Urgent Vows

However, there was plenty of contentment to be found in the fact she was a wonderful aunt, sister, daughter and friend, and made a valuable contribution in the nurturing of all the children who passed through the doors of Home Away from Home, her day- and night-care center. She could buy her own jelly doughnuts.

An early spring wind sighed heavily in the eaves, the rafters cracking and groaning as if agreeing with her decision. The throaty purr of a motor turning in the drive and the pinging of gravel crunching beneath tires mingled with the sound of the wind. Hope saw a twin beacon of headlights swing across the front window for an instant.

Oh no!

Her pulse pounded through the veins in her wrist as she lifted the lace panel and peered out into the night, hoping David hadn’t followed her. Another dramatic scene she did not need.

She briefly considered turning off the lights and refusing to answer the door, but that would make her a coward. David was an adult. He had the right to choose whom he wished to marry. She just didn’t want to hear any explanations that were supposed to make her feel better—and ease his guilt!

The yard security lights flashed on as the car drew to a halt, illuminating the driveway and the rain-withered, misshapen snowmen rising like ghostly creatures from the snowdrifts still covering her front lawn. Winter hadn’t completely released her grip on the land.

A figure emerged from the driver’s side. A man. But he seemed taller and more imposing than David, his shoulders seeming to take on superhuman proportions. Or perhaps that was her imagination? No, it wasn’t David. This man had a thick, full head of black hair that gleamed with a bluish sheen beneath the light. He wasn’t one of the fathers or stepfathers of her routine charges either. But something about him seemed vaguely familiar.

His every footstep rattled the wet loose gravel until he hit the red-brick path that wound up to the house, then he moved soundlessly, almost stealthily, pausing with obvious uncertainty on the rim of the sagging porch as if he weren’t sure he’d found the right address. But an enormous colorful placard in the shape of a house, with children playfully peeping out of windows, was impossible to miss at the end of the driveway. Was he just someone asking for directions?

She saw him look back over his shoulder toward the white sport utility vehicle. Unease slithered down the bones of her spine. Hope dropped the curtain and clambered off the sofa, not for the first time wishing she had a dog—something big with an intimidating growl. But a lot of toddlers were scared of dogs, and she didn’t want any child under her roof to feel anything but happy and safe. Besides, she’d developed a mother’s fine sense of hearing and wakened immediately at the slightest sound.

Telling herself she was being ridiculous, Hope quickly and silently moved to the kitchen and grabbed her cordless phone off the end of the counter as the man’s knuckles thumped against the screen door. Whoever he was, at least he’d obeyed the instructions on the card posted over the doorbell requesting people not to ring the bell as children could be sleeping.

“Just a minute,” she called softly. None too gently, she wrestled her suitcase into the crowded hall closet, then engaged the security latch at the top of the door which prevented her young charges from sneaking out to climb the old apple tree the moment her back was turned.

She flicked the porch light on. Phone clasped firmly in her damp hand and her finger poised to dial at the first sign of trouble, she eased open the door. The bolt slid along the latch and caught, granting her a six-inch crack through which she could speak without appearing rude.

She had an unfettered view of a chest that rose and expanded like a rough-hewn peak to the jagged thrust of a granite jaw and lean cheeks. Slate-gray eyes, glinting with uncertainty down the blade of a sharp, chiseled nose, impaled her. Disbelief slapped her in the face.

Hope dropped the phone, oblivious to the clattering it made as it hit the floor. She must be dreaming. The man in black jeans and the black anorak zipped up to his chin had to be a figment of her imagination. “Quinn?”

He dug his fingers into his hair, sweeping it back from his broad forehead. His words were low and strained. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this unannounced. But I need you. It’s an emergency.”

He needed her? Surely this was a joke. No, a nightmare. Any moment now she’d wake up with a start on her couch, but Hope didn’t want to wake up. Quinn was gazing at her with the same hungry intensity he’d looked at her with ten years ago; as if he were devising a plan to sweep her off to a secluded spot where he would promptly persuade her that they both had on far too many clothes.

The thought of Quinn naked, making love to her, brought a sharp stab of pain to her abdomen. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” she murmured, resisting his intrusion into her heart. Not tonight. Not ever again.

He stuck the toe of his boot in the door, preventing her from closing it in his face. “Please, Hope. Your brother-in-law, Tom Parrish, sent me. He thought you could help me out of a jam.”

Hope didn’t even know that her brother-in-law knew Quinn. Tom and her sister Faith hadn’t met until years after Quinn had gone back to the RCMP Fraud Squad in Toronto. “What does Tom have to do with this—?” She broke off as the piercing wail of a child’s cry split the air—a wail of fear that pierced Hope’s heart. A child. He had a child. After what he’d told her….

“Just a sec.” He leapt off the porch in a bound, calling over his shoulder, “That’s Kyle. Once he gets going, he’s sure to wake up Melanie.”

Kyle? Melanie?

Not one child. Two. The man who’d broken her heart when he told he’d never be a family man had children. And, obviously, a wife.

Damn him. It was too much. She supposed now he wanted her to baby-sit. It was almost laughable.

As Quinn swooped down on the car like a hawk upon a mouse, Hope unlocked the front door and stepped onto the porch in her nylons, shivering as the cold from the planks bored into the soles of her feet.

Quinn’s imposing back was hunched over the open car door. She opened her mouth to call out to him that despite what Tom had told him, she was closed until after Easter, when he straightened and Hope saw the squirming legs of a restless toddler in pastel-green pajamas, and the pale oval of a tiny face, shaking in protest at being held in his father’s arms. Quinn’s expression matched that of his son’s: complete and total frustration, and Hope’s protest died on her lips. There’d been a shower earlier in the day. She hoped Quinn still had enough presence of mind to put a blanket around his son. And what did it matter if she baby-sat Quinn McClure’s children? He had said it was an emergency, and that Tom had sent him. She could at least hear him out.

“Ou-t!” A second cry from the car’s interior drifted toward Hope on a fresh gust. Hope saw a windmill of churning legs as Quinn firmly tucked Kyle under one arm and rounded the car to the other side, where he opened the door and reached into the car with his free arm to assist the unseen Melanie. Hope decided he could use a second pair of hands.

Running into the parlor, she stepped into her pumps, then swept the afghan off the couch. The screen door slapped behind her as she hurried down the porch steps, the wind tugging her long hair in all directions.

She slowed at the gravel drive, picking her way carefully in her pumps. Judging by the sound of things, Quinn wasn’t any closer to having his children under control.

“Where’s Mommy? I want Mommy! Now! My hair’s caught—and it hurts!” Hope heard the gasping windup of a sob in the making.

Quinn was patient, his voice strained, his body blocking Hope’s view of his daughter. “Mommy’s not here, Mel-Mel. But I am. Now hold still so I can get your hair untangled and get you out of this car seat. Who designs these things anyway— Kyle, ouch! Those are my ribs, pal. If you keep kicking like that, I’m going to drop you and you’ll get hurt.”

Melanie let loose a torrent of agonized howls as if to point out that she, unlike her brother, was in actual pain and must be dealt with immediately.

Afghan in hand, Hope offered to help.

Quinn backed out of the car and straightened, then sagged against the side of the vehicle, Kyle still trying to twist himself free from the restraint of his father’s forearm. Quinn’s relief was obvious. His expression held a tightly reined desperation that shook Hope to the core. “Maybe you could loosen Mel’s hair for me and I’ll take the kick-boxer inside. He sorely needs a diaper change. Then we can talk?”

“Mm-hmm.” Hope grasped one of Kyle’s sturdy little feet and dredged up her brightest smile, her nose wrinkling at the indelicate odor wafting from the toddler’s clothing. “Hi! You must be Kyle. I’ve got a rainbow blanket to warm you up. Have you ever been hugged by a rainbow?”

Blue-gray eyes, ringed with black lashes, widened beneath finely drawn wisps of brows. Hope experienced a pang of envy. Kyle’s hair was as dark as his father’s. Tousled curls framed his rounded brow where a boo-boo was healing. The toddler stilled almost instantly as she tucked the blanket firmly around his warm, compact body and the iron-hard band of Quinn’s arm. “There, nice and cozy now, aren’t you?”

“Thanks,” Quinn murmured. Hope felt her cheeks heat as his measuring gaze slid over her. It was not the sort of look she expected a father of two to brandish about—unless he was divorced?

Another howl from Melanie, this one, degrees more pitiful than the first, had Hope crawling into the toy-littered car, which smelled like new upholstery, male cologne, Kyle’s soiled diaper, and spilt apple juice, toward a three-year-old with chocolate-brown eyes and silky amber hair that fell in angel curls past the shoulders of her heart-dotted purple sweat suit. “My goodness, Melanie,” she intoned softly, giving the little girl a chance to get accustomed to her and her voice. “You poor lamb, looks like you’ve got your fleece all caught up in this funny-looking fence. My name’s Hope. Would it be all right with you if I untangle you?”

Melanie sniffled, and after a moment’s hesitation demanded, “What’s feece?”

“It’s a sheep’s hair.”

Melanie stretched a hand up to Hope’s face and stroked the hair at her temple, her touch soft and tentative. “Are you a fairy? Mommy says fairies wear flowers in their hair.”

Flowers? What was she talking about…? Oh, good heavens! Hope followed Melanie’s fingers, her face reddening when she found a spray of baby’s breath still lingering in her hair from the fiasco of her wedding. She pulled out the flowers and handed them to Melanie.

“No, I’m not a fairy,” she said lightly. “Just always a fiancée. But my friend the robin told me I’d be having a little lamb come for a visit tonight so I was saving it for you.”

Melanie beamed.

“We’ll put it in your hair after we get you free.” Hope expertly manipulated the straps and the release button of the car seat, then made short work of the snarl that had caused all the ruckus and tucked the delicate white flowers behind Melanie’s left ear. “Lovely.”

“I’m always a fiancée, too.”

Hope rolled her eyes and lifted the little girl out of her car seat to help her on with the bubble-gum-pink jacket she found on the front passenger seat beside a smaller navy jacket with red and yellow stripes on the sleeves, and a diaper bag. A quick glance over her shoulder toward the house told her Quinn was letting himself in the front door.

Hope grabbed Kyle’s jacket and slipped the diaper bag over her shoulder, then reached for Melanie’s hand. “Come on. It’s much too cold to let a little lamb like you frolic in the fields. How about you come in the house for a snack while I talk to your daddy?”

“Daddy’s here?”

To Hope’s surprise, Melanie’s eyes filled with tears. She wondered if the preschooler was afraid Quinn had left without telling her so.

“Your daddy’s in the house, lamb. With Kyle. And we’d better hurry because any second he’s going to figure out he forgot the diapers in the car.”

Melanie’s face transformed into a wreath of smiles. She scampered up the front walk at full tilt, calling out, “Daddy! Daddy! I’m here! I knew you weren’t dead!”

What on earth? Hope’s blood ran cold. Had she heard correctly? She hurried after Melanie as fast as her high heels would allow her.

Melanie yanked on the screen door as Quinn opened the front door. Melanie latched on to his legs. “Oh, Daddy! You’re not dead.”

Quinn seemed to stagger under her assault. The flash of pain that whitened his features and turned his eyes into gray pits of agony halted Hope in her tracks on the porch steps. Even as Quinn was pulling Melanie up into his arms and cradling her tightly against his chest, she knew who these children were. Tears blurred her eyes as Quinn said raggedly, “Oh, baby. I’m Uncle Quinn. Not Daddy. Daddy’s dead. I’m so sorry.”

Melanie’s face twisted, and a heart-wrenching sound echoed from her throat.

Hope’s heart felt as if it were being punctured by her ribs. The poor darling lamb! Her hand fluttered to her mouth as Melanie turned brown eyes glaring with accusation at her.

“You lied. You said Daddy was here.”

Hope’s voice trembled. “Oh, sweetie. I didn’t know. I thought he was your daddy. I’m so sorry I upset you. I hope you can forgive me.”

Melanie’s lower lip jutted out belligerently.

Quinn pressed a kiss on his niece’s cheek. “It’s not her fault, Mel-Mel. Kyle woke up before I could tell Hope why we’re here.”

Melanie fingered the baby’s breath in her hair. “Does this mean I’m not always a fancy eater?”

Quinn’s brow crinkled. “Huh?”

Hope leapt to his rescue. “Never mind. It’s a girl thing. Of course, lamb. You’re a fairy fiancée. Now how about that snack I promised? Poor Kyle must really be feeling the need for a clean diaper about now.” She handed Quinn the diaper bag.

“I don’t wear diapers,” Melanie announced in a superior tone. “I’m not a baby.”

“Kyle?” Quinn whirled around and strode into the house, Melanie still clutched in his arms, the diaper bag banging against his thighs. “Oh God. I forgot about him.” He turned toward the small downstairs bedroom Hope used for a change room and her kids’ cubby holes.

“He’s not there,” Hope said, hearing the tinkling of toy piano keys. “He’s in the playroom—the big room right off the kitchen.”

She paused a second to kick off her pumps and rooted through the toy-crowded closet for a pair of the knitted slippers she kept for guests. Her regular slippers were packed in her suitcase and there was no time to unpack them.

She’d just eased her cold, pinched toes into the second slipper when a deep groan reached her ears from the playroom.

“Oh, buddy!”

Hope padded down the hall into the kitchen. When she saw the naked toddler and the suspicious network of puddles that streaked her kitchen floor like the canals of Venice, she sternly told herself that things could be a lot worse. She could be spending her wedding night with a man who didn’t want to be married to her.

KYLE HOWLED bloody murder when Quinn hauled him off to the bathroom to clean him up. Quinn gritted his teeth as he taped a diaper in place and tried to snap Kyle’s outfit around the toddler’s thrashing legs. Hope’s tidy bathroom looked as if a brigade of firemen had bathed in it. Kyle had splashed water all over the floor and smeared soap on the mirror when Quinn had tried to give him a quick bath in the sink. Fresh talons of guilt sunk unrelentingly into Quinn’s stomach. Every passing second he spent with Kyle and Melanie demonstrated how totally incapable he was of taking care of them properly.

What would he do if Hope said no?

Her attempt to close the door in his face pretty much expressed her current opinion of him. Somehow he had to change that.

Leaving a couple of the snaps undone, Quinn carried Kyle back into the kitchen and set him down. Hope had already finished cleaning the floor and was opening a tin of apple juice at the counter while she offered Mel fashion advice on the dress-up clothes his niece was pulling out of a wicker trunk. Kyle made a beeline for a pile of blocks.

As if she sensed his entrance, Hope turned toward him, her mouth set in a thin, tight line, her eyes misty and golden…and full of questions.

And Quinn felt the full jabbing thrust of the intense physical attraction he’d once had for her all over again. She hadn’t changed much in ten years, he thought, taking in the wild disarray of her dark brown hair streaming over her bare shoulders. She’d removed the jacket of her suit and wore a Rugrats apron over a silky, lace-trimmed camisole top. Her short pink skirt showed off her great legs and the nicely rounded curve of her hips. All that smooth white skin and lace reminded Quinn of a delectable iced cake on a tea tray. Pure, irresistible sweetness.

Her pointed chin and the delicate joy lines fanning those golden eyes and dimpling the corners of her mouth, still made him think she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Maybe because his scrutiny was so intense, he noticed the lone white flower clinging to her hair like a snowflake—which reminded him that she’d had flowers in her hair when she’d come to the door. Had she had a date earlier tonight? Quinn frowned. Tom Parrish hadn’t mentioned a current boyfriend, the existence of which might put a serious wrench in his plans.

“I’m preparing apple juice and graham crackers for the children,” she said, putting an end to the uncomfortable silence that stretched between them. “Do they have any food allergies?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Quinn clenched his fists, feeling awkward as she set the snack on a kid-size picnic table and told Kyle and Melanie they could eat only at the table. What if Hope had a boyfriend? How could he ask her to sacrifice her personal happiness when that had been his excuse for abruptly severing their engagement? He felt like a hypocrite. He shouldn’t have come. He never would have thought of seeking her out if Tom hadn’t brought up her name. “I’m really sorry to put you to all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. My plans for the evening kind of fell through anyway.” Something about her tone of voice told him she was telling him a half truth, but she folded her arms across her chest and changed the subject—to the heart of the matter—with her usual directness. “So, what brings you to my doorstep at nine-thirty at night? You mentioned my brother-in-law sent you?”

Quinn nodded and gestured toward the hallway. “Maybe we could discuss this out of hearing range of the children? I don’t know how much they understand, but they’ve suffered enough trauma in the last thirty-six hours. I don’t want to upset them further.”

“Of course.” Hope was almost afraid to listen. She couldn’t imagine Quentin McClure being dead. Hope had always referred to him as Quinn’s better half—the younger-by-fourteen minutes, brainy, mild-natured twin. His death had obviously rocked Quinn hard. Quinn’s lean, muscled body quivered with tightly reined emotion as they stepped into the hall. It took all her willpower to hold back the urge to touch him. She’d already agreed to listen to him and had let him into her home. Had even let herself look at him again. Not touching him was her last remaining defense to his unexpected invasion. Somehow she felt that if she didn’t cross that line, she could survive this encounter with her heart still intact. “What happened to Quent?” she asked softly.

A muscle throbbed in his cheek. “He and his wife Carrie were found shot to death in their home yesterday morning. It was a professional hit, only the hit man mistook Quent for me.”

“Oh my God!”

Hope pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to hold back the nausea that churned in her stomach and clawed up her throat. Her gaze flew instinctively to Kyle and Melanie, who were dribbling cracker crumbs all over the picnic table. Those poor babies! To lose both their parents like that…. A drop of moisture dripped off her chin and she realized she was crying at the senseless injustice of a family being destroyed and children being orphaned…and Quinn walking around with a price on his head and the guilt of his brother and sister-in-law’s deaths on his soul.

Quinn.

She flinched as her eyes met the cold bleakness of his gaze. His emotional overload of pain, anger and guilt forcefully struck her like a whiplash to the chest, the whipcord splitting her ribs and curling securely around her heart. Hope swayed and reached out to him, her fingers seeking the iron band of his wrist. A hundred questions formed in her mind. But only one seemed important. “What can I do to help?”

“Marry me.”

Chapter Two

Hope snatched her fingers from Quinn’s arm and stared up at him open-mouthed, not certain she could believe her ears. It was too ludicrous that she could be dumped at the altar by one man and proposed to by another—especially Quinn!—all on the same day, but Quinn’s expression was deadly serious.

“I— I beg your pardon?” she whispered.

“You can marry me. Quent and Carrie named me the children’s legal guardian in their wills. But if a contract is out on my head, I don’t stand much of a chance of being able to fulfill their wishes. I’m a dead man, Hope. I can’t hide out with these kids forever. Every day I stay with them I put them in danger.” He ran a hand over his haggard face. “The very least I can do for Kyle and Melanie is give them a real mother to take care of them if something happens to me.”

She blinked, completely overwhelmed by what he was implying. She didn’t bother to conceal her sarcasm. “That’s why you came here? You want to marry me just like that to give the kids a mother?”

“Yes.” Quinn’s hard, slate gaze held hers and seemed to etch a path into her innermost secret thoughts. As if he knew the hold he’d had over her heart.

Hope wanted to slap him for his audacity, even as she found a kernel of comfort in the knowledge that she was the one he’d come to in his hour of need.

“Surely you don’t have to resort to such a drastic measure,” she said stiffly. “The RCMP must be investigating, they’ll find whoever—”

He cut her off. “I’m not with the RCMP anymore. The Ottawa-Carleton Regional Police are handling the investigation.”

Now Hope was thoroughly confused. Quinn had been completely engrossed in his career with the RCMP when she’d met him at a friend’s wedding. It had been part of his excuse for breaking their engagement. That along with some nonsense about him not wanting her to be constantly worrying about his safety and waiting for him to come home—an issue that had arisen after his father’s sudden death during a reconnaissance mission with the Canadian Forces. “You’re not a police officer?”

His mouth stretched in a wry smile. “My business card says I’m a forensic examiner specializing in counterfeits. I decided to take some of the special skills I learned with the RCMP abroad when a friend of mine, Oliver Wells, turned sixty and retired. Oliver offered me a partnership in a forensic analysis and consultation company. Our company specializes in the prevention and detection of counterfeits and forgeries, which is a long-winded way of saying that we determine the authenticity of currency, checks, credit cards, stock certificates, travel documents. Even university diplomas,” he added. “We travel all over the world. Today’s technology makes it easier for organized crime rings and individuals to commit fraud and most police departments don’t have access to the highly specialized skills and training necessary to conduct these types of investigations. The expertise and skills would only be found at the level of the national police forces in Canada and the United States. European countries turn to Interpol. Our clients are law-enforcement agencies, countries, financial institutions, insurance companies and private businesses.”

Hope bit down hard on her lower lip. She should have known he’d only left the RCMP because he’d found a broader arena in which to court more danger and excitement. What was that compared to a tame life of raising a family? Like father, like son.