The Secret Agent's Surprises (Harlequin American Romance) (6 page)

But if she knew that child was all right, living well and happy, maybe she could move past the guilt and pain to which she’d tied herself. He didn’t know for sure, but he’d want to know that any child he’d had was happy and loved. Kids deserved happy childhoods. He wanted to adopt the babies, but the picture he had in his mind was that Priscilla would be part of his life, as well.

Darn Pop for putting that idea in his mind. It was a pretty clear picture, too, one he saw more clearly every day.

The only way to help Priscilla move forward was to ease the past. It wouldn’t be all that hard to find out what happened to one little child.

She believed she wasn’t cut out to adopt those
children, but he knew she was. She was so soft, so gentle-natured, there was no possible way she wouldn’t make a wonderful mother. She insisted her tea shop was all she needed. Yet his father’s words gave him pause. Josiah believed Priscilla was the kind of woman who kept her emotions hidden, kept her pain close to her heart. Pete was pretty familiar with emotional scars—he could feel his own starting to fade.

He hadn’t brought up the subject of adoption again, but the whole idea of her joining him in the crazy scheme was stuck in his mind. He wanted her to feel good about the quadruplets. They needed love and nurturing, something he knew he could provide, things he knew Priscilla could, too.

But maybe he was wrong about her. Maybe she didn’t have the capacity for loving children not of her own body.

T
HE NEXT AFTERNOON
, at his daily self-appointed time, Pete stared through the glass at the babies in the nursery, wondering if he’d ever be able to touch them, hold them, name them something other than Wright 1, 2, 3 and 4. He was pretty sure they needed names; their parents had probably thought of names for them. It didn’t seem fair that the babies wouldn’t have the names their parents had chosen. Pete closed his eyes for a moment, telling himself that for a spy, he’d certainly turned into a sentimental slob. These babies didn’t care what their names were. They cared about
food and being comforted when they cried. They were intent on getting through each day, something Pete could relate to. He supposed during his darkest times, when he’d been completely focused on nothing other than survival, not getting caught, refusal to get beaten down by the enemy, he had not cared about his name, either. It hadn’t done him any good.

Or maybe it had. Being a Morgan had put steel in his spine and a cage of fearlessness around his brain. He’d been robotlike in his desire to survive. Water, food, shelter—those had been his goals. In the back of his mind, it was Pop who had driven him.

Like Pop was driven now to survive. Pete understood the old man better than he wanted to.

He wished he understood Priscilla, as well. For all that he thought they might be good for each other, she had more defenses than he.

It was somewhat annoying to meet a woman who was his spiritual twin. And yet, he admired her dedication to her own emotional survival.

“Excuse me,” he said to the nurse on duty when she left the nursery, “when can I hold them?”

“Mr. Morgan,” she said with a smile, “you ask us every day. And every day you know we must tell you the same thing. You probably won’t get to hold them, unless your adoption request is approved.”

Her brown eyes said that was probably unlikely. “Hey,” he said, “kiss them good-night for me, okay?”

“Mr. Morgan,” she said, even more gently, “we
don’t kiss the babies because we don’t want to spread germs to them while they’re in a fragile stage of their development. We stroke them and we talk to them, but we don’t kiss them, no matter how much we want to.”

“You should,” he said gruffly. “
I
would.”

She nodded. “I know.”

She patted him on the back. He barely noticed, and he didn’t notice when she left. His attention caught by four little people bent on their own survival, he prayed with all his heart that the babies felt their parents’ spirits urging them on.

The following week Pete received a visit he never dreamed he’d get. Jack appeared at his side at the nursery window while Pete contemplated the day when—and if—he could ever hold the children in his arms.

“Hi,” he heard his brother say.

Pete jumped, shaken from his reverie by the last person he’d expected to see. “What are you doing here?”

Jack shrugged. “Same thing you are, I guess.”

Pete stared at his brother. “No. You are not here to look at babies. And you’re not here to see me because you wouldn’t have known I was here. So what’s up?” He was riveted by his brother’s genie-like arrival.

“I knew you’d be here,” Jack said. “It’s common knowledge in town that you’re here every day.”

“I doubt my comings and goings are of interest to anyone.” Pete squinted at his brother. “And you and I have very few people in common who would know my schedule. So what gives?”

“Priscilla said it would be easier to find you here than anywhere.”

An arrow of jealousy shot through Pete. “When did you see Priscilla?”

Jack shrugged again. “Had a hankering for cookies and tea, so I stopped by to see her.”

Cookies and tea were not the typical fare of the average, down-on-his-luck rodeo cowboy. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to beat it out of you?”

The words were the comforting brother-to-brother warfare from their younger years, and Jack grinned. “You and what army?”

“Actually, I’m retired from active duty, so I won’t be bringing an army,” Pete said gruffly. “How about you just cut to the chase?”

“All right.” Jack sighed. “Do we talk here or somewhere else?” he asked with a glance at the babies.

“This is my visiting hour,” Pete said. “I can’t leave for another five minutes. I’m here every day, and the babies might be upset if I leave. It would change their routine, and it would change mine.”

Jack didn’t bother to remind him that the babies had no idea who he was. Their world consisted of the kind, gentle hands of the hospital staff who nurtured them. Obviously Pete liked to think they felt his presence.

“Fine. I heard your girlfriend’s parents are in a spot of financial trouble. Don’t ask me how. I’m just a purveyor of possibly useful information.”

“Wait,” Pete said, before his brother could lope off, because that was what Jack usually did—appear and disappear within seconds—“do you mean Priscilla?”

“Is she not your girlfriend?” Jack asked quizzically. “Maybe I’m putting my nose in where it doesn’t belong, and I really make it a habit not to do that.”

If Jack had come to tell him something about Priscilla, then it was something he knew for certain. “Priscilla is a friend. She probably wouldn’t want to be called my girlfriend,” Pete said, and Jack nodded.

“Too bad about that. She’s cute. I thought Pop had probably fixed you up with her.”

“Well, he tried.” Pete frowned. “But we’re not in the same place in life. Anyway, what about her parents?”

“The reason Priscilla’s bank loan was reduced dramatically is because her parents co-signed for her business.”

“This is getting into the field of none-of-my-business,” Pete said, “but how do you know this?”

“One of the women who works with some members of the rodeo-finance committee mentioned that the Perkinses were having financial difficulties. The name caught my attention, because I had met Priscilla. I asked a few more questions and got the answers. Nothing that won’t come out in the local newspapers, but I just thought you should know before it becomes general knowledge.” Jack paused, then, “Everyone’s heard you’re trying to adopt these children. I think you’re nuts, and obviously Pop’s
gotten to you, but whatever. As I say, I’m just an anonymous conductor of trivial information.”

He started to turn away, preparing to leave. Pete’s hand shot out, nabbing his brother. “Wait,” he said, “I’ll spring for a beer and a steak if you hang around and let me get this sorted out in my mind.”

“You’re that slow?” Jack asked. “I always thought you were supposed to be the smart brother. Don’t think you need me for basic finance, bro.”

“And yet,” Pete said, his hand still tight on his brother’s arm, “you look thin. You could use a steak.”

“What about your visit with the babies?” Jack asked.

Pete looked with longing at the children. “Say goodbye to Uncle Jack, kids,” Pete said. “You probably won’t be seeing him for a while. I’ll be back for a double visit tomorrow, and I’ll bring your grandfather.”

“You’re a mess,” Jack said, freeing his arm from his brother’s grip. “It’s like watching Paul Bunyan felled by one of his own trees, only those tiny seeds haven’t even turned into saplings yet. In other words, they’re more like termites, which is a foundational issue for you, I hope you know.”

“Ha,” Pete said, “keep walking and talking about Priscilla to earn your feedbag, bro. I’m all ears.”

C
RICKET HAD ASKED
Priscilla if she was growing her business and putting down ever deeper roots in Fort Wylie in order to avoid her attraction to Pete Morgan. Priscilla had never answered her friend’s question.

Pete would control her. His personality was larger than hers. Even if he didn’t try to, he would, not the least because she knew her feelings for him would dictate her actions.

As a single twenty-eight-year-old woman, she found herself in a particular place in life. Many of her friends had married, begun raising families. Her parents hoped she would find a wonderful man and settle down—what parents didn’t want that for their daughter?

Yet something kept telling her to treasure her independence. Who knew what storms awaited on the horizon?

Pete was a storm in her life now, buffeting her windows and threatening to blow down the door to her heart. She held fast to her common sense, knowing that of all men, a Morgan was not the man for a practical woman like her.

So she’d accepted a date tonight with a man her parents had called to say they wanted her to meet. Charlie Drumwell knew a lot about finance, her parents told her. He worked for an investment firm in Dallas.

Priscilla decided her parents weren’t any subtler than Josiah Morgan in the matchmaking department. Feeling a sense of foreboding, she put on a pretty red dress, high heels, coaxed her hair into a sleek ponytail and answered the door with a smile on her face when Charlie rang the bell.

Instantly, Priscilla knew from Charlie’s smiling, confident face what her parents saw in him. He was
good-looking in a way that made women look twice. Clean-shaven, well-groomed to a fault, he looked like a Wall Street financier.

Nerves hit Priscilla, but she covered her anxiety with a smile. “Hello. You must be Charlie.”

Of course he gave her a beautiful bouquet of flowers, his grin sure. “Yes, I’m Charlie.”

“Thank you. They’re lovely,” she said, not wanting the flowers in her house. They’d remind her of tonight, which she already regretted. “Won’t you come in?”

He stepped through the doorway, glancing around. “Quaint.”

She detected slight condescension. “I like it.”

“Your parents tell me you own a tea shop.”

“It’s in a different part of the house,” Priscilla said.

To which Charlie replied, “Excellent for tax deductions.”

“Yes.” She put the flowers in water, then got her purse. “Did you say you had reservations for seven?”

He nodded. “You’re going to love this place. It’s one of my favorite restaurants.”

They drove into Dallas, his silver Mercedes convertible making the drive in good time, though the minutes seemed to crawl by for Priscilla. She was used to trucks or Cricket’s Volkswagen; Charlie’s car seemed unnecessarily intimate. “I hope my parents didn’t press you into taking me out.”

He grinned. “I wanted to.”

“You did?”

“Sure. I saw your picture in their living room.”

They had one of her graduating from high school on their piano. “It’s a very old picture.”

“You look the same, don’t worry.”

She blushed, realizing he’d thought she was fishing for compliments. “Where are you from, Charlie?”

“Dallas. But I have an office in New York. I like it there. I like the faster pace. Still, it’s great to get back to Dallas every once in a while.”

He wasn’t in the state much, therefore no chance for a redo of this tense date. “How did you meet my folks?”

“They came to our firm for some investment advice.” He glanced at her. “Didn’t they tell you?”

She shook her head.

“Oh. Then I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Please excuse my slip. Very unprofessional.”

She wondered why her folks hadn’t said anything. Usually they discussed everything with her. “I haven’t been by to see them much lately, unfortunately.”

“Well, it will all work out.” He turned on some soothing classical music, and Priscilla frowned.

“What will all work out?”

Charlie cleared his throat. “I meant that you’ll see them soon, I’m sure.”

An undercurrent of tension colored his otherwise offhand comment. Priscilla felt certain this was no casual night out. Her parents had been with the same bank in Fort Wylie for years—why would they be
moving their money now? Not knowing what to say, Priscilla looked out the window and wondered what Pete was doing tonight.

I
N A SMALL CAFÉ
in Union Junction, Pete studied his brother Jack carefully as they wolfed down burgers and tea at a local hamburger joint. He’d forgotten Jack didn’t drink alcohol. He couldn’t recall why, either, but maybe he just wanted to be as different from Pop as possible. Pete decided Jack looked lean but not hungry; for a thirty-two-year-old, he lived a fairly clean life he called his own. “You’ve been hanging around these parts a lot lately,” Pete observed. “It’s been good to see you.”

Jack shrugged. “I like the Lonely Hearts Station rodeo.”

“Got a lady friend?”

Jack eyed him over a french fry. “Must you ask?”

“You asked me about Priscilla,” Pete reminded him without rancor. Jack had always been private, though they’d been close as kids.

“True,” Jack said, “but that doesn’t mean I want to talk about women. I merely wanted to warn you that your friend is in financial straits.”

Pete frowned. “She hasn’t mentioned it.”

“Who would? I wouldn’t.”

“So why would you care enough about her to mention it to me?”

“I like her. I like Cricket.” Jack grinned. “Pop’s
batting a thousand, the jackass. Lucky for me, I’m not part of his game. And his letter signed me off from any responsibility.”

“Yeah. That’s great. Leave it to the rest of us to patch things up with the old man.” Pete was starving. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a full meal, and then realized why—he hadn’t been cooking. “Jeez, I don’t think Pop’s eaten anything decent in days.”

“What the hell?” Jack asked. “Do you have to feed him like a baby?”

“I look out for him since we’re under the same roof.” Pete wondered how much he could say about Pop without Jack heading out like a streak of spring lightning. “He can’t really get to a restaurant himself. Tires him out.”

Jack sighed. “Can we have a Pop-free discussion? I’m only here to talk about Priscilla and what you’re going to do about her. Although I don’t mind if you babble about those babies, even if you’re crazy to want all of them.” Jack chewed on his burger with the contentment of a single bachelor. “Can’t you start small? Like with just one?”

“No,” Pete stated flatly. “And I don’t plan to do anything about Priscilla, unless there’s something you recommend?”

Jack shook his head. “I do no recommending. Unlike the root of our family tree, I mind my own business.”

“Good policy.” Pete was bothered, more than he wanted to admit, about Priscilla. “So when you say that nothing this rodeo-finance friend of yours told you isn’t common knowledge, to what exactly are you referring? Priscilla has never mentioned that her parents are having issues. I knew about her tea shop having some financial difficulties—Pop tried to bribe her to marry me—but she seems to be too independent to fall for Pop’s game.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack said, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but since it’ll be in the newspaper next week, the Perkinses have a small bankruptcy problem.”

Pete’s brows shot up. “Bankruptcy is not small.”

“No.” Jack leaned back in the booth. “In fact, it’s large. Apparently their money was invested with someone who helped them lose a vast portion of it.”

“Holy smokes.” Pete blinked. “There’s no way any bank will accept a co-sign from a bankrupt party.”

“No.” His brother sighed. “I figure Priscilla stands to lose her home and her tea shop.”

“I don’t understand how this could happen.” Pete thought about his father’s worldwide holdings and wondered why one country-living man could be so financially wise, while others who had the best financial help available found themselves in deep swamp water. “Just like that, everything is gone?”

Jack nodded. “Don’t know what they were invested in. A lot of stocks is what I heard, though I don’t know that for sure. It’s not as if they were
spending money like water or anything. They just had bad financial advice and had trusted their broker. These are tricky times we live in.”

“I’m amazed at your ability to know things about people. I have basically three tracks on my mind, and anything that’s not currently revolving on one of those three tracks gets sifted out quickly.”

“Kids’ll do that to you,” Jack said with a grin. “It’s called baby blues or something.”

Pete shook his head. “No, it’s not. That’s what the woman gets.”

“No,” Jack said, “I’m pretty sure you’ve got them.” He tossed his napkin to the table. “I’ll buy this round.”

Pete shook his head, trying to snatch the dinner check Jack had taken from the curvy waitress. “I owe you something for the information.”

“Thought you said Priscilla doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Pete threw his brother a wry look. “I’m always interested in people I know.”

“Still, I’ll pay.” Jack grinned. “You may wind up paying for a wife and four kids. You’re going to be eating meat loaf for the rest of your life unless you have a major nest egg tucked away.”