The Real Father (Twins) (Harlequin Superromance No. 927) (12 page)

“You got that right, Coach.” Tommy offered Ross a sticky silver high five of mutual machismo.

“The glitter stinks big-time.”

 

W
HEN
M
OLLY PASSED
by the art room after picking up Liza's science project from the media center, she glanced absently in through the open door. Two seconds later, she did a double take.

Backing up slowly, she peeked around the door frame. Yes, that's what she had thought she saw. Ross Riser and Tommy Cheatwood darting absurdly around the room, laughing and tossing a football back and forth. Or
was
that a football? It looked kind of like…well, like a football trailing a tail of—

Of flowers? She kept staring. Yes, the “football” clearly was made of a foam ball they had pulled out of a flower arrangement, and it still had a couple of silk roses attached. When they tossed the ball, the flowers flew along behind like a comet's tail. How very strange.

And something even stranger… Molly blinked hard to be completely sure her eyes weren't fooling her. No, it wasn't a hallucination. It was true.

Tommy Cheatwood and Coach Ross Riser were twinkling all over, like Las Vegas showgirls.

Ross saw her first. He froze comically in place, and in his sudden distraction he completely missed Tommy's incoming pass. The football thudded against Ross's shirt, then fell to the floor with a splat, knocking loose one of the roses.

“Hi, Molly,” Ross said with a sheepish grin. He touched his silver ear self-consciously. “I was just helping Tommy with his science project.”

She smiled back. “Testing the maximum hang time of various football materials?” She glanced down at the dented foam oblong. “I don't know,
though. Do you suppose the flower tail will ever catch on in the NFL?”

“Ms. Lorring. Hi. Coach and I were just goofing around a little bit,” Tommy added quickly. “We already finished my project.” He sauntered over and picked up the ball, stuck the loose rose back in, then replaced the whole thing casually into the empty vase. “We didn't hurt anything.”

Tommy went over to stand next to Ross, and he gazed back at Molly stubbornly, as if daring her to object. Molly realized with some surprise that he wasn't seeking support—he was giving it. Though it was camouflaged nicely by his usual ultracool nonchalance, Tommy was actually sticking up for Coach Riser.

How sweet. And how eerily familiar.

A bad boy with a soft streak he'd rather die than reveal. Apparently Tommy's similarities to Jackson were more than skin deep.

“So what was your project?” She looked both of them over carefully. “Would I be right if I guess it involved silver glitter?”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered smoothly, doing an admirable job of pretending he didn't care that his hair was twinkling. Ross was less blasé. He kept plucking at his ears and trying to brush the glitter from his chin. It was hopeless, which Tommy obviously understood, choosing instead to project a sublime indifference.

“I did a project on ice caves,” he explained, sharing a glance with Ross. “Things got pretty messy. We decided glitter stinks.”

“It makes a lovely fashion statement, though.”

Jackson's lightly teasing voice came from behind Molly's shoulder. She turned and smiled a welcome. Jackson, too? This was a pretty busy schoolroom so late on a Friday afternoon.

“Hi, there, M.” He touched her cheek gently, then turned to Tommy with a grin. “Go wash up, twinkletoes. I've got to take you home in my car, and I'd rather you didn't sprinkle pixie dust all over everything.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, that's just too darn bad for your precious old car, isn't it?” Tommy retorted sarcastically. “'Cause soap won't help. It's gonna take a blowtorch to get this crummy stuff off me.”

“Watch it, smart mouth.” Jackson chuckled. “That could be arranged.”

Ross seemed to be watching the interplay carefully. It was obvious to anyone that as soon as Jackson had entered the room, Tommy's allegiance had shifted. He had even physically switched places to stand nearer to Jackson. Ross had become a third wheel, at best. At worst, completely invisible.

But now he spoke up. “I could take Tommy home in my truck,” he suggested. He gestured to his own sparkling blue jeans. “It's doomed to be covered in glitter as soon as I put one foot into it anyhow.”

Jackson's expression was flawlessly polite as he appeared to consider the idea. And in that moment, watching the subtle barrier created by that cold courtesy, Molly remembered the lesson she had learned long ago, listening to Beau and Jackson banter mer
cilessly. For some men, trading insults was a form of expressing affection. Paradoxically, the absence of casual abuse was the real insult here.

“Thanks, Riser,” Jackson responded with a chillingly civil formality. “But I promised Annie I'd do it, so I suppose I'd better follow through. Good of you to offer, though.”

Ross's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. “No problem.”

Jackson turned once more to Tommy. “Come on, then, champ. Maybe I can strap you to the roof.” He put his fingertips on Tommy's head, avoiding the gluey wads of glitter, and guided him toward the door. He paused by Molly. “Need a ride, M?”

“No, thanks,” she said, self-conscious about witnessing the subtle yet complete put-down he had just delivered. She didn't want Ross to think she shared Jackson's somewhat bewildering contempt for him.

“I think I'll stay a few minutes. I've got my car here.”

“Okay. See you back at the house.”

When they were gone, Molly turned to Ross, who was carefully rearranging chairs and tables, putting things back in order. He didn't look up, and she didn't speak right away. Instead she pitched in with the cleanup, finding the whisk broom to sweep away the worst of the glitter.

She stopped beside the ice cave, which actually looked pretty good, all things considered. “Wow. This is impressive. Is this Tommy's project?”

Ross nodded, glancing up from a hunk of sculpting clay, from which he was scraping a thin layer
of glitter. “Yep. The ice caves. Not bad, considering about half the decorations ended up on us.”

Molly walked around the table, studying the project from all sides. “This is quite a coincidence. My daughter is writing a story where the hero is lost in some ice caves. I think the poor man is in big trouble.” She smiled. “Something about flash floods.”

Ross finally quit picking at the clay and sat down on the nearest chair. “I'll bet that was Tommy's idea,” he said thoughtfully. “He learned about flash floods in his research. Did you know he's planning to give this ice cave to Liza after he turns it in?”

“No.” Molly was quite surprised. “Gosh, she'll be thrilled.”

“He likes your daughter a lot. I think his exact words were that, for a girl, ‘she doesn't
completely
stink.'” He plucked once more at the glitter on his chin, then, heaving a deep sigh, he seemed to abandon the effort. “Aw, heck. I give up.”

“Don't worry,” Molly said sympathetically. “Most of it will come off in the shower. Take my word for it—I have a lot of experience dealing with glitter disasters. It's Liza's favorite interior design technique.”

Ross nodded, smiling. “So I heard.”

“You did? Tommy must have really opened up to you this afternoon.” From the pleased look on Ross's face, she deduced that a good relationship with Tommy was something he longed to achieve. “From what I've seen of Tommy, that's pretty unusual. You two must be very close.”

“I wouldn't say close.” He shrugged. “But we
did okay today. A lot better than usual. He's a tough kid to read, you know? He's got that cool, sardonic thing going almost all the time. At only nine years old, can you believe it? And yet sometimes I think we'd do pretty well, if it weren't for—”

He stopped abruptly, shifting uncomfortably on the child-size chair. Molly found his awkwardness endearing. No wonder he was intimidated by Tommy's “cool, sardonic” thing. Ross Riser didn't have it, not an ounce of it. He seemed to be unusually honest and open, simple and fair.

What a great guy. However, it was clear that, in a confrontation like the one she had just witnessed, Ross's straightforward style would be no match for the subtle Forrest rapier, which was often quicker than the eye, and almost always fatal.

He tried again. “I mean if it weren't for—”

“If it weren't for what?” He might as well go ahead and say it, she thought. He had come so close—what was the point in turning back now? “If it weren't for Jackson?”

“Well, yes, to tell you the truth. I do mean Jackson.” He began clumsily picking at the glitter again. His hands were large, thick-fingered, kind: perfect for throwing balls and petting dogs and pushing lawn mowers. Another difference between Ross and Jackson, she thought irrelevantly. Jackson's hands were just as large, but with long, elegant fingers, more finely tuned, as if they had been designed for precision tasks.

It was only natural, perhaps, for the two such different men to have trouble bonding.

“If it weren't for Jackson, I honestly think I could make some headway with the kid. When we're together at soccer practice, we work well together. He doesn't really hate me, you know. He just pretends to sometimes, because Jackson does.”

She shook her head. “You can't mean that. Jackson doesn't
hate
you.”

He raised his eyebrows eloquently and tucked one corner of his mouth in wryly. “He doesn't?”

“Well, why would he? What did you ever do to him? Hatred is an awfully strong emotion.”

“So is jealousy,” Ross said concisely. “One can lead to the other pretty easily.”

That stopped her. For a moment she wondered whether she really wanted to press on with this. She had no right, of course, to pry into Ross's affairs. And in spite of their years of friendship, she didn't have the right to dig for any of Jackson's secrets, either. She had no claim on him.

One kiss—that was all they'd ever shared. Just one kiss, which had probably meant less than nothing to him. It gave her no rights at all.

Still, for a quick, one-sided kiss, it had been strangely haunting. It had opened a door in her mind and offered her a glimpse of mysterious vistas beyond. She couldn't bring herself to pull the door shut again. She wanted to understand her feelings for him. She wanted to understand
him.

And talking to Ross might help.

“I'm not sure I know what you mean,” she said carefully. “Who is jealous? You or Jackson? And of what?”

“I know what you're thinking. Sure—
I'm
jealous of
him.
Look at him, for God's sake. He's ten years younger, and women swarm around him like the bugs around my patio light. And hell, you could fit my whole bank account into one corner of his checkbook. But that's not what I mean. Believe it or not, I'm pretty sure he's jealous of me, too. He's jealous of every hour I spend with Annie.” He gave her a straight look. “And every second I spend with Tommy.”

“But why?” She knew the old lawyer adage: never ask a question if you don't already know the answer. You might not like what you hear. But common sense wasn't in charge right now. “Is there some—” Oh, great. How was she going to put this? “Is their relationship—”

Get the words out, Molly,
she ordered herself. It wasn't as if this hadn't occurred to Ross before. Anyone who had ever seen Jackson and Annie together must have entertained the possibility that they were more than friends.

“Is their relationship serious?”

“Serious?” Ross looked faintly amused. “Hell, what does
serious
mean to a man like Jackson Forrest?”

“Ross,” she began.

He held up his glittering hands. “Sorry. I know, I know.” He looked at her with something that closely resembled sympathy. “Look, Molly, I really do know what you're trying to ask here. I know what's worrying you. But what am I going to say?
What
can
I say? I'm not really the guy who ought to be answering these questions, am I?”

She took a deep breath. “No,” she said, ashamed. “No, you're not.”

“So maybe you should just take the bull by the horns, huh? If you really want to know what's going on with Annie and Tommy and Jackson, maybe you ought to just ask the old bull himself.”

“You're absolutely right,” she said. “I'm sorry, Ross. Of course I'll do that. I'll ask Jackson.”

Ross grinned suddenly. He put his big hands on his knees and hoisted himself out of the awkward little chair.

“Great,” he said. “And hey—when you find out, would you please tell me?”

T
HE MORNING PARLOR
had always been Molly's favorite room at Everspring. Floor-to-ceiling windows took up most of three walls, and by 11:00 a.m. on a clear day the sun came pouring in like honey. It caught on the gold-toned fabrics, the gilt picture frames, the bronze vases full of yellow roses, until the whole space seemed alive with light.

Molly and Lavinia sat in the parlor now, having coffee and discussing the day's landscaping chores. As usual, they were arguing. Molly had long since discovered that Lavinia loved to argue.

“I wish I'd never asked you to do the park project,” Lavinia grumbled as she bit into a buttered croissant. “I want you to stay at the house today and supervise the pruning. Bad pruning will ruin everything, you know.”

Molly leaned back and, closing her eyes, enjoyed the feel of the spring sunshine beating down on her hair. “I know,” she said calmly. “But no one is going to do any bad pruning.” She peeked at Lavinia, who was still chewing. “Mel, the person I'm leaving in charge of it, is an absolute magician with a pair of shears.”

“But suppose I get a yen to do some pruning
myself,” Lavinia said mischievously. “If you're over at the park, who'll be here to stop me?”

“Did I mention that Mel the magician weighs three hundred pounds?”

Lavinia pursed her lips. “But, Molly, I think I've found an old map of the gardens from 1799, and I was hoping we could look over it together. Why do you have to be at the park?”

Molly sat up and gave the older woman her sternest stare. “Because we're only two weeks away from the park dedication—and we've got two and a half weeks of work left. Because they're erecting the pavilion today, and I want to be sure they don't trample the azaleas. Because I've got a bunch of newbies planting the ornamentals, and I don't trust them to do it right. Because the fountain is still splashing all over the roses, and we'll end up with mildew everywhere if I can't get it fixed.”

Lavinia twitched irritably, but Molly went on. “Besides, if we start tearing up our plans now, just because you've found another historical map, the gardens won't be ready for the Tour of Homes, which is also in only two weeks.” She raised her eyebrows. “Is that enough reason for you?”

“Oh, all right. You don't have to get an attitude about it.” Lavinia sipped her coffee peacefully. One of her nicest qualities was that she never minded losing her arguments. “You young people always adopt such annoying attitudes. Do you know I still can't get Jackson to agree to make the dedication speech? I don't know what's wrong with that boy.”

Molly had been wondering about that, but she'd
been reluctant to bring it up. Since the day at the park, when Lavinia had first broached the subject, she hadn't heard anyone mention it. She had just assumed that Lavinia had prevailed, as she so often did. Molly found it hard to imagine Jackson denying his aunt much of anything.

“What reason does he give for refusing? Is it some kind of scheduling conflict?”

Lavinia shook her head. “No, it's some kind of bullheaded stubbornness.” She put down her cup and looked out the window at the Ballerina roses that stood in white clay planters all over the patio.

She suddenly looked tired, though it was not yet eight o'clock. Molly could tell that she wasn't teasing anymore. Jackson's refusal really bothered her.

“But why?” Molly was perplexed. “Surely he's the natural choice, as Beau's twin. No one knew Beau better than Jackson. As you pointed out when you asked him, no one
loved
Beau more.”

Lavinia kept staring out into the garden. “Maybe,” she said pensively, “that's the problem.”

Molly frowned. “What on earth does that mean?”

The older woman turned, and her gaze was still cloudy and contemplative, her thoughts still tuned to some deep internal frequency.

“It means that maybe Jackson hasn't really come to terms with his brother's death yet. Maybe he doesn't want to get up in front of the whole town and talk about it, because he still feels too guilty.”

Molly leaned forward. “Guilty? But that's ridiculous!”

Lavinia smiled. “The fact that something is ridic
ulous hasn't ever kept it from being true.” She twisted her no-nonsense pearl stud earring thoughtfully. “I also suspect he's still too angry with Beau over the accident. Beau was driving like a maniac, you know. Almost a hundred miles an hour, the police said. He could have killed them both, but instead he left Jackson behind, to carry all the guilt alone.”

Molly didn't know how to respond. Though the logic was obviously flawed, still she could see a basic human truth in Lavinia's analysis. That didn't surprise her. She had always known that Lavinia was wise about people. She used to think it came from studying family history so much. Lavinia had seen it all, one way or another, on the page or in the flesh.

“Okay,” Molly said, accepting the premise for the moment. “If that is true, why try to make him do it? Why not just find someone else?”

“Because it would be good for him,” Lavinia answered flatly. She gave her shoulders a small shake, as if throwing off the cobwebs of such an unusually long bout with introspection. “He needs to face down the past and get it over with. Everyone should do that occasionally, you know. Builds character. Clears the debris off the highway, so to speak. Then you can travel faster to your next life destination.”

She reached for a lump of sugar. “Speaking of which… Did you decide to accept the offer those thieves made on your house or not?”

Molly didn't have any trouble following
that
little piece of logic. “I take it Jackson told you how low
it was. No, I didn't accept. I made a counteroffer, but the buyers weren't interested.”

She bit her lower lip, remembering the ambivalence she'd felt when she realized she'd lost her first and only chance to unload the house. “I guess Jackson is right. If I want to get even a fraction of what it's worth, I may have to make some improvements.”

“Doesn't sound like a bad idea,” Lavinia, said, nodding slowly. “One of our ministers used to say that a person should always try to leave a place a little nicer than he found it. It's good for the spirit. And besides—”

Molly smiled. “It'll clear some of the debris off the highway?”

“You always were a smart little thing.” Lavinia reached over and gave her hand a warm squeeze.

“But actually I was just going to say it will be nice to have you around a while longer. We've missed you. You've been gone far too long.”

They both looked up as a low rap sounded on the French doors that led to the family garden in back. Through the sparkling panes, they could see that a slim young woman in dungarees and a baseball cap stood on the brick patio, looking intensely worried.

“Mel!” Molly stood and hurried to meet her employee. Mel wasn't ever exactly a barrel of laughs, but that expression was grimmer than usual.

Lavinia snorted behind her. “That's Mel the three-hundred-pound magician? My, my, I'd like to have her diet secrets.”

Ignoring Lavinia's babbling, Molly opened the
French doors. “Mel? What is it? Is everything okay?”

“No, ma'am, it sure isn't,” the young woman responded, her head shaking like a metronome set for a funeral dirge. “You'd better come on down. The azaleas are here, and I'd say we're in a heap of trouble.”

 

L
IZA GOT HOME
from school early, because Jackson had picked her and Tommy up right after class. She loved it when that happened. She could feel the other kids, the ones waiting in line for the school bus, watching them walk to the parking lot. She hoped maybe some of the kids thought Jackson was her father. They were both blond and kind of tall, so maybe it didn't seem impossible.

And even better, Jackson had an adventure planned. He was going to take them to the airport. He had to charter a flight to New York for tomorrow, he said, and if they went along he would let them sit in one of the planes, right where his pilot friend usually sat.

She was so excited she didn't even think about the Planet Cuspian once on the whole ride home. Today, Planet Earth seemed even cooler.

But as soon as she saw her mother, her hopes flickered. Her mom was upset. Molly was standing out in the Everspring garden, talking on the cell phone in that very stiff, very quiet way she did when she was really, really mad. It was almost as if she were afraid to talk above a whisper, for fear she might start yelling and not be able to stop.

“There is
no
adequate excuse for sending plants in that condition,” her mother was saying as they walked up. Her voice was so cold that Liza instinctively felt kind of sorry for the person on the other end. “And if your plants have infected even one blade of grass here at Everspring, you can be sure we'll be sending you a bill for treatment.”

After a couple more minutes of talk like that—during which Liza, Tommy and Jackson all exchanged awkward glances—her mother hung up. She stared at the telephone sadly, her anger seemingly all spent.

Instinctively, Liza went up and put her arms tightly around her mother. When things were bad, everybody needed a hug, even moms.

“What's wrong, M?” Jackson's voice was the talking equivalent of a hug, and Liza was glad he was the kind of man who would understand. He really was the perfect King Willowsong, she thought, leaning her head against her mother's arm. Had her mom noticed that? “Did someone send you some bad plants?”

“It's the azaleas and the rhododendrons for the west drifts,” Molly answered, and her voice sounded kind of numb. “Two hundred of them. All diseased. I couldn't even let them off the trucks.”

“Wow.” Jackson groaned sympathetically.

“What a disaster.”

Even Tommy looked impressed. “Two hundred sick flowers? And they could have given it to the other flowers, too? It's like the plague, like in history class. What did they have? Was it gross?”

“What
didn't
they have?” Molly ran her hand over her forehead, as if she couldn't believe the information herself. “Whiteflies, spider mites, leaf gall—”

“Thrips?” Liza remembered once when some plants got thrips at her mom's business in Atlanta. She remembered because the word was so funny.

“Thrips?”
Tommy repeated it incredulously, and Liza could see he was about to break into laughter. She gave him a look that said, “Don't.”

Luckily he understood. “Oh, that would be bad, huh? Thrips?”

“That would be bad.” Jackson had his hand on Tommy's head, probably warning him not to laugh, too. Jackson was so smart about things, Liza thought. Things always went better when he was around.

He turned to Molly. “Where does that leave the landscaping, M? Can you get replacements?”

“I don't see how,” she said wearily. “With the Tour of Homes coming up, every house around here is sprucing up, and the nurseries are depleted. That's why I used these people to begin with. Ordinarily I avoid them because they run a shoddy operation. But I needed so many. I was desperate.”

She took a deep breath and for the first time seemed to realize that it was odd for all three of them to be standing together in the garden a full half an hour before the bus usually arrived.

“I'm sorry,” she said, summoning a smile that didn't look quite natural. “I was so wrapped up in my little melodrama that I didn't even think. What's
up? How'd you get home so quickly? Is everything okay?”

“Jackson was going to take us to the airport to look at the planes,” Liza said, trying to hide her eagerness just like her mom was trying to hide her frustration. “But don't worry, I won't go if you need me here.” She swallowed hard. “Jackson and Tommy can still go. But I'll stay here if you need me.”

For just a moment, her mother's eyes met Jackson's eyes, and something soft passed between them, something that felt very Willowsong, even though Liza only half saw it. She suddenly felt happy again, in spite of the thrips.

Her mom ruffled her hair. “Let's see. If you stayed here, sweetheart, could you make two hundred azaleas magically appear?”

Liza smiled up at her mother. “No. I bet there are two
million
flowers on the Planet Cuspian, but I don't think that's going to help you much.”

Her mom's answering smile looked more natural. ‘Well, then I guess I don't need you to stay. You go ahead with Jackson and have fun.”

Liza took her mom's hand. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure. And don't worry, sweetheart. Things will work out about the flowers, I promise.”

“Actually, Liza, I think your mom's right,” Jackson said. He had a twinkle in his eye that Liza loved. She was going to try to draw that in King Willowsong's eye the next time. “I think everything really
is
going to be fine. Tell me, M, what are you doing just before dawn tomorrow?”

Molly laughed. “Stealing azaleas off your neighbors' lawns?”

Jackson shook his head. “No, I think you're going to be with me. I've got a plan.”

“I don't need a plan, Jackson,” Molly said, sighing as she scanned the empty yards of naked beds. “I need a miracle.”

“No problem.” He grinned. “I've got one of those, too.”

 

T
HEY HAD BEEN DRIVING
for half an hour, and the whole time Jackson had refused to tell her where they were going. They were heading east, she knew that. The most dazzling sunrise she'd ever seen was unfolding itself in front of them. Small, puffy clouds, tinted a dozen shades of red and pink, jumbled together like an overstuffed bouquet—like a sky full of the azaleas she couldn't find.

The beauty of it almost distracted her from her worries, which had kept her up half the night, trying to figure out alternatives to her original design. There were always alternatives. The worst was that Lavinia would be terribly disappointed. Lavinia adored azaleas, and would happily wait all year for their few weeks of glorious bloom.