“Miss Martin? Miranda Martin?”

Both Mark and Miranda froze.

“My name is Jack Parsons. I’m an acquaintance of your sister’s.”

“Lisa?” Miranda felt her heart jump. “Has something happened to her?”

“No, she’s okay. She wanted me to give you this.” The man held out an envelope. “And I have a delivery for you in my car.”

She was looking down at the envelope in her hand, when she heard Mark say in a rather odd voice, “Um, Miranda? I think I know what the delivery is.”

She looked up at him, then turned to see what he was staring at so intently. Her own jaw dropped. “Oh, no.”

Jack Parsons was on his way back to her, dragging two large, wheeled suitcases behind him. And tagging behind those suitcases like little ducklings were a couple of sandy-haired boys with rumpled clothes and identical faces….

Dear Reader,

Most of us look forward to October for the end-of-the-month treats, but we here at Silhouette Special Edition want you to experience those treats all month long—beginning, this time around, with the next book in our MOST LIKELY TO…series. In The Pregnancy Project by Victoria Pade, a woman who’s used to getting what she wants, wants a baby. And the man she’s earmarked to help her is her arrogant ex-classmate, now a brilliant, if brash, fertility expert.

Popular author Gina Wilkins brings back her acclaimed FAMILY FOUND series with Adding to the Family, in which a party girl turned single mother of twins needs help—and her handsome accountant (accountant?), a single father himself, is just the one to give it. In She’s Having a Baby, bestselling author Marie Ferrarella continues her miniseries, THE CAMEO, with this story of a vivacious, single, pregnant woman and her devastatingly handsome—if reserved—next-door neighbor. Special Edition welcomes author Brenda Harlen and her poignant novel Once and Again, a heartwarming story of homecoming and second chances. About the Boy by Sharon DeVita is the story of a beautiful single mother, a widowed chief of police…and a matchmaking little boy. And Silhouette is thrilled to have Blindsided by talented author Leslie LaFoy in our lineup. When a woman who’s inherited a hockey team decides that they need the best coach in the business, she applies to a man who thought he’d put his hockey days behind him. But he’s been…blindsided!

So enjoy, be safe and come back in November for more. This is my favorite time of year (well, the beginning of it, anyway).

Regards,

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

Adding to the Family
Gina Wilkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

As always, to my own loving and supportive family—

John, Courtney, Kerry and David.

Love you all.

GINA WILKINS

is a bestselling and award-winning author who has written more than seventy books for Harlequin and Silhouette. She credits her successful career in romance to her long, happy marriage and her three “extraordinary” children.

A lifelong resident of central Arkansas, Ms. Wilkins sold her first book to Harlequin in 1987 and has been writing full-time since. She has appeared on the Waldenbooks, B. Dalton and USA TODAY bestseller lists. She is a three-time recipient of the Maggie Award for Excellence, sponsored by Georgia Romance Writers, and has won several awards from the reviewers of Romantic Times.

It’s Jared and Cassie Walker’s twenty-fifth

wedding anniversary and you are cordially

invited to the biggest bash in Texas!

After decades of caring and support

for their friends and family,

we want to honor these two lovebirds.

So, come one, come all to celebrate on the

Walker Ranch, Saturday, October 15th!

RSVP with Molly and Shane Walker

Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Molly Walker appeared in the barn door with the early April afternoon sunlight behind her, making her long, red-streaked hair shine almost as brightly as her smile. “I have the most spectacular idea!”

Her half brother, Shane, and the horse he had been grooming looked around with almost identically wary expressions. “It always gives me a headache when you say that,” Shane muttered.

Undaunted, Molly came all the way inside the barn to stand in front of him. “Trust me, this is a really good plan, and you barely have to do anything. I can take care of most of it myself.”

The lanky cowboy dropped the curry brush on a shelf and seemed to brace himself before asking, “Just what is it I barely have to do?”

Molly’s dark green eyes held an expression of reproof when she shook a finger at him. “Stop overdramatizing. It isn’t as if I’ve ever asked you to do anything that complicated.”

Shane shared a comical look of disbelief with his beloved mare. “Riiight.”

Molly slapped his arm playfully. “Anyway, you know Mom and Dad’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is coming up in October.”

“I remember their wedding. I was a teenager, after all. Just as I remember you being born a year and a couple of weeks later.”

Shane and his father, Jared Walker, had been a couple of footloose bachelors before they’d encountered Cassie Browning and had both fallen head over heels in love with her. Nearly twenty-five years later, they were still a close and happy family, even though Shane had been married for almost ten years now and had two daughters of his own.

It was that loving family relationship that Molly wanted to commemorate in a big way. “We should plan a surprise anniversary party for them.”

“Okay—that sounds normal enough. What’s the catch?”

“No catch. They’re planning that trip to Europe in early October, right? So while they’re gone, we can get everything in place and we’ll welcome them back with a big silver anniversary barbecue.”

Shane looked almost relieved. “Yeah, we can do something like that. Kelly and I will help you plan it. I’m sure Aunt Layla and Aunt Michelle would be thrilled to help with the arrangements. Not to mention the assorted other aunts, uncles and cousins who jump at any chance to get together for a party.”

Since Jared had five siblings, all married with offspring, any party the Walker clan put together was a big one. But Molly didn’t intend to limit this bash merely to family. “We’ll invite the D’Alessandros, of course.”

Jared’s sister, Michelle, had married private investigator Tony D’Alessandro not long before Jared and Cassie had married. Tony’s large and boisterous family had been a part of Molly’s life from the beginning. Her cousin Brynn, the daughter of Jared’s deceased younger brother, Miles, had married another D’Alessandro, drawing the bond between the two families even tighter.

“And I want to invite the foster sons Mom and Dad took in during the earlier years—back before the ranch became a youth facility. Won’t they love seeing them all together again for this special occasion?”

“We can definitely invite the ones we’ve kept in touch with. There’s no way we can assume they’ll all be here, of course.”

“No, I want as many as possible here,” she insisted. “Even the ones we haven’t heard from in a while. I’m hoping to have at least a dozen of them.”

“There are several we haven’t heard from in years—Mark and Daniel and Kyle, for example. They were special to Dad and Cassie, but we don’t even know where they are now.”

“We’ll find them.” She flashed another confident smile. “We have uncles who own a private investigation agency, remember? With Uncle Tony, Uncle Joe, and Uncle Ryan helping us, I bet we’ll have all the guys located within a few weeks.”

“Maybe,” Shane agreed, as confident as she was in their uncle’s abilities, “but finding them doesn’t guarantee they’ll want to return here. Not everyone has fond memories of the past, you know, especially when that past includes a stint in foster care—as you could ask Dad or most of his siblings.”

Molly tossed her head, making her mane of red-and-gold streaked hair swirl around her determined face. “Once the uncles find them, I’ll talk them into being here.”

“If anyone can, I suppose it would be you.”

“Absolutely. Trust me, Shane, this is going to be the best anniversary party ever. Mom and Dad are going to be so surprised.”

“I hope you aren’t too disappointed if everything isn’t perfect, Molly. You just might be in for a few surprises yourself, trying to plan something this big.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Molly turned to head toward the main house on the sprawling Walker ranch not far from Dallas, Texas. She had lists to make, and a million things to do to pull off the perfect twenty-fifth anniversary party by October.

Chapter One

There was something about a man with a calculator that Miranda Martin found oddly sexy. A man whose fingers flew over a number pad, adding up columns of dollar amounts as he talked about bonds and investments and tax-deferred annuities—just the mental image could make her shiver with exhilaration.

Other women were attracted to cowboys or cops or bikers or baseball players; Miranda was a sucker for accountants. One accountant, in particular. Her own.

Her chin cupped in both hands, she rested her elbows on his desk and gazed across the glossy surface at him. It didn’t hurt that he was so very nice to look at. Mark Wallace had clear gray eyes, disheveled brown hair with a tendency to curl into loose waves, and the most perfect teeth she’d ever seen. Had he not chosen to work with numbers, he could probably have made a living as a model.

“What’s this deduction you’re claiming for comfortable shoes?” he asked, frowning at the paperwork in front of him.

“I had to buy them on a business trip last month. The shoes I took with me were killing me, and you know you can’t really concentrate on business when your feet hurt. I was much more effective after I bought those nice, comfy shoes—which, I might add, were obscenely expensive.”

He had been her accountant for just over a year, and he always gave her exactly the same look when she said something he considered outrageous. He was giving her that look now, and she enjoyed it immensely. She had anticipated that expression when she had listed the deduction she had known very well his sharp eyes would not overlook.

He stared at her with his head cocked slightly to one side, as if he weren’t quite sure if she was joking, and then he shook his head and marked through the item with a decisive stroke of his mechanical pencil.

She just loved it when he did that.

“Other than the shoes, everything looks to be in order,” he remarked, closing the file folder. “I’ll have the tax forms ready for your signature by the end of the week. Next time, though, you might not want to wait until the last minute to bring your information to me. You didn’t allow either of us much room for error.”

“As if you ever make any errors,” she teased.

He shrugged, a smile playing at one corner of his firm mouth. “It’s been known to happen—on very rare occasions.”

Sometimes she couldn’t resist touching him. She reached out to stroke a fingertip across the top of his right hand—the one that had just been calculating her money. “I find it hard to believe you aren’t completely perfect.”

Maybe after a year of working with her, he was finally getting accustomed to her flirting. He had been amusingly disconcerted the first couple of times, but during their meetings since, he’d seemed to accept it as part of the package. Especially since she had teasingly informed him that talking about money always gave her goose bumps.

In response to her stroking his hand, he shot her a look that was so direct, so male—and so uncharacteristically predatory—that her mouth suddenly went dry. “Someday I might just take you up on one of those come-hither looks,” he murmured. “And then what are you going to do?”

For just a moment, Miranda Martin—who always had a witty put-down in response to even the most insistent advance—couldn’t think of anything to say. She found herself lost in Mark Wallace’s gleaming gray eyes, her mind filled with unsummoned and decidedly erotic images rather than cleverly cutting retorts.

Fine, take me up on it, she would have liked to say. Heck, just take me.

But she didn’t say it, and the primary reason for her reticence burst into Mark’s home-based office only a moment later.

“Daddy, I’m home from preschool and guess what? We’re going on a field trip to the Museum of Discovery and I—”

“Payton,” Mark cut in firmly, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the little blond girl’s excited chattering. “I’m with a client. You know better than to come into my office when I’m working. Where’s Mrs. McSwaim?”

Only slightly chastened, the blue-eyed, curly haired moppet pointed behind her while studying Miranda from the other side of the room. “She took Madison to the bathroom.”

“Then go entertain yourself for a little while and I’ll hear all about your field trip when I’ve finished with my work.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Heaving a dramatic sigh, Payton turned toward the doorway at the back of the office through which she had entered so precipitously.

Mark waited until the door closed behind his daughter, then swiveled his leather chair around to face Miranda again. “Sorry about that. Most of the time a home office has its advantages, but occasional interruptions come with the territory.”

Miranda had her brightly impersonal smile firmly in place again. She reached down to the floor beside her chair, picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder as she stood. “I’ve got to be going, anyway. I’ve got a few more work-related things to do before I make it to the concert at Juanita’s tonight.”

He nodded. “I’ll call when the forms are ready.”

She fluttered her lashes at him. “You do that.”

“Have a good time at the concert.”

“Darlin’, I always have a good time.” She made sure the smile that accompanied her huskily drawled reply held a touch of wickedness.

Just because there was no way she and Mark would ever have even a passing fling, it wouldn’t hurt to leave him—like herself—wishing just a little that things could be different between them.

Of all Mark’s clients, there was only one who left his head spinning after every meeting, no matter how briskly professional he tried to keep things between them.

Miranda Martin.

He thought of her as “the golden girl.” Her almost shoulder-length, layered chestnut hair was shot through with artfully applied golden highlights. Her flawless skin was deepened either by tanning booths or bronzers. Even her eyes were a pure amber—and those he suspected were her natural color.

She had a smooth forehead, a perfect nose, high cheekbones and a rounded chin dotted with a shallow dimple just below the right corner of her mouth. Of medium height, she had legs that went on forever, nicely proportioned breasts, a slim waist and gently curving hips—adding up to a package that would make any red-blooded man stop in his tracks and think, Whoa, buddy!

If he were a man who was interested in fleeting affairs, he would have taken her up on the invitation her habitual flirting seemed to imply long ago. But he was the full-time single father of two little girls. He didn’t have the time nor the luxury to indulge in affairs.

As for anything else—well, he’d been married to a woman who had valued entertainment above the daily responsibilities of family life. Even if he were in the market for a long-term relationship, it wouldn’t be with a party girl like Miranda Martin.

Besides, he had seen the way she’d looked at his kids on the rare occasion when she’d seen them. As if strange and somewhat intimidating aliens had wandered into her field of vision. Even if he tried to delude himself into thinking he and Miranda could form a personal bond, he had a feeling that she considered there to be two very prominent obstacles in their path.

“Who was that lady in your office today, Daddy?” Payton asked over dinner that evening.

“You mean the one you so rudely interrupted when you burst in without knocking?”

She sighed—something she did with innately expressive skill. “I already said I’m sorry,” she reminded him. “Who was she?”

“A client. Her name is Miranda Martin.”

“She was pretty.”

Mark glanced across the table. “Madison, don’t give your peas to Poochie. Eat them yourself.”

Three-year-old Madison, a smaller, blonder duplicate of her sister, obligingly stuffed a spoonful of peas into her food-smeared mouth, leaving Poochie, a rather ragged stray mutt Mark had rescued six months earlier, to wait beneath the table in hopes of dropped scraps.

Payton, who liked to tell everyone she was four-going-on-five (in just four months), and whom Mark thought of as four-going-on-thirty, wasn’t finished asking questions. “Don’t you think she’s pretty, Daddy?”

Mark was still keeping a watchful eye on his youngest child. “Mmm? You mean Madison? I think she’s very pretty.”

Payton groaned. “Not Madison, Daddy. That lady. Miranda Martin.”

That reclaimed his attention. “Yeah, sure. She’s very pretty.”

“Can I get my ears pierced? I want some of those big gold circles like she had.”

Picturing his four-year-old in gypsy hoops, Mark stifled a smile. “Not until you’re older.”

“Nicola Cooper got pierced ears. She gets to wear little silver circles.”

“When you’re older, Payton.”

Another sigh, and then, “Are you going to take her on a date?”

“No.”

“Nicola Cooper’s mother goes on dates. She gets all dressed up in pretty clothes and takes Nicola to her grandma’s house. Sometimes Nicola gets to stay all night at her grandma’s house.”

“Yes, well…eat your chicken, babe. It’s getting cold.”

Two hastily swallowed bites later, Payton was at it again. “Why aren’t you going to take her on a date if you think she’s pretty?”

“Just because.” As an answer, it was pretty lame, but the best he could come up with at the moment. “Tell me more about your field trip,” he said, making an attempt to change the subject. “When did you say you’re going? Next Monday?”

He remembered perfectly well that it was Tuesday, but at least the question distracted Payton from his social life—or lack thereof. She started chattering about the planned outing, seeming to forget all about Miranda Martin.

Mark wished he could forget her as quickly. Payton’s innocent questions had made him think of things that would be much better left alone.

Though Little Rock was the capitol and the largest city in Arkansas, it was still small enough that Miranda could hardly go anywhere without running into someone she knew. Especially at the local music clubs where she liked to hang out in the evenings; she only had to walk in for someone to call out to her to join them at their table.

Tonight that table included three other women and two men, all of whom Miranda knew at least in passing. She considered them friends, though she doubted that any one of them would be of much use if she found herself in trouble. Not that it mattered to her, since she considered herself a fiercely independent woman who took care of her own problems and expected others to do the same.

“Miranda, you look amazing,” Oliver Cartwright pronounced, studying her outfit with a critical eye. “Not many people can get away with that color, but it looks fabulous on you.”

“Coming from you, that’s a high compliment,” she assured him.

She had paid a little extra attention to her appearance tonight, pairing a flirty gold top with a pair of low-slung dark jeans and strappy heels. The top was cut just low enough at the neckline to give a glimpse of cleavage and just high enough at the hem to reveal an inch of spray-tanned abdomen. Modest compared to what many of the young women in the club were wearing, but still eye-catching, which had been her intention.

If Oliver, the local fashion cop, approved, she must have done something right, she thought with satisfaction.

“Lucky you,” a busty bottle-blonde in a clingy red dress said with a pout. “Oliver said I look like an over-ripe tomato.”

“You insist on wearing clothes that are too tight for you,” he pointed out to her. “I keep telling you that subtlety is sexier than a desperate play for attention.”

“Miranda’s wearing a shiny gold top. Isn’t that a play for attention?”

“Note that Miranda’s boobs aren’t trying their best to escape the fabric that covers them. You’ll certainly get attention with your dress tonight, Brandi, but don’t come crying to us again when the Mr. Right Now you take home disappears with the sunrise.”

Brandi, who made no secret of her desire to get married—preferably to someone with money—flounced discontentedly in her seat. “You’re so mean, Oliver.”

“Yes, darling, but I’m always right.”

The rest of the party laughed at his droll retort, though no one dared dispute it.

A cocktail waitress appeared at the table and Miranda ordered a Manhattan while several of the others requested seconds of their own drinks. She would allow herself only a single drink tonight, but she would thoroughly savor that one indulgence.

Having grown up in a home where alcohol was synonymous with sin—as were dancing, cursing, television, movies, fiction, vanity, frivolity and any sexual activity, including handholding and kissing, outside of marriage—she had vowed to be answerable to no one but herself when she escaped, which she had done after graduating from high school at seventeen. That was ten years ago, and she hadn’t looked back since.

Oliver turned back to his friend Randall, and Brandi strutted off to the ladies’ room, making sure she caught plenty of male attention on the way. An attractive woman Miranda had met a couple of times before leaned over to ask quietly, “Do you think he hurt her feelings?”

“Brandi? Hardly. She’ll sulk awhile, then she’ll go home with some guy who’ll treat her exactly as Oliver predicted, and next week she’ll start the whole cycle again. She always insists on asking Oliver what he thinks of her clothes, even though she has to know what he’s going to say.”

Someone else interrupted that conversation. “Hey, Miranda, what do you know about entertaining kids?”

She turned to the brunette on her left. “As little as possible. Why do you ask, Bev?”

Bev shrugged. “My brother’s bringing his three kids to visit Mom next month, when school’s out, and she’s asked me to help entertain them. You always know something fun to do. I thought you might have some ideas.”

“Honey, my ideas never involve children,” Miranda returned with an exaggerated shudder.

A round of laughter answered her words.

“What?” someone asked. “No nieces or nephews?”

She started to shake her head, and then she stopped herself. “Oh, wait. I do have a couple of nephews.”

Oliver raised his carefully arched blond eyebrows. “You forgot you’re an aunt?”

“I don’t think of myself as an aunt,” she said with a slight shrug. “I haven’t seen the kids more than a couple of times in their lives—my sister doesn’t stay in one place for very long.”

“My brother’s the same way,” someone else said. “I wouldn’t mind seeing my nieces, actually, but they’re living in Singapore now, if you can believe it. My brother has a fabulous job there. He—”

Not particularly interested, Miranda tuned out and took a sip of her drink, thinking about her older sister for the first time in ages. She wondered where Lisa was these days, and whether she was taking any better care of her five-year-old twins than she had been the last time she’d breezed through town, hoping to bum a few dollars from Miranda.

The idea of having her own children made Miranda practically choke with claustrophobic panic. Nothing would be more certain to put an end to the carefree, independent lifestyle she had spent her entire youth plotting to achieve.

Maybe Lisa didn’t mind dragging her conceived-by-accident twins around on her own reckless adventures, but Miranda had always firmly believed that if someone was going to bring children into the world, the kids’ well-being should come first—unlike her own parents, of course. Being childless, she could be as self-centered and irresponsible as she liked, and no one would have to suffer for it.

She couldn’t help thinking for a moment about her sexy accountant. Mark Wallace seemed like a good father, stable and loving and dependable. She didn’t know what had happened to his kids’ mother, but Mark seemed to have committed himself completely to making sure his girls had a happy childhood and a decent upbringing, even if it meant his own life was a bit dull, in Miranda’s opinion. Still, she had to admire his dedication.

Unfortunately for the twins’ sakes, Lisa had a different view of parenting than Mark, or even Miranda. Lisa saw no reason for motherhood to interfere with her lifestyle in the least.

There had been no fun in their own childhoods, Lisa had reminded Miranda the last time they had seen each other. Her kids were going to have fun. No horribly restrictive rules, no rigid schedules, no harsh punishments if they didn’t toe some arbitrary and impossible line.

The boys were probably monsters, but that was Lisa’s problem, Miranda thought with a shrug. Miranda had an evening of music and camaraderie to enjoy, and she was wasting time thinking about serious matters.

Chapter Two

By Thursday of that week, Miranda was uncharacteristically restless. There wasn’t much going on at the moment in her job as an assistant buyer for Little Rock-based Ballard’s Department Stores. She had been to a club nearly every night for the past two weeks, and she wasn’t in the mood that night. But she didn’t want to sit in her tiny apartment and watch TV, either.

She checked the messages on her machine when she arrived home from work, hoping maybe someone would have an idea for an evening’s entertainment that intrigued her. Brandi’s was the first voice she heard. “Hi, Miranda, it’s me. There’s going to be a new band at Vino’s tonight and I heard the lead singer is really hot. Some of us will be there around eight if you want to join us.”

“I don’t think so.” Miranda erased that message and moved on to the next.

“Yo, ’Randa, it’s Robbie. I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. What, did you drop off the face of the earth or somepin?” He chuckled at his own wit, then continued, “Anyway, babe, I’d love to see you again, so why don’t you give me a call and we’ll go party, yo? You’ve got my cell number.”

“No, actually, I tossed it.” Miranda punched the erase button again. She had gone out with Robbie once, but she had no interest in seeing him again. Last time he’d been so grabby she’d finished the evening with unwelcome fingerprints all over her body. She didn’t care for the steamroller approach to seduction, and she had made it quite clear to Robbie that she would be the one to decide when—or if—their casual dating took the next step.

She had decided it wouldn’t. Robbie was history.

The next male voice that issued from her answering machine was as brusquely businesslike as Robbie’s had been presumptuously intimate, but this time Miranda’s knees showed a distinct inclination to jellify. “Hi, Miranda, it’s Mark Wallace. I have your tax returns ready. You can stop by my office anytime tomorrow to sign them. If I’m tied up, my assistant can take care of everything for you.”

Lordy, but Mark Wallace had a voice that could make a woman’s heart get an aerobic workout, Miranda mused, her finger hovering over the erase button. Warm, deep, with just a faintly rough edge, his was a voice that made her fantasize about sweet nothings and pillow talk. Okay, so the man was off-limits—but there was nothing wrong with a little fantasizing, right?

She indulged herself for a few minutes in a pleasantly naughty daydream involving his big, glossy desk. And then she sighed regretfully and made herself push the erase button.

She finally decided to take in a movie—alone. There were times when she just didn’t feel particularly social, and this was one of them. She would be surrounded by people, but she wouldn’t have to make conversation with any of them. Perfect for her mood tonight.

There were only a few theater choices in Little Rock. She drove to the one she usually patronized, since it provided stadium-style seating and what she considered the best popcorn in town.

She wanted a film that was mindless, noisy and action-filled, with a high pretty-boy factor. There was just such a movie playing this evening. She stood in a line filled mostly with teenagers and bought her ticket, then joined another line to buy popcorn and a drink.

Clutching her snacks, she turned away from the counter and almost ran smack dab into Mark Wallace. Talk about coincidences…

Holding a blond toddler on his left hip and the hand of his older daughter in his right hand, Mark looked as surprised as Miranda was to see him.

“This is really freaky,” she said. “I just heard your voice on my machine less than an hour ago.”

He smiled. “It’s certainly a coincidence. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks.” Feeling herself being studied by two pairs of curious blue eyes, Miranda looked warily at the girls. She should probably say something to them, but she wasn’t sure what. She settled for a smile and a “hi.”

“Miss Martin, these are my daughters, Payton and Madison.”

Miranda smiled at the toddler who gazed so intently back at her, one forefinger stuck in her mouth. “Hello, Madison.”

Madison buried her face in her father’s neck.

Not as shy as her younger sister, Payton piped up, “You were in Daddy’s office.”

“Yes, I was. You came in to tell him about a field trip.”

“I got in trouble for not knocking,” Payton said, not looking particularly perturbed by the memory. Apparently the punishment hadn’t been overly severe. “I like your earrings.”

“Um, thanks.” She was wearing a pair of her favored gold hoops. “I like your shirt,” she said, nodding toward the sparkly butterfly on the girl’s pink T-shirt.

“It’s new. Would you tell my daddy to let me get pierced ears like you and Nicola Cooper?”

Miranda didn’t have a clue who Nicola Cooper was, but she knew better than to interfere in a parental decision. “You’re on your own with that battle, kiddo.”

“Your hair has stripes in it,” Payton announced, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“They’re called highlights, and before you ask, I can’t help you there with your father, either.”

“I don’t think I want stripes. Just earrings.”

Miranda laughed at the kid’s candor. “I really should introduce you to my friend Oliver sometime. I think the two of you would get along very well.”

Mark abruptly cleared his throat. “We’d better be going. It’s Madison’s bedtime.”

“You’ve already seen a movie?”

“Yeah. We do the early showings. The kids brought me to see the new animated film that came out today.”

“It’s his birthday,” Payton confided. “Daddy’s thirty. We had cake.”

So Mark had spent his thirtieth birthday watching a cartoon movie with two kids under five. She wondered wryly how he could stand the excitement. “Happy birthday, Mark.”

“Thanks. But don’t let us keep you any longer. I’m sure your companion is waiting for you.”

“No companion tonight. I came stag.”

He lifted an eyebrow as he glanced at the big tub of popcorn and large diet soda in her arms.

“All mine,” she informed him loftily. “When I splurge, I go all out.”

“So I see. Well…enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye, Miss Martin,” Payton called over her shoulder as her father led her away.

“Goodbye, Payton. And Madison,” she added, earning a quick, shy smile from the smaller girl before she promptly ducked into her daddy’s shoulder again.

Very strange encounter, Miranda mused as she settled into a theater seat and placed her soda in the cup holder. It was pretty startling to see Mark in his role as doting dad right after he’d played the part of hunky accountant in her erotic daydream.

One would think she would find him less appealing in that light, considering the way she felt about kids. Funny thing was, she had been just as strangely drawn to him as ever.

When it came to Mark Wallace, Miranda couldn’t even predict her own reactions. There was nothing wrong with a little fantasy, she reminded herself. She just had to remember not to get those harmless daydreams mixed up with reality.

Mark had half hoped that Miranda would pick up her tax forms while he was occupied with another client. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the sight of her. Seeing her was always like having a few extra rays of sunshine brighten his day.

Yet it was that very type of imagery that made him increasingly wary of seeing her too often. His life wasn’t what anyone would call exciting, but he had been content with it for the past couple of years. He didn’t need anyone messing with his mind, making him wish for something more than what he had now.

A caregiver. That was what he had always been, and what he would likely always be. From the time he was just a kid, taking care of his chronically ill mother and his little sister, he had been compelled to help people who needed him. Too many times he had reached out a hand and pulled back a bloody stump—at least that was what it had felt like to him when people he’d tried to help had turned on him with a vengeance. His ex-wife, for example.

Now his daughters needed him. He was all they had and taking care of them required all his concentration. All his energy. He did his best to help his clients with their financial needs, but he didn’t get overly involved with any of them. The only one who even tempted him to do so was Miranda.

So, he wasn’t sure whether he was pleased or perturbed when she arrived at his office just after his last appointment for the day had departed.

Two years earlier, Mark had set up for business in his west Little Rock home, converting a side door into the office entrance. That door led into a small reception area that held a love seat, two visitor chairs and his assistant’s desk and credenza. Mark’s smallish, but adequate-size workspace opened off that room, with another door behind him that led into the house.

The setup worked well for him, keeping him close to his kids even during the busiest times of the year. He often returned to the office after the girls were asleep, leaving the door to the house open so he could hear them if they needed him. He would never get rich with his one-man CPA business, but he was supporting his family, and that was all that mattered to him.

“Ms. Martin is here for her returns,” his assistant announced from the open doorway very late that afternoon. “She said she would like to speak with you, if you have a few minutes.”

He resisted an impulse to smooth his hair, which was typically tousled at this time of day, thanks to his habit of running a hand through it when he concentrated on something. “Sure, Pam. Send her in.”

“Okay. And unless you need me for anything, I’m gone for the day.”

“No, go ahead. I’ll see you Monday. Have a nice weekend.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

A moment later Miranda appeared in the doorway where Pam had stood. She wore a bright pink top with black slacks. For someone who had claimed to hate it when her feet hurt, she sure seemed to have a thing for trendy shoes, he thought, glancing at the heeled, narrow boots she was wearing.

Only then did he notice that she was carrying a cheerfully wrapped present in her left hand. She came in singing the happy birthday song and set the package on his desk in front of him.

A little flustered, he rose. “This wasn’t necessary.”

She dropped into a chair. “Just open it.”

Sitting behind the desk again, he tore away the wrapping paper from her gift to reveal a bottle of liquor. One glance at the label made him do a double-take. “Whoa.”

“As much as you probably enjoyed the outing with your kids, I figured you needed something grown-up to commemorate your thirtieth birthday.”

“This is too much,” he said with a dazed shake of his head. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, Wallace. Just because you count my money doesn’t mean you can tell me how to spend it. Just say, thank you, Miranda.”

He sighed. “Thank you, Miranda.”

“Good boy.” She grinned at him, and it was impossible to resist smiling back.

“How was your movie?” he asked to change the subject.

She shrugged. “Loud. Predictable. I enjoyed it—but mostly I enjoyed the popcorn.”

He reached into a wire basket on his credenza and plucked out a file. “Sign where I’ve stuck the flags and I’ll file the forms electronically. You should receive your federal and state refunds within the next few weeks.”

“Oh, yeah, I can party then,” she murmured sarcastically as she flipped to the flagged pages and signed her name.

Shaking his head, he replied, “As I’ve told you several times, it’s better to pay less up-front and keep your money in the bank than overpay and get a bigger refund at the end of the year. The government doesn’t pay interest. And aren’t you even going to look those over? You can take them home, you know, though I have to have them back by closing time tomorrow.”

“I trust you,” she said, closing the file that held her copies without another glance at them. “I wouldn’t pay you to do this for me if I didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t trust anyone that much with my tax forms,” he said in a chiding tone. “I’d have to check to make sure everything was done the way I wanted it to be.”

She didn’t seem at all shaken in her confidence. “Got a bit of OCD, do we?”

“Obsessive compulsive disorder? Maybe a little. Must be why I chose to be an accountant—just to make sure all the columns add up and the bottom lines balance.”

He was unreasonably pleased when she laughed.

She stood to hand the signed forms back to him, leaning slightly across the desk as she offered it. Her bright pink top gapped a bit with the movement, and he was treated to a clear view of the tops of her creamy breasts. He didn’t believe it was intentional on her part, but the fact that he was still seated put him directly at eye level with her chest. And a nice chest it was, he noted before he quickly glanced away.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It had been too long since he had spent an adult night out if he was reacting this strongly to a glimpse of cleavage.

“I suppose you have big plans for the weekend?” he asked as Miranda took her seat again, apparently in no hurry to leave.

“No, not really. I’m just going to play it by ear.”

“Maybe I could buy you dinner tomorrow night?” It had been a while since he had asked anyone out, and his awkwardness now made that painfully clear. It wasn’t as if he had given any thought to the invitation, since he’d blurted it out almost before he had realized he was going to ask.

For the first time since he had met her, he saw Miranda Martin at a temporary loss for words. “Is this like a thank-you-for-your-business dinner?” she asked after a moment.

“Not exactly. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to mix business with pleasure.” It was a risk he probably shouldn’t be taking himself, actually. Maybe it would be better all around if she turned him down. He’d have gotten the urge to ask out of his system, and she would have made it clear she wasn’t interested, putting a stop to any further imaginings on his part.

Miranda toyed with the folder in her lap, studying him with atypically somber eyes. “It isn’t that I’m not tempted. I think dinner with you could be fun. But you should know that I make it a rule not to get involved with a man with kids.”

“And I’m not looking to get involved with anyone, either,” he returned. “Precisely because of those kids. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate an occasional adult evening out.”

“So you’re just suggesting a casual date?”

“Just dinner,” he agreed. “I spent my birthday watching a cartoon with two preschoolers. It would be nice to have a conversation that doesn’t center around animated characters or talking animals.”

As he watched her mentally debate the invitation for a few moments longer, he wondered what was going through her mind.

“Okay, sure,” she said finally. “We’ll call it a birthday dinner. But in that case, I should pay.”

He tapped the bottle of expensive liquor sitting on his desk. “I’d say you’ve spent enough already. Dinner will be my treat. Dress comfortably—I have no intention of wearing a tie. I’m celebrating my birthday and the end of tax season.”

She smiled. “Fine. You can write the expense off, anyway. Remind me to ask you an accounting question sometime during the meal.”

He chuckled and escorted her out of his office, agreeing to the details of the dinner date along the way. And then he returned to his desk, where he wasted the next half hour wondering what on earth he’d been thinking when he had impulsively asked out Miranda Martin.

Miranda was almost ready the next evening when her telephone rang. Her first thought was that Mark had changed his mind—come to his senses, maybe. Her second thought was, damn, she’d spent the past hour primping for nothing.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s me.”

“Lisa?” This was more of a surprise than having Mark cancel dinner. Miranda could hardly remember the last time she had spoken with her sister. “Are you here in town?”

“No. But, Miranda, I’m in trouble.”

Miranda resisted an urge to groan. “How much do you need?”

“No, it’s worse than that.”

Something in her sister’s voice made a chill run down Miranda’s spine. “Lisa, what’s wrong? What do you need me to do?”

“I just—I just want you to know I’m sorry. And I wish things had been different—for both of us. I really do love you, you know. I’ve always been able to turn to you when I needed you. And since Grandma died, you’re the only one in our family I can say that about.”

Miranda was getting more anxious by the moment. “Please, tell me what’s going on. Are you ill? Is something wrong with the boys?”

“I’m so sorry, Miranda. I need you again. It’s the biggest favor I’ve ever asked of you, but I know you’ll do the right thing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tell me—”

“Damn, I’ve got to go.” There was a new note of tension in Lisa’s voice now, which had dropped to little more than a whisper. “Please, Miranda, don’t let me down.”

“Wait, you haven’t even told me what—”

But Lisa had already hung up, and when Miranda tried the call return function, the phone number was blocked.

She slammed down the telephone receiver in frustration. Lisa had always been prone to melodrama, but this mysterious call was unusual even for her. Miranda just hoped her older sister hadn’t done anything really stupid this time, though considering the tone of that telephone call, it seemed to be a futile wish.

Now she was running late and Mark was due any minute. Growling beneath her breath, she dashed for her bedroom—not exactly a long run since her two-room apartment was somewhat smaller than tiny.

She had just slipped her feet into her shoes when her doorbell rang. Fluffing her hair with one hand, she made a quick mirror-check before heading for the door.

She had debated what to wear, wanting to dress up a bit more than her usual weekend jeans, but not wanting to look as though she had put too much effort into her grooming. She had settled on a three-quarter sleeve sunshine-yellow blouse worn open over a white tank top and a short denim skirt with a wide leather belt at the hips. Leather wedge-heeled sandals and chunky gold and amber jewelry completed the casual outfit. Now she was rethinking her choices. Maybe she should have worn—

Bringing an abrupt stop to that line of thought, she shook her head at her uncharacteristic hesitation and opened the door.

Mark looked as delectable as always in a hunter-green cotton shirt and khakis. Admittedly more conservative than her usual crowd, but sexy enough to make her pulse rate increase, anyway.

“You look very nice,” he said, giving her a smile that held just a touch of shy awkwardness. Which, of course, only endeared him more to her.

“Thank you.”

He glanced around her miniscule, thrift-store furnished apartment. “Nice place. It’s very…cozy.”

“Which is your tactful way of pointing out how small it is.” She shrugged. “I would rather spend my extra money on fun than rent.”

Because he knew exactly how much she made, and how much she stashed into savings for a future in which she intended to retire young and spend a great deal of time traveling, he didn’t seem surprised by that choice. “It’s still a nice place.”

“Thanks.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and locked the door behind them as they headed outside.

This evening could be very interesting. Either she would find out that Mark Wallace wasn’t the stimulating company she had imagined he would be, or the night would end with her being just as fascinated by him as she had been to this point.

She figured she could handle whatever happened between them as long as neither one of them showed signs of getting too serious.

Chapter Three

Mark couldn’t remember being so nervous about a date since high school. It annoyed him that he was acting more like a teenager than a thirty-year-old father of two.

Maybe the problem was that he hadn’t dated much since his divorce just over two years ago. He had been too busy setting up his home-based accounting practice and raising two little girls, who had been barely more than babies when his ex-wife had left.

On the handful of occasions he had gone out during the past couple of years—usually at the urging of a friend who had someone he just had to meet—the women he had seen had been very different from Miranda. More subdued. More conservative. Usually divorced, themselves, and busy raising children of their own.

Mark hadn’t really clicked with any of them. As nice as they had been, he was usually relieved when the awkward evenings had ended and he’d been back at home. Was he really such a glutton for punishment that he was attracted only to women who were completely wrong for him?

“You’re kind of quiet tonight,” Miranda commented after their food was placed in front of them.

Worried that he hadn’t been holding up his end of the conversation, he forced a smile. “Sorry. This time of year, most accountants go into brain overload.”

“I can imagine. Especially if all your clients are as late getting their paperwork to you as I was.”

“Not everyone waits so late—but enough to make this season a challenge.”

“I bet.”

Mark sliced into his steak. “You’re a bit quieter than usual, yourself.”

“Sorry. Just before you arrived this evening, I had a disturbing phone call.”

He frowned. “Not bad news, I hope.”

She toyed with her lemon-peppered salmon, her expression solemn. “No. Or maybe. I’m not really sure, actually.”

Bemused, he tilted his head to study her face. “You’re not sure?”

“With my sister, it’s hard to tell sometimes.”

He grimaced. “Now that’s a remark I understand completely.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yep.”

“Older or younger?”

“Younger. And if she lives to be my age, it will be a miracle.”

“And that’s a remark I understand completely.”

“Your sister’s a risk-taker, too?”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Risk-taker is a bit tame when it comes to describing Lisa. Lisa takes unpredictability to extremes. She’s rarely in the same place two months in a row, she’s never with the same guy for more than a few weeks, she’s always just one step away from total financial disaster. If I didn’t…well—”

“You slip her some money occasionally?” he guessed when she stopped.

Miranda shrugged. “I do, and so do other people. She seems to attract people who like to give her things, especially men. But they never seem to stay around long. She has trouble keeping jobs. And hanging on to money. I can’t let her go hungry, not to mention her kids.”

“Kids?” At least his sister wasn’t dragging children around on her adventures. “How many does she have?”

“Two. Twin boys.”

“Yeah? How old?”

“Five. I think,” she added with a frown of uncertainty.

He felt his eyebrows rise. “You don’t know how old your nephews are?”

“I’m pretty sure they were five in February. They were born on Valentine’s Day—I remember that because Lisa made such a big deal out of it. And why does everyone act like I should know everything about my sister’s kids? I’ve only seen them a couple of times in their whole lives.”

Because she was starting to sound defensive, he held up a hand. “I didn’t mean anything by it. How could you know them if you never see them?”

“Exactly. Does your sister have kids?”

“No. Terry has never married. She’s a photojournalist who travels all over the world—generally to the most dangerous spots she can find.”

“Lisa never married, either. The boys came from an affair she had with someone she barely remembers.”

“Does he know about his sons?”

“She told him. He wasn’t interested. He gave her a sizable check, then disappeared from her life. She went through the money before the twins were out of diapers.”

“It must have been tough for her, having two infants to care for. Did your parents help her?”

Miranda almost snorted. “Hardly. Our parents are the two most rigid, judgmental, dictatorial people on earth. They disowned Lisa when she left home the day after her high school graduation to get away from them. They did the same to me when I left home two years later. I was almost eighteen. Unlike Lisa, I had a college scholarship—full tuition and room and board paid. I was lucky. Between that and several part-time retail jobs, I was able to earn my degree in four and a half years. I’ve been working for Ballard’s ever since.”

“Sounds like you and your sister are opposites in many ways. She drifts, you’ve stayed in the same job. She spends money and you save. She lives for the present, while you plan for the future. She has her twins and you stay far away from kids.”

“That pretty well sums us up,” she agreed with a slight shrug. “But we have several things in common, too. Neither of us will ever let ourselves be browbeaten or controlled by anyone again. And there’s still a bond between us that was formed during those years when the only emotional support either of us had came from each other.”

“Your parents are still living?”

“Yes. They’re only in their early sixties.”

“But you never see them?”

“No.” She abruptly changed the subject to his family. “What about you? Are your parents still around?”

“My father died when I was just a kid. My mother was in poor health for many years. She died while I was in my last year of college, when Terry was a junior in high school. I watched out for Terry until she left for college. She’s been on her own ever since, though she has always known I was here for her if she needed me.”

“It sounds as though she was lucky to have you.”

“We were lucky to have each other.”

“You didn’t mind taking care of your younger sister when you were fresh out of college?”

“No. I was all she had,” he answered simply.

“Mr. Dependable,” she murmured, then speared a tiny herbed carrot and lifted it to her smiling mouth.

He didn’t appreciate the slight mockery he thought he detected in her tone. “The foster workers who labeled me a troublemaker would find it amusing to hear you call me that.”

She swallowed too fast, then reached for her water glass. “You?” she asked a moment later. “A troublemaker? My buttoned-down, conservative, single-dad accountant?”

He wasn’t sure why he was revealing so much of his past to her. Maybe it was because he hadn’t engaged in much adult conversation lately, and he’d forgotten how to make small talk. Or because Miranda had looked so troubled when she had spoken of the call from her sister that he’d felt she needed a distraction. Or maybe he simply wanted her to see him as something more than her “buttoned-down, conservative, single-dad accountant.”

“My mom got very sick the year I was fourteen and Terry was nine. Mom spent thirteen months in a hospital while Terry and I were sent to separate foster homes. We lived in Texas then, just outside of Dallas.”

“And you didn’t like the foster home where you were sent?”

“Hated it. I was determined to get back to my mom and sister. I thought they needed me to take care of them, you see. I ran away twice from that home, and then I was sent to another one, but I ran away from there, too. That’s when I was labeled a troubled youth and sent to a ranch that specialized in taking in at-risk boys, no more than one or two at a time. I was the only one there during my stay.”

At least they were keeping a conversation going now. Miranda seemed genuinely intrigued. “How did things work out for you at the ranch?”

“Very well, actually.” He picked up his water glass as he thought back to a time he hadn’t consciously remembered in years. “The couple who owned the ranch—Jared and Cassie Walker—were really good people. They had a son who was in college and a cute little red-haired daughter just a year younger than Terry. Jared was a no-nonsense cowboy who had a knack for asserting his authority without ever raising his voice. I pretty much idolized him by the end of my stay there.”

Miranda propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her fist. “So you lived on a ranch for a year. Did you ride horses and rope cows and stuff?”

“Mostly ‘stuff,’” he replied wryly. “I mucked out the stalls a lot.”

“Eww.”

“My sentiments, exactly. You’ll notice I didn’t pursue a ranching career, though I enjoyed my time there for the most part.”

“Do you ever see your foster family now?”

“I haven’t seen them since I was returned to my mother and sister when I was fifteen.” He still clearly remembered that tearful reunion. His mother had been overjoyed to have her children with her again. She had been so devastated to be separated from them that she had burst into tears every time Mark had mentioned the ranch from that day on.

He had felt vaguely guilty that he had bonded with the Walker family during his stay there. That guilt had compelled him to put his memories of the ranch away. He hadn’t responded to the Christmas or birthday cards Cassie had sent him, and eventually they had stopped coming. He had no idea if Jared and Cassie still lived on the ranch or if they remembered him. But the memories he had tucked away so deeply still warmed him on the rare occasions when he pulled them out.

“You’re an interesting man, Mark Wallace,” Miranda said, setting down her fork and pushing her plate away. “Darned good-looking, too. It’s rather a shame that we won’t be having a teeth-rattling affair. It might have been a memorable experience.”

He refused to let her see that she had disconcerted him with her intentionally outrageous comment. Instead he looked her right in the eyes and spoke confidently, “Trust me, it would most definitely be a memorable experience. And you would get more than your teeth rattled.”

He saw speculation enter her eyes, as if she were contemplating the same sort of images filling his mind at that moment. And then she smiled crookedly and shook her head, dropping her hand to her lap. “Maybe they were right to label you a troublemaker, after all. But as it happens, I’m not looking for trouble in my life just now.”

“Nor am I,” he said with a touch of regret. “So how about if we indulge in dessert, instead?”

She smiled at him from across the table. “Let’s make that a truly sinful dessert. Since it’s the only sin we’ll be committing tonight.”

Mark wasn’t so sure about that. Not if she counted the dreams he would undoubtedly have about her as sinful, which he had no doubt they would be.

Mark drove Miranda straight home after they finished dinner. He said nothing about seeing her again during the brief drive, and she assumed he considered this outing a one-time event.

She wasn’t sure what had prompted his invitation. Simple curiosity, perhaps. An impulsive gesture by a man who had been working too hard and spending too much time with preschoolers. She had found the evening both entertaining and illuminating. Who would have thought her accountant was a former bad boy?

Still, it was probably for the best if they kept their future encounters strictly business. Maybe Mark had been a rebel once, but he was Mr. Responsibility now. The most important women in his life were named Payton and Madison, and Miranda had no intention of competing with them for his attention.

No kids, she reminded herself. She had very good reasons for making that her number one rule when it came to dating.

He parked his family-sized SUV in an empty space at her apartment complex and turned off the engine. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

“I had a nice time tonight,” she told him as they ambled toward her ground-floor apartment. “Thank you for the dinner.”

“Was it really necessary for you to ask the restaurant staff to sing happy birthday to me when they delivered our desserts?”

She laughed at the embarrassment still lingering in his voice. “You must admit they were very enthusiastic about it. Their voices carried quite well, didn’t they?”

Mark groaned. “Much too well, actually. I was ready to sink beneath the table.”

She couldn’t resist reaching out to take his arm in a companionable manner. “You were so cute. Your face was as red as the cherries on your cheesecake.”

The wry look he slanted at her made her giggle, especially since his cheeks had turned a bit dark again. “I’m so glad you were entertained.”

So maybe this was their one and only date. Maybe they were a mismatched couple. Still, the night wasn’t quite over yet—and if it was their only outing together, they should definitely take a few memories away with them.

She paused in front of her door and turned to smile invitingly up at him. “There’s one more birthday tradition I haven’t taken care of yet.”

“Yeah?” He looked suddenly wary. “You don’t have a crowd of people waiting in the bushes to jump out and yell ‘surprise,’ do you?”

She laughed again and slid her hands up the front of his buttoned-down green shirt. “Actually I was thinking of the traditional birthday kiss.”

“Were you, now?”

Oh, yeah, he was interested. She could see it in his narrowed gray eyes.

“Mmm. Just a little taste—” she walked her fingers up his chest “—to see what it might be like—” she moved a step closer to him “—if things had been different for us.”

His mouth lowered slowly toward hers. “And what if that taste leaves me hungry for more?”

Their lips were almost close enough to meet when she murmured, “I’ve heard that self-denial builds character. But what harm can come from just a little taste?”

Their lips touched.

“Miss Martin? Miranda Martin?”

Both Mark and Miranda froze. And then Mark stepped back as Miranda turned to face the man who stood behind them on the sidewalk. The parking lot lights illuminated the hesitant expression on his broad, plain face.

“Yes, I’m Miranda Martin. Who are you?”

“My name is Jack Parsons. I’m an acquaintance of your sister’s.”

“Lisa?” Remembering the disturbing telephone call, Miranda felt her heart jump. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to her?”

“No, she’s okay. She wanted me to give you this.” The man held out an envelope, his big hand not quite steady. “And I have a delivery for you in my car.”

“A delivery?” Totally confused now, Miranda tilted her head to study him, trying without success to read the expression on the man’s face.

“Yeah. I’ll go get…I’ll be right back,” he stammered, moving backward.

Miranda turned to Mark. “This is weird, even for Lisa. I have no clue what’s going on.”

“I’ll hang around until you find out,” he said, frowning after the man who had interrupted them. “I’m not sure I trust that guy.”

Miranda wasn’t about to argue with him. She wasn’t sure she trusted the man, either, even if he did claim to be a friend of Lisa’s—or maybe because of that fact.

She was looking down at the envelope in her hand, tugging at the glued-down flap, when she heard Mark say in a rather odd voice, “Um, Miranda? Take a look at what the delivery is.”

She looked up at him, frowned at the strange expression on his face, and then turned to see what he was staring at so intently. Her own jaw dropped. “Oh, no.”

Jack Parsons was on his way back to her, dragging two large, wheeled suitcases behind him. And tagging behind those suitcases like little ducklings were a couple of sandy-haired boys with rumpled clothes and identical faces.

“No,” Miranda said again, more firmly this time. “Surely you aren’t…”

“Your sister asked me to bring them to you,” Jack said, setting the suitcases down and nodding toward the twins. “They aren’t any trouble. They’re kind of quiet, actually.”

Panic was beginning to build in her throat. She swallowed to clear her voice. “I don’t understand…”

“Lisa explained everything in her letter. She said you would understand after you read it. And she told me to tell you she’s sorry, and she thanks you for helping her. Now, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a long trip ahead of me tonight.”

“Wait a minute.” Miranda moved after him when he turned to walk away. “Where are you going? You aren’t just going to leave them here.”

Without slowing down, Jack looked over his shoulder. “Sorry, ma’am, but I’ve got to go. Read the letter from your sister. That’ll explain everything.”

Openmouthed in disbelief, Miranda watched the man climb behind the wheel of an extended cab pickup truck and drive away without even looking back. Only then did she turn, very slowly, to face the reality of two young, somber faces gazing expectantly up at her.

“Are you our aunt ’Randa?” one of the boys asked in a quavering voice while his twin hovered shyly behind him.

“Yes,” she answered in a near groan. “I suppose I am.” And heaven help them all, she almost added.

“We’d better get them inside while you read your letter,” Mark murmured, breaking into her momentary paralysis. “It’s cool out here tonight, and they aren’t even wearing jackets over those T-shirts.”

“Inside?” Miranda turned to him, feeling as though she were seeing him through a sudden fog. “My apartment?”

Apparently assessing the situation and deciding that someone had to take charge, he reached out his hand. “Give me your key. I’ll unlock the door.”

She shook her head in an effort to clear her muddled mind. She didn’t need anyone taking charge here, she assured herself. She had just needed a moment to recuperate from the shock. “I’ll do it.”

After opening the door, she reached in to turn on a light, then moved aside and motioned toward the boys. “Come on in. We’ll try to straighten this out.”

Mark dragged the suitcases in behind him as he entered. Miranda closed the door, then turned to find the twins still staring at her with those huge, unblinking brown eyes. “Uh, do you guys need anything?”

“He’s got to pee,” one of them said, pointing to the other.

She didn’t have a clue which boy was which. They looked so much alike she couldn’t imagine anyone being able to tell them apart. Not to mention that they hadn’t even been able to talk the last time she’d seen them.

“The bathroom is through there,” she said, pointing to the bedroom door. “Um, do you need any help?” If so, she was sending Mark, she decided. He had experience at this sort of thing, even if his kids were girls.

But the boy shook his head, turned and hurried toward the door as if he really couldn’t wait a moment longer. His twin continued to stare at Miranda.

“Okay,” she said after taking a deep breath. “I need to read this letter. You can go sit on the couch until your brother comes back,” she told him.

“I’ve got to pee, too.”

“Then go wait at the bathroom door until he’s finished and then you can both sit on the couch until we figure out what’s going on. And both of you wash your hands,” she called after him when he turned to follow his brother. It seemed like something she should say, since she seemed to be in charge of them at the moment, she thought with a gulp.

“Maybe it would be better if I leave now,” Mark suggested, making a slight movement toward the door. “This seems to be family business.”

She reached out to grab his sleeve. “Don’t you dare,” she told him, not even bothering to try to hide her desperation. “You can’t just walk away and leave me alone with them.”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Read the letter, Miranda. Let’s find out what’s going on.”

She ripped into the envelope, hoping without much optimism that the contents would reveal that Lisa was on her way to pick up her sons. Maybe she had simply been detained for an hour or so, and she had asked her friend to bring the boys ahead for some reason. Lisa probably just needed another loan, and then she—and her twins—would be on their way to the next adventure, leaving Miranda contentedly alone in her tiny apartment and her comfortable, self-centered routines.

But she knew after reading only the first line of the brief letter that nothing would ever be quite the same after this. And she didn’t for the life of her know what she was going to do about it.

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