Ali's dimple flashed. "Tomorrow's Saturday."
She supposed she'd lost track after six connecting flights and a dozen time zones. "How about Monday, then?"
"Okay."
"Me, too," Zoe insisted. "Zach and me go to kindergarten. Miss Lewis is my teacher. She's pretty."
The three talked quietly about school and the girls' classes while Sophie brushed the tangles from Zoe's curly blond hair.
"You're all set now," she finally said. "Cleaner than a baby kitten."
"Will you read to us like Mommy does?" Zoe asked.
Sophie swallowed another damn lump in her throat. "Sure, honey."
"Mommy usually reads to us in her bed since it's bigger."
"Okay. Why don't you two find a book and I'll round up Zach and we can meet you there?"
She found Thomas and Zach in a bathroom down the hall. Tom's golf shirt was soaked and water covered the terra-cotta tile floor, she saw with amusement, but her nephew sported slicked-back hair and snazzy dinosaur pajamas.
"Whoa. Was there a tidal wave in here?"
Zach giggled. "I was showing Uncle Tommy how to dog paddle and some water splashed on the floor."
"And on your uncle, by the looks of it."
Tom made a wry face, which sent Zach giggling again. She had to admit, the sound was terribly sweet. "Aunt Sophie, did you know Uncle Tommy used to take a bath in this very tub when he was five? And he used to sleep in my room, too."
The idea of Thomas as a five-year-old boy was just too difficult to fathom, especially with that soaked cotton showing every ripple of powerful, very grown-up muscles in his chest.
She sneaked a look at him under her lashes and couldn't help a quick intake of breath when she met his gaze, his blue eyes glittering with some expression she couldn't immediately identify.
"No, I didn't know that. Aren't you lucky that he lets you use it now?" Her voice came out breathless as she answered Zach.
Just tired, she assured herself. Surely she wasn't still foolish enough to be attracted to the man. Not when she knew exactly how little Thomas Canfield thought of her.
"The girls and I are going to read a story before bed." She ignored the fresh surge of melancholy. "Are you interested?"
"Yeah!"
"Okay, cowboy. We're reading in your parents' room."
The fleeting animation on Zach's pointy little features slid away and he instantly sobered. Oh, sweetheart. Her heart ached all over again for the crushing loss these poor children had endured and she pulled him into her arms for a quick, comforting hug.
Unlike his sisters, Zach wasn't big on hugs, she was discovering. He pulled away after a moment and headed down the hall in search of Ali and Zoe. She watched his rounded shoulders for a moment, then turned back to find Thomas studying her again, his eyes gleaming in the bright fluorescent light of the bathroom.
"How are the girls?" he asked.
"About the same as Zach. Fine one minute, on the verge of tears the next. It's going to take them a while to adjust to life without their parents."
"I think we're all going to need time to adjust."
She thought of the sudden, radical changes in his life from bachelor military pilot to father-figure businessman overnight. He must be close to overwhelmed but he seemed to be adjusting in typical competent Thomas fashion.
"Look, I can handle storytime so you can sleep," he began.
She shook her head. "I don't mind. I'm sure you have things to do."
"Only one or two million."
"Go on, then."
"Are you sure? You look exhausted."
She didn't know whether to be warmed by his concern or offended by the implication that she looked like hell. "I'll be fine. Once we're done reading, I'm sure I'll drop like a rock."
They stood for a moment in awkward silence, two people who were all but strangers, linked only by a brief, sketchy past and by their shared love for the three children. Still, they had made it through the first evening together without coming to blows, she thought. Maybe they could somehow figure out a way to make this complicated arrangement work.
She gave him a tentative smile, then turned and followed Zach down the hall.
Chapter 3
Some odd, discordant sound wrenched her from sleep. She blinked back to consciousness, to that first shocky awareness of her surroundings. It never took her long, probably because she'd spent her whole life waking up in different beds.
Narrow, lumpy cots in a seedy Russian hotel, grand ornately carved beds in a haunted Irish castle, communal woven mats on the floor of a grass hut in Samoa. She'd slept in them all and many, many more.
This time she was in a big, comfortable four-poster, the bed Shelly had shared with her husband.
She listened to try to determine what had awakened her but heard only soft, childish breathing. She was surrounded by warm shapes snuggled against her like puppies in a cardboard box, she realized.
How had that happened? She and the children had been reading, she remembered, some sweet, silly book about a kindergartner and her wild adventures.
Ali had taken a turn reading slowly and carefully, her brow wrinkled in concentration like Shelly's used to do.
Her sister would be so proud of her daughter. It was the last thought Sophie remembered.
Had she nodded off right in the middle of the story? She didn't doubt it, she'd been so exhausted. They all must have fallen asleep, exhausted by the ordeal of the day.
There were worse things in life than snuggling with three sleeping children. She smiled in the darkness and wiggled her toes.
Someone had covered them with a quilt, she discovered. Ali? she wondered, with a pang of regret for a child who carried the weight of too many responsibilities on her narrow shoulders.
It must have been. Who else?
She suddenly knew the answer. Not Ali. Tom. Somehow she knew without a doubt he was the one who had covered them.
Heat thrummed through her at the thought of Tom coming to look for the children and discovering them all nestled together. Of him standing by the bed, kissed by moonlight as he watched her sleep when she was vulnerable and exposed.
She shouldn't have this reaction to him, this trembling in her stomach, this slow surge of blood through her veins. He was just so damn beautiful, lean and dark and predatory like a panther she'd once been lucky enough to photograph in Punjab.
How were they ever going to make this work? In the darkness, all her doubts rushed back to pinch and poke at her. They both wanted custody of the children.
He would never let her take them away from here and she wasn't sure she had the strength to stay here on the peninsula and deal with him day after day.
She sighed softly into the darkness and listened to the big house settle and creak around her. Shelly's house. Her sister had adored this huge, elegant villa with its dozen bedrooms and immaculate gardens. It wasn't the grandeur of the house that mattered. Shelly had never been like that—her twin would have been happy in a two-room trailer as long as she could stay in one place with the family she loved.
Their mother's wanderlust had always been much harder on Shelly than Sophie. Shelly wanted nothing more than to live in one place long enough to make friends, to put her name on the mailbox, to plant tulip bulbs and be there to see them break through the earth in the spring.
While Sharon worked as a cocktail waitress at some sleazy bar or other, Sophie and her sister had talked long into the night, spinning dreams about their futures.
Hers had been about finding fame and fortune, about saving the rain forest and seeing more of the world than just about every armpit of a town between the Atlantic and the Pacific.
All Shelly had ever wanted out of life was a man to love her, children to nurture, a home with a garden. She wanted to think her sister had found far more than she'd ever dared dream, here in this elegant, graceful home by the sea.
Too bad she had to take Peter Canfield as part of the package.
H
er sister had been happy, though. She comforted herself with that knowledge. She had pressed—and pressed hard—to make sure Shelly was being treated right. Either her sister was a far better actress than she gave her credit for, or Shelly had never been unlucky enough to see the darker side of the man she married.
The side Sophie had seen.
A low, mournful wail cut through the night, jerking her out of her thoughts. The sound scraped along her nerves, raised gooseflesh on her arms. That's what had awakened her, she realized now. It was raw, unearthly, a supernatural kind of keening.
She rolled her eyes at herself. You, who have slept with villagers telling tales of the chupacabra of Puerto Rico and the giant bat of Cameroon ought to know better than to let a little wind bother you.
Still, her heart pounded an uneasy rhythm as she carefully picked her way through the maze of sleeping little bodies and padded to the sliding door that led to a small balcony overlooking the sea.
She unlocked it, disengaged the security system with the code Thomas had given her, and walked outside.
The night was cloudy and cool with a thick, ghostly mist curling up the cliffs through the coastal pine and cyprus. She leaned against the railing and peered into the darkness. All she could hear now was the crash and throb of the sea fifty feet below.
She heard nothing but the surf and her own breathing for several moments. Had she imagined it, then? She was about to chide herself for her overactive imagination and go inside to the children again when she heard it again, almost like a howl of pain.
Sophie peered into the darkness. Beyond the pool and back gardens, a long flight of wooden steps led down the steep slope to a small private beach. The sound seemed to have come from there. Clouds obscured the half moon but she thought she could just make out something huddled on the steps. A crouched silhouette.
The clouds shifted slightly and her gaze sharpened. It was a man out there wearing blue-striped pajamas, his shock of silver hair gleaming a pale, spectral white in the moonlight.
William! He must have wandered out of his apartment! Fear spurted through her. He could easily tumble down the steps, disoriented in the darkness. She paused for just an instant, then without another thought she hurried down the spiral ironwork stairs of the terrace and rushed across the wet grass, heedless of her bare feet.
When she reached him, William looked at her out of dazed eyes the same silver-blue as his son. The agonized grief on his face filled her with pity. The bitterness she had nurtured for so many years against this poor shell of a man seemed foolish now, so much wasted energy.
"I saw him," he mumbled. "Peter came to my room. Where's my son?"
He clutched at her T-shirt. "Shelly, where's my boy? They said he was dead but I know he's not."
Despite the shiver down her spine, she managed to gently disengage his hands. The poor man was delusional. He had mistaken her for Shelly—not so unusual since they were identical twins. "It's cold out here, Mr. Canfield. Let's get you back to bed."
After a moment he let her take his hand and lead him back to the house like a child. Just as they reached the door, Thomas burst through it, his hair messy and wild panic blazing in his eyes. He jerked to a stop when he saw them.
"What the hell are you doing out here with my father?"
Sophie bristled at his suspicious tone, his narrowed gaze, and slipped her hand from William's grasp. "I saw him at the top of the steps leading to the beach. I was afraid he would tumble down. But I suppose if you don't mind your father wandering around in the dark by himself, next time I see him I'll mind my own business."
"That's impossible! There's no way in hell he could unlock the doors without tripping the alarm."
"You're right," she snapped. "I'm lying, you caught me. The truth is, I decided to wake up a frail old man and take him for a stroll around the garden at midnight, just for kicks."
"Stop fighting," William said suddenly, his voice sharp and clear. "Peter, I'm tired. I'm not in the mood for any more of your nonsense. I'm going to bed."
He walked into the house, leaving them gaping after him. Tom raked a hand through his dark hair, messing it even more. "I'm sorry, Sophie. I shouldn't have lashed out at you. It's just been a hell of a day. I fell asleep in the study and when I woke up, I went to check on him before going to bed and panicked when I found him gone."
"Don't worry about it."
"Look, I need to make sure he's settled back in bed. Will you wait here for me?"
She studied him. "No. My feet are freezing. But I'll wait for you in the kitchen."
She was heating milk on the stove when he came in ten minutes later looking tired and dispirited.
"Would you like some hot cocoa?" she asked.
He leaned against the work island. "I haven't had hot cocoa made the old-fashioned way since my mother died."
"It's much better this way." It had always been her and Shelly's comfort treat, something they shared on the nights when Sharon forgot to come home. She had been touched to find all the ingredients in a cupboard by the stove, as if Shelly used them often.
"It should only take a moment for the milk to heat. Is everything okay with your father?"
"Yes. He fell asleep as soon as I tucked him back in his bed. I can't for the life of me figure out how he got out. His room has a double lock and an alarm that's supposed to go off whenever the door is opened. He managed to work both locks and disengage the alarm. I suppose I'll have to figure out a better system."
"Does he do this often?"
"Not so much anymore. After he was first diagnosed, Peter and Shelly used to have to hide all the car keys or he would just take off and drive around all night. They wouldn't have the first idea where to find him. That's when we hired Maura to look after him."
"It must be terrible for him."
His shrug rippled the soft navy cotton of his shirt. "Strange as it seems, it's been a little easier the more his disease progresses. The first few years were tough but he doesn't really have an awareness anymore about what's happening to him."
He paused and turned his attention to her. "Look, I am sorry about snapping at you out there. I was acting on raw fear. I don't know what might have happened if you hadn't gone to his rescue. Thank you. It was lucky you happened to see him out there."
"I heard him first. He was weeping, Tom. Horrible, wrenching sobs. He thought I was Shelly and he said something about seeing Peter in his room. He was out looking for him."
"He thinks I'm Peter half the time. You heard him. Maura and I tried to explain about the accident but I don't know how much is getting through. Maybe it's better this way."
How terrible it must be for Thomas to lose a little more of his father each day. With Peter's death, the responsibility of caring for his father now fell completely on his shoulders.
She longed to comfort him but didn't know how—and she wasn't sure if he would welcome her efforts anyway—so she busied herself with beating the cocoa to a froth.
When it was finished, she poured a mug for him and one for herself and the two of them sipped their hot drinks in silence for a few moments.
Thomas finally broke the silence. "I saw your work on Costa Rica in Go! magazine this month. You really brought the country and the people to life with your photos."
A compliment? From Thomas? Pleased and embarrassed—and unsure how to react to the unexpected comment—she focused on the murky cocoa in her mug with its swirls of lighter froth. "Thank you," she murmured. "It's a beautiful place. One of my favorites."
"I imagine you have many favorites."
She glanced up and found him watching her out of those silvery blue eyes. She managed to smile despite the little tug of awareness in her stomach. "It changes all the time. Usually, wherever I'm hanging my gear is my favorite."
"Do you ever get tired of the wandering life?"
Once more she wasn't sure how to answer him. She had found incredible success at her chosen field and she did love the thrill and adventure of di
scovering new places.
She enjoyed her life but she had never been able to imagine herself spending the rest of it constantly moving around like Sharon, never content to spend more than a week or two in one zip code.
If she thought about the future at all, eventually she saw herself settling down, maybe working for a newspaper or teaching photography at a liberal arts college somewhere.
All that had changed with Thomas's late-night phone call to her hotel in Morocco. Now she had three children to think about.
"I've never known anything else," she finally answered his question. "But I'm going to learn for the children's sake."
* * *
Thomas wanted to argue with her again about her complete conviction that she was staying here to care for Ali and the twins but he bit back the words. Not now, when they had achieved this tentative, fragile peace here in the stillness of the night.
She had rescued his father and it seemed churlish to pay her back by more bickering. As she had said earlier in the evening, there would be time to discuss the future when things settled down.
Besides, the few hours of sleep she must have found snuggling in Peter and Shelly's room with the children didn't look to be enough. She gave a huge yawn suddenly, then blinked at him, a faint, appealing brush of color on her fair cheeks.
"Sorry. It's not the company, I promise."
"Don't worry about it. Get some rest. Come on, I'll walk up with you and help carry the children back to their own beds."
He followed her up the stairs, trying like hell not to notice the way the faded material of her jeans hugged her very shapely rear end. At Shelly and Peter's master suite, they found the children still cuddled together under the covers, Ali in the middle with a twin on either side.
He remembered how Sophie had looked sleeping peacefully surrounded by children when he had checked on them earlier in the evening. She had made a soft, innocent picture, her gold-blond hair tangled on the pillow in a wild, sensuous cloud.
"I don't think we should move them," Sophie said quietly at his side. "If they can find some comfort here together, I don't see the harm in it. I'll sleep over there on the sofa in case they should wake."
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