Ten Acres and Twins (13 page)

Then she squared her shoulders and jogged back down, prepared to start another day with twins and chores. After all, there was no better cure for a foolish heart than a day filled with good, hard work.

The chattery sounds coming from the kitchen indicated that her housemates must have gone in there. She followed the noise, and discovered the twins in their high chairs pushing around a few slices of banana. They were also squealing at something in a box on the counter.

“What's this?” she asked, peering into the box. A couple of ducklings were hopping around in a bowl of water. Pellets and water were scattered everywhere.

Jack was rinsing dishes. “I wouldn't know,” he said, sounding brusque. “I found them here in the kitchen.”

She put her hands on her hips and stared at his profile.

Finally, he turned to look at her, and he was scowling. “I bought them for Wyatt and Rosie,” he said.

Abby tried to lift the corners of her mouth in a smile, but that proved impossible with the rest of her face pinched in a frown.

What on earth had made him so mad?

“They're way too young to appreciate any pet,” she said, “let alone a duck!”

He looked pointedly at the babies, who were chortling in merriment. “They're enjoying them now.”

“I can see that. But these ducks look pretty mature. They'll need to be moved out to the pond soon.”

He turned back to the sink and retrieved a wineglass from the basin. As he dried it, he said, “I got a pair. Next year you can raise a pondful of ducklings, for Rosie to enjoy when she's older.”

Abby ran her index finger along the soft yellow back of one duck. “You shouldn't have done this,” she said. “You weren't supposed to bring me anything else.”

“They're not for you,” he reminded her. “They're for the twins and the farm. I promised to help run this farm for one year. After that, you can sell it all. I don't care.”

He whipped open the cabinet and set the wineglass inside with a quick, angry movement that had Abby waiting for the sharp clink of breaking glass. But she only heard the slam
of the cabinet and the stomp of Jack's feet as he exited the kitchen.

“Oh,” she said, not at all pleased that they seemed to be returning to the cold war of last week.

She decided the greenhouse would be a better place to keep the ducks, and moved their box and food out to a corner shelf. They could live out here for a while, until they were mature enough to be released to the pond.

And she took care of the babies alone most of the morning. She refused to knock at Jack's office door to ask for help. She knew she could handle her greenhouse chores when the babies were napping.

He came out every once in a while and went into the kitchen or down the hall to his room. But he and Abby managed to avoid one another quite well.

By Monday morning, they had returned to their normal routines. Almost. Jack offered to help with baby and kitchen duties, but the teasing light in his eyes was gone, and he didn't seem to be enjoying himself. He was so serious-minded Abby barely recognized him.

Until late Wednesday morning, a week later, when the doorbell rang, and Abby answered it. A raven-haired woman in a leather miniskirt and a skintight turtleneck stood on the porch. Her well-endowed chest swelled out in a way that reminded Abby of the bust-enhancing ads she'd seen in the backs of magazines. When the woman saw Abby, however, her chest seemed to shrink a couple of inches.

“May I help you?” Abby asked.

“I'm here for Jack,” the woman answered as she stepped through the door.

“He's in his office,” Abby said, waving her hand down the hall and frowning when the woman trotted off in that direction. “Would you care to wait in the living room?” she called after her.

“Just point me to his office,” the woman said.

Jack's door opened abruptly, and he stepped out and nearly
collided with his visitor. His arms went around her. “Diane, what a surprise!”

Abby stood at the end of the hall, watching as the woman pressed her chest and lips against his. “Jacky boy, I was upset when I missed your call,” she said when she finally let go. “I wondered how long it would take you to come to your senses. I adjusted my schedule to drive out to this godforsaken place, just so I could see you.”

Jack's reply would always be a mystery to Abby, since he and the trollop went into his office and shut the door.

Great—he returns from his wild weekend and the revolving door starts spinning again,
Abby thought. He must have been forgiven for moving in with her. Maybe he'd convinced his harem that Abby was nothing but a big fat zero to him.

She returned to the greenhouse, intent on finishing her pruning. She couldn't help hearing the woman's loud whoops of laughter and wincing every time.

Occasionally, Jack's vigorous chuckles joined in, and Abby finally marched all the way up the stairs to get the baby monitor. She took the receiver into the greenhouse with her and shut the door.

There. Now she'd hear the babies upstairs if they needed her, but not the babe downstairs, who most assuredly didn't.

Just as Abby had finished transplanting some calendula sprouts into larger pots, a knock caught her attention. Jack was standing at the door, grinning through the glass.

What could he possibly want from her, when Miss Sexpot herself was in his office hooting it up? Abby headed for the door, pulling off her garden gloves on the way.

“I was wondering, do any pizza joints deliver out here?” he asked as soon as she stepped into the kitchen. “Diane and I have decided to eat lunch here today.”

Abby slapped her gloves down on the counter. “We're only fifteen minutes from town, Jack. Of course they deliver out here. There's a number by the phone.”

“How would I know that?” he asked on his way out.

“I guess you wouldn't,” she said softly. “Sorry.”

He turned immediately and leaned against the doorjamb. “Do you want to join us?” he asked amicably. Miss Sexpot must've put him in a better mood.

“No.”

He came back into the kitchen. “You may as well, Abby. Diane won't bite, and we don't want to eat much. We're going out to dinner later.”

Abby's heart fell, and not only because she was jealous. It also meant that Diane would be here all day, leaving behind her trail of perfume and making Abby feel uneasy in her own house.

“I don't want to intrude,” she said, knowing she couldn't handle watching Jack flirt.

He touched her shoulder. “Please, Abby. Let's call a truce. Join us.”

“I'm not hungry.” She hoped the rumbling in her tummy wasn't loud enough for him to hear. Take-out pizza actually sounded good. It was something she seldom indulged in, since she usually ate alone. But she couldn't share one with them. She'd starve before she did that.

“Suit yourself,” he said, disappearing back into the hallway. A minute later, he returned, pulling Diane along behind him. “Check out Abby's greenhouse while I order,” he was saying. “She has a way with plants.”

Diane glared at her.

Abby wanted to tell her to relax—her boyfriend had just pointed out she had a way with plants, not with men. And certainly not with Jack.

He picked up the phone to dial the pizza parlor, and Diane chose to stand at his side and examine her long red fingernails instead of looking out at the flowers.

Nevertheless, Abby knew there was no way she'd get any work done in the greenhouse with that woman loitering on the other side of the French doors. She decided the chores would wait, and headed upstairs to check on Rosie and Wyatt.

Wyatt had rolled to a corner of his crib, and his sweat-dampened curls were crushed against the edge. She moved him back to the center, pulling his blanket away. He nestled back down in sleep, not ready to wake. Skewed across her mattress diagonally, Rosie, too, was deep in slumber.

Tiptoeing into her own room, Abby caught her reflection in the dresser mirror. Now that two of Jack's girlfriends had visited, she realized he must like excitement—fireworks for eyes, and a carnival for a mouth. Color. Splash. Verve.

He went for stargazer lilies and Oriental poppies. How could she compete with women so exotic they caught a man's attention at first glance?

And why did she keep forgetting that she wasn't supposed to compete at all? The sexpot's visit was a good thing.

Wyatt's whine sent Abby scurrying into the nursery. She'd just finished changing his diaper when Rosie followed suit with a few hiccups. Abby scooped up the baby girl, changed a second diaper and sat down in a rocker with both babies.

She was glad they were awake, thankful to have allies in the house, even if they were tiny. It made Abby feel as if she was the one who belonged here, not Jack. And certainly not Diane.

But the cuddles only worked for a short while, and when the twins began to cry in earnest, she knew she had to take them downstairs to feed them.

Hopefully, the pizza party was over and Jack and his girlfriend had left the kitchen. Maybe Miss Sexpot had gotten her press-on nails all tangled up with mozzarella cheese; maybe she'd had to leave for Kansas City to glue on new ones.

But they were still there, sitting at the table and chatting. Seeing them there hurt almost as much as watching Jack flirt. That table had a history and a character all its own, and Abby had gotten used to the idea of sharing a lifetime of meals there with the twins. No one else should sit there, unless she invited them.

Lifting her chin in the air, she marched up to the table.
Wordlessly, she placed Wyatt in Jack's arms, then scooted Rosie's high chair about four feet away, to the opposite side of the table.

If she had to share the kitchen, she wanted to be far enough away that she couldn't hear them breathe.

“How cute! Are these your twins, Jacky boy?”

Abby ignored them as best she could, securing Rosie in her seat and returning for Wyatt.

“They're not mine,” Jack said. “Wyatt is my ward, Rosie is Abby's. You've heard the story.”

Abby practically tore Wyatt from his arms. With her foot, she shoved Wyatt's chair next to Rosie's and put the boy inside.

Finally, she pulled out a chair for herself, centering it in front of the babies.

Diane got up and walked over. Abby watched in horror as the woman pressed her lips to Wyatt's forehead. The baby was too young to recognize deceitfulness when he saw it. He kicked his feet and said, “Agagaga.”

Then he grabbed a handful of short black hair and yanked.

“No, shoo can't hab my hayur, punkin,” Diane crooned. “I pay too much to keep it wooking wike dis.”

She patted her hair, attempting to restore it to normal, but only marginally succeeding.

Abby went to the refrigerator to grab a bowl of pureed apples, and to the buffet drawer for a couple of baby spoons. She sat down in front of the twins, still trying to ignore the woman who was invading her space. Rosie opened her mouth, and Abby popped a spoonful inside.

“How adorable! Look how she eats that food,” Diane said. “May I try to feed the baby boy?”

“Suit yourself,” Abby said, handing her a spoon.

Jack carried a load of lunch plates and utensils to the sink to begin cleaning up. Diane's smile, and her silly chatter, vanished with Jack's attention elsewhere.

She spooned small mounds of apples and tried to stuff them into Wyatt's mouth without getting too close, and only came back to life after Jack had finished loading the dishwasher and returned to watch. Then she scooted closer to the baby, grinning again. “Does the itty-bitty boy wike his apple-wapples?” she sang.

But Wyatt stole the show by spitting a huge mouthful of food back onto the tray and trying to make a grab for her wayward tuft of hair.

Diane jerked back, smiling stiffly. She looked up at Jack and shook her head, as if she knew the baby had been about to do that. “What a scamp,” she said. “You're so lucky!”

Meanwhile, Wyatt was patting both hands in the puddle of apples. Abby considered cautioning Diane about the potential for disaster, but she bit her tongue and waited.

Miss Sexpot didn't deserve the warning.

In seconds flat, Wyatt flung most of the puddle onto Diane's face and clothes. The woman looked down in horror, and the genius baby squealed and grabbed her nose with the same apple-covered hand.

Abby sprang up to head for a roll of paper towels, grinning all the way. She stopped for a minute, trying to contain her amusement, and only returned when her face was composed again.

“Here you go,” she said, handing a paper towel to Diane, who was making a keening sound through clenched teeth.

Abby listened closer, trying to distinguish it. It was…a laugh, she supposed. Jack's friend was trying to fake a laugh through wooden lips.

Diane began to blot at her face and clothing with the towel. Wyatt gurgled in pleasure at the commotion, and Rosie began to fuss at having her lunch interrupted.

“I'll take over the feeding duties,” Jack said with a thoughtful look at Abby. “Help Diane clean up? Please?”

Reluctantly, Abby headed for the hallway.

Diane followed, still dabbing at her blouse. Mercifully, the
strange laughter died as soon as they got to Jack's bathroom. Abby found a washcloth in the linen closet and handed it to the now scowling woman.

She watched from the doorway as Diane blotted. After a few minutes, Jack's friend handed back the cloth and said with much disgust, “I'm going to have to borrow something of yours. I can't go out to dinner tonight with this slop all over my outfit.”

Diane reached back to unzip her skirt, while Abby stared at her face. The entire middle of it, around her nose, was now a mottled white. The previously white washcloth was an attractive shade of tan. Half of her color had transferred to the rag!

“Aren't you going to find me something to wear?”