Now it was February, and the memory of his father's words still set his teeth on edge. He knew every word by heart:
Dear Pete,
Of all my sons, you were the most difficult. I saw
in you an unfulfilled version oi myself, a man
who would never be able to settle. 1 write this letter knowing that you will never live at the Morgan ranch attempting to be part of the family again. Like Jaek, you hold long grudges, [f by the time I pass away, you have not lived at the ranch Tor the full year, your million dollars will be split among the brothers who have fulfilled their family obligation. Pop
It was a kick in the teeth, not so much because of the money but because his father lacked trust in him. basic faith that he cared about his own family. Wasn't it Pop's fault that no one cared to be at the ranch or have any contact with him? To receive this missive out oi the blue had sent Pete packing to the other side of the world, although he'd been seriously considering retiring from the world of espionage.
Jack's letter—which he'd read—had been worse:
Jack,
I tried to be a good father. 1 tried to save you from yourself. In the end, I realized that you are too different from me. But I was always proud of my firstborn son.
This was Pop, always playing the brothers off each other, which was how the trouble had begun so many
years ago, driving a wedge between them that still existed today, at least for two of them.
The other two, Gabriel and Dane, had made up with the old man. They'd married, had children. Collected their million.
But now the stakes were higher. Pop had come home to live at the Morgan ranch to enjoy the grandchildren and new family he'd netted with all his matchmaking and machinations.
If Pop thought Pete had any intention of living under the same roof with him, he was mistaken. Pete would sit freezing in the darkest side of hell before that happened.
No woman, no family, no million dollars, would ever tie him to the ornery son of a gun who was his father— Pop had foretold the future ominously.
Pete would never settle down. He did indeed hold long grudges—he'd learned it from the master, Josiah Morgan.
There was something satisfying in being the blackest sheep a man could be.
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Max froze.
It was what he'd been waiting for since June, but now—now he was almost afraid to voice the question. His heart stalling, he leaned slowly back in his chair and scoured the investigator's face for clues. 'Where?' he asked, and his voice sounded rough and unused, like a rusty hinge.
'In Suffolk. She's living in a cottage.'
Living. His heart crashed back to life, and he sucked in a long, slow breath. All these months he'd feared—
4 Is she well?'
4 Yes, she's well.'
He had to force himself to ask the next question. k Alone?'
The man paused. % No. The cottage belongs to a man called John Blake. He's working away at the moment, but he comes and goes.'
God. He fell sick. So sick he hardly registered the
next few words, but then gradually they sank in. 'She's got what?'
'Babies. Twin girls. They're eight months old.'
'Eight—?' he echoed under his breath. They must be his.'
He was thinking out loud, but the P.I. heard and corrected him.
'Apparently not. I gather they're hers. She's been there since mid-January last year, and they were born during the summer—June, the woman in the post office thought. She was more than helpful. I think there's been a certain amount of speculation about their relationship.'
He'd just bet there had. God, he was going to kill her. Or Blake. Maybe both of them.
'Of course, looking at the dates, she was presumably pregnant when she left you, so they could be yours, or she could have been having an affair with this Blake character before...'
He glared at the unfortunate P.I. 'Just stick to your job. I can do the math,' he snapped, swallowing the unpalatable possibility that she'd been unfaithful to him before she'd left. 'Where is she? I want the address.'
'It's all in here,' the man said, sliding a large envelope across the desk to him. 'With my invoice.'
'I'll get it seen to. Thank you.'
'If there's anything else you need, Mr Gallagher, any further information—'
Til be in touch.'
'The woman in the post office told me Blake was
away at the moment, if that helps/ he added quietly, and opened the door.
Max stared down at the envelope, hardly daring to open it, but when the door clicked softly shut behind the P.I., he eased up the flap, tipped it and felt his breath jam in his throat as the photos spilled out over the desk.
Oh, lord, she looked gorgeous. Different, though. It took him a moment to recognise her, because she'd grown her hair, and it was tied back in a ponytail, making her look younger and somehow freer. The blond highlights were gone, and it was back to its natural soft golden-brown, with a little curl in the end of the ponytail that he wanted to thread his finger through and tug, just gently, to draw her back to him.
Crazy. She'd put on a little weight, but it suited her. She looked well and happy and beautiful, but oddly, considering how desperate he'd been for news of her for the past year—one year, three weeks and two days, to be exact—it wasn't only Julia who held his attention after the initial shock. It was the babies sitting side by side in a supermarket trolley. Two identical and absolutely beautiful little girls.
When Max Gallagher hires a P.I. to find his estranged wife, Julia, he discovers she's not alone— she has twin baby girls, and they might be his. Now workaholie Max has just two weeks to prove that he can be a wonderful husband and father to the family he wants to treasure.
look for TWO LITTLE MIRACLES
by Caroline Anderson,
available February 2009
from Harlequin Romance®.
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The Texas ranger's twins Page 15