The Secret Agent's Surprises (Harlequin American Romance) (7 page)

“You and I should go into business together,” Pete said, making Jack’s eyebrows hover under his cowboy hat.

“Family ventures are risky,” Jack said, jumping up from the table.
“Bon appetit.”

He kissed the waitress on the cheek on his way out of the restaurant, disappearing just like Pete had known he would. Yet his brother had left behind some serious information. Pete’s gut roiled and it wasn’t because the burger had been bad. Priscilla would be devastated if she lost her business—that was putting it mildly. He had to think she would also be crushed to learn of her parents’ financial misfortune.

Maybe Jack was wrong. He lived in another town, after all. He barely knew Priscilla.

Pete’s chest tightened. He had a bad feeling Jack wouldn’t have driven all the way to Union Junction if the story wasn’t fact. Jack had a mind like Pop’s, with an incredible nose for detail. Pete didn’t notice the waitress refill his tea glass. He drummed his fingers on the table, lost in the maze of what he’d learned and what it might mean to those he cared about.

That night, Pete arrived home later than usual. He found Josiah waiting up for him, his face drawn as he reclined in his chair. “Hey, Pop,” Pete said. “How are you doing?”

“Could be better,” Josiah said. Pete figured that was likely true, especially if Pop knew that his firstborn son had been in town and couldn’t be dragged home for a short hello.

“Where have you been?” Josiah demanded.

“I grabbed a burger. I should have called and asked you if you wanted me to bring you one. Sorry about that.” He’d grabbed a beer from the fridge and now sat down in the darkened den with his father.

“You’ll never believe who paid me a surprise visit,” Josiah said.

“I probably won’t.” Pete’s heart jumped. Maybe Priscilla had stopped by. She liked visiting Pop.

“A social worker from the county.” Josiah’s white brows beetled as he glanced at Pete.

Pete’s heart began a serious hammering. “Social worker?”

Josiah nodded. “Yep. To sort of check us out. The informal beginning of what she called a ‘home study.’” He sighed. “Wish you’d been here. Don’t think I made a great impression.”

Pete shook his head. “I thought they typically made appointments for that sort of thing.”

“I guess not if they’re trying to find out how we really live, so we can’t stage ourselves just to look good for the caseworkers. At least that’s the way I figured it.”

“Wow.” Pete’s chest tightened. “I wish I’d been here, too. Don’t they have to meet me as the prospective father?”

“As I say, I suspect this was very informal, just a look-see, maybe to make certain we weren’t weirdoes or completely unsuitable. For all they know, I suppose we could be…I don’t know, totally odd.” Josiah looked sheepish. “Anyway, I think we have a bit of a reputation in Union Junction.”

“We? I haven’t been here long enough to have a reputation.” Pete tensed, sensing danger. This was so important to him—the fate of four little babies hung in the balance—and he could tell Pop was prevaricating, loath to share everything that had transpired.

“Apparently my parenting skills have been the topic of some discussion in the town over the years,” Josiah said. “Much rumor and nonsense, of course,
because all my sons have turned out quite well, thank you. In contrast to some other folks who reared wimps,” he stated. “But I digress.”

“You’re not the father in consideration, Pop. And you’re right—they shouldn’t make any judgments based on whatever gossip has circulated over the years. It’s not fair.”

Josiah nodded. “I’m afraid I was half dozing when the caseworker arrived—a meticulous old woman named Mrs. Corkindale. A dragon, if you ask me.”

“Pop,” Pete said desperately, realizing that Mrs. Corkindale and Pop hadn’t exactly taken to each other, “just the facts, please.”

“All right.” Josiah sighed. “I was half asleep. I’d had a wee bit of my ‘medicine,’ as is my custom. The house wasn’t dusted or vacuumed.” He glanced around. “She did everything but look under my chair for dust bunnies and monsters and maybe even a dead body or two.”

“Okay, Pop,” Pete said. “So you were tipsy and sleepy and not yourself, and she gave the house the white-glove treatment? Is that a problem?”

“Well, I exaggerate a bit,” Josiah said. “She didn’t exactly whip out white gloves, but I could see her eyeballs jumping from surface to surface. Hideous old witch,” Josiah grumbled. “I should have asked her where she hid her broom.”

Pete rubbed his face, his heart sinking. “She should have talked to me, not you.”

“Right. Well, she’ll be back. At least she said she would.” Josiah frowned. “You couldn’t be unluckier in your assignment of social worker. In all my years, I never met such an unlikable woman.”

Pete sighed. “Pop, it’s all right. Don’t fret.” It warmed his heart to see how badly his father wanted to see the quadruplets remain together, with one family who would love them. In his eyes, the Morgans could provide that easily. “We have a lot of experience in being a big family. There aren’t many like us who can take on and afford the care of an entire family. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed and pray.”

“And rub our rabbit’s feet and throw salt over our shoulders and eat four-leaf clovers for breakfast,” Josiah said, grumpier than Pete had seen him recently. “I wish I hadn’t answered the door.”

“Pop,” Pete murmured, shocked that his father would dismiss the power of prayer and hope.
He’d be even more despondent if he knew Jack had been within a stone’s throw of the ranch.
Pete felt a heaviness in his soul. Jack had issues. Priscilla’s business was in trouble, her family in bigger trouble, if Jack was correct. Pop was ill, and the babies were no closer to being in the home where Pete felt certain they belonged.

Something had to give soon. Being a Morgan was starting to feel like a curse.

T
HE NEXT DAY
Pete didn’t wait for Mrs. Corkindale to pop in again. He went straight to her office, de
manding to see her—in the most accommodating, least-scary voice he could manage. He was determined that, no matter the gossip, she would see him as a softie and, unlike Pop, responsible and vigilant against the formation of dust bunnies and other elements of untidy living.

“Hello,” Mrs. Corkindale said, coming out from her office. “How can I help you?”

“I understand you stopped by the Morgan ranch yesterday,” Pete said. “My father said I missed you. I’m Pete Morgan.”

She looked him over briefly. “Yes. Mr. Morgan and I had an entertaining visit.”

He raised his brows, not certain if that was good or bad. Pop could definitely be amusing, but depending on the entertainment, anything might have happened. “I was wondering if there are any questions you wanted to ask me.”

She shook her head. “Not at this time. Yesterday’s visit was an informal inspection of the premises. I understand you haven’t lived there long.”

“I haven’t, actually. I’ve been on active duty.” He didn’t offer further details.

“And your father hasn’t been there long.”

“He just returned from France, actually. He had some real estate holdings over there he was managing.”

She smiled thinly. “Has he been ill?”

Pete realized that although Mrs. Corkindale claimed she had no questions to ask him, he was
getting a sample of what he assumed must be a twenty-page questionnaire. Now was not the time to step in a minefield. His mind went into sharp focus, the way it did when he was on assignment. “Pop has been facing some health issues. He keeps busy, though.”

She looked at him. “I imagine it’s difficult to take care of an aging parent. Many households in the country find themselves with the added burden of elderly care. It’s not easy.”

He saw where she was going with that. “No one takes care of Pop. He’s far too independent for that.”

“Yet there may come a day when you might have to assume more of his care. Have you considered that as you think about becoming a father to several children?”

Pete shrugged. “I have two married brothers who live close by. We all keep an eye on Pop. But as I say, he won’t put up with much coddling. Did he tell you he’s been halter-breaking a new horse recently?”

She shook her head.

“He’s pretty determined to keep his mind on matters besides his health,” Pete said mildly. “Pop’s always been a fighter.”

“We have to be practical, Mr. Morgan. I’m sure you appreciate that. Our first concern has to be the children.”

“That’s good,” he said. “Then I’m sure you recognize the amount of resources we have at hand to deal with adopting four children. We have lots of family, a large home and the desire to make them a special part of our lives.”

She looked at him a long time. “Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Morgan. I’ve got some meetings I must attend. Please tell your father I said hello. And that I hope his gout is better.”

Pete blinked. “I will.”
Gout?

She stepped back inside her office, the impromptu interview over. Pete’s heart sank. Like Pop, he wasn’t sure what to think of Mrs. Corkindale. Did they have even a snowball’s chance in hell?

Feeling as though he’d missed his mission, Pete departed, jumping into his truck. He’d never felt so dejected.

His spirit dragged. He drew a long sigh, then decided he might as well not put off his second errand of the day.

Certainly matters couldn’t get worse.

P
RISCILLA SAT
in her tea shop, the Closed sign adorning the window. It was past five o’clock, and the sun was fading in the winter sky. She had a lot of cleaning to do, but for ten minutes, as soon as she’d locked the door, she’d been sitting here, thinking. Frozen.

Her worried parents had paid her a surprise visit today, telling her in a tear-filled conversation that next week’s newspaper would list them as having filed for bankruptcy.

In black-and-white, everything she’d thought was secure would be exposed as fragile. But the worst part had been seeing the shock and concern on her
parents’ sweet faces. They’d always made sure she’d had whatever she needed, and now she felt so helpless, being unable to return some of their reassurance, support and assistance.

She would also lose her tea shop. If she closed the business for good, she could probably hang on to her house if she went back to work at her previous job. Tears threatened, but she refused to cry about her situation. Small businesses were notoriously hard to keep afloat—she’d known the odds would be challenging when she opened the shop. She’d had more than her fair share of good luck and support from the community. There was no shame in admitting that her first attempt at a business didn’t make it. Later on, she could start over, make a run at it again with the experience and knowledge she’d gained.

She’d have to tell Cricket, which would be heartbreaking. Yet there was no reason to tie her good friend to her financial dilemma. By next week everyone would know that the once-wealthy Perkins family had suffered a great loss.

She felt sorry for her parents. They hadn’t complained, but she knew that they’d believed their golden years were financially secure.

A knock sounded on the tea-room door, and for the first time since she’d owned the shop, she asked herself why people never seemed to understand the meaning of Closed.

She acknowledged this was a crabby thing to
think. Many times someone had caught her just as she was locking up, usually a mom racing from work to grab cookies for a surprise for her children, and Priscilla had always felt very blessed for the customers who considered her shop a good choice for their needs.

She could see a cowboy hat through the glass, and what appeared to be Pete’s face. Priscilla went to open the door.

“I know you’re closed,” Pete said, “but I have to talk to you.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Priscilla said. “You’ll be good company.”

“I will?” Pete asked.

“Well, I think so,” Priscilla said. “You’re amusing. Maybe not as fun as your father is, but you’re interesting.”

“I don’t know that anyone has ever called Pop fun.”

She smiled. “Do you want a cookie and some tea?”

“If I’m buying, I’ll buy for both of us.”

“Today I’ll let you. I still need to clean up, but if you don’t mind waiting—”

“Hey, I’ll help.” Pete took off his shearling jacket, laid it over a chair and began picking up coffee cups, tea glasses and dessert plates. “Glad I caught you. I should have called first, but I was really of two minds about coming. Debated with myself all the way over here, and then decided I’d let the chips fall where they may.”

She watched him as he carried things into the small kitchen, a big, broad-shouldered man carrying tiny pieces of china, and felt a strange shift in her heart. What was it about him that drew her, compared to the complete lack of feeling she experienced during her date with a clean-cut, financially driven man like Charlie? That evening had been just short of a disaster, though he’d sent her flowers and left a message on her voice mail saying how much he’d like to see her again. Her skin crawled just a bit at the thought of enduring another date with Charlie. “Pete, you don’t have to do that. You sit while I clean. Just having the company is enough.”

“Nah,” he said. “In my house, everyone pitches in with the chores.”

“You can’t pay
and
work,” she said. “If you work in the kitchen, you get a free snack.”

He nodded. “All right. Where’s the broom? I think my little nieces and nephew must have been eating in this chair.”

Priscilla laughed. “They weren’t here, but I did have several moms who were here with their kids. It was fun.” She handed him the broom and dustpan and began clearing the other tables. “So tell me what this big emergency is all about. Your father is fine, I’m sure.”

“Pop’s a bull,” Pete said. “A social worker paid a call to the ranch when I wasn’t there.” He looked at her, and Priscilla raised her brows to show that she understood the significance of the adoption process
slowly starting. “Well, Pop being Pop and tough as cowhide didn’t bother to share his actual health conditions and told her he’d been resting because he had gout in his foot.”

Priscilla smiled. “Clever Josiah.”

“So Pop is fine. Not the most truthful person, but he’s fine.” Pete finished sweeping and put the broom away. “He got into such a snit over the caseworker’s surprise visit—he’d been napping off the effects of a little of his afternoon self-medicating—and he’s convinced she’s a dragon out to cut him down in his prime. He says he’s giving up drinking altogether. Not that he was that big a drinker, but he’s even taken to wearing nice jeans and a dress shirt in case she sneaks up on him again.”

Priscilla laughed. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not funny, but there is a little humor in it.” She smiled at Pete. “He really wants those children, doesn’t he?”

“More than you can imagine. Well, I guess you can imagine, since he tried to hire you to be my wife to make my résumé a little more apple-shiny to the adoption folks.”

The smile left her face as she went back to cleaning. “Shall we take tea and cookies into the house? I must admit I’m not much in the mood to relax in here tonight, although it used to be my favorite place for a cozy winding-down.”