Montana Twins. Charlotte Maclay
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“Laura Cavendish. They’re in their car seats.”
“I wasn’t a hundred percent sure you’d show up.”
“I said I would.”
“Well, let’s take a look at ’em.” He gestured toward the back seat.
She bristled. “This isn’t like picking out a good horse, you know.”
His pale-blue eyes narrowed and darkened with suspicion. “I didn’t think it was, Ms. Cavendish. But they are my nieces, aren’t they?”
“Apparently.” More than anything in the world, Laura wished they weren’t—wished the detective had made a mistake and traced the wrong man. But he’d assured her that wasn’t the case.
“How did you find me, anyway? Johnson is a pretty ordinary name.”
“I had your date and place of birth from your sister, which I gave to the detective I hired. Since I knew you and she hadn’t been raised together, we guessed you had landed in the foster care system somewhere.” The tricky part had been getting ahold of the adoption records. Laura hadn’t asked the detective how he’d managed that.
He cocked his brow, then edged closer to her vehicle, peering through the tinted side window. “So you’re pretty sure I’m the right guy.”
“Yes.” She swallowed hard. If she simply got back in the truck and returned to Helena, no one would question that she’d done as Amy had requested and decided their uncle wasn’t suitable. The twins would be hers. “But if you’re not interested in raising them—”
He grasped the handle and opened the door. Laura held her breath as he leaned inside.
“Oh, my God.” He spoke as though his words were a whispered prayer and filled with awe. “They’re so little.”
Through the crack, Laura saw him tenderly slip his finger into Rebecca’s hand. The baby closed her tiny fingers into a fist around him and opened her eyes, looking up at Eric with her bright blue eyes. A bubble escaped her lips.
“Hey, Tinkerbell,” he said softly. “This lady says I’m your uncle Eric. Whadaya think, huh?”
The magical exchange between the big, rugged sheriff and his tiny niece was so powerful, Laura’s throat closed down tight, and she almost couldn’t speak. “That one is Rebecca. The other one is Amanda.”
“How do you tell ’em apart?”
“Rebecca’s left eyebrow arches a little more than Amanda’s does and her ears stick out a tiny bit more. She’s also more wakeful than her sister.” Somehow, from almost the first moment following their birth she’d been able to tell the twins apart without checking their ID bracelets. The hospital nurses had been amazed. “Other than that, they’re identical.”
“I’ll say.”
A light breeze ruffled Laura’s hair, shifting it along the back of her neck, and she felt a chill run down her arms. “I think we ought to take the girls inside. They’re still a little fragile.”
He backed away from the truck. “Oh, yeah, sure. Come on in.”
“You get Rebecca, and I’ll go around to the other side to get Amanda.”
“You want me to—” He blanched as white as if she’d asked him to pick up a deadly snake. “I’ve never held a baby that tiny before. I’m not sure I know how.”
He’d better learn how in a hurry if he expected Laura to even consider leaving the twins in his care for as little as two minutes—forget the rest of their lives.
“Here, let me.” She edged past him, acutely aware of what a big man he was. His aura expanded around her, stealing inside her personal space, leaving her feeling slightly breathless. Unsnapping the car seat harness, she lifted Rebecca and gave her a quick kiss. “Come on, Becky. Meet your uncle Eric.” She held out the baby to him.
He hesitated.
“She won’t break as long as you don’t drop her.”
“I won’t,” he promised.
She laid the baby in his arms. “Keep her head propped up. Don’t let it fall back.”
He looked as awkward as a boy at his first dance, standing as stiff as a robot, not knowing quite what to do with his hands, his expression frozen with fear. Even so, Laura saw he was gentle. His big hand cradled the back of Rebecca’s head, his arm held her firmly against his chest.
Not that that meant he’d be a good daddy for the long haul.
“Now, hold her carefully,” she warned him again. She hurried to the other side of the SUV, quickly extricating Amanda from her car seat. The infant stretched and yawned, then let out a tiny cry of complaint. “Sorry I had to wake you, Mandy. You’re fine, really you are.” She grabbed the oversize diaper bag and rejoined Eric, who hadn’t budged. “We were going inside?”
“Right.” He eyed Laura, then looked down at Rebecca. “I was wrong before. She’s not Tinkerbell, she’s Stinkerbell. And I think she’s leaking.”
“Oh, dear.” She stifled a smile at his horrified look. “Well, let’s get her inside, and I’ll change her diaper. That probably means Mandy is about to let loose, too.”
Eric didn’t look at all pleased with the prospect. His easy walk that she’d noted earlier turned to a tiptoe race up the porch steps. Despite that, he took the time to hold the door open for her.
An officer of the law and a gentleman—shades of the old west.
For a bachelor’s place, the living room looked neat, and the heavy leather couch and recliner gave the room a masculine flavor. In lieu of any feminine touches, there was an overflowing bookcase stuffed with mystery, adventure and science fiction titles, a big-screen TV and a stereo sound system that would rival an outdoor amphitheater. It looked like a case of a boy with plenty of expensive toys.
Noting the row of huge silver rodeo trophies on the mantel above the natural rock fireplace, Laura suspected Eric’s music of choice would be country-western. She wondered how he was at two-stepping. Not that she was an expert. Just the opposite. But the dance had always looked like fun.
Holding Amanda in one arm, she pulled a receiving blanket from the diaper bag with her free hand and spread it on the center cushion of the man-size couch. She put Amanda down and reached for Rebecca.
Eric passed her the baby, thinking how odd the situation felt. A woman in his house and two tiny babies so small he could probably cradle one in each hand like a football if he wasn’t so darn scared he’d drop one.
No question, he was going to need a crash course in infant care if they had any chance of surviving under his roof after he was on his own with them.
A father ought to know something about taking care of his kids.
If indeed he was a relation at all. He had the feeling he should be waiting for another shoe to drop, one that resembled a complicated con job intended to raid his bank account.
How could anyone know how much he’d always wanted a family of his own?
He watched Laura’s swift, confident movements as she changed the babies’ diapers. Her head was bent over them, allowing her hair to slide forward, hiding her face behind a ginger-blond screen. Her hairdo was practical, only long enough to reach the angle of her jaw, one of those styles that brushed into place with a few strokes or little more than a shake of her head. But it seemed to shine in the reflected light of the room as though someone had turned a golden spotlight on her.
Her clothes were practical, too. A businesslike navy jacket over a light yellow blouse and navy slacks. Sensible shoes. A long way from a femme fatale or what he’d imagine a scam artist would wear.
She dressed as primly as every social worker he’d ever