by Lisa Jackson
“Nothin’ at all. In fact I’m enjoyin’ the show. Not often someone puts ol’ Thorne in his place.”
“Is that what she’s doing?” Thorne asked, then before Nicole could protest, grabbed her by the crook of the elbow and propelled her down the hallway. “You two,” he called over his shoulder, “can leave. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Wait a minute. What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as he forced her around a corner to a tiny alcove with a window seat and two potted plants.
“This.” He didn’t waste time, just lowered his head and kissed her so hard she couldn’t breathe.
Her bones began to melt and she told herself this was insane, that he had no right to manhandle her anywhere, but especially not here, in the hospital where she was working. Yet there was a part of her that responded to his spontaneity, the thrill of a man wanting her enough to drag her into the comparative privacy of the alcove.
His mouth was pure magic—warm, insistent pressure. She kissed him back, her lips parting to accept his tongue, her heart pounding a wild, frantic cadence as her beeper went off.
She jerked back and saw the amusement in his eyes. “Couldn’t resist,” he said by way of explanation as she reached into her pocket for her pager.
“Maybe you should learn to exercise some control.” She checked out the digital display of numbers and recognized Dr. Oliverio’s extension.
“Ha.” He let out a short laugh. “I don’t have a helluva lot of that around you,” he admitted. “Nor, Doctor, do you.”
“You surprised me, that’s all. Look, I have to go.”
“Emergency?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but I’d better check it out.”
His grin was pure mischief as he pulled her to him and kissed her soundly again. “I’ll call you later.”
“Fine.” She turned and found two aides walking down the hallway and pretending they hadn’t seen anything, but the smiles they tried to disguise and the twinkle in their eyes as they exchanged knowing glances convinced her otherwise.
Clearing her throat she marched down the corridor toward her office and reminded herself, for what seemed the fiftieth time, she wasn’t going to get involved with Thorne McCafferty.
But a little voice inside her head had the audacity to insinuate that it was too late. She was already more involved than any sane woman would allow herself to be.
Chapter 11
“I’ll let you know,” Thorne said, raining what he hoped appeared to be a patient smile on the woman seated in his father’s favorite recliner. Her name was Peggy, she’d moved to Missoula from Las Vegas this past year and was now in Grand Hope. As far as he could tell her experience with young babies had been limited to raising her own children, who were now grown, and spending a few years as an aide in a day-care center. Her other jobs had included working as a supervisor in a cannery in California and as a maid for a hotel while she’d lived in Nevada. She was pleasant enough, he supposed, but he wasn’t convinced she was the woman for the job of living at the ranch and taking care of little J.R. “I’m still interviewing.”
She smiled as she stood and tossed her shaggy graying hair over her shoulders. “Well, let me know. You’ve got my number.”
“It’s on the résumé.”
She stuck out her hand and he clasped it, noticing that she wore a ring on every finger. Her makeup was thick, her fingernails long and polished a deep maroon. “Thanks.” She strolled out of the living room, her slim hips rolling beneath tight jeans. At the door front, he handed her a battered suede coat and a heavy fringed purse. She slung the strap over her shoulder and headed out the door.
Boots pounded on the stairs. “Well?” Matt asked as he appeared from the second story. He looked expectantly at his brother. “Found someone?”
“Not yet.” Thorne glanced through the window and watched Peggy climb into a huge station wagon that had enough grime on it that some wise guy had written Wash Me on the back windshield. She paused to light a cigarette and blow out a geyser of smoke before putting the car into gear and gunning the engine. No, Peggy Sentra wouldn’t do. Nor would the other two women he’d already met.
“You interviewed three people.”
“And I’ll probably have to talk to a dozen or so more.” The three women he’d seen, Peggy and the two others, had barely made an impression on him other than they were entirely unsuitable to take care of his newborn nephew and were a far cry from what he’d expected. “I’ve already left a call on the voice mail of the agency.”
“Little J.R.’s coming home tomorrow.”
“I know, I know,” Thorne snapped. “And I guess the four of us, you, Slade, Juanita and I will just have to juggle the duties until we find someone.”
“Hey, whoa there,” Matt said, holding up both hands palms outward. “I’m gonna be out tomorrow—got to fix the fence on the north end of the property before we move the herd. Slade, Adam Zolander and Larry Todd are supposed to help me. The day after that I’ve got to run back to my own spread, so you’d better count me out until I get back.”
Thorne frowned, but didn’t argue. Matt owned a ranch near the Idaho border, a place he’d barely been able to afford, and yet he’d scraped together enough money for a down payment and talked the previous owner into taking a contract on the rest. Matt was known to work sixteen or eighteen hour days—all for that scrap of hilly land and a small run-down farmhouse. Thorne had never understood Matt’s connection with the land, his need to ranch his own place, but there it was. Whereas Thorne had learned at an early age that acreage was valuable because it held its worth or could be developed and sold for a profit, Matt seemed to believe that he was somehow linked to the soil.
“All right. You’re out.”
“And so is Slade tomorrow, so, unless you can con Juanita into changing diapers and burping the baby, looks like you’re the chosen one, the nanny.” Chuckling, he grabbed his hat. “And the nursery’s just about ready. I got the crib and changing table and bureau together, but we still need some staples—formula, diapers, baby powder and sleepers.”
“Already ordered,” Thorne said.
“Good.”
Laughing to himself, Matt threw on his jacket, then walked outside. Thorne headed back to the den. Time for Plan B.
* * *
The phone rang and Nicole, already reaching for her keys, grabbed the receiver instead. “Hello?”
“Hi.” Recognizing Thorne’s voice she leaned against the window and smiled to herself. Why her lips curved upward, she didn’t understand, but she didn’t fight it as she stared into the night-darkened backyard. The girls clamored around her and to quiet them she pressed the index finger of her free hand to her lips.
“I need your help.”
“You need my help?” She smothered a smile. There was something amusing about the CEO of McCafferty International asking for any kind of advice or aid.
“Absolutely. J.R.’s being released from the hospital tomorrow and that’ll be quite a change around here.”
She eyed her two dynamos. “You have no idea.”
“I thought maybe you could give me some pointers.”
“Oh, sure.” She laughed as she watched Molly chase after Mindy with a rubber snake. Mindy shrieked in mock horror. “Don’t you know that I do this motherhood thing day by day?”
“Can we discuss it over dinner?”
“I have the girls.”
“Bring ’em.”
She laughed out loud. “I don’t think you understand what you’re asking.”
“Probably not, but maybe it’s time I learned. I could pick you up and—”
“No, we’d better meet. I finally got the SUV back and it’s ready to go and equipped with safety seats. Besides that I have been known to cut out early if t
he twins—” she was eyeing the girls as they streaked by with her I’m-the-mom-and-you’d-better-listen-to-me scowl “—make the mistake of acting up, which I’m sure won’t happen tonight. They wouldn’t dare.”
Mindy bit her lower lip, but Molly ignored the warning and wriggled the fake-looking snake in her sister’s face. “I already told the girls I’d take them to the Burger Corral. It’s on the corner of Third and Pine.”
“I know where it is,” he said dryly. “I grew up here. But I was thinking of something a little quieter.”
“Believe me, when you’ve got four-year-olds, you don’t want quiet.”
Molly was tugging at the edge of her jacket. “Come on, Mommy.”
“Look, if you want to meet us, do,” she invited. “We’re on our way right now.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Nicole hung up and told herself she wasn’t thinking clearly. Hadn’t she already told herself not to get involved with Thorne, that just because they’d shared a few kisses and quiet conversations and made love wasn’t any reason to put on her old pair of rose-colored glasses again—the ones with the cracked lenses from trusting Thorne McCafferty before? But there was something about the man she found so damned irresistible it was dangerous. More than dangerous—emotional suicide. “Come on, kids, put your jackets on.”
The phone rang again almost instantly and Nicole picked up thinking that Thorne had changed his mind. “Want to back out?” she teased.
“I think it’s a little too late for that now, isn’t it?” Paul’s voice was a damper on her good mood and she steeled herself for what was certain to be a tense conversation.
“I was expecting someone else to call.”
“Then I’ll make it short.” His voice had all the warmth of a blue norther and Nicole wondered how she’d ever once thought she’d loved the man.
“Okay.”
“It’s about visitation rights.”
“What about them?” she asked, her fingers clenching the receiver in a death grip, the knot in her stomach tightening as it always did when she and Paul began to argue—which was nearly every time they spoke.
“I know that I’m supposed to have the girls every other Christmas and each summer.”
“That’s right.” Her heart began to pound. She couldn’t believe it but thought he might actually be angling for custody. Oh, Lord, what would she do if she lost the twins?
“But Carrie and I are going to visit her folks in Boston over the holidays and this summer we’ve planned a trip to Europe. Her company is sending her to a convention in Madrid and we thought we’d take the opportunity to see France, Portugal and England while we’re there. So, there would be four weeks right in the middle of summer where we couldn’t take the twins.”
As if parental responsibility were an option.
She glanced at her daughters, now struggling into their jackets and her heart broke when she thought about them growing up without a father.
“You know we’d love to have them if it were possible, but Carrie’s got to think of her career.”
“Of course she does.”
“Just like you do, Nicole. Like you always have.” There it was: the inevitable dig. What was deemed noble for Carrie was somehow disgraceful for Nicole because she was a mother. She let the little barb slide. No reason to reduce the conversation to hot words at this point. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, though her throat was thick. “It would probably be best if they stayed with me.”
“Actually, I think so. It would be hard on Molly and Mindy to uproot them and drag them here to the apartment. They’re not used to a big city or being confined to a few rooms. With both our jobs it would make it really difficult and—”
“Look, I understand, but I’ve got to run. Do you, uh, want to speak to the girls?” She couldn’t stand to hear one more minute of his rationalizations for giving up his children. They were his daughters, for God’s sake! So precious. So wonderful. And they deserved better.
“Oh.” A pause. “Sure.”
Without much enthusiasm, she put each of the twins on the phone, let them speak to the stranger who had sired them and within three minutes was back on the phone. “I’m already late and I’ve really got to run now, but we’ll work the visitations out.”
“I knew I could count on you.” The words echoed through her mind and she toyed with the question of what he would do if he couldn’t rely on her.
“I’m glad you understand.” Relief was heavy in his voice.
“Goodbye, Paul.” She hung up incensed and helped Mindy zip up her jacket. “Come on, kids, let’s roll.”
“You mad, Mommy?” Mindy asked as Nicole slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. Catching sight of her reflection in the window, she understood her daughter’s concern. Her eyebrows were slammed together, her mouth pursed tight at the corners.
“Not anymore. Come on, let’s get into the car.” She opened the door and the twins swarmed through, their chubby legs flashing, their shoes pounding on the back porch, their laughter and giggles ringing through the night air.
“I get shotgun!” Molly cried.
“No, me—” Mindy started to pout.
“You’re both in the back seat, in your car seats and you know it,” Nicole said. “Remember?”
“But Billy Johnson gets to ride in the front seat,” Molly said. Billy was a wild-haired boy in their preschool.
“So does Beth Anne.”
Another friend.
“Well, you don’t.” Nicole helped strap them into their respective seats, then climbed behind the wheel. She paused long enough to reapply her lipstick, then twisted on the ignition and grinned as the SUV roared to life. As she put the rig into reverse she felt a twinge of apprehension about meeting Thorne again. Whether she liked it or not she was in some kind of relationship with him and that thought worried her.
“It’s not a date,” she told herself.
“What?” Molly demanded.
“Nothing, sweetie, now you girls figure out what you want to get for dinner,” she said and silently added, and I’ll try to figure out what to do with Thorne McCafferty.
* * *
Within fifteen minutes she’d driven to the small restaurant, parked in the crowded lot, then shepherded her girls to a corner booth near the soda fountain. With the efficiency of the mother of twins, Nicole helped the girls out of their jackets and let them wander to the video games where a group of boys who looked about eight or nine were trying to best each other and the sounds of bells, whistles and simulated gun reports punctuated the buzz of conversation, clatter of flatware and rattle of ice cubes from the self-serve soda machine.
Somewhere, above it all, there was the hint of music, some old Elvis Presley hit, she thought, but couldn’t remember. She recognized some of the customers—the couple who owned a small market around the corner, a boy she’d stitched up when he’d cracked his head inline skating, a young mother who worked at the preschool where her twins were enrolled.
She ordered a diet cola for herself and milk shakes for the girls, then waited nervously until she spied Thorne push open one of the double glass doors. Tall, broad-shouldered, a determined expression on his bladed features, he glanced around the interior until his gaze landed full force on her. Her breath caught as if she were a silly schoolgirl and she mentally chided herself. Get over it. He’s just a man. What was it about him that caused her idiotic heart to turn over at the sight of him? She waved and he strode through the maze of tables and booths.
“Where are—?” he started to ask before he spied the twins standing on chairs and peering over the shoulders of the boys working the video games. “Oh.”
“They’ll be back. I’m just lucky they don’t understand they need money to work the machines.”
“Then t
hey’ll break you.”
“Exactly.”
Hanging his leather jacket on a peg already holding one of the twins’ coats, he glanced around the open restaurant, then slid onto the bench opposite her. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I called,” he admitted, “but it’ll do.”
“Oh, will it?” she mocked.
“I haven’t been here since high school.”
“Fond memories?” She managed to keep her tone light though there had been times when she’d sat in this very booth hoping that Thorne McCafferty would call or return to Grand Hope. It hadn’t happened.
“Some fonder than others.” His gaze touched hers for a second. Picking up a plastic-coated menu, he elaborated, “I had the first date of my life here with Mary Lou Bennett when I was a freshman in high school. I was scared to death and then another time—” his eyes narrowed a fraction “—I got into a fight with a kid a couple of years older than me. What was his name? A real tough…Mike something or other…Wilkins…that was it. Mike Wilkins. He beat the tar out of me in the parking lot.”
“He beat you up?”
“Yep. But I hate to admit it.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, yes, Dr. Stevenson, I wasn’t always the tough guy you see before you.”
“What happened?” she asked, fascinated. She’d never heard this story before.
“The police came and hauled us both in. Took our statements and those from the kids that had collected around the fight. My dad had to come down and claim me and I was nearly kicked out of school and thrown off the football team, but, as usual, John Randall managed to pull some strings. The worst punishment I ended up with was a black eye, a couple of loose teeth and some pretty bad damage to my ego.”
“Which you probably deserved.”
“Probably.” One side of his mouth lifted in a self-deprecating grin. “I was a little cocky.”
