Twins times two! (8 page)

He groaned when his mind returned to the same arguments he'd made to himself a hundred times already. If he'd been asked to consult on such a case only a day before, he would have claimed it was a travesty of justice to uproot a three-year-old child from the only family she had ever known in order to return her to her biological family. But now that he was faced with that very prospect regarding his own children, the issue was so much more complex. Not only did he have a daughter living under another person's roof, there was Brianne to consider, as well. Just as Zoe was so obviously his, Brianne looked so much like Cara's brother there was no denying her parentage. And like Cara, Ross would fight to the death to keep

Brianne with the family she'd known since birth. The little girl had already suffered so much with Nancy's death, to be given away like a weaned puppy-He couldn't bear to think about it.

But neither could he bear for either Becca or Brianne to grow up without knowing their biological twins.

So what was he going to do? There had to be a solution to this mess. One that wouldn't tear his family apart. They'd been through so much already.

Think. Think!

But as the night wore on, the enormity of the situation sank into Ross's consciousness, and he reeled from the decisions awaiting them all. There were no simple answers, no easy solutions, merely more heartache for everyone involved.

Rubbing the ache in his stomach, he gave up all pretense of sleep and flipped on the lamp. As the buttery glow flooded the room, he stared at the picture of his late wife that he kept on the bedside table.

The past two and a half years had been a painful journey from grief to acceptance to some semblance of a normal life. He'd been devastated by his wife's illness and subsequent death, but somehow he'd managed to survive. But now, just when

he'd dared to think that he might be capable of being attracted to someone other than Nancy, this had happened.

Ross supposed that if he had to choose someone other than Nancy to be the mother to one of his children, someone like Cara would be a definite possibility. Ross wasn't usually a person prone to snap judgments, but from the moment he'd stepped into her home, he'd been struck with the charm of the little bungalow. The air had been redolent with the scent of chocolate chip cookies. There were puzzles and toys stacked in baskets that had been left in easy reach—and those toys he'd seen scattered on the floor had been obviously educational. Her warmth around her children had been so open and obvious. And even though she was new to motherhood, it was clear that she had a knack for making Heidi and Zoe feel happy and secure, despite the recent loss of their parents. Even Ross's children had been smitten with her. They kept asking when the nice lady with the puppets was going to visit again.

If he had to choose a mother for a daughter he'd never known about...

No. He couldn't bear to think of leaving things as they were. He couldn't ignore the fact that Zoe was out there and that two sets of twins deserved to be together. Somehow he and Cara would have

to come to a working solution. Shared custody, or...

His stomach tightened at the thought, and then the pain came again when another worry came swiftly on its heels. He'd spooked Cara tonight by insisting that the twins deserved a chance to know one another. Cara had confided in him that the adoption wasn't finalized yet. If she feared her custody was in jeopardy, she might bolt and take the twins with her.

He began pacing the bedroom in open agitation.

No. He couldn't let that happen. Somehow he had to find a way to ensure that she and the twins remained nearby until things could be worked out.

Unless...

An idea flashed through his brain, one that was so easy, yet so unnerving that he immediately dismissed it.

No. He wouldn't even consider such a thing. It was too drastic...too final.

But even as he told himself he was being crazy, he couldn't help thinking...if he had to choose a mother for a daughter he'd never known about—a mother for all of the children?

Ross shook his head. He was out of his mind. Completely out of his mind. He had known Cara for less than twenty-four hours and already he was infusing far too much into their chance meeting.

He didn't even know the woman. So what if she made cookies? A lot of women made cookies. So what if her house was inviting and her children adoring and his own twins curious. That didn't mean that he should be thinking of Cara in terms of...

A wife?

He groaned, raking his hands through his hair. He needed a vacation or some time off.

But the situation that had developed didn't allow for such luxuries. He needed a solution to the problem, and he needed one now.

But marriage?

No. It was out of the question. Absolutely out of the question. He'd been married and he'd loved every minute of it. A man didn't get that kind of luck twice in a lifetime. He and Nancy had been a love match. They'd known each other for years. He was a one-woman man even beyond the grave. Until Cara, he hadn't even been tempted to date again.

Until Cara.

What was it about this woman that she seemed to have a hold over him that went far beyond the dilemma with the children? All totaled, he'd been with her for only a few hours and he was already contemplating...

Marriage?

No. It was preposterous. It was completely unreasonable. It was...

Such a simple solution that it was almost scary.

No. A person didn't get married just to sort out custody.

Or did they?

Cara would never go for it. She didn't know anything about him.

But she loved her children and would probably do anything to ensure their health and happiness.

That didn't mean she would marry a person like him—a person who was contemplating such a cold, practical marriage of convenience for his own children's sake.

Or would she?

Chapter Six

Cara didn't hear a word from Ross Gifford for two full days. By that time she was pacing the confines of her house. She couldn't eat or sleep. She kept circling the telephone, worried that Ross would never call, then fearing that he would.

The children sensed that something was wrong—which meant that they sought her attention as a way to reassure themselves that she wasn't angry with them. Unfortunately, their methods of seeking attention usually involved getting into trouble. Heidi had tried to flush her shoes down the toilet; Zoe had eaten paint. They'd both colored on the walls with their crayons, left a bag of pop-sicles to melt in the middle of the kitchen floor and given the neighbor's cat a haircut. Cara had never been so exhausted in her whole life. Emotionally and physically.

Cara's only jaunt out of the house had been to consult with her lawyer, but he'd been unable to offer her any real comfort. Her adoption hadn't been finalized, so her legal position in the twins' lives wasn't as strong as he would like. He would have to make inquiries, research legal precedents, yada, yada, yada. Cara hadn't been able to concentrate on a word after the phrase "Without the adoption being completed, your role as legal guardian isn't as strong as I would like."

Through it all Cara's nerves stretched thinner and thinner. So when she woke up one morning to find three local camera crews and a network anchorman camped out on her front doorstep, the fragile grip on her emotions snapped.

Grasping the phone, she punched in the numbers to Ross's house—making the very call that she had attempted a half dozen times, then aborted.

"Good morning, this is the Gifford residence, Stibbs speaking."

"Put Ross Gifford on the phone. Right this minute!"

She didn't know if it was the frantic edge to her tone or the fact that Stibbs recognized her voice, but a silence was soon followed by "Ross here."

"This is Cara. I want you at my house. Now."

Not giving him a chance to respond, she hung up the phone and quickly moved from window to

window, pulling blinds and drawing the curtains closed.

"Mommy, what's wrong?"

Heidi stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, her arms wrapped around her favorite stuffed rabbit.

Cara tried to smile reassuringly, but her lips felt stiff. "Nothing's wrong, sweetie. What's got you out of bed so early?"

"There's a man at my window."

It took a moment for the words to sink into her brain. "There's a man at your window?"

Heidi nodded and yawned. "He's takin' pictures."

A white-hot, uncontrollable fury spilled through her veins. It didn't take a rocket scientist to guess why the media was suddenly interested in this house and its occupants. And since Cara hadn't told anyone about the switching of the twins, other than her partners and her lawyer, that left one logical explanation.

Ross. Damn the man.

The emotions that had been simmering for days erupted. Without thinking, she grabbed the broom from its spot in the pantry and marched to the door.

"Heidi, go get your sister and move into the living room. Turn on the television if you want,

but stay away from the windows, do you understand?"

Heidi nodded, her finger slipping into her mouth—a habit left over from babyhood and a clear sign that she was worried or upset.

Slamming out of the back door, Cara rushed around the side of the house. Seeing a man in jeans and a dirty sweatshirt priming a camera with an enormous lens at her children's bedroom window, she started swinging.

"Get out, get out, get out!"

She whacked him on the shoulder, then, when he held up a hand to defend himself, she began hitting him on the top of his head.

"Hey, lady! I'm with the National Expositor and we'd like to pay you—"

"Out!"

She hit him again and again, slowly driving him toward the front yard. As soon as he was past the myrtle bushes, she brandished the broom like a baseball bat.

"Get out of here. All of you! You have no business here."

"Hey, lady, we've got word that a story is breaking here. Something about switched twins."

Cara was so furious she was shaking. "There's no story. Pack up your gear and clear out!"

"We've got a right to be here. The public has a

right to hear about any mistakes made by the local hospitals."

Cara could have screamed. Instead she forced herself to say, "Get off this lawn and off my property or I'll have you arrested for trespassing. You have thirty seconds and then I let the Doberman loose."

As she whirled back in the direction of the house, she had some satisfaction in seeing the reporters scrambling to get off her lawn.

"Now if I only had a Doberman," she grumbled to herself as she stormed back to the house and slammed the door.

For several seconds she stood in the middle of the kitchen, her broom held high and her body trembling with adrenaline. But as the surge of energy began to drain away, she felt her throat growing tight and tears pressing at the backs of her eyes.

How could Ross Gifford have done this to her? She'd been so careful not to tell anyone, knowing instinctively that it was important to keep the whole affair a private matter.

Without even consulting her, he'd made a public spectacle of her children—of her. No doubt, there would be pictures of Heidi and Zoe splashed across the evening paper—as well as one or two of Cara dressed in the oversize T-shirt, baggy boxer-style

shorts and ankle socks that she'd worn to bed the previous evening.

Damn him! What had he been thinking when he'd gone to the press with the story? Had Ross already begun maneuvering in an effort to win public sympathy for his plight? After all, Ross Gif-ford was Zoe's biological father where Cara was only her—

Her what? Her aunt? Could she even lay claim to that title if Ross were to challenge her for custody of the girl?

But wouldn't anyone realize that after all these months she had become so much more to the children and they to her?

She heard the ringing of her front door, then the faint calls of, "Mr. Gifford, Mr. Gifford!"

Marching toward the front door, she decided that the time had come for Ross Gifford to explain everything—including his intentions for the future.

Ross had known there was trouble the moment Cara had called. Her tone had revealed a woman at the breaking point.

Damn. He'd known that he should have called her earlier—and he didn't suppose that his hesi-tance in contacting her again helped his cause any. But he hadn't wanted to commit himself to any course of action until he'd thought about all of the

ramifications. After all, he was considering asking a woman to marry him. A woman he'd only met on two occasions. Granted, he had liked what he'd already seen, but was that any way to choose a mother for his children?

So he'd spent two days trying to talk himself out of the decision. He'd concentrated on business and researching legal precedents regarding children who had been switched at birth.

But he hadn't come up with a way to solve the problem as neatly and painlessly as a quick, simple marriage.

He'd been ready to ask her. Last night, he'd taken a slow shower, shaved and splashed cologne on his cheeks. And then, looking in the mirror, he'd broken into a cold sweat.

No. Marriage wasn't the answer.

But even having made his decision, Ross hadn't slept.

Nor had he called Cara to begin organizing an alternate plan of action.

With the morning traffic, it took nearly fifteen minutes to reach Cara's bungalow. As the minutes passed, Ross tried to come up with a logical reason for his silence the last two days—one that wouldn't involve informing her of his harebrained idea. But it wasn't until he turned onto the block where she

lived and he saw the camera crews that he realized just how upset Cara must be.

"Damn," he muttered as he pulled his car into the driveway, deftly maneuvering around the reporters who knocked on his windows and shouted questions through the glass. Curiously, they didn't follow him into the driveway, but stood at the curb just outside the picket fence, jostling for position at the front of the pack.

Ignoring them, Ross slammed the car door, set the alarm in case some ambitious reporter decided to tamper with the Lexus, and strode up the steps of the front stoop. As he jabbed the doorbell, he could feel the cameras being trained on his back.