"I agree," Polly offered. "I could call Bert
Morton and get you into his office tomorrow morn-mg.
Cara took a deep shuddering breath. "And until then?"
The other women exchanged concerned gazes.
"We'll take over the rest of the evening for you. Why don't you go home, put your feet up—" Grace began.
"No."
Cara wasn't aware that she'd said the word aloud until the force of it surprised even her.
"No, I've got to stay and finish out the evening." Cara prayed that her friends wouldn't push her for an explanation. She wasn't sure why she wanted to stay. But she needed to be here. She needed to see Ross's children again, to study them for long minutes in the darkness of their rooms. Maybe then she would be able to sort things out for herself and bring her reeling thoughts into line.
"No, I'll stay. Ross Gifford was nervous enough about leaving his children for the evening. I won't give him any more reason for concern. From the look of things, this man has more money than God. I don't think it would be good for business to do anything to upset him."
It was easy to see from her partners' faces that
they had already come to the same conclusion but had been willing to support her needs first.
"Really," she insisted with more strength than she felt, 'Til be fine."
Eventually Cara was able to convince her friends that she wasn't in immediate danger of becoming hysterical. Even so, it was more than an hour later when the women finally climbed into the van. Cara stood at the nursery window, watching them drive away. Hoping she looked natural, she smiled and waved.
But the smile died the moment the van was lost from view.
The quiet of the house settled around her. The central air created an artificial draft that should have been pleasant but made her feel chilled instead.
Idly her gaze swept over the lawn, the artificial pond, the distant glimpse of a winding footpath and a rock bridge.
Such a beautiful home.
In the darkness Ross's estate seemed even more removed from the real world. Subdued lighting had been cleverly camouflaged to make it look as if the grounds were flooded in moonlight. From her vantage point, she could see the deer grazing beneath
the trees, the ducks sleeping in the reeds, their heads tucked beneath their wings.
So serene. So beautiful. So surreal.
Once again Cara had the feeling that she had been plunged into the middle of a picture postcard or a movie set. If only she'd been given some hint of what she would find here. Maybe if she'd been more prepared...
But how could anyone be prepared for what she'd found here?
Without warning, the phone on the wall bleeped. Cara jumped, her hand flying to her chest as if to keep her heart from leaping free.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted the receiver. "This is the Gifford residence, may I help you?"
"This is Ross. I'm on my way home now."
There was a pause, and Cara wondered how she was supposed to respond to his blunt announcement.
Yes, sir?
Whatever you say, sir?
"Very good, Mr. Gifford." Damn. That sounded like something the stuffy Stibbs might say.
"How have things gone?"
Again, her stomach flip-flopped. Then, with the realization that she would soon be confronting Ross face-to-face, she fought a flash of dizziness.
What was she going to do?
What was she going to say?
4 'Miss Wells?"
"Th-the children were wonderful. They're sleeping soundly right now."
"Did you have any problems when I left?"
Such as her well-ordered existence tumbling down around her ears?
"No. They were fine."
There was a beat of silence.
"Really?"
"Yes." Then she quickly amended, "They cried a bit when they realized you were gone, but I was able to divert their attention with a puzzle."
"I'm impressed. Even Melba has a hard time getting them to sleep. They tend to get nervous and whiney unless I'm home."
"Then they must have been very tired because they didn't put up a fuss."
"And how is Melba?"
Cara had been so embroiled in her own concerns, she'd forgotten to phone Ross with an update as she'd promised. "She's out of surgery and doing well."
"That's good news. I'll see you in five minutes."
A click in her ear let her know the call had been terminated, and for some unaccountable reason she
was miffed at the sudden dismissal. He'd hung up without so much as a word of farewell as if she were...
An employee.
But wasn't that exactly what she was? In fact, she couldn't even lay claim to that much of a role in his life. She was a "temp" of sorts who had been hired to fill in for a few hours. And now instead of slipping out of his life as easily as she'd drifted in, she was here...
To stay?
No. Despite what she had discovered, she wasn't about to become a part of Ross Gifford's life. They would sort out this mess and she would go back to her routine.
But even as she insisted such a thing to herself, she instinctively knew that she was underestimating the effects of the newfound knowledge. No matter what happened from this point on, she and Ross would be forever linked, due to an error made by a hospital employee years earlier.
Her nerves stretched even tighter, threatening to snap. More than anything she wanted to go home, curl up in the rocking chair in her children's bedroom and surround herself in all that was comfortable and familiar. But before she would be able to do that, she would have to "make small talk"
with an important client. She would have to summon all of her inner strength so that she gave no hint of the turmoil roiling just below the surface of her artificial calm.
Five minutes. She had five minutes before...
Before what? She had already decided to take Grace's advice. There would be no late-night confessions. As long as she kept her cool, Ross Gif-ford would remain blissfully ignorant of the hospital's mistake. Until then...
Until then nothing would happen. Nothing whatsoever.
But as she pressed a trembling hand to her chest, she realized a part of her wasn't completely convinced. Her heart was racing as if she'd run a mile.
The whir of the garage-door opener disturbed the stillness of the house. Her heart leaped in her breast, then seemed to sink into the pit of her stomach.
Keep your cool. Just keep your cool.
Suddenly galvanized into action, she hurried around the nursery, repacking her supplies and stuffing them willy-nilly into the duffel bag. As soon as she'd said her goodbyes, she would go home. Once there, she could reassure herself that her own twins were safe and well and tucked into their own beds.
"It's quiet."
Ross's voice caused Cara to jump, and she whirled to face him, her pulse racing more than ever.
"You startled me," she gasped, then wished she'd remained silent when her voice sounded slightly frantic even to her own ears.
A crease appeared between Ross's brow, but other than that, he didn't seem overly concerned by her reaction. "Sorry. I thought you would have heard the car."
She caught his gaze only momentarily, then returned her attention to the toys.
"How was your evening?"
"Fine."
So much for chitchat. Ross turned away from her, moving from one bedroom to the next checking on the girls. She waited in tense expectation as if simply by seeing the twins he would guess that something was wrong.
"They look no worse for wear."
Cara didn't know how she was supposed to react to such a remark. Insulted, probably. He made it sound as if he'd been expecting the worst.
"They're beautiful children." Just as her own children were beautiful. "You must be very proud." Just as Cara was inestimably proud.
She bit her lip. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything. Had a note of fondness crept into her tone? O
ne that she felt for her own children?
To her dismay she realized that all of the toys were packed away and the room was tidy. As her heart seemed to sink into her stomach, Cara realized that she had no other option but to look him square in the eye.
She could only pray that he wouldn't look at her and know her life had been shaken to its very core.
Chapter Three
Cara felt a jolt of something akin to electricity shoot through her system when their gazes locked, but she quickly dismissed the reaction, knowing that her nerves were strung as tightly as a tennis racket.
"I'm impressed at the way you were able to get them to bed so easily," Ross said. "Usually the girls are very fractious with a new sitter."
Fractious. Cara was sure that she'd never heard anyone use the word in a sentence before. But she shouldn't be so surprised. Ross Gifford was obviously very educated and sophisticated. He probably said and did a lot of things that were beyond her daily realm. He belonged to the same world as her ex-husband. One filled with pomp and ceremony and an overwhelming interest in appearances. Hadn't she learned that lesson more than once
where Elliot was concerned? He'd been so consumed with the need to look and speak the part of a cultured man of the world that she hadn't known what a bastard she'd married until she'd discovered that he was spending most of his time with another woman.
"In fact, I usually have problems with the girls even if I leave them with someone with whom they are acquainted.
She shrugged. "Surely they've done well with Melba. She must be used to their routines by now."
"Yes, but even when she visits, they won't go to bed as easily as you've said. If Melba manages to convince them to sleep, they wake up as soon as they hear the car in the garage."
"Like I said, maybe they were tired out. They didn't give me a bit of trouble all night."
One of his brows lifted. "Really?"
He seemed so surprised that Cara asked, "Were you expecting a riot?"
He took a deep breath and seemed to consider his words. "Frankly, judging from past babysitting experiences, I was expecting crying, screaming and tantrums that would continue unabated for hours on end."
Cara couldn't help quipping, "From the children or their baby-sitter?"
His lips tugged in the faintest hint of a grin— one that made her breath catch in her throat.
"Both, actually."
"Why? They seem like perfect angels to me."
"Then they were definitely on their best behavior." His eyes narrowed and she felt him studying her. Her heart knocked against her ribs when she wondered what he saw there. Could some hint of the shock she'd experienced still linger on her face despite her efforts to remain calm?
Ross's gaze was intent but not suspicious. Instead, he looked at her the way that...
The way that a man looked at a woman when he was interested.
No. Cara immediately pushed the idea aside. She was overreacting, that was all. Her thoughts and her emotions were off-kilter. She was confused and unsettled.
So why was she lingering when the time had come for her to leave?
"I...I should go now," she said. "I'm sure you've had a long day."
Ross offered her a curt nod and tugged at his tie, making her overtly conscious of the lean strength of his fingers and the slight dusting of hair on the backs of his hands.
"It has been a long day, but I tend to get a little
wired after one of these evenings. Will you join me for some coffee?"
No. Absolutely not.
But even as the inner voice warned her, she was so startled by the invitation that she found herself saying instead, "Sure."
"Good."
He dragged the tie free from his collar and released the top button at his collar. Then a second button. A third.
Cara found her gaze latching on to that vee of flesh exposed against the crisp white of his dress shirt. He really was a good-looking man.
Perhaps a little too good-looking.
Cara didn't trust that quality in a man, either. Elliot had been male-model handsome, but she had discovered soon enough that the outer beauty camouflaged a weak character.
So why, after vowing to herself that she wouldn't be caught in the same trap again, did she feel the faint stirrings of attraction?
No. Absolutely not! She didn't find him in the least bit attractive.
But even as she insisted as much to herself, a tingling awareness spread through her veins as he extended a hand toward her.
'Til carry that for you."
Unconsciously Cara clutched the duffel bag
even more securely—as if it were a shield to protect her from...
From what?
There was nothing about Ross Gifford's appearance or manner to make her feel threatened. In fact, the sadness that cloaked his features made her feel as if she should be doing something for him rather than for herself.
But as she admitted the twinge of concern, she knew that she couldn't give in to such emotions. She couldn't dwell on her physical reaction to the man. She couldn't afford that luxury. Such emotions would simply complicate the situation—and heaven only knew her current predicament was already untenable.
Since Ross was still waiting, she reluctantly handed him the duffel bag, all the while wishing she hadn't agreed to stay for coffee. She was playing with fire and had no doubts that she would get burned.
Ross led the way through the big, silent house, offering Cara glimpses of rooms that were lushly decorated but curiously devoid of color. At long last they reached the kitchen with its white cabinets, pale tile and pale marble counters.
Who was responsible for the absence of color in the house? Was it a designer's decision or had Ross made the choice?
"Have a seat," Ross said, gesturing to a pair of stools drawn up to an ornate center island.
"Decaf or regular coffee," he asked.
"Decaf."
Ross shrugged out of his jacket and laid it over a chair. As he moved to prepare the coffee, her gaze immediately latched on to the crisp starched shirt. The long evening had rumpled the fabric at his back.
Cara didn't know why, but the sight was oddly intimate and exciting. Inexplicably Cara found herself wondering who starched those shirts, ironed them and hung them in his closet. A cleaning service? A housekeeper? Stibbs?
Or a woman who had already begun to heal his grieving heart?
"So...you're a regular with the Mom Squad?"
She jumped, her gaze bouncing away from Ross when he suddenly turned and caught her staring.
"Yes. I'm one of the founding partners."
One of his brows rose. He had dark eyes, expressive eyes, and even when he was apparently relaxed, they were filled with such a poignant sadness that Cara wanted to take him into her arms.
Stop it! The man isn 't a wounded bird to bring home and keep warm in a shoebox.
But hadn't she always had a soft heart for wounded animals and strays? Isn't that how she'd
found herself marrying her first husband? She'd met Elliot when he'd been on the rebound from a three-year relationship, and she'd been determined to make him smile again.
Little had she known...
"If you're one of the founding partners of the Mom Squad, why are you still taking baby-sitting jobs?" Ross asked, bringing her thoughts abruptly back to the present.
Not wanting to wallow in the past, Cara concentrated on the man in front of her instead. There was a simple grace to his movements as he measured the grounds and water into a gleaming stainless steel coffeemaker. Then he reached into an overhead cabinet for mugs. She watched transfixed as his shirt pulled taut, revealing the muscular outlines of his back.
Ross Gifford was certainly fit. Healthy.
Beautiful.
Cara forced herself to look away. "I'm the company accountant, but I fill in when there's a need."
"Your husband doesn't object to the late nights?"
"My husband?" Briefly, she thou
ght of Elliot. Elliot definitely would have complained about the late hours if she hadn't left their relationship long before the Mom Squad was formed.
"You mentioned you had twin girls."
She stared at him blankly, her pulse knocking at her throat, then realized that she had offered the information before she'd seen Ross's children.
He doesn 't know anything. Keep your cool.
"Yes. They're... three." The information was offered carefully, slowly. She watched Ross for a hint of unease but there was no reaction—not that she should have expected one.
"Boys or girls?"
Her heart thumped again.
"Girls."
"Twins can be a handful, can't they?"
She nodded. "They're a challenge at times, especially for a new mom."
He leaned his hips against the counter. "New mom?"
"The children are...were my brother's, actually. But he was killed a year ago. Since then the girls have lived with me."
For a moment the room thrummed with the reminder that life could be changed in a heartbeat. Then Ross straightened and reached into cupboards again, removing sugar and spoons, then grabbed a carton of cream from the refrigerator.
"So you're a single mom?"
Now why did it seem as if he'd put a slight emphasis on the word single?
"Yes. I was married once. Briefly." Enough. He
doesn't need to know any of this. He's merely making polite conversation. "What happened?"
She shrugged, hoping that she didn't appear as vulnerable and exposed as she felt.
"My husband...my ex-husband and I grew apart."
The simple reply was an understatement. Elliot Wells was charismatic, charming and driven. As CEO of a fast-track marketing firm, he had dazzled her with his sophistication and discipline. He'd wooed her with wildly romantic rendezvous, expensive gifts and just the right amount of flattery and adoration.
But soon after marrying him, Cara had discovered that Elliot was a control freak who had married her because she made an excellent "trophy wife." She was beautiful and biddable—the perfect requirements in Elliot's estimation. Little had she known that Elliot kept a mistress on the side— someone who was passionate and spontaneous but not an acceptable business hostess.
Twins times two! Page 3
