At the mention of the guardianship, Gracie’s heart pounded in a thundering gallop. She twisted her hands in her lap. To her right, V whipped her head around to stare up at a silent Jake. Gracie paid them little heed. She leaned forward in her chair, willing Anthony to say the words that would fulfill the promise she’d given Sarah and make the twins hers.
“I would like to say Mr. Thompson’s remaining wishes are a cut and dry disbursement of his assets.” Anthony picked up a new sheaf of papers. “Unfortunately, that is not the case. Because of their young age, the guardianship arrangement for his minor children was Mr. Thompson’s main concern.”
“Minor children?” V’s breathless demand drew Gracie’s attention. Turned, as V was, to stare up at her famous client, Gracie couldn’t read the expression in the publicist’s eyes.
Jake, on the other hand, had gone stiff, his jaw clenched as if chiseled from stone. Beneath the tight skin of his thickly muscled neck, a bulging vein stood out in stark relief. When he swallowed, the slow drag of his Adam’s apple contracting appeared painful.
“As their closest relative, you are the logical choice as guardian.”
Gracie forgot about Jake’s odd tension. She jerked her head back around and was dismayed to find Anthony hadn’t addressed her. His dark-eyed gaze held fast to Jake’s. The room began to tilt. Her breath came out in a whoosh with the lawyer’s next words.
“However, your father wasn’t at all confident you would be interested in taking on the task of seeing to your young sisters’ welfare.”
“My sisters?” Jake choked.
“His father?” Gracie leapt to her feet, her manic heartbeat echoing in her ears.
Anthony slipped the glasses from his nose. His dark brows crashed together in a frown, and his confused gaze bounced between her and Jake. “I’m sorry, I assumed everyone knew the players.”
She spun on Jake. “Pete Thompson was your father?”
Deep grooves bracketed his thinned lips. He jerked one shoulder in a taut shrug. “Technically, though sperm donor is a more appropriate title.”
The breath clogged in her lungs. Jake Malone was Pete’s son? Her bid for guardianship of the twins included tangling with a professional football star? Holy shit. This couldn’t be happening. A chill washed over her, making her shudder. So much for fearing Jake was here to pick a fight in front of Pete’s lawyer. That scenario was infinitely preferable to reality.
She slapped a hand to her forehead. “I don’t believe this.”
Jake snorted. “How do you think I feel? I just found out I have…?” He turned to Anthony.
The lawyer’s lips tightened in a cautious frown. “Angela and Charlotte are your six-year-old, twin half sisters.”
“Jesus.” Jake’s eyes slid shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
V spun on the love seat and slipped her fingers into his free hand. He opened his eyes. The pained smile on the publicist’s full lips matched the sympathy in her eyes. Gracie’s brows rose at the poignant glance and gesture, evidence their relationship went beyond that of publicist and client.
Focus, Gracie. Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem. What did Anthony say? Pete didn’t expect Jake to want the twins?
“If Pete wasn’t sure his,” she flicked a stabbing glance at Jake before turning back to Anthony, “son would want the responsibility of caring for the girls, he’d have made other arrangements. Before she died, my sister expressed her desire I raise the girls in the event something happened to Pete. I assure you, I do want the responsibility.”
Anthony held up a hand. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Your brother-in-law knew of your sister’s wishes and took them into account, partially.”
“What does that mean?”
“The custody arrangements laid out in Pete’s will are a bit unconventional but, under the circumstances, he felt unconventional would be in the best interest of the twins.”
“What, exactly, are these custody arrangements?” Jake’s low growl was barely audible. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Spinoza.”
“Then let me explain.” Anthony cleared his throat. “According to Pete’s wishes, guardianship of the twins will be decided ninety days from tomorrow. Until that time, the two of you are to share custody of the girls. Here. On the farm.”
The blood froze in Gracie’s veins, even as her heart sank. The potentially catastrophic consequences of being thrown together with a league superstar were nothing compared to the possibility of losing the girls. They loved her as much as she loved them, but… Had Sarah known the twins had a big brother, and a famous one at that? Did they know about him?
Stupid question. Even if they didn’t, they would soon. For six year olds, the idea of a big brother, especially one like Jake Malone, would be huge. Fear clawed at her with razor-sharp talons. How could she compete with that, and what was up with the three-month time period? What happened at the end of the ninety days?
A guttural growl made Jake’s opinion of the bizarre stipulation clear.
V squeezed the hand she still held. “Hear him out before you fly off the handle, Jake.”
He scowled at her and pulled his hand free but kept his mouth shut.
Anthony sifted through the sheaf of papers. “You’ll have three months to get to know the girls and their routines. Mrs. Clark will assist you.”
Mary bobbed her head in a silent nod.
“You’ll be expected to live here and, excepting incidences where the girls are in your presence elsewhere, be back in residence no later than eight p.m. each night or forfeit your claim. If one of you decides the arrangement is not to your liking, you need only walk away. The other will automatically gain sole custody, along with the remainder of the estate and all its holdings, with the exception of the twins’ trusts, of course.”
A sneer twisted Jake’s lips. “Why bother with the ridiculous ruse? Dear old dad had to know his rules would take me out of the running before the race even began. Football season is in full swing. I travel to eight different cities over the next twelve weeks.”
“Your professional schedules have been taken into account, of course.” Anthony offered Jake a strained smile. “On those occasions you travel with the Marauders, your presence at the farm will be excused.”
“Well, damn. That’s a relief.” Sarcasm dripped from Jake’s drawled reply. He rolled his eyes at V as if to say do you believe this?
“The same professional courtesy will be extended to you, Miss Gable, though I assume much of your business can be done from here at the farm.”
“Thank you.” She hoped to cut off any expansion of what her business included. This situation was alarming enough without having to introduce herself as Gridiron Girl. She held her breath but didn’t hold out a lot of hope. Evil gremlins were running this show, and they didn’t seem to have an ounce of sympathy.
“Still, if the facilitation of your web design service or Gridiron Girl website requires an absence, you need only let me know.”
She squeezed her eyes shut on a wince as Anthony aided the gremlins in their mischief.
The silence was deafening. Heart pounding, she peeked through scrunched eyelids, sneaking a sidelong glance at Jake from beneath her lashes. Twin emerald laser beams locked her in place. V stared at her in bug-eyed disbelief.
Jake’s low voice purred with deceptive calm. “Gridiron Girl website?”
For a moment, she considered playing dumb or maybe breaking into a verse of “It’s a Small World.” Screwed, no matter how she answered, she fought back a hysterical giggle and settled on brazen sarcasm. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin and met his angry gaze. “Funny, when you pulled up out front, I figured you’d come to apologize for being an arrogant ass the other day.”
A muscle twitched along the sharp line of his jaw. “You’re the Gridiron Girl?”
She pumped up one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “What can I say? We homely cowards need to m
ake a living somehow.”
A satisfying glint of guilt flared in his eyes. Or maybe it was wishful thinking on her part. The flash of emotion was gone before she could properly categorize it, replaced by glaring heat.
He propped his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Oh, this keeps getting better and better.”
She bared her teeth in an ice-cold smile. “You can say that again.”
“Well, this is awkward.” The smile pulling at V’s perfectly painted lips appeared forced. “I suggest we deal with one issue at a time, beginning with the custody situation.”
Gracie couldn’t agree more. Heart in her throat, she addressed Anthony. “All I have to do is move in for three months and at the end I’ll gain full custody?”
“Claiming victory already?” Jake’s narrowed gaze locked on hers, one dark brow lifted in challenge.
“Are you saying you want to take on the responsibility of six-year-old twins?”
“Fuck no.” Blind panic rounded his eyes. “What the hell would I know about raising little girls?”
The band of tension squeezing her chest snapped loose. She curled her toes against the rush of relief threatening to buckle her knees. “Well, then.” She swung out a hand. “There you go. You may not want them, but I do.”
His brows beetled in a scowl. The uncertainty in his eyes said he wasn’t sure if he should argue her point or give in gracefully.
V cleared her throat. “My client needs a bit of time to consider the situation. When does he have to give you his answer?”
“I don’t need—”
“Jake!” V’s sharp command cut him off.
He spun around and paced to the window. Shoulders bunched, he thumped the brim of his Stetson against his thigh and stared out at the winter afternoon.
Anthony offered V a weak smile. “Mrs. Clark made arrangements for the twins to spend tonight with a friend from school. They will return home after the funeral tomorrow morning.” His gaze encompassed both Gracie and Jake. “You are required to be in residence by eight tomorrow evening and, with the exception of pre-approved professional absences, every night thereafter for ninety days.”
Jake spun around to snarl at his publicist. “Not a chance, V. I refused to jump through hoops for the asshole when he was alive. I won’t follow his demands now he’s dead, especially for a couple of rugrats I’ve never met.”
Gracie winced at the loathing in his voice for Pete and opened her mouth to protest the insult to her nieces.
V beat her to it. “Shut up, Jake.” She turned to Anthony with a forced smile. “Other than the curfew requirement, are there any other conditions?”
“Ah, no.” He speared long fingers through his thinning hair. “However, I should explain one small caveat to the arrangement.”
Another disdainful snort sounded from the back of the room. V shot a stern-eyed warning over one shoulder.
Anthony’s dark eyes softened as they settled on Gracie. “I realize you are ready to take immediate custody of the girls, Miss Gable, and, in my opinion, a speedy decision on guardianship would be best. However, while your brother-in-law foresaw Mr. Malone’s reluctance to accept the requirements of the will, he insisted his son be given the opportunity to get to know his half sisters.”
Gracie nodded. From Jake’s reaction, there didn’t seem much chance of him complying. Just in case, she needed a few things clarified. “I understand, but what if we both manage to meet the requirements? What happens then?”
“That’s where the caveat comes in. If, at the end of the allotted time, you are both still here, the girls will choose between the two of you. Ultimately, they have the final say on which of you will be their guardian.”
Gracie was too shaken to react. Jake wasn’t. He spun from the window and closed the distance to glare down at V. Gracie could only watch wide-eyed as he seemed to expand, growing even larger than normal in his hot-eyed fury.
“Are you satisfied?” His voice rose with each word. “What kind of asshole leaves this kind of decision to a couple of six year olds?” He pinned Anthony with a heated sneer. “And what’s with you? Aren’t attorneys supposed to advise their clients, steering them away from asinine stipulations?”
“Jake!”
Anthony held up a hand, quieting V. Gracie couldn’t help applauding his composure, if only in her head, even if his serene appearance appeared forced.
Though his face paled, he met Jake’s glare and spoke in a steady voice. “I did exactly that, Mr. Malone, but in truth, I was nothing more than an employee of your father.” He paused briefly, as if considering his words. “I would never share a confidence of a client but, as the man is dead, and the situation complicated, I can tell you, Pete Thompson felt this arrangement allowed him to make amends for past wrongs. Specifically, the way he treated your mother and you. In his opinion, offering you the opportunity to gain his estate, while seeing to the welfare of his daughters, was the perfect solution.”
Scoffing disbelief flared in Jake’s darkening glare, proving him unwilling to attribute any altruistic characteristics to the man who sired him.
V rose from her chair. Anthony followed suit.
“We appreciate your candor.” She shook his hand. “We’ll be in touch.”
He nodded and handed her his card. “By all means, contact me at my office.”
Like a grumpy child, Jake stomped from the room without further word. With an apologetic smile, V hurried after him.
Anthony collapsed back onto the couch. A green tinge colored his face, pale against the austere black of his suit. He began shoving papers into his briefcase with shaking hands.
Gracie could empathize.
She jumped when Mary laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Take heart, child. All will work out. You’ll see.”
She swallowed. Hard.
Chapter 3
“I need a scotch, Henry. Make it a double.”
The waiter nodded and turned for the bar. Jake jammed his coat on the hook beside his usual booth at the back of The Tap Room. Considering his mood, he should’ve cancelled his weekly lunch with Tom, but thanks to this morning’s multiple hits, he was running on autopilot. He’d found himself in the pub’s private Manhattan parking garage without any recall of having gotten there.
Sliding into the booth, he checked his watch. Too late now. Tom would be here any minute and, knowing V, she’d already filled him in on this latest disaster. Not that Jake could blame her. Even before this morning’s unbelievable revelations, the shit had hit the proverbial fan, and he had no one to blame but himself. He’d screwed up royally with his asinine behavior on the Gridiron Girl’s blog.
Fuck. Gracie Gable’s blog. What were the odds, and what was the world coming to when an obscure, online exchange could threaten to derail an all-pro, record-breaking season?
He shot an impatient glare at Henry behind the bar.
How could he have made such a rookie mistake? What the hell was he thinking, letting Tuck goad him into logging on to see what his teammates were snickering about? This was his tenth season, for Christ’s sake. He knew better than to involve himself in the ramblings of rabid fans. Especially female ones. Unlike men, who offered verbal shoulder thumps of camaraderie for a win or voiced their displeasure at a loss by questioning a player’s athletic skills, women dragged personal attributes into the conversation, going straight for the jugular—when they weren’t zeroed in on an even more vulnerable body part.
Women, V always claimed, were much cruder than men when discussing the opposite sex. The commentary on the surprisingly popular blog verified her claim’s validity, in his opinion, and, like a voyeur with a key to the women’s locker room, he’d read every word. He snorted, recalling some of the more outrageous observations.
To her credit, while clearly entertained by the suggestive discourse of her followers, or minions, as she called them, Gracie Gable refrained from adding to the down and di
rty dialogue. Before things got too raunchy, she steered the various conversations back to the subject at hand—football.
He had to admit she knew her topic. Interspersed amongst the speculation of various players’ stamina and body parts, her posts contained insightful debates on statistical possibilities, bemoaning the confusion caused by the rash of new rules imposed by the league, and predictions for the following week’s match-ups. Impressed by the Gridiron Girl’s comprehension of the game, everything was fine until he stumbled upon the post labeled Now, That’s A “Tight End.”
Unease had tickled his spine as Tuck’s laughter echoed in his mind. He’d sat forward at his desk and clicked the mouse, hoping to find an exposé on one of his many peers across the league who held the same position as he. The hope died a quick death. Unease became disquiet when his image filled the screen. The full color photo showed him stretched out in midair, capturing the moment before his fingers gripped the ball in what should have been his most recent touchdown catch—if not for the ref’s bullshit call of offensive pass interference.
He’d ground his teeth at the reminder. He might have a reputation as a man who lived to flaunt the rules in his personal life. In fact, he cultivated the rebel status, but when it came to the game he loved, he didn’t screw around. He took pride in being a clean competitor. The whispers of “dirty play,” since the controversial call had left him steaming in a slow burn. The furor over whether or not he should’ve been slapped with an unnecessary roughness penalty as well pissed him off until he wanted to howl out his rage. The slow burn flared to a raging inferno as he read the Gridiron Girl’s take on the play:
To Win Her Love Page 2
