Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

The Invitation

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Copyright

“If Babies Bother You, Just Knock And I’ll See What I Can Do. But I Can’t Make Any Promises.”

J.J. blinked at Jack, feeling like a batter with too many balls being pitched at once. “Babies? What babies?”

“My babies. I’ve got three of them.”

Jack Remington with babies. What a concept. Poor little things. “You have babies?” she echoed incredulously.

He nodded, his eyes smiling. “It’s pretty standard. Lots of people have little ones. It’s an accepted practice, even in these modern times.”

“Not everyone does it,” she said, realizing her tone was defensive and regretting it.

“No, of course not.” His eyes narrowed, as though something in her voice piqued his interest. “Nice meeting you, Miss Jensen.” Grinning, he waved and went on his way.

Jack Remington. Of all the people to run into. And he hadn’t even remembered her.

Dear Reader,

Established stars and exciting new names.that’s what’s in store for you this month from Silhouette Desire. Let’s begin with Cait London’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Tallchief’s Bride—it’s also the latest in her wonderful series, THE TALLCHIEFS.

The fun continues with Babies by the Busload, the next book in Raye Morgan’s THE BABY SHOWER series, and Michael’s Baby, the first installment of Cathie Linz’s delightful series, THREE WEDDINGS AND A GIFT.

So many of you have indicated how much you love the work of Peggy Moreland, so I know you’ll all be excited about her latest sensuous romp, A Willful Marriage. And Anne Eames, who made her debut earlier in the year in Silhouette Desire’s Celebration 1000, gives us more pleasure with You’re What?! And if you enjoy a little melodrama with your romance, take a peek at Metsy Hingle’s enthralling new book, Backfire.

As always, each and every Silhouette Desire is sensuous, emotional and sure to leave you feeling good at the end of the day!

Happy Reading!

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Babies by the Busload
Raye Morgan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RAYE MORGAN

favors settings in the West, which is where she has spent most of her life. She admits to a penchant for Western heroes, believing that whether he’s a rugged outdoorsman or a smooth city sophisticate, he tends to have a streak of wildness that the romantic heroine can’t resist taming. She’s been married to one of those Western men for twenty years and is busy raising four more in her Southern California home.

The Invitation

This is your last chance, J.J.

Mike’s voice echoed in her mind again and again until she was sick to death of it.

This is your last chance, J. J.

Closing her eyes, she lay back in the water of the outdoor deck hot tub and tried to block the voice out of her head. Remembering it certainly wasn’t doing anything for her self-esteem and she was going to need all her confidence if she was going to parlay this temporary job at a local television station into a step up that slippery ladder she’d been trying to climb for the past ten years.

Today had been a pretty pathetic attempt. Despite everything, she had to laugh when she thought about it. During the course of the morning, she’d spilled coffee down the front of her only good suit, eaten the last doughnut just before the station manager came looking for it, and called the mayor of the city by his rival’s name on camera.

She had to go back tonight for the evening news, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. Maybe, she thought ruefully, she should fill up on food before she went. If she could just stay away from snacks this evening, maybe things would go better.

“No,” she said sadly, shaking her head at a bird who was hovering close and considering her with a glint in its eyes. “The station manager hates me. The next three weeks are going to be murder, whether I eat or not.”

The bird flew off and she laughed softly, enjoying this outdoor retreat, enjoying the clouds scudding past, the wind in the pines over her head, glad she was going to get to stay here for the next five weeks.

Five weeks. That was what they’d said when they asked her to come in as a replacement anchor for a local woman who was going to be out with surgery. She’d jumped at the chance for a change. Her contract was up at the station in Sacramento, where she’d been for four years, and she knew the only way she was going to get back on track toward New York and the networks was to move around, get noticed. So here she was in St. Johns, Utah, staying in a condo the station had obtained for her, and hoping for great things.

Closing her eyes again, she turned on the jets with her toes and let herself drift in the lovely bubbles, trying to forget her agent’s voice, trying to relax. The jets made just enough noise so that she didn’t hear her visitor until he was standing at the edge of her deck, clearing his throat.

Her eyes flew open and so did her mouth. “Aaaah!” she shrieked, and she lost her bearings in the spa, slipping off the seat and down under the water with a thunk.

She’d barely had time to register the fact that there was a man in her yard. Fighting her way back to the surface of the water, she hoped against hope it had been a mirage.

But no. The man still stood there, smiling casually, his hands in his pockets. He was tall, his rakishly combed dark hair touched with silver at the temples, and he was wearing an Irish fisherman’s sweater and slacks with wet spots on the legs. It seemed she’d created something of a splash going down.

“Sorry to startle you,” he said mildly, amusement glinting in his blue eyes. “I brought you your mail.”

J.J. stared out through a curtain of wet hair, blowing bubbles off her lips so that she could speak.

“Who are you?” she croaked, thanking her lucky stars that she’d had the presence of mind to put on a swimsuit instead of bathing in the buff, as had been her first inclination.

“Oh, that’s right. We haven’t met.” He stepped up onto the redwood deck, leaned toward her and stuck his hand out quite pleasantly. “I’m Jack. I live next door.”

She was beet red and she knew it. Ignoring his offered hand, she glared at him. “You shouldn’t creep up on people like that,” she protested.

Withdrawing his hand, he smiled as though to reassure her that there would be no hard feelings over her rudeness. “I didn’t creep, exactly. There’s a well-used gate between our yards. And I thought I heard voices, so I came on over.”

He shook his head as though it were just the most natural thing in the world.

“The previous tenant and I had. a sort of arrangement,” he explained carelessly, glancing toward the sliding glass doors that led into the house. “I guess I got used to being a little too free with her living space. Sorry.” He glanced at her again and gave her another utterly charming smile.

“So you’re the latest,” he said softly, looking her over.

She blinked at him. “The latest what?”

He shrugged. “The latest neighbor,” he said smoothly, but she knew very well that wasn’t what he’d begun to say. What was special about her staying in this condo? She frowned. She was going to have to look into that.

“Lovely view, isn’t it?” he added, making a sweeping motion with his arm.

She nodded, glancing at the stately pines and the vista of the red rock mountains behind the condos. The afternoon air was cool at this time of year in southern Utah, but the sun was shining and the water was scalding, and she could make believe she was in a mountain spring, absorbing nature with every pore. She loved it. But she hadn’t counted on visitors sharing the experience with her.

And there was something else. She stared up at him. That voice. There was something about this man.

“Anyway, as I said, I brought your mail.” He pulled a pink envelope out of his pocket. “The postman put it in my box. I’m afraid I opened it before I realized it wasn’t for me.”

He’d said his name was Jack. Jack. Yes, it rang a bell. She was certain she’d seen him before, perhaps a younger version.

He was waving the envelope at her. “You seem to be invited to a baby shower,” he told her helpfully, leaning back against the wall with one leg bent casually over the other as he studied the paper in his hand. “Some old friend. Let’s see, her name was. ah, here it is. Sara.” He looked at her questioningly, one dark eyebrow cocked provocatively. “Anyone you know?”

“Hey,” she said, suddenly realizing what he was doing. “That’s my mail you’re reading.”

His glance was laced with amusement. “Yes, I thought I’d said that. It is the whole point of my stopping by, after all.”

She frowned at him, still too stunned by his behavior to get herself into the proper mode to repel his unwelcome visit. “I can read my own mail.”

“Not while you’re wet,” he said sensibly. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

There was something about this man, something.

Jack Remington.

Oh my God, her inner child cried as the name flashed into her mind. No, not Jack Remington!

“The postmark says Denver,” he said. “What a coincidence. I’m going to Denver myself soon.”

“How nice,” she said crisply, finally reasserting herself and applying a quick hand to her dark hair, pushing it back off her face. “Thank you for dropping by my mail. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy.”

“Of course.” He straightened. “Well, nice meeting you, Miss.” He glanced at the name on the envelope before he set it down on the deck. “Miss J. J. Jensen. I guess I’ve worn out my welcome.”

She didn’t contradict him. Jack Remington. Now that she’d realized who he was, she didn’t know how she could have hesitated. Talk about a blast from the past. This was a major blow.

He stopped just inside the gate to the next yard, turning back. “By the way,” he noted. “If the babies bother you, just knock on the wall and I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t make any promises.”

She blinked, frowning, feeling like a batter with too many balls being pitched at once. “Babies? What babies?”

“My babies. I’ve got three of them.”

Jack Remington with babies. What a concept. The poor little things. “You have babies?” she echoed incredulously.

He nodded, his eyes smiling. “It’s a pretty standard thing to do. People get married, have little ones. It’s an accepted practice, even in these modern times.”

Maybe for some. “Not everyone does it,” she said, realizing her tone was defensive and regretting it, but it was only natural. She was so sick of people asking when she was going to “settle down.”

“No, of course not.” His eyes narrowed as though something in her voice had piqued his interest. “Nice meeting you, Miss Jensen.” Grinning, he waved and went on his way.

She held her breath until she heard a sound that could be his gate closing, and then she stepped tentatively out of the tub, reaching quickly for her towel. Jack Remington. Of all people to run into. And he hadn’t recognized her, even when he’d seen her name. That just showed how little he’d ever noticed.

Hugging the towel in close around her, she felt that old hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, as though her world were crashing down around her. Things were changing so quickly, and lately everything new that happened seemed to be a bad thing. This was a time in her life when she should be moving forward, not stumbling backward. This just wasn’t right.

And now she’d been accosted in her hot tub by the only man who had ever fired her.

So far, anyway. She made a face at her reflection in the mirror. The way things were going, who knew? A picture of the station manager’s furious face when he’d found out his doughnut was missing swam into her mind. So far.

But that was not the overriding issue of the moment. Picking up the invitation, she pulled it out of the envelope and looked at it, feeling a bittersweet smile coming on. Sara’s baby shower. All her old roommates from college would be there and they were all doing so well. Cami was publishing a scientific journal of some sort. Hailey was a buyer for a major department store and selling a few paintings on the side. Sara was married to the perfect man and no doubt having the perfect baby.

And here was J.J., still searching for success. How was she going to keep a smile on her face and pretend she was just as happy as the others? She wanted to see her friends again, but something deep inside resisted. If only she could go without feeling like a failure. If only.

Still, she would go if she could get the time off. She had to.

A sound from next door swung her head around. A baby was crying, then a voice, then a child’s laugh. Jack Remington, playboy and man-about-town with babies? And what sort of wife, she wondered? It was going to be interesting finding out.

One

Jack Remington was floating just on the edge of sleep. Light was coming in through the slats in the blinds. Morning. Time for the madness to begin again. He listened, but the only sound came from the black cat curled at the foot of his bed, purring like a small and very loud generator.

Slowly he forced his eyes to open and listened a little harder. Nope, no sign of the babies. They were either still asleep, which was highly unusual, or they’d knotted together sheets and escaped out their window in the dead of night. Since they were only eleven months old, it seemed a long shot.

“And yet, one can always hope,” he muttered to himself groggily, but he grimaced as he said the words, knowing he didn’t mean them.

His dark gaze traveled around the room and lingered for a reluctant moment on the picture sitting atop the chest of drawers across the room and he frowned, repressing the twinge of pain that always cut deep when he remembered his wife. Every time it happened, he vowed to put that picture away in a drawer somewhere. But somehow he couldn’t do it. Not yet.

For some reason that made him think of his new neighbor. Quite a contrast to his elegant Phoebe was Miss J. J. Jensen, with her neon string bikini and her hair plastered over her face. He grinned, thinking of the way she’d splashed about in the hot tub the day before. He had to admit she’d been a fetching sight. Nice breasts, from what he could see amid all that splashing—the sort of body that made a man think twice about this celibacy kick he’d been on for so long.

“Daddy?”

Annie was in the bedroom doorway that he always left open so as to hear every sound from the babies’ room. She peered at her father around two small fists that were rubbing the sand from her eyes.

“Daddy, the babies are still sleeping,” she whispered in a tone that could have jerked Rip van Winkle out of a sound sleep.

Propping up on one elbow, he put a finger to his lips to quiet her and then gave her a daddy-sized grin. She was the best antidote he knew of for stray thoughts about attractive women. When in doubt, he could always count on his little Annie to bring him back down to earth and remind him of what was important in his life.

“What do we always say, Annie-kins?” he asked.

She furled her young brow and thought hard. “Let sleeping babies lie?” she guessed correctly, her brown eyes huge.

He nodded, pleased with her, as always. Five years old and going on middle age, she had a natural wisdom that often stunned him.

“Come here and give me my morning bear hug, you little rascal,” he demanded tenderly, and she flew across the hardwood floor, her white nightgown billowing around her, her blond curls bouncing, and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing hard and giving him a pretend growl.

He laughed as she let go, giggling. “Best bear hug yet, Annie,” he told her. “You nearly took my head off.”

She smiled happily and turned to dash off again, but not before stopping to shake her finger at the dozing cat.

“Gregor, you are making a very big noise,” she whispered loudly to the startled animal. “Shh, you’ll wake up the babies.”

Gregor stretched out his front legs and yawned, and Annie went on her way. Jack chuckled, enjoying the sunny domestic scene, but his smile faded as his thoughts grew darker. This situation wasn’t really fair to Annie, and he was going to have to think about ways to remedy it. They were an odd little family, he and the triplets and five-year-old Annie. And then there was Marguerite.

Annie’s little feet made a pattern on the hallway floor as she returned, her eyes wider than ever. “Daddy, Marguerite is already up,” she announced breathlessly. “She’s cooking something.”

“Uh-oh.” Jack groaned. “What is it? Could you tell?”

Annie made a face. “I think it’s pancakes.”

“Oh.” He brightened. “Great. Her pancakes aren’t halfbad.”

Annie frowned, looking worried. “But Daddy…what if she puts those little blue balls in?”

He blinked at her. “Blueberries? They’re great.”

Her lip curled dramatically. “They’re yucky.”

He laughed shortly. “Don’t you tell her that. Remember, we love Marguerite’s cooking, no matter what. You got it?”

She nodded reluctantly. “I got it,” she echoed, her voice as sad as her eyes.

He sighed and lay back against the pillow for one last moment, his arms behind his head. Marguerite was in the kitchen. Now he was going to have to get up. What did you call it when the hired help made almost as many problems as she solved? A dilemma, at the very least.

He glanced down at his daughter. “Okay, I’m getting up. You go get dressed and we’ll meet in the kitchen, okay? And whatever it is that Marguerite’s cooking, we’re going to love it. Right?”

Annie made a face, her teeth on edge, and dashed off toward her own room to change. Jack willed his body to rise, and surprisingly, it did as he asked, but it creaked along the way.

“Getting to be an old man at thirty-five,” be muttered as he made his way to the shower. “Raising babies saps the strength right out of you.”

As if on cue, the first sounds from the babies’ room came wafting in through the doorway, and he hesitated, then opted for a quick shower before going to them. And quick it was. He barely lasted long enough for the drops to hit his skin before he was back out, toweling down and hurrying to reach the babies. For just a moment he had fleeting thoughts of the old days when he’d luxuriated in a warm shower, letting the stinging drops hit him for minutes at a time. Those days were gone. Now it was slapdash and make it faster. The babies called.

For just a moment, the image of his new neighbor spun into view again. She’d seemed to have plenty of time to wallow in her hot tub. He remembered when he’d been young like that, with every possible path still in front of him, and for a brief moment, he envied her.

But he quickly shoved the thought away. He couldn’t let stray impulses cloud his horizon. He’d made a commitment to these kids and he was going to keep it, even if everyone on earth seemed to think he was nuts.

“Give a couple of them up for adoption,” someone had actually suggested. “You can’t possibly take care of all four at once by yourself.”

“Send them home to your mother” was another refrain he often heard.

“Don’t they have child-care professionals who can come in and take over running the house and raising the kids so you won’t have to?” said another helpful soul.

He’d reacted to every such comment with good-natured humor on the outside, and outraged horror on the inside. These were his kids. They’d already lost a mother. There was no way they were going to have to be raised without a father—a one hundred percent, there-for-you-whenever-youneed-him father.

So, despite the attractions living right next door, there would be no lusting after beautiful neighbors. Indulging himself in that sort of thing would bring disaster, and he wasn’t going to do it, not even for a moment.

But the time for thought evaporated as his day began at its usual frantic pace. Marguerite’s voice was calling him, and so were the voices from the next room.

“Mister? Mister?” Marguerite shouted from the kitchen. “I got you food ready. It gonna get cold!”

He hopped on one foot as he wrestled with his slacks. “You’ll have to keep it warm for me, Marguerite,” he called. “The babies are awake.”

The banging of pans was her only answer, and he winced, but he went in to see his little ones. Three cribs lined one wall, three mobiles hung over them and three little children were each standing up and leaning on the railings, little fingers curled around the edge.

Three. It always gave him a beat of panic when he saw them like this, their sweet round faces gazing at him eagerly. They wanted so much, needed so much. How could anyone possibly minister to three at once? It was impossible. But somehow, he had to try.

He got to work quickly, swinging up the first baby and heading for the changing table. Annie arrived, dressed in jeans and a little red shirt, and pitched in as she always did. Jack spoke softly to each baby as he cleaned and changed and dressed him or her. Luckily they were usually good-natured in the morning, cooing and laughing while Annie amused them. Still, it was half an hour later before they were through. He hurried out to the kitchen with one baby under each arm, while Annie lugged the third one.

All seemed quiet on the cooking front. Marguerite was nowhere to be seen, but two plates of cold pancakes sat at nicely set places at the table, and three dishes of congealed oatmeal sat on the counter. Jack took in the situation at a glance and, knowing his hired help, plunked his two babies down in walkers and motioned for Annie to do the same with hers. He knew the babies were hungry, but they would have to wait. There were times when a man had to do what a man had to do.

“Sit down, quick,” he whispered to Annie. “We’ll eat and then feed the little ones.”

The babies had no problem with the order of things. They were gurgling with laughter and careening together in their walkers like little round bumper cars. Meanwhile, Jack poured syrup over his pancakes and said very loudly, “Wow, these are really good. Marguerite sure knows how to fix a good breakfast, doesn’t she, Annie?”

Annie sat on the edge of her chair and stared down at the plate before her. There were blueberries in the pancakes.

Jack saw her look and gave her an encouraging smile. “All together now,” he urged under his breath. “We love it!” he said aloud. “Don’t we, Annie?”

Annie mouthed the words but her heart wasn’t in it and rebellion brewed in her brown eyes. Still she managed to put a bite into her mouth by the time Marguerite reappeared, looking at them suspiciously, her green eyes darting a glance from one plate to another. Her blond hair was a little wild this morning and her thick, shapeless body was rendered even more lumplike by the plain housedress she wore. A woman of middle years, she had seemingly lost all interest in looking attractive.

“Marguerite, these are the best pancakes you’ve made yet,” Jack lied, raising his voice to be heard over the din of the babies attacking each other with the walkers. “Delicious.”

Marguerite’s face began to relax. “You really like?” she asked hopefully.

Jack nodded. “Great stuff,” he said with his mouth full.

Marguerite smiled. “Okay. I warm up this oatmeal for the babies, okay? Then I help you feed them.”

Jack felt the tension in his shoulders let go just a little bit. She wasn’t going to quit this morning at any rate.

“That would be wonderful,” he said with real conviction. He took another huge bite of the cold pancakes and she smiled more happily, dusting her hands against her white apron.

“Okay,” she said again, bustling about the stove. “Okay.”

Jack glanced at Annie. She was still chewing on her original bite, her face filled with tragedy. He opened his mouth to say something to her, but before he got the words out, one of the baby walkers crashed into another a little too hard and both babies began to shriek. He jumped up to take care of things, but something inside was beginning to feel the same rebellion he’d seen in Annie’s eyes. There was a part of him that would have jumped at the chance to run off with. say, the nicely proportioned neighbor he’d met the day before in her hot tub. Run off with her to some nice warm beach in the tropics and laze the day away.

But that wasn’t going to happen. He pulled his baby up into his arms and sighed, cuddling and comforting. No, that wasn’t going to happen for a long time. Maybe for eighteen years or so, the way things were going.

Two

J.J. felt like whistling as she walked up the pathway to her condo. Things had gone much better today. The giftwrapped box of special doughnuts she’d brought in for the station manager seemed to have done the trick of turning him from a foe into a fan. And when she’d had a chance to fill in and do a morning update, there had been a flurry of complimentary phone calls from the public. Things were looking up, and she smiled to herself as she fumbled for her keys, shifting from one hand to the other the bag of groceries she’d picked up on her way home.

A feeling rather than a sound prickled the nerve endings on the back of her neck, and she looked around to find a young girl sitting on the steps to the next condo, gazing at her solemnly.

“Hi,” J.J. said, surprised. She didn’t often live in housing where children were encouraged. It made for a rather artificial life, but it was quiet that way.

“Hi,” the girl said back, her dark eyes huge. She wore a pink shirt and a blue corduroy jumper and her feet were in little red tennis shoes. Blond curls bounced around her pretty little face. She had a look you couldn’t help but smile at, and J.J. did.

“My name’s J.J. What’s yours?”

“Annie.”

“Annie. That’s a pretty name.” She didn’t have a lot of experience with children, and ordinarily she hardly noticed them. But something made her want to linger and talk a little more to this one. Was it her appealing face? Or the slight hint of sadness in her eyes?

“Do you live nearby?” she asked her.

Annie nodded, but she didn’t leave her step.

J.J. glanced at the next condo and bit her lip. Could this be one of Jack’s brood? Should she ask? For some strange reason she was hesitating, as though finding out the truth would draw her in somehow. But that was silly. Asking a question didn’t imply a commitment of any kind, did it?

“Is Jack Remington your daddy?” she asked, steeling herself for the response.

Annie nodded again, and J.J. smiled again. Yes, she could see his handsome face in the lines of this little girl’s bone structure.

“Well, isn’t that nice?” she murmured, turning back to her door and inserting the key. Jack’s daughter was awfully cute, but J.J., for one, didn’t want to get to know her. The more distance she could keep between herself and the man, the better.

She’d turned the key and the door was swinging open, but before she could escape into her house, Annie’s little-girl voice intruded once again.

“Do you have any babies?” she asked, her piping voice echoing through the walkway.

J.J. swung back around and stared at her. Annie had risen from her step and come a bit closer, shifting her weight from one red tennis shoe to the other. What a question to ask a complete stranger. And yet, from the look on her face, the answer seemed to be important to her.

“No,” J.J. said quickly. “No, that’s something I don’t have.”

“We have three.” She held up her fingers to demonstrate the number, her expression not so much proud as matter-offact. “One, two, three.”

“Very good,” J.J. said, smiling at her. “I guess you all are lucky.” Now that was a pretty disingenuous thing for her to say. Three babies sounded like a prescription for chaos to her. A netherworld filled with hellions.

She glanced at the sweet little girl standing before her and realized that hellions was possibly too strong a word. Monsters? No, you couldn’t call children monsters. It wasn’t right. Uncaring little beasts? From her experience, that pretty much hit the nail on the head.

But Annie nodded, her little face completely serious. She obviously agreed that babies were a good thing to have. To her it seemed perfectly normal to have a few hanging around.

“When are you going to get your baby?” she asked, her face completely solemn.

“You sound like my mother,” J.J. said, laughing. “Does everyone have to have one?”

Annie frowned, not sure of the answer to that one. “We have three,” she said again stoutly.

“Maybe more than your share,” J.J. murmured, but not loud enough for the little girl to hear.

The bag was getting heavy and she went into the entryway and on into the kitchen, setting the bag on the counter. Turning, she found the little girl had followed and was standing in the doorway.

“I guess you need your husband first, huh?” Annie said, continuing the conversation, merely setting things straight.

J.J. would just as soon have changed the subject. Babies and husbands were not things she’d wanted in recent years. And to tell the truth, she hadn’t missed them. Suddenly everyone from her own mother to her old roommate to the little girl next door was bringing up this motherhood stuff. And though she laughed it off, as she always had, something was beginning to stick, to tickle, to bother her about it.

She began taking groceries out of the bag, putting them on the counter, and suddenly the single cans and single TV dinners seemed to be mute symbols of her lonely life. She frowned. She had to fight against such thoughts.

“You’re awfully young to be thinking so much about babies,” she murmured a bit defensively.

Annie took a step, bringing her farther into the kitchen.

“I have to think about babies,” she said brightly. “I have to take care of them.”

J.J. put the quart of milk into the refrigerator and smiled at Annie. Despite her own reservations, this seemed to be a subject that consumed the little girl. What could she do? She might as well go with it.

“You’re a help at home, aren’t you? Three babies.” She shook her head. What a nightmare world that sounded like. “What are their names?” she asked.

“Kristi and Kathy and Baby Mack.”

“Baby Mack?” She raised a questioning eyebrow.

Annie was obviously beginning to feel at home. She came all the way into the kitchen and looked around at the cabinets and the clock shaped like a large orange cat.

“We call him Baby Mack because he’s soooo small,” she said in her chirpy voice. “But Daddy says he has a punch like a Mack truck.” Her forehead scrunched and her nose wrinkled. “What’s a Mack truck?” she asked J.J. curiously.

J.J. grinned. “A big one.”

“Oh.” Annie turned and looked into the living room.

“How come you’re living in Bambi’s house?” she said out of the blue.

J.J. swung around and looked at her curiously, childhood memories of Disney films swirling. This area was awfully close to the edge of civilization, but she hardly thought wildlife came down and camped out in the houses. But then again, what did she know?

“Bambi? You mean the deer?” she asked.

Annie shook her blond curls. “No, Bambi.” She said it louder, as though that might get the meaning across a little better. “She’s Daddy’s friend. She’s pretty and she wears big high heels.”

“Oh.” Aha—that sort of Bambi. She suppressed a catty smile. Daddy’s friend, was she? Jack had enjoyed quite a reputation as a ladies’ man in the old days, but that was before marriage and kids. Surely he didn’t play those games any longer.

“Well, Bambi doesn’t live here anymore. I’m going to be staying here for a while.”

Annie looked puzzled by that. “Where did she go?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Maybe Daddy knows.” She settled her chin into her palms. “She likes my Daddy.”

J.J.’s head went back and something twisted in her soul. Surely good old Jack wasn’t flirting around with the neighbor right under his daughter’s nose?

“I’ll bet a lot of women like your daddy,” she murmured, looking at the girl speculatively.

Annie shrugged. “Not Marguerite. Daddy says Marguerite hates him sometimes.”

J.J. knew she ought to smile pleasantly and leave this conversation lie. She tried. She really did. But in the end, curiosity got the better of integrity.

“Who…who is Marguerite?” she asked, hating herself but unable to resist.

Annie looked at her blankly. “She has orange hair. She lives with us. Her room is next to mine. She takes care of Daddy.”

“Oh, she does, does she?” First Bambi, now Marguerite. She’d always pegged Jack Remington as a playboy, but this was going a bit far. For some reason, she was seething. The lousy womanizer. The profligate. The lewd and lascivious lecher. How dare he flaunt his lovers in front of this sweet little girl of his?

And what about this girl’s other parent? Didn’t she count in his self-centered world?

“Just.ah.where exactly is your mother?” she asked, trying to hide her real emotions.

Annie looked up and faced her with clear eyes. “My mama is in heaven,” she lisped. “Daddy says God needed her.”

J.J. felt as though she’d just been punched in the stomach, very hard, and her emotions made another wide swing. She felt all color drain from her face and her mouth was full of cotton. Her first impulse was to take the little girl into her arms, but that was impossible, and after the first move toward doing exactly that, she pulled back. She couldn’t do it. She hardly knew her. And though the youngster was very friendly, something told her she didn’t want to be hugged.

“I. I’m sure your daddy is right,” she said instead.

Jack a widower—that was something she hadn’t expected. It put a whole new light on things, but it was going to take her a few minutes to sort out just how. Poor man. Poor Annie. She ached inside for both of them. Hesitating, she was about to try to say something comforting, but before she got the words out, her telephone began to ring, and she swung around as though there’d been a reprieve.

“Bye,” Annie said, starting toward the doorway.

“Goodbye, Annie,” J.J. said on her way to the telephone. But something made her pause. The child had just told her something so horrible, she hated to see her skip off this way. “Listen,” she added, hesitating. She felt as though she needed to do something for her, but she had no idea what that might be.

“I live right next door. You come on over if you need anything, okay? I’ll be glad to help in any way I can.”

Annie waved and disappeared out the door, and J.J. hurried back into the kitchen, reaching for the phone.

“Hello?”

The deep voice of the handsome sportscaster at the station answered. Martin Olsen had made his interest plain earlier in the day, but she wasn’t in the market for a new relationship right now. She had other things on her mind and goals she was determined to reach. So after a few moments of light banter, she politely declined his invitation to dinner and rang off.

Going back to her open door, she looked out at the steps for Annie, but the girl was gone. Sighing, she closed the door and went back to the kitchen, methodically putting away the rest of the groceries. The situation with Jack and his daughter had disturbed her. She had no similar idea what the death of a wife and mother actually did to a family. She’d had no experience. But she knew it had to be horrific, and she winced, pushing away the emotions such a tragedy inspired.

It was easier to think about Jack as a playboy with all these Bambis and Marguerites and who-knows-who-elses in his life when he had these little kids to care for, and get outraged about that. But even that exasperation was fading in her. After all, what could she do about the girl? It was re ally none of her business if Jack wanted to run around like a teenager with brand-new hormones. Maybe that happened to widowers. Maybe they needed it.

Still, there had been such a haunted look in Annie’s eyes.

Jack Remington. It was such a stroke of very bad luck to have ended up next door to the man who single-handedly had almost ruined her career before it had even begun. As she prepared a pot of lemon tea, she let her thoughts drift back to that summer ten years ago in Sacramento when she’d landed an intern job at a local television station. She’d been thrilled, even though the job had meant being handed every grubby little chore the others didn’t want to be bothered with. That was the way it was when you were low man on the totem pole, and she had been glad to put up with it for the experience and the pleasure of being in the business she adored.

She’d spent the summer taking in every bit of knowledge she could glean. She’d watched Jack from afar. He’d been the star anchor at the station at the time, and everyone had treated him like a king. She’d been ecstatic when he smiled at her, but he’d only spoken to her once.

It was late in the summer and she’d finally had a chance to go on camera with a newsbreak at the hour. She’d given it everything she had and most people had been generous with their praise. And then Jack had come sauntering along and looked her up and down, and she’d held her breath, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“You’re a very pretty girl,” he said at last. “I’ll bet you were a cheerleader in high school, weren’t you?”

Thinking he meant it as a compliment, she’d colored and smiled at him. “Why, yes, I was.”

His mouth had twitched at the corners. “That’s what I thought,” he said, the scorn plain in his tone. “Well, let me give you a little bit of advice, Miss Jenkins. Pay a little more attention to the program your newsbreak is interrupting. In the movie playing tonight, a child has just been told he might never walk again. The viewers are crying their eyes out. And then you come on, grinning like a loon and shouting out the news item as though it were the main cheer at a pep rally.” He shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Miss Jenkins, if you think you’re going to get anywhere in this business.”

He’d walked away, leaving her behind in a humiliated heap. Not only had he hated her style, he hadn’t remembered her name right. No one met her eyes for the rest of the day, and the next morning she was told her services were no longer needed at the station.

The shock of finding herself sidelined so quickly still stung. Okay, so he had been right, she’d been so anxious about her spot she hadn’t thought to put it into context. She’d learned a lot from what he’d told her, she had to admit that. But still—he didn’t need to lecture her so harshly in front of the entire staff, and most of all, he shouldn’t have had her fired. It just wasn’t right and she resented it to this day.

The night before, after their meeting around her hot tub, she’d scanned the local listing, looking to see what station he was working for these days, but she hadn’t been able to find any mention of his name, and that had surprised her.

This morning at work, she’d brought him up to Martin, the sportscaster.

“I didn’t know Jack Remington was working here in St. Johns,” she’d said, making her voice as casual as she could.

“Jack Remington?” Martin’s handsome brow had furled. “Who’s Jack Remington?”

But another employee standing nearby had heard of him. “Jack Remington? You’re kidding. Where did you see him?”

She hesitated, and something about his interest made her wary. “Uh, I thought I saw him near the condo complex where I’m staying. Maybe I was wrong.”

“Jack Remington,” the man had mused, thinking back. “He used to be the best, you know. He was slated for major network success when he dropped out of sight. I wonder whatever happened to him.”

“Yes,” J.J. had murmured, moving away. “I wonder.”

So it seemed he had forsaken his old career. Strange. Still, she would rather not ever find out why than to have to deal with him again. And since she was only slated for the area for a few weeks, she doubted that would be a problem.

She picked up the invitation to her friend’s baby shower and smiled at the silly duckling with a bow, but her smile faded as she read the date again. It was only weeks away. She didn’t think she was going to be able to make it. After all these years, it would be wonderful to see the old gang again. Pinning the invitation to the kitchen bulletin board, she resolved to see if she could find a way to go.

She went back to the station at three, and it was evening before she returned home again, a sack from the local fried chicken outlet under her arm. As she came up the walk, she thought she heard animals in the trees, but when she cocked her head and listened, she realized it was babies crying. A lot of babies crying.

She frowned. She had only one thin wall between her condo and Jack’s. Letting herself into her place, she found her unease had been warranted. The crying sounded even louder in her living room than it had outside.

“What on earth is going on in there?” she muttered irritably. “It sounds like a baby convention.”

A soft knocking on her door got her attention and she opened it to find Annie standing there, her lower lip quivering and moisture welling in her eyes.

“Annie!” she cried, pulling the child into her entryway. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

The little girl burst into tears, but she tried to force back the flow, wincing away when J.J. tried to comfort her with a hug. J.J. drew back, uncertain of how to deal with this. She wasn’t used to children, hadn’t been around them since she’d been a child herself. Annie looked so sad, so pathetic, she wanted badly to do something for her. But what?

Her first instinct was that something terrible had happened, but that thought was beginning to recede, despite the child’s inability to get her story out. Inexperienced as she was with children, she had a feeling no one was lying bleeding somewhere. This had all the earmarks of a problem dealing with the emotions, not with physical danger. Some of her adrenaline slowed a bit, and she risked touching the little girl’s hair.

“Just take it easy,” she murmured, frowning at her worriedly.

Meanwhile, the tears Annie was trying to hold back kept squeezing out. “I…I…” Her face crumpled and she couldn’t get the words out.

J.J. turned and grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter and handed it to her, bending close, aching to help but not knowing how.

“Just take a deep breath and tell me slowly,” she encouraged her.

Annie tried, but the sobs were shaking her and it took a few minutes before she could speak.

“It’s all my fault,” she wailed, hiccuping.

“What’s your fault, Annie?” J.J. coaxed, stroking her hair and not receiving a rebuff.

“M-M-Marguerite,” Annie forced out. “She’s gone.”

“Gone?” Marguerite? Wasn’t that the live-in girlfriend, the floozy? Of course, she had no hard evidence, but things Annie had said that very afternoon had pointed in the direction of painted lady. And if that was the case, good riddance to her. Little girls like Annie needed.well, she wasn’t sure what they needed. J.J. went down on her knees to get closer to the sad little face.

“Oh, honey, how could that possibly be your fault?”

She rubbed her eyes with both fists. “I…I didn’t like the pot roast.”

J.J. blinked. “The pot roast.” There had to be a connection here. If only she could see what it was.

Annie nodded, finally getting everything but her lower lip under control. “I couldn’t eat it. I just couldn’t.”

“Oh.” The picture was clearing. “Did Marguerite make the pot roast?” she guessed.

Annie nodded again. “I hate it.” She made a face, shuddering. “It’s yucky.” She looked up at J.J. earnestly, intent upon explaining. “It’s got like hairy things and then the big globs of jiggly fat stuff and when it gets in your mouth it—”

“I see. I understand.” J.J. cut her off hurriedly, suppressing a smile, and stroked the little girl’s hair again, her fingers catching in the curls. “And she’s touchy about food critics, is she?”

“Uh-huh.” Annie nodded vigorously. “She put all her clothes in a bag and she went out the door.”

“Ah.”

“And it’s all my fault.”

“Oh, honey.” A thought occurred to her and she looked at the girl sharply. “Did your daddy tell you that?”

Annie blinked at her, not understanding the question. “Huh?”

J.J.’s entire opinion of the man hung in the balance. She spoke again, making the words very clear, and watched for the tiniest reaction.

“Did your daddy say it was your fault?”

She shook her head, and her curls, damp from her copious tears, tried to give their usual bounce.

“Daddy said, ‘Oh, never mind. We can take care of things without her.’”

“Oh.” Well, there went that theory. At least Jack wasn’t an ogre to his child. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

“Then the babies started to cry. They won’t stop. And Daddy said, ‘Go get Mrs. Lark to help, quick.’ I said, ‘Okay, Daddy,’ and I went really, really quick. I knocked on Mrs. Lark’s door. I knocked really, really loud, but she didn’t come out. And I knocked on Mr. Gomez’s door, but he wasn’t home. So I came here.”

“Your daddy needs help, does he?” Startled, she looked toward the still open doorway. “Is it just the crying? Or does he need a doctor? Or the police?” She realized it might be best to make things clear.

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head so that her curls hit her in the nose. “He needs help with the babies. ‘Cuz they keep crying.”

“Oh.” She hesitated. That sort of help was supposed to be within the realm of ‘women’s work’, wasn’t it? Which meant she ought to be able to handle it. But she didn’t want to do this. She really didn’t want to see Jack again if she could help it and she was hoping for an excuse not to go.

“What exactly is wrong with the babies?”

Annie’s wide brown eyes stared at her. “They’re crying.”

J.J. narrowly averted rolling her eyes. That fact had pretty much been established. But did babies just cry? Wasn’t there a reason? She hesitated. “Yes, I know that,” she said at last. “In fact, I knew that before you got here.”

Annie was surprised and somewhat captivated. “You did?”

“Sure. Listen. You can hear them through the walls.”

She led her into the living room and took her to the wall, placing her hand against the surface, so she could feel as well as hear. Annie listened and her face brightened.

“I hear them!” she cried. Then a cloud came over her expression once again. “They’re getting too loud. Come on.” Annie took J.J.’s hand and tugged, looking up at her anxiously. “Come on. Hurry.”

J.J. managed to keep the groan inside and she followed reluctantly. But she went. And she steeled herself, preparing, against all common sense, to walk right into the lion’s den.

Three

The entryway was almost a duplicate of the one for the condo where J.J. was staying, but the rest of the house looked very different. Where her place was starkly dramatic, with chrome and glass and dark polished wood, Jack’s was light and airy—and soft. The couches were overstuffed and the chairs were plump with pillows. The colors were pastels and the carpeting was as thick as winter fur. No angles—everything looked rounded at the edges.

It’s a cartoon house, she thought to herself as she entered. But the sound track’s all wrong.

The sound track, in fact, was very loud. Not only were the babies howling at the top of their lungs, but Jack was singing at the top of his. She caught sight of him as she rounded the corner into the family room, and what she saw left her gaping. This was hardly the picture of the debonair sophisticate she remembered.

One baby sat on a fluffy blue blanket on the floor, her face red from crying. Another, smaller child was lying on his back and screaming at the ceiling, his arms and legs whirling like propellers. And between them, in a padded rocking chair, sat Jack, a third baby propped against his shoulder, rocking furiously and singing for all he was worth.

The song was some country tune about wives who took their love to town. J.J. was knocked out, speechless. She would have figured him as an Edith Piaf fan, or maybe Billie Holiday—something genteel and just a bit jaded, but always classy. And here he was, singing with a twang.

He caught sight of her, but that didn’t stop him. In fact, she could have sworn he only got louder, rocking and patting the baby on his shoulder in time to the music, his blue eyes daring her to laugh at him.

She pulled her gaze away from that amazing sight and looked from one squalling baby to the other with growing horror, then noticed that Annie was looking up into her face as though she expected something that wasn’t happening.

“Annie,” she said, shrugging helplessly, “I don’t know much about babies. What should I do?”

“You pick ‘em up,” Annie told her wisely, shouting to be heard over the din. “Look.”

And she dipped down and scooped one baby, expertly swinging the child up against her shoulder. The move took a major effort, however, as the baby wasn’t much smaller than Annie herself, and she staggered under the weight. J.J. helped her to the couch, then turned and looked down at the last lonely weeper.

The baby was sitting on the floor, tears running down her fat little cheeks. She wore yellow pajamas and a pink bib with “Kristi” embroidered on it. J.J. gazed at her nervously and flexed her fingers, wondering exactly how she was going to do this.

Just swing her up, she told herself silently. It looks so easy.

She took a step toward the child and the baby stopped crying, staring at her, little round eyes huge and wary.

“Hi,” J.J. said cheerfully, holding out her hand the way she might approach a strange dog. “Hi, Kristi.”

Kristi stared up at her for a long, long moment, and then her face crumpled again, eyes squeezed tightly shut, mouth wide and howling. Startled, J.J. pulled back and looked at Jack.

Mercifully, his song had come to an end and he was mainly humming now. He interrupted that long enough to call out, “He who hesitates is lost. Go for it.”

And suddenly she realized he was talking to her. She looked at the crying baby, and then back at Jack again, completely lost. “But I…”

“Oh, come on. She doesn’t bite.” He glanced over the top of his now quietly sobbing baby to ask Annie, “She hasn’t bitten anyone yet, has she?”

Annie shook her head firmly. “She only has one tooth,” she said sensibly.

Jack shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “There, you see? We’re loud, but we’re basically civilized around here. Go on. Pick her up.”

J.J. took a deep breath. Reaching down, she practically dosed her eyes as she took hold of the child, but a few seconds later, Kristi was in her arms and she held her awkwardly. Jack rose, carrying his little bundle gently and nodded toward the rocking chair.

“Go ahead and sit there,” he said. “They love it.” And he left the room.

J.J. hesitated, but there wasn’t much choice. Kristi was yelling too hard to do much else with. Sitting gingerly and shifting the baby, trying to position her up against her shoulder the way she’d seen the others do, she held her breath as she tried to settle the child, but the crying seemed to be increasing in intensity, and though the baby didn’t struggle, she was weeping as though the world had turned against her and her heart was about to break.

J.J. looked over at Annie, feeling definitely inadequate. Annie’s baby was quieting, snuggling against her and winding down to a whimper.

“Good boy, Baby Mack,” Annie said. “Good boy.” She gave him a pleased pat and looked up at J.J. “Kristi likes to cry,” she noted. “Daddy says she’s the champion crier in the family.”

Oh, great. They gave her the most difficult one right off the bat? She started patting and rocking and praying under her breath, but without much hope. Surely she was doomed to spend the night rocking with a baby howling in her ear. That just seemed to be the way things were going to fall.

But as she rocked, a strange thing began to happen. The little body that had felt so stiff and awkward began to relax. The round head stopped bobbing against her shoulder and pressed into the hollow of her neck. One little fist grabbed hold of the collar of her shirt. And the crying began to slow.

And another funny thing happened at the same time. When she’d first picked the baby up, she’d almost wrinkled her nose, sure the child would be sticky and smelly. And at first, the rejection she’d felt from the baby had made her think she was right. But now…well, now, with Kristi snuggling against her and only whimpering, and slowly falling asleep, a whole new sense of her came over J.J.

Now she was soft and sweet and delicious to hold, like nothing she’d ever held before.

Funny. Very funny.

Looking around the room, she noticed that Annie seemed to have taken the one they called Baby Mack off to bed. Jack came back into the room and she looked at him warily, but his smile was pleased, if quirky.

“Well, you did it—is it Miss Jensen?” he said, taking the baby from her and slinging her effortlessly against his shoulder with the practiced ease of a longtime daddy.

“J.J.,” she said, moving to the edge of her seat and watching him, impressed, if a bit confused. This scene hardly fit the picture she’d had of Jack all these years, and certainly seemed at odds with her more recent vision of him as a playboy.

“Ah yes, J.J.” Kristi had settled down immediately in those familiar arms, her eyelids heavy and falling over her bright blue eyes. She was worn-out from all that crying and ready to rest up for her next round. He patted her rhythmically and swayed to the beat, turning to smile at J.J. again.

“Well, you need some refreshment, I can see that.”

“That’s all right.” She jumped up like a startled deer, ready to make her escape. “I’ll just be going now.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. You don’t get off that easily.”

He said it with such authority, she found herself sinking back into the chair again as though she’d been programmed into doing what he said, as though he were still the boss.

“You need a cup of tea,” he said cheerfully, starting toward the bedroom with his bundle. “And I’m brewing a pot right now. You just sit right there and relax. I’ll be back.” He dropped a kiss on his baby’s fuzzy head. “Come on, angel face,” he crooned to her. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Sitting back, she watched him go, feeling torn. She thought of her bag of fast-food chicken sitting on the counter in her own condo drying up, and she thought of her early call for the morning show, but she had to admit there was something about this beautiful man that drew her in. She wanted to stay for a few minutes, just to see what made this guy tick.

Annie came out of the bedroom and gazed at her. “I have new shoes,” she told her seriously. “Black ones. I’m going to wear them to church on Sunday.”

“Lucky girl.” J.J. smiled at her, noting again how similar her facial structure was to her father’s. “I love new shoes.”

Annie nodded, and Jack came out, dropping to sit on the couch with a sigh of weary relief. “They’re all asleep, at least for now,” he said.

“Can I have juice?” Annie asked.

“Oh, sure, honey,” he said absently, “But say ‘may I?’“ he added as she left for the kitchen. Turning, he gave J.J. a warm, encompassing smile that made shivers start down her backbone, reminding her to keep her guard up. The man was too attractive for his own good—and for hers. She had to be careful not to fall under his spell.

“You’re a lifesaver, J.J.,” he said easily. “J.J.,” he repeated. “What are the initials for?”

“My name,” she replied shortly.

“Ah, it’s a secret.” He grinned as though that only made her more enchanting. “Can anybody guess?”

She raised an eyebrow. Why on earth did he deem it necessary to turn the old charm on her, of all people? “You can guess all you like,” she said, her tone almost defensive.

“A lady of mystery.” He looked at her speculatively as Annie came out of the kitchen with a plastic tumbler of juice in her hands.

“It isn’t Jennifer Jones, by any chance? Or are you too young to remember who she is?”

“I’ve seen a few old movies in my time. And no, it isn’t Jennifer Jones.”

“Julie Junie?” asked Annie, getting in on the act. “Janie Jamas?”

Jack threw his head back and laughed. “Never mind, pumpkin,” he told his serious little daughter. “J.J. wants to be called by those initials, and that is what we shall call her. It’s none of our business why she wants to keep her name a secret.”

J.J. opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. He was teasing her and she knew it. Enough. She wasn’t going to get sucked into his games.

“Well, you seem to have your hands full with all these children,” she noted, trying to change the subject.

He nodded. “That we do. It must seem a madhouse to you. But things will get back to normal around here soon enough.”

“If Marguerite comes back,” Annie muttered tragically.

There was an awkward pause, and then Jack filled it with a quick laugh.

“Marguerite,” he said scornfully. “Let her go, I say. We’ll find someone better than Marguerite.” He turned and looked with interest at J.J., as though he’d suddenly had a bright idea. “Can you cook?”

J.J. didn’t get a chance to answer. The telephone rang and Jack went to take the call while she stayed behind, fuming. Could she cook! What a question.

She began glancing at the door, wondering how she could get out without that long-promised cup of tea, when he returned to the room and said breezily, “The tea should be just about ready. I’ll get us some. You sit tight.” And he went on into the kitchen.

J.J. looked at Annie. Annie looked back. J.J. tried to think of something to say. What did one talk to a five-yearold about? Luckily Annie knew.

“I can dance,” she told her. “Wanna see?”

“Of course.” She smiled at the little girl. “I’d love to see.”

Rising from her chair, Annie twirled and twirled, her arms out, until she fell into a dizzy heap at J.J.’s feet. J.J. looked down at her, worried, but Jack called out, “Get up, pumpkin. You’re in the way of the tea party,” as he came into the room, hardly wasting a glance at his collapsed daughter, and Annie got up quickly enough, sitting in her chair to await her cup of tea.

Jack poured and passed the cups. Annie’s was mostly milk. J.J. took hers without sugar, so she was easy. But she watched this big man performing these housewifely chores and marveled. What had happened to him to make him so domestic? That certainly wasn’t the way she remembered him.

They chatted inconsequentially for a moment, sipping their tea, and J.J. had to admit it had a soothing effect. She had only been in the maelstrom for half an hour and she felt wrung out like an old dishrag. Jack and Annie had been in it all day. How did they manage?

Annie disappeared into the kitchen and Jack told J.J. about something cute Baby Mack had done earlier in the day, making her laugh, then about something funny Annie had said.

“How old is she?” J.J. asked, smiling.

“Five and a half,” he said with pride.

“She seems so…so wise, so articulate.”

“Oh yes.” His gaze seemed to darken. “Annie’s been through a lot. Her mother died soon after the triplets were born. And ever since, she’s had to do a lot more than any five-year-old should have to.” His voice grew husky. “She’s my gem.”

Unaccountably J.J. felt tears stinging her eyes, and she blinked them back in horror. Damn the man! He could play her like a fine violin. He seemed to know where every emotion was located and how to exploit it. She should go home.

“And what is it that you do, J.J.?” Jack asked, studying her, before she had a chance to excuse herself.

She hesitated. She didn’t really want to tell him the business she was involved in. She was afraid that might make him wary in some way. She had a feeling he didn’t want his old world to know where he was or what he was doing. She wasn’t sure why she felt that, but she did.

Something crashed in the kitchen and he rose quickly, automatically following the sounds of disaster as though it were something he did all the time. And she supposed it was. She’d never seen a more hands-on daddy in her life.

Sitting back, she gazed around the room. Toys and blankets were strewn on chairs and under tables, and stacks of clean diapers sat beside picture books and baby games. She didn’t think she’d ever been in a house so geared toward young people. Pictures dominated the decorating motif-pictures of Annie at various stages, pictures of the triplets.

She couldn’t find one of Jack, nor of any woman who might be the mother of this brood. Annie’s words came back to her—”My mother is in heaven.” You would think he would have pictures of her everywhere. She frowned. Come to think of it, you would think he would have a sadder look. Funny.

Suddenly another encounter she’d had with Jack came to mind, something she hadn’t thought about in years. There had once come a time when she’d gone in to see Jack Remington. A week or so after she’d been let go—terminated, released, fired, laid off, and all those other ugly words—she’d been in a state bordering on depression. She’d tried every other station in town with no luck, and she’d begun having paranoid thoughts that Jack might have blackbailed her. It looked as though her chances of being in the business, which had once looked so good, were fading away.

Gathering all her strength and all her courage, she’d made her way downtown and into the station, her speech of outrage and her request for mercy all nicely memorized and rehearsed, over and over again. She was ready to go to battle with the big man.

She’d bypassed the receptionist and headed straight for his office, surprised to find the door propped open and a small knot of people standing out in the hallway, watching what was going on inside. Lights had been set up, and someone with a video camera was calling out orders.

“What’s going on?” she asked someone at the scene.

“New promo for the news hour,” a secretary told her. “Jack is not enjoying this,” she added with a giggle.

And it seemed she was right. J.J. got closer and looked in. Jack’s face had a rebellious look.

“Just a few more, Jack,” Gloria Barker was saying. Executive producer of the evening news hour, she always had a slightly anxious look, as though she’d just seen the ratings and they were dropping. “This will only take another moment or so.”

The cameraman swung his camera around and announced in a voice loud enough to hear in nearby homes, “Since you’re the heartthrob of the station, we should get a shot of you mesmerizing a lady or two, don’t you think?”

Jack’s brow darkened and his full lower lip came out. “No, I don’t think. It’s not part of the job.”

Jack’s annoyance was plain on his face and J.J. sighed and fidgeted. This was not going to be a good time to approach him.

The cameraman said something else and Jack’s frown deepened. “What do you want, a seduction pose?” Jack looked incredulous. “I don’t think so.”

The cameraman spoke again. Though J.J. couldn’t make out his words, Jack’s answer was clear. He spun and demanded of Gloria Barker, “Is there anything in my contract that says I have to do this? If so, I want a renegotiation.”

“Jack. please.” She put a hand on his arm and looked up at him pleadingly. “Do this. Do it for me. It’s so important. You know the station’s in serious trouble. If we can’t bring up the ratings.”

He took a deep breath, obviously trying hard to keep his temper. His eyes seemed to glitter. “I’m a newsman, not a movie star.”

“I know that, but.Jack. I need you to do this. Just this once. Please?”

She looked up at him like an orphan in the snow, and he groaned, melting.

“All right, Gloria. For you.” He signaled the man with the photo equipment. “Fine. You want a seduction, you’ll have one. Get me a woman and let’s get this over with.”

“Yes!” the cameraman said, pumping his arm and turning to give the small crowd a quick survey.

“How about you? Would you like to be in the picture?”

J.J. turned to look behind her, wondering whom he was calling to.

“You,” he said, pointing at her. “Come on in here.”

“Me?” At first, his intention really didn’t penetrate. She was still wondering how she was going to get in to see Jack with all these people around, and how he was going to react after all this hassle, and suddenly she was being pushed and pulled into his office and someone was coming at her with a large powder puff and an eyebrow pencil. “What? Wait!”

“No time to wait. Come on.”

They tugged at her clothes and adjusted her makeup and presented her, ready to go, to Jack, who was brewing a very dark storm in his eyes.

“Are we ready?” he snapped. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Okay,” said the camera guy. “Let the wooing begin.”

Jack finally looked at her for the first time, and as she remembered it, he hesitated. He’d recognized her, but there was something else in his eyes, and whether or not it had anything to do with his having had her fired, she was never sure.

“You know.” he began. He looked down into her face and then he turned away as though there were something about her that disturbed him. But the others waved him back and he returned, shrugging.

Meanwhile, J.J. found it impossible to do anything but stand there with her mouth open, flabbergasted. How had this happened? She was about to be seduced on camera by Jack Remington. A few weeks before, this might have been the answer to a dream. But now. didn’t they understand? Didn’t anyone remember? The man had just had her fired last week!

“Take your places. Jack, put your hand on her shoulder and lean over her. good, that’s the way.”

She felt as though she were moving in a misty fantasy. It was completely unreal. His face hovered over hers, his lips almost touching her, but not quite. She held her breath, overwhelmed by his closeness, feeling faint, feeling a swoon coming on—and then she heard him swear under his breath and she realized he was gritting his teeth.

“Enough?” he called out, still holding her in that impossible position.

“No, wait a minute. We need a little more passion, Jack. And move to the left a little. The light wasn’t set up right. Try this.”

The crew went on and on, posing them in every imaginable combination. His anger was growing and it was beginning to show through. But she was moving in a dream, as though she couldn’t do anything else, as though she had no will of her own. She was involved, but somehow she was also a fly on the wall, watching this as if from afar. She was participant and observer, all at the same time, and for the moment, nothing seemed real.