The Secret Agent's Surprises (Harlequin American Romance)

They rode the elevator to the second floor, then walked to the nursery window.

“There they are,” Pete said. “One, two, three and four.”

“Oh,” she said, “they’re cherubs.”

No one could resist such sweet and tiny babies. Their tiny fannies wore small diapers. Impossibly small arms each had a hospital-issued bracelet identifying them. Adorable caps of different colors adorned their heads. They each wore a small T-shirt and had a blanket, though one of the girls had kicked her blanket off.

All of them slept peacefully, unaware of the two adults staring at them through the nursery window.

Pete was a tempting man—tempting enough to marry. And who wouldn’t want to help four helpless children?

Dear Reader,

February is one of my favorite months of the year—the month of sweethearts and romantic love! It's cold outside in many parts of the world—certainly in my neck of the woods—which makes it a wonderful month for reading.

In Union Junction, it’s not just the weather outside that’s cold. In
The Secret Agent's Surprises,
life on the home front is going to be a little chilly until Pete Morgan makes amends with his father and develops mature relationships with his three brothers. He must also deal with his attraction to Priscilla Perkins, a manners coach and tea-shop owner. Pete's got a lot to learn if he wants to make any headway with a woman who, as he notes, is prim and proper! Used to life as a secret operative, Pete now must learn to balance family relationships, romance and—the big shocker for him—adoptive fatherhood. Pete's father, Josiah, believes Pete is just the man to go from living dangerously to changing diapers, and he encourages Pete to adopt four orphaned infants. Pete has seen his brothers Gabe and Dane fall into their father's matchmaking traps in
Texas Lullaby
and
The Texas Ranger's Twins,
so Pete knows full well he's now in a dangerous dilemma where the result may be a wedding ring and a ready-made family.

I hope you're enjoying THE MORGAN MEN miniseries. As February brings us our chilliest weather yet, I hope you'll settle in with the Morgans and their struggles to become the men their father always knew they could be.

Best wishes and much love,

Tina Leonard

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Pete Morgan sat in a bar in Riga, Latvia, tired, cold, and annoyed as he thought about the letter he’d received from his father, Josiah, in January. The missive was a parting shot, designed to make him feel guilty. Wasn’t the pen supposedly mightier than the sword?

Josiah’s words hadn’t had the desired effect—they had simply reignited old feelings of resentment. Pete wouldn’t admit to a saint that he’d been steaming since the two letters had been found in a kitchen drawer at the Morgan ranch, one addressed to him and one to his oldest brother, Jack. Pete had left the letter for Jack with a rodeo manager, knowing it would reach him eventually.

Now it was February, and the very memory of his
father’s words still set Pete’s teeth on edge. He knew every word by heart.

It was a kick in the teeth, not because of the money but because his father lacked trust in him, basic faith that Pete cared about his own family. Wasn’t it Pop’s own fault no one cared to be at the ranch or have any contact with him? It had been many years since he and his father had spoken more than ten words to each other. To receive the letter out of the blue in January had sent Pete packing to the other side of the world, even though he’d been seriously considering retirement from espionage. The life was tough, the hours and the constant danger not conducive to trust, or building friendships, or anything remotely resembling comfort. Pete used to love his job, used to enjoy
the unpredictability, until recently. His last assignment had chilled him, made him search his soul.

He’d always thought of himself as a savior, rescuing people from war-torn situations. It was important, critical even, to be able to go into foreign countries and extract those who needed help. This was his way of helping keep his country safe, and he got a lot of satisfaction out of it.

The best part was knowing he’d returned a father, a mother, children, to families desperate to be reunited.

Pete had an excellent record of success, but his last mission had been beyond his control. He tried not think about it, but the shadows lurked, ever ready to assail him. He had been meant to recover fifteen children from the basement of an abandoned orphanage. But he hadn’t been able to save them. There’d been bombing after bombing; the screams still cursed his sleep. He’d done what he could, but then…

Much as he might change the channel on a television set, he turned his mind from the memory of the parents who would never see their children again, shutting out the ghosts. He was haunted by his own family, and tonight he wondered if it was time to face his demons. Life was short, and it could be dark and lonely. His lips thinning, he thought about Josiah.

Jack’s letter—which he’d read—had been worse:

That was Pop, always playing the Morgan brothers off one another, which was how the trouble had begun so many years ago, driving a wedge between Jack and himself that still existed today.

His other two brothers, Gabriel and Dane, had made up with the old man. They’d married, had children. Collected their million dollars.

But now the stakes were higher. Pop no longer resided in France in the knight’s templary he’d purchased. Pop had come home to live at the Morgan ranch to enjoy the new additions to his family, especially his grandchildren, which he’d netted with all his matchmaking and millions.

If Pop thought Pete had any intention of living under the same roof with him, he was mistaken. Pete would rather sit burning in the darkest corner of hell before that happened.

No woman, no family, no million dollars, would ever tie him to the ornery son of a gun who was his father. Pop had foretold the future ominously—Pete would never settle down. He did indeed hold long grudges—he’d learned it from the master. His father, Josiah.

There was nothing more satisfying than being the blackest sheep in the family.

P
RISCILLA
P
ERKINS
looked at the older gentleman who’d seated himself in her tea-shop-and-etiquette studio in Fort Wylie, Texas. Long of limb, strong as an ox though showing some signs of aging, Josiah Morgan was a commanding presence. He wore a black felt cowboy hat. His hair streamed long and gray to his shoulders. The jeans and shirt he wore were clean and nice enough for a meal in the city.

“I’m glad to finally meet you in person,” Priscilla said. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, Mr. Morgan.” She noticed that Mr. Morgan didn’t seem to feel at all out of place in the dainty surroundings. He took the tiny, floral-decorated china cup she handed him and drank the tea, his sharp gaze considering her.

“You were at my son Dane’s wedding,” Mr. Morgan said, “and I asked his bride, Suzy, who you were. I like to know everyone who is a friend of the family.”

Josiah hadn’t met many of the people at Suzy Winterstone’s and Dane Morgan’s wedding. They hadn’t expected him to return from France for the wedding. He’d ridden in at the last second, a flamboyant mirage on the horizon, to witness his son’s nuptials. His sudden appearance had given everyone in Union Junction quite a shock, not the least of all his son Pete.

Pete Morgan had disappeared before his brother’s wedding, and Suzy had told Priscilla they’d probably never see Pete again.
Which will teach me,
Priscilla thought
, to keep myself crush-free in the future when
it comes to handsome, devil-may-care types.
“I’m sure you’re not here for etiquette lessons, Mr. Morgan, and I suspect you have no need of my party-planning services nor any of my specialty teas and cookies. So what can I do for you?”

His grin sent a tingle down her back. It was amazing how much Pete resembled his father—maybe it was his confidence, maybe it was the rascal shining through. Priscilla suspected it would be a good idea to stay on her guard.

“You may have heard that I’m a meddler,” Josiah said with a wink.

“No,” Priscilla said firmly. “What I’ve heard is that you are very generous to the town of Union Junction, and that you don’t necessarily get along with your four sons.”

He gave a bark of laughter, amused by her boldness. “True enough, all of it. They say the more money you give away, the more comes back to you. Certainly that’s held true for me. Of course, I also suspect that you’re fibbing just a little in the interest of good manners, girl. Even
I’ve
heard that I’m a selfish ol’ pain in the patoot. The town grapevine doesn’t discriminate in who hears what, you know.” He glanced around the room, then back at her. “You’re just too well mannered to hurt an old man’s feelings.”

She shifted uncomfortably. Her business had definitely been growing from love and not abundant
financial backing. “You’re keeping me in suspense. My guess is that you haven’t come here to talk about money.”

“My sons, actually,” he said. “Or at least one of the four.”

“I’m not good with schemes that involve other people.”

“And yet I understand you were staying at the ranch with Suzy Winterstone and Cricket Jasper last month. Somehow during that time, my son Dane found himself in love.”

“No one can explain the human heart,” Priscilla said.

He smiled. “Sometimes a man needs a little help in falling for the woman of his dreams.”

“I don’t know what I contributed to the situation,” Priscilla said. “Otherwise I’d be running a matchmaking service instead of what I do.”

“So Dane fell in love with Suzy with no help at all from you ladies.”

“No help except the million dollars you promised him and your little shove in the right direction.” She looked at him innocently.

He grinned. “You’re not going to help me, are you.”

“Not if you’re asking me to somehow finagle any of your sons into something they don’t want to do.”

Setting his cup down, he nodded. “You know, Miss Perkins, men don’t always know what they want.”

She didn’t say anything because she sensed a note of regret in his voice.

After a moment he sighed. “Can I tell you something in confidence?”

“Certainly.”

“I’m not a well man and—” he began, but she interrupted him immediately.

“Mr. Morgan—”

“Please, call me Josiah.”

“Josiah, then,” she said. “I will not be a party to whatever you’re cooking up. As you said, you’re something of a meddler, and I do not meddle.”

“It worked out for Gabriel and Laura. And Dane and Suzy. They’re all happy as clams, with kids and houses and living the fairy-tale dream.” His eyes twinkled and a smile played on his lips. Josiah looked pleased about his sons’ new family situations.

“What exactly do you want from me? Specifically, please.” Priscilla had to admit to some admiration for the man’s tenacity.

“I want all my boys to be happy,” Josiah said. “And happiness is finding the right woman. I had the right woman once upon a time.” He stared off for a moment, then returned his gaze to her. “She’s living in France now, and I’m satisfied with that. Not every man is made for marriage, and my bride was always more concerned with money than anything else, I’m honest enough to say. But I’d like my sons to have better.”

“Shouldn’t they figure that out on their own?”

“Maybe, but what father wants his child to
stumble?” Josiah asked, his face wreathed with quizzical thoughtfulness.

“According to gossip I’ve heard, you let your boys stumble plenty,” Priscilla responded. “People say your boys practically raised themselves and you liked it that way.”

“Sometimes a man regrets his actions,” Josiah said.

“Sometimes a man never stops trying to earn forgiveness,” Priscilla told him gently. “You know, you really are a nice man in your own way, but I have a life here. I have commitments, things I love. I don’t have any business doing whatever it is you want from me. And you really have no right to ask anything of me, you know.”

“Drat,” he said. “I’d heard you might have had a tiny hankering for Pete. Scuttlebutt must have had it wrong.”

“Now, Mr. Morgan—”

“Josiah,” he repeated.

“Josiah, it isn’t good to listen to idle gossip. You of all people should know that.”

He smiled again, searching her face with keen eyes, showing no remorse at all for putting her on the spot. The wily old rancher was everything people said he was, and yet, she somehow found him endearing.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “it was worth a try.”

“What was worth a try?”

He stood and put out a hand so that he could gently take her hand in his. “I was hoping it was you, but there are other women who might be interested
in my renegade son, Pete. He’s a good-looking man—strong, tall, tough. Ladies like that sort, don’t they? The strong, silent type? And yet sophisticated and endearing, like Cary Grant. Yes, I’d say the best of John Wayne and Cary Grant.” He grinned at her. “I’m just the proud pop, though. Maybe women aren’t looking for good-looking, strong, independent rascals anymore.”

She really didn’t know what to say to such audacity. There was no doubt Pete was a sexy man. She’d been wildly attracted to him when she’d met him in January. He was indeed very handsome, and his devil-may-care attitude drew her in. Tall, long-haired, with eyes of glacial blue—his very face spelled danger. She shivered, remembering. He’d come across like a tough guy, but when he wanted to be charming—and he’d definitely been charming—a woman knew she’d take off her dress pretty fast for him. He’d not made any moves on her, not really. In fact, he’d seemed bent on making Dane jealous over Suzy, and so Priscilla had felt safe.

But it was the gleam in Pete’s eye when he looked at her sometimes that let her know his charms could be dangerous—if he hadn’t been treating her like a sister, for Suzy’s sake. In other words, he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

There was no way this would work. Josiah couldn’t possibly understand. Families had their share of matchmaking enthusiasts, busybodies and down
right meddlesome fussbudgets bent on having their own way. At least Josiah didn’t hide his intentions. Wouldn’t his scheming make Pete mad? Priscilla studied Josiah and wondered.

Was the old man really looking for forgiveness—or was Josiah angling for more grandchildren?

Two days later Priscilla wasn’t feeling very forgiving. Under new rules—and a revised estimation of the value of her real estate, thanks to new bank software—Priscilla learned the value of her home and business had sunk by forty thousand dollars. In the blink of an eye, she’d lost the foothold she thought she’d been gaining. Real estate was supposed to keep its value, if not go up, but with current economic conditions, banks were tightening lending standards and the way they evaluated properties.

Her situation wouldn’t have been so devastating except that she’d been counting on her home to provide equity for her tea shop. The loss of forty thousand would put her out of business.

“Fine,” she told her friend Deacon Cricket Jasper, who’d come over for tea and a visit. “I’ll go back to doing what I was doing before I became a small businesswoman. I’ll work for the government crunching
numbers in some dreary office. At least I’ll have some retirement funds put away.”

“I don’t know,” Cricket said, looking around the wing of the home that served as the shop. “You’ve done pretty well, and this place is popular. Get an outside appraisal and ask for a home equity line of credit at a different bank.”

Priscilla considered that. “No one’s lending money these days, certainly not to take a chance on a tiny tea shop and etiquette lessons.” The thought depressed her. Her heart was in her business. “I’d be in trouble if people were to suddenly cut back on parties and etiquette lessons for their children. Maybe it’s better this way.”

Cricket nodded. “One of my favorite sayings is that when God closes a door, he opens a window.”

Priscilla smiled. “You’re a good friend to remind me.” She glanced around her pretty little shop. The walls were painted a light, cheery pink. White tables sat here and there, inviting conversation; two pink-and-white-striped antique sofas lined the walls for intimate groupings. A sparkling chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminated by tiny purple bulbs hidden around the ceiling tray so that soft amethyst light bathed the crystals of the chandelier and reflected the hue on the ceiling. It was a comforting place. At night, when the shop was closed, she liked to sit in here with a good book, a side-table lamp lighting the pages. “It was just such a shock when I
talked to the man at the bank. He was so sympathetic, but I felt bad. I’m not the only person this has happened to, so I don’t intend to feel sorry for myself, but it wasn’t welcome news.” Priscilla took a deep breath. “However, I also liked my friends in the government office. I’ll be fine.”

Cricket stood and hugged her. “It will all work out. In the meantime you can always go see what Mr. Morgan had up his sleeve. There’s usually money involved when he wants to pawn off one of his sons.”

Priscilla laughed, surprised, and shook her head. “As much as I liked him, I fear Josiah is a one-man con game. Truthfully, the games he’s up to are beyond my scope.”

“Yet he has such amazing success, especially with those hardheaded boys of his. Wouldn’t it be an old movie plot if he was behind this loan problem?” Cricket went out on the porch, opening her polka-dot umbrella. “This is the coldest and dreariest February I think I’ve ever seen in Fort Wylie.”

“Mr. Morgan might be a busybody, but he wouldn’t deliberately sabotage my business,” Priscilla said, laughing.

“I know. I was being dramatic. I think it’s the weather.” Water puddled at the base of the porch as the rain came down harder.

“Drive carefully,” Priscilla said. “The roads can be slick.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll be
praying for you.” Cricket cast a glance back through the door longingly. “It’s so comfortable in your shop that I hate to leave. I can’t stand the thought that it might not be here much longer.”

Priscilla waved goodbye, not sure what to say about that. She’d heard of several people in Fort Wylie having money woes—her situation was better than most.

She went inside to examine some financial statements and see what she could come up with.

P
ETE
M
ORGAN
sat on a military plane mulling over his prospects. The last thing he wanted was to return home to the Morgan ranch, but he’d been offered a million dollars to do so, as had his brothers. Gabe and Dane had fallen under the spell of money and lovely women, but Pete was harder, more stubborn. He wouldn’t have been a secret agent if he weren’t tough as steel, a trait he’d inherited from the old man. Maybe that was the only good thing he’d ever gotten from Pop. The old goat had wanted his boys tough, and that was how they’d turned out.

The oldest son, Jack, wasn’t in touch with anyone in the family. He called the rodeo circuit home. Pete had no home at the moment. After he’d finished his assignment and been debriefed, he’d had time to ponder his life. He was glad he was retiring, not sorry it was all over. He was happy enough, if any of the Morgans knew what happiness was. Gabe and Dane were certainly new men since their marriages.

Maybe that was what he was missing.

Pete pushed the thought from his mind. That was Pop talking, getting in his head with his desire for more grandchildren, somehow wanting the past to be overlooked.

Pete had no intention of caving. He decided he’d find Jack, pay him a visit. Maybe he’d become a rancher like his brothers, throw in a little real-estate venturing like Pop. Surely Jack had to be getting tired, too. Pete felt his own thirty years sitting on him like a weight, or perhaps it was the traveling that had worn him down. When he was younger, his job had made him feel very important. Now he just felt exhausted. Maybe it was the absence of light in his life—and why that miserable thought made him think of Miss Manners, the wonderfully elusive and prissy Priscilla Perkins, he wasn’t sure.

“W
ONDERED IF YOU’D
ever get around to visiting me,” Josiah Morgan said to Priscilla two days later, his eyes gleaming. “You’re wanting to hear my plan, I expect.”

“Mr. Morgan, I might just be paying a call on you to be kind. I could have a business proposition for you myself.” She seated herself in the massive den of the Morgan house, located just outside Union Junction. It was different here now that Josiah had taken up residence—the house felt more like a home.
Last month, he’d been living in France. He said he’d sold his knight’s templary for a handsome profit and moved back home to spend time with his new grandchildren. But while he’d been in France, Priscilla, Cricket and Suzy had spent lovely days vacationing in this house, helping Suzy keep distance between herself and Dane.

Instead of keeping their distance, Suzy and Dane had gotten married, and the women’s friendships had grown stronger. Priscilla hadn’t known Suzy and Cricket as well then as she did now, and the time spent together was a memory she treasured. They’d baked cookies, played with Suzy’s kids, teased the Morgan brothers. “We never did get the new curtains done for this house,” Priscilla said. “We meant to. We were on the way to the fabric store when we saw Jack—”

She stopped, remembering the bad blood between Josiah and his oldest son. Josiah’s gaze sharpened.

“You saw my son?”

“Well, it wasn’t an intentional meeting,” she said hurriedly. “Now, back to your plan—”

“How did you see him? Where was he?” Josiah demanded.

“He was hitchhiking. We only saw him for a moment, truly. However, I didn’t come all the way out to Union Junction to discuss Jack,” she said, injecting impatience into her tone to try to move him off the personal topic she knew was painful. “Shall we get back to the purpose of your earlier visit to me?”

“How did he look?” Josiah asked, ignoring her pointed request.

“Handsome,” she said simply. “Ornery. Full of life. Not interested in talking to us once he found out we were living here. He wasn’t in the car long enough for us to learn much.”

Josiah sighed. “So much like me.”

“Handsome? Or ornery?”

He winked at her. “You’re a bit of a minx, aren’t you?”

“Flattery won’t hurt if it gets you away from worrying about your sons. And I may as well hear your proposal. I admit to some curiosity.”

“Which killed the cat, but in this case, there happen to be extra lives.” Chuckling, he waved a hand to indicate that she pour the brandy sitting on a crystal tray between them. “Miss Perkins, there are four children in the county who are going into foster care. Their parents died last week in an auto accident. Very sad.” He looked distressed.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She met his gaze. “Did you know them?”

“I only met the parents once when Ralph Wright came out to buy a steer from me. They lived on a neighboring ranch, you know, more homesteaders than ranchers. Young couple, big dreams. Wanted a country life for their children. They’d been trying for a child for years, it seemed. Ralph mentioned that his wife Nancy, had surgery that helped. He beamed just
talking about her pregnancy. They were very much looking forward to their new family, as you might imagine.” He swallowed thickly.

“That is very sad,” Priscilla said, her heart breaking for the children who had lost their parents. “It’s going to be very hard on the poor babies.”

Josiah’s expression turned crafty. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, Miss Perkins. I would be interested in helping you adopt the babies.”

“Me!” Priscilla’s mouth dropped open. “What would I do with four children, Mr. Morgan?”

“Give them the home they need. As sad as their lives are now, I think it would be sadder to be split up in different homes, and so on and so forth.” He shook his head. “Life is going to be hard enough for them.”

“I don’t see,” Priscilla said, trying to breathe through her shock, “how you ever came to think that I would be a suitable person to adopt four children.”

“As I said before,” Josiah said, “I’d heard by way of a little birdie that you might have a soft spot for my son, Pete.”

She blinked. “Oh, I see. You’re going to do to Pete what you did to Gabe and Dane. Tie them to women with children to increase your family name.” She stared at him. “Don’t you think you’re presuming a lot? First, that Pete would want to marry me, second, that he’d want four kids and, third, that the child-welfare agency would consider me suitable parenting material?”

“You
and
Pete,” Josiah said. “Whether or not Pete would want to marry you wouldn’t be the issue. Second, four kids will be a shock to his system, but talking care of that many babies would be no harder than being a secret agent. You did know that’s what he does for a living, didn’t you?” He watched her carefully.

“No,” Priscilla said, “and I’m not sure that child-welfare services will find that comforting, either. But go on. I’m riveted by how you not only move your sons like pawns, but anyone else you decide you need.”

“You’re amazed that I would play God to this extent,” Josiah said equitably, “and I don’t blame you. But when a man has nothing left to lose, he may as well shoot for the stars. At least I do.” He took a healthy swig of the amber liquid she’d poured in his glass. “Have some. It helps sometimes.”

“I need clear, focused wits around you, thank you,” she shot back. “You’ve stunned me.”

“It’s simple enough,” Josiah said. “Pete needs to get married. I doubt you would be able to sleep knowing that four little newborns are going to be without parents when you could do something about it.”

“Newborns?” Priscilla straightened. “How young are the children?”

“Sadly, only a month old.”

“They’re quadruplets?”

Josiah beamed. “I did mention Nancy’s surgery, didn’t I? Worked like a charm.”

“Are they still in the hospital?”

He nodded. “That’s how I learned about them. I was visiting the hospital, and the nurses were talking about the accident. So, so sad.”

“Not to be rude, but do you just troll the hospital nursery looking for children and unwed mothers?” Priscilla asked.

“No,” he said, laughing, not offended at all. “It’s just that this time, I thought of you.”

“You know nothing about me at all. I could be a horrible person.”

“It’s not hard to find things out in small towns.” Josiah raised a glass to her. “Your parents raised you well, educated you, loved you a lot. You’re very close to them, which would mean extra grandparents for these little ones. You’ll need a lot of help, you know.”

Astonishment held Priscilla nearly numb. “Did you have my tea shop and home business reevaluated?”

He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I got a notice that my home is worth less now.”

“That’s happening a lot in this economy. Banks don’t have as much money to lend, so they’re weaseling a bit.” He shook his head. “No, I would never have anything to do with devaluing a property. I’ve made my money in commercial and private real estate around the world. I’d be the last one who would ever want to see property values depreciate.” He looked at her. “Is that the real reason you came to see me?”

“I knew you were a meddler,” Priscilla said, lifting
her chin, “and I suppose the thought came to mind. I apologize if it was incorrect.”

“Young lady, you’re entitled to think anything you want of me, but it hurts that you’d jump to such a negative conclusion.” He sniffed. “Contrary to what my sons think of me, nowadays most people think I’m a pretty nice old fellow.”

She held his gaze. “Josiah, you’ve been called a jackass by many people, pardon the term. I’m sorry if I had my doubts, but the bad news came right after your visit. I simply wondered how badly you wanted to pull your son’s strings.”

“You’re a shrewd one, I’ll give you that.” He eyed her sternly. “The folks who call me a jackass are jealous, and I don’t let that bother me. Some folks needed to get to know me better, and some I’ve had to ask for forgiveness. I can be shortsighted. But one thing I’m not is a chiseler. Anybody who’s done anything I’ve asked has benefited enormously in the financial sense and, I’d like to think, in the emotional sense.” He shifted in his armchair. “I’m hoping people will remember me fondly when I’m gone.”

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere anytime soon,” Priscilla said.