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The Trouble With Twins
Jo Leigh
When Shelby Lord went in search of her birth mother, the trail led to the Texas ranch of Gray Jackson. She arrived to find Gray struggling to care for adorable but rambunctious four-year-old twins.Gray had taken the twins to help out his sister-in-law–she was desperate. Now so was he. Shelby agreed to stay for a week and lend a hand. But the daily intimacy with Gray soon played havoc with Shelby's emotions. She still had unanswered questions about her past. Could she dare to dream about the future?
From Megan Maitland’s Diary
Dear Diary,
Shelby Lord is one of the special people in my life. Not just my goddaughter, but a caring, loving soul who deserves all the love a man can offer. My heart is glad that she’s found Gray Jackson, even though it meant she hit another dead end on the search for her birth mother.
It says everything about Shelby that this all came about out of a simple act of kindness. While Gray might be devilishly handsome and terribly bright, he really did have his hands full taking care of those rambunctious twins! Heaven knows what mischief would have occurred if Shelby hadn’t stepped in. And what a reward—it’s impossible not to see how much he loves her. Now, if Garrett can find the peace and love he deserves…Have faith. I think it’s all going to turn out better than I could even imagine.
There’s never a dull moment around
MAITLAND MATERNITY
Shelby Lord: Is Shelby really staying to help with the children—or does some part of her think there might be some hope with Gray? After all, he’d kissed her…even after he knew her painful secret.
Gray Jackson: Watching Shelby with the twins, Gray feels a longing for a child of his own. Family. The ache is real…and it scares him half to death.
Jem and Scout Jackson: The four-year-old twins delight in rattling their uncle Gray at every turn—yet they’re as eager as Gray for Shelby to stay. Can they sense how much Gray needs her?
Jim Lattimer: To Gray’s potential employer, family is everything. He assumes Shelby is Gray’s wife—and the twins are theirs. Will finding out that Gray isn’t even married end Gray’s career plans?
The Trouble with Twins
Jo Leigh
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A writer of modern fairy tales with sensuality and humor, Jo Leigh grew up in Southern California dreaming of making movies. She worked in the film industry for fifteen years and during that time she fell in love with writing. Jo hadn’t really thought about writing romance novels, even though her father had been a voracious romance reader for many years. She’s written over twenty-five books and writes regularly for the Temptation, American Romance and Intrigue lines. A launch author for the Blaze line, she also contributed to Trueblood, Texas and Heart of the West. You can imagine how proud Jo’s father is of her career at Harlequin! Jo has also taught writing for many years. She lives in Nevada and loves to hear from readers at www.joleigh.com.
To my niece Trysa Shy, who is as loving and
kind as she is beautiful. I love you, sweetheart.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
SHELBY PAUSED just before her hand touched the doorbell. What if this was another dead end? What then?
The information Michael and Garrett had given her was sketchy at best. A couple by the name of Jackson had given birth to triplets almost twenty-six years ago. Her brothers hadn’t been able to find out the exact date yet. The hospital where Mrs. Jackson had given birth had lost its records in a fire, but one doctor had remembered Mrs. Jackson and the triplets. He’d suggested they come here and try to find out if the Jacksons who lived on this ranch were any relation to the Jackson family with the triplets. It was a long shot. But it was a shot.
The quest to find out what had happened to her birth mother had taken on a new urgency in the past few months. Shelby didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell her why. Almost everyone she knew had found someone to love, all in a matter of months. And most of them were already parents or expecting to be parents. Shelby couldn’t stop thinking about her own family.
She loved her brothers and sister with all her heart. She harbored nothing but love and respect for her adoptive parents, and she missed them something awful. She loved her diner in Austin, her friends, her apartment. It was all perfect, except for two little details. Thoughts of her birth parents had kept her up night after night. Why had they abandoned four babies? What kind of woman could walk away and never look back? Maybe she couldn’t look back. Maybe her note of a few months ago had been sent posthumously. Or as a dying goodbye.
And that other thing? Shelby straightened her shirt and smoothed her hair, then her hand went to her stomach, just beneath her breasts. To the scars…
While there was nothing she could do about that, she could do her utmost to get to the bottom of the mystery of her parents. So here she was. A hundred miles from home, in Blue Point, Texas. Standing on a stranger’s doorstep about to ask some very personal questions.
She cleared her throat, prepared to accept whatever was about to happen. But hoping like mad it was going to turn out wonderful.
The doorbell rang loudly enough for her to hear it from the front porch. She expected the door to open immediately, but it didn’t. Not even when she rang a second time.
The ranch house was big, though, so it might take someone a while to get to her. Two stories, white colonial, beautiful porch with a double rocker for warm spring nights. The grounds looked well cared for with particular attention paid to flower beds and a small herb garden.
A noise startled her. A bang like a backfire or a gun. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to show up unannounced like this. She took a step back, prepared to bolt if she had to. The door swung open, and she cringed, waiting for the worst, only mid-wince she realized there was no one at the door. She dropped her gaze and her frightened stance. There was someone at the door. She just hadn’t expected a pre-schooler, that’s all.
“I hate you!”
Shelby wasn’t quite sure how to respond. The little blond boy looked to be about three or four, although the chocolate all over his face made it difficult to be certain. His attire, a rather droopy pair of Toy Story underpants and a T-shirt desperately in need of washing, lent a certain air of nonchalance to the proceedings. She wondered briefly if he was alone in the house. A masculine shout eased her mind. The child hadn’t been abandoned. He just wasn’t taken care of very well.
“Jem, where are you? Jem!”
Shelby opened her mouth to call to the father, but a howl stunned her into silence. Another child. This one seriously unhappy about something.
The crying got louder as a man holding a second child came around the steps to the foyer. As soon as the little one saw Shelby, she stopped crying. The man, Mr. Jackson presumably, appeared to be in over his head, He also looked to be in his early thirties, which didn’t bode well for her purposes.
Shelby had the feeling she’d just discovered the answer to her quest, but she didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Maybe he wasn’t Mr. Jackson at all. Maybe he wasn’t one of the triplets.
He put the child down—a girl, Shelby saw, dressed almost identically to her brother—but before he could say a word, the towheaded child raced toward the stairs, her little legs pumping like pistons. The boy shouted in delight, his dislike for Shelby forgotten, and took off after the girl. The man threw his hands in the air and headed after them. “It’s about time you got here,” he said over his shoulder. Then he was gone.
Maybe she should come back another time. Say when his kids were in college. But then again, he looked about at the end of his rope. He obviously thought she was someone else. Someone, she assumed, who could handle children. If she lent a hand, he might be more inclined to talk about his family. Even though her hope had dimmed, she had come all this way. It seemed prudent to find out what she could. That decided it for her. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
As soon as she walked around the base of the stairs she was assailed by chaos. Toys were strewn everywhere, with a preponderance of stuffed dinosaurs and broken crayons. Clothes from long pants to pjs were on the floor, on the tables, and one sneaker perched precariously on top of the wide-screen television blaring Disney’s Pinocchio. It was a disaster, and from the crying in the other room, she doubted things were going to settle down anytime soon.
“Excuse me?” She walked toward the sound of wailing. “Mr. Jackson?”
He was in the dining room struggling with the little boy. Mr. Jackson, if he was indeed Mr. Jackson, wanted the child to sit down. The child had other plans.
“Mr. Jackson?”
He spun toward her. The little one picked up a spoonful of something white and yucky and threw it on Mr. Jackson’s head. “You were supposed to be here two hours ago,” the man said, his voice determinedly calm.
“I don’t believe I’m the person you think I am.”
“You’re not from Child Minders?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry to barge in on such a busy day. But I’m here on something of a genealogical quest. Would you—” The screaming went up two decibels. “Would you have a few moments to spare?”
He opened his mouth. Blinked. Closed his mouth. Then burst out laughing. Hard. The little boy stopped crying. The little girl’s eyes widened with surprise. Mr. Jackson continued to laugh as he sank down on the seat, unmindful that there was no telling what he was going to sit on.
“Yeah, well, I can see that you don’t.” She took a step back. “I’m sorry.”
He took a deep breath and wiped his eye with his knuckles. “No, hey. My fault. My fault. No problem…”
“Your wife isn’t here?”
“I don’t have a wife.”
“Oh.”
He pointed to the boy. “Jem Jackson.” Then to the girl. “Scout Jackson.”
“As in…?”
He nodded.
“And you are?”
“Their uncle Gray.”
“Ah, I see.” Being boy and girl, the children were fraternal twins, but their hair was identical in color and texture. Scout’s was shaped in what used to be called a Buster Brown, capitalizing on the straight locks. Jem’s hair was much shorter, fashionably buzz cut on the sides. Their little faces, dirty and unhappy, were strikingly similar, too. Big blue eyes, pink-tinged cheeks and upturned noses. She’d bet a bundle that when they weren’t throwing tantrums, they were downright adorable.
“I know you probably won’t believe this,” Uncle Gray said, “but I don’t have a great deal of experience with children.”
“No,” she said, feigning disbelief, liking him for his ability to laugh at himself.
“Yes. It’s true. I can speak three languages. I won the Long Beach Five Hundred. I’ve danced a tango with Hillary Clinton. But this—” His hands went up in a gesture of helpless despair. “They’ve won. I accept my defeat.”
“How noble.” She stepped over a rocking horse. “But have they eaten lunch yet?”
He shook his head.
She peered at the goop inside the little blue bowl on the Winnie-the-Pooh place mat. “No wonder. That looks awful.”
“I know. It tastes worse.”
“That’s it, then. You need to give them something tasty. Of course, you can’t forgo nutrition. But there are lots of things that taste good and are good for them.”
His gaze landed on hers, and he studied her for several seconds, reminding her that she was in a strange home, with a man she didn’t know. A devastatingly gorgeous man, now that she looked at him, but potentially dangerous nonetheless.
His right brow rose. “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to make them lunch.”
It was her turn to laugh. “That’s a hefty fee.”
“You do know how to cook, don’t you?”
“It so happens that cooking is my business. I own a diner in Austin.”
His eyes rolled back in sheer gratitude. “Oh, thank God.”
“But,” she said, picking up the blue bowl, “it’s not a thousand dollars that I want in return for my services.”
“What? Anything. My car? This house?”
“Nothing quite that expensive. I need time with you. To ask about your family.”
“My family?”
She nodded. “I—”
Scout wasn’t interested. She was hungry. And her piercing cry brooked no quarter. “I want pizza!”
“I’ll make food now and talk later.”
He nodded before he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.
