Читать книгу His-And-Hers Twins - Rita Herron - Страница 9

“The house next door is definitely jinxed.” Paige Watkins sighed dramatically into the phone, aware she sounded irrational. But she didn’t care—she had to talk to someone.

“What are you talking about?” Paige’s best friend, Amelia asked. “You think it’s haunted?”

“No, that would be better,” Paige said in despair. “Another single man moved in.”

“In Eric’s house?”

Paige winced. “That’s the one.”

“Oh, that is terrible,” Amelia drawled sarcastically. “I suppose he’s cute, too.”

Paige rolled her eyes when she heard Amelia’s bracelets jangle. Amelia collected a bracelet as a going-away gift from each of her former boyfriends. So far she had three silver, two gold and one jade. “I don’t know if he’s cute or not and I don’t intend to find out.”

“Are you delirious, Paige?” Amelia sputtered. “’Cause if you need a doctor, I’ll be glad to drive you.”

“I don’t need a doctor or a shrink.” Paige chuckled. “But my new neighbor has kids, and I’m not jumping into a relationship with a single dad—not ever again.”

Her friend clucked sympathetically. “Look, Paige, just because Eric went back to his ex-wife—”

“His gorgeous ex-wife with the double D cups.”

“Yeah, well, just because he went back to his gorgeous ex-wife with the double D cups doesn’t mean you have to give up on all men.”

“Why would I want to repeat the same mistake? Besides, I still haven’t gotten over what happened with little Joey.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Paige. Kids can sneak away from you in a minute.”

“Still, if that car had hit Joey…” Paige shuddered, forcing away the memory. “I don’t want the responsibility of children, especially someone else’s. It’s too scary.”

Amelia exhaled noisily. “Forget the kids, just tell me, is the dad cute?”

“How should I know?” Paige wound the phone cord around her fingers. “I’ve been avoiding him.”

“You’re a pathetic excuse for a female,” Amelia said in obvious disgust. “If you haven’t met him, how do you know he’s single?”

“Mrs. Spivy across the street.” Paige laughed as she remembered the day the good-natured, well-meaning woman had dropped the news. Mrs. Spivy was such a gossip she’d probably protested when the phone company did away with party lines. “She’s the neighborhood welcoming committee. She took him an apple pie when he first moved in.”

“Well, there’s a thought,” Amelia said. “Why don’t you make your favorite chocolate mousse and take it over? You could put whip cream and a cherry on top.”

Paige scoffed. “I am not going to bake my way into the man’s bed.”

“I guess that would be a little sexist,” Amelia admitted. “Okay, then design yourself a sexy new outfit, something short, you know, show off your legs.”

“And that’s not sexist?”

Amelia laughed. “Well, I’d tell you to fix me up with the guy, but things are going pretty good with Derrick—”

“You really like him?” Paige asked, grateful for the change in subject.

Amelia cooed dreamily. “He’s almost perfect. I’m surprised you set me up with him instead of keeping him for yourself.”

“We’ve been friends since grammar school,” Paige said. “But there wasn’t any chemistry between us.”

“Good,” Amelia said, emphatically. “’Cause he might be the one.”

“You’re a hopeless romantic, Amelia. I’ve given up on men for a while.”

“Gee, Paige. There’re a few good ones out there. You have to keep looking.”

“And get my heart broken again? I don’t think so.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

Paige laughed, then shook her head. “Listen, I need to deliver these fliers. I promised Mrs. Spivy I’d head up the committee on the neighborhood watch program.”

“Still having trouble with vandals?”

“Yeah. Maybe this watch thing will help.”

“Hey, a perfect excuse to meet your new neighbor.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “You are hopeless. He’s probably a geek with monsters for kids.” She hung up the phone, shaking her head at Amelia’s laughter, then grabbed the fliers and headed toward the door. She meant what she’d told Amelia. She was through with men for a while, especially ones with children and pets. No more kitty litter on the carpet. No more car pools. No more back seat squabbles. No more being used for a fill-in mom. She intended to heed her mother’s advice and focus on her dreams.

She’d finish her degree, then become a dress designer. Then she’d travel and make her mark in the business world.

Outside, as Paige stuffed fliers in people’s boxes, her thoughts strayed to the neighbors out tending their spring flowers and yards. Thirty miles north of Atlanta, the residents of Crabapple had access to all the city offered, but land was cheaper and trees plentiful in the suburbs. Quaint antique shops lined the downtown area, which consisted of nothing more than a church, a gas station, an elementary school and a two-lane highway. Several small horse farms bordered the edge of town. But the close-knit community, famous for the crabapple trees flanking the town square, had recently been plagued by a series of mysterious vandalisms, making residents nervous and edgy.

She’d almost finished distributing the notices when she noticed pigtailed twins pulling a bright red wagon, walking an overweight, floppy-eared dog. Or the mutt might be walking them. The child holding the leash yelled, “Whoa, Henrietta!” but the dog moaned pathetically and tried to lie down. The urchin tugged until the dog begrudgingly ambled along behind her, its head drooping, its movements labored. The girls were probably four or five years old. One wore yellow overalls, the other blue.

Where were their parents?

Stop it, she chastised herself silently. They aren’t your responsibility. Thank goodness. After Joey…

Besides, except for the break-ins, this was a quiet, safe neighborhood. Teens were probably responsible for the vandalism.

Still, she couldn’t help being curious about the girls. She turned the corner and headed toward them. The twins had stopped by a telephone pole. The one in yellow struggled with the dog to keep it from charging into the street to chase a bird while the other one pulled out a hammer and a flier from the wagon. She clumsily attempted to hang the paper on the pole. They were probably having a garage sale, or they’d set up a lemonade stand.

She chuckled again as the child slammed the hammer down and missed, then tried again. The dog howled, and the other girl brushed his long brown ears lovingly. Suddenly a gust of wind blew the paper from the second little girl’s hands.

“Oh, no, get it!” she cried.

Her sister pointed to the flailing paper. “Stop!”

“I’ll get it!” Paige’s mothering instincts automatically kicked in when she saw the paper swirling toward the road.

The girls halted, their eyes wide as the wind hurled the flier into the street. The mutt barked, perked his ears, and darted to chase it. So, the dog could run, after all.

“Girls, don’t go into the street,” Paige warned.

The one in yellow pulled the leash, struggling against the dog’s weight. Her sister grabbed her waist to keep her from being dragged into the road. The dog moaned and flopped to the ground. The twins tumbled over each other, landing on top of the dog.

Paige snatched the paper from the ground and fought laughter as the girls and the dog sought to untangle themselves. Her gaze strayed to the flier and a smile curved her lips as she saw the crayon childish scrawl. Then she deciphered the words and her mouth dropped open in surprise.

WIVE AND MOMMI WANTED

Rite Away

for Hansum Daddi & Dorabl Twins

Must like anmuls and make chocwit chip cookies

Zeke Blalock 555-1200

Paige studied the girls—strawberry-blond hair, huge green eyes, with a smattering of freckles dotting their noses—they were adorable.

But why were they advertising for a mother?

She handed the flier to them. “I guess you need this.”

“Thanks, but you can keep it,” the girl in yellow said with a hopeful smile.

Her sister wrinkled her nose. “That is, if you don’t already gots some little girls of your own.”

“Can you make chocwit chip cookies?”

“Well, yes—”

“You don’t gots a daddy?”

The twin in blue poked her sister. “You mean a hus…bund. He’s our daddy.”

Paige smothered laughter. The little girls were obviously serious. Did their “daddi” know what they were up to?

“What are your names?” Paige asked. She noticed the one in yellow was missing a front tooth. Good, a way to tell the girls apart.

“I’m August,” the child with the missing tooth answered.

“And I’m Summer.” The twin holding the wagon pointed to herself. “Our mama named us that ’cause we was born in the summer.”

“But she wents away,” August said in a sad voice.

“And we don’t ever see her anymore,” Summer said. Both girls’ bottom lips suddenly trembled and Paige’s stomach clenched into a knot. They looked as if they were going to burst into tears any second.

“I’m Paige Watkins,” Paige said, deftly changing the subject as she petted the mutt’s head. “Great dog, you’ve got there.” Surely, the topic of the dog was safe.

“Her name’s Henrietta,” Summer said brightening.

“Yeah, first we called her Henry, but we found out he was a girl.”

“Girls are different from boys,” August said.

“See, boys gots a—”

“Yes, honey, I know the difference,” Paige said, with a grin. So, the dog topic wasn’t such a good idea either. “I haven’t seen you two before. Where do you live?”

The girls exchanged worried looks. One of them pointed in the direction of Paige’s house. “Thataway, I think.”

“In a brown house.”

“It gots a porch.”

“We just moved in.”

“We’d put the fliers up ’fore now, but daddy just bought us some new crayons.”

“He washed the others with his underwear. My red crayons turned his shorts pink.”

“I see.” Paige chuckled and glanced down the street. The only brown house on Maple Street was the one next to hers. These were her new neighbors! They were monsters, all right—adorable, precious little monsters.

“Do you gots a dad…I mean, a husbund?” August asked.

Paige’s heart squeezed. “No, honey, I don’t.” She studied the flier again. “Has your daddy seen this?”

Both girls shook their heads emphatically, their pigtails swinging wildly. Summer leaned toward her and whispered, “It’s a surprise.”

“’Sides, he was asleep,” Summer added.

“I see,” Paige said again, touched by the girls, but suddenly irritated with the man. What kind of father slept the day away while his children roamed the streets? And he’d given his children the idea he needed a wife so badly they’d advertised for one!

More than likely, he wanted a cook, maid, and baby-sitter. Maybe he was a geek who had trouble meeting women, she thought hopefully. But if he left the girls alone a lot…well, he needed to take responsibility for his daughters. And what about the girls’ mother? She’d actually deserted them! How could a mother do that?

Paige gritted her teeth as anger churned through her. “Let me walk you home.”

The girls traded looks again. “We’re not sposed to go with strangers.”

Paige patted Summer’s back. “That’s true. But I’m not really a stranger. I live in the yellow house beside yours. So we’re next-door neighbors.”

Both girls’ eyes danced with mischief, matchmaking wheels obviously turning in their little heads. A bad premonition sank in the pit of Paige’s stomach—the house was definitely jinxed. She couldn’t give the girls any false ideas about being their mother. She would walk them home. Then she would have a talk with their father, and be out of their lives for good.

ZEKE BLALOCK awoke with a start. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep at all, but between the move, unpacking and nursing an ailing golden retriever all night, he’d been completely exhausted. The silence in the house alerted him to trouble. He jumped off the sofa, shoved his tousled hair from his forehead and panicked. Where were the girls?

In the backyard with Henrietta—it’s fenced in, a quiet, safe neighborhood, that’s why you moved here—they’re fine.

But his heart pounded anyway, and he had to see his daughters’ darling, innocent faces before he could relax. Still blurry-eyed from sleep, he raced through the den, dodged the sleeping cat on the floor and almost stumbled over the maze of unopened boxes. Damn. He needed to finish unpacking. He stubbed his toe, but ignored the throbbing pain and rushed to the back door. His pulse raced when he spotted the empty yard and the gate swinging back and forth.

They were gone! Had they been kidnapped while he napped on his living room couch? Should he call 911?

He hurried up the stairs, yelling their names as he searched the house, but no answer. Remembering they liked to play hide-and-seek, he checked every closet, even under the bed. They were nowhere to be found.

Feeling sick to his stomach with panic, he almost yelped in shock when the doorbell rang. Who could be at the door? He didn’t know a single soul living on the street. Unless it was some salesmen. He sure as hell didn’t have time for that. Or maybe it was that nice elderly lady, Mrs. Spivy with some more pies. Or maybe she’d seen his children!

Unless the police had found his daughters and—

Don’t overreact. Maybe they’re playing in the front yard.

The bell rang again and he bolted, not caring that he was barefoot and his oxford shirt was unbuttoned. He swung open the front door and squinted through the screen. A gorgeous redhead stood on the front stoop, wearing a scowl the size of Texas. Was she selling something? If so, she certainly needed to perfect her demeanor.

“Mr.—”

“Daddy!”

“Girls!” Relief ballooned inside him at the sight of his daughters. He yanked open the screen door, dropped to his knees on the porch, and pulled them into his arms. “Where have you two been? I told you to stay in the backyard.” He leaned back to examine each of them, spot-checking to see if they’d been injured in any way, totally forgetting about the frowning woman standing in his doorway. They looked okay. They sounded okay. They hadn’t been kidnapped. “I was worried about you,” he said in a firm voice.

“We’re sorry, Daddy,” Summer said.

“Yeah, but we was busy,” August argued.

Zeke frowned and adopted his serious-dad expression. “I don’t want to hear excuses. You gave me a scare. The rule is you don’t leave the yard without me. Do you understand?”

Both girls bowed their heads and studied their colored sneakers. “Yes sirrrrr,” Summer said.

“August?”

“’Kay, Daddy.”

“But we found somebody.” Summer pointed to the woman. “She lives in the yellow house.”

“Right next door,” August added. “She walked us home.”

Zeke glanced up to see the woman still standing on the stoop. Her frown had disappeared, and her light green eyes seemed troubled.

“Thanks for bringing them home,” he said.

August pulled at his sleeve. “Her name’s Paige. Like a book.”

“This is our daddy,” Summer said proudly. “He’s a mess today, but that’s ’cause we was unpacking, and he didn’t sleep last night ’cause he’s a dog doctor.”

“A beterinarian,” August clarified, wrinkling her nose. “Daddy, your face is all fuzzy.”

Zeke ran a hand through his dark brown hair, trying to smooth the disheveled ends, suddenly conscious of his unruly appearance. He needed a shave, his shirt was hanging open and his jeans were full of holes. On top of that, he was running on two hours of sleep, max. He probably looked like a stray animal that had been digging in the yard. Leave it to his daughters to bring home a beautiful female when he looked his absolute worst.

He hurriedly buttoned his shirt, aware an undercurrent of tension stretched taut between him and the red-haired woman who seemed to be avoiding looking at his bare chest.

Finally he felt clothed and extended his hand. Maybe now she would look at him. “Hi. Uh, I’m Zeke Blalock.”

“Hello. Paige Watkins.” She drew in a deep breath and her short cropped T-shirt stretched tight across her small but ample breasts. For the first time since he’d opened the door, he noticed her running attire. Bright red letters boasting the slogan Free To Be Me emblazoned the front of her shirt. Black running shorts hugged her slender thighs and she wiped at a bead of perspiration on her forehead. Was she hot, or nervous?

“I hope my girls didn’t disturb you,” Zeke said.

“We didn’t, Daddy,” August said.

“No, they were fine,” Paige said. “Actually—”

Henrietta flopped onto the porch and whined. “My dog didn’t dig up your flower bed or something, did she?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Paige reached for some papers in the wagon. She was selling something.

“We’re gonna go play,” Summer said.

“Yep,” August agreed.

“Girls, wait,” Paige said.

Uh-oh. They had done something. He’d hoped he’d be lucky enough to find neighbors who liked kids. Maybe Paige Watkins didn’t. “Look, Ms. Watkins, if the girls upset you, I’m sorry, they’re just—”

She handed him a flier. “The girls were putting these up in the neighborhood. I wondered if you’d read them.”

The girls had made fliers? Guilt flashed onto his daughters’ faces as they backed off the porch. “We’re taking Henrietta to the backyard,” August said in a low voice.

“Yep.” Summer dropped her chin forward, avoiding his eyes.

“Wait, girls.” Zeke motioned them to stop as he recognized the familiar crayoned writing. Then he read the words and the sun grew hot on his neck and the porch spun in circles.