by Nora Roberts
Just the sort of neighborhood he would have been barred from a decade or so before. Now, he was here by invitation.
“It’s that one.” Freddie leaned forward. “The cedar with the weeping cherries in the front. Oh, aren’t they beautiful?”
The blossoms were just past their peak, already littering the ground with fragile pink petals, but they did make a show. Nick couldn’t claim to know a lot about horticulture, but he thought the scent tickling his senses was lilac.
When he turned into the sloping driveway, he was rewarded by the sight of a majestic bush loaded with lavender-hued spikes.
“Not bad for a weekend getaway,” he murmured, studying the multileveled structure of glass and wood. “It must have twenty rooms.”
“Probably. I wonder if—” Freddie broke off as a horde of children raced around from the far side of the house. Though of varying sizes and shapes, they appeared as a mass.
Until a slim, dark-haired boy took another child out with a flying tackle that was likely to jar internal organs.
Taking the cue, the rest of them piled on, shouting and wrestling.
“I see Maddy meant it literally when she told you the family would be here. The whole family, from the looks of it,” Freddie observed. “That’s Maddy’s oldest boy trying to murder one of Trace’s kids. I think.”
She smiled as a pixie-size girl with wild red curls and an unidentifiable smear on her cheek spotted them, and waved.
“Mom!” the girl shouted. “Hey, Mom, company.” As an afterthought, she gave the cousin she held in a headlock one last jab in the ribs, then scrambled up and raced to the car.
“Hi, I’m Julia. Remember me?”
“Of course I do.” After she’d climbed out of the car, Freddie gave Maddy’s youngest daughter a welcoming kiss. “Nick, this is Julia Valentine. I won’t try to sort the others out for you quite yet.”
“Hi, Julia.” She had the look of her mother, he thought. If Maddy O’Hurley really looked like the woman he’d seen on stage and on billboards. “You’ve got quite a war going on.”
“Hi.” Julia beamed a smile at him. “We like to fight. We’re Irish.”
Nick had to grin. “That accounts for it.”
“There’s a lot of us, ’cause most everybody had twins. Trace had two sets of twins. But Aunt Chantel had triplets.” She wrinkled her nose. “All boys. Come in. I’ll take you inside.”
Being female, if only seven, Julia focused on Nick. “I’m going to be a dancer on Broadway. Like Mom. You can write my music.”
“Thanks.”
As Julia opened the door, they were greeted by a small, towheaded boy with a maniacal gleam in his eye and a croaking frog in his hands.
“Put Chauncy back, Aaron,” Julia ordered, with the perfect disdain of older sibling for younger. “He doesn’t scare anybody.”
“He will when he gets teeth,” Aaron said darkly, and scrambled out.
“That’s my little brother. He’s a pain.”
Before anyone could comment, a red-haired rocket fired down the stairs. She was wearing ragged cutoff shorts, no shoes, and an oversize, faded T-shirt that claimed she loved New York.
Maddy O’Hurley, Broadway’s baby, made her entrance with style.
“Aaron, you little beast. Where are you? Didn’t I tell you to keep this lizard in the aquarium?”
Spotting her visitors, she screeched to a halt, holding a very annoyed-looking silvery reptile by the middle.
“Oh.” She blew the hair out of her eyes. “So much for elegant entrances. Freddie.” She started to leap forward for a hug, remembered, and held the lizard out to her daughter.
“Julia, do me a favor and put this thing back where it belongs.” That disposed of, she caught Freddie in a hard embrace. “It’s so good to see you. I’m glad you could come.”
“So am I.”
“And you’re Nick.” With an arm still around Freddie’s shoulders, she held out a hand. “It’s great to meet you, at last. I’ve admired your work for a long time.”
Nick knew he was staring, and didn’t care. She did look like the woman he’d seen on the stage, on billboards. Porcelain skin, expressive face. And despite being the mother of four, a dancer’s gracefully athletic build.
“My first Broadway show,” he said. “Ten, eleven years ago. You were headlining. I’ve never seen anything like you before, or since.”
“Well.” Maddy decided a handshake wasn’t enough, and kissed him instead. “I’m going to like you. Let’s go see who else is around. We can take your stuff upstairs later.”
The house wandered and was full of light, from wide glass doors, bow windows, skylights. There were occasional obstacles—toy trucks, a baseball mitt, someone’s disreputable sneakers. Those touches of home melded easily with the elegance of the architecture.
In a spacious sun room, decked with exotic flowers and lacy ferns, a Hollywood legend lounged.
Chantel O’Hurley had her feet up, and her eyes closed. Nearby stood a man whose tough build and stance shouted cop to Nick’s well-schooled brain.
“Brent’s holding his own,” Quinn Doran said, watching the children through the glass. “He may be the runt of our litter, angel, but he’s game.”
“Monsters,” Chantel murmured, but there was a mother’s indulgence in the word. “Why, if I was going to have triplets, couldn’t they have been nice, well-mannered little girls?”
“They’d have bored you to death. Besides, who showed them how to use a slingshot?”
She smiled to herself. Of course, she had. Her boys, she thought. Hers. After years of longing, being afraid to hope, she’d netted three at one time.
Lazily she held out a hand, the way a woman does when she knows it will always be taken. “Come over here, Quinn, before someone finds us.”
“Too late,” Maddy announced. “Company. Nick, my sister Chantel, doing her Cleopatra impression, and her husband, Quinn Doran.”
“Freddie.” Chantel shifted fluidly to kiss Freddie’s cheek, but her gaze lifted to Nick. “What excellent taste you have, darling.”
“I think so.”
Now Nick wasn’t just staring. He was goggling. The blond goddess aimed her sizzling blue eyes at him and smiled. Every nerve ending in his body went on full alert.
“You’re writing the score for Maddy’s new musical. From what I’m told, you’ve enough talent to make her sound professional.”
Maddy simply sniffed. “She’s just jealous because I have two Tonys and she only has one measly Oscar.” Satisfied, Maddy signaled. “Come on, we’ll see who else we can find.”
“Just a minute,” Freddie murmured as she and Nick passed out of the room through the doorway. She dabbed lightly at the corner of his mouth.
“What is it?”
“Oh, nothing. Just a little drool.”
“Funny.” But he didn’t resist one last look over his shoulder at the vision lounging on the floral chaise. “She’s even better in person.”
“Pull yourself together, Nicholas. I’d hate to have Quinn kill you in your sleep. Rumor is he’d know how to do it, quickly and quietly.” Before he could comment, Freddie let out a shout. “Trace!”
While Nick watched, narrow-eyed, she launched herself into the well-muscled arms of a tawny man with a boxer’s build.
“Freddie.” Trace kissed her lavishly. “How’s my pretty girl?”
“I’m fine.” Slinging an arm around Trace’s neck, she beamed back at Nick. “Trace O’Hurley, Nick LeBeck.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Though he was friendly enough, his eyes skimmed over Nick in a way that shouted cop again. Odd, Nick mused, he’d thought the guy was a musician. He’d even admired his work. But a cop’s eyes were a cop’s eyes.
“Most everybody else is in the kitchen,” Trace continued. “Abby’s cooking.”
“Thank God,” Maddy put in. “She’s the only one we can trust. Are you hungry?”
“Well, I—”
; “You must be hungry.” She linked an arm through Nick’s and barreled on, before he could finish the thought. “I’m always frantic to eat after a trip.”
She led the way down a zigzagging hall. Nick noted that Trace didn’t bother to set Freddie back on her feet, but carried her along, like some kind of white knight with a damsel.
The noise reached them first, and then Maddy swung open a door.
The kitchen was huge, but so crowded with bodies and motion that it seemed cozy. Only the blond woman stirring something at the stove appeared at rest.
A scrawny man with thinning hair was whirling a middle-aged woman around the room. Their steps meshed almost magically, and they miraculously avoided—through some internal radar, Nick supposed—collisions with chairs, counters and onlookers.
“Then when we went into the last number,” Frank announced as he spun Molly in three tight circles, “we brought the house down.”
With impressive grace, he whipped his wife into the arms of the man leaning against the kitchen counter, then picked himself up a redhead.
“Molly knows I’ve got two left feet.” Dylan Crosby chuckled and passed his mother-in-law to his oldest son. “Here, Ben, dance with your grandmother before I damage her.”
Spotting Trace, Frank grinned widely. “I’ve got your wife, Tracey! The girl would have a career on the boards if she’d just give up science.” He dipped Gillian fluidly, then spun her back. “Hi, there, Freddie girl.”
Seamlessly Trace passed Freddie to Frank, so that she was caught up in surprisingly ropey arms and became part of the dance. “You dance, boy?” he shouted at Nick.
“Actually, I—”
“Dad, let them catch their breath.” Chuckling, Abby turned from the stove and moved to Nick. “Welcome to bedlam. I’m Abby Crosby.”
“You were an O’Hurley first,” her father reminded her.
“Abby O’Hurley Crosby,” she corrected. “And if you sit down quickly enough, Dad won’t be able to make you learn to do a time step.”
They were quite a crew, Nick discovered. Before he fell into his own extended family, he hadn’t really believed people lived this way. But, like the Stanislaskis, this confusing, noisy group was a family.
And Nick had learned that such families often talked over each other, around each other, and very often through each other. They picked petty fights, argued over nothing, chose sides. And united like steel against any outside foe.
He knew he was going to enjoy them, could already tell some of the kids apart by the time the chaotic meal they shared was over. Twins and triplets abounded, just to confuse things. But it was no surprise, he supposed, as Maddy and her sisters were triplets themselves.
After the kitchen was cleared, both Freddie and Nick had agreed willingly with Maddy’s suggestion that they run through a few numbers.
It didn’t take long for Nick to adjust himself to the household’s jumpy rhythm. They even managed to get a little work done between distractions.
“Mom.” Maddy’s oldest girl came to the music room doorway. “Douglas is being a jerk again.” Cassandra’s gaze was dark as she complained about her twin.
“He’s just a male, honey,” Maddy told her. “You have to be patient.”
Reed shot his wife a bland look over her opinion of his species. “Cassie, your mother’s working, remember?”
“I remember.” Cassie heaved a sigh. “No interruptions unless there’s blood. Maybe there will be,” she muttered before moving off.
“Why don’t we take it from the second verse?” Maddy suggested, obviously unconcerned about the possibility of fratricide. “Don’t stop now. I’ve got places to go, people to see.”
“From the diaphragm, Maddy,” Frank instructed as he strolled in three measures later. “You won’t reach the back row that way. It’s a nice tune,” he told Nick and Freddie. “Had me whistling. In fact, I was thinking about the movements. You know, if we—”
“Dad, we really need to get the vocals before we worry about choreography. Where’s Mom?” Maddy asked, before he could tell her why she was wrong.
“Oh, off with some of the kids. Now, I was thinking—”
“Probably went for ice cream.” If her mother wasn’t around to jerk his chain, Maddy knew, she had to resort to dirty tactics. “I heard a rumor about fudge ripple.”
“Oh?” Frank’s eyes glazed, then gleamed. “Well, then I’d better go find them. Can’t have the children overindulging. Dentist’s bills, you know.”
“Sorry.” Maddy lifted a hand as her father scooted out. “My family.”
“No problem.” Nick tried a new chord. “I’ve got one of my own. Second verse,” he said, then lost every thought in his head as Chantel sauntered in.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” she purred. “I’ll just sit over in the corner, quiet as a mouse.”
“A rat,” Maddy muttered. “Go away, Chantel, you’re distracting my composer.”
Amused that it was no less than the truth, Chantel shrugged her creamy shoulders. “Well, if you’re going to be temperamental, I’ll go out by the pool. Maybe some of the kids want to take a dip.” She aimed a last melting smile at Nick, and glided away.
“Don’t worry.” Maddy patted Nick’s shoulder as he stared blankly at the keys. “She affects men that way. Testosterone poisoning.”
“Second verse, Nick.” Freddie helped the reminder along with an elbow to his ribs.
“Right, I was just…thinking.”
He made the effort, managed to complete the verse, move into the chorus, but then Abby raced by the music room window, screaming with laughter as she was pursued by her husband with a very large water gun.
“The children,” Reed said, and shook his head. “Why don’t we consider this a successful day’s work and take a break? A swim sounds like a good idea.”
“A brilliant one,” Maddy agreed.
“You go ahead.” Freddie picked up a sheet of music. “I’d like to fiddle with this for a few minutes.”
“Come out when you’re done, then.” Maddy reached for Reed’s hand. “If you can face it.”
Nick craned his neck to try to get a glimpse of the pool. “Do you think she’ll wear a bikini?”
Freddie lifted a brow. “Maddy?”
They both knew who he’d meant, but the alternative wasn’t an image a man would sneeze at, either. Seeing that Nick was lost in consideration of numerous bikini-clad O’Hurleys, Freddie laughed.
“Animal.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “You think Abby’s going swimming, too?”
“I think you can get in trouble ogling married women. Now, if you can get your hormones under control, I’d like to run through ‘You’re Not Here.’ Maddy might like to work on it later.”
“It’s rough yet.”
“I know, but the core’s there.”
True enough, he thought. And it might smooth out the edges if they could work on it with Maddy, face-to-face. “Okay. I was thinking, if we tried it this way…”
Freddie closed her eyes, listened as the first notes drifted out. Nodding to herself, she added her voice to his music.
On the patio, Maddy held up a hand, then laid it on Abby’s shoulder. “Listen.”
“It’s lovely,” Abby murmured as her eyes misted. “Sad and lovely. She doesn’t hide it very well when she sings. Being in love with him.”
“No.” Chantel slipped an arm around Abby’s waist, so that the three of them stood together. “I guess they’ll muddle through it.”
“We did.” With the music floating over them, Maddy gazed out over the lawn, toward the pool.
There was Dylan, coaching one of Trace’s girls in a back flip. And Chantel’s triplets, in a heated lap race, with Gillian and Cassie playing referee. Douglas was being the jerk his twin considered him, splashing Trace’s other daughter.
Her father sat, eating fudge ripple ice cream with Trace’s twin boys on either knee.
Ben and Chris, the boys Abby had rai
sed alone for a time, were tall, handsome young men, arguing about which cassette to put into the portable stereo.
Quinn and Trace sat in the shade, sharing a beer and war stories, while Molly applauded Abby’s only daughter, Eva, on her underwater somersaults.
Aaron and Abby’s youngest boy searched the grass for anything with more than two legs. Julia turned cartwheels to annoy them.
My family, she thought as she lifted a hand to wave to Reed. All present and accounted for.
“I feel good.” Maddy drew in a deep breath, threw her face back to the sun. “And I have a strong feeling that those two at the piano are going to help me cop another Tony.”
Unable to resist, Chantel slid her gaze toward her sister. “Oh, darling, do you have one already?”
With a rollicking laugh, Chantel ran, with Maddy inches behind.
Late, late at night, when the house was finally quiet, Nick drew Freddie to him, so that her head rested on his shoulder. Since Maddy had been considerate enough to give them adjoining rooms, he’d felt no guilt about sneaking into Freddie’s bed.
It was good to simply lie there, with his heartbeat leveling toward normal, and his body sated from the slow, quiet love they’d made. She felt so natural curled up against him, he wondered how he’d ever slept without her.
“Tired?” he asked her.
“Hmm. Relaxed. It’s been a terrific day. I loved seeing all of them again, how much the kids have grown. Everything.”
“They’re quite a group.”
“They are that. I think it’s great the way they all juggle their schedules so they can have a week or two each year with everyone in the same place. Sometimes they go to Dylan and Abby’s farm in Virginia.” She sighed sleepily and cuddled closer when his fingers began to stroke along her shoulder. “We visited there once. It’s beautiful, all rolling hills, horses grazing. Space.”
“You’d need a lot of room with all these kids. Abby has the twin girls, right?”
“No, that’s Trace and Gillian. Abby has four—Ben, Chris, Eva and Jed. And she had them one at a time.”
“Four.” He shuddered.
“You love kids.” She shifted, turning her head so that she could study his face. It was beautiful in the splash of moonlight, dreamy and heroic, like something out of an Arthurian legend.
