Rumors: The McCaffertys: The McCaffertys: ThorneThe McCaffertys: Matt

by Lisa Jackson

  “All right. You’re out.”

  “And so is Slade tomorrow, so, unless you can con Juanita into changing diapers and burping the baby, looks like you’re the chosen one, the nanny.” Chuckling, he grabbed his hat. “And the nursery’s just about ready. I got the crib and changing table and bureau together, but we still need some staples—formula, diapers, baby powder and sleepers.”

  “Already ordered,” Thorne said.

  “Good.”

  Laughing to himself, Matt threw on his jacket, then walked outside. Thorne headed back to the den. Time for Plan B.

  * * *

  The phone rang and Nicole, already reaching for her keys, grabbed the receiver instead. “Hello?”

  “Hi.” Recognizing Thorne’s voice she leaned against the window and smiled to herself. Why her lips curved upward, she didn’t understand, but she didn’t fight it as she stared into the night-darkened backyard. The girls clamored around her and to quiet them she pressed the index finger of her free hand to her lips.

  “I need your help.”

  “You need my help?” She smothered a smile. There was something amusing about the CEO of McCafferty International asking for any kind of advice or aid.

  “Absolutely. J.R.’s being released from the hospital tomorrow and that’ll be quite a change around here.”

  She eyed her two dynamos. “You have no idea.”

  “I thought maybe you could give me some pointers.”

  “Oh, sure.” She laughed as she watched Molly chase after Mindy with a rubber snake. Mindy shrieked in mock horror. “Don’t you know that I do this motherhood thing day by day?”

  “Can we discuss it over dinner?”

  “I have the girls.”

  “Bring ’em.”

  She laughed out loud. “I don’t think you understand what you’re asking.”

  “Probably not, but maybe it’s time I learned. I could pick you up and—”

  “No, we’d better meet. I finally got the SUV back and it’s ready to go and equipped with safety seats. Besides that I have been known to cut out early if the twins—” she was eyeing the girls as they streaked by with her I’m-the-mom-and-you’d-better-listen-to-me scowl “—make the mistake of acting up, which I’m sure won’t happen tonight. They wouldn’t dare.”

  Mindy bit her lower lip, but Molly ignored the warning and wriggled the fake-looking snake in her sister’s face. “I already told the girls I’d take them to the Burger Corral. It’s on the corner of Third and Pine.”

  “I know where it is,” he said dryly. “I grew up here. But I was thinking of something a little quieter.”

  “Believe me, when you’ve got four-year-olds, you don’t want quiet.”

  Molly was tugging at the edge of her jacket. “Come on, Mommy.”

  “Look, if you want to meet us, do,” she invited. “We’re on our way right now.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  Nicole hung up and told herself she wasn’t thinking clearly. Hadn’t she already told herself not to get involved with Thorne, that just because they’d shared a few kisses and quiet conversations and made love wasn’t any reason to put on her old pair of rose-colored glasses again—the ones with the cracked lenses from trusting Thorne McCafferty before? But there was something about the man she found so damned irresistible it was dangerous. More than dangerous—emotional suicide. “Come on, kids, put your jackets on.”

  The phone rang again almost instantly and Nicole picked up thinking that Thorne had changed his mind. “Want to back out?” she teased.

  “I think it’s a little too late for that now, isn’t it?” Paul’s voice was a damper on her good mood and she steeled herself for what was certain to be a tense conversation.

  “I was expecting someone else to call.”

  “Then I’ll make it short.” His voice had all the warmth of a blue norther and Nicole wondered how she’d ever once thought she’d loved the man.

  “Okay.”

  “It’s about visitation rights.”

  “What about them?” she asked, her fingers clenching the receiver in a death grip, the knot in her stomach tightening as it always did when she and Paul began to argue—which was nearly every time they spoke.

  “I know that I’m supposed to have the girls every other Christmas and each summer.”

  “That’s right.” Her heart began to pound. She couldn’t believe it but thought he might actually be angling for custody. Oh, Lord, what would she do if she lost the twins?

  “But Carrie and I are going to visit her folks in Boston over the holidays and this summer we’ve planned a trip to Europe. Her company is sending her to a convention in Madrid and we thought we’d take the opportunity to see France, Portugal and England while we’re there. So, there would be four weeks right in the middle of summer where we couldn’t take the twins.”

  As if parental responsibility were an option.

  She glanced at her daughters, now struggling into their jackets and her heart broke when she thought about them growing up without a father.

  “You know we’d love to have them if it were possible, but Carrie’s got to think of her career.”

  “Of course she does.”

  “Just like you do, Nicole. Like you always have.” There it was: the inevitable dig. What was deemed noble for Carrie was somehow disgraceful for Nicole because she was a mother. She let the little barb slide. No reason to reduce the conversation to hot words at this point. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, though her throat was thick. “It would probably be best if they stayed with me.”

  “Actually, I think so. It would be hard on Molly and Mindy to uproot them and drag them here to the apartment. They’re not used to a big city or being confined to a few rooms. With both our jobs it would make it really difficult and—”

  “Look, I understand, but I’ve got to run. Do you, uh, want to speak to the girls?” She couldn’t stand to hear one more minute of his rationalizations for giving up his children. They were his daughters, for God’s sake! So precious. So wonderful. And they deserved better.

  “Oh.” A pause. “Sure.”

  Without much enthusiasm, she put each of the twins on the phone, let them speak to the stranger who had sired them and within three minutes was back on the phone. “I’m already late and I’ve really got to run now, but we’ll work the visitations out.”

  “I knew I could count on you.” The words echoed through her mind and she toyed with the question of what he would do if he couldn’t rely on her.

  “I’m glad you understand.” Relief was heavy in his voice.

  “Goodbye, Paul.” She hung up incensed and helped Mindy zip up her jacket. “Come on, kids, let’s roll.”

  “You mad, Mommy?” Mindy asked as Nicole slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. Catching sight of her reflection in the window, she understood her daughter’s concern. Her eyebrows were slammed together, her mouth pursed tight at the corners.

  “Not anymore. Come on, let’s get into the car.” She opened the door and the twins swarmed through, their chubby legs flashing, their shoes pounding on the back porch, their laughter and giggles ringing through the night air.

  “I get shotgun!” Molly cried.

  “No, me—” Mindy started to pout.

  “You’re both in the back seat, in your car seats and you know it,” Nicole said. “Remember?”

  “But Billy Johnson gets to ride in the front seat,” Molly said. Billy was a wild-haired boy in their preschool.

  “So does Beth Anne.”

  Another friend.

  “Well, you don’t.” Nicole helped strap them into their respective seats, then climbed behind the wheel. She paused long enough to reapply her lipstick, then twisted on the ignition and grinned as the SUV roared to life. As she put the rig into reverse she felt a twinge of apprehension about meeting Thorne again. Whether she liked it or not she was in some kind of relationship with him and that thought worried her.

 
“It’s not a date,” she told herself.

  “What?” Molly demanded.

  “Nothing, sweetie, now you girls figure out what you want to get for dinner,” she said and silently added, and I’ll try to figure out what to do with Thorne McCafferty.

  * * *

  Within fifteen minutes she’d driven to the small restaurant, parked in the crowded lot, then shepherded her girls to a corner booth near the soda fountain. With the efficiency of the mother of twins, Nicole helped the girls out of their jackets and let them wander to the video games where a group of boys who looked about eight or nine were trying to best each other and the sounds of bells, whistles and simulated gun reports punctuated the buzz of conversation, clatter of flatware and rattle of ice cubes from the self-serve soda machine.

  Somewhere, above it all, there was the hint of music, some old Elvis Presley hit, she thought, but couldn’t remember. She recognized some of the customers—the couple who owned a small market around the corner, a boy she’d stitched up when he’d cracked his head inline skating, a young mother who worked at the preschool where her twins were enrolled.

  She ordered a diet cola for herself and milk shakes for the girls, then waited nervously until she spied Thorne push open one of the double glass doors. Tall, broad-shouldered, a determined expression on his bladed features, he glanced around the interior until his gaze landed full force on her. Her breath caught as if she were a silly schoolgirl and she mentally chided herself. Get over it. He’s just a man. What was it about him that caused her idiotic heart to turn over at the sight of him? She waved and he strode through the maze of tables and booths.

  “Where are—?” he started to ask before he spied the twins standing on chairs and peering over the shoulders of the boys working the video games. “Oh.”

  “They’ll be back. I’m just lucky they don’t understand they need money to work the machines.”

  “Then they’ll break you.”

  “Exactly.”

  Hanging his leather jacket on a peg already holding one of the twins’ coats, he glanced around the open restaurant, then slid onto the bench opposite her. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I called,” he admitted, “but it’ll do.”

  “Oh, will it?” she mocked.

  “I haven’t been here since high school.”

  “Fond memories?” She managed to keep her tone light though there had been times when she’d sat in this very booth hoping that Thorne McCafferty would call or return to Grand Hope. It hadn’t happened.

  “Some fonder than others.” His gaze touched hers for a second. Picking up a plastic-coated menu, he elaborated, “I had the first date of my life here with Mary Lou Bennett when I was a freshman in high school. I was scared to death and then another time—” his eyes narrowed a fraction “—I got into a fight with a kid a couple of years older than me. What was his name? A real tough…Mike something or other…Wilkins…that was it. Mike Wilkins. He beat the tar out of me in the parking lot.”

  “He beat you up?”

  “Yep. But I hate to admit it.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, yes, Dr. Stevenson, I wasn’t always the tough guy you see before you.”

  “What happened?” she asked, fascinated. She’d never heard this story before.

  “The police came and hauled us both in. Took our statements and those from the kids that had collected around the fight. My dad had to come down and claim me and I was nearly kicked out of school and thrown off the football team, but, as usual, John Randall managed to pull some strings. The worst punishment I ended up with was a black eye, a couple of loose teeth and some pretty bad damage to my ego.”

  “Which you probably deserved.”

  “Probably.” One side of his mouth lifted in a self-deprecating grin. “I was a little cocky.”

  “Was?”

  He snorted a laugh.

  “What was the fight about?” she asked, surprised at his candor.

  “What else? A girl. I was hitting on his girlfriend and for the life of me I can’t remember her name, but she had red hair, a cute little smile and a few other attributes as well.”

  “And that’s what attracted you—her ‘attributes’?”

  “And the fact that she was Mike Wilkins’s girlfriend.” His gray eyes twinkled. “I’ve always liked a challenge and a little competition never hurt, either.”

  At that moment Molly came running up. “I want a quarter.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause that kid—” she pointed an accusatory finger at a boy of eight or nine with spiky blond hair and freckles “—he says I need one to play the games.”

  Nicole shot Thorne a knowing look. “Well, we don’t have any time right now. Go and get your sister and let’s order.”

  “No!” Molly’s lower lip stuck out petulantly. “I want a quarter.”

  “Listen, not tonight, okay? Now, come on—” Nicole glanced up at Thorne and sighed. “Excuse me for a second, would you?” She climbed out of the booth, made her way to the video machines and peeled Mindy from the chair on which she’d been standing. Mindy put up her kind of low-keyed fuss while Molly, ever more vocal, was bordering on being obnoxious.

  “I want a quarter!” she demanded, stomping her little foot imperiously.

  “And I told you that we couldn’t come here unless you behaved.” Nicole managed to get both girls onto booster chairs, one on her side of the booth, the other next to Thorne.

  “I want French fries,” Molly stated.

  “Oh, do you? Now there’s a surprise.”

  “And a hot dog.”

  “Me, too,” Mindy agreed. They managed to stay in their seats until the waitress, a slim teenaged girl in black slacks, crisp white shirt and red bow tie took their order. Then they were off again, making a beeline for the video machines as the restaurant filled up and conversation buzzed through the air.

  “See what you’re in for?” Nicole’s gaze followed her children. “I might have two the same age, but you’ll have a newborn to deal with.”

  “Just until Randi can take over.” He frowned and then settled back.

  “I take it no one’s been able to locate the baby’s father?”

  “Not yet. But we will.” Determination pulled at the corners of his mouth.

  She was disappointed that he seemed so anxious to cast off his responsibility of temporary father, but, as the waitress returned with their drink order, she reminded herself that he was, after all, a confirmed bachelor, a man more interested in making money than making babies.

  Thorne noticed the play of emotions that crossed her face and the way her teasing smile suddenly disappeared.

  “The reason I called you was that I need your help,” he admitted. “We need a babysitter until Randi’s well enough to take care of J.R.”

  “Oh.”

  He tried not to notice the sexy way her front teeth settled against her lower lip as she watched her girls, or the seductive way her blouse gaped at her neckline, showing off just the hint of cleavage. She glanced at him and in that second, when her gold eyes met his, he felt the incredible urge to kiss her again—just as he always did.

  “It shouldn’t be that hard to find someone suitable. I’m willing to pay whatever it takes.”

  “Money isn’t the issue.”

  “Of course it is.”

  She rolled those expressive eyes and unwrapped her straw. “You still don’t get it, do you? It’s not about money.” Taking a long sip from her soda she thought for a minute. “That’s always been your problem, you know. Don’t you understand that you can’t go out and buy love? You can’t expect to find the most loving, caring babysitter just by offering her a few more dollars. People are who they are. They don’t change when you wave a check in front of their faces.”

  “I know that, but most people perform for money.”

  “You don’t want someone to perform, you want someone who cares. There’s a big difference. I’m not saying you don’t pay them well, of course you do. But first you fi
nd the caring, warm, loving person. Then you pay them what they’re worth to you.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  “Absolutely. I located Jenny through an advertisement I ran in the local paper. After interviewing a dozen or so women and looking at day-care centers, she called, we met and the rest is history. She’s a part-time college student and the nicest woman you’d ever want to meet. She’s warm, affectionate, wholesome and has a great sense of humor, which you need with kids. We work it out so that our schedules mesh. It takes some doing, but it can be accomplished.” The waitress came with their trays of food and Thorne helped Nicole round up the girls. Just as they sat down, Nicole’s pager went off. She glanced at the readout and frowned. “Look, I’ve got to make a call,” she said. “I’ve got a cell phone out in the car—would you mind watching the girls just a minute?”

  Thorne lifted a shoulder.

  “No, Mommy,” one of the twins cried.

  “I’ll be right back. Promise. Mr. McCafferty will help you open the ketchup packets for your French fries.”

  “Sure,” Thorne said, though the thought of being with two four-year-old dynamos was a trifle daunting. Nicole slid out of the booth, then clipped across the tile floor. The twins looked ready to bolt after her, but Thorne distracted them with their milk shakes. He unwrapped their plastic straws then pushed them deep into their cups.

  While one twin tried to suck up the milk shake the other was busy trying to open ketchup packages. Again he assisted and then squirted the red sauce over the fries. “Nooo!” the little girl wailed. “I want to dip!”

  “What?”