Ten Acres and Twins (12 page)

And then he wrapped a towel around his waist, went straight to the phone and dialed his own home phone number. If she was alone, maybe she'd answer it. His curiosity, at least, would be appeased.

But she didn't, even after ten rings. She must still be out with The Incredible Hulk.

Phenomenal.

A
FTER HER MOTHER LEFT
,
Abby gave the babies their second bath of the day, simply to have something to do with her time. She didn't want to think about Jack's weekend, and she didn't want to listen for his key in the lock. She put the twins to bed, changed into her T-shirt and robe and wandered through the dark house as if she was searching for something. Or someone.

When she passed Jack's office, a twirling mass of colors caught her eye. He'd left his monitor on, and his screen saver was illuminating the otherwise dark room. Unable to resist, she tiptoed in. She looked around in respectful silence, admiring the careful clutter that signified a clever mind at work.

The telephone in his office erupted with a ring that sent her heart through the ceiling. She glanced at the handset, tempted to pick it up and silence the offensive jangling.

But instead she stared at it, barely moving, waiting for the person at the other end to give up. After ten rings, it fell silent.

Abby let the air back out of her lungs and turned toward the door, too guilty to enjoy her snooping. As she went past the telephone, a Post-it note that was sticking halfway out from under it flapped in the air current. Glancing down, she read, “Buy Abby a…”

She bit her lip, listening for sounds in the house. When she only heard the hum of the refrigerator and the rush of air circulating through the vents, she reached down to tug the note out from under the phone.

“Buy Abby a robe before you ravish her.” That was all it said, in Jack's precise handwriting.

She snickered. Then frowned.

The note was solid evidence that he'd been tempted, and as tickled as that made her feel, it also added to her confusion. Despite her best efforts, he'd been tempted. And she was supposed to be upset about that.

A tiny click had her dashing from the room to evade discovery, and she bolted into the kitchen. After several breathless seconds spent wiping a spotless countertop, she realized that the noise wasn't caused by Jack coming in. The click must have been some mysterious house sound, and it was quiet now.

The house seemed too big tonight. With the twins upstairs asleep, and Jack missing, she was reminded too much of the night of her sister's death. Once again Abby was in this house, waiting for someone's return.

And again the hours seemed to stretch out endlessly.

She headed out to her greenhouse to putter around among the pots, carrying the baby monitor with her. There wasn't much out here that needed doing, but the smell of rich earth and the vigor of plant life helped calm her. She checked each variety for signs of disease, and pinched off a few straggling ends.

She told herself as she worked that she didn't really miss Jack that much. That he was just like Tim, and wasn't worth missing. He'd sure surprised her, though. Every step of the way. He wasn't at all self-serving, as she had imagined. He'd been generous with his time and money, and he was amazingly sweet with the babies. He didn't seem bored with them, or with her, or with living in the country.

Come to think of it, he wasn't much like Tim at all.

Which made carrying out her plan that much more difficult, but enjoying his company very easy. Abby felt a tenderness toward him that seemed too powerful in combination with
the wallop of physical need she felt every time she looked at him.

Sighing, she picked up the monitor and returned to the kitchen, pausing at the table to trace the grain of the oak with her finger. A series of circular patterns repeated across its surface.

Every line and every flaw went all the way through to the underside. Although the top was polished to a rich beauty, and the bottom was rough, the flaws were still there.

Just as hers were. No matter how hard she tried to polish them out, she was flawed through and through. She was starting to repeat the biggest mistake of her past.

She was setting her sights on an impossible man. Again.

Jack was generous and witty, and he made her feel sexy.

He was very nearly Tim's exact opposite, except for those wandering eyes. He was thirty-one, and he'd never committed to a woman—in marriage or anything else. He'd made it clear that he didn't want that sort of life.

If Abby got involved with him, it would only be for a while. At some point he would leave, and he'd have every right to steal away the baby boy sleeping upstairs.

She couldn't let that happen. Wyatt belonged out here on the farm. He belonged with his sister. Most of all he belonged with Abby herself.

It was late enough now that she was fairly certain Jack wouldn't return tonight, and she needed to relax. She poured herself a glass of wine, locked the back door and turned out the kitchen lights.

She'd just have to stick to her plan. Somehow, she had to keep protecting Wyatt.

She went to the living room and flopped down on the sofa. She removed her hair band and undid her braid, then crossed her feet on the coffee table. Grabbing the TV remote, she started clicking through channels. Even though she hadn't watched television in a long time, she couldn't find a thing to hold her interest.

She told herself she wasn't really waiting for him, but she was. Heaven help her, she kept wishing for the moment he'd come through that door.

But she kept dreading it, too.

 

J
UST AFTER DAWN,
and about halfway between downtown Kansas City and rural Topeka, Jack drove past a sign propped up against a farm gate. In hand-painted black letters, it read Young Ducks For Sale.

He slowed to look, but didn't stop. Most folks would still be asleep at this time of day.

But everyone knew farmers woke early, and Abby had said that her sister wanted ducks on the pond. Maybe a couple of ducks would make a nice conciliatory gesture.

He backed up to the gate and pulled off the road into the ditch. Chickens were scattered everywhere around the house, but there was no sign of a farmer.

Determined now that he had stopped, Jack got out and maneuvered his way past the hens onto the porch. The inner door was open. Someone must be up. He tapped on the screen, and a ruddy-cheeked woman appeared within seconds.

“Mornin', young man,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Is it too early to see the ducks?”

“Not at all,” she said. Whipping her head around, she hollered into the house, “Fred, there's a youngster out here asking to see the ducks.”

A squarish man in overalls came to the door and peered through the screen. “You drove out here at sunrise to see some ducks? Where ya comin' from?”

“Kansas City.”

The farmer took a look at Jack's baseball cap, then squinted past him at the car he'd parked out by the road. “Ya ain't plannin' to keep ducks in some bachelor apartment, are you?”

“No, they're a gift for a friend who has a pond.”

The farmer stepped out the door, plowing his way through
the chickens without a glance. “Must be livin' right, to get on your way so early,” he said. “Or missing your friend.”

Jack didn't comment, but he let the farmer's words weigh on his mind. Did he miss Abby?

Absolutely.

Even though he'd been around fresh faces all weekend, he'd missed her. That had never happened with another woman.

As he followed the farmer through the doors of a weathered gray barn, the distinct smell of animals and hay enveloped him, reminding him of the single summer he'd lived in the country as a boy. Squawks sounded from a couple of round pens on the floor of the barn. Jack stepped close to one of the pens, grinning as he watched a half-dozen gangly ducks scramble all over one another, each striving to reach the top of the pile.

As he concentrated on trying to choose the best pair, the farmer said, “Ya know, most men just take flowers to their lady friends.”

“She has plenty of flowers,” Jack replied. “She doesn't have a single duck. I'll take the two on top.”

“Fair to middlin' choices, if ya want a coupla brothers,” the farmer said. He turned to pick up a tall, thin-looking bird from the other pen. “Now this'n has a proud look about ‘er. She'll make a fine layer.”

“Oh. Then I'll take the two you think are best.”

The farmer set Jack up with a cardboard box, a starter supply of duck food and a few minutes of instructions. Then he helped carry everything out to the car.

Before Jack drove off, he rolled down his window. “By the way,” he asked, “how did you know my friend was a woman?”

The farmer leaned one hand against the hood of the car. “I've been breedin' animals mosta my life,” he said. “I recognize the look of an affected male.”

“What look?” Jack asked, trying not to be offended at being compared to some farm animal.

“A man has a certain look about ‘im when he's shoppin' for a lady,” the farmer said. “He makes a careful choice, knowing it'll matter to a female. If you'd a been shopping for a buddy, you'd've had me throw a couple of ducks in a box and been on your way.”

Jack drove the rest of the way to Topeka with the radio off, listening to the ducks yammering instead, and thinking. Did it matter what Abby thought?

It did. Absolutely. He definitely cared that she approved of his gift. And as much as he told himself that it was because choosing a pet was a serious decision, he knew he'd just wanted to please her.

When he arrived at the farmhouse, he was thrilled by the empty driveway. At least there wasn't some monster truck parked there, signaling the presence of Duke, the seven-foot-tall legend who had taken Abby out last night.

Jack pulled into the garage, trying to decide what to do with the ducks. The farmer had said that they should be kept close to the house for a while, until they got used to their new home.

Jack carried the box through the back door and put it in a corner of the kitchen farthest from the rest of the house. He opened the flaps and set a bowl of water inside, dropping some pellets in a clump beside that.

Then he went back outside to get his bags, intending to unpack quietly until everyone else woke up. A sudden shriek had him tossing the gear on his bed and hurrying out to the kitchen. Maybe a duck had gotten out and was searching for its mother. That cry had sounded demanding.

But one peek made Jack realize it hadn't come from the birds. They were curled into matching gray-and-yellow fluff balls, asleep.

The cry must have come from one of the twins. Jack flew up the stairs, trying to reach them before Abby woke up. She'd done her share of the work this weekend. Since he was up anyway, he might as well handle this shift.

Wyatt was awake and bawling, sitting up in his crib and looking around for an adult rescuer. Apparently, neither baby had awoken last night, since the bottles in the warmer were still full.

Jack picked Wyatt up and began to feed him. Luckily, Rosie was still asleep. He and Wyatt could enjoy the quiet of the morning without interruption. It felt right, being back. He felt at home.

After Wyatt was fed and burped, Jack dressed him in a white T-shirt with a yellow duck on the front, and smiled at the thought of Abby's reaction to his gift. But he worried about it, too.

He sat down on the floor of the nursery and watched Wyatt play, whispering words of encouragement. Rosie should awaken soon, and Jack decided to stay up here and handle her morning feeding, too, allowing Abby to sleep in for once.

As expected, the little girl began stirring in her crib within minutes. He picked her up before she even opened her mouth to cry.

As he fed her, Wyatt started batting a ball around on the floor. Jack was surprised when the ball rolled a few feet away, and Wyatt crawled to retrieve it.

Jack was saddened by the knowledge that his brother had missed seeing his son crawl for the first time. That he'd miss all the first times. But at least Jack was here. He could treasure the twins, just as Brian would have.

After Rosie had been fed and clothed, he decided to show them the ducks. He tucked a baby under each arm and headed downstairs. When the living room came into view, however, he missed his footing and plunked clumsily down on the last step, barely managing to hang on to Rosie and Wyatt.

Abby was asleep on the couch.

She was curled up as contentedly as a feline. Her hair flowed off the sofa, sexy in its abandon. She was wearing her robe, but it had fallen open to reveal a long strip of freckled skin that nearly gave away every one of her secrets.

Jack's body exploded with a shock of desire that he didn't want to feel. Not while holding a couple of babies.

Rosie's unexpected chatter caused Abby's eyes to open and look directly into his own. Unable to move, he watched as she sat up and pulled the robe across that skin.

Abruptly, she tumbled off the couch and headed straight toward him. He jumped up and lurched out of the way, allowing her to pass by on her way up the stairs.

When she reached the landing, she said, “I'll be back down in a minute.”

He realized she had left the belt to her robe on the end of the sofa, so he put the babies down to grab it. A wineglass lay on its side on the coffee table, with a few drops of wine dribbled out.

He put the belt in his pocket and hurried to the kitchen for a towel. He couldn't remember Abby drinking wine at home before, and she usually wore a T-shirt and sweatpants around the house. She'd sure switched things around last night.

And then he remembered. She'd been out with the banker. An image of her lounging around half-naked and sipping wine with some grotesque banker had Jack clenching his fists.

Apparently, her weekend had been more fruitful than his.

 

A
BBY SCOWLED
at her reflection in the mirror, perturbed that she had fallen asleep and let Jack find her sprawled out in some disgraceful state. Her mouth had probably been hanging open, and now her bangs were flipping up in an unnatural curl.

She dressed hurriedly, throwing on her standard attire—oversize T-shirt, baggy jeans and cheap white tennis shoes. Running a brush through her hair, she braided it with deft fingers and wrapped a band around the end.