Twins times two!

by Bingham, Lisa

  The butler nodded. "Very good, Mr. Gifford. I do have a fondness for La Boheme and I would hate to miss the overture."

  With that, Stibbs disappeared into the shadows

  of the house, casting one last suspicious glance at Cara's car.

  Cara saw Ross's arm move as he glanced at his watch. "You've got good timing."

  Cara fought the urge to curtsy like some housemaid being complimented by the lord of the manor.

  At that moment Ross stepped forward, and the sun slid over his body. The light caressed dark hair still wet from a shower, craggy angular features and a lean athletic body.

  Wow.

  Cara wasn't usually a person who was bowled over by mere looks, but she had to admit that Ross Gifford was pleasing to the eye—even a jaundiced eye like her own. His hair was short, dark and swept back from his forehead. His features were sharp and elegant—the sort of face that graced the covers of men's magazines and fitness reports. And his eyes...

  They were dark brown, piercing and infinitely bleak.

  All too soon Cara was reminded that Ross Gifford was a widower with a pair of twins on his hands. His children were about the same age as hers from what she could remember Polly telling her when she'd dropped the twins off.

  "I've got twins," Ross stated bluntly.

  Cara noted that his hand remained on the door-jamb as if he fully expected her to turn and run.

  44 Yes, I know that."

  Even if she'd wanted to change her mind, she couldn't have moved. His eyes held her pinned to the spot like a rabbit caught in the beam of a car's headlights. She didn't need the elegance of her surroundings to convey to her that this was a powerful man. Everything about him radiated strength and control.

  "They're three."

  She resisted the urge to smile. "I have twins myself, so I'm sure I'm up to the challenge."

  He stared at her, and she grew infinitely self-conscious of her attire. She should have taken the time to—

  To what? She had come to spend the evening tending a pair of twins. She hadn't come here to impress Ross Gifford with anything other than her mothering skills.

  "Can you give me an overview of your credentials?"

  Credentials? Was she going to be interviewed for a few hours' worth of work?

  "What kind of education do you have?"

  Cara fought the urge to offer a pithy reply. "I have a master's degree in philosophy and economics."

  "I didn't think a person could actually get a job with a master's in philosophy."

  Of all the nerve.

  Her nerves stretched tight. "I find it immensely helpful when spending the evening with toddlers. You'd be amazed how many of them are well-versed in Descartes."

  Although she'd tried to keep her tone light, there was enough of a bite to it that Ross must have realized she didn't appreciate being grilled.

  His lips twitched in a self-deprecating grimace. "I hope you'll bear with me. My children can be a...challenge. I merely wanted to make sure they would be in good hands."

  His shoulders shifted as if his jacket had grown too tight, and Cara wondered how many sitters had refused to help him before he'd come to the Mom Squad.

  "I should have known your agency would send someone equal to the task," he said, ushering her in with a wave of his hand. "Melba is a jewel. I was sorry to hear she was rushed to the hospital. How is she?"

  "In surgery now, but I'll be getting calls updating her progress throughout the evening."

  Ross nodded, absorbing the information with the intensity of a man being given stock-market

  quotes. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep me posted. The twins and I are very fond of Melba."

  'Til do that."

  Without another word Ross turned, making his way toward a wide, sweeping staircase. "Sorry for the rush, but I've got less than an hour to get to a benefit dinner."

  "No problem."

  She followed him up the lushly carpeted staircase, trying her best not to look as if she were gawking. The staircase was a sweeping expanse of rich wood carved with wild animals, flowers and vines. The pale carpet underfoot looked too rich to be anything but wool.

  Ross Gifford's house was immense, with high-pitched ceilings, stark white walls and pale ice-white carpets. Except for occasional splashes of color from jewel-toned pillows and the rich woodwork, everything seemed pale and colorless....

  And sterile.

  Again she was reminded of the fact that this man was a widower. There had been no feminine touches added to the house, no knickknacks, no family photographs, no scattered toys. If not for her job assignment, there would have been no clues that children lived here. No clues that anyone lived here at all.

  Again she was filled with the sensation of hav-

  ing entered a showplace for the Parade of Homes design competition and the thought filled her with sadness. The house had so much promise. So much effort had been expended to make it look beautiful, but no one as yet had taken the time to make it feel like a home.

  Only once did she get a hint that a family lived here. Midway down the corridor she saw a portrait of a woman with bright-red hair and piercing blue eyes.

  Was this Ross's late wife?

  Cara felt a twinge of sadness. How long had Ross Gifford's wife been gone? Months? Years? Were the occupants of this house still mourning her passing?

  "There's a small kitchenette in the children's wing."

  Wing? His children had a wing to themselves?

  "The play area is located in the south turret, and their rooms are on either side. I've left my pager number, my cell number and a list of emergency contacts taped on the refrigerator. The twins have already eaten, but they may want a small snack before bedtime. Stibbs has left some fruit, milk and wheat-germ cookies."

  Wheat-germ cookies? No doubt they were healthy but they sounded less than appealing.

  "The children need to be in bed promptly at

  8:00 p.m. Their pajamas are waiting on the counter in the bathroom. They'll need to be bathed first."

  "Of course." Ross's tone was so clipped Cara had the sensation of being briefed for battle.

  "Other than that, the twins can be a handful once they realize I've left them for the evening, but they are usually well behaved. If they act out in any way, feel free to give them a paddling, but I've rarely found such a measure necessary."

  Cara bit her lip to keep from saying that she was a proponent of time-out rather than spanking. It wasn't any of her business how Ross chose to discipline his children.

  "If you have any problems at all, please call me. I've made arrangements to leave early, so I should be home no later than eleven."

  He stopped in front of a set of double doors. Glancing at his watch, he depressed the brass handle. "I won't stay other than to quickly introduce you. If the children catch on that I'm going somewhere without them, they'll scream and cry. They handle things better if I go quickly."

  "That's fine. I'm sure we'll all have a great evening together."

  Ross's brow creased. "I wouldn't go at all if there were any way to get out of this event. But..."

  Despite his stern manner, her heart warmed at his apparent reluctance to leave the children even

  for a few hours. "We'll be fine. Feel free to call if you want to check on us."

  "No. That won't be necessary. I've always had good luck with the people sent by your agency." He paused, opened his mouth as if to say something, then clearly thought better of it. "Well, here goes..."

  In one smooth motion he opened up the door, revealing a child's fantasy playroom on the other side.

  "Becca, Brianne...this is Melba's friend, Cara. She's come to play with you for a little while. You be good for her, okay?"

  In that instant a pair of children came running from the other side of the room, moving into Cara's line of sight.

  And in the space of a heartbeat, the bottom dropped out of her world.

  Chapter Two

  Somehow Cara m
anaged to hold on to her instinctive cry until she heard the whisper of Ross's footsteps disappear down the hall. Even so, she didn't dare move until the slam of the door was followed by the low growl of his car.

  The trembling began in her extremities, moving inward until she was forced to grip the doorjamb to remain upright. Her eyes were glued to the children playing on the floor in front of her. As much as her mind rebelled against what she saw, the twins were so like her own—one a carrottop with cornflower-blue eyes; the other a strawberry-blonde with deep-indigo eyes. If not for the way the girls' haircuts were different—short and left to curl naturally—Cara would have believed that her own little girls had been brought to the house as part of an elaborate joke.

  But they weren't her twins. When Ross's twins looked at her there was no recognition in their gazes. Instead they broke into hysterical cries and rushed to the window overlooking the drive.

  "Daddy! Daddy, don't leave us!" one of them cried while the other pounded on the glass and sobbed.

  They were "Daddy's girls." Heidi and Zoe had adored their father, as well. It had taken months for them to stop asking for Cara's brother. Now they tended to be reticent around males, probably because their world was more generally populated with women.

  "Shh, shh, there's no need to cry."

  Cara's instincts sent her body into autopilot. Pushing her own confusion aside, she quickly comforted the little girls, then showed them the treasures she'd brought with her in the duffel bag.

  Soon the twins were assembling a floor puzzle decorated with cartoon animals. Yet, they must have sensed something in her manner because they regarded her now and again with concern and a hint of shyness.

  Cara's smile was hollow and automatic. She felt numb, even though her limbs continued to tremble with shock and disbelief.

  Cara's children were rarely shy. They raced up

  to engage strangers in conversation as if meeting long-lost friends. But these youngsters...

  No. They weren't her children. They were two completely different individuals.

  Cara's stomach flip-flopped in sudden dread, and she sank into a child-size chair drawn up to a gaily painted table. In a rush she remembered the many times that her brother had teased his wife about the origins of Zoe's red hair. Patrick, her brother, had Cara's own strawberry-blond hair and indigo eyes, while his wife, Deirdre, had been a dark brunette with brown eyes.

  Several times they had all joked halfheartedly that one of the twins had been switched at birth. After all, there had been a horrible blizzard the night the children were born, resulting in a blackout through much of northern Utah. Although the hospital's power had been running, due to an emergency generator, the weather had caused more than eight women to go into labor at the same time. Heidi and Zoe had been born in an ambulance en route to the hospital, and there had been rumors that another couple had given birth to twins in the hallway. Both women had been forced to wait in the corridor until rooms could become available for them and their babies could be taken the nursery.

  Suddenly the family joke didn't seem nearly so funny. Was it possible that two sets of identical

  twins really had been switched during their stay in the hospital? Had that error created two sets of fraternal twins from what had once been two sets of identical twins? Had Deirdre accidentally brought home little Zoe, when in reality Zoe had no biological ties to the family that had raised her?

  Cara's head swam at the very idea. But even as her brain tried to tell her that she was overreacting and the whole situation was a horrible joke, her heart suspected the truth. Somehow she knew her theory was right and that two sets of identical twins had been "jumbled up" before being sent home with their parents, creating two sets of fraternal twins. As impossible as it sounded, it was the only logical explanation for the girls.

  Raking her fingers through her hair, Cara took a deep, shuddering breath. Think. Think.

  What was she going to do now? What was she supposed to do now?

  Why couldn't she think!

  Fortunately Ross's children seemed unaware of her turmoil. Fighting her fear and panic, Cara dragged the duffel toward her and reached into one of the pockets, removing her cell phone.

  Her fingers shook so badly it took three tries before Cara was able to punch in the numbers. One ring. Two.

  "Come on, Polly, please," Cara whispered, her eyes still glued to Ross Gifford's twins.

  They were growing unsettled by her rapt attention. Whispering to themselves, they pushed their puzzle a few feet farther away from Cara and resumed their play.

  So quiet. Cara's twins were rarely quiet and rarely still. She couldn't ever remember them sitting in one place for more than a few minutes at a time, let alone quietly working on a puzzle. Becca and Brianne didn't even talk much to each other. Instead, they worked together in a way that revealed how accustomed they were to anticipating each other's needs.

  Dear sweet heaven above, how could this have happened?

  Cara watched them for what seemed like hours, the phone clutched against her cheek.

  No, it wasn't hours. She'd only just arrived. She'd only just dialed the phone.

  "Hello, this is Polly Townsend. How can I help you?"

  Cara gripped the phone so hard it creaked. In the background, she could hear the happy squeals of her own twins.

  Heidi and Zoe were safe. They were with Polly. This wasn't a horrible joke.

  "Polly?" She opened her mouth, then realized

  she didn't know what to say. Dear heaven above, she didn't even know how to explain what was wrong. All she knew was that she was suddenly afraid. Deeply, terrifyingly afraid.

  "Cara?" When Cara didn't immediately respond, Polly's tone sharpened in concern. "What's wrong? Didn't you find the Gifford house?"

  "Yes. Yes, I'm here now."

  "Has something happened to the children? Melba told me once that they are terribly attached to their father. Sometimes they cry for a while after he leaves."

  Wrong? No, nothing was wrong with the children. They were beautiful. Completely and totally perfect.

  Cara sobbed. "Polly, can you get someone to take the twins home and watch them for a little while. I need you to come over as soon as you've finished there."

  Polly didn't argue about finding a sitter for the twins. Instead, her voice sharpened with concern. "What's up?"

  "You won't believe it unless you see it."

  "'It?' Cara you're scaring me. Tell me what's wrong."

  Unable to think of another way of breaking the news, Cara blurted out, "Polly, I think a mistake was made. With the twins. When they were born."

  There was a pause on the other end.

  "I don't understand, Cara. Are Gifford's children sick or something?"

  "No." Cara bit her lip when the word emerged as another ragged sob.

  "Cara, tell me what's wrong."

  The sobs came swifter now and stronger. "Polly, Ross Gifford's children look like Heidi and Zoe. Exactly like Heidi and Zoe. I think a mistake was made on the night they were born. I think one of each set of twins was switched at the hospital and was sent home with the wrong mothers."

  Her announcement was met with stunned silence. "Cara, that doesn't make any sense. Are you telling me that..."

  Polly's words trailed away, and Cara quickly filled the quiet with her own words. "I'm telling you that Ross Gifford has one twin that looks like Heidi and one that looks like Zoe. And I think I've just unknowingly opened Pandora's box."

  Less than twenty minutes passed before Polly arrived, bringing with her the other partners of the Mom Squad, Bettina Wilfordson and Grace Ab-bington. By the time the company van pulled into the drive, Cara had bathed Ross's children and tucked them into bed. But where Heidi and Zoe would have dawdled over the tasks, Becca and

  Brianne had gone to bed with a near military-like efficiency—giving Cara a clear indication that Ross Gifford was a man who liked keeping to a schedule.

  Cara sank onto the couch and
nibbled at her fingernail while the two women peeked in on the sleeping children. But the moment Cara caught sight of their stunned expressions, she knew that she had not overreacted.

  "This is freaky," Polly whispered as she sank into a rocker.

  Bettina sank cross-legged on the carpet, her skirt billowing around her. For once Bettina—who generally spoke of the effects of past lives and bad karma on everyday events—was silent.

  Grace eyed Cara in concern. "So what are you going to do?"

  Cara shrugged, unable to think. Her mind kept going in circles, reviewing her first glimpse of Ross's girls. She was numb and confused, her stomach knotting with a deep inexpressible fear.

  "You could ignore the whole situation and continue on as before," Polly suggested.

  Bettina gasped as if the cosmic forces of the universe were shuddering at the very idea. "Both sets of twins once shared the intimacy of the womb. Their psyches have unconsciously orches-

  trated this reunion. To separate them again would be a tragedy."

  "Let's leave the Fates out of this please," Grace inserted quickly before Bettina could begin elaborating on psychic bonds. "I think we would be better off focusing on the present reality of the situation."

  Cara bit her lip. "Ross Gifford has to be told."

  If Cara had expected her friends to talk her out of the idea, the silence of the room confirmed her worst fears. Yes. He would have to be told.

  "How...when?" she stammered faintly.

  "The sooner the better," Bettina offered. "To hold on to such a secret would eat at your soul."

  "True, but I think before you start telling the man anything, you'd best think things through," Polly said.

  "Polly is right." Grace sank onto the cushion next to Cara and took her hand. "You've got to look at this from every angle. And when the time comes, you'll have to tell Ross." She gave Cara a look of concern. ' 'But not tonight. As much as you might want to blurt things out the minute you see him, I think you'd better consult with a lawyer before you do anything."