Adding to the Family

by Gina Wilkins

  “Thank you,” Miranda said again, still a bit bothered by the gesture.

  B.J. shook her head. “I can’t imagine suddenly being saddled with two little boys. I like kids and all, but that would be one scary proposition.”

  “It is,” Miranda agreed as she escorted B.J. to the door. “But I guess I’m not as scared as I would have thought I’d be.”

  “Your nephews are lucky that their aunt is the responsible and reliable type, so they had a safe place to go when their mother flaked out on them.”

  Miranda had already gotten the impression that B.J. said pretty much whatever popped into her mind. Still, she was rather stunned to hear herself referred to as the “responsible and reliable type.”

  Those were terms she would have applied to Mark, she thought as she closed the door behind the P.I., not to herself. Funny how her self-image was undergoing a radical change from only a few short weeks ago. Perhaps because she was seeing herself through other people’s eyes now, rather than as the woman she had always tried to be.

  Why had she thought of herself as so much like Lisa? She, who had lived in the same city for several years, who had committed to obtaining a college degree, who had worked for the same company since graduating, and who had believed in putting money aside for the future rather than blowing it all in the present. Even Lisa had always seen her as the responsible one, coming to her when she needed money, sending the twins to her because she had thought Miranda could offer them a more stable home.

  Miranda let out a long, gusty breath. Darn it, how had she ended up developing principles? If she had been as blithely self-absorbed as Lisa and Brooke, she could be at a party right now. Flirting, dancing, having fun with no thought of anyone but herself. But no, she had to be “responsible and reliable.”

  Now she knew exactly why Mark had looked so disgruntled when he had denied being labeled a saint.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As Miranda had expected, her first week on her own was busy. And a little crazy.

  The boys started their day-care program Monday morning. They clung to Miranda when she dropped them off, shy about meeting the other kids and worried what they could expect. But by Wednesday they were looking forward to their day, eagerly telling her about all the activities that were scheduled for them. They were even making a few new friends, though they made them as a pair, neither of the twins straying far from the other.

  Miranda was learning how difficult it was to get everyone ready in the morning, put in a whole day’s work, do the laundry and the shopping, prepare nutritious dinners and have the boys bathed and in bed at a reasonable hour—only to start all over again the next morning. Her clerical assistant, Stevie Riggs, smiled wryly when Miranda exclaimed about the difficulties.

  “Welcome to the world of the average working mother. I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but just wait until the boys are in school and you’re trying to juggle teacher conferences and PTA meetings and after-school activities along with the usual routines. Oh, and eventually, one or both of the twins will get sick and you’ll either have to find a baby-sitter or miss work.”

  “Oh, gee. Thanks for the encouragement.”

  Stevie patted her arm. “You’ll get through it somehow. We all do. And if you need moral support, there are quite a few of us here in the office who will be glad to offer whatever advice we can.”

  Like the boys, Miranda seemed to be forming a new circle of friends. Her coffee breaks and lunch hours were spent with Stevie and a couple of other working mothers, who patiently answered a dozen questions and offered valuable tips on schedule-juggling.

  She was going to make this work, she finally concluded. It wasn’t going to be easy, but if those other women could do it, so could she. And it wasn’t as if she had any other choice—Lisa’s letter had made it quite clear that the boys were Miranda’s responsibility from now on. Lisa had completely abdicated all her parental rights, saying repeatedly that she believed Miranda would be a better parent to them than Lisa had ever been.

  Miranda hoped fervently that Lisa was right. All she knew for sure was that she was going to do her best. She still didn’t fully understand Lisa’s choice, but she would deal with it. Somehow.

  By the end of the week, Mark still hadn’t called. Miranda suspected it hadn’t been easy for him to restrain himself from checking on her and the boys. Maybe he thought she wanted him to stay away. After all, she had told him she needed time.

  She’d thought he would call.

  She knew she had hurt him when she’d pushed him away. But she hadn’t thought he would give up quite so easily.

  Saturday evening found her transferring pint-size blue jeans from the miniature washer to the equally-small dryer stacked above it in one corner of her kitchen. She noticed that the knees of several pairs of the jeans were getting rather worn; the boys would need new clothes for summer. Shorts and T-shirts and sandals. Then it would be time for school uniforms and backpacks and supplies.

  She thought of the citrine-and-garnet ring she’d had her eye on, and she mentally kissed it goodbye. She could make do with the jewelry she had.

  The twins were in the living room, playing with a couple of toys she had bought them last weekend. She heard them laughing and generally making a lot of noise—and then she heard a crash. It was followed, surprisingly, by voices raised in anger.

  “It was your fault!”

  “No, it was yours. I told you to be careful!”

  “Now you broke it and—”

  “I didn’t break it, you did. Now we—”

  “—and she’s gonna be—”

  “—and we’re going to have to—”

  “Boys!” Miranda broke in from the doorway, raising her own voice to be heard above them. They were squared off facing each other in the center of the room, their faces red, an inexpensive ceramic vase broken in three pieces on the floor beside them. “What’s going on?”

  Jamie inhaled sharply. “We’re sorry, Aunt ’Randa. We didn’t mean to break it. Don’t be mad.”

  “You can sell our new toys to pay for it,” Kasey offered anxiously.

  “Can we still stay with you?” Jamie’s question was barely loud enough for her to hear.

  She sighed, feeling momentarily overwhelmed again. Was parenthood really a string of emotional landmines, always one step from lifelong trauma? She would have to ask her new support group at work Monday. She had a sneaky suspicion they would tell her it was exactly that.

  “I am not mad at you, I’m not going to sell your toys, and I’m not going to send you away. Honestly, boys, get a grip, will you? It’s just a vase. In the future, I would appreciate it if you would try not to break stuff, but it really isn’t the end of the world.”

  Both boys blinked, processing what she had said, and the tone she had used. And then, Jamie said matter-of-factly, “I’ll get the wastebasket.”

  “We’ll be more careful, Aunt’ Randa,” Kasey promised.

  “Okay. Now, I’ve got to finish the laundry. So—chill, okay?”

  Both looking more relaxed, the boys got busy cleaning up the first mess they had made while staying with her. She had a strong premonition that it wouldn’t be the last.

  Two weeks tomorrow. Mark stared glumly at the calendar on his desk late Friday afternoon, counting the days since Miranda had moved out of his house. Multiply that number by twenty or so, and it would add up to the number of times he had reached for the phone to call her, only to stop himself.

  She had said she needed time. He had given it to her. He hadn’t wanted to push her farther away by making a nuisance of himself—and okay, maybe he had hoped she would call him for help during that time. Had hoped she would realize that she needed him—to assist with the boys, if for no other reason. He was just pathetic enough to have welcomed even that.

  Apparently she had been getting along just fine without him while he had been pining for her like a love-sick schoolboy.

  “I’m gone for the weekend, Mark
,” Pam called from the other room. “’Bye, now.”

  She sounded awfully cheerful, practically on the verge of laughter. She must really be looking forward to the weekend, he thought enviously. “See you Monday, Pam. Lock the door behind you.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Maybe it was because his own mood was so bad that Pam’s seemed unusually chipper. He really needed to snap out of this funk he had been in. Miranda wasn’t coming back. She didn’t want him in her life. Get over it.

  Resting his cheek on his fist, he continued to stare at the calendar while he tried to talk himself into a better frame of mind. He didn’t want to carry his bad mood into the evening with his daughters.

  He heard footsteps in the doorway that led into the reception area. Because he didn’t want Pam to see the misery that was probably still visible in his eyes, he didn’t look up when he said, “I thought you were leaving.”

  “I did. I’ve come back.”

  He froze. That wasn’t Pam’s voice. Very slowly, he lifted his gaze.

  Miranda leaned negligently against the doorjamb, her arms crossed in front of her, an easy smile on her face. She wore a bright yellow sundress that showed a lot of tanned skin, strappy sandals that revealed bronze-painted toenails and a gold toe-ring, and her usual flirty gold hoop earrings.

  Golden girl, he thought with a catch in his throat. And damn, he had missed her.

  “Pam let me in,” she said while he was still trying to recover his wits sufficiently to form a coherent sentence.

  “Where are the boys?”

  “They’re inside with Mrs. McSwaim and the girls. They seemed glad to see each other again.”

  Mark rose to his feet, still staring at her. “I’m sure they are. We—the girls have missed you guys. Um—how are the boys?”

  “They’re great. They like their day-care program. They were telling Payton all about it when I left them.”

  “And how are you?”

  “Holding up,” she said with a slight shrug. “Raising a couple of kids while working full-time isn’t easy—but I didn’t expect it to be.”

  His heart seemed to be beating in an odd rhythm. “Is there something I can do to help? Is that why you’re here?”

  “Actually, no,” she said casually, stepping fully into his office and closing the door behind her. “I’ve been getting along just fine on my own—with a little advice from some working moms at the office. I didn’t come here because I need anything from you, Mark. I came to assure you that I don’t need your help.”

  The words hit him directly in the heart. He actually felt his shoulders sag in response. Resting one hand on his desktop, he said, “Well. Um. That’s good, I guess. For you. That you’re getting along so well, I mean.”

  But did she really have to grind his face in it?

  His temper began to do a slow simmer. “So the only reason you came here was to tell me you don’t need me?”

  “No.” She must have heard the irritation in his voice, but it didn’t seem to concern her. She took a fluid step closer to him. “I never wanted to need you. I never wanted to need anyone. I’ve always believed I could handle anything that came my way—on my own. It’s gratifying to find out for sure that I was right, even though I never imagined finding myself raising Lisa’s kids.”

  “I had no doubt from the start that you could do it.”

  “I know.” Her smile turned radiant. “You had more confidence in me than I did in myself.”

  She was confusing him to the point that his head was starting to hurt. “So you’re here to…what? Thank me?”

  “Not exactly.” She stopped in front of him, her smile fading into a serious expression. “You said you didn’t want a submissive companion. You said you were tired of being the one to do all the giving and get too little in return.”

  “I didn’t say it quite that way,” he countered, hope beginning to stir inside him again. “I said I want a partner, an equal. Someone who is quite capable of getting by on her own—but who chooses to be with me because she wants to, not because she has to.”

  “What a coincidence.” Miranda rested her hands on his chest, and he could feel the tremors in her fingers even through the fabric of his buttoned-down white shirt. She wasn’t quite as confident as she was pretending to be. “That’s exactly why I’m here. Because I want to be.”

  He caught her hands in his. “Damn it, Miranda, you scared the hell out of me. I thought you were here to tell me it was over between us.”

  Her smile was tremulous now, her eyes glowing. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s only just beginning. It was fear that kept me away from you for the first year I knew you, even when I was more drawn to you than to any man I’d ever met before. We both needed to be sure that it wasn’t fear that brought me back to you. That’s why I was so pleased to realize that I could get along without you. It just so happens that I don’t want to.”

  His had his mouth on hers almost before she finished speaking.

  Miranda locked her arms around Mark’s neck, kissing him back with all the emotions she had tried to deny for the past year. She hadn’t been entirely certain how he would greet her today. For all she had known, he might have come to the conclusion during the past couple of weeks that he was better off without her.

  She was so very glad to know that he had missed her as badly as she had missed him.

  It had finally occurred to her that, just as she had been waiting for him to contact her, he had probably been waiting for her to make the next move. For someone who had always been so bold about going after what she wanted, it had taken a surprising amount of courage for her to come here today. She hadn’t regained her usual confidence until she had seen Mark sitting at his desk, looking so sad and lonely that her heart had twisted inside her.

  He had been thinking about her. She was sure of it. And, for someone who had spent the past ten years avoiding emotional ties of all kinds, being wanted that badly was as daunting as it was heartwarming.

  By the time he lifted his head, breaking off the explosive kiss, they were both gasping for air.

  Mark lifted his hands to cup her face between them, searching her expression intently. “You’re sure about this? You aren’t going to change your mind?”

  “Maybe it’s taking you just a little longer to figure it out than it did me,” she replied, her voice husky from emotion. “I’m not Lisa. And I’m not Brooke. When I make a commitment, I stick with it. I did it with my education. I’ve done it with my job. That’s why I’ve avoided commitments I wasn’t sure I could honor—because I never wanted to hurt anyone. Or be hurt, myself. But I’ve made a commitment to the twins, and I’m prepared to do the same with you. You asked me to give us a chance—and that’s what I’m doing. I’m ready to find out where it will lead.”

  “And if it leads to the altar?” he asked, still watching her expression closely.

  Perhaps he thought he would see panic there. Instead she smiled, if a bit shakily. “Then I’ll honor that commitment, too. It does work out occasionally, you know. It has for your friend, Shane. And for his parents, who are about to celebrate twenty-five years of marriage. And even for my own parents, I guess, who are bound together by their own weird needs.”

  “You were afraid of feeling trapped. Suffocated. Tied down.”

  “All of which I would feel, in a situation that wasn’t of my choosing,” she replied promptly. “I had no control over Lisa sending her boys to me, but I chose to keep them. And I’ve chosen to be with you.”

  His hands slid down to her shoulders, but he still looked worried. “After all your resistance, you aren’t at all worried now?”

  She suspected that there would have been a slightly hysterical edge to her laughter if she hadn’t been able to contain it. “Are you kidding? I’m terrified. Four kids under six? A brand-new relationship with a man who’s already thinking about the altar? I’m scared, but I’m not running. I’m still here—and still ready to give it my best shot.”

/>   “But what if—?”

  “Mark,” she interrupted with a sigh, clutching his shoulders. “I can’t predict the future. Neither of us can. Do you think I could have predicted this a year ago? A month ago? All we can do is decide what we want and then try to make it work. Knowing it’s going to be hard sometimes, knowing we’ll make mistakes. Knowing the rewards are ultimately worth the sacrifices. Aren’t those all things you’ve said to me during the past couple of weeks?”

  “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I guess that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to say.”

  She smiled. “Then shut up and kiss me again.”

  He obliged.

  This kiss—and the next half dozen—ended with her sitting on his desk, her skirt tangled around her thighs, which were wrapped tightly around him. He had one hand on her breast, the other arm wrapped tightly around her, while she clung to him for dear life, one hand plunged into his thick, delightfully springy hair.

  “If you only knew the fantasies I’ve had about you and me on this desk,” she murmured into his ear, tracing the lobe with the tip of her tongue in illustration.

  His laugh was rough. Sexy. Utterly masculine. “Maybe later we’ll compare fantasies. I’ve got more than a few that involve you, as well.”

  “I can’t wait.” She kissed him lingeringly again, then reluctantly drew her mouth from his. “I suppose we had better go inside. Mrs. McSwaim could be wondering what’s keeping us.”

  “I have a feeling Mrs. McSwaim knows exactly what’s keeping us,” he murmured, rotating his thumb to make her shudder in response. “She’s a very perceptive woman.”

  “Still—”

  He sighed and dropped his hand.

  Helping her off the desk, he waited until both of them were somewhat collected before moving toward the door that led into his house. He turned to her before reaching for the doorknob. “We’ll take this slowly,” he promised. “We’ll do it right. I won’t rush you into anything you aren’t ready for.”

  “Damn straight, you won’t.”