by Kaitlyn Rice
“What about Jack?”
Abby shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “He’s single, and seems to live for work and women. Why would he want custody?”
Faye folded the two grocery sacks and handed them to Abby before picking up her car keys. “Well then,” she said, “maybe we’ll get good news tomorrow in court.”
Maybe.
But Abby didn’t want to take any chances. Whoever had been asked to take custody of Wyatt must know by now. She was betting Jack at least knew who it was, since he’d been in the lawyer’s office this morning. In fact, she had a feeling he was her culprit.
Why couldn’t she do a little detective work?
She managed to marshal enough brainpower to see her mother to the door, but her thoughts were already rushing ahead, developing a plan. Jack was a businessman; he must carry a cellphone. She was fairly certain she’d find his number in the address book she’d found at the farmhouse.
She was going to play on her hunch.
SITTING ALONE at a linen-topped table, Abby glanced at the door every time a shape passed by the other side of the window. He was either very late or not coming at all.
The waitress had bustled by three times already, filling Abby’s water glass and asking if she wanted to go ahead and order. The pretty redhead must think she was a pathetic spinster who was being stood up for a date.
Abby didn’t care. Her feet were planted too solidly on this good green earth to worry about what some stranger thought of her.
Practical and outspoken, Abby had learned early in life to meet challenges head-on. Not much intimidated her. But she couldn’t afford to lose another loved one. Paige and Brian had been enough.
The only thing Abby feared right now was losing one of the twins, and she’d do almost anything to keep them together, and in her life. If Jack was, in fact, the chosen guardian for Wyatt, she was prepared to argue, lie or even grovel if it would persuade him to relinquish custody.
Nearly an hour after their prescribed meeting time, a single shadow loomed, tall and somehow threatening. Abby felt a tingle of awareness surge through her, knowing without looking closer that Jack had arrived. He removed his ball cap as he stepped through the door, and ran a hand through his hair as he spoke to the hostess. Then he turned and spotted Abby.
She smiled briefly, lifting a hand in greeting. He strode quickly to the table, beginning to make excuses before he was even halfway there. “Abby, I got caught up in a business call that took awhile to wrap up. I’m glad you waited.”
“It’s okay,” she said, and then wondered why she felt compelled to appease his feelings at the expense of her own. Surely he could see that this meeting was just as crucial as a business call that he could have dealt with later.
He sat down across from her and put his hat on an empty chair seat. Right away, he began to study the menu.
Abby sipped from her water glass and watched him. Though he wasn’t as ghostlike as he’d been this morning, his eyes sported dark circles uncommon to a man as vital as Jack. Brian’s death must have been torture for him.
“Have you ordered?” he asked, without looking up from the menu.
“Nope—wasn’t sure you were coming,” she said, perturbed with herself for feeling sympathetic toward the man she intended to manipulate over dinner.
He looked up quickly after hearing the note of complaint in her voice. “Since I’m late, I’ll treat.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I insist,” he said with a wink and a grin. “What’s good here?” And with a simple change of expression, he became the man she knew. The one she’d met at the wedding.
Charming. Devil-may-care. Lethally sexy.
“Depends on what you want,” she answered tersely.
He searched her eyes. “Are you mad at me for something?”
“Why would I be mad?” she asked, even more agitated with herself for being attracted to him, after all this time.
“I don’t know, you just seem…perturbed.”
She slapped the palm of her hand on the tabletop with a satisfying thump. “Let’s not start things off by arguing.”
“I’m not arguing.”
She knew that must be the voice he used with his clients when their feathers were ruffled, and she refused to be mollified. “But you’re telling me I’m mad, and I’m not—”
She slammed her jaw shut when she noticed the hand reaching between them to pour water into Jack’s glass. The waitress was leaning over them, so intent on her chore she seemed unaware that she’d interrupted a dispute.
After topping off Abby’s water, she started to scuttle away, only glancing up when Jack thanked her for the water. That one peek caused a sudden shift in her demeanor. Her brisk pace slowed to a hip-swinging saunter as she headed back toward the kitchen.
Jack frowned into his menu again, seemingly unaware of the flirtation. But Abby had noticed, and she wasn’t surprised. There was something about the man that made women fawn all over him.
Her sister had always said he was the Romeo type, but Abby knew better. He might very well be a good-time lover to many, but he was a true love to no one. Jack Kimball was your everyday, garden variety Casanova.
Since she’d decided on her menu choices long ago, she took another opportunity to scrutinize him. There was nothing spectacular about his looks—she’d seen men more handsome who didn’t hold her attention for longer than the bat of an eyelash. But Jack had something unique.
He was lean and wiry, and his sun-kissed brown hair waved wildly around his head. His style of dress tended toward the casual. Even at the wedding he’d loosened his tie before the last “I Do.” He didn’t work too hard on his appearance.
But his sky-blue eyes were nice, and probably responsible for half his appeal.
But it wasn’t their hue she noticed, it was their expression. Thick lashes framed eyes that drank you in as if he’d never get his fill of your beauty.
If you were the one lucky enough to have caught his attention, that is. For a brief moment in time.
The waitress returned with her pad and pencil. “I see your date arrived,” she said, smiling at Abby now. “No wonder you waited so long.”
Abby looked back across the table just in time to catch Jack’s wink at the young girl. Abby snorted, and said, “He’s not my date.”
“Really?” The girl smiled brightly at Jack. “Are you ready to order?”
Abby refused to be ignored. She was the lady; she would order first. “I’ll have the roast chicken salad,” she said, breaking into their mutual rapport. “Vinegar and oil on the side, and a glass of your house white wine.”
The waitress wrote frantically. When she was finished, she grinned at Jack again.
He looked across at Abby with a thoughtful frown, then back down at the menu. After a few seconds of silence, it became obvious that he wasn’t ready to order.
Abby expected the waitress to hurry off to the kitchen to accomplish something while her prized patron made a decision, but she did no such thing. She seemed perfectly willing to just stand there, staring at Jack.
Finally, he rubbed his chin and said, “I’ll have the steak, medium rare. Loaded potato. Bring a salad with the meal, ranch dressing on that… Oh—and bring me a bottle of your best stout beer.”
“Will do. Thank you, sir,” said the girl, who was probably still in her teens. He had absolutely no business flirting with her, but he flashed her a smile when she took their menus, and kept watching as she sidled away.
After the waitress was out of earshot, Abby lifted world-weary eyes to Jack’s. “Doesn’t take you long to do that.”
“To do what, Abby?”
“To make a killing with the ladies,” she said, shaking her head. “Or do a snow job.”
“I was only being polite.”
“Uh-huh,” she muttered, picking up her water glass for the umpteenth time.
Jack sighed audibly, commanding her attention again. “Is that
why you asked me to dinner? To insult me?”
She echoed his sigh as she set her glass back down. “I wanted to ask you about the hearing tomorrow.”
“What about it?”
Abby crossed her fingers in her lap. “Have you been asked to take custody of Wyatt?”
Jack picked up his own water glass and took a sip, peering at her over its frosty rim. “Are we supposed to be discussing that?”
“Come on, Jack,” she said. “It has to be you or your mother. Paige always told me your mom was busy with her second family. So that leaves you. It has to be you.”
“What if it is?”
“Stop it!”
“Stop what, Abby Rose?”
“Asking questions,” she said. “Answer my questions with answers.” Fidgeting with the lapel of her jacket, she forced herself to take a calming breath. She forced herself to wait. Again.
Jack set his glass down, contemplating it soberly. When he looked up again, the shadows were back in his eyes. “Yes, Brian named me in the will.”
Abby stretched her hand toward him, resting it on the tabletop. “But you’re not going to do it, are you?”
He covered her hand with his own, evoking a sudden heat that caused a spasm in the core of her body. She felt suddenly needy and aroused.
She slid her hand away, placing it in her lap. But it still tingled from his touch, and making a fist didn’t help.
Uncomfortable with her body’s betrayal, she forced her mind to return to the question at hand. She was rather shocked that she could think of sex when something as essential as a baby’s future was in question.
Finally, he said, “To be honest, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Abby was grateful for his candor. Truly, she was. But she needed absolute assurances. “I want custody of both twins. They need to be together,” she announced.
His troubled stare rested on some spot beyond her shoulder. “I don’t want to separate them any more than you do,” he finally said. “But I can’t just sign them out of my life. Wyatt’s my godson.”
“Wyatt is five months old,” Abby said. “He’d be better off with me.”
“He’s five and a half months old, and he’d be better off if his parents hadn’t just died.”
She flinched at his bluntness, but dived right into the fray. “I’m the next best thing, and I want him.”
Jack didn’t respond. Something past her head had caught his interest again.
The waitress had arrived with their orders, interrupting a second brawl at their table by the window. “Here you go, sir,” she said as she placed Jack’s meal in front of him. “Let me know if your steak isn’t perfection itself.”
Then she flopped Abby’s plate down and said, “Pepper?”
“Yes, please.”
The redhead pulled a pepper mill from her apron pocket and twisted it over the salad. When Abby motioned for her to stop, the waitress looked at Jack and asked, “Do you like things spicy, sir?”
Jack shook his head, so the young woman dropped the mill into her pocket, smiled at him one more time and disappeared toward the back of the restaurant.
He picked up his knife and fork to begin cutting into his steak. Abby thought it was just like him to attack his meat first, leaving his salad for later. Although she’d been around him only a few times, she knew he didn’t pay much heed to social niceties. He did what he wanted.
She worked that tidbit of knowledge around in her brain, looking for criticism. Instead, she found nothing but respect for his mettle.
She nibbled at her own salad, letting him eat in peace for a few minutes. Maybe he’d be more amenable when his appetite had been appeased.
After she’d finished most of her meal, she began to deliberate on her next words. She wanted to frame them carefully, seeking the best way of convincing him.
“Do you realize you haven’t even asked about the twins?” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but having done so, she raised her brows in challenge and waited.
Jack looked up, chewing a mouthful of food and frowning.
After he swallowed, he said, “I knew you’d taken them home, and I was trusting you to care for them until this was all worked out. Are they all right? Where are they?”
“They’re with a friend. But you didn’t ask about them until just now.” Abby rested her fork on the edge of her plate, no longer hungry now that she was ready to hash this thing out.
“It’s obvious you love those babies. You would have told me anything important.” He stabbed his fork into a piece of steak, stuffed it in his mouth and nodded at her.
“I don’t know if I would.”
“Yes, Abby. You would,” he said around his mouthful.
“How many times have you seen them?” she hissed.
“As often as I could get away from Kansas City. Maybe four or five times.”
“Have you ever changed a diaper?” She picked up her fork again and toyed with a chunk of chicken on her plate, cutting it into tiny morsels before lifting one to her lips. As she chewed, she scowled at Jack, waiting for the reply she knew was coming.
“No, but how hard can that be?” He kept eating, but now his eyes were sharp with anger.
“Have you ever calmed a crying baby?”
He shook his head and kept chewing.
“You honestly think you can take a five-month-old boy home and figure him out? He’s a human being, not a computer.”
Jack put his fork down and planted one fist on each side of his dinner plate. “Wyatt is five and a half months old,” he reminded her. “And if Brian could figure him out, so can I.”
“When? Are you going to quit your job?”
He raised one brow. “I can afford to hire a nanny.”
Abby nearly jumped out of her seat, her fury was so intense. “So, Wyatt will be raised by some stranger because you’re too mulish to admit I’m the best person for the job!”
Jack pushed his plate away and picked up his beer. He downed the rest of the glass without once pulling his eyes away from hers. Finally, he said, “The truth is, Brian left a letter with the lawyer for me to read on the event of his death.”
“A letter?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed. “I didn’t get one from Paige.”
“Sorry.”
“What did it say?”
He leaned over to pull his wallet out of his back pocket.
“Here, you can read it yourself,” he said.
Abby scooted her salad plate aside before taking the letter. She unfolded it carefully, knowing he must treasure this last communication from his brother, then started to read.
Dear Jack,
Hey, if you’re reading this, it means I croaked.
Funny to think about that, but it means Paige died, too, and that’s not funny at all. Paige and I have had our problems, but lately things have been good. We’re learning to compromise when we have a fight. One of the things we’ve worked out has been what to do if the babies need a home. Paige wants her sister to get them. Abby’s great, but she’s a single woman. A boy needs a man around. You know that. I want you to raise Wyatt if we die. We’re naming you as his guardian, and leaving you the land you financed. Please try it for a year, and then if you want to blow it off, you have my blessing. (Give Abby a chance and sell her the land cheap, you old shark.) But try it. You’re not doing anything better.
I love you, bro.
Brian
Abby refolded the paper with shaking hands. How could she compete with the plea of a dead man?
She couldn’t. She knew that. But in time she would find a way. She knew that, too.
Looking into Jack’s stricken face, she handed him the letter and shook her head. “Okay. You win this round,” she said. “But there’s something in there that’s confusing. They left you the ten acres of land?”
“Yes,” he said, shrugging as he slid the letter back inside his wallet.
“They left me the house.”
<
br /> He stared at her for a moment, his eyes glittering with some internal emotion. She wondered if he was going to throw a fit or start blubbering.
He did neither.
His burst of laughter rang out across the restaurant, turning the heads of several nearby diners. “Those two rascals left me a piece of land with no house to live in,” he said in a voice rich with amusement. “They left you an old house with no farm to finance the upkeep. And they left each of us a twin.”
“Uh-huh,” Abby said, her brow pinched. Why was he laughing?
He shook his head, as if she should have gotten his point. “They were plotting something.”
Despite the circumstances, she had to grin. “Paige always did grill me about what I thought of you.”
Jack chuckled. “And Brian always said you were the perfect woman for me.”
Abby’s laugh was every bit as loud as his had been. “They were so naive,” she said. “We’ve already determined that I’m not enough woman for you, haven’t we?”
CHAPTER TWO
JACK TOOK MEASURE of Abby’s expression as he walked down the courthouse steps toward her, trying to determine whether she was despondent or furious. She was probably both, and he could hardly blame her. None of this felt right, but it was what Brian and Paige had wanted.
Abby had a parent flanking each side. At first glance, Mike Briggs seemed as easygoing as usual. He stood next to his daughter with a big yellow diaper bag looped over his arm. Today, however, his mouth formed a bleak line across his face.
Faye was the only one of the three adults who offered a smile. She stood to Abby’s left, holding the twin in white ruffles—that must be Rosie.
Abby had Wyatt clutched tightly against her chest, and looked quite comfortable for a woman who’d been caring for those babies only a couple of weeks. Her lips were pressed against the boy’s forehead, and she was swaying from side to side. The tip of the braid she always wore appeared at one side of her waist, then the other like a pendulum, as if keeping track of how many floggings he deserved for taking the boy from her.
