Читать книгу Oh, Babies! - SUSAN MEIER, Susan Meier - Страница 9

“I think I must be lost,” Kristen Morris Devereaux said to the butler who had answered the front door of the Tudor mansion. If her directions were correct, this was the home of Grant, Evan and Chas Brewster, the men from whom she wanted to get custody of her sister’s triplets. She understood that the Brewsters were far from poor, but she hadn’t expected them to have a butler and a mansion. If this was their home, they were people so far out of her social sphere she’d look like nothing but a country bumpkin to them.

For the first time since she discovered she wasn’t alone in the world, she felt a stab of reality poke her enthusiastic bubble of hope. Still, she held her smile in place. She had to do this.

“I’m looking for the Brewster residence.”

“This is the Brewster residence,” the butler responded.

“Good,” she said, though inside her spirits sank. She forced herself to smile again. “I’m Kristen Devereaux.”

For a few seconds, the man only stared at her, obviously taking in her appearance from head to toe and pausing on her simple red dress which wasn’t shabby or disgraceful, but probably didn’t meet the standards of people who could afford a butler.

His questionable inspection strengthened her will. After suffering the loss of her husband, then her only sister, Kristen had learned life wasn’t always easy. With so much at stake, she had resolved to be tough, persistent, even downright pushy if she needed to be. If he was trying to shatter that confidence, he’d have to do much better than peer at her as if her clothes confused him.

He did.

He smiled.

One small upward movement of his lips shifted the angles and planes of his face, transforming him from a gatekeeper bully into Prince Charming at the ball. The brown eyes that were so suspicious became warm and welcoming. With his beautiful shiny black hair, black beard and absolutely perfect face, he was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. Over six feet, but not bulky or too well muscled, he wore his tuxedo with an easy grace, a languid sexuality. Her gaze ambling up his beautiful body and returning to his face, Kristen suddenly recognized he was gorgeous, and all her self-assurance fluttered away like the four-and-twenty black birds exiting the pie.

“Hello, Ms. Devereaux,” he said kindly, extending his hand to shake hers, setting off an odd chain reaction of tingles that started in Kristen’s stomach and spiraled downward to her toes.

When he released her hand, he smiled at her again. “Can I take you out to speak with Lily?”

“Lily?” Kristen asked, breathless and baffled. She didn’t have a clue who Lily was, but more than that, from this gentleman’s sexy smile she could tell he was a charmer—probably somebody well accustomed to having women fall at his feet. Though that should have automatically repelled her, Kristen felt another unexpected jolt of pleasure because the look on his face also told her he found her as attractive as she found him.

“Lily, the bride.” he said, grinning foolishly.

Kristen squelched the urge to close her eyes and groan out loud. The bride? Oh, for Pete’s sake! This guy wasn’t the butler. He was a member of a wedding party. She’d arrived just in time for a wedding! He thought she was an inappropriately dressed guest and from the way she was ogling him he also thought she was so smitten with him that she’d forgotten the bride’s name.

Great. Just great. Even before she explained who she was she’d made a fool of herself.

A smart woman would take herself and her inappropriate red dress into town to find a room for the night and return in the morning when all the festivities had died down. Sounded like a darned good idea to her.

“Actually I’m—”

“Here you are, Grant.”

Wearing a tuxedo and looking every bit as relaxed and regal as the gentleman at the front door, the man who interrupted Kristen appeared to be another member of the wedding party. As if only noticing Kristen, he gave her a polite, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m Evan Brewster,” he said, extending his hand to shake hers.

Suddenly realizing she was in the thick of things, Kristen’s heart thumped and her limbs turned to rubber, but she took Evan’s hand and returned his smile. “Kristen Devereaux,” she said.

“And I’m Grant Brewster,” Grant said, nudging his brother aside. “My brother Evan is married. I am not,” he said shamelessly. “Would you like to dance?”

“You don’t have time to dance, Grant,” Evan said. Even as he spoke a short blond woman, probably in her sixties, shuffled up behind him, carrying a baby.

The child wore a frilly pink dress, white tights and shiny black patent-leather Mary Janes. Before Kristen could notice any real detail like the color of the child’s eyes and whether she had the perfect pert nose of all Morris children, a tall red-haired woman appeared carrying another baby. This one was a boy. And behind that woman was a young, beautiful brunette, carrying another girl. This baby wore a dress identical to the dress the first baby wore, but this little girl’s hair was pitch-black. And she had brown eyes as dark and as clear as Grant Brewster’s.

Filled with wonder, Kristen only stared at the children while Evan Brewster spoke.

“There’s too much excitement outside for the kids, and all three of them could use a nap. But Mrs. Romani can’t handle them alone.”

“I can’t handle one baby alone,” the seasoned blonde in the black leather miniskirt reminded gruffly. “I’m not even trying with three.”

Grant sighed, but Kristen recognized his dilemma immediately. Both he and his brother were wearing tuxedos and the young woman holding the dark-haired little girl wore an autumn-orange gown. Obviously all three of them were in the wedding party.

And the babies were Kristen’s sister’s triplets.

Not only were they around the right age, ten months, but Kristen could see the green of Angela’s eyes in the first little girl, and the boy had Angela’s sandy-brown hair. These were Angela’s babies. She could feel it in her bones.

“I could help with the children.” Kristen heard herself say the words before she actually registered the thought. Because she was the triplets’ aunt, and because the Brewsters were obviously preoccupied, it just seemed to make sense for her to be the one to take the children off their hands.

“If you’re putting them down for a nap, all Mrs. Romani and I have to do is keep them company in the nursery until they fall asleep.”

Grant’s gaze traveled over to her slowly. He either couldn’t believe that she had offered, or he wasn’t sure he trusted her with the children.

From the long scrutiny she received from Grant and everyone else, Kristen was fairly certain it was the latter.

When he finally spoke, it was quietly. “Are you sure you don’t mind? You haven’t even had a chance to speak with Lily yet.”

“I can speak with Lily later,” Kristen said, not admitting she didn’t really know Lily. Now that she was in the room with the family who controlled the fate of her nieces and nephew, and up against the knowledge that they were rich strangers who didn’t have to trust her, certain truths about the situation became crystal clear. Once she told them who she was and that ultimately she wanted custody of these babies, they might not be as agreeable to letting her spend private time with the triplets as they were right now.

“They do need a nap,” Mrs. Romani reminded tersely and, as if on cue, the little boy began to cry. One of the girls rubbed her eyes.

“And we should be outside with Lily and Chas,” the woman in the orange gown said. “They can’t handle all the guests on their own.”

“I’m still working with the caterer,” Evan interjected. “At this rate it will be another ten minutes before we eat.”

“Okay. Okay,” Grant said with a sigh, turning to Kristen again. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, we’d appreciate your help with the babies.”

Kristen smiled. “It will be my pleasure.”

The brunette handed the dark-haired little girl to Kristen and it was everything Kristen could do to keep from gasping with pleasure. Carrying the little boy, Grant Brewster accompanied Kristen and Mrs. Romani upstairs into the nursery, which was clean and bright, and decorated with rainbows and angels.

She wanted to hold the baby forever. Grant instructed her to lay the child in her crib. Reluctant, but resigned because she didn’t want to draw any undue attention, she placed the little girl in her bed, slipped off her ruffly pink outfit and tights and dressed her in lightweight pajamas.

“What’s her name?” she asked quietly as the baby rolled onto her side, wrapped the rim of a blanket in her small fist and began to drift off to sleep.

“Taylor,” Grant whispered. “The little boy is Cody. The other girl is Antoinette. We call her Annie.”

“Annie,” Kristen said, smiling.

“If you two are okay, I need to get back downstairs,” Grant said, turning toward the door.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Mrs. Romani said, shooing him out with her hand. “We’re gonna be just fine.”

He cast the woman a narrow-eyed glance, one that clearly told Kristen he wasn’t overly thrilled with Mrs. Romani’s gruffness, then left the room.

Mrs. Romani sighed with relief. “He’s a tough one.”

Kristen couldn’t help it, she giggled. “Seems like.”

“Oh, he’s nice enough, but when it comes to these kids, he’s a real pain in the butt. When I took this job I had every intention of working as both housekeeper and nanny—I could handle three kids in my sleep because I worked in day care—but that one, that Grant, he’s such a nitpicker I didn’t want the aggravation.”

“He can’t be that bad,” Kristen said, taking a cue from Mrs. Romani and settling in one of the three rocking chairs far enough away from the cribs that their whispered conversation wouldn’t disturb the kids.

“He’s worse,” Mrs. Romani said, pointing a stubby finger at Kristen. “That’s kind of why I’m glad we got a minute alone …Kristen Devereaux,” she added slyly, looking directly at Kristen. “I haven’t been with the Brewsters long, but when I clean I have access to absolutely everything. While I was storing some things in the basement cabinets for Chas a few weeks ago, I came across your name on papers in boxes of Angela Morris Brewster’s things.” She paused, holding Kristen’s gaze. “I know who you are…”

Grant couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew Kristen Devereaux. When he’d first seen her on the threshold of his home, he couldn’t remember her name from the guest list, but he had to admit that once he got a really good look at her he wouldn’t have cared if she had crashed the wedding. She was so darned attractive that he was absolutely speechless for a good thirty seconds. He hadn’t met a woman who had had this kind of effect on him in years. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever met a woman who made his mind go blank the way Kristen Devereaux had.

“You seem to be well,” Evan said, sidling up to his brother and handing him a tall, cold glass of beer, “not really angry, but not really pleased about something.”

“I’m fine,” Grant mumbled, accepting the glass from his brother. Though most of the guests were happily sipping champagne after dinner, Grant was a simple man who liked a good beer. The fact that his youngest brother remembered that was a sign of respect of sorts. The fact that his second brother brought him a drink when there were other chores to be performed was a sign that everybody noticed his mood.

Not good.

“You’re not fine,” Evan stated. “Because if you were, you would be enjoying the wedding. I always know when something’s bothering you, because you stand around as if you’re in a daze or thinking. Maybe thinking too hard when you should be celebrating?”

Grant couldn’t help it, he smiled. “Something like that.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Oh, there was a good question, Grant thought, walking to a chair under an umbrella-covered table. How did one explain to his little brother, who was happily, joyfully, blissfully married, that he was annoyed because the woman who was currently watching the babies nap had set off alarm bells when she told him her name, but he ignored them because she was so darned good-looking? His first instincts put him on red alert, but he’d forgotten that warning sign when feathery blond hair, big green eyes and a slight Southern drawl brought other reactions to the forefront. Packaged in a trim red dress that accented a figure that would bring most grown men to their knees, Kristen Devereaux could have asked him for the family silver and he probably would have handed it over. That was what actually bothered him.

When Grant didn’t say anything, Evan sighed. “Grant, for the first time in a long time, things are falling into place for us. The lumber mill is operating at peak performance. We found a housekeeper. Chas just married a wonderful woman. What could you possibly be worried about?”

What indeed?

Since Evan seemed willing to listen, Grant decided to give this discussion a shot. If he skipped the fact that he had ignored his internal alarm because he was incredibly attracted to Kristen and jumped to the more general aspects of the problem, like the fact that she was really quick to volunteer to sit with Mrs. Romani, maybe he did have a chance of getting his point across without looking like an idiot.

“Aren’t you even the slightest bit curious about why Kristen Devereaux offered to baby-sit the kids?”

Evan’s forehead furrowed. “Why should I be?”

“For starters, she hasn’t even said hello to the bride yet.”

“If she’s a friend of Lily’s and she realized Lily’s wedding party was having a problem,” Evan disagreed casually, “I think it’s nice that she volunteered to help out. But she wasn’t exactly dressed for a wedding. Did she say she was here for the wedding?”

“Why else would she be here?”

Evan took his time about answering, waving to a few distant relatives who sat at one of the round umbrella tables on the far edge of the patio. To keep everyone off the potentially damp grounds, tall pyramids of yellow, amber and auburn mums were strategically placed to encircle the stone floor. Potted red maples hid the in-ground pool. By the grace of God they had a warm sunny November day.

Grant glanced at the people who’d caught Evan’s eye and he, too, waved. But even as he greeted people whose names he barely recalled, he realized his brother was stalling.

“Evan,” Grant said, his brother’s name coming out like a warning growl.

“All right,” Evan said, exasperated. “Claire and I put an ad in all the Pittsburgh newspapers, advertising for a nanny. We’d had such good luck with the ad that brought us Mrs. Romani that I thought…”

“What do you mean we had such good luck with Mrs. Romani?” Grant gasped. “The woman hates kids.”

“The woman hates you,” Evan corrected, extending his arm over his wife’s shoulders when she came over and sat on the chair beside his. “Isn’t that right, Claire?”

Stunning in her burnt-orange gown, dark-haired, blue-eyed Claire looked him right in the eye. “I’m sorry, Grant, but sometimes you come across as being a little gruff.”

“Gruff!” he all but barked.

“I rest my case,” Evan said, then laughed.

“I give up on you two,” Grant said, walking away because there really were a hundred more important details to attend to than sitting around discussing their cantankerous housekeeper and his disposition. For him there was no question that Mrs. Romani was a grouchy old bat. And he also didn’t have to debate whether his disposition had gone to hell in a handbasket because he knew damned well that it had. He was a thirty-six-year-old man who’d just married off his youngest brother. He’d never, ever considered marriage for himself, but he had to admit—if only to himself—that during the ceremony he’d felt old and alone.

And right now, standing outside the French doors that would take him inside the house, and eventually upstairs to the nursery to give Kristen a reprieve from watching the kids, he couldn’t help but wonder. Did seeing the spark of attraction in the eyes of a woman as beautiful and sexy as Kristen Devereaux cause him to ignore the nagging feeling that something about her wasn’t quite right?

“I’m surprised it took you this long to get here.”

Kristen peered at the curious housekeeper, wondering if she was making an enemy or an ally. Since she couldn’t tell and expected everybody to know who she was in another two hours or so, she decided to rehearse what to say to the triplets’ guardians to make sure she said it with finesse and dignity.

“I didn’t know the triplets existed until a few weeks ago. I was grieving so hard that I couldn’t handle looking into Angela’s personal effects.”

Mrs. Romani patted Kristen’s hand. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have been more sensitive. I’m just so used to being tactless with Grant that I sometimes forget not everybody’s a pigheaded fool like him.”

That made Kristen laugh. “If you dislike the guy so much, why do you work for him?”

“I don’t dislike him. I just think he’s a man who’s far too accustomed to getting his own way.” She paused long enough to catch Kristen’s gaze. “If you’ve come here for the kids, you’re in for a fight. And you’re going to lose. This is Brewster County,” she said, artificially accenting the Brewster name. “And these guys are Brewsters. Because the Brewster lumber mill and the construction project for Grant’s new shopping mall employ eighty percent of the population, people fall at their feet to serve them. Especially Grant. Unless the Brewsters were incompetent caretakers, no judge in his right mind would award custody against the wishes of Grant Brewster.”

“Are you saying I’m wasting my time?”

“I’m saying you’ve got to be careful and smart.”

Kristen studied the housekeeper. “And if I’m careful and smart, I’ll eventually get the kids?”

The housekeeper shook her head. “Those babies are Brewsters. This is their world. This is their empire. Someday they will own everything the brothers now control. The best you can hope for is to be part of the kids’ lives. And your best bet for being a part of the triplets’ lives is to make yourself a place in the lives of the brothers, then explain who you are.”

Kristen held the housekeeper’s gaze. “I can’t do that. These are Morris children every bit as much as they are Brewsters. If I take them back to Texas they’ll inherit a multimillion-dollar ranch. If I don’t take them back to Texas the ranch will probably go out of my family’s hands.”

Mrs. Romani sighed and set her rocker in motion. “Okay, one of two things is going to happen here,” she said with authority. “First, you could tell the Brewsters you need to take the kids back to Texas to get their ranch, and the Brewsters will tell you they will handle getting the ranch for the kids.” She glanced at Kristen. “Which means your family has as good as lost it. Or, second, you could tell the Brewsters about your ranch, and they could cooperate with your plan to take the kids to Texas to get it back into your family’s hands, but they will expect you to bring the kids home. You’re never going to get those kids. Not permanently. And not even for a few months unless the Brewsters trust you.”

“Which way do you think this will pan out?”

“I think you’re going to tell them about the ranch. They will thank you, and then when Chas returns from his honeymoon, he will set the wheels in motion to get the property for the triplets. Once it’s securely in the triplets’ hands, it will be nothing but an investment.”

“But that’s my home,” Kristen protested indignantly.

Mrs. Romani conceded that with a nod. “If you remind them of that, I’m sure the Brewsters will let you live there…until they want to sell it.”

Obviously seeing the panic-stricken look on Kristen’s face, Mrs. Romani laughed. “Honey, these guys are nothing if not smart and quick. They won’t let the ranch fall out of the kids’ hands, and they might even be sentimental enough to let you live there, but when push comes to shove, they’re going to handle this like any other business deal.”

Absorbing the painful truth, Kristen studied the old woman. “What about the kids?”

Mrs. Romani looked at her. “What about the kids?”

“I want them.”

“The Brewsters want them, too.”

“But they belong in Texas.”

“The Brewsters think they belong in Pennsylvania.”

Glancing at her hands, Kristen smiled wryly. “You aren’t painting a very nice picture.”

“And you aren’t taking these kids anywhere,” Mrs. Romani said frankly. “Look, honey, I don’t think you have much more than a snowball’s chance in hell, but just so you get an understanding of how the Brewsters feel about these babies, and also to have a real shot at letting the Brewsters get to know you before they see you as the enemy trying to steal their brother and sisters, I’m going to make a suggestion.”

Kristen peeked at her.

“Take the job as the nanny. We’ll pretend you’re my cousin’s daughter who came here this afternoon looking for me, and I’ll give you the recommendation you need to get hired.”

Kristen shook her head. “I don’t think I could do that. It’s dishonest.”

“Then pack your bags and take yourself back to Texas without these babies. Without getting to know these babies,” she added emphatically. “Without even really seeing these babies. Because there’s no way Grant is going to let you within ten miles of them if he discovers your ultimate goal is to take these kids two thousand miles away.”

When Grant opened the door of the nursery and he saw Mrs. Romani and Kristen with their heads bent low in whispered conversation, he knew he hadn’t misinterpreted, misrepresented or even misjudged how attractive Kristen was. Her feathery blond hair cascaded around her shoulders, and though her lovely green eyes were intense and serious, they sparkled with warmth. Desire hit him like a punch in the stomach.

Again.

As if he had timed it, Evan slapped him on the back, jolting him back to reality. “So, how are things going up here?”

“Great,” Mrs. Romani said, smiling.

“Fine,” Kristen said, nodding her head in agreement.

“No problem with the kids?”

“Sleeping like babies,” Mrs. Romani said, then laughed at her own joke. “By the way,” she added, sliding a quick glance at Kristen. “In all the confusion, we forgot to explain that Kristen is my cousin’s daughter. She came here to visit but when I explained that you guys could use some permanent help with the kids, she volunteered. So, if you want her, you’ve got yourself a nanny.”

Grant watched his brother’s eyes, widen in surprise. “Hey, that’s terrific,” Evan said.

But Grant suppressed a sigh of despair. Wonderful. This was just wonderful. Now he knew why all his alarm bells went off when he started talking with Kristen. She was related to the woman who couldn’t keep a civil tone with him for two sentences even though they lived in the same house and he paid her a damned nice salary. Now he’d have two Romani women in his household. Two women to snip at him and yip at him and yell at him.

“No.”

Everybody looked at him.

“No?” Evan echoed stupefied.

“It’s never a good policy to have relatives working this closely together,” he said, feeling a quick stab of regret when he turned his gaze to Kristen and her beautiful green eyes met his. She was so pretty that he could have happily sighed with pleasure just looking at her. Her pale peaches-and-cream skin invited a touch. He could vividly imagine how wonderful the soft curves of her body would feel pressed against him.

And he knew he didn’t want to refuse to hire her because she was Mrs. Romani’s cousin’s daughter. That was just a convenient excuse. The truth was he didn’t want to hire her because he was attracted to her and if she worked for him he would be up against this wicked temptation all day long…twenty-four, seven.

“Look, Grant,” Mrs. Romani gruffly commanded. “Kristen needs this job. Could you put your feelings aside for a few weeks and let her show you that she can be a good nanny?”

Fighting a grimace, Grant recognized Mrs. Romani didn’t know how close to the truth she was. Could he put his feelings aside for a few weeks?

As a gentleman, and a man who also desperately needed help with his three kids, he had to.

“Then if she doesn’t work out,” Mrs. Romani continued as Grant dragged himself out of his thoughts and back into the real world, “she’ll leave and you can find somebody else.”

“She can stay,” Grant said, trying not to sound magnanimous and sanctimonious, and subduing his own apprehension. He couldn’t do anything about the fact that Kristen was ravishing, but he could conquer the vulnerability and yearnings that sprung up watching Chas get married. And he would, damn it, he would.

Unfortunately even as he said the words that granted his permission, he realized that since Mrs. Romani had the maid’s quarters on the first floor, this woman to whom he found himself unreasonably attracted would now be sleeping two doors down the hall.

Before he strode out of the room, he thanked God they didn’t have to share a bathroom. If he caught her in the bathtub, surrounded by bubbles…

Well, he just didn’t want to go there.