The Secret Agent's Surprises (Harlequin American Romance) (10 page)

Babies didn’t sleep much, Pete was quickly learning. The first night was a rodeo of sound, action, tears and quick reflexes. Every single member of the Morgan clan, as well as Priscilla, stayed at the house to be on deck for the real-life tutorial in how to take care of four babies. Josiah stated that it was like a bomb had gone off in the house, scattering the contents far and wide. It was every man and woman for themselves because the babies set the schedule.

This was the most fun Pete had ever had. He relished holding, feeding, comforting the babies. Even though he knew it was probably his imagination, he could already sense the personalities of each child. Two boys, two girls, all identical—and yet to him, each seemed unique. “I’m going to love being a father,” he told Priscilla, who had stayed at his side all night assisting without complaint. “I already love it.”

“I can tell.” Priscilla gently picked up a girl he was
pretty certain he would name Angela. She was, after all, an angel, ceasing her tiny cries as soon as Priscilla held her. He didn’t dare say that Priscilla would love being a mother—it would only add to her feelings of guilt over not being a mother to her son.

But he loved watching her with the babies, anyway. She was so careful, so precise. He’d made a good choice of a woman, or his father had. He glanced at Pop, who was eyeing him from under bushy brows.

“Good job,” he told Pete, and Pete played innocent.

“What job?”

“I know what you were thinking,” Josiah said with a grin. “You were thinking you’ve got it pretty sweet around here.”

“Let’s not get carried away yet,” Pete said, glad that Priscilla had taken Angela over to Laura for inspection. “She’s tougher to corral than you think.”

“Ah, well. Maybe the babies will help.”

Pop didn’t know the whole story, and Pete just left it that way. “Always good to have an additional plan of attack,” he murmured.

To which Josiah said thoughtfully, “Yes, I believe you’re right.”

T
HE SECOND WAVE
of reinforcements came two days later, and Priscilla was happy to see them. Laura and Gabe were going home with their children, and Suzy and Dane were, as well, since everyone had stayed the first two nights to help with the babies.

It had been a smoother transition than Priscilla had dreamed it might be. The community was pitching in, too, and it was great to see the “church ladies,” as Josiah called them, pull up with groceries and homemade food.

“We couldn’t wait any longer to see the angels,” one woman said as she hugged Josiah’s neck.

“Thank you,” Josiah said gamely. “Glad to hear I’ve been promoted from sinner.”

The woman smacked him playfully on the arm. “Show us the children, Josiah, and no more of your fishing for attention.”

He proudly led the way. “This is the playroom,” he said, showing them into the den. “Where I can play with them all I like.”

“So it’s
your
playroom,” another woman observed, and he laughed.

Priscilla looked at Pete. “I think I smell apple pie.”

“I think you do, and I’m pretty sure I caught a whiff of fried chicken.” He watched as ten women filed in, all under Josiah’s pleased gaze. “There was a time when people called my father simply ‘Jackass’ and not ‘Josiah.’”

“Times change,” Priscilla said.

“Do they ever.”

The babies were in various stages of crying or being cooed over, and all were getting their share of gentle attention. The church ladies were more than happy to take over for a while.

“I’m going to shower,” Priscilla said.

Pete glanced at her. “I could use a shower myself.”

Was that a veiled invitation? She wondered. It surprised her, because Pete had to be as exhausted as she was. Plus, she needed time to process the events of the past three days. It had been a whirlwind of excitement and amazing moments with the babies, but she felt herself beginning to pull back, retract from the sense of family, the feeling of being a true part of the Morgan clan.

It was becoming harder than she’d imagined.

Sometimes she had to remind herself sternly that she was a fake fiancée and not the real thing—Pete was not going to be her husband. “I think I’ll head upstairs,” she said, breaking eye contact, dismissing any notion Pete might have had about joining her for a nice, soothing shower and a delightfully sexy rubdown afterward.

She just couldn’t let herself think about that. It was all becoming too close to being home—with Pete.

J
OSIAH’S
P
LAN
C arrived on Saturday, and at the same time Mrs. Corkindale came by for a visit. Pete termed it a visit, because she came bearing a cherry pie and some wonderfully aromatic pot roast, just the right thing for the cold February day. Unfortunately the arrival of both parties at once made matters worse.

Pete would never know why his father called back the women he’d invited to his matchmaking party,
but suddenly, he found the playroom swarmed by eager women, and Priscilla backing away like a turtle into a shell.

“Pop, what are you doing?” Pete demanded as the six women and Mrs. Corkindale all ended up in the den at the same time. Priscilla edged herself to the side of the group, relinquishing her place by the babies.

“Bringing in reinforcements,” Josiah said.

“Do we need them?” Pete asked, and Josiah nodded.

“Trust me, son, I know what I’m doing.”

Pete wasn’t so sure. “I think it’s too much noise, maybe even too many germs for the children,” he said, thinking that these were all well-meaning people who would have to be trained to care for tender newborns. Plus Priscilla was eyeing the women like they were some toxic stew. They were clearly crowding her out.

And apparently Priscilla wasn’t going to stand her ground. She slipped from the room after the introductions were made to place Mrs. Corkindale’s offerings in the kitchen. Pete wondered about his father’s intentions. He hadn’t introduced Priscilla as Pete’s fiancée, and bringing other women into the picture probably wasn’t the Plan C Pete would have picked. “Another round of church ladies might have been more helpful, Pop.”

But Pop grinned. “Not for what you need, son.”

He winked at Pete, leaving Pete to ponder what it was his father thought he needed. He decided to ask.

“Why, you need help with these babies!” Josiah grinned. “Every one of these women has a résumé just right for nannying.”

“Nannying?” Pete frowned. “Now, wait, Pop, there’ll be no nannies for my children.”

“Actually, you might find a nanny helpful,” Mrs. Corkindale said. “I’m sure you’ll have to go back to work eventually. Your father can’t handle these four babies by himself, should the fost-adopt become permanent.”

Pete hesitated. First, the fost-adopt would work out. He wasn’t about to consider that it wouldn’t. He squinted at his father, suddenly calculating the less-than-coincidental chance that Mrs. Corkindale and the matchmaking-party women had shown up on the same day. Pop was shrewd; he wasn’t about to give Mrs. Corkindale anything to complain about. If anything, Pop would want the social worker to see that the Morgans had everything well in hand. Pete wanted to say that Priscilla would take care of the children, as would Pete when he wasn’t working—but then, he couldn’t exactly claim a traditional family.

He couldn’t say Priscilla would stay home with the children, because she wasn’t his wife, wasn’t the children’s mother, and they’d never discussed anything beyond the fake engagement. So that was out. And he
did
have to work eventually. The hiatus was simply a vacation of sorts. He knew he would be working within a year, although the job he wanted
was right here in this room. Still, a man couldn’t be Mr. Mom and Dad forever.

Pop couldn’t handle the children by himself. In fact, he looked more gaunt than usual, although strangely cheered by Mrs. Corkindale’s presence. Pete found that mildly astonishing. She didn’t seem the sort to put up with Josiah’s bullheadedness; however, he could imagine Pop making an effort to be pleasant to her for the sake of the babies.

More on that later, Pete decided. He couldn’t worry about his father’s love life with the amount of energy Pop devoted to Pete’s. His father had a point—it would look better to the caseworker if he demonstrated his foolproof plan for caring for the babies. Priscilla had come back into the den, looking at him from outside the circle of women. The truth was, he was kidding himself if he included her in his life plan. He didn’t know if she’d ever fall in love with him.

Maybe he was simply being too suspicious of Pop’s meddling in his love life. “I guess you’re right, Pop,” Pete finally said. “Nannies are a great idea.”

Yet it seemed the second he said the words Priscilla seemed startled, as if that was the very last thing she expected him to say.

P
RISCILLA HAD PUT
a lot of effort into pushing her guilt aside and trying to enjoy her time with the babies. It was easier than she thought it would be.
The children were darling heart stealers, so cute that even their tears were adorable. And she loved watching Pete with them. This was a man who was born to be a father, even if he’d never known it. The Morgans were all so busy trying not to turn into Josiah that they never realized they had awesome father potential. Even Gabe and Dane seemed thrilled with the new family members.

And Josiah was on cloud nine. So she was surprised—and a bit hurt—when all the women from Josiah’s matchmaking party showed up. Privately she had considered this to be her and Pete’s “honeymoon” with the babies, the time they needed to see if they could work out who they were and what they were to each other, and the children.

But the women…well, they couldn’t have been more obvious about their designs on Pete. They weren’t mean to Priscilla, but neither were they terribly warm, as they were to Josiah and Pete.

Yet Mrs. Corkindale seemed reassured by the backup plan Pete and Josiah apparently had for additional help, so Priscilla wasn’t about to voice her doubts. If anything, she saw this as a new challenge. Would she be able to handle watching other women set their agenda for Pete? He certainly hadn’t mentioned that she was his fiancée, nor had Josiah. And if Mrs. Corkindale wondered about that, she didn’t say so.

The worst part was feeling like a visitor when she’d just begun to get used to feeling like part of the family.

No, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst was feeling like Pete no longer needed her, now that he had his children safe under his roof. She’d begun to believe that she was Pete’s choice, and now it was clear she was not.

“Are you a family friend, Priscilla?” Chara, a beauty with an old-movie-star type of glamour, asked, “Or are you part of the family?”

Priscilla hesitated, unsure of how to answer. Mrs. Corkindale stood close by, a smile on her face. The babies were all being stroked or attended to by one of the other women. Pete didn’t say anything—just stood there with a big goofy smile on his face, and Josiah grinned like a fox in a henhouse. She couldn’t ruin the ruse, so she finally met Chara’s gaze—while the other women looked on with interest—and said, “I’m Pete’s fiancée.”

Immediate disappointment jumped onto all six women’s faces. They glanced at Pete in surprise. He crossed his arms and said, “I’m afraid that’s right. I’m taken, ladies.”

Priscilla’s jaw dropped. The ass! The jerk! He
sounded as if he was some kind of prize she’d won. She wanted to dump a pitcher of lemonade on his handsome head.

Instead, she said sweetly, “But there’s always Josiah.”

Josiah choked on his lemonade, glancing at Mrs. Corkindale hastily. “Not me. I’m wed to these babies for now. But I do have one more son.”

The ladies perked up at that last bit of information, although Priscilla noticed they still cast longing eyes at Pete.

“Where’s your ring?” Chara asked. “I’d love to see it, Priscilla.”

“Ring?” Priscilla asked.

Pete quickly said, “We haven’t picked it out yet.

We’ve been a little busy.” He gestured to the babies.

“We’ll get around to it, though, won’t we, honey?”

He put his arm around Priscilla’s shoulders.

“I don’t know,” Priscilla said through gritted teeth.

“We’re so busy with the babies,
dear.
”

“Oh,” Chara said, “well, congratulations. There’s nothing like a small-town wedding, is there?”

“I’m sure there’s not,” Priscilla said.

“And aren’t you fortunate to start off your marriage with four bundles of joy,” Chara continued.

“Blessed, totally blessed,” Priscilla said, stiffening. She was going to kill Pete for getting her into
this. He could certainly put a stop to the cross-examination she was getting!

“I’ll be available during the honeymoon,” Chara said.

Priscilla stared at her. “For what?” she asked.

“To help watch the children, of course. I’d do anything to help Josiah. When he called and asked if I’d like to apply for the position of nanny, I jumped at the chance.”

I bet you did,
Priscilla thought. “How kind of you. I’m sure Pete appreciates your willingness. Anybody else for lemonade?” Pete reached for her as she moved away, but she skirted his touch. If he thought she was going to be sweet to him now, with all this drama he and his father had visited upon her, he could just plan on her being a lot more like lemons than lemonade, so to speak, from now on.

And he’d made that matchmaking party sound so boring! Clearly Pete was possessed of a silver tongue of which she’d been previously unaware. From now on, she’d know better when he tried to convince her that she was the only one who could help him attain his crucial desire.

“P
OP, YOU PROMISED
. No more interfering.” Pete knew something valuable had been lost this afternoon with Priscilla. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, wasn’t entirely familiar with the female mind, but he’d sensed a greater reserve on Priscilla’s part than
ever before, just when he thought he’d been getting her to thaw.

Josiah looked at him. “Mrs. Corkindale seemed pleased that we had extra help. I think it’s a good move, though I should have consulted you first. It’s just that you’ve been so run off your feet with your new brood.”

Possibly Pop was as innocent as he claimed, but Pete doubted it. “I don’t think Priscilla was entirely comfortable with the horde of females around the place.”

Josiah raised a brow. “Did she say so?”

“No. She’s Miss Manners. Priscilla’s never going to complain.”

His father looked at him. “Son, it’s time Priscilla gets to stating what she wants.”

“And you thought you’d help her do that? Exactly what do you want her to say?”

“That she wants to be with you and these children. That she’d love to stand at the altar and become your wife. That’s all I’m saying.”

“It’s none of your business, Pop,” Pete said sternly. “Personally, I’m willing to march on Priscilla’s time.”

Josiah shrugged. “It’s not like time is stored in a bottle around here, son. The sands of the hour glass and all that.”

Pete looked at his father sharply. “Are you feeling under the weather? Not that I’m excusing what you did, but do you feel all right?”

“Will you be less annoyed if I said I was on my deathbed?”

“No,” Pete said, “I just wouldn’t believe you.”

“Okay,” Josiah said. “I hear a baby calling you. Maybe two or three.” He grinned, glad to shift Pete’s attention away from himself.

Pete pointed a finger at his father—the gesture was playful, yet meaningful. “Pop, I insist. Not one more instance of inviting single females to this house without my permission.”

“Does that include Sara?” Pop asked, his gaze cagey.

“Sara?”

“Corkindale,” Josiah told him, and Pete felt stupid.

“I never knew her name. She was always the social worker, Mrs. Corkindale, who held the key to my future.”

“Yeah, well,” Josiah said. “I’ve got to work all angles, you know.”

“Oh. Is that what the older generation calls dating these days?”

Josiah tossed a magazine at him, but Pete had already escaped, feeling like he’d handily won this round with his father.

Now to win Priscilla.

T
HE FOUR BABIES
had other designs on Pete’s time. He never got a chance to speak to Priscilla about the women from the matchmaking party and why they’d shown up. He knew she needed some reassurance,
at least an apology, but the babies were fierce in their desire to be coddled and nurtured while being assimilated into their new environment, so he had to put romancing Priscilla the way she deserved on hold until he got the care of the newborns under control. The babies didn’t need a lot—just love, attention, food, diaper changing—but they demanded it around the clock.

Josiah wanted to be helpful, but he wasn’t up to the pace. It was just Pete and Priscilla tonight performing a seemingly never-ending dance of diapers and comforting and feeding.

At last, however, Priscilla threw in the towel on the whole situation. It happened when she uncovered one of the platters that had been left in the kitchen. Many of their visitors brought food, but this particular visitor—from the matchmaking-party bunch—had also left him a note. The note basically invited him to call her if his fiancée should get cold feet.

And cold feet is exactly what Priscilla came down with. Which totally stank, because he had a fever, and Miss Manners wasn’t in the mood to play nurse.

“It seems obvious you’ve worked out your backup plan,” Priscilla said, “and I think it would be best for both of us if I left you to it.”

“Ugh, don’t do that,” Pete said. “Chara sure isn’t the one in the bunch I’d go for even if I wanted to.”

Priscilla picked up her suitcase. “I’ve called a taxi.”

He wanted to offer to drive her to Fort Wylie if she
was so bent on going, but there was no way he could leave the four babies with just his father. “You have no idea how much I want you to stay.”

“It’s hard, Pete,” she told him. “I took a leap of faith here. I wanted to be a good surrogate mother. I wanted to be a good surrogate fiancée. It just doesn’t feel right to me.”

Thanks, Pop.
If Pop had thought to force Priscilla into a more marriage-ready position with his antics, he’d not understood his prey this time. Miss Manners would never fight about anything. It just wasn’t in her blood. “Priscilla, I don’t have the skill I need to convince you that your place is here with me—”

“Oh, I think you’re quite smooth with words.” Priscilla shook her head. “I’m not angry, Pete. I just don’t feel my place is here.”

“Let me change your mind.” He took her in his arms, kissed her forehead. “I don’t think you liked Dad’s friends.”

“Because they want to be
your
friends.” She sighed. “And I don’t want to make this about petty jealousy, either. I’m certain that under different circumstances, those women and I might get along fine. It just felt incredibly awkward.”

“You need an engagement ring,” he said.

“No, that won’t exactly solve it.”

“What would, then?”

She moved from his arms. “If I were a different woman.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. “But you are who you are and I like you.”

She shook her head. “It’s hard to explain.”

Suddenly he knew what she was thinking. “You believe that you were doing your best to overcome your guilt as a mother, and then Pop sprung a bunch of women on you, and now it would just be easier to move away from trying to get over what happened when you were younger.”

“I don’t know if I’m that good at analyzing myself.”

He kissed her on the lips, gently. “I do analysis.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. It was part of my job. Always good to know your target.”

“Great. Now I’m wearing a bull’s-eye,” Priscilla said.

“I’ve got one right over my heart.” He placed her hand against his chest.

“Don’t romance me, Pete,” she said softly, in the rare moment of calm when babies weren’t needing them. “I know you’ll be fine without me, and I really do have some things to work out.”

“I’m asking you to take a big step,” Pete said, “so I’ve tried not to rush you.”

“And yet I feel like I can’t quite catch up to you.”

He sighed. “I wasn’t going to show you this yet. I was going to wait until…God, I don’t know when I was going to show you. But I think maybe this will help. I hope it will.”

Gazing into her eyes, wondering if he was making the right decision, Pete slid the photograph of her son and his sisters from his wallet, handed it to Priscilla.

She studied it for a moment, then glanced up at him. “Who are they?”

“That’s your son,” Pete said, “and those are his little sisters.”

Her eyes grew wide, her gaze jerked back to the photograph. “My
son?
” Priscilla murmured, her whole body stiffening, and then without warning, before he even had a chance to perceive her reaction, Priscilla grabbed her bag and hurried out the front door.

He stared after her, stunned. Outside a car door slammed, and he heard the taxi pull quickly away.

So much for knowing his target. The photograph lay on the floor where Priscilla had dropped it as if it was white-hot—but the only thing on fire right now was his heart.