Deputy Daddy

by Carla Cassidy

  She sighed inwardly. The floor needed to be mopped after every meal. She didn't have to worry about waxy buildup; the linoleum would be covered with food long before it showed signs of stress from too much wax. I only have to deal with all this for a couple of weeks, she thought to herself. Surely in that time she could gain all the ammunition she needed to use against Beau Randolf in a custody battle.

  She certainly didn't want a long, drawn-out custody suit, knowing that it would only hurt the boys. And she didn't want the kids just to best him. Her desire for custody went deeper than that and was much simpler. She wanted what was best for them…and it wasn't best for them to be here with him. He acted like it was a sin to be wealthy, like she was less of a person because she had money. As far as she was concerned, it was a simple fact. She was in a better position to give the boys the best of everything. Besides, they needed her.

  Casting a covetous look at Beau, she wondered why he hadn't been snagged into marriage by some woman. He was physically attractive enough to garner interest from any unattached females in town. Of course, he wasn't her type at all. He was too bold, too handsome…too male. Actually, she knew why he didn't have a wife. Mary had told her Beau was a man who liked playing the field. Love 'em and leave 'em. Just what the world needed, a Casanova raising two boys.

  He grinned at her—a lazy, sexy smile that caused heat to rise to her cheeks as she realized he'd caught her studying him.

  "Good dinner," he observed, helping himself to more of the roast.

  "Thank you," she answered. She fought against a wave of guilt and wondered if he recognized the roast beef as the same they served at the diner on Main Street. The guilt battled with pride. Actually, she considered it a stroke of genius that she'd even thought about the local diner solving her dinner dilemma. She'd called them, arranged for delivery of a complete meal and placed it on her charge card.

  Never underestimate the power of a woman. She smiled, eminently pleased with herself.

  Beau finished eating and scooted his plate aside with a satisfied groan. "I'm going to have to get back into my jogging regime so I don't gain a hundred pounds if you keep cooking like this."

  "Oh, you jog?" For some reason she'd expected him to get his exercise from lifting beer bottles to his mouth. She should have guessed he did some thing a little more effective. There didn't seem to be an ounce of fat on his body.

  "Before the twins came, I jogged two miles every morning. I have to admit, I sort of miss it."

  "Now that I'm here, there's no reason why you can't take it up again." Carolyn stood and began to clear the table. "Please, you don't have to help," she protested as Beau grabbed several of the platters. "This is my job."

  "We need to get one thing straight," he explained as he continued to clear the table. "In this house hold, there is no 'my job' and 'your job,' there's just a sharing of the chores that need to be done. The twins create too much work for any one person." He grinned—the devastating smile that immediately caused an uncomfortable flutter in the pit of her stomach. "I think we're going to make a great team."

  Carolyn smiled thinly. She would only be on his team as long as it served her purpose. No matter what happened, she had to remember that he was her enemy.

  Within minutes they had the table cleared and Carolyn knew she couldn't put it off any longer. The twins needed a bath, now more than ever, with green beans and mashed potatoes decorating their faces and hair. "Could you take Trent into the living room and put him in the playpen?" she asked. "I'm going to give Brent a bath."

  "It works better if you just go ahead and put them both in the tub together. They cry when separated and that way you only have to go through the bath experience once instead of twice."

  "Bath 'experience'?" She looked at him curiously.

  He smiled. "You've got to see it to believe it. You go run the water in the tub and I'll get them ready."

  What could two babies possibly do in a bath? Carolyn wondered as she went into the bathroom and turned on the water. Reluctantly she admitted he was probably right about bathing them together. She'd noticed through out the day that the moment they were separated from each other they wailed in angry protest. Did all twins have that kind of connection to each other, or had the death of their parents bonded them abnormally close?

  As she waited for the water in the tub to fill, she turned and found herself staring at her own reflection in the mirror above the sink. For a moment she didn't recognize herself. The makeup she had meticulously applied that morning was long gone. Her hair hung to her shoulders in complete disarray. She'd always heard women with children glowed. But she looked exhausted. Nothing glowed about her except the end of her shiny nose.

  She whirled around as Beau came through the door. He'd removed his shirt, baring his broad, bronzed chest, and he carried a naked little boy in each arm. She eyed him resentfully. He had more glow than she did. And why had he taken off his shirt?

  Bending down, she turned off the water and tested it to make sure the temperature was all right. She got on her knees next to the tub as Beau placed the two boys in the water, facing each other. "You might want to scoot back a little," he suggested.

  "I prefer being this close in case one of them falls," she returned, wishing he would either leave or put his shirt back on. The bathroom seemed to have grown smaller since he'd come in. He nodded and leaned against the sink, a lazy smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

  She directed her attention back to the two in the tub. They babbled to each other and then, as if on cue, their arms and legs began to flail. Water flew every where and their de lighted giggles filled the room.

  Water sluiced over Carolyn's face and splashed the front of her, soaking her from the top of her head to her knees.

  As she swiped her sodden hair out of her eyes, she heard Beau's chuckle. "I warned you," he said.

  She scooted back from the tub, where the twins still splashed with glee. "Do they always do this?"

  "Always. They love the water. I think they're destined to become Olympic swimmers." His gaze flickered down the front of her and his smile faded. "Uh, I'll just go grab a couple of towels."

  Carolyn frowned, wondering what had caused his hasty exit. She looked down and found the answer. Her pale pink blouse was plastered against her. The water had turned it nearly transparent and not only were the lacy details of her bra evident, so were her nipples. A blush crept its warm fingers up her neck and across her face. She plucked at the wet material, pulling it away from her, mortified by the intimacy she'd inadvertently shared with him. She focused her attention back on the boys, who had exhausted them selves and finally quit splashing.

  When Beau returned to the bathroom he was relieved to see her bent over the side of the tub, washing Trent's hair. Good. He didn't need to get another glimpse of her sexy breasts thrust impudently against the wetness of her blouse. That one look he'd gotten had been enough to whet his appetite—an appetite he couldn't indulge without enormous consequences. He couldn't jeopardize things by developing a healthy case of lust for his housekeeper.

  "Call me when you're ready to pull them out," he said, realizing that while thinking of how he mustn't allow himself to lust after her, he'd been focused on the inviting jiggle of her rear end.

  He left the bathroom and walked into the living room, where he drew in a deep breath. He smelled the scent of lemon furniture polish. That's what she was here for: to clean his house and care for the twins.

  He had to make sure his house hold was in order should a custody battle ensue. He would keep his lust under control. He couldn't afford to screw this up. He would do whatever it took to keep the wicked witch from back East from getting those two little boys.

  Chapter 3

  Finally, the boys were in bed. Their room was softly illuminated by a night-light as Carolyn tucked them in. She covered up Trent, then laughed when he kicked his legs to displace the blanket. He grinned up at her and kicked his legs again, as if he enjoyed making her la
ugh. "You little scamp," she said, then leaned down and kissed him softly on the cheek. His sweet baby scent wrapped around her, evoking a warmth in her heart.

  Oh, how easy it would be to lose her heart to these little guys. She hardened her resolve to make sure she was the one who raised them. She owed it to Mary, but she wanted it for herself. They needed a mother, not somebody who would parade a succession of women through their lives.

  Beau was right about one thing. She had been raised by nannies and governesses. She'd had everything money could buy, except the feeling of being loved. She hadn't even gotten close to her siblings until the past couple of years. She'd never felt as though she belonged anywhere, with anyone.

  Now she had the chance to have the family she'd always dreamed of, and she wasn't about to let it slide through her fingers. She intended to give these boys everything she'd had—and the intangible things she hadn't possessed. Beau could never give these kids the things she could. Not only could she give them their hearts' desires, but she intended to give them all the love that was trapped deep within her heart. Beau could never love them as much as she would.

  She left Trent's crib and moved to Brent's. He sat up in the center of the bed, looking at her expectantly. "What's the matter, baby?" She gently laid him down, but he immediately sat up again.

  "He's probably just waiting for his bedtime story."

  She turned to see Beau silhouetted in the doorway. She noted with irritation that he was still bare-chested. Did the man not own enough shirts? She would like to think that the only way he achieved the flat, defined condition of his stomach was by holding his breath until his face turned blue. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be the case. "Bedtime story?" She looked at him curiously.

  "I tell them one every night." He walked into the room and eased himself into the rocking chair between the two cribs. Carolyn moved over to the door, wondering what sort of bedtime stories this man would tell.

  "Once upon a time there was a little girl named Red Riding Hood," he began, the chair squeaking in rhythm as he rocked back and forth. "One day her mother asked her to take some things to her grandmother's house. As she walked through the woods, she stumbled across a house that belonged to the three pigs."

  Carolyn frowned. "That was Goldilocks…and the house belonged to the three bears," she corrected. Honestly, the man was simply unfit to be a parent.

  The creak of the rocking chair stopped momentarily. "Are you sure?"

  "Positive."

  He resumed rocking. "Okay, there was Goldilocks, and she stumbled on these houses owned by the three bears. There was a house of straw, one of sticks and another made of bricks."

  "Uh, that was the three little pigs," Carolyn interrupted again.

  "I thought you said it was the three bears."

  Carolyn sighed. The man was hopeless. Utterly hopeless. "It doesn't matter," she said, suddenly exhausted. It had been the longest day of her life. "I'll just go clean up the mess in the bathroom." She had a feeling that before the story was over he would work in a bean stalk and a boy named Jack.

  She did a cursory cleanup in the bathroom, wiping down the errant water, then throwing the towels into the hamper. She consciously refused to meet her reflection in the mirror, knowing she probably looked as frazzled and exhausted as she felt. By the time she was finished, she met him in the hallway.

  "All's quiet on the western front," he said softly.

  "They're already asleep?" she asked in surprise.

  He nodded. "My stories seem to have a soothing effect on them. How about a cup of coffee?"

  She hesitated. What she really wanted was sleep. It seemed like months ago that she'd left New York, although it had only been that morning. The most grueling meeting with stockholders had never worn her out like she was at this moment.

  "Come on," Beau urged. "I'll not only make the coffee, I'll even wash the cups when we're finished."

  She nodded, deciding that perhaps over coffee she might gain more information that she could use against him. After all, that's what she was here for—ammunition. And the sooner she got that ammunition, the quicker she could be out of here and back to her civilized life in her Manhattan apartment.

  "Besides," he continued as they walked toward the kitchen, "we really didn't get much of a chance to talk about the details of the job this morning." He directed her to a chair at the table, then started making the coffee. "I suppose you expect a day off each week. Will Sunday be okay?"

  She bit back the impulse to protest that she didn't really need a day off. She didn't want to do anything that might make him suspicious. "Sundays will be fine."

  The coffeepot gurgled and the kitchen filled with the aroma of the fresh brew. Carolyn rubbed her forehead tiredly. A slight headache nagged just above her eyes, reminding her that she'd spent most of the day without her glasses on.

  "You aren't from Casey's Corners." It was a statement rather than a question. He poured two cups of coffee, then joined her at the table.

  "No, I'm from a little town in Iowa." It wasn't exactly a lie. She had been born in Iowa, but her family had moved to New York when she was a year old.

  "Do you have family?"

  "No, just a few distant cousins." Carolyn sipped her coffee. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, she thought, uncomfortable with the lies that were necessary to keep him from identifying her as the "dragon lady." What if the agency called him to find out why he hadn't hired the woman they'd sent? Guilt battled with worry and she quickly pushed it all out of her head. She was already committed to what she had done. She couldn't back out now. If the agency called, she would handle it—one way or another. "What about you? Are you from Casey's Corners?" If they talked about him, she wouldn't have to lie.

  He leaned back in the chair, balancing on the rear two legs. "Born and raised here. Never wanted to be anywhere else."

  She looked at him in surprise. She didn't think she'd ever known anyone who'd never dreamed of life in another place. As much as she loved New York, there were times she wondered if she wasn't missing something. "Casey's Corners seems like a nice little town."

  "It's a wonderful place to raise two boys." He reared back a little farther in the chair and Carolyn averted her gaze, once again overly conscious of the expanse of his bare chest, of the springy dark hair that decorated the center, then crept down his flat abdomen to disappear into the top of his slacks. Didn't somebody's etiquette book say it was offensive to sit at a table without a shirt? She added abhorrent table manners to her mental list of his deficiencies.

  "What about you? Any family?" she asked.

  He shook his head and returned his chair to its upright position, his eyes dark and somber. "No. I was an only child and my parents passed away a couple of years ago. I always considered Bob, the twins' father, as the brother I never had. We grew up together and were really close until he got a wild hair and moved to New York. He met Mary there and got married, then I convinced them to move back here." He gazed off in the distance for a long moment. "Thank God I got those last two years with them."

  Two years that Carolyn hadn't had with her best friend. Two years of life and laughter that had been stolen from her. A stab of resentment coursed through her as she thought of the time she'd lost with Mary—time stolen from her by Beau's manipulation of Bob in offering him a job here. Her own grief rose up in her throat, tasting bitter.

  "Anyway," Beau continued, "I have my family now…those two little boys in there."

  Carolyn finished her coffee, suddenly needing to be away from this man and his attractive chest. "I assume since the boys are in bed, I'm off duty?"

  He nodded.

  "Then if you don't mind I think I'll go to my room. I didn't get a chance to unpack yet." She rose from the table, exhaustion tugging at her once again. "I guess I'll see you in the morning." As he murmured good-night, she left the kitchen.

  She walked into the bedroom that would be her home for the duration of her stay and stifled a groan. Everything
from the living room that she hadn't known what to do with, she'd thrown in here.

  Her bed was buried beneath a pile of clothes she hadn't had time to fold, the foam containers that dinner had arrived in sat accusingly on the top of the small dresser. All she wanted was to fall into bed and dream peaceful dreams where no children cried, no food was thrown and all men wore shirts—a safe, comfortable dream world where she was in control. She'd felt horribly out of control all day.

  Bending down, she opened her suitcase and pulled out her nightgown. She would deal with the mess tomorrow. All she wanted at the moment was sleep. Undressing and pulling her nightgown over her head, she shoved everything off the bed, turned out the light and crawled beneath the sheets.

  Her body instantly con formed to the unfamiliar contours of the mattress, too tired to fight the uncomfortable lumps. Caring for the two boys had been more work than she'd anticipated. It was just that she wasn't accustomed to this particular kind of work, she assured herself with a yawn. She'd walked into a situation and coped the best she could in the hours she had, but tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow she would be in complete control.

  She rose back up, spying a clock radio on the night table next to the bed. Moving the alarm hand, she set it to go off at five. That should give her a comfortable jump on the day. She would be able to get some of the house work done before the twins woke up.

  Lying back down, she released a deep sigh. Despite her tiredness, her thoughts turned to Beau Randolf. He didn't fit the image she'd had in her mind of him before arriving here. For one thing, he was much more attractive than she'd anticipated. She'd expected a beer-bellied, swaggering Neanderthal who lived in a shanty with disabled cars in the front yard. She hadn't expected a man with dark, tumbled hair that beckoned her fingers to dance through it. She hadn't expected a man with a drop-dead gorgeous smile and eyes that sparkled with sinful thoughts.

  There had been a softness in those eyes when he'd spoken of the twins as his family; a softness that had touched her deep inside.