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“From now on, I’ll wear a raincoat when I’m around you,” he teased.
“Go ahead. Joke about it. But truly, I feel just awful. This time, I will make it up to you.”
No excuses. Time and money were hurdles she could overcome with ingenuity. Before another twenty-four hours passed, she would do something to show him how very sorry she was. The only question: how do you make amends to a man who has more money than God?
Chapter Two
The morning after the chamber of commerce meeting, Quentin entered his office and sat down behind his desk. At the same time, the intercom buzzed and he pushed the button. “Yes, Doleen?”
“You have a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“Sheriff Malone is here to see you, Mr. McCormack.”
“Send him in.”
Quentin figured he was making a pitch for the police department’s Halloween fund. Usually one of the deputies made a phone call; it was good that the sheriff was making a personal appeal. The man kept too much to himself. And the annual event was a worthy cause. The money raised was used for a haunted house to keep the kids supervised and out of mischief. Every year, Quentin made a generous donation. After all, Storkville was all about kids.
A vision of Dana Hewitt and her three children flashed through his mind. It was something that had been happening on an alarmingly regular basis ever since he’d met her. Even though he’d done his darnedest to forget her. It might be easier if he could put his finger on exactly what made her so unforgettable.
After seeing her again last night, sleep had been elusive. When he’d finally managed to doze off, his dreams had been of Dana. He’d never met a woman who had captivated him so quickly and so completely.
When his office door opened, Quentin was relieved that he didn’t have to pursue his last thought. Then he noticed the grim look on the sheriff’s face. Tucker Malone was tall, imposing and probably intimidating to someone on the wrong side of the law. His brown hair showed silver at his temples. His eyes, the color of dark chocolate, hid secrets that Quentin had a feeling were painful. Not a stretch, since he’d been an undercover detective for the Chicago police department. Quentin didn’t know the sheriff well, but he liked and respected him.
He held out his hand. “Good morning, Tucker.”
“Quentin,” the sheriff answered, firmly clasping his outstretched hand.
“Have a seat,” he said, indicating one of the leather wing chairs resting in front of his desk. Then he sat down on the other side.
“Thanks. But this isn’t a social call,” the sheriff answered, lowering himself into the chair.
“Oh?”
“It’s about the twins abandoned at the day-care center.”
Quentin had heard that the sheriff had been called in because no one had claimed the babies. Since then, Tucker had been following up every lead. But Quentin had no idea why he’d come to see him. He had no information to aid in the search.
Tucker cleared his throat. “There was a rattle found with the twins’ belongings when they were left at Hannah’s.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He nodded. “Good. I’ve been trying to keep details quiet. Cleaner that way.”
“Did it lead you to the mother?”
“No. But maybe the father.” The man’s piercing gaze never wavered.
Quentin tensed as he went cold inside. “What are you implying?”
Tucker pulled a long-handled, tarnished metal rattle from his shirt pocket. “I think this might belong to you. It’s silver. Expensive. And has the McCormack crest on it.”
“Are you sure?” Quentin asked. Stunned didn’t come close to describing how he felt.
“The markings are faint so it took me a while to place it. But you’d know best.” He held it out.
Quentin hesitated a moment. “Will I smudge any fingerprints?”
One corner of the sheriff’s mouth turned up. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows on TV.” He shook his head. “It was dusted for prints, but we couldn’t get a clean set.”
Quentin took the rattle and examined it. Several moments later anger sliced through him as he recognized the nearly worn-away family crest. What the hell was going on? “This is a McCormack heirloom, all right.”
“Any idea why it was with the twins?”
He shook his head. “Not a clue.”
“Would it have something to do with you being their father?” Tucker asked grimly.
“No.”
“That’s it?”
“I can do self-righteous indignation as well as the next guy. I could raise my voice and pound on the desk, but it wouldn’t make my answer any more true. I’m responsible about that sort of thing.” He remembered using almost the same words to Dana. “I’m as certain as I can be that I have not fathered any children—let alone the boy and girl left at Hannah’s.”
“I’d like to keep the rattle. It’s still evidence,” Tucker explained. Quentin handed it over. Some of the sheriff’s tension seemed to ease as he took the long silver handle and replaced it in his pocket. “You didn’t give the rattle to anyone?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea how it came to be with the babies?”
“No.”
“Who would have access to it on the estate?”
“Everyone who comes into the house. There’s a display of heirlooms in one of the bedrooms. And you’ve been in Storkville long enough to know that there are numerous social and charitable functions held at the McCormack estate. I’ll check with my mother and see if she’s noticed anything missing.”
He nodded. “You do that. In the meantime, you might want to have a DNA test.”
“But I—”
“If you’re innocent, Quentin, you have nothing to worry about. Why not take steps to clear your name? It’s the only way to be sure.”
The man had a point. “I’ll call the lab and make an appointment.”
Tucker stood up. “Good.” He went to the door, and started to turn the knob. “Quentin?”
“Sheriff?”
“I just want you to know that I’m keeping this investigation as quiet as I can.”
“Thanks, Tucker.”
“I’m not doing it for you. I don’t want this case compromised by publicity. If it’s the last thing I do, I will find out who those kids belong to.” His voice was laced with anger and something that felt like regret.
Then he was gone.
Quentin ran his hand through his hair. In spite of his own denials, he realized that there was a good chance the sheriff believed he had abandoned those babies. If he was ever lucky enough to have children, no way would he turn his back on them. Still, it was a good thing he’d made his donation to Hannah’s day-care center anonymously. That information, along with the rattle, would probably convince Storkville’s lawman that he was guilty beyond a doubt.
He didn’t care what Tucker Malone thought. But if Dana Hewitt heard of the suspicions regarding him, what would she think? Nothing good, he figured. And he realized he wanted her favorable opinion. He picked up the phone. One DNA test ASAP.
After hours, Quentin looked out his office window. The day had started out with a visit from the sheriff and had gone downhill from there. He was glad it was over.
He studied the lights in businesses up and down Main Street. He could almost see Bassinets & Booties from here. A vision filled his head: mahogany hair, gray eyes, full lips. Dana. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman he’d tried to forget after their first meeting.
“Mission impossible,” he said ruefully.
Since their encounter the previous evening, his thoughts of Dana had heated up. And not just because she’d baptized him with the contents of her coffee cup. He’d spent a restless night dreaming of running his hands through her hair, kissing her until they both went up in flames. His intercom buzzed, startling him.
He swiveled his chair away from the window and answered. “Yes, Doleen?”
“You have a visitor.”
He wasn’t expecting anyone. This was the way his day had started. He groaned. Not Sheriff Malone again. Since he wasn’t the babies’ father, what more could there be to talk about? His stomach knotted when he remembered his own secret. Had Tucker discovered that he was the day-care center’s anonymous benefactor?
“Who is it?” he demanded, dreading the answer.
“A woman and three adorable children,” Doleen answered, a smile in her voice.
Dana and her kids, he thought. He’d tried all day to shake his dismal mood. Now he was as excited as a teenage boy going to the prom with the most popular girl in school.
“Send them in,” he said.
A moment later, his office door opened and Lukie raced toward him. Quentin stood in front of his desk and braced himself for impact. He bent down and lifted the little guy into his arms.
“Hi, Lukie.”
“Hi, Mr. Mac.”
They grinned at each other. Then he saw Dana, standing in the doorway with Molly and Kelly. He drank in the sight of her like the plains soak up the first rain after a drought. He could hardly breathe. If anything, she grew more beautiful every time he saw her.
He looked closer and noticed that her eyes lacked their special sparkle. Her full mouth turned up in a smile of greeting, but he knew it was the generic one she used for customers at the end of a particularly long day. She seemed tired, or tense. Or both.
“Hello, Dana,” he said. Then to the two girls now clinging to her legs, “Hi, Kelly. Hi, Molly. Thanks for coming to see me.”
Shyly, they hid their faces in their mother’s red dress, but in such a way that they could peek at him.
“You remembered their names,” Dana said. This time her smile was genuine and for just a moment her eyes shone.
“Of course.” He tried to sound casual, but inside he was doing the touchdown dance at pleasing her. “Although they look so identical, I’d crash and burn if you asked me to address them by name and be correct.”
She laughed. “When they were born, I knew that would be a problem. So I came up with a cheat sheet. Molly has a small mole, or beauty mark as I refer to it, just to the right of her mouth. M for Molly and mole.”
“Clever mother,” he said.
“Thank you. One tries even if one isn’t always successful.” There was an edge to her voice that made him suspect a double meaning to her words. And another black look replaced the pleasure on her face. “But I didn’t barge in to dazzle you with my foxy maternal instincts.”
She just dazzled him with her foxy self, he thought. Then he noticed the basket in her hands and remembered her promise to make retribution for dumping coffee on him. He wanted to tell her she could dump as often as she wanted if it meant he could spend time with her. He realized that he very much wanted to do that.
“Why did you drop in and dazzle me?” he asked instead.
She smiled. “If you’ll put my son down, we’ll do our thing.”
“There you go, big guy,” he said, setting the boy on the rug.
He raced over to his mom, and Quentin realized Lukas had only one pace: light speed. Dana bent down and together they moved forward and handed him the green-cellophane-wrapped basket.
“For you,” Lukie said proudly. “Cuz me and mommy spilled.”
“Thank you.” Quentin took the basket. At the same time, he got a whiff of Dana’s fragrance and realized he could find her in a pitch-black room. The memory of her scent would haunt him forever.
The thought made him hot all over. In his shaky hands, the cellophane snapped, crackled and popped. Not unlike what was going on inside him. Could she tell? He glanced at her to see if she’d noticed.
But she was watching Lukie, who had lost interest in the peace offering. The boy had crawled under his desk and was now on the other side diddling with his computer keyboard.
“Lukie, don’t touch Mr. Mac’s things,” she warned him.
“Okay,” he said and stopped. For a moment.
“I should have left them with Hannah for a few more minutes while I made my peace offering,” she said. “But they’re there all day and I hate to leave them longer than I absolutely must.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. I like seeing them. And this is great,” Quentin said, peering at the wrapping. It was not quite transparent enough to see the contents. “But you really didn’t have to do it.”
“It’s no big deal. But do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with a contrition offering for a man who has more money than God?”
As always, his warning signals went up at the mention of his money. “It’s the thought that counts,” he said automatically.
“That’s a cliché, but I hope you really mean it,” she answered.
“Open your pwesent,” Lukie said. He raced around the desk. “Mommy and me wapped it. Me and my sisters maked cookies.”
“Way to go, buddy.” Quentin looked at the boy’s mother. “When did you have time?”
She shrugged. “They get up at the crack of dawn. We baked this morning before work and day care.”
Quentin put the basket on his desk and untied the ribbon. Inside he found cookies, muffins and peanut brittle. Nestled in the center of the baked goods there was an envelope. He opened it and found a gift certificate to the local dry cleaner.
“Perfect,” he said chuckling. He met Dana’s gaze. “Thank you.”
