A Father for Her Triplets: Her Pregnancy Surprise (12 page)

As the screen door slapped closed behind her, she handed him a beer.

He looked at the bottle, looked at her. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“What? Drink? We’re both over twenty-one. Besides, we limited ourselves to a bottle. We’re strong, mature and responsible that way.”

He let out a sigh. “That’s just it. You are strong and mature and responsible. I am not.”

“You think you’re not, but I see it every day.”

“Trust me. You’re seeing a side of me that few people ever do.”

She smiled. “I suspected that.”

As if wanting to prove himself to be irresponsible and immature, he guzzled his beer and handed the empty to her.

“In Florida I’m moody, bossy and pushy.”

“You’ve been pretty moody, bossy and pushy here, too, but you’re also good to the kids, good to me, fun to be around, considerate.”

He groaned and turned away. When he faced her again frustration poured from him. “Don’t make me into something I’m not!”

At his shout, she backed up a step. “I’m not.”

“You are! What you see as good things, I see as easy steps. Who wouldn’t enjoy a few weeks of playing with kids, no stress, no pressure? Even helping you with cakes and money and finding a van—those things were fun. But in a few days I go home, and when I do, I’ll be back to working ten- and twelve-hour days, pushing my employees, making my parents crazy when I bow out of invitations I’d agreed to because they suddenly don’t suit me.” His voice softened on the last words. He reached out and gently stroked Missy’s cheek. “I wish I was the guy you think I am. But I’m not.” He snorted. “Just ask my ex-wife.”

He took one final long look at her, then bounded off the porch, down the steps and across her yard. She stood watching him, her heart sighing in her chest.

His anger had surprised her, but the way his voice had softened and his eyes filled with longing meant more than his words. He talked about a person she didn’t know. Someone impossible to get along with. He’d been a little pushy and bossy around her, but not so much that he was offensive or even hard to handle. Yet it was clear he saw himself as impossible to get along with.

So how could the guy who was so good to her kids, so good to her, think himself impossible to get along with?

Running his company couldn’t make him feel that way. He’d never been anything but calm, cool and collected when discussing her business. He knew he was smart. He knew what he was doing.

Unless dealing with a scheming wife, a woman who’d insinuated herself into his company, had made him suspicious, bossy, difficult—out of necessity?

And being away from his ex and the business had brought back the nice guy he was?

That had to be it. It was the only theory that made sense.

Around his ex-wife, he’d always had to be on guard and careful, so he didn’t see how good he was. But Missy did. And somehow between now and the day he left, she was going to have to get him to see it, too.

CHAPTER TEN

W
HEN
W
YATT
GLANCED
OUT
the window Saturday afternoon, Missy wasn’t carrying a cake with Nancy, the babysitter. She and her assistant, Elaine, lugged the huge violet creation to the back of her new van.

Pride enveloped him. This week’s cake was huge and fancy. Flowers made ropes of color that looped from layer to layer. It reminded him of the Garden of Eden.

But as he admired her in her pretty pink dress, a dress that complemented the cake, he realized he wouldn’t be scrambling to put on clean clothes, or driving with her to a wedding reception, helping to set up, telling her how much he liked her latest cake, dancing, almost kissing—actually kissing. His breath stalled. That last kiss had been amazing.

Still, forcing her to hire her assistant quickly had been the right thing to do. He didn’t want any more time with her. He didn’t want to lead her on and he didn’t want her getting any more wild ideas that he was a nice guy. This—her leaving without him—was for the best.

She got behind the steering wheel and her assistant jumped into the passenger’s side. As Missy put the van into Reverse and started out of the driveway, she called, “See you later, kids!”

He watched her leave, his heart just heavy enough to make him sad, but not so heavy that he believed he’d done the wrong thing in standing her on her own two feet and then stepping back.

He turned to face another bed full of boxes, this one in the first of two extra bedrooms. His grandmother might have been a neat, organized hoarder, but she’d been a hoarder all the same. He worked for hours, until his back began to ache. Then he glanced out the window longingly. On this sunny May afternoon, he had no intention of spending any more time inside, looking for jewelry that he was beginning to believe did not exist.

He slid into flip-flops and jogged down his back porch steps. Ducking under the shrub, he noticed the kids were in the sandbox. Nancy sat on the bench seat of the old wooden picnic table.

He ambled over. “Hey.”

Owen’s head shot up. “Hey, Wyatt.”

“Hey, Owen.” He faced the babysitter. “Can I play?”

Nancy rose from the picnic table. “Actually, I was hoping you’d come over.”

He peeked at her. Sixteen, pretty and probably very popular, she reminded Wyatt of the sitters his mom used to hire when he was a kid. Young. Impressionable.

He wasn’t sure he should be glad she was hoping he’d come over. “You were?”

She winced. “Tomorrow’s Mother’s Day and I forgot to get my mom a gift.”

“Oh, shoot!” He winced with her, happy her gladness at seeing him was innocent, but also every bit as guilty as she was about the Mother’s Day gift. “I forgot, too.”

“I’ll tell you what. You give me fifteen minutes to run to the florist and I’ll order both of our moms flowers.”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “That’s okay. I can do mine online. You go, though. There’s nothing worse than forgetting Mother’s Day.”

“My mother would freak.”

He laughed. “My mother would double freak.”

“So you’re okay with the kids? The florist is on Main Street and I can be there and back in fifteen minutes.”

“If they’re not crowded.”

She grimaced. “Yeah. If they’re not crowed.”

He slid out of his flip-flops. “Take your time. We’ll be fine.”

When she was gone, the triplets shifted and moved until there was enough space for Wyatt in the sandbox. They decided to build a shopping center, which made Owen happy and also pleased the girls, who—though he hadn’t thought them old enough to understand shopping—seemed to have the concept down pat.

After five minutes of moving sand, Owen suddenly said, “What’s Mother’s Day?”

“That’s the day you buy your mom...” Wyatt stopped, suddenly understanding the three big-eyed kids who hung on his every word. He didn’t have to do the math to know that they’d never bought their mother a gift for Mother’s Day. Their dad had been gone on their first Mother’s Day. Missy’s mom was dead, so they’d never seen Missy buy a Mother’s Day gift. Missy’s dad was worthless, so there had been no one to tell them about Mother’s Day, let alone help them choose gifts.

“It’s the day kids buy their mom a present—usually flowers—so she knows that they love her.”

Owen studied him solemnly. “We love our mom.”

Wyatt’s heart squeezed. The temptation to help them order flowers was strong, but this was exactly the kind of thing he shouldn’t be doing. It was easy, goofy things like this that made Missy think he was nice.

He wasn’t. He was a cutthroat businessman.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I know you love your mom.”

Lainie tapped on his knee. “So we should get her flowers.”

The desire to do that rumbled through him. He didn’t just want to help these kids; he also knew Missy deserved a Mother’s Day gift.

Ah, hell. Who was he kidding? Wild horses couldn’t stop him from helping them. Somehow he’d downplay his role in things.

He pulled out his phone. “And that’s why we’re going to order some.”

All three kids stared at him, hope shining from their big eyes. He looked down at the small screen before him. It seemed too impersonal to buy their first ever Mother’s Day gift from a tiny screen on a phone. Particularly since the babysitter had said the florist was a five-minute walk away.

He rose, dusted off his butt. “You know what? I think we should do a field trip.”

Lainie gaped at him as if he’d grown a second head. “We’re going to a field?”

He laughed. “We’re going to the florist.” He looked down. All three kids had on tennis shoes. They were reasonably clean. He had credit cards in his wallet in his back pocket. They were set.

He caught Lainie’s hand, then Claire’s. “Owen, can you be a big boy and walk ahead of us?”

His chest puffed out with pride. “Yeth.”

Lainie dropped his hand. “I can walk ahead, too.”

Wyatt laughed. The little brunette had definitely inherited her mother’s spunk—and maybe a little of her competitiveness. “Go for it.”

They strode out of the drive, Claire holding his hand, Owen sort of marching and Lainie pirouetting ahead of him. Wyatt directed them to turn right, then herded them across the quiet street and turned right again.

The walk took more like ten minutes, not the five Nancy had said, and Wyatt ended up carrying Claire, but they made it.

Owen opened the door to the florist shop and a bell sounded as they entered.

Because it was late afternoon, probably close to closing time, the place was almost empty. Nancy was at the counter, paying for her flowers.

She grinned when she saw the kids. “Hi, guys.” Then she glanced at Wyatt. “What’s up?”

“We’ve decided to get flowers, too. For Missy.”

Her eyes widened with understanding. “What a great idea! Do you want me to stay and help?”

“No. We’ll meet you back at the house.”

She kissed each kid’s cheek, then headed for the door, a huge purple flowery thing in her hands.

Wyatt faced the clerk. “What was that?”

The fifty-something woman smiled. “Hydrangeas.” She peered into Claire’s face. “I recognize the little Brooks kids, but I’m not familiar with you.”

“I’m Wyatt...” His eyes narrowed as he read her name tag. “Mrs. Zedik?”

“Yes?”

“You taught me in fourth grade.”

She looked closer. “I can’t place you.”

“That’s because I wear contacts instead of big thick glasses. I’m Wyatt McKenzie.”

She gasped. “Well, good gravy! Wyatt McKenzie. What brings you home?”

“Looking through things in Gram’s house. Making sure she doesn’t have a Rembrandt that gets sold for three dollars and fifty cents at the garage sale the real estate agent is going to have once we put the house on the market.”

The woman laughed. “And what are you doing with the Brooks triplets?”

Lainie and Owen blinked up at her.

From her position on Wyatt’s arm, Claire said, “We’re shopping for Mother’s Day flowers.”

Mrs. Zedik came out from behind the counter. “And what kind of flowers do you want?”

Lainie said, “Pink.”

Claire said, “Yellow.”

Owen pointed at a huge bushlike thing. “Those.”

Mrs. Zedik laughed. “Well, I might be able to find the azaleas the boy wants in pink. That way two kids would get what they want.”

Claire caught Wyatt’s face and turned it to her. “I want yellow.”

He said to Mrs. Zedik, “She wants yellow.”

“So we’ll pick two flowers.”

“How about if we let each kid get the flower they want?” He set Claire on the floor and reached for his credit card. “Sky’s the limit on this thing.”

With a chuckle she took the card. “I heard you made some money.”

“Yeah. And it’s no fun having money if you can’t use it to make people happy.” He stooped to the kids’ level. “Pick what you want. Everybody gets a flower to give to your mom.” Then he rose. “Any chance I can get these delivered?”

She winced. “Depends on how soon you want them. Van’s out making deliveries now. Won’t be back for at least two hours.”

“It would be nice if she’d get them tomorrow morning.”

Mrs. Zedik made a face. “We don’t actually deliver on Mother’s Day. It’s Sunday.”

“How about this? You deliver these flowers to my house this evening and I’ll take care of the kids getting them to their mom in the morning.”

“That sounds good.”

Even as he spoke, Lainie called out, “I want this one.”

Claire said, “I want this one.”

Lainie looked at Claire’s flower, then her own. “I want that one, too.”

Mrs. Z walked up behind him. “I do have two of those.”

“Okay, we’ll get two of those and Owen’s bush.”

Owen said, “I want one of these, too.” He pointed at an arrangement.

Lainie said, “I want one of those, too.”

Mrs. Z’s eyebrows rose.

Wyatt sucked in a quick breath. “Might be easier to let them each pick two.”

“Can I have one of those?” This time Owen pointed at a vase in a cooler with a long-stemmed red rose.

“Owen, that would be three flowers.”

He nodded.

Wyatt laughed.

Mrs. Z smiled. “You said money was no fun unless you spent it.”

“I’m just hoping you have a van big enough to get them everything they want.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

He didn’t like thinking about how sweet it was. He’d told Missy the last time they’d talked that he was grouchy and bossy, and usually he was. But how could he resist helping her kids show her that they love her? “Actually, it’s more of a necessity, since I haven’t yet figured out how to tell these kids no.”

Mrs. Z rounded the counter. “Just let me get a tablet and start writing some of this down.”

In the end, they bought nine flower arrangements, three long-stemmed roses in white vases, three Mother’s Day floral arrangements and three plants.

He walked the kids back to the house, Owen in the lead with Lainie pirouetting behind him. But when Wyatt slid Claire to the ground again, another thought hit him. He directed them to sit on the bench seat of the picnic table, and crouched in front of them.

“Mother’s Day is a special day when moms don’t just get flowers, they also aren’t supposed to work.”

The kids gave him a blank stare.

“At the very least somebody should take them out to breakfast or lunch. So I was thinking we could—”

Owen interrupted him. “We can make breakfast.”

“Yeah, we can make breakfast.”

Claire tugged on his hand. “I can make toast.”

“Well, that would be really cute, but it might be even cuter if—”

The sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway stopped him. He turned and saw Missy’s new van.

He rose as she got out. “What are you doing home so early?”

“Garden wedding. Fifteen-minute service. Then an hour for pictures. Then cake and punch and we were done.”

“Where’s Elaine?”

“I dropped her off at home.”

Missy stooped down and opened her arms. The kids raced into them. “So did you have fun today?”

“We went to—”

“We played in the sandbox,” Wyatt interrupted, giving Owen a significant look. “Why don’t you go wash up? At least get out of that dress?”

She glanced down at herself. “I guess I should.”

“Great. The kids and I will be out here when you’re done.”

When she was gone, he whirled to face the kids. “The flowers are a secret.”

Lainie frowned. “A secret?”

“So that tomorrow morning, we can have a big surprise. We’ll hide the flowers at my house tonight, then tomorrow morning I’ll sneak them over and we can have them on the kitchen table and your mom will be so surprised.”

Owen frowned at him.

“Trust me. Secrets are fun.” He paused to let that sink in. “Okay?”

They just looked at him.

Nancy came out of the back door and ambled over. “If you’re trying to get them to keep a secret, it’s not going to work. Your best bet is to entertain them so well they forget what you did today. And above all else don’t say the one word that will trigger the memory.”

This time he frowned. “What word is that?”

“F-l-o-w-e-r-s.”

He got it. “Okay. Keep them busy, don’t remind them of what we did.”

Nancy ambled away, tucking her babysitting money in the back pocket of her jeans.

Heeding her advice, Wyatt said, “So, aren’t we building a shopping mall?”

All three kids raced to the sandbox. When Missy came out, he kept them superinvolved in digging sand. She told Wyatt a bit about the wedding and the cake and the bride and groom, but then got bored and went into the house to make supper.

Wyatt all but breathed a sigh of relief, but fifteen minutes later she brought out hamburger patties and asked him to light the grill.

He didn’t want to stay for dinner, and give him and Missy so much time together that his feelings overwhelmed him again, but he had no choice.

The girls picked up their dolls and began to follow Missy into the house. Panicking, he said, “Hey, wanna learn how to grill?”

The girls stopped, grinned and raced back to him.

Missy stopped, too, and faced him. “I was okay with you showing Owen how to light the grill, because he doesn’t get to do a lot of boy things, but honestly, they’re a little young to learn how to light charcoal briquettes.”