“We need to work out a way to keep the twins together.”

Abby felt a rush of relief. “Of course,” she said. “Are you planning to leave Wyatt with me?”

“No,” Jack said, dashing her hopes in a word. “I’ll sublet my place in the city and find a place to rent around here. You know of any place?”

She thought of the land surrounding the farm. The land that Jack owned. And the farmhouse on it that was now hers.

Her gaze swooped across to the precious baby girl she’d been entrusted to raise, and then to baby Wyatt. She loved these babies. She wanted to be near both of them every single day and night. She’d do anything to achieve that goal.

Anything.

“We could both move in here,” she suggested.

Ten Acres and Twins
Kaitlyn Rice

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

As a child, Kaitlyn Rice loved to lie on the floor of her bedroom and draw pencil sketches of characters. She remembers assigning each one a name and personality, and imagining what their lives might be like. This study of people and relationships—both real and made up—has always fascinated her. By her midteens she was drawn into the world of romance fiction.

Through the years, Kaitlyn’s most enduring pastime has been to curl up with a good romance novel, and her fondest dream has been to create full-fledged versions of those character sketches—in book form. She’s thrilled to have finally realized that goal. Kaitlyn lives in Kansas with her husband and two daughters.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

ABIGAIL BRIGGS had outgrown temper tantrums well over twenty years ago, when she still wore bandages on her knees and thought marshmallows were a satisfactory lunch entrée.

Still, if someone didn’t answer her questions soon, she was considering lying on the floor, screaming like a forgotten tea-kettle and thrashing around as wildly as the most precocious of toddlers.

Even in her brand-new business suit.

After she’d announced her arrival to the receptionist, she had sat on the edge of the sofa to begin her wait. She must have glanced at her wristwatch at least a hundred times. The second hand kept whirling around its perpetual circle with easy fluidity, but the minute and hour hands seemed sluggish. Twenty-eight minutes she’d waited. It may as well have been twenty-eight hours.

Abby’s mother had always said she was intense, while her father called her spirited. They were apt descriptions, she knew, since she’d spent her adolescence diving blindly and defiantly into a sea of mistakes.

Over the years, however, she had developed patience for most things. Anyone who made her living as a gardener learned to wait.

She could scatter a few handfuls of seeds, and in a season orchestrate the blooms of enough bouquets to please every bride, mother, wife and lover in Topeka, Kansas, and the surrounding county. She could plunk the rooted end of a twig into the ground and nurture it for years, until it became a robust tree capable of bearing bushels of fruit so tender their flesh melted in your mouth.

But some things were too hard to wait for, and this appointment must rate at the top of the charts in importance. Whatever that slick lawyer was doing right now, it could hardly compare to the weighty deliberation about the future of two precious babies.

Abby’s indignation had risen with every minute, and now she tapped her foot forcefully on the cushioned carpet, trying to achieve a loud enough sound to catch the notice of the delinquent receptionist. But the woman tapped away at her keyboard, apparently unaware of the hateful thoughts being directed toward her pencil-punctured bun.

The painting on the wall above the receptionist’s head caught Abby’s eye, if only because it was unimaginative. She wondered if any client had ever been distracted by the watery scene. She wanted to slash it with her pen, paint vivid, deep purple figures across it to express a hurt so deep no lawyer’s meeting could ever truly mend it.

Paige and Brian were dead, which was reason enough for her impatience, and for the relentless ache in Abby’s gut. The fact that her sister and brother-in-law had died a quick death did little to lessen the agony.

Each of them had been only twenty-two years old, and they had left behind much. A wide network of friends and acquaintances. A couple of broken-hearted families. And a pair of adorable twins, not yet six months old.

The sound of footsteps drew Abby’s attention to the conference room door. It swung open, and a tall man stepped out. His eyes bore the dazed look of a person in shock. His jaw was clenched, his face chalky. His appearance was worlds apart from the tanned and relaxed man Abby had met at her sister’s wedding, but she couldn’t fail to recognize him—Jack Kimball was Brian’s older brother.

He hesitated midstep when he saw her, as if he was once again struggling to place her in their out-of-the-ordinary surroundings. At the funeral, they’d traded arm-patting hugs and the expected words of comfort, but it had hardly been a time for renewing their acquaintance. Now, Abby sat up straighter and smoothed a long wisp of hair behind her ear. Then she balled her fist and dropped it in her lap, perturbed with herself for caring about her appearance.

She knew the exact instant he recognized her by the renewed hint of life in his expression. He gave a curt nod as he walked past her toward the exit, offering only one word in greeting. “Abby.”

She had scarcely enough time to question his presence in the law office before the conference room door opened again. Sheila Jeffries, upstart attorney and daughter of the firm’s founder, poked her head through. “Miss Briggs,” she said. “I’m ready for you.”

Abby picked up a briefcase containing every pertinent document she’d been able to find among her sister’s things, and went inside. The attorney smoothed her hands down the lines of her red linen suit as Abby stepped in, then motioned toward a chair at a corner of the table.

“Coffee?” she asked. Without hesitating, she walked over to a setup on the far end of the room to pour herself a cup.

Abby swallowed. Her throat had been so dry lately. She wondered how much bodily fluid a person could actually lose by crying. “I’d love a glass of water.”

“Certainly.” The attorney pushed a button on the wall, and the hum of an intercom pervaded the room.

“Yes, Ms. Jeffries,” said a crackling voice.

“Please bring Miss Briggs some ice water.”

The hum faded, and the lawyer took a seat across from Abby and started thumbing through the papers stacked in front of her. The only movement on her face was the occasional blink of her perfectly made-up eyes, beneath a pair of perfectly arched eyebrows.

She looked refined. Disinterested. Detached.

As an attorney, she must deal with this type of situation constantly. People died all the time. But since it was her kid sister who’d been snatched away from this earth in a tragic accident, Abby couldn’t be detached. She stared at the other woman, shaken by her composure. How could she sit there so calmly, as if the entire world hadn’t tilted on its axis?

One of the strangest aspects of losing Paige was having to exist in a world that, for the most part, didn’t recognize its loss.

The door opened and the receptionist walked in, carrying a pitcher and glass. She set them near Abby and left the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Ms. Jeffries waited until Abby had poured a glass of water and taken a drink before saying, “You have a document you wanted me to see?”

Abby released the clips of her briefcase, searching inside for the note. “Yes, I do,” she answered. “When Paige was pregnant, she asked me to raise her children if she and Brian ever died. No one ever thinks that’ll happen, but…”

Breaking off when the lump in her throat got too big to talk around, she shrugged, finally locating the note and shoving it across the table. The smell of roses reached her nostrils, and she willed back the threat of tears that came all too often now.

Her sister had always written to her on rose-scented stationery, as a sort of gentle ribbing about Abby’s middle name. A sisterly prank that had begun when they were kids had developed into a loving habit that seemed poignant now. Who would have thought that Paige could die so young?

Ms. Jeffries studied the note. She read the first side slowly, then turned it over to skim the rest before tossing it back down in front of Abby. “This is not legally binding,” she stated bluntly. Almost cruelly.

“It’s all I have in writing, but I’ve been taking care of the babies since the night of the accident and…well, actually, I watched them quite often before.”

“If you can prove that, it might help,” the attorney said. “But a handwritten and unwitnessed letter won’t hold up in court.”

“And I could lose the twins?”

In the middle of sipping her coffee, Ms. Jeffries answered with a one-shouldered shrug.

“What can I do to change that?” Abby asked, reaching over to touch the attorney’s crisp red sleeve.

She frowned. “You’re lucky. A few months ago your sister and her husband drew up a will specifically stating what should happen to their children and their property if they died. Paige didn’t tell you?”

“No, she didn’t. A legal will?”

“I have a copy here. All you have to do is sign a statement petitioning the court for guardianship rights. If the judge agrees, you’ll have every right to make decisions on your ward’s behalf.”

Huffing out a bellyful of air, Abby wondered why Ms. Jeffries couldn’t have shared that information as soon as they stepped into the conference room. She could have been halfway home by now. “And I’ll get to raise the twins?”

“Not both of them.”

A wave of dizziness swept through Abby’s head. “What do you mean, not both? Paige wouldn’t have separated them.”

“It appears that, in a way, she has.”

“Who gets the other twin?”

“I’m not at liberty to say until the hearing tomorrow morning at nine o’clock,” said Ms. Jeffries. “Either you or the other party has the right to surrender guardianship at that time. If you both agree to uphold the intentions of the will, the judge will likely do the same. If you don’t, we’ll have to fight it out in court.”

Abby frowned down at the note her sister had written nearly a year ago. Ignoring its scent now, she studied the curlicue letters of her sister’s handwriting, scrawled across pink paper. Paige had been young and suggestible. Brian must have convinced her to change her mind. She shouldn’t even have been allowed to sign that will.

Abby drew a ragged breath and pressed a thumb and index finger against her eyelids. “Is there anything else?”

“There is. Do you prefer legalese or plain English?”

“Plain English would be fine.”

“You’ve been named as the desired guardian for the baby girl, Rose Allison Kimball. You’ve also been left the house, its contents and the land and structures within the confines of the fenced yard.”

“The farmhouse?” Abby asked, looking up.

“Um-hmm.”

Abby clenched her eyes shut, once again feeling faint. Her usually capable demeanor had been hammered with one too many traumas lately. But at least this surprise had been welcome news—she could continue developing the farm into the profitable enterprise she and her sister had envisioned.

“Are you all right, Miss Briggs?”

“Fine,” she said, opening her eyes. “Is that it, then?”

“Look over this document.” The attorney slid a paper in front of Abby. “If you agree, show up in court tomorrow prepared to sign it. If you don’t, call me tonight.”

“Okay.”

“The twins are with a sitter now?”

“Yes—with my mother.”

“Bring them tomorrow. All family members have been told about the hearing, and some of them may be at court. If all goes as planned, you can take little Rose back home with you in time for lunch tomorrow.”

Abby slid the document into her briefcase alongside her sister’s note, and left the building without uttering another word.

At this moment, she didn’t know which news had been harder to take—the sheriff’s department phone call informing her of the car wreck, or this idiotic notion that she might not get to keep both twins.

She loved those babies. She’d been a doting aunt since their birth. She should be the one to raise them.

She climbed into her truck, stashed the briefcase on the passenger seat and stared out at the office building in front of her.

The adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins in anticipation of this morning’s meeting was dwindling, and in its place was sheer exhaustion.

Last night the babies had each awoken twice, at different times. Abby had sat alone in her dark living room, tending to their needs. Worrying about their future. Ignoring her own pain so she wouldn’t upset them more.

The fitful night had made her understand the burdens of single parenthood better than she ever would have imagined. Her short period of full-time caregiving had been an intense and powerful lesson.

She rubbed her temple, trying to remember where she’d put her grocery list. Wasn’t it on the seat beside her? She lifted the briefcase, searching, and peered over the edge to the floorboard. The sheet was sticking out from under the seat; it must have fallen when she’d gotten out. After snatching it up, she started her truck. She’d have to buy groceries on the way home.

Forty-five minutes later, she walked through the door of her apartment carrying two bags full of baby supplies. She’d bought one single item for herself—a frozen chicken entrée that she could heat later, after the babies had gone to sleep for the night. “Mom, I’m back!” she called out.

Faye Briggs stepped through the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Hello, dear. How did it go?” she asked, taking a bag and carrying it to the table.

Abby followed her, putting the other bag down before giving her mother a hug and a peck on the cheek. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Where are they?”

“On your bedroom floor, asleep.”

Abby scurried through the apartment, then slowed to peer quietly around the door to her bedroom. Her queen-size mattress covered most of the floor space. Pillows and blankets were stacked alongside every edge, creating a giant, makeshift crib in the middle of the room.

Drawn by some maternal force she’d had no idea she had until two weeks ago, she walked into the room and knelt beside the mattress, looking down at the twins. Rosie’s fist was pulled next to her plump cheek, and ringlets haloed her head—just like Paige’s had.

Wyatt was beside his sister, his mouth sucking gently in his sleep. His tiny sock had slipped halfway off his foot, so Abby pulled it off and tucked his blanket over his legs.

Although both babies were sleeping soundly, their faces were turned toward one another, as if each one had fallen asleep in the comfort of the other’s presence.

Tears blurred her vision. Rosie and Wyatt had already lost both parents. They shouldn’t lose one another, too. And she couldn’t lose either one.

She had to find a way to keep them both.

When a shadow fell across the bed, Abby realized her mother was standing beside her. “How long have they been asleep?” she asked, swiping a knuckle under her eyes.

“Just a few minutes.”

Abby tugged Rosie’s blanket over her shoulder, looking down at the babies for one more minute before she got to her feet. Then she and her mother tiptoed out, and Abby closed the door quietly behind them.

They returned to the kitchen and began to put groceries away. “How did it go?” they both asked, and laughed together, too.

“Tell me about your morning first,” Abby said as she put a can of formula into the pantry. “Did they eat breakfast?”

“Rosie drank half her bottle and ate a little rice cereal. Wyatt drank more, but didn’t want the food. They took a sink bath, and we went for a walk. They were fine.”

“Good.” Abby smiled. Her mother had been great to help out. Losing your sister was terrible, but burying your youngest child had to be heartbreaking. Having the babies around to keep them busy had been a blessing to them both.

“Tell me about the meeting,” her mother prompted again.

“It wasn’t good news,” Abby said. “Paige and Brian made up a will a few months ago, naming me as Rosie’s guardian. But someone else has been asked to take Wyatt.”

“Oh, no!” Faye gasped. “Who?”

“I don’t know. If it’s not you, it must be someone from Brian’s side. His mom or brother, I suppose.” Abby squinted at her mother. “It’s not you and Dad, right?”

“No, it’s not. We love the babies, but you’re young and able…and you want them so much. We got a notice about the hearing, but that was all.”

“That leaves Brian’s mom and brother,” Abby said.

“Would his mom want custody?” Faye asked as she handed Abby a couple of packs of diapers.

Abby stacked them on the countertop and turned to look at her mother again. “Based on what Paige told me, probably not. Brian’s mom has her hands full raising a couple of kids from her second marriage. She’s only seen Rosie and Wyatt once, just after they were born.”

“What about Jack?”

Abby shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “He’s single, and seems to live for work and women. Why would he want custody?”

Faye folded the two grocery sacks and handed them to Abby before picking up her car keys. “Well then,” she said, “maybe we’ll get good news tomorrow in court.”

Maybe.

But Abby didn’t want to take any chances. Whoever had been asked to take custody of Wyatt must know by now. She was betting Jack at least knew who it was, since he’d been in the lawyer’s office this morning. In fact, she had a feeling he was her culprit.

Why couldn’t she do a little detective work?

She managed to marshal enough brainpower to see her mother to the door, but her thoughts were already rushing ahead, developing a plan. Jack was a businessman; he must carry a cellphone. She was fairly certain she’d find his number in the address book she’d found at the farmhouse.

She was going to play on her hunch.

SITTING ALONE at a linen-topped table, Abby glanced at the door every time a shape passed by the other side of the window. He was either very late or not coming at all.

The waitress had bustled by three times already, filling Abby’s water glass and asking if she wanted to go ahead and order. The pretty redhead must think she was a pathetic spinster who was being stood up for a date.

Abby didn’t care. Her feet were planted too solidly on this good green earth to worry about what some stranger thought of her.

Practical and outspoken, Abby had learned early in life to meet challenges head-on. Not much intimidated her. But she couldn’t afford to lose another loved one. Paige and Brian had been enough.

The only thing Abby feared right now was losing one of the twins, and she’d do almost anything to keep them together, and in her life. If Jack was, in fact, the chosen guardian for Wyatt, she was prepared to argue, lie or even grovel if it would persuade him to relinquish custody.

Nearly an hour after their prescribed meeting time, a single shadow loomed, tall and somehow threatening. Abby felt a tingle of awareness surge through her, knowing without looking closer that Jack had arrived. He removed his ball cap as he stepped through the door, and ran a hand through his hair as he spoke to the hostess. Then he turned and spotted Abby.

She smiled briefly, lifting a hand in greeting. He strode quickly to the table, beginning to make excuses before he was even halfway there. “Abby, I got caught up in a business call that took awhile to wrap up. I’m glad you waited.”

“It’s okay,” she said, and then wondered why she felt compelled to appease his feelings at the expense of her own. Surely he could see that this meeting was just as crucial as a business call that he could have dealt with later.

He sat down across from her and put his hat on an empty chair seat. Right away, he began to study the menu.

Abby sipped from her water glass and watched him. Though he wasn’t as ghostlike as he’d been this morning, his eyes sported dark circles uncommon to a man as vital as Jack. Brian’s death must have been torture for him.

“Have you ordered?” he asked, without looking up from the menu.

“Nope—wasn’t sure you were coming,” she said, perturbed with herself for feeling sympathetic toward the man she intended to manipulate over dinner.

He looked up quickly after hearing the note of complaint in her voice. “Since I’m late, I’ll treat.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I insist,” he said with a wink and a grin. “What’s good here?” And with a simple change of expression, he became the man she knew. The one she’d met at the wedding.

Charming. Devil-may-care. Lethally sexy.

“Depends on what you want,” she answered tersely.

He searched her eyes. “Are you mad at me for something?”

“Why would I be mad?” she asked, even more agitated with herself for being attracted to him, after all this time.

“I don’t know, you just seem…perturbed.”

She slapped the palm of her hand on the tabletop with a satisfying thump. “Let’s not start things off by arguing.”

“I’m not arguing.”

She knew that must be the voice he used with his clients when their feathers were ruffled, and she refused to be mollified. “But you’re telling me I’m mad, and I’m not—”

She slammed her jaw shut when she noticed the hand reaching between them to pour water into Jack’s glass. The waitress was leaning over them, so intent on her chore she seemed unaware that she’d interrupted a dispute.

After topping off Abby’s water, she started to scuttle away, only glancing up when Jack thanked her for the water. That one peek caused a sudden shift in her demeanor. Her brisk pace slowed to a hip-swinging saunter as she headed back toward the kitchen.

Jack frowned into his menu again, seemingly unaware of the flirtation. But Abby had noticed, and she wasn’t surprised. There was something about the man that made women fawn all over him.

Her sister had always said he was the Romeo type, but Abby knew better. He might very well be a good-time lover to many, but he was a true love to no one. Jack Kimball was your everyday, garden variety Casanova.

Since she’d decided on her menu choices long ago, she took another opportunity to scrutinize him. There was nothing spectacular about his looks—she’d seen men more handsome who didn’t hold her attention for longer than the bat of an eyelash. But Jack had something unique.

He was lean and wiry, and his sun-kissed brown hair waved wildly around his head. His style of dress tended toward the casual. Even at the wedding he’d loosened his tie before the last “I Do.” He didn’t work too hard on his appearance.

But his sky-blue eyes were nice, and probably responsible for half his appeal.

But it wasn’t their hue she noticed, it was their expression. Thick lashes framed eyes that drank you in as if he’d never get his fill of your beauty.

If you were the one lucky enough to have caught his attention, that is. For a brief moment in time.

The waitress returned with her pad and pencil. “I see your date arrived,” she said, smiling at Abby now. “No wonder you waited so long.”

Abby looked back across the table just in time to catch Jack’s wink at the young girl. Abby snorted, and said, “He’s not my date.”

“Really?” The girl smiled brightly at Jack. “Are you ready to order?”

Abby refused to be ignored. She was the lady; she would order first. “I’ll have the roast chicken salad,” she said, breaking into their mutual rapport. “Vinegar and oil on the side, and a glass of your house white wine.”

The waitress wrote frantically. When she was finished, she grinned at Jack again.

He looked across at Abby with a thoughtful frown, then back down at the menu. After a few seconds of silence, it became obvious that he wasn’t ready to order.

Abby expected the waitress to hurry off to the kitchen to accomplish something while her prized patron made a decision, but she did no such thing. She seemed perfectly willing to just stand there, staring at Jack.

Finally, he rubbed his chin and said, “I’ll have the steak, medium rare. Loaded potato. Bring a salad with the meal, ranch dressing on that… Oh—and bring me a bottle of your best stout beer.”

“Will do. Thank you, sir,” said the girl, who was probably still in her teens. He had absolutely no business flirting with her, but he flashed her a smile when she took their menus, and kept watching as she sidled away.

After the waitress was out of earshot, Abby lifted world-weary eyes to Jack’s. “Doesn’t take you long to do that.”

“To do what, Abby?”

“To make a killing with the ladies,” she said, shaking her head. “Or do a snow job.”

“I was only being polite.”

“Uh-huh,” she muttered, picking up her water glass for the umpteenth time.

Jack sighed audibly, commanding her attention again. “Is that why you asked me to dinner? To insult me?”

She echoed his sigh as she set her glass back down. “I wanted to ask you about the hearing tomorrow.”

“What about it?”

Abby crossed her fingers in her lap. “Have you been asked to take custody of Wyatt?”

Jack picked up his own water glass and took a sip, peering at her over its frosty rim. “Are we supposed to be discussing that?”

“Come on, Jack,” she said. “It has to be you or your mother. Paige always told me your mom was busy with her second family. So that leaves you. It has to be you.”

“What if it is?”

“Stop it!”

“Stop what, Abby Rose?”

“Asking questions,” she said. “Answer my questions with answers.” Fidgeting with the lapel of her jacket, she forced herself to take a calming breath. She forced herself to wait. Again.

Jack set his glass down, contemplating it soberly. When he looked up again, the shadows were back in his eyes. “Yes, Brian named me in the will.”

Abby stretched her hand toward him, resting it on the tabletop. “But you’re not going to do it, are you?”

He covered her hand with his own, evoking a sudden heat that caused a spasm in the core of her body. She felt suddenly needy and aroused.

She slid her hand away, placing it in her lap. But it still tingled from his touch, and making a fist didn’t help.

Uncomfortable with her body’s betrayal, she forced her mind to return to the question at hand. She was rather shocked that she could think of sex when something as essential as a baby’s future was in question.

Finally, he said, “To be honest, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Abby was grateful for his candor. Truly, she was. But she needed absolute assurances. “I want custody of both twins. They need to be together,” she announced.

His troubled stare rested on some spot beyond her shoulder. “I don’t want to separate them any more than you do,” he finally said. “But I can’t just sign them out of my life. Wyatt’s my godson.”

“Wyatt is five months old,” Abby said. “He’d be better off with me.”

“He’s five and a half months old, and he’d be better off if his parents hadn’t just died.”

She flinched at his bluntness, but dived right into the fray. “I’m the next best thing, and I want him.”

Jack didn’t respond. Something past her head had caught his interest again.

The waitress had arrived with their orders, interrupting a second brawl at their table by the window. “Here you go, sir,” she said as she placed Jack’s meal in front of him. “Let me know if your steak isn’t perfection itself.”

Then she flopped Abby’s plate down and said, “Pepper?”

“Yes, please.”

The redhead pulled a pepper mill from her apron pocket and twisted it over the salad. When Abby motioned for her to stop, the waitress looked at Jack and asked, “Do you like things spicy, sir?”

Jack shook his head, so the young woman dropped the mill into her pocket, smiled at him one more time and disappeared toward the back of the restaurant.

He picked up his knife and fork to begin cutting into his steak. Abby thought it was just like him to attack his meat first, leaving his salad for later. Although she’d been around him only a few times, she knew he didn’t pay much heed to social niceties. He did what he wanted.

She worked that tidbit of knowledge around in her brain, looking for criticism. Instead, she found nothing but respect for his mettle.

She nibbled at her own salad, letting him eat in peace for a few minutes. Maybe he’d be more amenable when his appetite had been appeased.

After she’d finished most of her meal, she began to deliberate on her next words. She wanted to frame them carefully, seeking the best way of convincing him.

“Do you realize you haven’t even asked about the twins?” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but having done so, she raised her brows in challenge and waited.

Jack looked up, chewing a mouthful of food and frowning.

After he swallowed, he said, “I knew you’d taken them home, and I was trusting you to care for them until this was all worked out. Are they all right? Where are they?”

“They’re with a friend. But you didn’t ask about them until just now.” Abby rested her fork on the edge of her plate, no longer hungry now that she was ready to hash this thing out.

“It’s obvious you love those babies. You would have told me anything important.” He stabbed his fork into a piece of steak, stuffed it in his mouth and nodded at her.

“I don’t know if I would.”

“Yes, Abby. You would,” he said around his mouthful.

“How many times have you seen them?” she hissed.

“As often as I could get away from Kansas City. Maybe four or five times.”

“Have you ever changed a diaper?” She picked up her fork again and toyed with a chunk of chicken on her plate, cutting it into tiny morsels before lifting one to her lips. As she chewed, she scowled at Jack, waiting for the reply she knew was coming.

“No, but how hard can that be?” He kept eating, but now his eyes were sharp with anger.

“Have you ever calmed a crying baby?”

He shook his head and kept chewing.

“You honestly think you can take a five-month-old boy home and figure him out? He’s a human being, not a computer.”

Jack put his fork down and planted one fist on each side of his dinner plate. “Wyatt is five and a half months old,” he reminded her. “And if Brian could figure him out, so can I.”

“When? Are you going to quit your job?”

He raised one brow. “I can afford to hire a nanny.”

Abby nearly jumped out of her seat, her fury was so intense. “So, Wyatt will be raised by some stranger because you’re too mulish to admit I’m the best person for the job!”

Jack pushed his plate away and picked up his beer. He downed the rest of the glass without once pulling his eyes away from hers. Finally, he said, “The truth is, Brian left a letter with the lawyer for me to read on the event of his death.”

“A letter?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t get one from Paige.”

“Sorry.”

“What did it say?”

He leaned over to pull his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Here, you can read it yourself,” he said.

Abby scooted her salad plate aside before taking the letter. She unfolded it carefully, knowing he must treasure this last communication from his brother, then started to read.

Dear Jack,

Hey, if you’re reading this, it means I croaked.

Funny to think about that, but it means Paige died, too, and that’s not funny at all. Paige and I have had our problems, but lately things have been good. We’re learning to compromise when we have a fight. One of the things we’ve worked out has been what to do if the babies need a home. Paige wants her sister to get them. Abby’s great, but she’s a single woman. A boy needs a man around. You know that. I want you to raise Wyatt if we die. We’re naming you as his guardian, and leaving you the land you financed. Please try it for a year, and then if you want to blow it off, you have my blessing. (Give Abby a chance and sell her the land cheap, you old shark.) But try it. You’re not doing anything better.

I love you, bro.

Brian

Abby refolded the paper with shaking hands. How could she compete with the plea of a dead man?

She couldn’t. She knew that. But in time she would find a way. She knew that, too.

Looking into Jack’s stricken face, she handed him the letter and shook her head. “Okay. You win this round,” she said. “But there’s something in there that’s confusing. They left you the ten acres of land?”

“Yes,” he said, shrugging as he slid the letter back inside his wallet.

“They left me the house.”

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes glittering with some internal emotion. She wondered if he was going to throw a fit or start blubbering.

He did neither.

His burst of laughter rang out across the restaurant, turning the heads of several nearby diners. “Those two rascals left me a piece of land with no house to live in,” he said in a voice rich with amusement. “They left you an old house with no farm to finance the upkeep. And they left each of us a twin.”

“Uh-huh,” Abby said, her brow pinched. Why was he laughing?

He shook his head, as if she should have gotten his point. “They were plotting something.”

Despite the circumstances, she had to grin. “Paige always did grill me about what I thought of you.”

Jack chuckled. “And Brian always said you were the perfect woman for me.”

Abby’s laugh was every bit as loud as his had been. “They were so naive,” she said. “We’ve already determined that I’m not enough woman for you, haven’t we?”

CHAPTER TWO

JACK TOOK MEASURE of Abby’s expression as he walked down the courthouse steps toward her, trying to determine whether she was despondent or furious. She was probably both, and he could hardly blame her. None of this felt right, but it was what Brian and Paige had wanted.

Abby had a parent flanking each side. At first glance, Mike Briggs seemed as easygoing as usual. He stood next to his daughter with a big yellow diaper bag looped over his arm. Today, however, his mouth formed a bleak line across his face.

Faye was the only one of the three adults who offered a smile. She stood to Abby’s left, holding the twin in white ruffles—that must be Rosie.

Abby had Wyatt clutched tightly against her chest, and looked quite comfortable for a woman who’d been caring for those babies only a couple of weeks. Her lips were pressed against the boy’s forehead, and she was swaying from side to side. The tip of the braid she always wore appeared at one side of her waist, then the other like a pendulum, as if keeping track of how many floggings he deserved for taking the boy from her.

Jack paused on the steps to blow out a puff of pure frustration, before charging on down to the group. When he reached them, Abby handed the child over without a word. Her lips were pinched so tightly that a scattering of dimples embellished her chin.

He smiled at her, appealing silently for understanding, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her stormy eyes never abandoned the baby.

Turning his own attention to the boy in his arms, he looked down into the face of his brother’s child—and his responsibility for about the next eighteen years. Wyatt’s eyes were a muddy blue today—somewhere between the gray-blue of a newborn and whatever shade he’d wind up with eventually. They were wide and trusting. Innocent.

A fit of panic nearly overwhelmed Jack, but he squelched it, and put on a mask of bravado for the benefit of Abby and her parents. “Hi, Wyatt,” he crooned. “I’m Daddy Jack. I’m going to take good care of you.”

The baby stared back. He had grown considerably in five and a half months, but he was still so very…puny. His balled fist lurched wildly through the air, and his face scrunched into an odd contortion.

Nervously, Jack studied the way Faye was holding Rosie with the baby’s back against her chest, wrapped in her arms, and gently bouncing. Rosie seemed content with the situation, so Jack copied their stance. The change in position meant he couldn’t see Wyatt’s face, but since the boy hadn’t started screaming, he figured it was working.

Abby and her parents stood watching, placing the burden of goodbyes on him. Since he couldn’t offer a handshake, he offered a nod instead. “Faye and Mike, it’s been good to see you again,” he said. “Next time, let’s hope we meet under easier circumstances.”

“Of course, dear,” Faye said. “This has been terrible for all of us. I’m just glad your brother and Paige were so happy in the past year.”

Jack wasn’t sure whether he was pleased that his brother had grown into his marriage, or sad that the happiness had been so short-lived, so he didn’t respond.

Instead, he noted the way Abby had her arms wrapped against her stomach, and he smiled at her again, hoping to soothe her pain. “Abby, we need to talk about the farm,” he said. “May I call you?”

“I guess you’ll have to,” she answered.

Jack started toward his car, carting Wyatt in front of him like a sack of potatoes. He knew four pairs of eyes were probably boring into his back, but he’d gone a few yards before Abby spoke.

“Jack? Don’t you want his things?”

He stopped in his tracks and turned around. Of course. The baby’s things. He’d been so intent on looking capable that he’d forgotten Wyatt would need special food, and diapers. He’d need clothes and toys and…baby things.

“I have some of it in my truck,” Abby said, beginning to walk toward the other end of the parking lot.

As Jack followed her, he added idiocy to his growing pile of bad feelings. At least this one wasn’t new—she had a knack for making him feel foolish.

Maybe it was her no-nonsense manner. Maybe it was her sober expression. Whatever it was, it always seemed abundantly clear that she wouldn’t surrender to his most valiant efforts to charm.

But at least she was in the minority—most women surrendered plenty.

At fourteen, Jack had taken a wide-angled look at his future. As far as school was concerned, he’d been on a path to success. He was sure to graduate in the upper five percent, along with many of his pals in the computer club.

The only problem was that none of them had been surrounded by girls. He’d recognized the narrow perception most of his peer group had of intelligent males, and refused to accept it.

He could do better. He’d used his brains to figure out the most surefire method to win a lady’s attention, if not her heart, and a would-be nerd had turned into a masterful lothario.

Since then, most women had been only too happy to catch his interest. Abby was one of very few who’d been resistant. But she hadn’t always been. She’d consented to more than one dance at Brian and Paige’s wedding reception. She’d even laughed at a few jokes, until they’d talked their way into a squabble.

Now she didn’t seem to mind hurtling across the parking lot in front of him, and she didn’t try to make polite conversation. Once she reached a big blue pickup, she opened the passenger door and reached inside for a second diaper bag and a box of supplies. “If you’ll meet me at the farmhouse tomorrow morning, say around nine, we can get the rest of his things,” she said. “This is just a start.”

“Sure thing. Phenomenal. Thanks.”

Abby set the box on the pavement and looked pointedly at Wyatt. “Why don’t I hold him while you put these in your car? Then I’ll get his car seat and you can take it, too.”

Handing the baby back to her, he looped the diaper bag over a shoulder, picked up the box and strode to his car to stash both in the trunk.

Returning to Abby, he took Wyatt again, and thought about all the juggling involved in transporting a single infant. How had Abby thought she could handle two of them alone?

He was careful to hold Wyatt in the same face-out position, rocking him gently, and was surprised when the boy started to whimper. When Jack bounced harder, the bawling got louder. He cleared his throat. “Abby? Why is he crying?”

“You have a lot to learn, don’t you?” she said. “He may be hungry or wet. Try putting your fingertip in his mouth.”

Jack scowled. This was no time to make jokes.

Abby opened her eyes wide, set her hands on her hips and waited. She looked serious.

Frowning still, he stretched one hand across Wyatt’s chest so he could press a pinkie finger against the quivering lips. Wyatt immediately stopped sniveling and started sucking.

“Good,” Abby said. “Your finger should calm him until you can dig a binky out of the bag.”

“A binky?”

She chuckled. “A pacifier.”

Abby turned back to her truck, leaning across the back seat to disengage one of the car seats. She had the most delicious little tush, and the skirt she was wearing showcased it perfectly. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine what she’d look like without it.

Jack smothered a groan and looked away. The last thing he needed was to foster an attraction for Abby.

Keeping his finger in place, he lifted Wyatt onto his forearm and occupied himself with chuckling at the boy’s tiny vest and long brown curls. Abby had dressed him like a little man today, but from the looks of things, a trip to the barber would be in order before Wyatt’s first birthday.

Abby clunked the car seat down on the pavement and lifted Wyatt from his arms. “I’ll carry him to your car,” she said. “Installing a car seat takes both hands.”

Make that three to four hands, Jack thought a few minutes later as he fumbled with straps and buckles that seemed to make no sense.

It took one extra baby rotation before the seat was secure, but after Abby’s more practiced hands took over the chore, Wyatt was in the seat with a pacifier and she was heading back across the parking lot toward her parents.

Jack frowned as he sat in his car and watched her go. Her purposeful walk belied the reluctance she must have felt, and he knew she had to be upset.

He wished he could think of a better way. He glanced down at Wyatt, whose eyelids were droopy by now, and back out the window at Abby.

Her stride hadn’t faltered, but somehow, in a morning of mixed-up feelings, her walk made him smile. It wasn’t her speed or the lack of artificial sway, so much as the perfection of well-used legs and a sweet round bottom that couldn’t help but wiggle. That no-nonsense walk was as entrancing as any he’d seen.

That walk, and his reaction to seeing it, were the only right things about the morning. He kept grinning as he started his car. Quite unintentionally, Abby had graced him with a moment of pure delight.

“ABBY? IT’S ME,” Jack said, pleased that she had answered her phone. During the last call she had definitely sounded riled. He’d been afraid she would take the phone off the hook, and he needed her advice.

“Yes, Jack. What do you need?”

“I finally got this formula mixed and heated, and then the phone rang and I didn’t get Wyatt fed for thirty minutes. Do I have to start over completely?”

“Hang on,” she said with a long sigh. She spoke to someone in the background. The string of babbling that followed must be Rosie, playing. In his five hours with Wyatt, Jack had heard nothing but wailing.

“He’s been waiting for his bottle for thirty minutes?” Abby asked abruptly. She sounded as if she was right there beside him. He could picture her with her hands on her hips and that preachy look on her face. “What’s he doing?”

“Lying on the floor, sucking on a pacifier.”

“For thirty minutes? What did you do with the bottle?”

She made a tsk-ing sound, which was totally unnecessary.

There was no possible way for Jack to feel any more inept than he already did.

“It’s on the counter, in the kitchenette.”

“For Pete’s sake, feed the kid. Why didn’t you do it while you were talking on the phone?”

“Sometimes I need to get on my laptop to figure out how to solve a client’s problem. I needed my hands free.”

“Jack, wake up. You’re a parent now,” she said, her tone implying exactly how dim she thought he was.

“You may have to call a client back now and then.”

After hanging up, Jack retrieved the bottle from the kitchen and settled down with Wyatt on the hotel sofa. He popped the pacifier out of the baby’s mouth and watched in horror as the tiny back stiffened and the tinier mouth opened wide to shriek.

Frantically, he stuck the bottle in. And relaxed. Once that first taste of formula hit Wyatt’s tongue, he quieted quickly. “That’s my boy,” Jack said, feeling as if he’d conquered a major obstacle.

He was going to get this baby business down and get back to Kansas City. Back to his life. Things would go much better there—he’d have his speakerphone, his main computer and his girlfriends to ask for advice. They might not know as much as Abby, but they’d never make him feel unfit, either.

Under the circumstances, Abby’s snappy attitude made sense, but he was certainly not dim. He loved a challenge. He could make this work.

Wasn’t he the same guy who’d managed to finish high school a full year early? In spite of having little help from a mother who was busy running through boyfriends.

Jack had to keep Brian occupied and fed on many nights, and he’d still been able to attend college, keep a string of girlfriends happy and start his own business. He could learn to care for a person too young to walk or talk.

Besides, for all practical purposes he’d already raised a boy. Although Brian had been older by the time he had taken over the chore, Jack knew that if he could just persevere until Wyatt was about school age, the job would be old hat.

The most important thing, he thought, was a desire to do the job well. Motivation was half the battle with anything.

He could always deal with the guilt later.

But a few minutes after Wyatt finished the bottle, he started fussing again. Jack changed a diaper that was only slightly wet, but the baby kept screaming. Jack couldn’t figure out why. He’d have to call Abby again.

“Hullo?”

“Abby, he’s been crying for fifteen minutes straight,” he hollered above the noise.

“Did you feed him?”

“Yes,” he said in horror, thinking there must have been something terribly wrong with the formula. “He drank the whole bottle.”

“Did you burp him?”

“Oh…uh, no. I didn’t. Hang on, I’m picking him up. Talk me through it,” he implored. “Talk loud.”

He held Wyatt out in front of him, hoping against hope the child simply needed burping. The baby howled as if a pin was sticking in his belly, but these diapers had Velcro. That formula must have been spoiled.

Next time, his client would wait.

Abby described the burping position she found most effective, and several others to try if that one didn’t work. Within a few minutes, the tiny boy had produced three burps that could vie for a record with Jack’s beer guzzling buddies. All of the sudden, Wyatt was gurgling and waving his fists in the air contentedly.

Once again Jack thanked Abby for her help and hung up.

After that, the Kimball men had a fairly decent evening. Jack found a soft blue blanket in the diaper bag and spread it on the floor. He let the baby kick around on that while he ate a room service dinner.

Later, they took in the end of a baseball game together. Wyatt hadn’t actually developed a fondness for sports yet, but if Jack sat on the floor beside him and spoke animatedly about the wisdom or folly of each play, the baby seemed happy to respond to the conversation.

When Wyatt started sobbing again after the game, Jack fed him—brilliantly, this time. He had the baby fed and burped within a half hour, without a single snag. Then he changed a dirty diaper, congratulating himself on that, too. It had been his first poopy diaper, and he managed it without needing a bit of advice.

He called Abby only one more time that night.

“Hullo, Jack. What is it?” she asked tiredly, after just one ring.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Are you kidding? You’ve called at least once every hour for the past six. I was wondering where you’d gone.”

“Oh.”

“Well, what is it?”

Abby had worked her magic again: he felt foolish. He considered hanging up, but he still needed to know the answer to his question. “How do I take a shower?”

She giggled. “Now you’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not,” he said. “What do I do with Wyatt?”

“It’s eleven o’clock. He’s not asleep yet?”

“No.”

After another exaggerated sigh, she said, “Is there a separate place in your hotel room for him to sleep?”

“Yes, we’re in a suite.”

“Go pull a mattress off the bed and put Wyatt in the middle of it on his back. Stack pillows on every side. Then—and this is the most important part—leave the room.”

It sounded too easy. “Won’t he cry?”

“For a while, but if he’s quiet within a few minutes, you’ve made it,” she said in a whisper-soft voice that sounded sweet for the first time today. “Then you can go take a shower.”

“Good,” he said, grateful for her kindness. He’d been through enough already.

“And Jack?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to bed. Babies wake up at night. You check their diaper, see if they’re hungry. You can do that. Don’t call me again unless it’s an emergency.”

SEVEN HOURS LATER, Jack stirred from a light snooze when Wyatt starting moving around. The arm of the hotel room sofa was rock hard, making deep sleep out of the question. But Wyatt had been quiet and comfortable, belly down against his uncle’s chest, with a blanket tucked snugly around him.

Jack had tried Abby’s suggestion. He had tried hard. But it had been impossible to listen to Wyatt shriek for longer than a minute or two. For all he knew, the child had fallen off the mattress and rolled across the floor. Or maybe the little guy missed his family. Jack couldn’t discount that possibility.

Besides, he had the other hotel guests to consider.

So he’d slept on the sofa with Wyatt nestled on his chest. The arrangement had worked wonders for the baby.

Jack himself hadn’t slept more than an hour or two.

All those wakeful hours had afforded him plenty of thinking time, and he’d started to come to some conclusions. For one thing, taking care of an infant was a laborious chore— Wyatt seemed to need constant attention.

Where had Jack gotten the impression that babies slept most of the time? So far, Wyatt had cried more than he’d slept. Or so it seemed.

If he took the baby back to Kansas City, he could try working from home so he could tend to Wyatt. He imagined a day broken into scattered segments of trying to feed, change and pacify a baby, while his clients cooled their heels on the other end of the phone line. And Jack had no idea what he’d do when he had to go on a business trip.

In any case, his company would probably fail.

If he hired round-the-clock care, he could spend time with his nephew whenever he wasn’t working. Then he’d have a definite hand in the boy’s upbringing.

Of course, Jack would have to slow down his social life to a snail’s pace. The ladies would have to visit him at home, or see him a lot less often.

But when it came right down to it, he didn’t have many options. His working hours were unpredictable, and he didn’t have a kindly old aunt nearby to help when he needed it.

Although there were three women he dated regularly, none seemed as if they would want to take on the chore.

He knew for certain that Paula, the woman he’d known the longest, would revolt at being asked to help with an infant.

She might close her eyes to his playboy ways, but she wouldn’t tolerate a child. She often said that having children was what other women did when they didn’t have the imagination to create an exciting life for themselves.

There was something else that was bothering him, too, and it was the most important aspect of his dilemma. The twins were all that was left of the family Brian had loved. Jack shouldn’t tear them apart, especially not after they’d just lost their parents. They deserved to grow up knowing one another. At the very least, they deserved to spend time together as siblings. He shouldn’t take that away from them.

But he couldn’t just give the boy up, either. That would be letting himself down, as well as Brian.

Jack needed to talk to Abby.

ONE OF THE BABIES was crying.

Abby woke up, stumbled off the couch and headed for the bedroom to see which one needed her. By the time she’d crossed the threshold, she remembered. Jack had taken Wyatt.

It had required all the self-control she could muster to help that man through his troubles yesterday, when all she’d wanted was to go over there and bring Wyatt home.

Lifting Rosie off the mattress, she hummed softly. The baby began to quiet immediately, but Abby knew she was probably hungry. It was six o’clock, about the time the babies usually woke up.

Trudging into the kitchen to pull a bottle from the refrigerator, Abby warmed it, then wandered back to her rocker with both baby and bottle. She settled in for a while, watching Rosie drink.

Yesterday’s events kept replaying in her head like a nightmare. Jack had really taken Wyatt. And then he had called her all day long, reminding her constantly that his knowledge of babies could fit on the wing of an aphid.

She wondered how Wyatt had slept last night, or whether he had slept at all. A brutal stab of longing pierced through her heart, starting her tears falling again.

She let them flow, reassuring Rosie that crying was healthy and healing. The sweet girl looked at Abby as if she understood the pain, seeming oddly wise—until she reached up with chubby fingers and clenched Abby’s nose.

Abby’s responding chuckle caused Rosie to smile back and kick her feet in happiness. And for all her innocence, she provided a wealth of comfort.

After Rosie had been fed, burped, bathed and dressed, Abby let her play on the floor with a bowl of plastic fish while she gathered some things in a diaper bag.

Yesterday had proved that she couldn’t wait for serendipity to solve her problems. Jack had no business trying to fit a sweet little boy into his self-absorbed lifestyle. Paige wouldn’t have wanted that, no matter what the will said, and now it was up to Abby to make sure it didn’t happen. Somehow.

She wanted nothing more than to raise both twins together, on the farm in the country. After all, that was a modified version of her lifelong dream.

Ever since she was a young girl, a country life was what she had envisioned for herself. She’d wanted to marry some dark-haired, faceless man, raise a yardful of kids and animals, and grow flowers.

Many of the childhood games of “let’s pretend” she had played with her sister had revolved around that theme.

After her divorce, Abby realized her fairy tale would never include the dark-haired man. She’d made a foolish choice once, and she didn’t trust herself to try again. But she’d never forgotten the rest of the fantasy.

Her sister had been more successful in starting down all the right paths, but she was gone now. It was only fitting that Abby should carry on pursuing their shared hopes.

If only she could convince Jack to give up Wyatt.

A few minutes later, she drove down the long dirt lane to the eighty-year-old-house she’d loved most of her life. Jack’s silver two-seater sports car was parked haphazardly in the drive, with his familiar blue cap resting on its hood. He’d beaten her here.

She parked behind him and hopped out to pull Rosie from the back seat. A whistle sounded, and she whirled around to find Jack watching from beside a massive white column of the wraparound wooden porch.

His hair was as unruly as ever, and he looked as if he hadn’t shaved today. The dark stubble turned his eyes impossibly blue, and a loden-green sport shirt showed off his wide chest. He looked handsome in a homey sort of way. In fact, his relaxed approach to grooming only sparked her interest more.

He looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

“You make that look easy,” he said.

“What?”

“Getting her in and out of that seat. It took me a long time to figure out those straps again after I got Wyatt to the hotel yesterday.”

“Where is he?” she asked, just now realizing that Jack wasn’t carrying him.

He pointed to his car. Whether from overprotectiveness, or a complete lack of trust, Abby was peering through the car window within seconds.

Wyatt was in his car seat, sound asleep. The cracked window provided adequate ventilation, and the morning air was comfortable for early August. The boy was in no danger, but still…

“How long have you left him in there?”

“Less than two minutes,” Jack said. “He was asleep when we got here, so I came up to look around on the porch.”

Abby squinted at him, wondering if he was being truthful. After yesterday, she wouldn’t be surprised if Wyatt had been left much longer. Jack might be some guru computer consultant, but he knew nothing about babies.

“Go ahead, touch the hood of the car,” he said with a raised brow. “It’s probably still warm.”

“That’s not necessary.” She sniffed and carried Rosie onto the porch. Once there, Abby foraged through her purse with one hand, searching for the door key.

“Let me help,” Jack offered, holding his arms out.

Reluctantly, Abby handed the baby over just long enough to locate her keys. Neither he nor Rosie seemed to mind the exchange. He smiled sweetly into the baby girl’s face, provoking a sweeter smile from Rosie, and a string of syllables that sounded something like, “Bibibibi deek?”

Ignoring Jack’s chuckled response, Abby opened the door and stepped inside. Subdued light from an overhead window set off the foyer’s original wood flooring, and somehow the house smelled fresh, despite the fact that it had been closed up most of the past two weeks.

Maybe it was an illusion—she’d always felt welcome when she walked through this doorway—but now just being here put her at ease. As if she’d come home.

Jack followed her inside, with Rosie prattling happily in his arms. “Why don’t I get Wyatt and put him in his crib?” Abby offered. “It’s still set up in the nursery.”

Without waiting for a response, she jogged back outside and lifted Wyatt from the car seat, cuddling him close as she returned.

Jack had disappeared into the house with Rosie, so she headed upstairs to the nursery. She put Wyatt into his own crib and backed quietly away.

At the doorway, she switched on the baby monitor and took the receiver with her. She found Jack and Rosie in the kitchen, looking out the French doors into the greenhouse Abby and Paige had built last year.

Jack was speaking gently to the child, holding her up so she could see out. As soon as Abby walked into the room, he turned and said, “The flowers are thriving out there. Have you been keeping them up?” He shifted Rosie to his other arm, already seeming adept at holding a baby.

Abby’s heart fell; she’d been counting on his complete and continuing discomfort with kids.

She put the receiver on the table and went to claim her little girl. “I have,” she admitted. “I had been helping Paige start a commercial cut-flower business, and I couldn’t let it all go.”

“Didn’t your family know the man who owned this place?”

“Mr. Apple Man,” she began, and paused to chuckle at herself for the mistake. “That’s what Paige and I called him when we were growing up, because of the orchards. Actually, his name is Larry Epelstein. When he got too old to run the place, he offered to sell it to us, cheap. He wanted to be sure someone got in here who would take care of his trees.”

“Everyone in your family has a green thumb, don’t they?”

“Guess so,” Abby answered, gnawing at her lip as she looked out at the colorful melange of flowers.

She’d need to water them today, and some of the varieties would need deadheading. She hadn’t found the energy to get the blooms to market lately. If things didn’t improve anytime soon, perhaps she never would.

Jack touched her arm. “Since we’re both here, why don’t we talk now?”

Still staring out into the greenhouse, she considered why it felt as if he held her very life in his hands. He seemed to hold a balance of power here. He had Wyatt, and the land the orchards were situated on. She knew Rosie and the house were every bit as valuable, but there was one difference.

Abby wanted what he had.

Pretending a courage she didn’t feel, she wandered over to the antique oak table that dominated the middle of the kitchen. “Guess now’s as good a time as any,” she said as she slid into a chair with Rosie on her lap.

Jack sat across from her, and actually smiled when Rosie started fussing. “Well!” he said. “It’s good to know that you can make yours cry, too.”

Abby swallowed a bristling retort and forced herself to smile back. “She probably just wants to play,” she said. “There’s an activity center in the nursery. I’ll sneak up and get it.”

She plopped the crying baby back into Jack’s arms and grinned at his swift change of expression. Now he looked close to tears.

She ran back up to the nursery, reminding herself all the way of how much more effective she’d be if she kept her cool.

After she lugged the toy back down to the kitchen and put Rosie into the seat, her sobbing stopped. But the knowledge that she and Jack were assured a few minutes of peace did little to calm Abby’s nerves.

“Okay,” she said, tugging at the neck of her T-shirt as she sat down again. “Where should we start?”

“I did a lot of thinking last night,” he said as he frowned at his hands, which were folded on the table. “We need to work out a way to keep the twins together.”

Abby felt a rush of relief so profound that she hopped up to kiss him. It was nothing more than a hasty smack on the cheek, but as soon as she did it she realized her mistake.

His beard scraped against her lips, making them feel soft and pouty. And he smelled incredible. Manly, like some bracing man’s soap, or like ocean air. She hadn’t experienced that sort of smell in a long, long time.

A deep, urgent response walloped her so powerfully that she immediately closed her eyes and collapsed back into her chair. When she opened them again, she realized he was checking out her chest.

Apparently, her kiss had affected him, too. Or perhaps he was always ready for an opportunity to check out a female body. Even Abby’s.

She crossed her arms in front of her. “Sorry,” she said. “You caught me by surprise.”

His crinkle-eyed gaze floated leisurely up to her face.

“Hey, don’t ever apologize for kissing me,” he said. Then he cleared his throat. “I just don’t know how to do it.”

“Um, do what, exactly?”

“Keep them together.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, sweeping her gaze to the precious baby girl she’d managed to forget for an instant.

“I’m not ready to give up my place in Kansas City,” he explained. “It’s a phenomenal town home, near the heart of the business district. Many of my clients have offices nearby.”

“Are you planning to leave Wyatt here?” she asked.

Perhaps her hopes were coming true. If he would sell her the land, too, her dreams would be tied up with a tidy bow.

“No,” he said, dashing her hopes abruptly. “I’ll stay a year as Brian requested. If you run the orchard, the proceeds can go back into the farm. Next fall, we can talk about a fair price for the land, and a way to keep Wyatt and Rosie in contact. Things might be easier by then.”

“Maybe.”

Jack ran a hand along his whiskery jaw, staring out at the greenhouse. “I could sublet the town home….”

Abby listened as he thought out loud. Since he was moving things in her direction on his own, she decided to let him ramble on before she butted in. Maybe he’d realize he should just leave Wyatt here with her. Forever.

“…and find a place around here. You know of anyplace?”

She thought of the land surrounding the farm. There was a cattle ranch on one side and a wheat farm on the other. She shook her head. “There’s nothing to rent out here.”

Wyatt’s howl exploded into the room, causing Jack to jump out of his seat. “Hot damn—” he began, then glanced at Rosie. “Hot dang, what is that racket?”

Abby clicked off the receiver. “Just the baby monitor.”

He stared at the device. “Why is it so loud?”

Abby was already headed for the stairs. “A bad habit,” she hollered back. “This house is so big I’m afraid I won’t hear them, so I turn it up full blast.”

Wyatt quieted almost immediately when Abby picked him up.

She used one of Rosie’s diapers to change him, and then carried him back downstairs, thinking all the way.

She loved this baby. She wanted to be near him every single day and night. She’d do anything to achieve that goal.

Anything.

When she got back to the kitchen, she handed Wyatt to Jack, then lifted Rosie out of the bouncer and laid her belly-down on the floor. “This is when a high chair would come in handy,” she said. “Paige was thinking about getting one, but the babies only started eating solid food a few weeks ago.”

A frown creased Jack’s forehead. “Is Wyatt hungry?”

“No, but one baby could sit in a high chair with a couple of toys while the other took a turn in the activity center.” Abby took Wyatt and deposited him in the toy’s seat. “It’s just another source of amusement for the twins.”

Wyatt immediately started bouncing and batting at colorful knobs. “You were just ready to play, weren’t you?” she crooned.

Opening a cabinet drawer, she pulled out a couple of toys and tossed them in front of Rosie, who propped herself up on sturdy arms to grab a set of plastic keys.

When she dropped them, they produced a clacking sound that must have pleased her, because she snagged them right back up and began hitting them repeatedly against the terracotta tiles.

“If I can find a big enough apartment, I could run my business from there,” Jack said as Abby returned to the table. “There’s bound to be something suitable in town.”

“Or we could both move in here,” Abby suggested, wondering even as she said it if she was completely insane. “This house has plenty of room for an office, and we could switch off duties so we’d both have time to work.”

“You mean we’d live together as roommates?” Jack asked.

“Of course,” she said, trying with all her might to make the suggestion seem like no big deal. Even though it was. A big deal.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he murmured, staring at her with a bemused expression. “I could set up my office here easily enough, but don’t you work at a flower shop?”

“My parents own a flower shop in town,” she corrected. “I work at a garden supply warehouse, but I was thinking of quitting, anyway. I could pay my share of the bills with the profits from the cut-flower business.”

“Hmm,” he said, pushing out his bottom lip and toying with the whiskers underneath. “I like this idea more and more. The babies would have both of us around for a year and by the end of that time they’d be easier to manage.”

“Um-hmm,” Abby said, worrying about the idea more and more. Could she and Jack actually live here, together?

He might not know her from a garden of weeds, but she was painfully aware of his vitality. Always.

She also knew he led a pretty active social life. Would he want to bring his women here? She began to imagine a revolving door of various women, coming in and out of the farmhouse and cooing at the babies before they vanished into Jack’s room to coo some more.

“Sounds cozy,” he said, breaking into her angst.

“Doesn’t it, though?” She feigned composure, but her alarm grew exponentially as her idea hurtled from impetuous to barely conceivable to likely. And remained, all the while, quite impossible.

CHAPTER THREE

ABBY HAD HAULED seven loads of her belongings past the burned-out front porch light before she finally decided to change it. She had just dragged a kitchen chair outside and perched on top to make the adjustment when her new neighbor, Sharon Hauser, hollered from inside. “Donation box, or new location?”

Sharon’s matronly figure filled the doorway. She held a bean-pot lamp on one hip, and Wyatt on the other. Her usual smile was missing as she stared at Abby’s precarious pose.

Abby held up the bulb and light cover, and chuckled when her friend’s big, gummy smile returned. Though Sharon had at least fifteen years on Abby, she was on the same wavelength. Sometimes words weren’t necessary.

Abby finished the job and hopped down. As she carried the chair back in, she said, “I asked you here to help with Rosie and Wyatt. I can finish unpacking.”

Sharon jiggled both baby and lamp, prompting a happy squeal from Wyatt. “Shush,” she told Abby. “Scrap or keep—that’s all I need to know.”

Abby knew not to argue. She squinted at the lamp. “Keep,” she answered. “Put it on the table beside the sofa.”

Sharon swept the lamp and the giggling Wyatt off toward the living room, and Abby headed off in the other direction to cart the chair back to the kitchen.

Her helpful new friend was well on her way to becoming a cherished old friend. She had appeared on that very same porch the morning after the accident, and she’d been just as obstinate then about lending a hand. She’d pushed her way in behind a pierogi casserole, explained that she was the wife of the farmer down the road, and had commandeered the babies and the kitchen duties so Abby could deal with the tragic news.

That morning, Abby had been too stunned to argue. She’d been baby-sitting the twins the night before, and had waited up all night for Paige and Brian’s return. She’d thought they must have decided to stay out overnight, and reasoned that they’d been having too much fun to let her know.

She had only learned the grisly truth at dawn, after their overturned car was discovered near a dirt road just two miles from the farmhouse. The white-tailed deer Brian had swerved to avoid was found dead a few yards away, and the furrowed path in the steep embankment told the rest of the story. At first, Abby blamed herself. If only she’d thought to call someone, perhaps they could have been saved. But the coroner had said their death was immediate. He’d called it merciful.

Abby didn’t know if a healthy young couple could die a merciful death. She only knew they were gone forever, leaving her behind with a couple of babies who would never be orphans as long as she was around.

That night had created a deep and unhealing chasm in her memory. Everything before had become part of a past that was already lost. Everything since was the future.

Uncertain. Frightening. As important as air.

The delicious sound of baby cackles broke into her thoughts and led her down the hall. She discovered her neighbor and the twins—vital components of her new life—cavorting in one of the rooms she had emptied for Jack.

Sharon now held a baby in each arm, and she was spinning lazy circles in the middle of the room. “Looks funny without Brian’s exercise equipment,” she said. “You sure about this living arrangement?”

Abby glanced around at the generous space, unwilling to voice her turmoil. “Sure I’m sure,” she said.

And she was, in a way. At least she was glad to know that Wyatt would be here, in this house, with her and Rosie. Abby might have snagged a rather large stray in the form of Jack Kimball, but since the baby boy she’d tried to lasso was included, it should be well worth it.

“Since I volunteered to baby-sit the twins during the funeral, I’ve never met Jack,” Sharon said. She stopped turning, and caught Abby’s eye. “I assume you know what you’re getting into.”

“I think so,” Abby said with a shrug. “Besides, this was the only way to keep Wyatt for the time being.”

“Didn’t you say Jack was granted permanent custody?”

“I did.” She pulled Wyatt away from Sharon. “He’s a bachelor, though. He has no idea what he’s getting into. I’m predicting that he’ll want out within three months.”

Sharon frowned. “You know they can learn, right? Most men start off clueless when it comes to their first baby.”

“But Jack isn’t like most men,” Abby said with growing confidence. “He’s like Tim, my ex-husband.”

“How’s that?”

Abby counted off the similarities on her fingers. “He likes women, he spends too much time in bars and he buys expensive, big-boy toys.”

“Sounds like a typical single man, if you ask me,” Sharon said. “My Earl rode a Harley before we got married. He only traded it for the tractor after our third son was born.”

Abby swung Wyatt to her opposite arm and used her other hand to continue her tally. “Well, now I’m just guessing on these,” she said. “But I’ll bet that Jack bores easily, avoids commitment and hates self-sacrifice. He’s a Tim, not an Earl.”

“What does he look like?”

Abby scowled. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Is he tall?” Sharon asked with a chuckle.

Abby nodded. No need to deny that particular quality, since Sharon would find out for herself soon enough.

“Brian had nice eyes. Does Jack?”

She thought about a pair of devilishly handsome eyes and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

Sharon’s mop of graying blond hair floated triumphantly out of the room. “Sounds to me as if you’ve got more than the twins to worry about.”

“Jack Kimball is completely resistible,” Abby said as she followed her friend into the living room.

“What if you aren’t?”

Abby stopped near Paige’s plum curtains and pulled them closed. “Are you kidding?”

Her neighbor turned around and shook her head. “You said he likes women. You are one, Abby.”

She laughed at the thought. “I’m not his type.”

Sharon sat on the sofa with Rosie on her lap and tickled the little girl under her chin. “And that’s a problem?” she said. “Opposites attract.”

“Stop it,” Abby said. She jiggled Wyatt. “This is the only irresistible bachelor in my life. And besides, even if Jack doesn’t know better, I do.”

“You won’t have a problem with being chased around this fine, faux leather sofa?”

“That won’t happen,” Abby said with confidence.

Her friend patted the cushion beside her. “Sit down and spill it,” she said. “What are you up to?”

Abby laughed. She walked across the room and flicked on the lamp. “What do you mean?”

“I recognize that look in your eye,” Sharon said. “We’re finished moving for tonight. Sit and talk.”

Abby set Wyatt on the carpet amid a cheerful clutter of toys, then took Rosie from her friend’s arms to put her down there, too. After that she plopped down on the sofa, shrugged and admitted, “I do have a teensy little plan.”

JACK KNEW HE’D NEVER succeed at running his own business if he didn’t devote himself to it passionately. He spent most of his weekday hours developing and marketing software, training clients or troubleshooting problems.

Most days, he had lunch delivered to wherever he was working, and often ate dinners there, too. The only personal things he rammed into his grueling schedule were an hour’s exercise at whichever end of the day he could fit it in, and a shower and shave after that.

No one could work harder, and he had achieved a degree of success that allowed JK Business Software Systems to enjoy a nice little profit.

He also knew that play restored him, and he worked hard at that, too. He couldn’t do well at one thing without focusing ample attention on the other.

Therefore, most of his off hours were reserved for fun—any kind of fun. Wild or civilized, carefully charted or slapdash. His only requirement was that it, and the woman he chose to share it with, held his attention.

By the time Friday night rolled around, he was usually the first in line for entertainment. This weekend was no exception. Although he’d returned to Kansas City to pack for his temporary stint in the country, there was no reason he couldn’t squeeze in a few dates with his lady friends.

A year spent in the sticks taking care of two babies, with Abby’s solemn eyes judging his every move, sounded exhausting. And long. Possibly joyless. He wanted to cram as much of his usual rakish lifestyle into this weekend as possible.

It had taken him only a few hours this morning to pack his things and dismantle his computer. He’d boxed everything and stacked it by the front door. The movers would pick up a few big items tomorrow and deliver them to the farmhouse on Sunday. It wouldn’t make sense to get out there before his furniture did, which meant most of the weekend was open.

It only proved that he led a charmed life—he had plenty of time, and three beautiful girlfriends who should fill it rather nicely. Maybe if he could smooth things over with each of them, an occasional weekend visit might be arranged, making the year a little less arid.

Since Diane happened to be a real estate agent, he called her first. Maybe she could help him find a temporary tenant for his condo. Even if that didn’t work out, she was well worth his time. His latest paramour had a cap of sexy black hair and mile-long legs. But his favorite feature by far was the seductive laugh she only used in the bedroom.

He dialed her cellphone number, knowing her Friday morning would have been spent showing houses or scouting out opportunities.

“Diane Westmoreland,” she barked.

“Hey, Diane. I’m back in town.”

“Ooh, Jacky!” she said, in a tone fairly dripping with carnality. “How good to hear your voice.”

“You must be alone,” he said, chuckling at the change. She’d gone from frigid to fiery in a second.

“Way, way too alone, big boy.”

Good. He would enjoy seeing her, but more than that, he needed her help. “You busy in an hour?”

“There’s not a thing happening here that can’t be rearranged for you.”

“How about meeting me for lunch? We can go to your favorite Italian place in the city.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she purred. “I’ll be waiting.”

Wonderful it wasn’t. It was closer to woeful. Or wintry.

Once Jack told Diane that he was moving to rural Topeka, her temperature went right back down to 98.6 degrees. And when he explained about moving into the farmhouse with Abby, it plummeted well below freezing.

The mood had been so frosty at lunch, he’d worried that they’d both develop hypothermia. Or at least indigestion.

He spent nearly an hour trying to convince her that he was not involved with Abigail Briggs. He told her that Abby was too countrified, often sharp-tongued and genuinely not his type. For some reason, Diane didn’t believe him.

She had finished her meal and gathered her purse to leave before he remembered that he was going to ask her to sublet the apartment for him. He opened his mouth to speak, but after looking at her dour expression one more time, he thought better of it. He’d just have to call her later, after she had warmed back up to room temperature.

There was no point in hiring a stranger just because the wiliest Realtor in town was a little miffed.

Besides, there was no need to be alone tonight—Paula was next on his list. He owed her the choice Friday night slot because she’d been the most enduring girlfriend of his adult life.

Ultrasophisticated Paula put up with his other lady friends and always greeted him with a smile. He was hoping she’d be willing to let him crash at her place whenever he had to come into the city on business.

She surprised him. Their understanding about dating other people seemed to fly out the window as soon as he said the word roommates.

“What do you mean, you’re going to live with her?”

Jack held Paula’s wineglass out to her. She’d always understood his need to date around. This was only a slight deviation from normal, and it shouldn’t truly upset her.

“She’ll be living in the same place, but that’s all,” he explained. “We’re not romantic. Think of her as a housemother, if you wish. Or the girl next door.”

Paula didn’t take the glass, and she didn’t look amused. “And you’re actually going to help take care of two brats?”

Jack frowned as he sat the glass back down. That had sounded ugly. He knew she wasn’t the nurturing type, but now she was slandering his own flesh and blood. “They’re only five months old,” he said. “Infants can’t be classified as brats.”

“Future brats, then,” she sniffed, standing up to leave before they’d even ordered dinner.

“Paula, you surprise me,” he said, as he stood up, too.

“Darling, I’m afraid it’s you who has surprised me,” she said over her shoulder.

Jack threw a couple of bills on the table and followed her out, wondering why two out of three of the women who were supposedly crazy about him were giving up so easily.

He wasn’t doing anything shady. This was all just geographical. He was moving from a condo in the city to a house in the country, and it was an easy forty-five minute drive between the two. What was the problem?

As they stood near the front of the restaurant, he held out her jacket so she could slip it on. In a desperate attempt to bring their conversation back to its usual witty banter, he said, “If I can ditch the rugrats one weekend and get to the city, may I give you a call?”

“You can try,” she said. “I do have a life, you know. I’ll tell you what you can do—you can call me when you’re finished playing family man. Perhaps then we can move in together.” She gave him a peck on the cheek before she slid into her car, which the valet had just parked in front. And then she drove away without a single backward glance.

As Jack watched her go, he didn’t wonder at his lack of disappointment. He knew his weekend’s diversion wasn’t lost just yet. He’d simply call in his third option tonight, instead of waiting for morning.

Zuzu was slightly offbeat, but her unpredictable way of looking at things was amusing. And he’d never once seen her mad. Despite a colorful head of hair whose base tone, he suspected, was red, she was peaceable, often prophetic. He called to invite her out for coffee. Luckily, she was free.

An hour later, he sat in a trendy diner handing Zuzu fresh napkins. “I knew you were going to run off to the country and fall in love,” she sobbed.

The sequins on her pink-and-orange blouse glimmered with each shuddering breath, making it hard for Jack to take her seriously.

“Zuzu, I’m not in love,” he said. “Abby and I are just moving in together for convenience. We have never even kissed—”

He clamped his jaw shut when he remembered how much he’d wanted to do just that in the farm kitchen a few days ago, and he tried not to let the thought echo in his brain.

There was no need to bring something like that up now.

“W-well, if you haven’t yet, you w-will. I just know it.”

“I doubt that,” he soothed, moving his chair closer to hers so he could rub her back. Maybe there was still hope for snatching a little romance out of an otherwise wasted evening.

In a singsong voice, Zuzu asked, “Is she pretty?”

He removed his hand. She’d sounded far too childlike to be touching her seductively right now. Sighing deeply, he said, “In a way, I suppose. She seems to have the basic material, but she doesn’t try very hard to enhance it.”

“But that’s worse!”

“Why?”

“Because that means she’s a natural beauty.”

“I suppose you’d say she’s all right in the looks department,” Jack said, wondering if Abby would be considered attractive by another woman.

Her eyes were gorgeous—no one else had eyes that bright and clear. But her hair was usually just parted in the middle and tied back. Even at Paige and Brian’s wedding, she’d simply wound a braid around each side of her head. He’d never seen her hair loose around her shoulders, and her clothes were usually unassuming.

A woman would think she was plain, he supposed. Only a male would home in on that sexy little body.

“Is she sexy?” Zuzu asked.

He shrugged. He prided himself on being truthful with his dates, but with Zuzu he tried to be extra careful.

In case she knew.

Sounding confident now, she said, “See what I mean? You’ll be married in less than a year.”

“Zuzu, we’ve talked about this before. I’m never going to get married. There are too many women out there.”

“Every man says that,” she said. “Every woman knows it only takes the right one.”

Jack frowned. He always spent time at the beginning of each relationship establishing a single rule: he’d date whom he wanted, when he wanted.

No commitments, and no cat fights.

“And what makes you think Abby’s my Miss Right?”

“Intuition,” Zuzu said with a knowing smile.

“Baloney,” he responded, with a confidence of his own.

And with that, the otherworldly Zuzu drifted out of the diner, and the astounded Jack returned to his town home alone for the first time in a number of weekends.

Always before, a barren weekend had been his choice—not theirs. He’d had no idea how spoiled he’d been. He walked around among his boxed possessions, wishing he hadn’t packed. Wishing the movers would come so he could get to the farmhouse and begin to put the next year behind him.

At least there the baby-care duties should keep him from being bored. It had been nice of Abby to offer to take care of the twins all weekend. He wondered if Wyatt had gone to sleep without a struggle tonight, and if Rosie had babbled nonstop all day.

After an hour of quiet, he called Abby to find out.

“Hullo?”

Her voice was low and throaty. She sounded tired. He checked the time and realized it was eleven o’clock. She’d probably been asleep. He could picture her lounging in bed with a pristine white sheet slipping down the front of her— Whoa!

An evening’s assorted discussions about the caliber of her assets must have gotten to him.

“Hullo? Is anyone there?”

“Abby, it’s Jack. How’s it going?”

“Fine. The babies have been asleep for two hours,” she said. “They wake up early, so I came on up to bed.”

Bed. There it was again.

No matter how hard he fought it, that image of her naked body kept popping into his brain. The only explanation he could think of was that his woman-filled weekend had been a complete washout.

“I’m sorry if I woke you. I just wanted to check on things there,” he said with his eyes closed, as if he could block the unwanted mental pictures.

“You mean you’re alone? Jack, are you slowing down at the ripe old age of…what, thirty-one?” As she grew more alert, she seemed to extend her talons again.

“There’s no need to start a fight now,” he said, opening his eyes again.

He should thank her, really. As soon as her tone changed from soft to sarcastic, her image transformed, and he saw her standing with her hands on her hips and her lips pinched together. Wearing plenty of clothes.

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