Читать книгу Montana Twins - Charlotte Maclay, Charlotte Maclay - Страница 8

“I’m going to be a father.”

Still stunned by the news, Sheriff Eric Oakes sat down heavily in the swivel chair behind his desk, trying to figure out how it had happened. Or if it could possibly be true.

His brother Rory, who had just come into the office, looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You’re kidding.”

“Twins. Girls.”

“Hey, I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone. How come you’re keeping secrets from—”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s like—” He was stammering almost as much as the woman who’d called him with the news a few minutes ago. “They’re my sister’s kids.” Three months old, the woman had said.

Rory frowned, and a hank of his dark hair slid across his forehead. In a futile gesture, he shoved it back into place. “Have you been nipping at that bottle you keep in your bottom desk drawer? You don’t have a sister. Two brothers, me and Walker. Unless ol’ Sharpy has had a sex change I don’t know about—”

“No, that’s not it.” Eric pushed back from his desk, stood and paced across the room to look out the window onto the town of Grass Valley, Montana, located not far from the Canadian border.

Small was the only way to describe the town.

Rory’s veterinary clinic was down a side road a block away, across from Doc Justine’s medical clinic where Rory’s bride, Kristi, worked as a nurse practitioner, helping her grandmother, the long-time town doctor.

On the main street there was a garage with rusty old heaps parked around it, a drugstore that sold more ice cream than prescriptions, and a general store. The saloon with a tattered banner that announced “Good Eats” was the only place that ever drew a crowd, except for the nearby church.

Crime wasn’t a big issue in the community. A few Saturday-night drunks to fill his two jail cells now and then. Traffic accidents on the highway that called for him to respond. Occasional reports of cattle rustling or adolescent vandalism. A safe place to live.

And to raise kids, he thought as a lump formed in his throat. He’d always wanted children. A family of his own.

He turned back to his brother. “Some woman called a couple of minutes ago, a Laura somebody from Helena. She says my mother had another baby after she abandoned me.” It was no big deal to tell Rory he’d been dumped by his mom. Rory’s mother had done the same thing to him. That’s how they’d both ended up at the Double O Ranch as foster kids to Oliver Oakes, who’d eventually adopted them and another kid, their brother, Walker—nicknamed Sharpy because he’d once shot himself in the leg. Walker was running the ranch nowadays.

“According to this woman, my sister’s name was Amy Thorne, and she had twins a couple of months ago. Then she died.” Still incredulous about the phone call, he shook his head. “She wanted me to have the babies. Be their dad. Apparently I’m their only living relative.”

“Somebody’s putting you on.”

“I don’t know. This Laura person sounded pretty legit.” Except she’d been nervous, stuttering and stammering as she tried to tell her story.

“No, it’s got to be some kind of scam. Did she ask for money? Child support?” Rory hooked his hip over the corner of Eric’s desk and crossed his arms. His Native American heritage sometimes gave him a brooding look, but since discovering that he had a son and his recent marriage to the boy’s mother, Kristi Kerrigan, Rory had been all smiles. Until now.

“The whole phone call kind of caught me off guard,” Eric said. He was still shaken, half disbelieving the news yet wanting it to be true. “But no, she didn’t say anything about money.” Not that he could remember, at any rate. “She’s going to bring the twins up here tomorrow.”

“And just hand them off to you?”

“I don’t know. She said something about interviewing me.” Which didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Either he was the twins’ uncle or he wasn’t. And if he wasn’t, that woman wouldn’t have bothered to call and make him identify himself by his birth name, Eric Johnson. A name he hadn’t used since he was fifteen and Oliver Oakes adopted him. Eric had celebrated his thirty-second birthday last fall out at the ranch. Walker’s wife, Lizzie, had baked the most lopsided cake he’d ever seen—not that he or anyone else had cared. Devil’s food with chocolate frosting was hard to beat whatever the shape.

He shoved his fingers through his hair, shorter than Rory’s, more brown than black and several shades lighter. Now that he was trying to explain this baby situation to his brother, it sounded pretty damn crazy. Maybe it was a hoax. One of those adolescent games when a kid calls someone and asks if their refrigerator is running. When the victim says yes, the kids giggle and say you’d better catch it before it runs out the door. A silly, harmless prank.

But his caller hadn’t sounded like a kid. More like a woman with a sultry voice who hadn’t wanted to call him at all.

And the story of his mother, who had run through boyfriends like water through a sieve, sounded legit, too. She could have gotten pregnant again.

God, could it be that all these years he’d had a sister who he didn’t even know existed and now she was dead? He’d never have a chance to meet her. Or talk to her. Why hadn’t she come looking for him sooner?

Or could that call have been nothing more than a cruel trick? The woman the same kind of person who would abandon her own kid?

Tears stung at the backs of his eyes as memories assailed him. He’d been ten years old and standing in the parking lot of a fast-food hamburger joint. Looking for his mother and her current boyfriend. Looking for their car. He knew where it had been parked. It wasn’t there anymore. He’d had to go to the john. They’d left without him. God, he’d felt so alone. So hurt.

How could any mother do that to a kid?

He hadn’t had a sister then. He’d been an only child, crowded into the back seat of the car along with everything they owned, and making it a point to stay out of reach of his mom’s boyfriend. The guy had big meaty fists, Eric remembered that. And he knew how to use them.

A sob rose in his throat.

The office door opened to admit a current of fresh spring air along with Rory’s wife, Kristi, and their son, Adam.

Swiping the back of his hand across his face, Eric struggled to pull his emotions back under control.

“Hi, Uncle Eric.” The dark-haired five-year-old made a beeline for the nearest jail cell and began to swing on the door, peering out through the bars.

“Where did I put that key?” he asked, playing the game he and the boy had started recently. “I’ve caught me a monkey and I need to lock him up.”

The youngster giggled and made scratching gestures under his arm pits. “Hoot-hoot-hoot.”

Kristi stood on tiptoe to brush a kiss to her husband’s cheek. “Ted Pomperan is at the clinic with a dog that cut its foot.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there. Eric’s been telling me he’s going to be a daddy. Twins, he says.”

“Girls,” Eric added. If the tale was true.

“You’re kidding!” Kristi whirled toward him, her eyes widening. “I certainly hope you plan to marry the woman.”

“Well, no. I mean, I don’t even know the woman. She just called a couple of minutes—”

“I’d say you know her plenty well enough if she’s going to have your babies,” Kristi insisted.

Adam piped up. “Does that mean I’m gonna get some more cousins?”

“She’s not going to have my babies. They’re already three months old. And they might not even be—”

“So she hadn’t told you she was—”

“Rory!” Eric came around the desk, caught Rory and Kristi by their respective elbows, ushering them toward the door. “Go take care of your canine patient, and in the meantime will you please explain the situation to your wife so she doesn’t think I’ve committed some mortal sin.”

“I’m not sure I get the picture myself,” Rory complained.

“Neither do I. With luck, when the woman shows up tomorrow with the twins, I’ll be able to figure out what’s going on.” Assuming she comes at all.

Rory opened the door for his wife.

“You be nice to the woman, Eric Oakes,” Kristi admonished him. “If she’s had your babies, she’ll be feeling very vulnerable and unsure of herself. I know that’s how I felt when I came back to Grass Valley and had to face Rory and tell him about Adam.”

Exasperated, Eric said, “Talk to her, bro.” He eased them out the door, closing it behind them and drew a deep breath.

Incredible. Was he really about to become a father of two baby girls?

Which reminded him that he didn’t know squat about babies and diapers and bottles or any of that stuff. How the hell was he going to manage if it came to that?

Turning around, his gaze landed on Adam, who was still behind bars.

“Your folks just left.”

The boy lifted his shoulders in an easy shrug. “The door locked itself. I can’t get out.”

“Right.” He headed for the ring of keys hanging on a peg behind his desk.

Not only did he know little about caring for babies, he wasn’t all that sure he’d be able to handle a couple of girls Adam’s age when the time came. And God help him, when they became adolescents, his goose would be cooked.

If they were his nieces and he was about to become their daddy.

“I DON’T KNOW how you can give away those sweet little babies.” Barbara Cavendish shaded her eyes against the morning sun as Laura loaded the twins inside her SUV for the trip to Grass Valley.

“It’s what their mother wanted. Amy made that abundantly clear.” A knot formed in Laura’s throat at the mere thought of handing the twins over to a perfect stranger, even if he was their only living relative. And she fully understood that in her mother’s heart, she’d already claimed the twins as her grandchildren.

Laura tried for a brave smile as she adjusted Amanda’s car seat, then reached across her to the second car seat and caressed the blond fuzz on Rebecca’s head. She’d never seen two more beautiful babies, small for their age but absolutely perfect in every way. She desperately hoped that once their uncle Eric met the twins he wouldn’t feel the same way about them as she did. There was no law that said he had to raise them. He could easily reject the idea once he realized what it entailed.

“You know I loved Amy as if she were my own child,” her mother continued. Barbara Cavendish had taken Amy into her home and heart as an abused foster child when the girl had been only ten years old. Laura had become her big sister—a role she’d loved and continued as best she could after Amy had moved out on her own. “I’m just not sure she was thinking clearly, wanting to give her babies away to a complete stranger when she knew you—”

“Her half brother, Mom.”

“Who she didn’t even know existed until she rummaged through that shoe box of things her mother left her. I wish you hadn’t hired that private detective to find the man.”

In more ways than Laura could count, she wished that too. “I promised Amy I’d follow her wishes if I could.”

During Amy’s last trimester of pregnancy, it had become clear she wouldn’t be able to continue working as a waitress, and the complications of Amy’s diabetes made the pregnancy high risk. She was told she could die.

Not wanting to burden Laura’s mother, who tended to be overly protective, Amy had moved in with Laura. Soon after that she’d discovered she had a half brother—the twins’ only living blood relative.

Then the worst had happened. Amy slipped into a coma before she gave birth to the twins. Only the doctor’s quick action, taking the babies by cesarean section, had saved them. Amy had given her life for the children she never had a chance to hold.

Preparing for that contingency, she’d left written instructions for Laura to follow, signed and notarized, as binding as any will. Find Amy’s half brother, if she could. See if he’d be a suitable daddy. If not, Amy wanted Laura to raise her babies. In the end, the decision would be Laura’s.

It had taken the private detective three months and several thousand dollars to locate the man. Five hours from now, give or take a little, Laura would actually meet him.

“In spite of the rocky road she’d traveled, Amy believed families ought to stick together,” Laura told her mother. “I suspect you were the one who taught her that.”

“I don’t know, dear—”

“Mom, I have to do this. I gave my word of honor.” Straightening, she rested her hand lightly on her mother’s shoulder, trying to reassure herself as much as her mother. “Chances are a sheriff in a town like Grass Valley has a beer belly, chews tobacco and has only a passing interest in the offspring of a woman he never knew. I’ll have an easy decision to make—he obviously won’t be a fit father for the twins—and my conscience will be clear.”

Failing that, her last, best hope would be that Eric Oakes wasn’t married—at least the detective hadn’t uncovered any evidence of a woman in the picture. Amy had been adamant that she didn’t want her babies raised by a single father. She didn’t trust any man that much.

Laura hugged that thought tightly to her as she kissed her mother goodbye and climbed in behind the steering wheel of the SUV. Amanda and Rebecca were already her life, the children of her heart.

Because she couldn’t bear children of her own, they were her one best chance to be the mother she longed to be. They could ease the ache that had been with her since that terrible accident when she’d been sixteen years old—an accident that had been her fault. Oh, she hadn’t been driving the pickup truck filled with a half dozen cheering high school friends when a speeding car crashed into them.

But climbing into the back of that truck after their team had beaten the town rivals had been her idea. She’d carry that guilt with her forever.

Her hand trembled as she twisted the key in the ignition. Anxiety about what would happen in Grass Valley dried her mouth like a summer drought turns a prairie to dust.

The early-morning sky was a pale blue, the air crystalline clear. The temperature would probably reach seventy-five degrees, typical for July.

Normally she loved driving across Montana during her time off from teaching high school history and government. She’d even been known to go hiking on her own or camping with friends. But this trip—and what might follow—she dreaded at a deeply personal level.

She could lose the babies she had come to love with the intensity that only a mother could possess.

AS SHE’D EXPECTED, six hours later and three stops for diaper changes and bottles, she discovered Grass Valley was little more than a wide spot in a very narrow road.

Laura slowed as she entered the town. Eric Oakes had told her to meet him at his house, so she cruised past the few buildings that lined the main street, noting a couple of women visiting in front of the general store. An older man coming out of the saloon waved at Laura—probably mistaking her vehicle for someone else’s. She caught sight of the sheriff’s office, a short, stout building that wouldn’t even intimidate a jaywalker.

Then she saw the quixotic roadside mailbox, a prisoner in a bronze striped uniform escaping through the roof of the jail. Eric had said she’d have no trouble finding his place.

Drawing a deep breath, she turned into the long driveway leading to a two-story house. Modest by most standards, the best feature was a porch that stretched the full width of the house and was positioned to catch the morning sun. Two wicker chairs promised comfort while watching the sun rise.

A big cottonwood tree shaded portions of the front yard, and beyond the house stood a small barn and corral. A pair of sorrel horses raised their heads to check on her arrival.

Laura didn’t want to think about how much Amanda and Rebecca might someday want their own horses or have a swing hanging from a sturdy tree branch. Her townhouse didn’t have room for a corral, and the trees were mostly poplars, impossible to climb much less swing from.

When she pulled to a stop, a man came out of the house, the screen door bumping closed behind him as he walked down the steps toward her with an easy stride. Tall and lean in his khaki uniform, he wore a badge pinned to his broad chest and a pager on his belt that was no larger than a trim size thirty-two.

She’d really been counting on a beer belly.

Checking first to see that the twins were still sleeping, she got out of the car.

“Afternoon,” he said in the same clear baritone she’d heard on the phone, a tone that held a note of caution.

She nodded. “Sheriff Oakes.” His hair—the color of a sand dune after a rainstorm—was cut short, probably to tame the natural waves rather than from any desire to appear military. Crinkles fanned out at the corners of his eyes, as though he’d spent a lot of time squinting into the Montana sky—or laughing. His face was tanned, his jaw square, his lips set in a firm, skeptical line.

“Most folks just call me Eric. We’re pretty informal around here.” He glanced toward the truck. “You’ve got the twins with you, Ms…uh…I didn’t get your whole name.”

“Laura Cavendish. They’re in their car seats.”

“I wasn’t a hundred percent sure you’d show up.”

“I said I would.”

“Well, let’s take a look at ’em.” He gestured toward the back seat.

She bristled. “This isn’t like picking out a good horse, you know.”

His pale-blue eyes narrowed and darkened with suspicion. “I didn’t think it was, Ms. Cavendish. But they are my nieces, aren’t they?”

“Apparently.” More than anything in the world, Laura wished they weren’t—wished the detective had made a mistake and traced the wrong man. But he’d assured her that wasn’t the case.

“How did you find me, anyway? Johnson is a pretty ordinary name.”

“I had your date and place of birth from your sister, which I gave to the detective I hired. Since I knew you and she hadn’t been raised together, we guessed you had landed in the foster care system somewhere.” The tricky part had been getting ahold of the adoption records. Laura hadn’t asked the detective how he’d managed that.

He cocked his brow, then edged closer to her vehicle, peering through the tinted side window. “So you’re pretty sure I’m the right guy.”

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. If she simply got back in the truck and returned to Helena, no one would question that she’d done as Amy had requested and decided their uncle wasn’t suitable. The twins would be hers. “But if you’re not interested in raising them—”

He grasped the handle and opened the door. Laura held her breath as he leaned inside.

“Oh, my God.” He spoke as though his words were a whispered prayer and filled with awe. “They’re so little.”

Through the crack, Laura saw him tenderly slip his finger into Rebecca’s hand. The baby closed her tiny fingers into a fist around him and opened her eyes, looking up at Eric with her bright blue eyes. A bubble escaped her lips.

“Hey, Tinkerbell,” he said softly. “This lady says I’m your uncle Eric. Whadaya think, huh?”

The magical exchange between the big, rugged sheriff and his tiny niece was so powerful, Laura’s throat closed down tight, and she almost couldn’t speak. “That one is Rebecca. The other one is Amanda.”

“How do you tell ’em apart?”

“Rebecca’s left eyebrow arches a little more than Amanda’s does and her ears stick out a tiny bit more. She’s also more wakeful than her sister.” Somehow, from almost the first moment following their birth she’d been able to tell the twins apart without checking their ID bracelets. The hospital nurses had been amazed. “Other than that, they’re identical.”

“I’ll say.”

A light breeze ruffled Laura’s hair, shifting it along the back of her neck, and she felt a chill run down her arms. “I think we ought to take the girls inside. They’re still a little fragile.”

He backed away from the truck. “Oh, yeah, sure. Come on in.”

“You get Rebecca, and I’ll go around to the other side to get Amanda.”

“You want me to—” He blanched as white as if she’d asked him to pick up a deadly snake. “I’ve never held a baby that tiny before. I’m not sure I know how.”

He’d better learn how in a hurry if he expected Laura to even consider leaving the twins in his care for as little as two minutes—forget the rest of their lives.

“Here, let me.” She edged past him, acutely aware of what a big man he was. His aura expanded around her, stealing inside her personal space, leaving her feeling slightly breathless. Unsnapping the car seat harness, she lifted Rebecca and gave her a quick kiss. “Come on, Becky. Meet your uncle Eric.” She held out the baby to him.

He hesitated.

“She won’t break as long as you don’t drop her.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

She laid the baby in his arms. “Keep her head propped up. Don’t let it fall back.”

He looked as awkward as a boy at his first dance, standing as stiff as a robot, not knowing quite what to do with his hands, his expression frozen with fear. Even so, Laura saw he was gentle. His big hand cradled the back of Rebecca’s head, his arm held her firmly against his chest.

Not that that meant he’d be a good daddy for the long haul.

“Now, hold her carefully,” she warned him again. She hurried to the other side of the SUV, quickly extricating Amanda from her car seat. The infant stretched and yawned, then let out a tiny cry of complaint. “Sorry I had to wake you, Mandy. You’re fine, really you are.” She grabbed the oversize diaper bag and rejoined Eric, who hadn’t budged. “We were going inside?”

“Right.” He eyed Laura, then looked down at Rebecca. “I was wrong before. She’s not Tinkerbell, she’s Stinkerbell. And I think she’s leaking.”

“Oh, dear.” She stifled a smile at his horrified look. “Well, let’s get her inside, and I’ll change her diaper. That probably means Mandy is about to let loose, too.”

Eric didn’t look at all pleased with the prospect. His easy walk that she’d noted earlier turned to a tiptoe race up the porch steps. Despite that, he took the time to hold the door open for her.

An officer of the law and a gentleman—shades of the old west.

For a bachelor’s place, the living room looked neat, and the heavy leather couch and recliner gave the room a masculine flavor. In lieu of any feminine touches, there was an overflowing bookcase stuffed with mystery, adventure and science fiction titles, a big-screen TV and a stereo sound system that would rival an outdoor amphitheater. It looked like a case of a boy with plenty of expensive toys.

Noting the row of huge silver rodeo trophies on the mantel above the natural rock fireplace, Laura suspected Eric’s music of choice would be country-western. She wondered how he was at two-stepping. Not that she was an expert. Just the opposite. But the dance had always looked like fun.

Holding Amanda in one arm, she pulled a receiving blanket from the diaper bag with her free hand and spread it on the center cushion of the man-size couch. She put Amanda down and reached for Rebecca.

Eric passed her the baby, thinking how odd the situation felt. A woman in his house and two tiny babies so small he could probably cradle one in each hand like a football if he wasn’t so darn scared he’d drop one.

No question, he was going to need a crash course in infant care if they had any chance of surviving under his roof after he was on his own with them.

A father ought to know something about taking care of his kids.

If indeed he was a relation at all. He had the feeling he should be waiting for another shoe to drop, one that resembled a complicated con job intended to raid his bank account.

How could anyone know how much he’d always wanted a family of his own?

He watched Laura’s swift, confident movements as she changed the babies’ diapers. Her head was bent over them, allowing her hair to slide forward, hiding her face behind a ginger-blond screen. Her hairdo was practical, only long enough to reach the angle of her jaw, one of those styles that brushed into place with a few strokes or little more than a shake of her head. But it seemed to shine in the reflected light of the room as though someone had turned a golden spotlight on her.

Her clothes were practical, too. A businesslike navy jacket over a light yellow blouse and navy slacks. Sensible shoes. A long way from a femme fatale or what he’d imagine a scam artist would wear.

She dressed as primly as every social worker he’d ever known as a kid, but something was different about her. When she held one of the twins, murmuring sweet, loving sounds, her smile glowed from the inside out. She had some kind of a special connection to these babies. Eric wasn’t sure what.

Granted, he wasn’t a big-city cop. But he’d had a fair amount of police training and pretty good instincts. Despite her very attractive packaging, this woman was hiding something.

“Except for knowing my birth name, what other proof do you have that these babies are any relation to me at all?”