk screwing it up by getting physically involved?”
Ben smirked. “Honestly?”
Okay, a month ago … maybe. But everything had changed since then.
“I prefer blondes,” he told Ben. “The kind with no expectations and questionable morals.”
Besides, taking care of the girls, seeing that they were raised in the manner Ash and Susan would want, was his top priority. Coop owed his brother that much. When their parents died, Ash had only been eighteen, but he’d put his own life on hold to raise Coop. And Coop hadn’t made it easy at first. He’d been hurt and confused and had lashed out. He was out of control and fast on his way to becoming a full-fledged juvenile delinquent when the school psychologist told Ash that Coop needed a constructive outlet for his anger. She suggested a physical sport, so Ash had signed him up for hockey.
Coop had never been very athletic or interested in sports, but he took to the game instantly, and though he was on a team with kids who had been playing since they were old enough to balance on skates, he rapidly surpassed their skills. Within two years he was playing in a travel league and became the star player. At nineteen he was picked up by the New York Scorpions.
A knee injury two years ago had cut his career short, but smart investments—again thanks to the urging of his brother—had left him wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Without Ash, and the sacrifices he made, it never would have been possible. Now Coop had the chance to repay him. But he couldn’t do it alone. He was ill-equipped. He knew nothing about caring for an infant, much less two at once. Hell, until two weeks ago he’d never so much as changed a diaper. Without his housekeeper to help, he would be lost.
If Miss Evans turned out to be the right person for the job—and he had the feeling she was—he would never risk screwing it up by sleeping with her.
She was off-limits.
Sierra Evans rode the elevator down to the lobby of the attorney’s office building, sagging with relief against the paneled wall. That had gone much better than she could have hoped and she was almost positive that the job was as good as hers. It was a good thing, too, because the situation was far worse than she could have imagined.
Clearly Cooper Landon had better things to do than care for his twin nieces. He was probably too busy traipsing around like the playboy of the Western world. She wasn’t one to listen to gossip, but in his case, his actions and reputation as a womanizing partier painted a disturbing picture. That was not the kind of atmosphere in which she wanted her daughters raised.
Her daughters. Only recently had she begun thinking of them as hers again.
With Ash and Susan gone, it seemed wrong that the twins would be so carelessly pawned off on someone like Cooper. But she would save them. She would take care of them and love them. It was all that mattered now.
The doors slid open and she stepped out. She crossed the swanky lobby and pushed out the door into the sunshine, heading down Park Avenue in the direction of the subway, feeling hopeful for the first time in two weeks.
Giving the twins up had been the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life, but she knew it was for the best. Between her student loans and exorbitant rent, not to mention her dad’s failing health and mounting medical bills, she was in no position financially or emotionally to care for infant twins. She knew that Ash and Susan, the girls’ adoptive parents, would give her babies everything that she couldn’t.
But in the blink of an eye they were gone. She had been standing in front of the television, flipping through the channels when she paused on the news report about the plane crash. When she realized it was Ash and Susan they were talking about, her knees had buckled and she’d dropped to the nubby, threadbare shag carpet. In a panic she had flipped through the channels, desperate for more details, terrified to the depths of her soul that the girls had been on the flight with them. She’d sat up all night, alternating between the television and her laptop, gripped by a fear and a soul-wrenching grief that had been all-consuming.
At 7:00 a.m. the following morning the early news confirmed that the girls had in fact been left with Susan’s family and were not in the crash. Sierra had been so relieved she wept. But then the reality of the situation hit hard. Who would take the girls? Would they go to Susan’s family permanently or, God forbid, be dropped into the foster-care system?
She had contacted her lawyer immediately, and after a few calls he had learned what to her was unthinkable. Cooper would be their guardian. What the hell had Ash been thinking, choosing him? What possible interest could a womanizing, life of the party, ex-hockey player have in two infant babies?
She’d asked her lawyer to contact him on her behalf using no names, assuming that he would be more than happy to give the girls back to their natural mother. She would find a way to make it work. But Cooper had refused to give them up.
Her lawyer said she could try to fight him for custody, but the odds weren’t in her favor. She had severed her parental rights, and getting them back would take a lengthy and expensive legal battle. But knowing Cooper would undoubtedly need help, and would probably be thrilled with someone of her qualifications, she’d managed to get herself an interview for the nanny position.
Sierra boarded the subway at Lexington and took the F Train to Queens. Normally she visited her dad on Wednesdays, but she had the appointment at Cooper’s apartment tomorrow so she had to rearrange her schedule. With any luck he would offer her the job on the spot, and she could go home and start packing immediately.
She took a cab from the station to the dumpy, third-rate nursing home where her dad had spent the past fourteen months. As she passed the nursing station she said hi to the nurse seated there and received a grunt of annoyance in return. She would think that being in the same profession there would be some semblance of professional courtesy, but the opposite was true. The nurses seemed to resent her presence.
She hated that her dad had to stay in this horrible place where the employees were apathetic and the care was borderline criminal, but this was all that Medicare would cover and home care at this late stage of the disease was just too expensive. His body had lost the ability to perform anything but the most basic functions. He couldn’t speak, barely reacted to stimuli and had to be fed through a tube. His heart was still beating, his lungs still pulling in air, but eventually his body would forget how to do that, too. It could be weeks, or months. He might even linger on for a year or more. There was just no way to know. If she could get him into the place in Jersey it would be harder to visit, but at least he would be well cared for.
“Hi, Lenny.” She greeted her dad’s roommate, a ninety-one-year-old war vet who had lost his right foot and his left arm in the battle at Normandy.
“Hey there, Sierra,” he said cheerfully from his wheelchair. He was dressed in dark brown pants and a Kelly-green cardigan sweater that were as old and tattered as their wearer.
“How is Dad today?” she asked, dropping her purse in the chair and walking to his bedside. It broke her heart to see him so shriveled and lifeless. Nothing more than a shell of the man he used to be—the loving dad who single-handedly raised Sierra and her little sister Joy. Now he was wasting away.
“It’s been a good day,” Lenny said.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said, pressing a kiss to his papery cheek. He was awake, but he didn’t acknowledge her. On a good day he lay quietly, either sleeping or staring at the dappled sunshine through the dusty vertical blinds. On a bad day, he moaned. A low, tortured, unearthly sound. They didn’t know if he was in pain, or if it was just some random involuntary function. But on those days he was sedated.
“How is that little boy of yours?” Lenny asked. “Must be reaching about school age by now.”
She sighed softly to herself. Lenny’s memory wasn’t the best. He somehow managed to remember that she’d been pregnant, but he forgot the dozen or so times when she had explained that she’d given the girls up for adoption. And clearly he was confusing her with other people in his life because sometimes he thought she had an older boy and other times it was a baby girl. And rather than explain yet again, she just went with it.
“Growing like a weed,” she told him, and before he could ask more questions they announced over the intercom that it was time for bingo in the community room.
“Gotta go!” Lenny said, wheeling himself toward the door. “Can I bring you back a cookie?”
“No thanks, Lenny.”
When he was gone she sat on the edge of her dad’s bed and took his hand. It was cold and contracted into a stiff fist. “I had my job interview today,” she told him, even though she doubted his brain could process the sounds he was hearing as anything but gibberish. “It went really well, and I get to see the girls tomorrow. If the other applicants looked anything like the bimbo who interviewed right before me, I’m a shoo-in.”
She brushed a few silvery strands of hair back from his forehead. “I know you’re probably thinking that I should stay out of this and trust Ash and Susan’s judgment, but I just can’t. The man is a train wreck just waiting to happen. I have to make sure the girls are okay. If I can’t do that as their mother, I can at least do it as their nanny.”
And if that meant sacrificing her freedom and working for Cooper Landon until the girls no longer needed her, that was what she was prepared to do.
Two
The next afternoon at six minutes after one, Sierra knocked on the door of Cooper’s penthouse apartment, brimming with nervous excitement, her heart in her throat. She had barely slept last night in anticipation of this very moment. Though she had known that when she signed away her parental rights she might never see the girls again, she had still hoped. She just hadn’t expected it to happen until they were teenagers and old enough to make the decision to meet their birth mother. But here she was, barely five months later, just seconds away from the big moment.
The door was opened by a woman. Sierra assumed it was the housekeeper, judging by the maid’s uniform. She was tall and lanky with a pinched face and steel-gray hair that was pulled back severely and twisted into a bun. Sierra placed her in her mid to late sixties.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked in a gravely clipped tone.
“I have an appointment with Mr. Landon.”
“Are you Miss Evans?”
“Yes, I am.” Which she must have already known, considering the doorman had called up to announce her about a minute ago.
She looked Sierra up and down with scrutiny, pursed her lips and said, “I’m Ms. Densmore, Mr. Landon’s housekeeper. You’re late.”
“Sorry. I had trouble getting a cab.”
“I should warn you that if you do get the job, tardiness will not be tolerated.”
Sierra failed to see how she could be tardy for a job she was at 24/7, but she didn’t push the issue. “It won’t happen again.”
Ms. Densmore gave a resentful sniff and said, “Follow me.”
Even the housekeeper’s chilly greeting wasn’t enough to smother Sierra’s excitement. Her hands trembled as she followed her through the foyer into an ultra-modern, open-concept living space. Near a row of ceiling-high windows that boasted a panoramic view of Central Park, with the afternoon sunshine washing over them like gold dust, were the twins. They sat side by side in identical ExerSaucers, babbling and swatting at the colorful toys.
They were so big! And they had changed more than she could have imagined possible. If she had seen them on the street, she probably wouldn’t have recognized them. She was hit by a sense of longing so keen she had to bite down on her lip to keep from bursting into tears. She forced her feet to remain rooted to the deeply polished mahogany floor while she was announced, when what she wanted to do was fling herself into the room, drop down to her knees and gather her children in her arms.
“The one on the left is Fern,” Ms. Densmore said, with not a hint of affection in her tone. “She’s the loud, demanding one. The other is Ivy. She’s the quiet, sneaky one.”
Sneaky? At five months old? It sounded as if Ms. Densmore just didn’t like children. She was probably a spinster. She sure looked like one.
Not only would Sierra have to deal with a partying, egomaniac athlete, but also an overbearing and critical housekeeper. How fun. And it frosted her that Cooper let this pinched, frigid, nasty old bat who clearly didn’t like children anywhere near the girls.
“I’ll go get Mr. Landon,” she said, striding down a hall that Sierra assumed led to the bedrooms.
Alone with her girls for the first time since their birth, she crossed the room and knelt down in front of them. “Look how big you are, and how beautiful,” she whispered.
They gazed back at her with wide, inquisitive blue eyes. Though they weren’t identical, they looked very much alike. They both had her thick, pin-straight black hair and high cheekbones, but any other traces of the Chinese traits that had come from her great-grandmother on her mother’s side had skipped them. They had eyes just like their father and his long, slender fingers.
Fern let out a squeal and reached for her. Sierra wanted so badly to hold her, but she wasn’t sure if she should wait for Cooper. Tears stinging her eyes, she took one of Fern’s chubby little hands in hers and held it. She had missed them so much, and the guilt she felt for leaving them, for putting them in this situation, sat like a stone in her belly. But she was here now, and she would never leave them again. She would see that they were raised properly.
“She wants you to pick her up.”
Sierra turned to see Cooper standing several feet behind her, big and burly, in bare feet with his slightly wrinkled shirt untucked and his hands wedged in the pockets of a pair of threadbare jeans. His dirty-blond hair was damp and a little messy, as if he’d towel-dried it and hadn’t bothered with a brush. No one could deny that he was attractive with his pale blue eyes and dimpled smile. The slightly crooked nose was even a little charming. Maybe it was his total lack of self-consciousness that was so appealing right now, but athletes had never been her thing. She preferred studious men. Professional types. The kind who didn’t make a living swinging a big stick and beating the crap out of other people.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
“Of course not. That’s what this interview is about.”
Sierra lifted Fern out of the seat and set the infant in her lap. She smelled like baby shampoo and powder. Fern fixated on the gold chain hanging down the front of her blouse and grabbed for it, so Sierra tucked it under her collar. “She’s so big.”
“Around fifteen pounds I think. I remember my sister-in-law saying that they were average size for their age. I’m not sure what they weighed when they were born. I think there’s a baby book still packed away somewhere with all that information in it.”
They had been just over six pounds each, but she couldn’t tell him that or that the baby book he referred to had been started by her and given to Ash and Susan as a gift when they took the girls home. She had documented her entire pregnancy—when she felt the first kick, when she had her sonogram—so the adoptive parents would feel more involved and they could show the girls when they got older. And although she had included photos of her belly in various stages of development, there were no shots of her face. There was nothing anywhere that identified her as being the birth mother.
Ivy began to fuss—probably jealous that her sister was getting all the attention. Sierra was debating the logistics of how to extract her from the seat while still holding Fern when, without prompting, Cooper reached for Ivy and plucked her out. He lifted her high over his head, making her gasp and giggle, and plunked her down in his arms.
Sierra must have looked concerned because he laughed and said, “Don’t let her mild manner fool you. She’s a mini daredevil.”
As he sat on the floor across from her and set Ivy in his lap, Sierra caught the scent of some sort of masculine soap. Fern reached for him and tried to wiggle her way out of Sierra’s arms. She hadn’t expected the girls to be so at ease with him, so attached. Not this quickly. And she expected him to be much more inept and disinterested.
“You work with younger babies?” Cooper asked.
“Newborns usually. But before the NICU I worked in the pediatric ward.”
“I’m going to the market,” Ms. Densmore announced from the kitchen. Sierra had been so focused on the girls she hadn’t noticed that it was big and open with natural wood and frosted glass cupboard doors and yards of glossy granite countertops. Modern, yet functional—not that she ever spent much time in one. Cooking—or at least, cooking well—had never been one of her great accomplishments.
Ms. Densmore wore a light spring jacket, which was totally unnecessary considering it was at least seventy-five degrees outside, and clutched an old-lady-style black handbag. “Do you need anything?” she asked Cooper.
“Diapers and formula,” he told her. “And those little jars of fruit the girls like.” He paused, then added, “And the dried cereal, too. The flaky kind in the blue box. I think we’re running low.”
Looking annoyed, Ms. Densmore left out of what must have been the service entrance behind the kitchen. Sierra couldn’t help but wonder how Coop would know the cereal was low and why he would even bother to look.
“The girls are eating solid foods?” she asked him.
“Cereal and fruit. And of course formula. It’s astounding how much they can put away. I feel as if I’m constantly making bottles.”
He made the bottles? She had a hard time picturing that. Surely Ms. Cranky-Pants must have been doing most of the work.
“Are they sleeping through the night?” she asked him.
“Not yet. It’s getting better, though. At first, they woke up constantly.” He smiled down at Ivy affectionately, and a little sadly, brushing a wisp of hair off her forehead. “I think they just really missed their parents. But last night they only woke up twice, and they both went back to their cribs. Half the time they end up in my bed with me. I’ll admit that I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Alone.”
“You get up with them?” she asked, not meaning to sound quite so incredulous.
Rather than look offended, he smiled. “Yeah, and I’ll warn you right now that they’re both bed hogs. I have no idea how a person so small could take up so much room.”
The idea of him, such a big, burly, rough-around-the-edges guy, snuggled up in bed with two infants, was too adorable for words.
“Out of curiosity, who did you think would get up with them?” he asked.
“I just assumed … I mean, doesn’t Ms. Densmore take care of them?”
“She occasionally watches them while I work, but only because I’m desperate. After raising six kids of her own and two of her grandchildren, she says she’s finished taking care of babies.”
So much for Sierra’s spinster theory.
“Is she always so …” She struggled for a kind way to say nasty, but Cooper seemed to read her mind.
“Cranky? Incorrigible?” he suggested, with a slightly crooked smile that she hated to admit made her heart beat the tiniest bit faster.
She couldn’t help smiling back.
“She won’t be winning any congeniality awards, I know, but she’s a good housekeeper, and one hel …” he grinned and shook his head. “I mean heck of a fantastic cook. Sorry, I’m not used to having to censor my language.”
At least he was making an effort. He would be thankful for that in a year or so when the twins started repeating everything he said verbatim.
“Ms. Densmore isn’t crazy about the bad language, either,” he said. “Of course, sometimes I do it just to annoy her.”
“I don’t think she likes me much,” Sierra said.
“It really doesn’t matter what she thinks. She’s not hiring you. I am. And I happen to think you’re perfect for the job.” He paused then added, “I’m assuming, since you’re here now, that you’re still interested.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Absolutely. Does that mean you’re officially offering it to me?”
“Under one condition—I need your word that you’ll stick around. That you’re invested in the position. I can’t tell you how tough that first week was, right after …” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and blew it out. “Things have just begun to settle down, and I’ve got the girls in something that resembles a routine. They need consistency—or at least that’s what the social worker told me. The worst thing for them would be a string of nannies bouncing in and out of their lives.”
He would never have to worry about that with her. “I won’t let them down.”
“You’re sure? Because these two are a handful. It’s a lot of work. More than I ever imagined possible. Professional hockey was a cakewalk compared to this. I need to be sure that you’re committed.”
“I’m giving up my apartment and putting my dad in a home that I can’t begin to afford without this salary. I’m definitely committed.”
He looked relieved. “In that case, the job is yours. And the sooner you can start, the better.”
Her own relief was so keen she could have sobbed. She hugged Fern closer. Her little girls would be okay. She would be there to take care of them, to nurture them. And maybe someday, when they were old enough to understand, she would be able to tell them who she really was and explain why she had let them go. Maybe she could be a real mother to them.
“Miss Evans?” Coop was watching her expectantly, waiting for a reply.
“It’s Sierra,” she told him. “And I can start right away if that works for you. I just need a day to pack and move my things in.”
He looked surprised. “What about your apartment? Your furniture? Don’t you need time to—”
“I’ll sublet. A friend from work is interested in taking my place and she’ll be using all my furniture.” Her dad’s furniture, actually. By the time Sierra started making enough money to afford her own place, he was too sick to live alone, so she had stayed with him instead, on the pull-out couch of the dinky one-bedroom apartment he’d had to take when he went on disability. She had never really had a place of her own. And from the looks of it, she wouldn’t for a very long time. But if that meant the girls would be happy and well taken care of, it was a sacrifice she was happy to make.
“I just need to pack my clothes and a few personal items,” she told him. “I can do that today and move everything over tomorrow.”
“And work? You don’t need to give them notice?”
She shook her head. She was taking a chance burning that bridge, but being with the girls as soon as possible took precedence. As long as they needed her, she wouldn’t be going back to nursing anyway.
“I’ll have Ben, my lawyer, draw up the contract this afternoon,” he said. “Considering my former profession there are privacy issues.”
“I understand.”
“And of course you’re welcome to have your own lawyer look at it before you sign.”
“I’ll call him today.”
“Great. Why don’t I show you the girls’ room, and where you’ll be staying?”
“Okay.”
They got up from the floor and he led her down the hall, Ivy in his arms and Sierra holding Fern, who seemed perfectly content despite Sierra being a relative stranger. Was it possible that she sensed the mother-daughter connection? Or was she just a friendly, outgoing baby?
“This is the nursery,” he said, indicating a door on the left and gesturing her inside. It was by far the largest and prettiest little girls’ room she had ever laid eyes on. The color scheme was pale pink and pastel green. The walls, bedding, curtains and even the carpet looked fluffy and soft, like cotton candy. Matching white cribs perched side by side, and a white rocking chair sat in the corner next to the window. She could just imagine herself holding the girls close, singing them a lullaby and rocking them to sleep.
This room was exactly what she would have wanted for them but never could have afforded. With her they wouldn’t have had more than a tiny corner of her bedroom.
“It’s beautiful, Cooper.”
“It’s Coop,” he said and flashed that easy grin. “No one but my mom called me Cooper, and that was usually when she was angry about something. And as for the room, I can’t take credit. It’s an exact reproduction of their room at Ash and Susan’s. I thought it might make the transition easier for them.”
Once again he had surprised her. Maybe he wasn’t quite as self-centered as she first imagined. Or maybe he was only playing the role of responsible uncle out of necessity. Maybe once he had her there to take care of the girls for him, he would live up to his party reputation, including the supposedly revolving bedroom door. Time would tell.
“They have their own bathroom and a walk-in closet over there,” he said, gesturing to a closed door across the room.
She walked over and opened it. The closet was huge! Toys lined either side of the floor—things they had used and some still in the original boxes. Seeing them, Fern shifted restlessly in Sierra’s arms, clearly wanting to get down and play.
From the bars hung a wardrobe big enough for a dozen infants. Dresses and jumpers and tiny pairs of jeans and shirts—all designer labels and many with the tags still attached, and all in duplicate. In her wildest dreams Sierra never could have afforded even close to this many clothes, and certainly not this quality. They were neatly organized by style, color and size—all spelled out on sticky notes on the shelf above the bar.
Sierra had never seen anything like it. “Wow. Did you do this?”
“God, no,” Coop said. “This is Ms. Densmore’s thing. She’s a little fanatical about organization.”
“Just a little.” She would have a coronary if she looked in Sierra’s closet. Besides being just a fraction the size, it was so piled with junk she could barely close the door. Neatness had never been one of her strong suits. That had been okay living with her dad, who was never tidy himself, but here she would have to make an effort to be more organized.
“The bathroom is through there,” Coop said, walking past her to open the door, filling the air with the delicious scent of soap and man. The guy really did smell great, and though it was silly, he looked even more attractive holding the baby, which made no sense at all. Or maybe it was just that she’d always been a sucker for a man who was good with kids—because in her profession she had seen too many who weren’t. Dead-beat dads who couldn’t even be bothered to visit their sick child in the hospital. And of course there were the abusive dads who put their kids in the hospital. Those were the really heartbreaking cases and one of the reasons she had transferred from pediatrics to the NICU.
But having an easy way with an infant didn’t make a man a good father, she reminded herself. Neither did giving them a big beautiful bedroom or an enormous closet filled with toys and designer clothes. The twins needed nurturing, they needed to know that even though their parents were gone, someone still loved them and cared about them.
She held Fern closer and rubbed her back, and the infant laid her head on Sierra’s shoulder, her thumb tucked in her mouth.
“I’ll show you your room,” Coop said, and she followed him to the bedroom across the hall. It was even larger than the girls’ room, with the added bonus of a cozy sitting area by the window. With the bedroom, walk-in closet and private bath, it was larger than her entire apartment. All that was missing was the tiny, galley-style kitchen, but she had a gourmet kitchen just a few rooms away at her disposal.
The furnishings and decor weren’t exactly her style. The black, white and gray color scheme was too modern and cold and the steel and glass furnishings were a bit masculine, but bringing some of her own things in would liven it up a little. She could learn to live with it.
“That bad, huh?”
Startled by the comment, Sierra looked over at Coop. He was frowning. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.
You hate it.”
“I don’t hate it.”
One brow tipped up. “Now you’re lying.”
“It’s not what I would have chosen, but it’s very … stylish.”
He laughed. “You are so lying. You think it’s terrible.”
She bit her lip to keep from smiling, but the corners of her mouth tipped up regardless. “I’ll get used to it.”
“I’ll call my decorator. You can fix it however you like. Paint, furniture, the works.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that wouldn’t be necessary, and he held up one ridiculously large palm to shush her. “Do you really think I’m going to let you stay in a room you despise? This is going to be your home. I want you to be comfortable here.”
She wondered if he was always this nice, or if he was just so desperate for a reliable nanny he would do anything to convince her to take the job. If that was the case, she could probably negotiate a higher salary, but it wasn’t about the money. She just wanted to be with her girls.
“If you’re sure it’s not a problem, I wouldn’t mind adding a few feminine touches,” she told him.
“You can sleep in the nursery until it’s finished, or if you’d prefer more privacy, there’s a fold-out love seat in my office.”
“The nursery is fine.” She didn’t care about privacy, and she liked the idea of sleeping near her girls.
He nodded to Fern and said, “I think we should lay them down. It’s afternoon nap time.”
Sierra looked down at Fern and realized that she had fallen asleep, her thumb still wedged in her mouth, and Ivy, who had laid her head on Coop’s enormously wide shoulder, was looking drowsy, too.
They carried the girls back to the nursery and laid them in their beds—Fern on the right side and Ivy on the left—then they stepped quietly out and Coop shut the door behind them.
“How long will they sleep?” Sierra asked.
“On a good day, two hours. But they slept in until eight this morning, so maybe less.” He paused in the hall and asked, “Before we call my attorney, would you like something to drink? We have juice and soda … baby formula.”
She smiled. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Okay, if you’re having any second thoughts, this is your last chance to change your mind.”
That would never happen. He was stuck with her. “No second thoughts.”
“Great, let’s go to my office and call Ben,” Coop said with a grin. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Three
Coop stood outside Sierra’s bedroom door, hoping she hadn’t already gone to sleep for the night. It was barely nine-thirty, but today had been her first official day watching the girls, so he was guessing that she was probably pretty exhausted. God knows they wore him out.
She had signed the contract the afternoon of her second interview, then spent most of the next day moving her things and unpacking. He had offered to pay a service to do the moving for her, but she had insisted she had it covered, showing up in the early afternoon with a slew of boxes and two youngish male friends—orderlies from the hospital, she’d told him—who had been openly thrilled to meet the great Coop Landon.
Though Coop had tried to pay them for the help, they refused to take any cash. Instead he offered them each a beer, and while Sierra unpacked and the twins napped, he and the guys sat out on the rooftop patio. They asked him about his career and the upcoming season draft picks, leaving a couple of hours later with autographed pucks.
Coop had hoped to be around today to help Sierra and the twins make the transition, but he’d been trapped in meetings with the marketing team for his new sports equipment line all morning, and in the afternoon he’d met with the owner of his former team. If things went as planned, Coop would own the team before the start of the next season in October. Owning the New York Scorpions had been his dream since he started playing for the team. For twenty-two years, until his bad knee took him off the ice, he lived and breathed hockey. He loved everything about the game. Buying a team was the natural next step, and he had the players’ blessing.
After the meetings Coop had enjoyed his first dinner out with friends in weeks. Well, he hadn’t actually enjoyed it. Though he had been counting the days until he was free again, throughout the entire meal his mind kept wandering back to Fern and Ivy and how they were doing with Sierra. Should he have canceled his meetings and spent that first day with them? Was it irresponsible of him to have left them with a stranger? Not that he didn’t trust Sierra—he just wanted to be sure that he was doing the right thing. They had already lost their parents—he didn’t want them to think that he was abandoning them, too.
When the rest of the party had moved on to a local bar for after-dinner drinks, dancing and skirt chasing, to the surprise of his friends, Coop had called it a night. On a typical evening he closed out the bar, moved on to a party and usually didn’t go home alone. But the ribbing he endured from his buddies was mild. Hell, it had been less than a month since he lost his brother. It was going to take him a little time to get back into his normal routine. And right now the twins needed him. He would try to work from home the rest of the week, so he could spend more time with them. After more than two weeks of being together almost constantly, he had gotten used to having them around.
He rapped lightly on Sierra’s bedroom door, and after several seconds it opened a crack and she peeked out. He could see that she had already changed into her pajamas—a short, pink, babydoll-style nightgown. His eyes automatically drifted lower, to her bare legs. They weren’t particularly long, or slender, so the impulse to touch her, to slide his palm up the inside of one creamy thigh and under the hem of her gown—and the resulting pull of lust it created—caught him completely off guard. He had to make an effort to keep his gaze above her neck and on her eyes, which were dark and inquisitive, with that exotic tilt. Her hair, which he’d only ever seen up in a ponytail, hung in a long, silky black sheet over her shoulders, and he itched to run his fingers through it. Instead he shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
You can look, but you can’t touch, he reminded himself, and not for the first time since she’d come by to meet the girls. She was absolutely nothing like the sort of woman he would typically be attracted to. Maybe that alone was what he found so appealing. She was different. A novelty. But her position as the twins’ nanny was just too crucial to put in jeopardy.
Maybe hiring such an attractive woman had been a bad idea, even if she was the most qualified. Maybe he should have held out and interviewed a few more people, made an effort to find someone older or, better yet, a guy.
“Did you want something?” she asked, and he realized that he was just standing there staring at her.
Way to make yourself look like an idiot, Coop. He was usually pretty smooth when it came to women. He had no idea why he was acting like such a dope.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said.
“No, I was still up.”
“I just wanted to check in, see how it went today.”
“It went really well. It’ll take some time to get into a routine, but I’m following their lead.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help out.”
She looked confused. “I didn’t expect you to help.”
He felt his eyes drifting lower, to the cleavage at the neckline of her gown. She wasn’t large-busted, but she wasn’t what he would consider small, either. She was … average. So why couldn’t he seem to look away?
She noticed him noticing but made no move to cover herself. And why should she? It was her room. He was the intruder.
And he was making a complete ass of himself.
“Was there anything else?” she asked.
He forced his gaze back to her face. “I thought we could just talk for a while. We haven’t had a chance to go over the girls’ schedules. I thought you might have questions.”
She looked hesitant, and he thought her answer was going to be no. And could he blame her? He was behaving like a first-rate pervert. But after several seconds, she said, “Okay, I’ll be out in just a minute.”
She snapped the door closed and he walked to the kitchen, mentally knocking himself in the head. What the hell was wrong with him? He was acting as if he’d never seen an attractive woman before. One of his dining companions that evening had worn a form-fitting dress that was shorter and lower cut than Sierra’s nightgown and he hadn’t felt even a twinge of interest. He needed to quit eyeballing her, or she was going to think he was some sort of deviant. The last thing he wanted was for her to be uncomfortable in his home.
Coop opened the wine refrigerator and fished out an open bottle of pinot grigio. Unlike his teammates, he preferred a quality wine to beer or liquor. He’d never been one to enjoy getting drunk. Not since his wild days anyway, when he’d taken pretty much anything that gave him a buzz because at the time it meant taking his pain away.
He took two glasses from the cupboard and set them on the island countertop. Sierra walked in as he was pouring. She had changed into a pair of black leggings and an oversize, faded yellow T-shirt. He found his gaze drawn to her legs again. He typically dated women who were supermodel skinny—and a few of those women had actually been supermodels—but not necessarily because that was what he preferred. That just seemed to be the type of woman who gravitated toward him. He liked that Sierra had some meat on her bones. She was not heavy by any stretch of the imagination. She just looked … healthy. Although he was sure that most women would take that as an insult.
He quickly reminded himself that it didn’t matter what she looked like because she was off-limits.
“Have a seat,” he said, and she slid onto one of the bar stools across the island from him. He corked the wine and slid one of the glasses toward her. “I hope you like white.”
“Oh … um …” She hesitated, a frown causing an adorable little wrinkle between her brows. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”
He put the bottle back in the fridge. Maybe she thought he was trying to get her drunk so he could take advantage of her. “One glass,” he said. “Unless you don’t drink.”
“No, I do. I’m just not sure if it’s a good idea.”
“Are you underage?”
She flashed him a cute smile. “You know I’m not. I’m just worried that one of the girls might wake up. In fact, I’d say it’s a strong possibility, so I need to stay sharp.”
“You think one little glass of wine will impair you?” He folded his arms. “You must be quite the lightweight.”
Her chin lifted a notch. “I can hold my own. I just don’t want to make a bad impression.”
“If you drank an entire bottle, that might worry me, but one glass? Do you think I would offer if I thought it was a bad idea?”
“I guess not.”
“Let’s put it this way: If the twins were your daughters, and you wanted to wind down after a busy day, would you feel comfortable allowing yourself a glass of wine?”
“Yes.”
He slid the wine closer. “So, stop worrying about what I think, and enjoy.” She took it.
“A toast, to your first day,” he said, clinking his glass against hers.
She sipped, nodded and said, “Nice. I wouldn’t have imagined you as the wine-drinking type.”
“I’m sure there are a lot of things about me that would surprise you.” He rested his hip against the edge of the countertop. “But tell me about you.”
“I thought we were going to talk about the girls.”
“We will, but I’d like to know a little bit about you first.”
She sipped again, then set her glass down. “You read my file.”
“Yeah, but that was just the basics. I’d like to know more about you as a person. Like, what made you get into nursing?”
“My mom, actually.”
“She was a nurse?
“No, she was a homemaker. She got breast cancer when I was a kid. The nurses were so wonderful to her and to me and my dad and sister. Especially when she was in hospice. I decided then, that’s what I wanted to do.”
“She passed away?”
Sierra nodded. “When I was fourteen.”
“That’s a tough age for a girl to lose her mother.”
“It was harder for my sister, I think. She was only ten.”
He circled the counter and sat on the stool beside hers. “Is there a good age to lose a parent? I was twelve when my mom and dad died. It was really rough.”
“My sister used to be this sweet, happy-go-lucky kid, but after she got really moody and brooding.”
“I was angry,” he said. “I went from being a pretty decent kid to the class bully.”
“It’s not uncommon, in that situation, for a boy to pick on someone smaller and weaker. It probably gave you a feeling of power in an otherwise powerless situation.”
“Except I went after kids who were bigger than me. Because I was so big for my age, that usually meant I was fighting boys who were older than me. And I got the snot kicked out of me a couple of times, but usually I won. And you’re right, it did make me feel powerful. I felt like it was the only thing I had any control over.”
“My sister never picked on anyone, but she was into drugs for a while. Thankfully she cleaned herself up, but when my dad got sick she just couldn’t handle it. When she turned eighteen she took off for L.A. She’s an actress, or trying to be. She’s done a couple of commercials and a few walk-on parts. Mostly she’s a waitress.”
“What is it that your dad has?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t being too nosy.
“He’s in the final stages of Alzheimer’s.”
“How old is he?”
“Fifty.”
Damn. “That’s really young for Alzheimer’s, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “It’s rare, but it happens. He started getting symptoms when he was forty-six, and the disease progressed much faster than it would in someone older. They tried every drug out there to slow the progression, but nothing seemed to work. It’s not likely he’ll live out the year.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She shrugged, eyes lowered, running her thumb around the rim of her glass. “The truth is, he died months ago, at least in all the ways that matter. He’s just a shell. A functioning body. I know he hates living this way.”
She looked so sad. He wanted to hug her, or rub her shoulder, or do something to comfort her, but it didn’t seem appropriate to be touching her. So his only choice was to comfort her with words and shared experiences. Because when it came to losing a parent, he knew just how deeply painful and traumatic it could be.
“When my parents got in the car accident, my dad died instantly. My mom survived the crash, but she was in a coma and brain-dead. My brother, Ash, was eighteen, and he had to make the decision to take her off life support.”
“What a horrible thing for him to have to go through. No one should have to make that decision. Not at any age.”
“I was too young to really grasp what was happening. I thought he did it because he was mad at her or didn’t love her. Only when I got older did I understand that there was no hope.”
“I signed a Do Not Resuscitate order for my dad. It was so hard, but I know it’s what he wants. Working in the NICU, I’ve seen parents have to make impossible choices. It was heartbreaking. You have to hold it together at work, be strong for the parents, but I can’t tell you how many times I went home and cried my eyes out. Parents of healthy kids just don’t realize how lucky they are.”
“I can understand how you would burn out in a job like that.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I really love nursing. I liked that I was helping people. But it can be emotionally draining.”
“Do you think you’ll miss it?”
She smiled. “With the twins to take care of, I doubt I’ll have time.”
He hoped she wouldn’t eventually burn out, the way she had with nursing. Maybe giving her so little time off had been a bad idea. He knew firsthand how tough it was caring for the twins nonstop. A few hours off on a Sunday and one weekend a month weren’t much time. Maybe he should have considered hiring two nannies, one for during the week, and one for the weekends. “You’re sure it’s not going to be too much?”
“Watching the twins?”
“By taking this job, you’re pretty much giving up your social life.”
“I gave that up when my dad got too sick to care for himself. He couldn’t be alone, so we had a caregiver while I worked, then I took over when I got home.”
“Every day? That sounds expensive.”
She nodded. “It was. We blew through his savings in just a few months. But I didn’t want him to have to go in a nursing home. I kept him with me as long as I could. But eventually it got to the point where I just couldn’t provide the best care for him.”
“When did you go out? Have fun?”
“I’ve always been more of a homebody.”
“What about dating?”
The sudden tuck between her brows said her love life was a touchy subject. And really it was none of his business. Or maybe she thought it was some sort of cheesy pickup line.
“You can tell me to mind my own business,” he said.
“It’s okay. Things are just a little complicated right now. I’m not in a good place emotionally to be getting into a relationship.” She glanced over at him. “That’s probably tough for someone like you to understand.”
“Someone so morally vacant?”
Her eyes widened. “No, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” he said with a laugh. “A few weeks ago, I probably wouldn’t have understood.”
Dating and being out with other people had been such an intrinsic part of who he was, he probably wouldn’t have been able to grasp the concept of leading a quiet, domesticated life. Since the crash that had taken his brother, his attitude and his perception about what was really important had been altered. Like tonight for instance. Why go out barhopping to meet a woman for what would ultimately be a meaningless and quite frankly unsatisfying encounter when the twins needed him at home?
“Priorities change,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes they do. You see things a certain way, then suddenly it’s not about what you want anymore.”
He wondered if she was talking about her dad. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“You really love them,” she said.
“The twins?” he found himself grinning. “Yeah, I do. What’s not to love? This was obviously not a part of my plans, but I want to do right by them. I owe Ash that much. He sacrificed a lot to raise me. He worked two jobs and put college off for years to be there for me, and believe me, I was a handful. Some people thought that because the twins aren’t Ash’s biological kids it somehow absolved me of all responsibility. Even their birth mother seemed to think so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her lawyer contacted my lawyer. Apparently she saw on the news that Ash and Susan had died and she wanted the girls back. I can only assume that she thought I would be a failure as a dad.”
“And you didn’t consider it?”
“Not for a second. And even if I didn’t think I could handle taking care of the girls myself, why would I give them to someone who didn’t want them to begin with?”
That tuck was back between her brows. “Maybe she wanted them but just couldn’t keep them. Maybe she thought giving them up was the best thing for the twins.”
“And that changed in five months? She thinks she can give the girls more than I can? With me they’ll never want for a thing. They’ll have the best of everything. Clothes, education, you name it. Could she do that?”
“So you assume that because she isn’t rich she wouldn’t be a good parent?” she asked in a sharp tone.
For someone who didn’t even know the birth mother she was acting awfully defensive. “The truth is, I don’t know why she gave them up, but it doesn’t matter. My brother adopted the twins and loved them like his own flesh and blood. He wanted the girls raised by me, and I’m honoring his wishes.”
Her expression softened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. In my line of work, I’ve seen young mothers harshly misjudged. It’s a natural instinct to defend them.”
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