Carrie looked confused. "I thought he said his name was Mr. Something Tyler when we talked on the ph—"
"No, you must've heard him wrong. He's Tyler Tremaine, " Ben insisted. "I have his business card to prove it. Want to see?"
It occurred to Tyler that they were discussing him between themselves as if he were invisible. He cleared his throat. It was definitely time to assert his presence. "Perhaps we had a bad connection that night, uh, Mrs. Wilcox. You caught the Tyler but not the Tremaine."
"A bad connection from next door?" Carrie laughed. "You're very tactful, Mr. Tremaine."
"Please, as we're neighbors, I insist that you call me Tyler, Mrs. Wilcox."
She tilted her head and looked at him, those big blue eyes of hers dancing with amusement. "That sounds like a cue for me to insist that you call me Carrie."
"It was and I will, Carrie."
Tyler studied her curiously. She was much too young for him, of course, and she'd mentioned a baby, therefore canceling any chances she might've had with him even if he'd chosen to overlook her tender years. But she was a pleasure to look at, lovely and natural with a wholesome freshness he rarely saw in his sophisticated life in the fast lane. He couldn't take his eyes off her.
"You're—not at all what I expected," Tyler blurted out, surprising himself by actually speaking his thoughts aloud. Although he appeared to be the soul of spontaneity—he'd often been described that way by Tremaine friends and admirers—all those ingenuous remarks and impetuous, capricious deeds of his were actually quite premeditated, calculated and studied for their maximum effect.
He was disconcerted by his slip. "I assumed you were much older, uh, that is, with you being a widow and all." Tyler nearly groaned aloud at his lack of finesse. At this particular moment, no one could accuse him of being a silver-tongued snake, an alternate description of him offered by Tremaine enemies and detractors.
"There aie widows in their twenties,'' Carrie said bleakly, and the light went out of her eyes. "Not too many of us, but we do exist.''
He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd told him she was nineteen or younger; he was half expecting it. But sad and unsmiling, she suddenly appeared older. "How old are you?" Tyler asked and immediately smote himself for the question. He well knew how touchy women could be about their ages, regardless of age!
"We're twenty-six," Ben piped up. "Our birthday was April Fool's Day. Stupid day for a birthday, huh? You wouldn't believe the cornball jokes and gags that go with that one."
"Yes, I would because it happens to be my birthday, too." Tyler stared from brother to sister with genuine surprise. They all shared the same birthday? "And you're twins?"
"Actually, there are three of us," Carrie said. "Our sister—Alexa—and Ben and me. We're triplets." She waited for the double take that invariably accompanied that revelation.
Tyler supplied it. "Triplets?" he repeated incredulously. One didn't run across triplet siblings every day. The situation seemed to require some sort of comment from him, but nothing clever or memorable came to mind. A rarity for him. Being silver-tongued, glib and flippant quips usually came quite naturally to him.
"Our dad thought the doctor was playing an April Fool's Day joke on him when he said Mom had triplets," Ben said jocularly. "They'd been expecting twins, but Carrie here was a total surprise." Ben nudged her in the midriff with his elbow, his blue eyes teasing. "I used to say she was a total shock, but she took offense. She'd rather be surprising than shocking, although she's often both."
Carrie rolled her eyes heavenward. "Ben's the funny one in the family."
"Yeah, I can tell," Tyler said dryly. "His jokes are on a par with my brother's—and that's sub-par. Do you all live here together?"
"No, Alexa and I have our own places, but we're over here a lot," said Ben. "Uh, do you still want all of us to come to your party, or is it limited strictly to people who live in the neighborhood full-time?"
"Ben, for heaven's sakes!" admonished Carrie.
"He came over to invite us to his neighborhood Memorial Day picnic tomorrow, Carrie," countered Ben, "and he mentioned the whole family, so I was just making sure—"
"You're all invited, of course," Tyler cut in. It was disconcerting the way the two of them tended to conduct their own conversation around him, as if he was totally superfluous. Tyler Tremaine was accustomed to commanding center stage; being rendered superfluous was new to him.
He was beginning to feel strangely frazzled. And it was so warm in there!
Suddenly terribly restless, he decided that he had to leave at once. "It's getting late," he said, glancing at his watch while already backing out the door. "I've—"
"Do you want to see Sleuth before you go?" Carrie asked politely.
"That crazy cat!" exclaimed Ben. "Wait till you see his favorite hangout, Tyler!" He clasped his fingers around Tyler's forearm and gave an eager pull. "Come on."
Tyler went reluctantly into the shabby, sparsely furnished living room. Through the decrepit window, he saw the scraggly hedge that separated his property from theirs. The size and proximity of his house blocked the sunlight, casting the living room into shadows.
"There's Sleuth, on top of the breakfront," said Carrie, pointing. A fat, darkly striped cat, his left ear torn and raggedy, doubtless a souvenir from some past feline war, sat atop a heavy wooden piece in the corner of the room.
"We call it his watchtower. He also sits on top of the cabinets in the kitchen. If s like he's on guard duty," joked Ben.
"Sleuth knows and sees all," Carrie chimed in, and they both chuckled.
They were obviously enjoying a bit of shared sibling humor. Tyler felt excluded and even more anxious to leave. When the sudden wail of a baby pierced the air, he made a speedy beeline to the door. He was not about to be dragged upstairs to admire any infant!
"If you decide to come to the picnic, FU see you tomorrow," he called as he strode briskly down the walk to his car. He was aware that he sounded as if he didn't care if they came or not. And he didn't.
Tyler snatched his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. Actually, he did care, he acknowledged grimly. He knew what they would see and hear if they came to what his brother had so accurately described as "the bacchanalian kickoff to summer," and he knew that he didn't want them to witness it. Though he considered himself jaded and cynical, he felt an uncharacteristic urge to protect Carrie and her brother because they seemed so naive and young and guileless.
Offering a pudding confection! Dragging him in to see their cat! How hopelessly unsophisticated! Their openness, their innocence, made him feel uncomfortable—and guilty, too. He was so very far out of their league; it was like Dra-cula meeting the Brady Bunch.
Tyler hated feeling uncomfortable and guilty as much as he disliked feeling superfluous. Carrie Shaw Wilcox and her kin had evoked all these powerful, negative feelings within him. The sooner he bought her property and got her out of there, the better. And if tomorrow's party resulted in that end... well, it was regrettable but necessary. The end justifies the means; wasn't that the successful marketing executive's anthem?
From the air-conditioned coolness of his bright, spacious living room, Tyler glanced down at the dilapidated frame house next door. Without warning came the sharp memory of the electrical jolt he'd felt when he caught his first glimpse of Carrie Wilcox. Just imagining her enormous dark blue eyes and heart-melting smile caused him to freeze in place.
It was unthinkable, absurd. He could not be attracted to her, he assured himself. She'd simply caught him off guard because she was so different from the women he usually met.
He would not be attracted to her, Tyler vowed fiercely. It was pointless and unfair... to her. He was not in the market for a sweet, unspoiled, young widowed mother; such a prospect was as unnerving as the nice, suitable young woman of his father's threats. Both types were to be dodged.
And Tyler, that artful dodger, had long ago made himself a pledge to stay free, uninvolved and unenc
umbered. He had never had any difficulty keeping to his oath in the past. He expected no trouble now.
Two
Carrie rushed up the stairs to retrieve eighteen-month-old Franklin from his crib. He stopped crying the moment she entered the room, and began to jump up and down, holding onto the bars, a beatific smile lighting his small face.
"Hi, Frankie, hi!" Carried greeted him gaily, lifting him from the crib and carrying him to the changing table in the corner of the room. The baby began to wriggle and kick, laughing and yelling, "Hi, hi, hi."
After a bit of a wrestling match, with a can of baby powder and package of baby wipes being flung enthusiastically to the floor by an increasingly wild Franklin, Carrie finished diapering him and tackled the job of dressing him. She didn't set her sights too high—a one-piece blue cotton sun-suit was the quickest and easiest garment to get him into. The unique and adorable—and more complicated—little outfits remained on their hangers in the closet.
"So, Mr. Sleepyhead finally decided to wake up!" Alexa Shaw appeared in the doorway, holding one toddler in her
arms and another by the hand. "I needed a break from all the fun we were having outside," she confessed, setting one baby to the floor and releasing the other's hand.
The two toddlers ran into the room and headed straight to the long shelves that lined one wall of the room. Joined by Franklin, the three began to gleefully toss the neatly ordered toys to the floor.
Alexa sank into the rocking chair and heaved a tired sigh. "Dylan must've tried to dash through that break in the hedge out back at least forty times. And every time I ran to fetch him, Emily would head straight for the impatiens you planted yesterday. They're not looking too good, by the way. I sent Ben out to try and revive them."
Carrie dropped to the floor, cross-legged. Little Emily ran over and plopped herself down onto her mother's lap. She sat still long enough for Carrie to give her a hug and a kiss on the top of her blond head, then wriggled out of her mother's embrace and returned to her brothers and their mutual project of emptying the shelves.
"They never stop moving," Alexa marveled wearily. "If they aren't sleeping, they're zooming around like Siamese cats on speed."
"Mom says we were the same way at this age," said Carrie. "A triple threat, as Dad always said."
"And Mom would immediately counter with * triple treat,'" recalled Alexa with a reminiscent smile.
The sisters watched as Dylan climbed into a child-size molded plastic chair. Franklin and Emily clambered over him, and momentarily all three were sitting on top of each other. They babbled among themselves, and then Dylan pushed the other two off and stood up, toppling the chair over, knocking them all off balance. All three went sprawling to the floor.
Both Carrie and Alexa rose to go to their aid, but the intrepid trio picked themselves up and scampered over to the enormous stuffed panda bear that sat under the window.
Laughing boisterously, they threw themselves onto the panda's soft, plush body.
"Ben was totally hyped-up about an invitation to a picnic next door tomorrow," said Alexa as she and Carrie watched the children play. "Do you know anything about it?"
Carrie nodded. "My next-door neighbor, Tyler Tre-maine, just dropped by to invite all of us to his picnic tomorrow. It sounds like a neighborhood get-together, so I'd like to go and finally meet some of the neighbors. Will you come with us, Lex? I could really use your help with the babies."
"You're not actually going to eat dinner over there with the kids, are you?" Alexa asked incredulously.
Carrie laughed. "Of course not. You've seen what mealtimes are like with these three. We'd scare the neighbors away and send poor Mr. Tremaine into a state of catatonic shock. He looks like the precise, fastidious type—you know, neat, unwrinkled and immaculate, even when he's sweating. I'm sure his house is frighteningly orderly."
"A two-minute visit by the manic Wilcox triplets will put an end to that," joked Alexa.
"That's about as long as I plan to stay," said Carrie. "I thought I'd take them over after dinner, stay outside in the yard while we're introduced to some of the neighbors, and then come home. You know, put in a polite appearance."
"I guess I can tolerate that much socializing. And you will need help with the kids." Alexa appeared to be trying to talk herself into the outing. "Why is Ben so all-fired eager to go? A neighborhood picnic is pretty lame by his standards, isn't it?"
"Ben is so wildly impressed by the name Tremaine he'd go to a nuclear fallout site if one of them asked him to," Carrie said dryly. "He all but bowed and scraped and paid homage to Tyler Tremaine the whole time he was over here."
"Wait a minute/' cried Alexa. "Tremaine. As in the Tte-maine wing at the Hospital Center? As in Tremaine Drugs and Tremaine Books? The zillionaires who are always giving grants and donating things and doing all sorts of other philanthropic deeds? Those Tremaines?"
"The very same. I could almost see the wheels turning in Ben's busy little mind." Carrie grimaced knowingly. "And it was all about cultivating Tyler Tremaine's friendship and landing the Tremaine account for the ad agency/'
"The agency would certainly give him a private office of his own if he pulled that off," observed Alexa. "No more cubicle by the men's room for Benjamin Shaw if he were to land the Tremaine account."
"Sometimes Ben's ambition worries me," confessed Carrie. "He can be so calculating and manipulative. I almost felt like I ought to warn Tyler Tremaine to be on his guard. After all, he came over here in good faith to invite us to his party. He shouldn't have to put up with being hustled by an aspiring advertising shark, even if it is our own Ben."
"I'm sure Tyler Tremaine can take care of himself, Carrie. A man in his position must learn how to spot and deal with potential users at a fairly young age. What's he like, anyway?"
Carrie stared into space, remembering. "He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and he's a couple inches taller than Ben, so that would make him about six feet one. Dark hair, green eyes that are sort of an olive color. I've never seen such an unusual shade. Classic features. A smile so potent it almost knocks you off your feet. Muscular and strong but not overbuilt like some steroid freak. Hmm, what else can I say? He's absolutely gorgeous, your basic Greek god come to life. Not that I noticed, of course."
"Of course." Alexa laughed. "Was there a single detail about him that you missed?"
Carrie shook her head. "I also noticed that he couldn't wait to leave and that he thought Ben and I were two hope-
lessly tacky idiots. I'm sure it pains him to think that we're right next door."
"Maybe he'll offer to buy this place," Alexa said hopefully. "Keeping in mind his vast wealth, you can demand an outrageous price, sell this dump and move into a nice neighborhood near a good school, where there are other young families with kids for the triplets to play with and-"
"Even if he were to offer, I wouldn't sell, not yet." Carrie sighed. "I can't move the children again, Alexa. We've moved too often. I want them to have some sense of stability, to stay in one place long enough to feel secure."
"Well, maybe living next door to Mr. Wonderful will have its own unexpected rewards," Alexa said thoughtfully. "You're so pretty, Carrie. Tremaine had to have noticed. Maybe he'll ask you out and—"
"Alexa, a man like Tyler Tremaine can date models and princesses and movie stars. Why on earth would he want to bother with a widow who's raising triplets? Anyway, you know how I feel about dating. I don't have the time for it, and even if I did, I'm just too tired to even consider it. Besides, what would be the point? I'll never love anybody the way I loved Ian."
"I know." Alexa reached over to squeeze her sister's shoulder. "Ian was the most wonderful man in the world, Carrie. I'll always love him as the world's best brother-in-law and as my dear friend. Oh, Carrie, if only—"
"Go!" Dylan tore across the room. "Go, go!" He headed out the door and into the hall, Emily and Franklin in hot pursuit.
"Dylan's favorite word, not to mention his favori
te activity. Taking off," noted Carrie. She and Alexa jumped to their feet to follow.
Carrie was glad of the diversion. Talking about Ian was always difficult, and if Alexa were to start crying as she often did when speaking of Ian and that fateful night...
Carrie determinedly put the tragedy from her mind. She had three small children to care for and to live for—and to run after right now! They must always come first, ahead of her own thoughts and needs, ahead of her own pain. They were a living legacy of the love she and Ian had shared.
And with such a vital, active triple legacy to tend, Carrie had neither the time nor the energy nor the inclination to seek the attentions of another man. She couldn't even summon the interest to seek a date to a movie.
She had accepted her fate on the day she had kissed her beloved husband, Ian, for the last time, moments before the lid of his casket was closed forever. Though it had been tragically brief, she considered herself blessed to have found love with a man like Ian Wilcox. She'd had her chance at love, and now it was over. Carrie was certain that she could not, would not, ever love again.
"Hey, Tyler, come here! You've got to see this!"
Tyler was trading unveiled sexual innuendos with a well-built redhead who'd introduced herself as Rhandee, when he was summoned by Luke Minteer, a relative newcomer to his ever-widening circle. Luke was the chief administrative aide to his wholesome, upright, married congressman brother, in whose footsteps he did not care to follow. It hadn't taken new-bachelor-in-town Luke Minteer long to hook up with Tyler's fast lane crowd.
"Wait here, darling." Tyler lifted Rhandee's hand to his lips for a caressive kiss on her fingertips. She stared at him, dazed and charmed, as he'd known she would be.
The front door was propped open, and Tyler joined Luke on the wide wooden porch. "I thought this was something you shouldn't miss, Tyler," Luke said, laughing. "Take a look at what's coming up the walk."
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