Love Letters, Inc. (19 page)

Kent turned in time to see Zach hurtling toward them with a balloon flying above his head. His eyes fixed on it, he sideswiped both girls from the rear within inches of Kent's knees. They didn't stand a chance. Neither did their plates. Kent lifted his hands to provide a break, but he was too late.

They hit him in two waves; eggs, ketchup, and jam first, followed immediately by two shocked little girls, driven with enough force to embed the brunch food into his white shirt and slacks. He caught both of them in his arms, then toppled backward in an ungainly heap of egg stains, flailing arms, broken glass, flying legs, and screeches that sounded as if they came from monkeys being boiled in oil.

As he and the crying girls scrambled to their feet, the family gathered around—all of them talking at once.

Emma pointed at him and shrieked, "Unken Ken's blooding."

He touched his forehead. He was "blooding."

"Let me see that," Jayne said, pushing through the cast of thousands that was his family. She mopped at it with a clean linen napkin, held it to the cut, then announced, "Somebody get a bandage. It's only a scratch. He'll live." She replaced her hand on the napkin with Kent's and turned to her son Zach. "As for you, kiddo..."

While Zach received lecture one thousand and one about looking where he was going, Kent pressed the napkin to his head and pulled his sticky shirt away from his chest. Jane and Emma, having wailed themselves out, only to discover they were unhurt, now eyed him with awe and speculation. His mother drummed up ointment and a bandage from the magic sack she called her handbag, and cleaned up his head. The girls watched avidly.

When his mother was done fussing over him, he smiled at the girls and held out his arms. They clambered onto his knees. The three of them looked as if they'd been rolled in finger paints.

Emma touched his bandage. "Bad ouchie," she said solemnly. When she drew her finger away, Jane copied her action. The touch of their small fingers was like the kiss of a butterfly. They were obviously enthralled by bandages.

"It's okay," he said. "How about you? You okay?"

"Uh-huh." They nodded in unison. "Mommy says you a hairo."

"She does, does she?" He kissed each of them on their silky blond heads. "Well, that's good, because I've always wanted to be a 'hairo.' "

"Mine kiss it better?" Jane asked soberly, pointing to his battle wound.

"Definitely. It's exactly what it needs." He leaned his head forward, and both girls planted soft kisses on his bandage. Even with their nursing duties done, they stuck by him, giving him hugs and patting his hand, until they were carted off by their mom for face washing and general cleanup.

He watched them go, his fingers tracing the line of his bandage. The line of their curative smooch. Some 'hairo' he was. He was as mushy inside as a week-old plum.

"There's not a balance sheet in this world that can give you that." Mike said from somewhere behind him. "Even if they do lose your football and mess up your bookshelves."

He looked at his brother. The man was a sage. Because he was right. Absolutely right.

He stood so quickly his head spun.

Rosie. I have to talk to Rosie.

He cursed. The woman never wanted to see him again. Well, too bad, because he'd decided to see her. And he had some big-time convincing to do. It was show-and-tell time.

First he had to talk to Con.

"Mike, I'm going to talk to my business partner for a while, but I want you to do something for me..."

* * *

Rosie sat on the top porch step, rubbing Font's ear and watching the dust storm made by Jonesy's black Sundancer as it disappeared down the road. Finally, she had what she wanted. She was alone.

She hated it. Sometimes it felt as though she'd always been alone.

She brushed angrily at a threatening tear. Oh, great, just because she'd spent a few hours with Kent's wonderful family, she was going to start feeling sorry for herself? No way. She had a pretty good life. No. Make that a great life. Her mom was the best. She had the farmhouse. Font. A good job. Everything was just fine, thank you very much. So she was underinventoried in the family department. So be it. She'd have her own family. Her own kids. Someday.

Trouble was, now she wanted those kids to look like their dad, and she wanted that dad to be Kent Summerton. She took a tissue from her jeans pocket and blew her nose. What she
did not
want was a man who worked as though the financial health of corporate America relied on an injection of his blood on an hourly basis. She blew her nose again.
Damn hay fever. Yeah, sure.

She stood, leaned against the porch rail, and looked across her sunlit pasture. Everything about Kent was so confusing, it made her head hurt. On one hand, she respected his ambition, his drive. She'd want her kids to have those traits, too. But on the other, knowing when to ease up, when to come home, and
be home
in body and soul was lots more important. And then there was the baby count. They couldn't even agree on that.

Maybe she could compromise...

She shuddered. Lord, if prioritizing was rubber gloves and suction, compromise was scalpels and clamps. But was she so selfish, so stubborn she couldn't even think about it? Could she sit back and lose Kent because her obstinacy button was stuck on max?

She held the tissue to her nose and shut her eyes. She'd already lost him, walked out in fine fettle. And he'd let her go. Fettles and all.

She'd have to learn to live with it. But oh, how her heart ached, cried in her chest like a cold, starving orphan.

Font butted her thigh with his big head and whimpered. She scratched his head. "You wouldn't be sticking by me, friend, if you knew that in the process of screwing up my love life, I also screwed up yours."

Font wagged his tail, proving that ignorance was indeed bliss.

She smiled, but her lips had trouble holding the curve. "Come on, big guy, let's go in. I've got a new cookbook called
Dinners For One.
I can't wait to try it."

She heard the first horn blast when her hand was on the door knob. Then a second, more insistent. But it was the cacophony of a dozen or more that finally got her attention. She turned to see a cavalcade of cars kicking up dust on the road beyond her fence. Horns continued to blare as the noisy parade roared down her driveway. A dozen cars. More.

A black Audi was in the lead.

The cars' horns sounded until Kent pulled up to her porch and jumped out of his car, followed immediately by an Irish wolfhound the size of a pony. Font bolted down the stairs to sniff out the situation. This left Rosie alone on the porch, first gaping at the crowd, then staring at Kent, hope growing in her chest like a weed on steroids.

Kent cleared the steps two at time, took her in his arms, and kissed her until her vision clouded. She still couldn't find her voice, which was just as well because she'd probably say something of monumental idiocy and spoil the whole dream. And this had to be a dream.

Car doors opened, and Kent's entire family spilled into her yard, most of them wearing smiles a mile wide. Kent's mother waved. So did Jayne, Zach, and the twins.

She waved back weakly and tried to make sense of things. Not easy after she'd just been kissed by the world's leading osculation expert.

"Everybody's here," she mumbled, clutching Kent's shoulders.

"I invited them."

"Why?"

"Because they're family and because family is what this is all about." He touched her face, smiled. "Besides, I figure you'll think twice about throwing me off the porch with a cast of thousands to watch."

Rosie didn't get it, but one thing was certain. She wasn't the least inclined to throw him off the porch. Although she'd super-glue her teeth shut before she let him know that. At least until she heard what he had to say.

When she smiled into the crowd and waved again, they moved
en masse
toward the porch steps, like a throng of movie extras called to the staging area.

"Rosie," Kent said, "Look at me."

Still dazed, she looked into a pair of sexy green eyes now hot with intensity.

"I can't let you go. I won't let you go."

"But—" she started, feeling she should protest, but unclear as to why.

"No buts." Kent said firmly. "We're two intelligent people, and we can work this thing out, given time and a compromise or two."

Compromise.
Rosie stiffened. "On whose part?"

"Way to go, Rosie." Someone in the crowd yelled. "Make him squirm."

Kent sent a forbidding look into the horde of his relatives.

There was muffled laughter, a couple of hoots, then silence.

"Mine," he said softly, looking her directly in the eyes. "I'm in love with you, O'Hanlon."

She closed her eyes. "Say it again."

He bent his head toward her ear. "I love you," he repeated softly. "You and the kids you want to have. I want them too."

Her eyelids popped open. "All the kids?"

He swallowed and set his chin as if facing into uncharted territory in hurricane force winds. "Every last one of them."

The assembled family clapped, cheered, and whistled.

Rosie's ragged orphan heart warmed to a toasty glow. Unable to speak, she wrapped her arms around Kent's firm waist and hugged him hard enough to crack his ribs. But there was still her future children's rival to be dealt with. She looked him in the eyes. "And Beachline? What about it?"

"I spoke to Con. We've worked things out."

"Just like that?" She was doubtful and let it show.

"No,
not
'just like that.' We talked a long time." He shrugged, looked confused. "The bottom line is he wants more control and more responsibility, and I've agreed to give it to him."

"Why?" She hoped she knew the answer but needed desperately to hear it.

He smiled and smoothed back her hair. "Because it will give me more time to convince you how much you love me and how you can't live without me."

Some brave soul in the crowd yelled, "Bravo!"

Rosie shook her head. Her lower lip quivered. "No convincing necessary. I've loved you since you strode through my door—all bad attitude and aftershave—and demanded to meet Gardenia."

Kent took her face in his hands and kissed her. "Thank God," he whispered against her lips. "Does that mean we can start over? Get things right this time?"

She looked into his eyes and smiled. "Yes, that's exactly what it means. I'm no fool, Summerton. I know a good thing when I see it."

He grinned.

She sobered. "About those kids—"

This time he didn't tense up. Kent just kept grinning, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. "Yes?"

"I don't really want a whole, uh, dozen. I'm, uh, a bit flexible as to the exact number." Sheesh, this compromise business was hard. "Like maybe eight?"

He stepped back, gave her a speculative look. She could practically see that computer brain of his boot up. "Maybe three?" he said.

"Six."

"Four."

"Five," she smiled. "And that's my best offer."

He laughed. "I'll take it."

He bent his head again and murmured in her ear. His warm breath and darkly seductive voice so addled her, she didn't quite make out all the words. Something about how the sooner they got started, the better.

When she got her breath, she glanced at his family who still stood in groups at the bottom of the stairs. They seemed to be waiting for something, but she seriously doubted it was the X-rated show Kent had in mind for the two of them in her bedroom. She coughed and stepped away from him.

"Hey, Kent, can we go now?" Mike called out. He was standing near the back of the crowd holding Emma and Jane.

Kent beamed into the horde. "Not until you all come up here, congratulate my wife-to-be, and tell her she's just made the wisest decision of her life."

"Don't push it, dear," his mother said, stepping up to the porch and patting his arm. "I'll speak for all of us." She hugged Rosie hard and kissed her cheek. "Welcome to the family, Rosie. I always knew we were missing someone." Another hug and she turned to the crowd. "Now, my dear ones, move out. Let's give these two some privacy." She smiled at Rosie. "It's probably the last they'll ever have."

* * *

Rosie, snuggled up to Kent, and watched until the last speck of dust settled back to the road. They were alone.

"Let's go inside," Kent said.

"Let's. I'll make you something to eat. Are you hungry?"

"You could say that." He nibbled her lobe. "Are you? Hungry, I mean." He kissed her throat just below her ear.

She bent her neck and sighed. "For the same thing you are, I think. But I think I left the recipe in the bedroom."

He'd worked his way up to kissing her cheek, the corners of her mouth. "Then I guess we'll just have to go on up there and get it."

He kissed her then, crushing her close, taking her mouth as if he couldn't get enough of it. The kiss was long, deep, and filled with heart. It burrowed into the deepest part of Rosie's soul.

He was hers.

She was his.

And she owed it all to some purple prose and another woman's misplaced passion.

They headed up the stairs to her bedroom. When Kent closed the door behind them, he took her back into his arms. "What are you thinking about?"

"About you. About me. About a woman called Gardenia."

His forehead furrowed. "About Gardenia—"

"Forget it, Summerton. I'm not going to tell you who she is."

"A man has ways of getting the information he wants." He gave her a devil's grin and marched her backward toward the bed.

"Not a chance, but you're welcome to try some of those 'ways' of yours. Could be fun." The back of her knees bumped the bed and he shoved her gently backward. Propped on his elbows, he loomed over her.

"Oh, it'll be fun, Red, I guarantee it," he said huskily. "And if my methods don't work tonight, I'll just have to persevere until they do. Are you ready for that?"

She smiled up at him, wound her arms around his neck, and pulled his mouth to hers. "Ready, willing, and able," she whispered, giving herself up to his kisses.