At Home in Stone Creek (Silhouette Special Edition) (8 page)

Ashley hesitated, then got her coat and purse and car keys again, and left for the clinic in Indian Rock.

O
livia was sitting up in bed, beaming, a baby tucked in the crook of each arm, when Ashley hurried into her room. There were flowers everywhere—Brad and Meg had already been there and gone, having brought Carly and Sophie to see the boys before school.

“Come and say hello to John and Sam,” Olivia said gently.

Ashley, clutching a bouquet of pink and yellow carnations, hastily purchased at a convenience store, moved closer. She felt stricken with wonder and an immediate and all-encompassing love for the tiny red-faced infants snoozing in their swaddling blankets.

“Oh, Livie,” she whispered, “they're beautiful.”

“I agree,” Olivia said proudly. “Do you want to hold them?”

Ashley swallowed, then reached out for the bundle
on the right. She sat down slowly in the chair closest to Olivia's bed.

“That's John,” Olivia explained, her voice soft with adoring exhaustion.

“How can you tell?” Ashley asked, without lifting her eyes from the baby's face. He seemed to glow with some internal light, as though he were trailing traces of heaven, the place he'd so recently left.

Livie chuckled. “The twins aren't identical, Ashley,” she said. “John is a little smaller than Sam, and he has my mouth. Sam looks like Tanner.”

Ashley didn't respond; she was too smitten with young John Mitchell Quinn. By the time she swapped one baby for the other, she could tell the difference between them.

A nurse came and collected the babies, put them back in their incubators. Although they were healthy, like most twins they were underweight. They'd be staying at the clinic for a few days after Olivia went home.

Olivia napped, woke up, napped again.

“I'm so glad you're here,” she said once.

Ashley, who had been rising from her chair to leave, sat down again. Remembered the carnations and got up to put them in a water-glass vase.

“How did you wind up in Indian Rock instead of Flagstaff?” Ashley asked, when Olivia didn't immediately drift off.

Olivia smiled. “I was on a call,” she said. “Sick horse. Tanner wanted me to call in another vet, but this was a special case, and Sophie was spending the night at Brad and Meg's, so he came with me. We planned to go on to Flagstaff for the induction when I was finished, but the babies had other ideas. I went into labor in the barn, and Tanner brought me here.”

Ashley shook her head, unable to hold back a grin.
Her sister, nine and a half months pregnant by her own admission, had gone out on a call in the middle of the night. It was just like her. “How's the horse?”

“Fine, of course,” Olivia said, still smiling. “I'm the best vet in the county, you know.”

Ashley found a place for the carnations—they looked pitiful among all the dozens and dozens of roses, yellow from Brad and Meg, white from Tanner, and more arriving at regular intervals from friends and coworkers. “I know,” she agreed.

Olivia reached for her hand, squeezed. “Friends again?”

“We were never
not
friends, Livie.”

Olivia shook her head. Like all O'Ballivans, she was stubborn. “We were always
sisters
,” she said. “But sisters aren't necessarily friends. Let's not let the mom-thing come between us again, okay?”

Ashley blinked away tears. “Okay,” she said.

Just then, Melissa streaked into the room, half-hidden behind a giant potted plant with two blue plastic storks sticking out of it. She was dressed for work, in a tailored brown leather jacket, beige turtleneck and tweed trousers.

Setting the plant down on the floor, when she couldn't find any other surface, Melissa hurried over to Olivia and kissed her noisily on the forehead.

“Hi, Twin-Unit,” she said to Ashley.

“Hi.” Ashley smiled, glanced toward the doorway in case the mystery man had come along for the ride. Alas, there was no sign of him.

Melissa looked around for the babies. Frowned. She did everything fast, with an economy of motion; she'd come to see her nephews and was impatient at the delay. “Where are they?”

“In the nursery,” Olivia answered, smiling. “How many cups of coffee have you had this morning?”

Melissa made a comical face. “Not nearly enough,” she said. “I'm due in court in an hour, and where's the nursery?”

“Down the hall, to the right,” Olivia told her. A worried crease appeared in her otherwise smooth forehead. “The roads are icy. Promise me you won't speed all the way back to Stone Creek after you leave here.”

“Scout's honor,” Melissa said, raising one hand. But she couldn't help glancing at her watch. “Yikes. Down the hall, to the right. Gotta go.”

With that, she dashed out.

Ashley followed, double-stepping to catch up.

“Who was the man who answered your phone this morning?” she asked.

Melissa didn't look at her. “Nobody important,” she said.

“You spent the night with him, and he's ‘nobody important'?”

They'd reached the nursery window, and since Sam and John were the only babies there, spotting them was no problem.

“Could we not discuss this now?” Melissa asked, pressing both palms to the glass separating them from their nephews. “Why are they in incubators? Is something wrong?”

“It's just a precaution,” Ashley answered gently. “They're a little small.”

“Aren't babies
supposed
to be small?” Melissa's eyes were tender as she studied the new additions to the family. When she turned to face Ashley, though, her expression turned bleak.

“He's my boss,” she said.

Ashley took a breath before responding. “The one who divorced his latest trophy wife about fifteen minutes ago?”

Melissa stiffened. “I knew you'd react that way. Honestly, Ash, sometimes you are such a prig. The marriage was over years ago—they were just going through the motions. And if you think I had anything to do with the breakup—well, you ought to know better.”

Ashley closed her eyes briefly. She
did
know better. Her twin was an honorable person; nobody knew that better than she did. “I wasn't implying that you're a home-wrecker, Melissa. It's just that you're not over Daniel yet. You need time.”

Daniel Guthrie, the last man in Melissa's life, owned and operated a fashionably rustic dude ranch between Stone Creek and Flagstaff. An attractive widower with two young sons, Dan was looking for a wife, someone to settle down with, and he'd never made a secret of it. Melissa, who freely admitted that she
could
love Dan and his children if she half tried, wanted a career—after all, she'd worked hard to earn her law degree.

It was a classic lose-lose situation.

“I didn't have sex with Alex,” Melissa whispered, though Ashley hadn't asked. “We were just
talking
.”

“I believe you,” Ashley said, putting up both hands in a gesture of peace. “But Stone Creek is a small town. If some bozo's car was parked in your driveway all night, word is bound to get back to Dan.”

“Dan has no claim on me,” Melissa snapped. “
He's
the one who said we needed a time-out.” She sucked in a furious breath. “And Alex Ewing is
not
a bozo. He's up for the prosecutor's job in Phoenix, and he wants me to go with him if he gets it.”

Ashley blinked. “You would move to—to Phoenix?”

Melissa widened her eyes. “Phoenix isn't Mars, Ashley,” she pointed out. “It's less than two hours from here. And just because you're content to quietly fade away in Stone Creek, quilting and baking cookies for visiting strangers, that doesn't mean
I
am.”

“But—this is home.”

Melissa looked at her watch again, shook her head. “Yeah,” she said. “That's the problem.”

With that, she walked off, leaving Ashley staring after her.

I am
not
“content to quietly fade away in Stone Creek,”
she thought.

But wasn't that exactly what she was doing?

Making beds, cooking for guests, putting up decorations for various holidays only to take them down again? And, yes, quilting. That was her passion, her artistic outlet. Nothing wrong with that.

But Melissa's remarks
had
brought up the question Ashley usually avoided.

When was her
life
supposed to start?

 

Jack woke with a violent start, expecting darkness and nibbling rats.

Instead, he found himself in a small, pretty room with pale green walls. An old-fashioned sewing machine, the treadle kind usually seen only in antiques malls and elderly ladies' houses stood near the door. The quilt covering him smelled faintly of some herb—probably lavender—and memories.

Ashley.

He was at her place.

Relief flooded him—and then he heard the sound. Distant—a heavy step—definitely
not
Ashley's.

Leaning over the side of the bed, which must have
been built for a child, it was so short and so narrow, Jack found his gear, fumbled to open the bag, extracted his trusty Glock, that marvel of German engineering. Checked to make sure the clip was in—and full.

The mattress squeaked a little as he got to his feet, listening not just with his ears, but with every cell, with all the dormant senses he'd learned to tap into, if not to name.

There it was again—that thump. Closer now. Definitely masculine.

Jack glanced back over one shoulder, saw that the kitten was still on the bed, watching him with curious, mismatched eyes.

“Shhh,” he told the animal.

“Meooow,” it responded.

The sound came a third time, nearer now. Just on the other side of the kitchen doorway, by Jack's calculations.

Think
, he told himself. He knew he was reacting out of all proportion to the situation, but he couldn't help it. He'd had a lot of practice at staying alive, and his survival instincts were in overdrive.

Chad Lombard couldn't have tracked him to Stone Creek; there hadn't been time. But Jack was living and breathing because he lived by his gut as well as his mind. The small hairs on his nape stood up like wire.

Using one foot, the Glock clasped in both hands, he eased the sewing room door open by a few more inches.

Waited.

And damn near shot the best friend he'd ever had when Tanner Quinn strolled into the kitchen.

“Christ,” Jack said, lowering the gun. With his long outgoing breath, every muscle in his body seemed to go slack.

Tanner's face was hard. “That was my line,” he said.

Jack sagged against the doorframe, his eyes tightly shut. He forced himself to open them again. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Playing nursemaid to you,” Tanner answered, crossing the room in a few strides and expertly removing the Glock dangling from Jack's right hand. “Guess I should have stuck with my day job.”

Jack opened his eyes, sick with relief, sick with whatever that goon in South America had shot into his veins. “Which is what?” he asked, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Tanner set the gun on top of the refrigerator and pulled Jack by the arm. Squired him to a chair at the kitchen table.

“Raising three kids and being a husband to the best woman in the world,” he answered. “And if it's all the same to you, I'd like to stick around long enough to see my grandchildren.”

Jack braced an elbow on the tabletop, covered his face with one hand. “I'm sorry,” he said.

Tanner hauled back a chair of his own, making plenty of noise in the process, and sat down across from Jack, ignoring the apology. “What's going on, McCall?” he demanded. “And don't give me any of your bull crap cloak-and-dagger answers, either.”

“I need to get out of here,” Jack said, meeting his friend's gaze. “Now. Today. Before somebody gets hurt.”

Tanner flung a scathing glance toward the Glock, gleaming on top of the brushed-steel refrigerator. “Seems to me,
you're
the main threat to public safety around here. Dammit, you could have shot Ashley—or Sophie or Carly—”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Oh, well, that changes everything.”

Jack sighed. And then he told Tanner the same story he'd told Ashley earlier. Most of it was even true.

“You call this living, Jack?” Tanner asked, when he was finished. “When are you going to stop playing Indiana Jones and settle down?”

“Spoken like a man in love with a pregnant veterinarian,” Jack said.