Yours, Mine and Ours

by Jacqueline Diamond

  Yours, Mine and Ours

  by Jacqueline Diamond

  In memory of my mother

  Ebook edition published by

  K. Loren Wilson

  P.O. Box 1315

  Brea, California

  Copyright 1996, 2012 by Jackie Hyman

  First print edition published 1996 by Harlequin Books. This edition has been substantially revised and updated.

  All rights reserved. Thank you for buying this book!

  Chapter One

  When Flint Harris descended the front steps of City Hall, Robin Lindstrom was waiting for him.

  Before his sharp gray eyes could register what was happening, before he could even fling up a muscular arm to protect himself, she showered him with stars.

  "Beachside is a magical place to live!" Robin shouted. "How dare you try to ruin it?"

  Tiny silver stars cascaded from Flint's trim brown hair onto the broad shoulders of his suit. Without showing a flicker of emotion, he plucked one of the stars from his lapel and examined it.

  "You must be a teacher," he said.

  Behind her, Robin became aware that her fellow picketers had fallen silent. Even her outspoken mother, Gigi, stood frozen in concentration. Robin felt all alone in this.

  "Good guess, Doctor," she said. "Did you deduce that scientifically?"

  "First of all, I may have my Ph.D. but I don't use the term 'doctor." Flint's calm baritone did nothing to steady her nerves. "And, second, since I have kids, it was an easy guess. Teachers use these as rewards. I'm honored that you find me worthy."

  Robin felt heat rise to her cheeks. "It wasn't meant as an honor, it was meant to get your attention. The changes you want to make in this town will destroy its character. Beachside is a fun and funky place to live, and we want to keep it that way."

  Behind her, people stirred, and she heard a few chants of "Save Our City!" and Everything's Peachy in Beachside!"

  "Why is a teacher leading a protest against revising the city's earthquake standards?" Flint's high cheekbones, firm mouth and tanned skin made him resemble a rancher more than a seismology expert. Robin supposed he must spend a lot of time prowling the unbaked fault lines of Southern California.

  "My mother has a business on the beachfront," she said. "You'd wipe out her sign and her facade."

  "As would an earthquake." Flint had an irritating way of holding himself erect to his full six-foot-plus-a-few-inches height so that he talked down at Robin. At five-foot-seven, she wasn't accustomed to feeling short.

  "You're a zealot," she challenged. "You'd have us all go back to living in caves. That would be a lot safer, wouldn't it?"

  "Not at all," said Flint. "Falling rocks are a serious hazard in an earthquake. We’ve learned a lot in recent years, and the old earthquake standards need updating, as do the buildings around here. Now if you'll excuse me?"

  As he brushed by, she could feel the hardness of his body. It matched the fossilized condition of his brain, Robin thought angrily. He had dismissed her arguments almost before she opened her mouth.

  Of course, that might be because of the stunt with the stars. Throwing them had been her mother's idea, and Robin had reluctantly gone along. But she hadn't expected to end up arguing with a man this rigid and full of himself. She shuddered to think how he must treat his children.

  By sound alone, Robin could trace Flint's path down the steps and along the sidewalk. The crowd's chanting rippled into a wave that peaked as he passed. After a few minutes, the normal buzz of conversation resumed, and she heard a car start in the parking lot.

  Robin turned to see a Volvo exiting onto the street. Naturally, she thought, Flint Harris had chosen a car renowned for safety over style. The man was so compulsive, he probably had air bags in his bathtub.

  Nearby, her mother fiddled with her frizzy red hair. Gigi had been unconventional as far back as Robin could remember, and had reached a peak of eccentricity in her late fifties. She wore a riot of eye shadow and rouge, a fluffy pink sweater over a bright peasant skirt, and gold thong sandals.

  "What an infuriating man," Robin said.

  "I thought he had a cute aura."

  "A cute aura?" Robin couldn't believe her mother had said that. "Mom, spare me."

  "He likes you," Gigi continued confidently. "You made an impression."

  Robin groaned. The problem was, her students would be giving a dance presentation at the school board meeting tomorrow night. Flint and his earthquake report were also on the agenda, and Robin couldn't avoid running into him.

  She'd just have to tough it out.

  *

  As he headed north toward the suburbs, Flint mentally catalogued the hazards. He spotted an oversize sign with weakened supports that looked likely to topple in a strong shaker. A life-size plastic cow dating from decades ago sat atop a drive-through dairy. He frowned at an unreinforced brick building with a splashy mural of a whale painted on the side.

  Flint had been hired by the City Council to make recommendations on updating its standards, and he was doing his job. Why did people react with such emotion?

  The issue was safety. Flint had toured the devastation of quakes around the world and he’d hate to see such misery here. Not only did he earn his living as a structural engineer and earthquake consultant, he considered improving public safety a personal mission. He meant to protect as many children as possible, including his three.

  He detoured on a route that took him by the tree-shaded campus of Serena Academy, a private school. Although its mostly stucco buildings had satisfied the earthquake requirements of some years back, he doubted that all the structures met the latest standards. However, since examining the private school wasn't part of his contract with the city, Flint had so far conducted only a preliminary assessment. He was scheduled to make a presentation to the school board, seeking their business in addition to the city’s.

  An image of the young teacher at the demonstration popped into Flint's mind Maybe it was because he'd heard that Serena hired individualistic staff members, gifted teachers who chafed at the restrictions of public school life.

  The lady struck him as a prime example. The way her blue eyes lit with fury and the impulsive manner in which she'd doused him with stars implied an undisciplined nature. He wondered how she could possibly work well with children.

  Still, Flint found the woman's energy appealing. She deserved credit for loyalty to her mother, as well. But people who worked with children ought to keep their feelings under control and set a good example.

  Take, for example, his nanny. He relaxed behind the wheel, thinking about Mrs. Strich, whom his three children had nicknamed Mrs. Strict. In the month she'd worked for him, she had followed his itemized instructions to the letter and run the house like a tight ship.

  He was pleased that she made no attempt to mother the kids. No one could replace the wife Flint had lost in a water-skiing accident three years ago, and he didn't want some hired housekeeper to try.

  With a sense of homecoming, Flint turned in to the residential development where he lived. The two-story houses were painted in earth tones, as required by the home owners' association. All vegetation was clipped, no trash cans were visible from the street, and the only dog in sight was a Pomeranian on a leash.

  He had come home to order and restraint. For the first time that day, Flint allowed himself a smile.

  Then, as he reached for the garage door opener, he noticed his Aunt Maureen's Cadillac in front of the house. Had Mrs. Strich left early? Maureen was his emergency backup sitter, but Flint couldn't imagine what she was doing here today.

  He soon found out.

  "Maybe," Maureen intoned from the kitchen, where she stood whipping mashed potatoes, "yo
ur nannies might stick around longer if you didn't treat them like robots."

  Flint pinched a couple of silver stars off his sleeve. "I thought you agreed with the way I raise the children."

  "I do. But you don't hand me a schedule first thing every morning. And I don't have to live in the same house with you." At sixty-five, Maureen seemed to have grown rather than shrunk with age. She stood stiffly erect, only a few inches shorter than Flint. Her hair had turned a steely shade of gray, and the frown wrinkles in her forehead had etched themselves in stately parallel lines.

  According to family legend, Maureen had been a sunny, outgoing girl, but she had never married. Recently retired from her job as an office manager, Maureen would have been the perfect housekeeper, Flint reflected. He was grateful she lived nearby and was willing to help in emergencies.

  "But to walk out like this is unforgivable," he persisted. "Mrs. Strich owed me two weeks' notice."

  In the family room, he could hear the familiar music of an educational game on the computer. The children were behaving themselves, probably in hopes of escaping his wrath.

  "She sounded hysterical when she called." Wearing two padded mitts, Maureen removed a roast from the oven. "Brick put worms in her spaghetti at lunch."

  "He's studying them for a science project." Flint couldn't believe his stocky son, the oldest of the triplets by several minutes, would have deliberately committed such a disgusting act. "They must have sneaked out."

  "Caitlin's been stealing the mail again," Maureen went on. "Apparently Mrs. Strich has a gentleman friend who doesn’t believe in e-mail. He wrote her a rather personal letter."

  "Caitlin read it?" Flint gritted his teeth. Dealing with a child whose IQ soared into the genius range was more of a trial than he would have expected.

  "She posted a copy on the Internet," said Maureen. "Then Aaron—well, you know how much he wants a puppy."

  "He can't have one." Flint wouldn't mind a watchdog, but the children would spoil it to the point of uselessness.

  "Well, he decided he was going to be a puppy." Maureen tossed the salad with crisp efficiency. "He kept trying to bite Mrs. Strich on the leg."

  "Was she hurt?" Flint tried to recall how much liability insurance he carried.

  "No, thank heaven." Maureen set plates on the table. "Mrs. Strich told him seven-year-olds don't bite, so he stuck out his tongue and gave her a Bronx cheer."

  A headache was building in Flint’s temples. "How have the kids been since you got here?"

  "Perfect angels." Maureen folded the napkins and laid the flatware with military precision. "They know better than to pull that crap with me, pardon my French. I'll watch them for a few days, Flint, but you have to hire a replacement."

  "I'll call the agency." Then Flint remembered that the agency had warned him this was the last nanny it would provide. The last two had threatened to quit the field entirely. "I mean, I'll advertise."

  Maureen used her apron to wipe a fingerprint from the salt shaker. "Also, I can't baby-sit any nights this week. I've volunteered through the Senior Center to stay with a lady who just had surgery. Her daughter works the swing shift."

  Flint had to make an evening presentation at Serena Academy. Who was going to watch his children then? He wasn’t sure he trusted the teen-age girls who lived on the block. They'd probably smoke or invite their boyfriends over, or both.

  He was being paranoid, he told himself. One of them would be fine for a few hours.

  "I'll handle it," he said, and then noticed that only four places were set at the table. "Aren't you staying?"

  His aunt removed her apron and hung it on a hook inside the pantry. "I help out because that's what families are for," she said. "But I prefer to eat alone."

  Flint walked her to the door. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

  "Hire a new nanny." Maureen marched down the walkway like a drill sergeant about to break in a platoon of raw recruits.

  Flint stopped by the bathroom, downed two aspirin and went to face his children.

  They were sitting in the family room working at activities they knew he approved of. Brick was trying to induce worms to negotiate a maze. Caitlin was playing a math game on the computer. Aaron lay flopped on the couch, his nose in a book called My Teacher Is an Alien. A borderline choice, but at least he was reading.

  "We need to talk," Flint said.

  Three pairs of wary eyes flicked toward him Caitlin's were cool and gray, like his own, Brick's a piercing shade of blue and Aaron's a light aqua.

  "Dinner sure smells good." Brick dropped his worms into their box of dirt.

  "We wouldn't want it to get cold," said Caitlin.

  Aaron burst into tears. "We didn't mean to drive her away, Daddy. But she was so mean!"

  The other two glared at him.

  Flint sat in his recliner and gathered the little boy onto his lap. "You kids have to stop this. Maureen can't always take care of you. Now I have to find a new nanny."

  "We don't want a nanny," Aaron said, snuffling against his chest. "We want a mommy."

  "He can't go out and hire a mother," Brick said quickly, trying to avert a lecture. "We know that, Dad."

  "On the other hand, Flint, it is time for you to think about remarrying." Caitlin's use of his first name bothered Flint, but he couldn't think of a logical objection.

  He did, however, object to her point. "No one can replace your mother. Perhaps someday I'll meet a wonderful woman and fall in love. If that happens, terrific. But it isn't the sort of thing one can order up like a pizza."

  "What if we found the right woman for you?" asked Caitlin. Her brothers stared at her, Brick with disdain and Aaron in amazement.

  "Could we?" said Aaron.

  "No." Flint set the little boy on his feet. "This conversation is over. Let's eat dinner."

  Once all hands were washed and everyone was sitting straight with napkin in lap, they ate their meal. Tonight, silence reigned.

  Flint found himself thinking about the merry dinners they’d enjoyed when Kathy was alive. Intelligent, forthright, quick to laugh, she'd brightened Flint's life from the day they met in college until her death eleven years later. She'd been a once-in-a-lifetime love.

  What bothered him most, in a way, was that Kathy had struggled for years. Just when her hard work was beginning to pay off, a meaningless accident had taken her life.

  First she'd knocked herself out earning a law degree. Then, eager to get pregnant, she'd run into one obstacle after another. When fertility treatments resulted in her carrying triplets, she spent months in bed to postpone a premature birth.

  After the tiny trio entered the world two months early, Kathy had nursed them night and day until they thrived. Then, to supplement the money from Flint's fledgling business, she’d worked part-time at a law firm while juggling diapers and day care.

  Finally his income had increased and Kathy decided to take a year off before the triplets entered kindergarten. To celebrate, she treated herself to a weekend of water-skiing at Lake Havasu. Flint volunteered to stay with the children while she went with a girlfriend.

  The phone call from authorities had caught him off guard. A drunken boater had run square into Kathy while she was skiing. She'd disappeared into the water, and hours passed before her body turned up. Even now he could hardly believe it had happened.

  Flint gazed at the children. Caitlin was cutting her roast beef with precise slices. Brick hacked his into chunks. Aaron poked his meat as if expecting it to divide by magic.

  He wished Kathy were here to see them.

  They'd grown so much these past three years. He didn't blame them for missing her, but she couldn't be replaced, and he didn't care to try. He simply had to find a nanny with more starch in her backbone.

  "Daddy." Aaron pointed to his plate. "Will you cut my meat, please?"

  As he helped his son, Flint felt a wave of love for the youngsters. While they might act up occasionally, they were sweet little people. He
couldn't stay angry with them for long.

  "Listen, guys," he said. They all blinked as if snatched from private reveries. "Tomorrow night I'm addressing the board at Serena Academy. I'm going to hire a babysitter and I expect you to behave while I'm gone."

  "Serena Academy?" Caitlin brushed a strand of brown hair off her cheek. "Listen, Flint." Seeing his glare, she changed that to "Dad," which meant she must want something "You've been talking about putting us in a private school, haven't you?"

  "Not Serena Academy," said Flint. "It's too indulgent."

  "But they have day care before and after classes," Caitlin said matter-of-factly.

  "You mean we wouldn't need a nanny?" asked Brick.

  "Yes, you would. What about all those evenings and weekends I have to work?" Besides, the idea of changing their school had been a casual one, motivated by the latest state report on test scores. "I thought you hated the idea of private school."

  "We should take a look while you’re at the meeting." When Caitlin became this intense, the freckles stood out on her pale skin. "We'll be real quiet. And if we like the place, you can sign us up."

  This change of heart struck Flint as suspicious. "I'm not sure."

  "Anyway," Caitlin pressed, "you won't have to hire a baby-sitter."

  "We'd like to watch you work," Brick said. "We might learn something." Aaron nodded vigorously.

  "I'll think about it." Flint had to admit, he preferred to keep the children under his stern eye rather than entrust them to a teenager. But he didn't plan to enroll them in Serena Academy. Not if it employed teachers like that disturbingly pretty young woman who bestowed her stars too freely.

  After dinner, the children cleared their dishes. Aaron rinsed while Caitlin loaded the dishwasher and Brick attacked the table with a sponge.

  Flint appreciated their cooperation as he settled into his recliner with a newspaper. He appreciated it even more a few minutes later when the three filed quietly to their bedrooms, leaving him to read in peace.

  He bit back an impulse to go play with them. Too much fraternizing wasn't good for discipline. He'd take them all to the park this weekend. Their pitching needed work.