Secret Agent Dad. Metsy Hingle
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the—” He jerked his gaze toward the doorway, . then back to her. “What was that?”
“A baby. That’s what I started to tell you. You—”
“You have a kid?”
“Me? That’s not my—”
The second baby got in on the act and started to cry with its twin, creating a set of sobs that would break any mother’s heart or make her tone-deaf if she wasn’t careful.
He groaned, held a hand to his head and looked back at her. “Jeez. How many kids do you have, anyway?”
“I don’t have any.” She winced as the cries reached an all-time high note that Josie thought would shatter glass. She made a dash for the door. “But you have two...twins.”
Her reply hit him like a prizefighter’s punch, paralyzing him for long seconds. Speechless, he watched Josie’s cute little tush clear the room, her long legs moving at a fast clip. Unable to move, after the bomb she’d dropped on him, he stood there with his mouth open, his bare feet planted on the floor, his head spinning. The room swam before him. Damn near sure he was going to pass out, he braced his hands against the wall and sucked in air. The dizziness subsided, leaving him feeling as weak as a kitten and wishing he could just start the entire day over. And he’d start it by remembering who he was and erasing that little bombshell Josie had just dropped on him.
But wishing wasn’t worth spit. Wishing couldn’t solve his problems. Only he could. And he intended to do just that— starting with Josie. Shoving away from the wall, he moved toward the door on legs not quite as steady as he’d like them to be. What he wouldn’t give to just sit down—preferably with a shot of good Irish whisky, he mused. And he would. Just as soon as he set a certain raven-haired woman straight about a major misconception on her part. All right. Maybe he had lost his memory, and he didn’t remember his name. But he was damn sure about one thing—he was not anyone’s daddy.
Daddy!
Just the idea made him shudder. Him? A father? No way! The very notion was absurd. Just the thought of being responsible for one baby, let alone two, sent fear crawling down his spine. Surely this was not the reaction of a man who had kids. Besides, loss of memory or not, what he knew about kids wouldn’t fill a nutshell. If he were a father—which he didn’t believe for a minute that he was—he sure as hell would have remembered the fact.
Wouldn’t he? A man just didn’t forget that sort of thing, he reasoned. Nope. He wasn’t any squalling, pint-size person’s daddy. To even think he was had been a mistake. And Miss Josie Walters with the angel eyes and sulky mouth had been the one to make it Intent on telling her just that, he started down the hall to find her.
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