Adding to the Family

by Gina Wilkins

  She could almost see the speculation on the faces of people who greeted Mark when they entered the room that served as lunchroom and auditorium for the school. Folding tables had been stacked against one brightly-painted wall, and multicolored plastic chairs were lined in rows facing a small wooden stage. The chairs were filling rapidly with parents and grandparents, many holding video cameras.

  The noise level was quite high as adults visited and children laughed or whined, some running around the back of the room. Taking a seat with a twin on either side, Miranda looked over Jamie’s head to Mark, who held Madison in his lap. “Did you bring a video camera?”

  “No.” He reached into an inside pocket of the jacket he wore with an open-necked shirt and khakis. Pulling out a palm-size digital camera, he added, “I’ll snap a couple of shots while Payton’s on stage, but I rarely bring a video camera to this sort of thing. I prefer to experience my children’s lives. I don’t want to watch everything they do through a viewfinder.”

  Interesting philosophy—and somewhat unique these days, she mused as the preschoolers filed onto the stage and dozens of video cameras were lifted and activated.

  “Aunt ’Randa,” Jamie said in a loud whisper, leaning closer to her side. “I can’t see Payton.”

  Miranda glanced at the tall woman sitting directly in front of Jamie. “Okay, let’s swap seats.”

  They made the switch quickly, so that Miranda was sitting next to Mark with both twins on her left. Great, she thought in resignation. Now it looked even more as though she and Mark were a couple.

  Deciding to leave it to him to explain to his acquaintances, she smoothed her black slacks, straightened the square neckline of her black and white color-blocked spring sweater, and then folded her hands in her lap and sat back to enjoy the program.

  Well, “enjoy” might not be quite the right word, she thought a few minutes later. Listening to a bunch of four-year-olds warbling lyrics to syrupy little songs could be excruciating. Maybe her ears weren’t actually bleeding, Miranda thought, suppressing a wince at one particularly high-noted passage that each performer decided to attempt in a different key and octave, but she wasn’t sure her hearing would ever fully recover.

  She glanced sideways at Mark. Was it possible that he actually liked what he was hearing? He was smiling toward the stage with what looked like genuine pleasure on his face. Must be a parent thing.

  A reception followed the program. The children mobbed the tables holding cake, cookies, and plastic cups of pink punch, while the adults mingled and agreed that their children were all simply brilliant. With a twin clinging to each of her legs, Miranda stood to one side of Mark as several people approached him. Many of them looked curiously at her. Each time, he said simply, “This is my friend, Miranda Martin, and her nephews, Kasey and Jamie.”

  Miranda wondered what those other people knew about Mark’s ex-wife. And whether he’d ever brought a “friend” to one of these things before—though she suspected he had not. She did not, however, have to wonder at the meaning behind the looks she got from a couple of what Miranda guessed were single moms. Undoubtedly Mark was the school’s most eligible bachelor, and she noticed a few longing looks sent his way.

  She couldn’t blame them, really, she thought, watching as he laughed ruefully at something Payton’s teacher said. The man was undeniably gorgeous. A loving father. A good provider. Just the kind of man any woman would love to find—if she happened to be looking for a partner.

  She tried to talk Kasey and Jamie into mingling with Payton and her friends, but both the boys all but hid their faces in her side. It was obvious that they had very little experience with other children.

  It was definitely time to get them into an environment where they would have the chance to learn to socialize. It was too late to enroll them in preschool for this year, but a day-care setting with other children their age would be good for them. And she wouldn’t have to feel guilty every time she left for work, she thought with a light sigh.

  By the time they had gotten the kids bathed and in bed that evening, Miranda felt as if she had just put in a sixteen-hour workday. Who would have imagined that a preschool party could be so exhausting?

  She and Mark met in the hallway outside the twins’ bedroom. Rubbing the back of his neck, he gave her a smile that looked tired. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

  “Sure, I’d love some iced tea or something.”

  “Actually I was thinking about something a little stronger than that.”

  A bit surprised, she followed him into the den. She smiled when he reached into a cabinet and pulled out the bottle of fine liquor she had given him for his birthday. Hard to believe that was only a week ago. “I thought you were going to save this for a special occasion,” she commented as he poured generous measures into two tumblers.

  “After sitting through that horrible program, I think we deserve it.” He raised his glass in a quick salute to her, then tilted it to his lips.

  Her left eyebrow rose. “You felt that way about it, too?”

  “Are you kidding?” He shuddered. “Four-year-olds mangling old disco songs—man. I think I detected some sounds no human should be able to make, much less hear.”

  Laughing in sheer relief, she settled on the couch with her drink. “And I thought I was the only one. I don’t want to be rude, but who selected those songs?”

  Sitting beside her, he leaned back into the cushions and shrugged. “I just hope whoever it was gets put in charge of refreshments next year rather than music.”

  “Will Payton go back next year?”

  “No, she’ll go to kindergarten in the fall. Her fifth birthday is just before the cutoff date. But Madison will start preschool. I’ve already signed her up. So, I’ll be attending more programs like this one in the future.”

  “Lucky you.”

  He took another sip, then chuckled. “I know you meant that facetiously, but the truth is, I do feel lucky. As awful as that program was, I still loved seeing Payton having such a good time.”

  “I know you did. I saw it in your face. She’s a lucky little girl to have you for a father.”

  She had tried to speak lightly, but her words came out more wistfully than she’d intended. Must be the booze, she told herself, setting the half-empty tumbler aside. Powerful stuff.

  Trust Mark to catch the emotion buried in her comment. “Didn’t your father ever attend your school programs?”

  She looked down at her hands. “He wouldn’t have had time for frivolous things like that. My mother attended most of them—it was expected of her, after all.”

  Mark reached over to lay a hand over hers. “I’m sorry you had such an unhappy childhood, Miranda. And I’m sorry you’re going through such a difficult time now.”

  She lifted her chin and spoke with the bravado she had developed through years of practice. “Hey, I survived. Just as you survived your childhood problems. The important thing is for you to make sure your girls never doubt you love them—and for me to figure out a way to make sure Kasey and Jamie don’t end up in years of therapy because of my sister or me.”

  “You’ll do a good job with them. Someday they’ll understand the sacrifices you’ve made for them, and they’ll appreciate it.”

  “Yes, well…” She couldn’t look too far into the future. It made her too nervous, left her feeling smothered by the responsibility she had taken on. A day or two at a time, that was all she could deal with right now.

  It occurred to her suddenly that his hand still rested on top of hers. And that all the children were asleep, and they were alone for the first time since their budget-planning session in his office Tuesday evening. Last night, he had retreated to his office after the kids had gone to bed, and Miranda had claimed fatigue, explaining that she was going to read for a while and then turn in early.

  Maybe she should have done the same thing tonight, she thought with a thick swallow.

  “I, uh, had a chance
to look at a couple of apartments today,” she said in an attempt to remind both of them that this was only a temporary situation.

  He, too, was looking at their hands now. He moved his thumb slowly across the back of hers, making her even more acutely aware of the contact between them. “Did you find anything?”

  “Not so far. Neither of the two complexes I had time to visit had anything available right now. I have a lunch meeting tomorrow, but I can probably go apartment hunting Saturday.”

  “Would you like some company?”

  “What about the kids?”

  “Mrs. McSwaim will watch them for a few hours. She likes to come over on Saturdays and do the laundry.”

  “She likes to do your laundry on Saturdays?” Miranda asked with a skeptically lifted eyebrow.

  “Actually, yes. Saturdays are the most difficult days for her. She and her late husband always considered Saturday their special day. They went out for a nice lunch and then did something together every Saturday afternoon. Now, after she spends a few hours here, she and a couple of friends often go out for dinner and a movie on Saturday evenings. That keeps her busy enough that she doesn’t have time to sit around and miss the old days.”

  “So you’re actually doing her a favor by letting her do your laundry.”

  He laughed softly. “I’d hardly say that. I pay her well for her services—but I’m the one who ultimately benefits.”

  She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t moved her hand away yet. Why it felt so comfortable sitting side by side and sort of holding hands. She lifted her gaze to his face. Their eyes met. Held. And she became even more aware of the mistake she had made by not breaking the contact sooner.

  The house was so quiet. As if they were the only ones in it. The couch had seemed larger when they’d first sat down; now she realized that they were actually sitting quite close together.

  Twice they had almost kissed. Both times they had been interrupted. Here was their chance to try again…if they were reckless enough to do so.

  She had always known she had a reckless streak.

  “I know the program tonight wasn’t your sort of thing,” Mark said without looking away from her. “But it was nice of you to go. Payton loved having more people to show off for.”

  “It wasn’t so bad. I thought the kids were cute—though it would have been nice to have a ‘mute’ button. I suppose I’ll have to go to things like that for the boys, so it was good practice.”

  “It will mean a great deal to them to have you there for their activities. They won’t have to think back, the way you do, and remember times when no one was there to cheer them on.”

  “You’re making me sound noble again. That worries me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m still afraid I’ll mess up,” she admitted.

  “You’ll make plenty of mistakes. Do things you’ll regret. Say things you’ll wish you could take back.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel better.”

  “Sweetheart, we all make those kinds of mistakes. Anyone with kids can tell you that guilt and worry and uncertainty are all part of the package.”

  He was making her think about the future again. And once again, she was starting to feel suffocated.

  One day at a time, she reminded herself.

  “Anyway…” she began. His eyes were such a pretty gray. She lost herself in them for a moment, and promptly forgot what she had intended to say.

  “Anyway…?” His thumb moved slowly across her hand, leaving little ripples of electricity across her skin.

  She moistened her lips. “Um…Mark?”

  He was looking at her mouth now. “Yeah?”

  “We should probably go to bed.”

  That brought his eyes to hers again. “You can’t imagine how often I’ve fantasized about you saying that.”

  And she had thought she had the reckless streak. She was both startled and annoyed to feel her cheeks warm. How long had it been since anyone had actually made her blush? Junior high?

  She frowned at him. “You warned me once that you were going to call my bluff someday just to see what I would do. Maybe I’d better give you that same warning, since you seem to be getting a bit overconfident lately.”

  “Are you calling my bluff?” He seemed intrigued by the idea.

  She should. She really should. Just to watch him squirm, since she doubted he was any braver than she was about actually taking their foolhardy flirtations to the next level.

  He smiled when she remained silent. It was a smile that held both wry amusement at their foolishness, and a touch of regret that no bluffs would be called this evening—or at any time in the foreseeable future.

  He looked down at their hands again, and she followed his glance automatically. His fingers looked so long and strong over hers. Clever fingers when they danced over a keyboard or a calculator. Just the thought of having those long, clever fingers dancing over her skin was enough to make her breath catch.

  She really should move her hand. And she would. In just a moment.

  “I knew it wouldn’t be easy being in the same house with you,” he murmured.

  “It was your idea,” she reminded him in little more than a whisper.

  “I know. I figured I was strong enough to resist temptation.”

  “And are you?”

  “I hope so. But first, there’s something I just have to get out of my system.” He leaned forward, tilted her chin upward, and covered her mouth with his.

  She had seen the kiss coming. She could have stopped him had she really wanted to. She had no doubt that he would back off immediately if she gave him the slightest signal to do so. But she didn’t.

  Maybe this was something she needed to get out of her system, too.

  The kiss had been building for quite awhile—probably even before their date. Attraction had been strong between them since the first time she had walked into his office. She had flirted outrageously with him that day, enjoying his disconcerted reactions. Even then she had figured nothing would come of it; the photographs on the credenza behind his desk had given her a clue that this was not a man who fit her “safe date” profile.

  How could she have known how circumstances would intervene so that she’d end up actually living in the same house with him? Not exactly dependent on him—she wouldn’t accept that—but certainly grateful for his assistance.

  It seemed that fate had called both their bluffs.

  It didn’t surprise her in the least that Mark was one heck of a kisser. Not too hard, not too soft. Not too aggressive, but assertive enough to excite her. He waited until she parted her lips for him before he deepened the kiss—and then he took full advantage of the invitation.

  He even knew exactly what to do with his hands. Not too grabby, like Robbie, on the one date she’d had with the guy. But he didn’t just let them lie there, either. Mark’s hands slid slowly up and down her back, from her shoulders to the curve of her hips. A pleasurable, unhurried massage that made her whole body ache for more.

  She certainly hoped Mark was strong enough to resist temptation, she thought as she wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head to take the kiss to another level. She wasn’t at all sure that she was.

  Oddly enough, it was a completely errant thought that pulled her out of the moment. Something to do with the conversation she and Mark had just had about Mrs. McSwaim. The woman who would rather spend her Saturdays doing another family’s laundry than sitting alone with the memories of the man she had loved and lost.

  Her eyes opened. A moment later, she sat several inches away from him, so that she was all but pressed against the arm of the couch.

  “Well…” She cleared her throat. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way…”

  It probably shouldn’t have pleased her so much that it took him a moment to collect himself enough to answer. His voice was still husky when he asked, “Something I did…?”

  “No. Something you said. Sort of.” She jumped to h
er feet, and mentally blamed the slight unsteadiness of her movements on the liquor. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Miranda?”

  “Good night, Mark.” She didn’t look back on her way out of the room, though she knew he watched her until she was out of sight.

  Chapter Eleven

  Though she didn’t have time to look at apartments Friday, Miranda had a chance that afternoon to call a few of the day care facilities from the list Mark had prepared for her. She was dismayed, but not terribly surprised, to learn that several were already booked to capacity for the summer. One she crossed off the list just because she didn’t like the patronizing tone of the woman she spoke to.

  After just over an hour, she had appointments to visit two places Monday afternoon. Both were more expensive than she had hoped to find, but they offered enhanced programs, rather than just baby-sitting. The boys would have the chance to participate in arts and crafts, ice-skating, gymnastics, and swimming lessons, and museum and children’s theater visits. Those opportunities seemed worth the extra expense.

  After all, Miranda thought with a sigh as she pushed the telephone aside and turned back to her computer, she wouldn’t be spending much on her personal entertainment for a while. Might as well spend it on the boys.

  As tempted as she was to dawdle at the office to avoid any more awkward encounters with Mark, she couldn’t be that heedless of her responsibilities. She left at her usual time, telling herself she would make certain Mark couldn’t tell that their kiss had haunted her ever since she had all but bolted from the den last night. An extra dollop of makeup had camouflaged the results of a restless night, and she had managed to get through a hasty breakfast without making a complete fool of herself. Barely.

  She would have to make sure they didn’t end up alone again this evening. Because when it came to Mark Wallace, her willpower was most definitely precarious.

  Miranda insisted on clearing the dinner dishes Friday evening, telling Mark she didn’t need any help this time. For once, he didn’t try to argue with her. All in all, it seemed wiser to keep a safe distance between them, using the children as buffers whenever possible.