A Father for Her Triplets: Her Pregnancy Surprise

by Susan Meier

  “No. I...” Confused, he ran his hand along the back of his neck. What had just happened?

  “Get out. Now. Or I won’t even send Owen out to play with you.”

  Wyatt headed for the door, so baffled he turned to face her, but she’d already left the room.

  She sent Owen out to play after his nap, but she didn’t even peek out the window. Confusion made Wyatt sigh as he trudged up the steps at suppertime. He opened another can of the soup he’d found in the pantry. Seeing the sludgelike paste, he checked the expiration date and with a groan of disgust threw it out.

  What the hell was going on? Not only was he eating junk, things that had been in cupboards for God knew how long, but he was attracted to a woman who seemed equally attracted but kept rebuffing him. So he’d offered her money, to give them a logical reason to keep their relationship platonic, and instead of making her happy, he’d made her mad. Mad. Most people would jump for joy when they’d been offered money.

  She should have jumped for joy.

  Maybe what he needed was to get out of this house? He hadn’t really cared to see a lot of the people from his high school days, but he was changing his mind. A conversation about anything other than Missy Johnson and her wedding cakes and her cute kids might be just what he needed to remind him he wasn’t an eighteen-year-old sap anymore, pining over a pretty girl who didn’t want him. When it came to women, he could have his pick. He didn’t need one Missy Johnson.

  He straddled his motorcycle and headed for the diner. He ambled inside and found the place almost empty. Considering that it was a sunny Sunday afternoon, Wyatt suspected everybody was outside doing something physical. A waitress in a pink uniform strolled over. He ordered a hot roast beef sandwich and mashed potatoes smothered in brown gravy. For dessert he ate pie.

  After a good meal, he felt a hundred percent better. He hadn’t seen anybody he recognized or who recognized him, but it didn’t matter. All he’d needed to get himself back to normal was some real food.

  He paid the bill, but curiosity stopped him from heading for the door. Instead, he peeked into the kitchen. “Hey, Monty. It’s me. Wyatt McKenzie.”

  Missy’s dad set his spatula on the wood-topped island in the center of the diner kitchen. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Tall, balding and wearing a big apron over jeans and a white T-shirt, he walked over and slapped Wyatt on the back. “How the hell are you, kid?”

  “I’m fine. Great.” He looked around. “Wow. The place hasn’t changed one iota in fifteen years.”

  “People like consistency.”

  “Yep.” He knew that from running his own company, but there was a difference between consistent and run-down. Still, it wasn’t his place to mention that. “I’m surprised you don’t have any of Missy’s cakes in here.”

  Monty stepped back. Returning to the wood-topped island, he picked up his spatula. “Oh, she doesn’t bake for me anymore.”

  “Too busy with her own cakes, I guess.”

  Monty glanced up. “Is she doing good? I mean, one businessman to another?”

  Wyatt laughed. Having seen a bit of her pride that morning, he guessed she probably hadn’t told her father anything about her business beyond the basics. Maybe he’d also made the mistake of offering her money?

  “She’s doing great. Three future brides corralled her when she tried to leave yesterday’s wedding reception.”

  “Wow. She is doing well.”

  “Exceptionally well. She’s a bit stubborn, though, about some things.”

  “Are you helping her?”

  He winced. “She’s not much on taking help.”

  Monty snorted. “Never was.”

  Well, okay. That pushed his mood even further up the imaginary scale. If she wouldn’t take help from her dad, why should Wyatt be surprised she wouldn’t take help from him?

  The outing got him back to normal, but not so much that he braved going into Missy’s house the next morning. He went to the sandbox and five minutes later Owen, Lainie and Claire came racing out of the house.

  While playing Wiffle ball with the kids, he ascertained that their mom was working on a new cake.

  “This one will be yellow,” Lainie said.

  Not knowing what else to do, he smiled. “Yellow. That’s nice. I like yellow.”

  “I like yellow, too.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Me, too.”

  He laughed. He didn’t for one minute think yellow was that important to any one of the triplets, but he did see how much they enjoyed being included, involved. His heart swelled. He liked them a lot more than he ever thought he could like kids. But it didn’t matter. He and their mother might be attracted, but they didn’t see eye to eye about anything. Maybe it was time to step up the jewelry search and get back to Tampa?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WYATT THREW HIMSELF into the work of looking for the Scottish heirlooms in the mountain of closet boxes.

  He endured the scent of sachets, billowing dust and boxes of things like panty hose—who saved old panty hose and why?—and found nothing even remotely resembling jewelry.

  To break up his days, he played with Owen every morning and all three kids every afternoon, but he didn’t go anywhere near Missy.

  Still, on Saturday afternoon, when she came out of the house dressed in a sunny yellow dress that showed off her shoulders and accented her curves, lugging the bottom of a cake with the babysitter, he knew he couldn’t let her go alone. Particularly since her SUV had already had trouble starting once that week.

  While she brought the rest of the cake to her vehicle, he changed out of his dirty clothes into clean jeans and a T-shirt. Looking at himself in the mirror, he frowned. His hair was growing in and looked a little like Owen’s, poking out in all directions. He also needed a shave. But if he took the time to shave, she’d be gone by the time he was done.

  No shave. No comb. Since he usually didn’t have hair, he didn’t really own a comb. So today he’d be doing grunge.

  Once again, he didn’t say anything. Simply walked over to her SUV and got in on the passenger’s side as she got in on the driver’s side.

  “Don’t even bother to tell me one person can handle this big cake. I watched you and the babysitter cart it out here. I know better. If the caterer can’t spare a waiter you’ll be in a world of trouble.”

  She sighed. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I know.”

  “You haven’t spoken to me since we fought on Sunday.”

  He made a disgusted noise. “I know that, too.”

  “So why are you going?”

  He had no idea. Except that he didn’t want to see her struggle. Remembering her fierce independent streak, he knew that reply wouldn’t be greeted with a thank-you, so he said, “I like cake.”

  Apparently expecting to have to fend off an answer that in some way implied she needed help, she opened her mouth, but nothing came out. After a few seconds, she said, “I could make you a cake.”

  He peered over at her. In her sunny yellow dress, with her hair all done up, and wearing light pink lipstick, she was so cute his selfish inner demon returned. He’d forgotten how hard it was to want something he couldn’t have.

  “Oh, then that would be charity and we can’t have that. If you can’t take my money, I can’t take your cake.”

  She sighed. “Look, I know I got a little over-the-top angry on Sunday when you offered me money. But there’s a good reason I refused. I need to be independent.”

  “Fantastic.”

  She laughed. “It is fantastic. Wyatt, I need to be able to support myself and my kids. And I can. That’s what makes it fantastic. I can do this. You need to trust me.”

  “Great. Fine. I trust you.”

 
“Good, because I feel I owe you for playing with the kids, and a cake would be a simple way for me to pay that back.”

  He gaped at her. “Did you hear what you just said? You want to pay me for playing.”

  She shoved her key into the ignition and started the SUV. “You’re an idiot.”

  “True. But I’m an idiot who is going to get cake at this wedding.”

  But in the car on the way to the reception venue, he stared out the window. He couldn’t remember the last time anybody had ordered him around like this. Worse, he couldn’t remember a time a woman had ordered him around like this—and he still liked her.

  He sighed internally. And there it was. The truth. He still liked her.

  The question was what did he do about it?

  Avoiding her didn’t work. She wouldn’t take his money so he could recategorize her. And even after not seeing her all week, the minute he was in the same car with her all his feelings came tumbling back.

  He was nuts.

  Wrong...

  Really? Wrong? They were healthy, single, attracted people. Why was liking her wrong?

  Because she didn’t want to like him.

  * * *

  They arrived at the wedding reception more quickly than the week before because this venue was closer. As they unloaded the square layers with black lace trim, Missy gazed at each one lovingly. In high school, she’d hated having to bake fancy cakes for the diner, but now she was so glad she had. At age thirty-three she had twenty years of cake-baking experience behind her. And she was very, very good.

  “The kids told me this one is yellow.”

  She peeked over at Wyatt, relieved he was finally talking. “It is. It’s a yellow cake...with butter cream fondant and rolled fondant to make the black lace.”

  “How do you make lace?”

  His question surprised her. Most people saw the finished product and didn’t care how it got that way.

  “There are patterns and forms you can buy, but I made my own.”

  He studied the intricate design. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

  “I do things like this when you’re playing with the kids.”

  He shot her a funny look and she turned away. The little spark of attraction she’d felt when she’d seen his scruffy day-old beard and butt-hugging jeans that morning flared again. With his sexy, fingers-run-through-it-in-frustration hair and his long, lean body, he was enough to drive her to distraction.

  But she wouldn’t be distracted.

  Well, maybe a little. She was a normal woman and he was extremely sexy. Was it so wrong to be attracted? No. The trick would be not letting him see.

  They arranged the black-and-white cake from the big square layer to the smallest layer, which had a top hat and sparkly wedding veil at the peak.

  “Cute.”

  She stood back. “Different. I’ll say that.”

  “You act as if you didn’t know how it would turn out.”

  “I didn’t. The bride is a Goth who wanted something black with hints of Victorian. She told me what she wanted and I made it.”

  “Can you eat the top hat?”

  “Yep. And the veil, too.”

  “Amazing.”

  Their gazes caught. The flare of attraction became a flicker of need. She tried to squelch it, but in four years she hadn’t felt anything like this. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d never felt anything like this. Wyatt was bold, sexy, commanding. And he liked her. The real her. Not the pretend version most men saw when they looked at her. He’d seen her stubborn streak, and still helped her—was still attracted to her.

  What if there really was something going on between them? Something real. He could walk away. Hell, after she’d yelled at him on Sunday he should have walked away. But he hadn’t. Even though they’d had a fairly nasty difference of opinion—which they’d yet to get beyond—here they were. He was still attracted to her. She was still attracted to him.

  The bride arrived in her black-and-white wedding gown with her tuxedo-clad groom in tow. At least fourteen tattoos were visible above the bodice of her strapless gown.

  Wyatt’s eyebrows rose. “Different.”

  “Very her,” Missy replied, standing beside him, off to the left of the cake, out of the way so they didn’t detract from it.

  He looked at the bride, looked at the cake. “You’re really very good at this.”

  Missy’s smile came slowly. Anybody could throw batter into a pan and get a cake. But not everybody could match baking ability with artistry. It was a gift. She never took it for granted.

  “I know.”

  “I can see why you’re so confident.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Someday you are going to be the best.”

  She laughed. There was an unimaginable joy in having something she was good at. But an even greater joy at having people appreciate it. “Thanks.”

  He growled and she frowned at him. “What?”

  “I can never seem to say the right thing to you.”

  Music from the string quartet blended with the noise of wedding guests taking seats. The best man took the microphone, hit it to make sure it was live. The tap, tap, tap rolled into the room like thunder.

  Wyatt caught Missy’s hand. “Let’s go outside.”

  Confused, she let him lead her through the French doors to a wide wooden deck, which was filled with milling wedding guests. Avoiding them, he guided her to the steps, and they clambered down until they stood in a quiet garden.

  She looked around. She hadn’t done a lot of exploring of the country clubs and other wedding venues where she took her cakes, but seeing how beautiful, and inspiring, this garden was, maybe she should.

  “This is nice.”

  He sighed heavily. “Let’s not change the subject until I get out what I want to say.”

  She peeked over at him, suddenly realizing how alone they were. All her nerve endings sprang to life. She’d never been attracted to a man like this. And he wasn’t just nice, he was thoughtful. Or trying. When he made a mistake he wanted to fix it. He didn’t just walk away.

  Her thoughts from before popped into her brain again.

  What if something really was happening between them? Something real? Something important? Something permanent?

  “I understand why my offering you money doesn’t fit your plan. But I still feel like we’re not beyond the insult.”

  She pressed her lips together. She was right. He didn’t walk away. He fixed what he broke. So different from her dad and her ex.

  “What you said in the car today about being able to support yourself...I thought it was pride, but I finally get it. I see the bride-cake connection. You don’t want money or help because you know this is going to work because you have that instinct. The thing that’s going to push you above the rest. You are going to be one of the best in your business. You don’t need help.”

  Her insides melted. She loved it when a bride gushed over a cake, or wedding guests sought her out to compliment her, but this wasn’t just a compliment. This was Wyatt. A successful entrepreneur. Somebody who knew good work when he saw it. Somebody who saw that she had what it took to be successful.

  Her blood warmed with pleasure that quickly turned to yearning. He was gorgeous and attracted to her. Plus, he understood her. Would it be so wrong to start something with him?

  It had been so long since she’d wanted something for herself, purely for herself, that she instinctively tried to talk herself out of it. She told herself it felt wrong, because she knew she had to be self-sufficient before she started anything serious with a man.

  But this was Wyatt. This was a guy who understood. A guy who didn’t run. A guy who fixed things. A guy who liked her and believed in her. The little voice in her heart to
ld her to relax and let it happen.

  She smiled sheepishly, not quite sure what a woman did nowadays to let a man know she’d changed her mind and was willing to go after what they both seemed to want. “Thanks for the compliment.”

  He sighed again, this time as if relieved. “You’re welcome.”

  Silence settled over them. It should have been the nice, comfortable silence of two friends. But her stomach quivered and her nerve endings lit up, as if begging to be touched. She’d never before felt this raw, wonderful need, and she wished with all her might that he’d kiss her.

  As if reading her mind, he stepped close again. He laid a hand on her cheek. “Missy.”

  His head began to descend.

  She swallowed hard. Even as the sensations rushing through her begged to be explored, new fear leaped inside her. It had been four long years since she’d kissed someone.

  Four years.

  And she wasn’t just considering kissing. What burned between them was so hot she knew they’d end up in bed sooner rather than later. With their faces mere inches apart, her heart hit against her ribs. Was she ready for this?

  His mouth met hers and liquid heat filled her. Like lava, it erupted from her middle and poured through her veins. She put her hands on his cheeks, just wanting to touch him, but when his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she used them to bring him closer.

  She’d never felt anything like this. The pleasure. The passion. The pure, unadulterated sensuality that left her breathless and achy.

  His hands roamed from her shoulders to her waist and back up again. Hers fell from his cheeks to his shoulder, down his long, lean back, and slowly—enjoying every smooth demarcation of muscle and sinew beneath his T-shirt—drifted up again. He was so strong. So solid. Everything inside her wept with yearning. For four years she’d been nothing but a mom. A busy mom. Right now she felt like a woman. Flesh and blood. Heat and need.

  As his mouth continued to plunder hers, she pictured them tangled in the covers of her big four-poster bed. Desire whooshed through her. Everything was happening so fast that her head spun.