The Holiday Triplets (12 page)

He could swear Sam's condition was improving already. The farther they got from Orange County, the healthier the color of her pale skin. As for the form-fitting pink top with its V-neck, did she have any idea how that affected a man?

He didn't intend to do a damn thing about it. This weekend was an intervention, not a seduction.

Luckily, the cabin hadn't been rented this week. Tourism was slow due to a lack of snowfall, even though many resorts offered artificial snow on their slopes.

Mark had a spare key, and he kept clothing and toiletries
in a locked closet at the cabin. He'd even arranged for a cleaning crew to tidy up after they left. The only catch had been the possibility that Sam might go ballistic.

Instead, she'd crashed. Still, he didn't kid himself. Once she awakened, he might face a battle royal, but surely she wouldn't insist on interrupting Lori and Jared's chance at reconciliation. Her comment might have been intended as a joke, but he wished he'd thought of that angle himself when he planned this intervention for Sam.

Mark turned off the highway and followed a route through narrow streets lined with tall pines. Every now and then, he glimpsed a flash of blue from Big Bear Lake below them, before turning onto a bumpy street where cabins lay at odd angles to accommodate the terrain. Unlit strings of Christmas bulbs swathed several of the houses, and on one lawn, a cartoon reindeer and a Santa stood poised for their turn to shine after dark.

While the sky was overcast, no wind disturbed the overhead branches, Mark noticed. Accustomed to southern California's mild climate, he hadn't thought to check a weather forecast, but he doubted they were in for anything severe.

Still, you never could tell.

He swung onto a gravel turnaround and braked to a halt in front of his A-frame. Rough logs gave the exterior a rustic feel, and pine needles crunched beneath his shoes as he stepped out.

Leaving Sam to sleep, he toted her suitcase inside and checked the place. As he'd hoped, the rental agency kept the kitchen stocked and the bathroom and bedroom prepared with towels and sheets.

Outside again, he paused to study Sam through the passenger window. Guiltily, he noticed that she'd huddled in
the seat, hugging herself against the cold despite the jacket he'd laid over her.

He tapped the glass, then opened the door. Still sleeping.

“Sam?” Mark crouched beside her.

“Grrr.” Was she snarling or shivering?

“Wake up. We're here.”

“Beat it.” Matted blond hair hid her expression.

“Are you talking in your sleep or giving me a hard time?” he asked.

“Both.” She stirred and peered at him. “Where are we?”

“Mountains.”

She inhaled. “Mmm. Chilly weather makes me think of hot cocoa.”

“If you're willing to lurch a few yards, I promise you all the cocoa you can drink.” The rental agency always laid in a supply of that after-ski essential.

Sam stretched and covered a yawn. Her movements dislodged the jacket and provided another tantalizing glimpse of lovely curves revealed by a top so tight-fitting it ought to be outlawed.

“Getting. Up. Now.” She swung her long legs out of the car and fixed Mark with a steely blue assessment. “Tell me this isn't an institution for the criminally bewildered.”

“It's my vacation cabin,” he told her.

She tilted her face toward the sky. A white flake landed on her nose. “Is that snow?”

“Just a flurry.” When Mark glanced up, a couple more flakes dampened his cheeks. “At least, I hope it's nothing more.”

“We might be stuck here for a long time.” Sam sounded merry. “I've never been snowbound.”

Before Mark could protest that his schedule simply
wouldn't permit him to get stuck in the mountains, she trotted ahead of him into the cabin. For better or worse, he'd whisked her away.

And now he had to make the best of it.

At this elevation, they were literally in the clouds, Sam saw as she turned in the living room and gazed through the A-frame wall of windows. Trees, lake, snatches of fog, drifting bursts of whiteness. This entire cabin might simply float away as in—what was that children's book she'd loved?—ah, yes,
Howl's Moving Castle.

Impulsively, she headed up the narrow staircase to the loft, where a wide sofa bed faced straight out into the heavens. “I'm sleeping up here!” she called over the railing to Mark, who was prowling through the kitchen cabinets.

“There's no privacy,” he said, straightening. “I put your suitcase in the back bedroom.”

“You just want the loft for yourself.”

“That, too.” He considered her assessingly. “Let's play for it.”

“Play what?” Sam's competitive instincts surged even before she heard the details.

“Scrabble?”

“I'm not a word person.”

“Dominoes?”

“Sissy stuff! Got a couple of swords?” She'd excelled in fencing as an undergrad at UC Berkeley.

“How about wrestling?” he called back.

“Why, Mark, I didn't know you cared.”

He had the grace to blush. “You're out of my weight class, anyway.”

The altitude was beginning to offset the bracing effect of the cool air. Feeling slightly woozy, Sam descended. “We'll figure out the sleeping arrangements later. Where's my cocoa?”

“Gee, you're pushy.” Mark grinned.

“You're the one who brought me here,” Sam reminded him. “What exactly happens at this intervention, Doctor?”

“You leave all your cares behind,” he said.

“Done.”

“That easily?” Standing behind the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room, he produced a couple of mugs and a tin of hot chocolate mix. As he filled the cups, the casual slacks and pullover emphasized a ruggedly masculine build that Sam would definitely enjoy wrestling.

Tearing her thoughts away, she responded to his question. “Sometimes I feel like I absolutely have to fix things, get them right, save the world. To the point of collapse, as you've seen. But up here, I can't do a thing about any of it, so why worry?”

His forehead furrowed as he clinked around fixing their beverages. “You said you're an adrenaline junkie.”

“Sometimes I need help breaking loose,” she admitted. “Now that it's done, what's next on the agenda?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Anything?”
she murmured.

He paused with a spoon in his hand. “What would you like?”

A simple response sprang to mind.
You.
“There's one method scientifically proven to relax people faster than anything else.”

She could see awareness dawn in the way his pupils dilated and his lips parted. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“You seemed interested enough the last time we were alone without the triplets,” she pointed out. “When you saved me from being strangled by my ponytail elastic.”

The microwave timer buzzed. “I seem to be rescuing you a lot these days.”

“The way you rescued your sister and your fiancée from
their
addictions?” she prodded.

“I suppose there is some similarity.” He set a steaming mug on the counter and located a tin of biscotti in a cabinet. “Except I didn't actually rescue my sister. She rescued herself.”

“Yes, but you tried your best.” Sam blew on the piping hot cocoa. “Your pattern is to get involved with troubled women, steer them in the right direction and then move on.”

He didn't look pleased. “You think that's the way I treat people?”

She nodded, more to provoke him than because she really believed it. “Well, if you plan to dump me as soon as we get home, I hope you'll at least wait until we've had sex.”

Mark gave a start. It was a good thing he'd only opened the microwave door and hadn't removed his cup, or she might have had to treat a burn.

Sam wasn't sure why she enjoyed teasing him. Partly, she refused to let Mark stick her in the category of damsels in distress. Also, her body tingled every time he came close, and she was tired of being celibate.

The silence didn't last long. “I may be attracted to women with addiction problems,” he conceded, “but I
refuse to get caught up in a destructive pattern of enabling them.”

“You aren't enabling me,” she challenged. “So you have nothing to fear.”

“Oh? Who's been saving your bacon every morning, helping you get the triplets off to day care?” He stood across the counter, balancing on both feet as if ready to swat back whatever conversational ball she lobbed in his direction.

They'd bypassed fencing and wrestling in favor of verbal tennis. Perfect—Sam had finally found a sport she could play while snacking.

“That isn't enabling, it's helping,” she said. “Being a mother is natural and healthy and wonderful. Besides, you're in love with those babies. Don't bother to deny it.”

Crinkles formed beside his eyes. “They're adorable.” His expression turned serious. “They're going to need a father. Have you thought about that?”

She'd like to steer this conversation back into more playful areas. “Are you volunteering?”

Alarm flashed across his face. Oops.

Sam reached out and cupped his wrist. “That was a joke, Mark.”

“I know.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Twice I've knocked you for a loop,” she said. “Does that mean I win the rights to the loft?”

“We'll see.”

Or they could share it. In her present mood, Samantha didn't mind the idea at all. Best to get started right now, because given her state of weariness, she was likely to fall asleep early tonight.

Too bad for this inconvenient counter between them. “About that wrestling match,” she began.

He pinned her, not with his arms but with a glance. “Behave yourself, Doctor.”

“Oh, all right.” She stretched her legs along the adjacent stool and turned away to enjoy the sight of snow whirling outside. A naughty impulse prompted her to stretch languidly, giving him an excellent view of her breasts.

“Sam.” The low note in his voice sent chills through her.

“Mmm?” She peered at Mark from beneath lowered lashes.

“I'm only human.”

“That's what I'm counting on.”

He gripped the edge of the counter. “I'm trying to listen to my better judgment.”

“What happens in Big Bear stays in Big Bear,” she said.

“Is that a promise?” He eased around the counter. Losing the battle? She hoped so.

His hand smoothed along her leg toward her thigh. Instantly, heat sparked through her body, firming the tips of her breasts and warming her right to the core.

“There's not much privacy in this room,” Mark observed softly.

“From all those hordes of snow bunnies outside?”

“Why don't we…”

Her phone rang. They both froze.

“Couldn't you have brought me to a cabin without cell reception?” Sam grumbled. “Don't answer.”

“What if it's about the triplets?”

The tone sounded again. Sam wished she'd taken the time to program different ring tones for different people, so she'd know if it was Lori or the answering service or….

The display read:
Candy
. She showed it to Mark.

He nodded resignedly. With a jolt of fear at what the young mother might be about to say, Sam answered.

 

M
ARK WASHED OUT THEIR MUGS
while Sam listened to her caller. He was grateful in a way for the interruption, because he'd been on the verge of yielding to his impulses. But would that have been so terrible?

It had struck him during their conversation that he'd been in an awful hurry to view Sam's behavior as addictive, to put her in the same box as his sister and his former fiancée. While her behavior could go over the top sometimes, did one weakness really erase all the strengths?

She needed a counterbalance, someone to rein her in when she went too far. Wasn't that what couples did for each other? Maybe he ought to take a risk, for once. And today, Sam seemed more than willing to meet him halfway.

This weekend had given them a rare chance to get to know each other…
if
Candy didn't drive Sam right back into a frenzy. And her reaction wasn't the only thing bothering Mark about this call.

Earlier, he'd been too focused on Sam's meltdown to reflect on Candy's possessive behavior toward the triplets, but if the teenager insisted, she still had the legal right to reclaim them. He'd always doubted the young woman's readiness to parent, and after what he'd heard about her behavior at the party, he felt even more certain it was a bad idea. Eventually, a social worker might determine negligence and take them away, but in the interim, there was no telling how much harm she could inflict.

He had a vivid image of Colin this morning, peering trustingly up while taking the bottle. The bond between child and parent had always struck Mark as an instinctive thing, predisposed by hormones and nature. But that
didn't account for the tightening in his chest whenever he pictured that little boy and his sisters being hauled off by an immature, unstable mother.

Sam was pacing through the cabin, phone pressed to her ear. Mark tuned in to her remarks. “Are you sure you're all right?… Well, I
was
angry… I'm afraid I had to go out of town. Nurse Ross and Dr. Sellers are taking care of them…. No, no, they're not sick… Really? Are you sure he'll agree?… That would be wonderful.”

The hope in her words buoyed him. This sounded like good news.

“Yes, I'll set things up with Mr. Franco and call you Monday. Absolutely…. Don't be too hard on yourself, Candy. You've been through a lot. And thank you.”

She clicked off and stood there, breathing heavily as if she'd just run a marathon. Perhaps, emotionally, she had.

“Well?” Mark asked.

“I can't stand here and talk. I need to move.”

“Closet,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“Let's suit up and go for a walk.” He strode into the bedroom and unlocked a door half-hidden by the large dresser. From inside, he fetched ski caps, gloves, a windbreaker and boots. Good thing he kept a range of sizes available for friends.

Sam had already zipped her jacket when he rejoined her. They bundled up and set out into a landscape dusted with white. A few flakes still scampered through the air, but, as Mark had guessed, a big snowfall didn't appear likely.

“Candy was in a motorcycle accident,” Sam said as they crunched their way across the gravel. “She's scraped and bruised but nothing broken.”

She'd ridden on a motorcycle less than two weeks after a cesarean? “She could rupture her incision.”

“The ER doctor called in an ob-gyn. She's fine but really sore.”

Thank goodness she'd escaped major injury. “How did it happen?”

At the edge of the road, they turned and walked side by side along the shoulder. “She was riding behind her new boyfriend, a fellow with the charming name of Spider. And tattoos to match.” Between frosty breaths, Sam explained that the bike had barely started rolling forward when it somehow overturned.

Spider, who'd suffered a sprained arm, had blamed Candy for throwing him off balance. “She said he was waving to a friend and showing off.”

“Sounds like poor judgment all around.” Mark was grateful the tumble hadn't been more serious.

“She kept remembering how he'd wanted to take Colin with them, just held in her arms. Something about teaching the little guy not to be afraid. Can you imagine?”

Unfortunately, he could.

“She's really shook up. You know how kids have this sense of invulnerability? Well, hers got stripped away.” Sam kicked a pinecone out of her path. “She said that if I hadn't intervened, she might have agreed. All she could think about as she was lying on the pavement was that she might have killed Colin.”

Mark's stomach tensed at the mental picture of that trusting little fellow lost forever. “You said something about setting up a meeting with Tony?”

“She got a text from Jon a few days ago, asking if they can be friends again. She promises to drag him in to sign those relinquishment papers.” Sam tugged her cap over her ears. “She swears she's given up any idea of taking
the triplets. That it scares her just to think about how unprepared she is to protect them.”

“How can you be sure she won't reconsider?”

“Well, there's always that possibility. But she sounded, well, like she's growing up, changing. I know this isn't a simple process, but I truly don't believe she's going to want them back.”

“Then you can stop worrying about that.” He rested his hand lightly on the small of her back. “Congratulations.”

Her pace took on a new jauntiness. “They're safe! Isn't that wonderful? Now I can focus on gearing up for Christmas. That party's going to be great fun! You are planning to bring your sister, aren't you?”

Ahead, a squirrel darted up a tall tree. “Someone ought to tell that critter he's supposed to hibernate.”

“Tree squirrels don't hibernate.”

Mark stared at her in mock dismay. “Next you'll tell me bats don't use radar.”

“Technically they don't,” Sam informed him. “They use something called echolocation.”

“What are you, a nature expert?”

She chuckled. “You'd be surprised at the questions kids ask pediatricians. They expect you to be an expert on everything.
Some
of us don't go around ducking questions.”

He tried to figure out what she meant. “Excuse me?”

“I asked if you were bringing your sister to the party. You changed the subject.”