Twins times two! (6 page)

The moment the thought appeared, he dismissed it as unfair. As much as he might want to discount what had happened tonight, he couldn't. Somehow, some way this woman had cracked the hard shell of ice that had encased his emotions since Nancy's death. As much as he might want to step back into the numb cocoon that had encased him for the past two years, the time had come to move on.

Nevertheless, even as he gave himself permission to go in search of companionship, to find a wife for himself and a mother for his children, he knew it wouldn't be that easy. He might succumb to his physical needs and initiate a physical relationship, but there would be no emotional ties to bind him. That part of his personality had died with his wife.

No. He would need to find a woman who could take him for what he was—scarred and imperfect. He was a man who could offer a woman a good life, a healthy bank account and an instant family.

But that was all. That was all he had left in him to give.

So why did that leave him feeling hollow? And restless?

And why couldn't he seem to forget the taste and feel of a woman who had all but run away from him only hours before?

"Mr. Morton is still in conference, but he'll be right with you, Miss Wells. If you'll have a seat, I'll let him know you're waiting."

"Thank you."

Cara gripped the strap of her bag more tightly and moved into the elegant decor of the law offices' reception area. Sitting with her back to the bright light streaming through the main door, she ignored the stack of glossy magazines spread out on the table in front of her and reached into her purse instead.

Removing the two photographs, she stared at them again. Why was the sight of two sets of twins still so shocking? Why couldn't she bring herself to believe in the evidence of her own eyes?

Her thumb lovingly traced the small photograph taken of Heidi and Zoe at a portrait studio in a nearby department store. Then she looked at the Polaroid photograph that she had removed from Ross Gifford's file at the Mom Squad offices. Two

sets of identical twins. Two. How had they been switched? How? Even with the confusion of the blizzard, there was no excuse for the hospital's having made such a mistake. None whatsoever.

But railing against the Fates wouldn't change the predicament she found herself in now. And there was no use fretting over things she couldn't change. The facts would still remain.

A pair of twins had been switched.

And their father had awakened a hunger in her that she was having a hard time ignoring.

No. She couldn't think about that right now. She had to keep her mind on the twins and on her options for the future. She couldn't afford to let her thoughts wander to those heady moments in Ross Gifford's arms.

"Cara?"

She froze, wondering if she was beginning to lose her mind. Now, instead of just thinking about the man, she was hearing him, too.

But when she turned, she found Ross striding through the main doors, a hint of surprise softening the granite-hard angles of his features. His gaze was intent and so obviously male that Cara felt flustered. For a moment the potent awareness in his eyes had chased away some of somberness. If he weren't so obviously in mourning, Ross Gifford would be a devastating man.

And if that were the case, how would she have the will to resist him?

She grimaced at her own inability to push aside her attraction to Ross Gifford. Why couldn't she remember that this man was a threat to everything she held dear? Why couldn't she focus on the fact that he held her future in the palm of his hand and he didn't even know it? Wasn't she in enough trouble already?

Yes. More than she could ever imagine.

So why was a tiny voice urging her to revel in this man's attention? Why was it whispering that she might have sworn off marriage, but she hadn't sworn off sex?

Shocked at her own inner musings, Cara forced herself to ignore the heat that immediately blossomed within her.

She wouldn't give in to the neediness she felt. She mustn't give in.

"Ross," she breathed, stuffing the pictures back into her bag.

"Do you have business with Walter Gibbons?" He gestured toward the inner offices with a hitch of his shoulder.

"No. W-with Bert Morton." She laughed, then wished she hadn't when it sounded too bright and too false. "Nothing serious, just some legal advice for...for the Mom Squad."

"Really? I wish you'd let me know. I would be more than happy to consult with the Mom Squad pro bono. Heaven only knows that your company has bailed me out of a jam a time or two."

"I... I—" What was she supposed to say? That there was no way she would ever ask for his help because he was part of the problem?

Her gaze bounced from the inner office doors to the receptionist. But the woman was talking on the telephone and didn't intercept Cara's silent plea for help.

Again she was filled with a wave of panic. She shouldn't have come today. If Ross found out that she'd been here, that she'd gone immediately to a lawyer rather than approaching him with her discovery...

She had to get out of here. Now.

Cara jumped to her feet. To her horror her hands lost their grip on her purse and it fell to the ground, spilling its contents all over the plush forest-green carpet.

Her face flamed, and she scrambled to gather the scattered flotsam of her busy life—cosmetics, wipes, odd barrettes and Mom Squad correspondence. But before she could react, Ross had knelt beside her. Too late, she watched as he scooped up the photographs that had fluttered to a spot out of her reach.

An instinctive cry burst from her lips as he looked down at the two prints. Two sets of twins.

"What's this?"

His brow furrowed and he looked at Cara with patent confusion, his mind not yet grasping the import of what he was seeing.

"Why do you have photographs of Becca and Brianne in your purse?"

Her throat seemed to squeeze shut, allowing no sound to escape. Then, panicking, she snatched the photographs from his lax grip and stood.

"I've got to go," she half sobbed, tears gathering behind her eyes. It was only a matter of time now. Then he would know everything and any hope of seeing his eyes grow warm would be gone.

Dear, sweet heaven, why did such a prospect fill her with an overwhelming regret?

A chill wave of alarm flooded Ross's system. His heart thudded sickly in his breast as he watched Cara rush toward the double doors, but he was rooted to the spot.

This woman was carrying photographs of his twins. How? Why?

Still not fully understanding the situation, Ross rushed to follow her, knowing only that he needed an explanation. But he arrived just as the double

doors to the elevator closed, shutting out all but one quick glance of her distraught expression.

It was the brief flash of fear in her eyes that spurred him on. Racing to the emergency exit, he took the stairs two at a time, arriving in the lobby just as Cara tried to dodge through the outer doors.

Knowing only that he had to stop her, he snagged her elbow, pulling her tightly against him. But when her instinctive cries began to capture the attention of the other patrons, he quickly pulled her down the corridor next to the elevators, into an empty conference room and closed the door.

Immediately she wrenched free and put the width of the table between them. Breathing hard, Ross said, "I think you owe me an explanation. Why do you have photographs of my children in your purse?"

She gazed at him as if he were a monster, her eyes brimming with tears.

"I...I—"

4 'You are from the Mom Squad, aren't you?" Anger swelled within him, then fear. He was always so careful with his children. In his line of work he'd learned that wealth and prestige carried its own price tag, and he would stop at nothing to ensure the safety of the twins.

"Mr. Gifford? Miss Wells? Is something wrong?"

Before Ross knew what was happening, the door whipped opened and the receptionist from upstairs stepped inside.

Ross turned to reassure the woman, but in that scant moment when Ross's attention was diverted, Cara slipped past the woman and ran outside.

Again Ross tried to follow her, but by the time he reached the sidewalk, he saw her climbing into a candy-apple-red Volkswagen Beetle. Tires squealed as she backed out, and he barely had time to note her vanity plates. But even the whimsical WHEEE couldn't allay his concerns.

"Mr. Gifford?"

The receptionist had followed him outside, so Ross waved aside her concern. "I've got to get home, Bernice. Family emergency. Can you reschedule my appointments for me?"

"Of course."

"Thanks."

Without explaining himself further, Ross loped toward his car, retrieving his cell phone from his pocket as he ran. Punching the speed dial that would connect him with his office, he waited for his secretary to answer.

"Marci, do you still have that connection with the DMV? I need an address fast."

"What have you got for me?"

"A vanity plate."

"Go ahead."

"It'sWHEEE."

There was a pause. "Excuse me?"

"W-H-E-E-K"

"Gotcha."

"Call me back as soon as you've got it."

Less than ten minutes had elapsed before his phone rang again. In that time, Ross had aimlessly circled the nearby streets in his car, hoping to catch a glimpse of a candy-apple-red Volkswagen. With each second that passed, he grew more and more convinced that something was going on here, something he should be grasping about the entire situation. But what?

He'd known Cara for less than a day, yet he felt drawn to her in a way he had thought was purely physical. But was there something else between them that he was refusing to see?

Damn it all to hell. He shouldn't have kissed the woman. He shouldn't have given in to the reawakening of his physical hungers. By focusing on himself rather than his children, he had allowed his guard to drop. He couldn't afford to make such a mistake. He had too much to worry about with his life as it was. He didn't need to open himself up to more—

More what? Pleasure or pain?

The phone beeped and he grabbed it in mid-ring.

"Her name is Cara Wells. If you've got a pen, I'll give you her address."

Within minutes Ross found himself on the stoop of a quaint bungalow located in the Avenues. Steeling himself against everything but the fury that had begun to build within him, he pressed his finger against the bell and kept it there.

But he didn't have long to wait. Almost instantly the door creaked open and he found himself staring down at a familiar pair of faces—one a brilliant carrot top, the other a strawberry blonde.

"Becca? Brianne? What the—"

The anger within him flared, then suddenly turned to ice as Cara stepped into the doorway behind the children. In an instant he was struck by the disparity of the scene in front of him. Becca and Brianne? The faces were so familiar to him, so dear, so earnest....

But there was no recognition in their features. And the hair, the clothes...

"Ross, I'd like you to meet my children," Cara said, her voice low and filled with resignation. "Heidi, Zoe, this is Mr. Gifford. Believe it or not, he has a pair of twin daughters that look just like you."

The man in front of her grew pale, and knowing from her own experience the swirl of confusion

and disbelief that was robbing the color from his skin, Cara waved wide with her hand.

"Come in and take a seat. The time has come for us to have a talk."

He moved slowly, woodenly, with none of the usual grace that she'd begun to expect from him. All the while his gaze clung to Heidi and Zoe.

"But they're—"

"Yes, I know. Please. Sit down."

Briefly he tore his eyes away from the children. She saw the way he looked around him, but sensed he only absorbed a small portion of what he saw.

Looking at the room with new eyes, Cara winced. Toys littered the floor, and a pile of books had been left on the couch. The room was small, the furnishings a hodgepodge of antiques and flea market finds.

Briefly Cara wondered what Ross was thinking, if he was comparing his sumptuous castle to her own simple home. Polly had once said that Cara's bungalow looked like a Laura Ashley catalog had exploded. She loved pastel colors, chintz, English roses and a rich combination of textures. But she also loved comfort. Her favorite books were always at hand and her shoes were invariably kicked off at the door. And since the children played primarily in the living room, there was hardly a time when everything was in its place.

She shifted nervously. "Excuse the mess. The children have been playing in here."

There was no separate nursery or play area. Cara's home was a compact, one-story bungalow that had been built sometime during the depression. Cara had immediately been attracted to its charm and craftsmanship so the size hadn't been an issue. But she supposed that her entire house could fit into the nursery area devoted to Ross's children.

"How long have you known?" His voice was low and gruff.

"Only since seeing your twins yesterday."

"Did Melba say something? Was she really ill?"

"Yes. I can assure you that my appearance as your sitter was purely by chance. I only fill in when there's an emergency. As for Melba, she's never seen my children so she would have no reason to think anything was wrong. Melba works out of her home for the most part, so I was alone during those few times we met face-to-face."

Again Ross stared at her children. Cara remained silent, knowing that he would need some time to absorb the truth of what he was seeing.

The twins ran to her side, sensing the tension in the air.

"What's wrong with him, Mama?" Zoe asked, tugging at Cara's skirt.

"Nothing, sweetie. He's just thinking, that's all."

Heidi sniffed, clearly unimpressed with the stranger. "He looks like he needs a nap. Make him go home. I don' like him. He's starin' an' we're not supposed t' stare."

"Shh," Cara said, offering both girls a quick kiss. "Go play with your toys for a little while. Mr. Gifford and I need to talk."