Taking on Twins (12 page)

She moaned, echoing his own dispossessed feelings when their bodies parted company.

“It's getting late. I really should go,” he murmured, kissing the corners of her suddenly downturned mouth.

She pouted. “I wish you wouldn't.”

“And how would we explain that to your mother? To the boys? To yourself, in the morning, after you've had time to repent in leisure?”

A tortured groan rumbled from deep within her throat. “Isn't that my line? When did you turn so darned practical?”

“The lawman in me, I guess.”

“Well, tell him to shut up and kiss me.”

Wyatt did.

And then, after a kiss that was filled with a desperate yearning on both parts, he let go of her and took several big steps back. Breathing hard, he dragged a hand across his face and stood staring at her for a moment.

“I'll, uh, I'll help you load the boys in your car, and then I'll follow you home and help you put them to bed.”

Dazed, Annie nodded.

T
he boys were heavy as lead rag dolls. They stirred only briefly as, one at a time, Wyatt hauled them from the car and up to their rooms. Chopper staggered to his doggy bed in the front room and, with a tired groan, circled several times, flopped down and was asleep.

“You gonna stay all night with us?” Alex murmured against his neck as Wyatt carried him up the stairs.

Wyatt darted a wistful glance over his shoulder at Annie, who carried her son's shoes and jacket.

“I'm afraid not, cowboy,” he said to the child.

“Darn.”

“I'll come play with you tomorrow, how's that?”

Alex responded by tightening his grip around Wyatt's neck and burrowing against his chest.

Noah didn't rouse until he was being tucked in. “Hi, space monster.” His voice was so small. He was still such
a baby, really, plump cheeks, pudgy little fingers, smooth, lightly freckled skin.

“Hey, rascal.” Wyatt perched at the edge of his bed. Annie hovered at the end, folding his comforter and straightening the stack of clothing they'd just stripped off the boys.

Holding out his arms, Noah tugged Wyatt close for a hug. “G'night.” As the boy yawned, sleepy, warm breath tickled Wyatt's face and before the child let him go, he planted a noisy kiss on the edge of his stubbled jaw. “Ouch. Stickers,” he mumbled.

Wyatt felt a lump the size of Wyoming settle in his throat and it was then and there that he lost his heart to Annie's boys.

“Sorry about that, buddy.” He smoothed back the copper hair and kissed the freckled forehead.

“Tomorrow you'll read us a story?”

“I promise.”

“Goody.” Noah rolled over and was instantly back asleep.

As he sat, watching the child sleep, Wyatt felt Annie's arms slide over his shoulders and lock over his heart. She stood behind him, her voice low in his ears.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” He kept his voice soft. “Besides, they're getting too big for you to lug around by yourself.”

He could feel her smile grow against his cheek. “True, but that's not what I meant. Thank you for being their buddy. They need a man's influence.”

“I remember dying for my dad's attention when I was their age.”

“I'll bet you do.” Annie sighed and squeezed. Wyatt reached up and closed his hands over hers.

“At least their father wasn't some old drunk who'd come home and beat on 'em for sport.”

Annie was silent.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring their daddy into this. I know you really…” Wyatt licked his lips. Why was it always so blessed hard to talk about her late husband? The poor guy was no longer even around to compete with, and yet he felt the jealousy roil every time he thought of him. “I know you really cared for him and it must be so hard on you, raising them without his support.”

She tilted her head, resting his against his. “Every child should have a good and loving father. I know that my dad made a huge difference in my life.”

“Just as Joe did in mine.”

“He's a good man.”

“The best.” Joe had a passel of children of his own, but somehow Wyatt was made to feel that even though he'd been fostered into the family when he was a school-aged boy, he was no less a member of the clan than if he'd been born a Colton.

“He did a pretty good job with you.”

Wyatt leaned back and smiled. “I'll tell him you said so.”

“Are you going to see him soon?”

“This weekend. My cousin Liza—”

“The singer?”

“That's the one.”

“I've seen her on PBS. She's good. Really good.”

“Isn't she? Anyway, she's getting married on Saturday.”

“So you're flying back?”

There was a note of melancholy in her quiet voice that did his heart good.

“Mm-hmm. But then I'm coming back here.”

“Why?”

“I have some vacation time to burn. One of the advantages of the bachelor life, I guess.”

“No, I mean why
here?
”

Wyatt stood and led her to the door. “Must you ask?” he whispered, and then kissed her good-night. And, in doing so, came to realize that they'd begun something that would tear him up to finish.

 

The following morning Wyatt met Emily at her tiny cottage apartment for breakfast. Sunlight streamed in through a bank of windows in her dining area. Containers of all kinds, including old shoes, cluttered a card table and were filled with the first flowers of spring making the small area a veritable botanical bower on a shoestring. Emily had inherited—as much as an adopted daughter could—her mother's love of gardening, it seemed. Wyatt couldn't help but smile. Clearly, she'd spent all of her tip money on plants over the past months.

As he stood in the kitchen, helping her chop ingredients for an omelet, he could see why she loved it here in Keyhole. This was a great place to live. To run a business. Raise a family. With each day that passed he found he was increasingly reticent to leave.

But leave, he must.

He glanced at Emily, hesitating to bring Patsy's name into the quiet serenity.

“You have time to take a look at that stuff that Austin sent?”

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

“That bad, huh?”

“No.” She cast him a watery smile. “It's the onions.”

Wyatt laughed.

She pressed her wrist to her nose and sniffed. “Actually, it
is
that bad, but I'm not really surprised. I've read it all
at least a half a dozen times. Austin did a great job. Talk about in-depth.”

“Mmm.” Wyatt scooped up the onions that Emily'd been chopping and added them to the tomatoes and mushrooms that sizzled in the frying pan. “Austin is nothing if not thorough.”

“I'm glad he included a lot of Patsy Portman's history. Did you know that she had a baby by some guy named Ellis Mayfair when she was only eighteen?”

“Yup. From what I gather, old Ellis was a used car salesman—a married one at that—who would blow through town twice a month and visit our Patsy. When she turned up pregnant, he wanted her to get an abortion. She said ‘no way,' thinking that, get this, she could
hide
the pregnancy from her mother and Meredith.”

“Yeah, but the weird part is, she was successful. How could her mother not notice that she was pregnant?” Emily shook her head in disbelief. “Some of the reports say that she had her baby in a motel room with only this Ellis character to attend her. Can you believe that?”

“Bizarre, huh?” Wyatt gripped the frying pan by the handle and flipped the browning vegetables. The aroma of caramelizing onions filled the air.

“Did you know that she murdered him?”

“Um-hmm.”

“With a pair of scissors.”

“Brutal.”

They were silent for a long moment. Butter hissed as Emily added a pat to the second frying pan and she adjusted the heat as it skittered across the iron surface. Outside her kitchen window, birds twittered. Fifi barked and the sounds of mail dropping through the slot in the door filtered back to them. The conversation, it seemed to Wyatt, was surreal in this happy, normal environment.

“Wonder what her motive was.” Emily began cracking eggs and a shell fell into the bowl. Deep in thought, she fished it out with a spoon.

“Apparently, he stole the baby from Patsy while she was asleep.”

“Did you know the baby was a girl? Jewel.”

“Yeah. Wonder where she is.”

“Well, the stuff Austin sent says that Ellis
sold
her.”

“I know.”

Emily stared up at Wyatt, her plaintive expression reminding him of the kid he used to push in a swing not so very long ago. “He sold his own daughter, Wyatt. What kind of a man would do that?”

“One that would date Patsy.”

Her snort was mirthless as she cracked another egg. “Do you think Patsy knows I'm here?” Worry marred her delicate brow and Wyatt's heart went out to her.

“No. I don't think so, honey. But, as you can see from her history, she's very clever. I wouldn't put anything past her. That's why I'm such a nag about your safety.”

“And I thank you.” A small smile nudged at the anxiety in her expression and she set back to work. “You know, there were some really interesting records about Patsy's mental state as a child. From what I've read, I get the feeling that a lot of her problems stemmed from her father's rejection.”

Wyatt snorted. “Yeah, well, just because daddy wasn't Mr. Sensitivity is no reason to go all postal.”

“Of all people, you should know about a father's rejection.”

“Yeah. I should know.”

While Emily whisked the eggs, he dug around in her cabinets until he came up with some paper plates and two ugly mugs, which he set on the kitchen's tiny eating bar.
Considering she'd lived here less than a year, this place was outfitted with everything a person would need to survive quite comfortably. She'd been hitting the garage sales, he noted, taking in the mishmash of thrift shop kitchen utensils. Impressed, Wyatt gave his head a small shake. Even though she'd grown up in the lap of luxury, Emily was not afraid of hard work. Joe would be very proud.

Emily paused to pour the eggs into the frying pan. “Did you read the part where Patsy tried to frame Mom for Ellis's murder back in 1967?”

“Wasn't she just precious? No wonder Mom never wanted to talk about her. What a piece of work.”

“I just hope you guys are able to prove that she's behind Dad's murder attempt, and mine—and possibly Mom's—and put her away once and for all.”

Wyatt took the now screaming kettle off the burner and filled their mugs with hot water and instant coffee. “We're working on it, kiddo. Night and day.”

“I know. And I appreciate it more than you'll ever know.” Emily reached for the mug Wyatt handed her and blew across the rim. “So. On to more pleasant conversation. You and Annie. What gives?”

Wyatt threw back his head and laughed. “Women. You're all alike. All conspiring to end my carefree bachelor days.”

“Has Lucy been matchmaking?”

“You could say that. She called this morning. Wanted to know how you were doing and to find out if I've decided to marry Annie yet.”

Emily laughed. “Have you?”

“How the heck should I know?”

“Are you in love with her?”

“More now than ever.”

“Then what's holding you back?”

“Well, for starters, several thousand miles and the ghost of a loving husband and father.”

“Oh.” She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. “For you, that should pose no problem.”

“Emily, I'm not Superman.”

“To me, you are.”

 

After several botched attempts at remembering his PIN number, Snake Eyes finally managed to get the ATM machine at the Wyoming Federal Savings and Loan on Main Street to begin the litany of hoops he needed to navigate, in order to check his balance.

Welcome, Silas Aloysius Pike.

He stared at his name and remembered he hated his mother all over again. Even his initials screamed under-achiever.

Okay. He squinted at the swimming screen, moving his lips as he read. Did he wish to: check the balance of his primary checking, primary savings, secondary checking, secondary savings, withdraw money from his primary checking or savings, make a deposit, request further information or exit?

How in Sam Hill should he know?

Cursing roundly, Snake Eyes punched the button that best seemed to correspond with moving this damned process along and the machine beeped at him, causing a stabbing pain to sear his brain. He should know better than to do this after a breakfast of Bloody Marys. Then again, having to do this sober would only make him mad. Why couldn't Marilyn or Muffy or Meredith or whatever-the-hell-her-name-was just send him a suitcase full of money the way they did in the movies?

Again, he punched a series of buttons, following the flashing cursor to the best of his ability and the machine
spit his card back out at him. He stared at it for a moment, knowing that his PIN number had slipped once again into the muzzy recesses of his gray matter and
bam, bam, bam,
out of frustration, he gave the machine a couple of rapid-fire right crosses to the key pad, and some left-handed jabs to the tiny little TV screen with the picture of the happy, smiling teller. He cursed her perky face and decided that after Emily, this broad was next.

Much to his amazement, a receipt spewed forth from the bowels of the bank and the perky teller thanked him for using the Wyoming Federal Savings and Loan ATM machine. Snake Eyes grunted and held the receipt out at arm's length. When he was finally able to decipher the numbers that swam before his eyes, his jaw sagged.

The Colton broad had finally come through. There was money in his account. A lot of money. Not as much as he'd asked for, but enough.

Time to get to work.

After a little celebration, of course. After all, it wasn't every day that Silas A. Pike's ship pulled into the harbor.

A little skip in his stagger, Snake Eyes headed toward the local watering hole for some libation and to strategize. He needed to form a game plan for tonight. His fingers itched and his stomach tingled at the thought.

“Bye-bye, little Emily,” he muttered, then threw back his head and howled with laughter.

 

“So. Mom tells me that Wyatt is back.”

Annie took her younger sister, Brynn's, grim expression and critical tone to mean that she was not pleased at this news. Annie sighed. Brynn was always such a little freedom fighter. Truth, justice and the American way. With Brynn, everything was just so danged black and white.

“Yes. He came to town two days ago and decided to look me up while he was here.”