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Strapless dress? Electric-blue slits? Panty hose? Platform sandals? Red lipstick?
Sloan didn’t think so. Not while he still had breath in his body.
“Hold it!”
His daughters turned to face him, their excitement suddenly dimmed by his rare show of anger.
“I wasn’t finished,” he continued, not bothering to remove the edginess from his tone. “You can go to the party. But you can’t stay out until two o’clock in the morning.”
“But, Dad—” Sasha lamented.
“Oh, no—” the two little words Sydney emitted sounded like a groan from a horribly wounded animal “—he’s going to embarrass us. He’s going to ruin everything. Everyone will be looking at us. He’s going to make us leave early.”
She made the idea of premature departure sound like some sort of disfiguring disease. He wanted to point out just what kind of attention twelve-year-olds wearing revealing dresses and red lipstick would attract, but he chomped down firmly on his tongue and kept the thoughts to himself.
Sophie quietly pointed out. “Dad, Debbie’s mother rented a hall.”
Sloan shrugged. “I don’t care if Debbie’s mother rented Veterans’ Stadium. My daughters will not be out until the wee hours of the morning. You girls are twelve years old—”
Sydney’s chin rose, as did her voice, when she pointed out, “But I’ll be thirteen in three weeks.”
“Me, too,” Sasha said.
Through her tight jaw, Sophie added, “Me, three.”
This was their motto. Their united credo.
Rebellion glinted in their gazes now, bold and unmistakable.
Holding his ground, Sloan refused to be intimidated. “I don’t care if you’re going to be thirty-five. No daughter of mine is going to be out gallivanting in the middle of the night. You can celebrate the New Year, and I’ll be picking you up at twelve-thirty. And that’s final.”
Sasha’s bottom lip began to tremble, piteous tears welling in her big brown eyes.
“But Debbie’s mom is serving breakfast at one,” Sydney informed him. “And she’s making my favorite. Pancakes.”
“I’ll be happy to make pancakes just as soon as we get home from the party,” Sloan offered. But his words were firm, uncontestable.
The air grew tense and thick, and Sloan got the strange sense that something awful was about to happen.
Fate didn’t disappoint him.
Sophie—the quietest of his daughters—straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. She looked her father directly in the eye and proclaimed, “Well, I’m staying until the end of the party. I’m not going to let you ruin my first date with Bobby Snyders.”
Date? Had his little girl just said she had a date? With a boy?
Rachel Richards loved her job. She managed the medical practice of partners Sloan Radcliff, Travis Westcott and Greg Hamilton. The three men were more than doctors sharing a practice, they were friends who supported one another. Since she had no close relatives to speak of, the family-like atmosphere of the office was one of the reasons she so liked working there.
There were other reasons as well. Sloan and his daughters made up a big part of those reasons.
The seemingly never-ending pile of patient insurance forms had been a convenient excuse for her to remain at the office after hours, but the truth was she knew the triplets had planned to confront their father today about the party and she wanted to be nearby…just in case.
She’d loved those girls ever since her best friend Olivia, Sloan’s wife, had given birth to them. And Rachel had done everything she could to nurture them during the two years since Olivia had passed away.
The triplets shouldn’t gang up on their father the way they were doing this afternoon. Rachel had seen a lot of that kind of behavior lately. The girls acted like a pack of wild dogs, nipping and yelping from all sides, until Sloan caved in to their demands. And it seemed that, as the girls got older, the more crafty they became. Today they were showing just how they had perfected this “pack hunting” technique.
Rachel had remained at the office in order to dry their tears and smooth their ruffled feathers should Sloan refuse to allow them to attend the New Year’s Eve party. But as soon as she overheard the word date, she knew it was Sloan who was in urgent need of her support.
And if there was anything she could do for Sloan…Her heart raced. Anything at all…
With insurance papers still in one hand, a pen in the other, Rachel hurried into Sloan’s office.
His handsome face was ghostly pale when she entered the room. And his sensual mouth—the one that so often intruded on her dreams in the deepest, most vulnerable part of the night—was gaping as he so obviously searched for something to say.
Empathy for his plight welled up inside Rachel. She knew he agonized over his parenting responsibilities. Not that he bent her ear or leaned on her shoulder—she only wished he would. However, she knew he relied heavily on his friends and partners, Greg Hamilton and Travis Westcott.
Being a single, childless woman, Rachel really hadn’t a clue how to fix this problem between Sloan and his daughters. But she had to try. She simply had to.
Plastering a bright smile onto her face, she rustled up her courage and said, “Sounds like a little compromise is in order here.”
Four pairs of eyes turned to look at her. Focusing on Sloan’s chocolate-brown ones would be a mistake, she knew. Her tongue would tie up in knots. So she directed her attention to the girls, letting her gaze bounce from one to the next.
“It’s clear that your dad wants to let you go to the party,” she told them. “I overheard him say as much. But all three of you are going to have to be willing to make a few concessions where wardrobe and…and…a few other things are concerned.”
“Kids are always the ones who have to make concessions,” Sydney muttered.
“Well,” Rachel said smoothly, “nobody ever said that life is fair.”
After only a second or two, Rachel continued, “That party invitation you showed me stated that this shindig is semiformal.”
“Yes.” Sasha’s eyes brightened, evidently seeing Rachel as some sort of co-conspirator who had arrived to save the day. “That’s what we tried to explain to Dad. That we’d all need long gowns.”
“Honey, I hate to break this to you—” Rachel’s head tilted gently “—but semiformal does not mean fancy evening dresses.”
“Doesn’t mean strapless gowns or electric-blue slits, either,” Sloan murmured under his breath.
Rachel suppressed the small smile tugging at her mouth, but the obvious appreciation she read in his brown gaze made her breath hitch in her throat.
“How about,” she offered, forcing herself to focus on the girls once again, “if I take the three of you shopping? We’ll buy nice, tasteful dresses that your father will approve of.”
“B-but all the girls are wearing—”
“Trust me on this, Sydney,” Rachel said firmly.
“What about makeup?” Sasha looked sulky, her bottom lip protruding.
Rachel reached out and touched the girl’s cheek with her fingertips. “You’re so beautiful you don’t need makeup. But maybe your dad will agree to a little lightly tinted lip gloss. That’ll accentuate your cute mouth without too much garish color. What do you say, Sloan?”
Again, the gratitude in his intense eyes made her feel as if all the air in the room had condensed. He smiled at her. Blood thrummed through her body.
And then that familiar guilt descended on her like a thick, heavy layer of wet wool. It congealed in her chest and she fought to swallow a nervous cough.
“I think I could live with that.” Sloan nodded, evidently not noticing the chaos coursing through her.
Sophie stepped toward Rachel. “But what about having to leave the party early? We can’t—”
“Don’t push it, Sophie,” Rachel softly warned, narrowing her eyes in a manner that conveyed the same gentle but firm message. “We don’t even know if that’s negotiable. We’ll let your dad think about it. Then he can let you know.”
She addressed all three girls, “Go get into your coats. I’ll meet you in the waiting area.”
Once the two of them were alone, Sloan said, “I really appreciate this, Rachel.”
The richness of his voice nearly made her toes curl with pleasure.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she told him. Had someone been fiddling with the thermostat? she wondered. It sure was hot in this office. “I’m happy to take the girls to the mall.”
He pulled out his wallet and handed her some money. “This is for dinner. That band of raving rebels will be hungry before long.” Affection candy-coated his words. Then he paused, sudden indecision shadowing his gaze. “Should I be going along with you?”
“Nah.” A tiny smile twisted one corner of her mouth. “We’ll probably end up shopping at half a dozen different stores before we’re through. It would be very boring for you.”
“Well, put the dresses on your charge account and I’ll pay the bill when it arrives.”
She nodded. “Fair enough.” This part was routine. She’d taken the girls shopping for clothing many times. Then she told him, “I’ll have them home before nine.”
“Drive safe,” he said, glancing out the window. “The snow has thinned, but it’s still coming down out there.”
Rachel would have loved to think his words of warning were because he was worried about her safety. But she knew his daughters were the precious cargo at the forefront of his mind, as they should be.
“The roads have been salted.”
However, before the words had even left her mouth, Sloan had already turned his attention to the patient file sitting open on his desk. So she left his office and strolled down the hallway toward the sounds of the girls’ excited chatter.
She really was happy to have the opportunity to help Sloan and his daughters. Terribly happy. She just wished she would stop being engulfed by this wave of tremendous guilt—a wave that threatened to drown her each and every time she and Sloan were together.
Oh, she knew what caused this awful, dark emotion. Knew it just as well as she knew her own name.
The guilt was her conscience. An inner voice that constantly told her she had no right—no right, whatsoever—to have fallen in love with her best friend’s husband.
“Rachel, can I ask you a question?”
The snow blanketing the city wasn’t all that thick, but it was substantial enough to muffle the city sounds from outside. And the interior of the car seemed quieter, too.
“Sure, Sophie.” Rachel glanced into the rearview mirror, but couldn’t make out the child’s face. “Ask me anything.”
“Well…w-what…” Sophie paused, then tried again. “What does it feel like…you know…to kiss a boy?”
Rachel’s brows rose. She’d fully expected to hear complaints about Sloan’s stubbornness, about what the girls surely labeled their father’s overprotective nature. It hadn’t dawned on her that Sophie’s question would deal with relationships. Wow, this conversation just might lead to a discussion about the birds and the bees.
However, rather than being distressed by the prospect, Rachel felt honored. Sophie’s question let Rachel know the girls felt comfortable with her. Comfortable to talk about anything. Even kissing boys.
Before she could answer, Sydney giggled at her sister’s query. But Sasha’s tone was awestruck as she asked Sophie, “Do you really think Bobby will kiss you at the party?”
Rachel sensed Sophie’s shrug.
“Well, it’s New Year’s Eve,” Sophie began slowly. “People always hug and kiss to celebrate the coming in of the new year, right?”
Sasha’s voice became even more breathless. “You’re right. They do.”
Sydney’s laughter quickly died, and she, too, seemed overwhelmed by the prospect that her sister might experience her first real, honest-to-goodness kiss in just four short days.
The air felt all shivery with apprehension.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Rachel said softly. “It’s nice. Being kissed, I mean. When your lips touch, it’ll feel…nice. Warm. But the biggest reaction you’ll have is inside. Your stomach will become jumpy. Jittery. Giddy. You’ll feel light-headed, and your knees will get weak.”
Where on earth was this description coming from? Rachel wondered. She hadn’t been kissed in so long…she couldn’t even remember how long it had been! Where did she get off telling the triplets what to expect?
“Ick!” Sydney said. “Sounds like flu symptoms to me.”
Rachel didn’t have time to chuckle before Sasha’s serious tone cut in, “You’ll have to make sure you brush your teeth, Sophie. You wouldn’t want to smell like those cocktail wienies that Debbie said her mom is going to serve as snacks.”
Sydney absently played with her zipper, the metal teeth grinding as the coat was anxiously fastened and unfastened. “And you know how Debbie’s mom thinks she’s a gourmet cook. She puts garlic in everything.”
“Gosh,” Sophie said, “I won’t be able to eat all night.”
“Sure you will.” Rachel pulled the car to a halt at a stop sign and looked for oncoming traffic. “Just keep a stick of gum or a breath mint handy, and pop it into your mouth a few minutes before the count-down begins.”
Sophie’s voice was tight as she declared, “I’ll just die of embarrassment if Dad makes us leave the party too early.”
Rachel sensed rather than saw the other two girls nod in silent agreement.
“Why is Dad so uptight, anyway?” Sydney asked.
“Doesn’t he know that curfews are…jeez, well, that they’re so old-fashioned?” Sasha added.
Rachel suppressed a sigh. “He loves you,” she told the girls. “He’s only trying to be the best dad he can be. And as for curfews being old-fashioned—” she couldn’t keep the humor out of her voice “—I want to hear you tell me that again once you’re raising children of your own.”
“Oh, I would never tell my kids when they have to come in.”
Laughter actually bubbled up from Rachel’s throat, and she had trouble quelling it. She found the utter sincerity in Sydney’s tone comical, although she knew the child really thought she meant what she was saying.
“And I would never make them leave a party early.”
Sophie’s sullen countenance made Rachel sigh. “Look, guys. You’re going to the party. You’d better be willing to compromise about when you come home.”
“We are going to the party,” Sasha agreed with Rachel, pointing out the fact to her siblings. “And we get to pick out new dresses, too.”
The parking lot of the mall was nearly deserted on this snowy night.
“I say we have some dinner,” Rachel said as she turned off the engine of her car. “Then we’ll hit the stores.”
