Kitabı oku: «Urgent Vows», sayfa 2
“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.
“How does my brother-in-law factor into this?”
“He’s my lawyer. He came highly recommended by a friend.” Quinn paused. “I didn’t realize you were any relation until he suggested he had a sister-in-law who might be willing to take on Kyle and Melanie. He didn’t seem to know about our previous relationship so I didn’t bother to enlighten him.”
Hope closed her eyes and felt the hurt rumble from her voice and burrow deep into her chest. “How flattering that you didn’t come up with my name on your own.”
He gripped her shoulders and her eyes fluttered open to meet the uncapped honesty glimmering in the depths of his wintry gaze. Her skin grew sensitized to the heat generated by his touch and the roughened tips of his fingers. Longing unfurled in her like a cluster of spring flowers bursting through a patch of winter ice.
“Frankly, it never occurred to me to seek you out,” he said brusquely. “I thought by now you’d be married with four kids.” She couldn’t move, could barely breathe as he gently extracted a baby’s breath bud from her hair, holding it between his square-tipped fingers. Her heart lifted and contracted as if stretching after a long dormancy, then commenced to beat at an alarming rate. “Tom told me about your fiancé who died. I’m sorry.”
A flush scalded her face. For the life of her she wasn’t going to ask what other information Tom might have confided about her personal life. Had her brother-in-law thought she’d just leap at the invitation to be married? To have an instant family? Her knees threatened to buckle, but pride kept them rigidly locked in place. She pressed her lips closed and counted slowly to ten, trying not to think of Quinn living in her house as her husband. “Aren’t there any other relatives?”
“No. Carrie was an only child. Her mother died last year and her father is in a nursing home. He’s in no shape to take on the responsibility. Unfortunately, there’s no one else. My mother died six years ago.” He released her and shrugged, the muscles bunching and grinding together beneath his gray sweatshirt. “Given the circumstances, Tom told me that the most expedient thing for me to do from a legal standpoint is to marry and appoint my wife the guardian of the children in my will. As the children’s aunt, there’s a much greater chance the court will uphold my wishes because you’re a relative. I know this sounds a little extreme, but I don’t want to take any chances that the kids could end up becoming wards of the Crown.”
This was so absolutely crazy. Hope’s brain scrambled to process all the information he was giving her. Tom had been specializing in family law for a number of years. She had no doubt the advice he’d given Quinn was sound, but a part of her felt she must object on the children’s behalf. “Forgive me for sounding so blunt, but how can you be so sure that your brother and his wife were killed in your place?”
“Quent was a scientist and worked for the Museum of Science and Technology. It’s not exactly an environment that inspires violence. You knew him. You know what kind of person he was. I deal with people every day who’d like to see me take a trip into the hereafter.”
“How do you know it wasn’t a burglary,” she protested. “Or just some deranged person—”
He ran his hand through his hair. “Because the night they were shot, Quent dropped by my office to collect some tickets to a Senators game at the Corel Centre. I believe the hit man was staking out my office and followed him home, thinking he was me. My address isn’t listed in the phone book. Neither was Quent’s.”
Hope nodded and felt her throat constrict with pain for him, for the children, and for Quent and Carrie, who’d had their lives cut short. “I’m so sorry. I sympathize with your situation, but I’m not sure that I can marry you.”
“Are you involved with someone?”
Hope nearly choked. Not as of 7:00 p.m. this evening. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then, what is it?”
She lifted her chin. He was dangling her deepest, darkest desire in front of her with all the scruples of a proverbial devil negotiating the price of a soul. One simple I do and she’d be a mother and Quinn’s wife. “Have you considered that you may not be doing these children any favors by marrying someone when your heart isn’t in it?” She held his gaze. “Maybe you’re wrong about all this, and one day you’ll decide this marriage was a mistake and put these children through the trauma of a divorce.” She couldn’t bring herself to add just as he’d thought their engagement was a mistake, but the words hung in unspoken accusation between them.
His knuckles grazed her jaw. Another touch, another tender, persuasive assault on her senses. His mouth twisted into a lopsided grin that carved a shallow dimple in his left cheek. A very sexy dimple. “Hit men are results-oriented people, Hope, and I’m not willing to take a chance on being wrong. I don’t want you to love me. I don’t deserve it. But Quent married Carrie for life and I wouldn’t dishonor their commitment to each other and what they wanted for their children by offering you less.”
Damn him. She took a silent inventory of his rugged profile and the jagged plates of his muscled chest, her conscience rebelling at the idea of some mercenary killer wanting to destroy him. If he managed to survive, and that sounded like a big if, he’d stay married to her out of guilt. For the children’s sake. But the thought of exchanging vows with him might destroy her. It had taken her years to get over him.
She darted a glance at Kyle and Melanie and her reluctance to agree to this crazy proposal melted in a rush of compassion. Kyle had abandoned his snack and was industriously hammering a block at the play workbench. Melanie was fast asleep at the picnic table, a graham cracker still clutched in her hand. How on earth was she supposed to resist those two darlings? “If I agreed, I’d be putting my life in danger, as well.”
“Yes,” Quinn stated unequivocally. “But Tom and I, my partner Oliver, and my friend, Gord Swenson, plan to exercise every precaution possible to keep our location under wraps. No phone calls that can be traced or tapped, no record on a computer disk. I’m driving a car that belongs to another friend of Gord’s. We don’t even want your family to know.” He paused, his Adam’s apple working in his lean throat. “As soon as the children have bonded with you, I’m going to leave. I have to do whatever I can to help the police determine whoever is responsible for this. I just can’t leave the kids immediately— I’m the only familiar face they have at the moment and I have to think of their needs first.”
And that, Hope realized, was how they were going to get through this. By thinking of the children and putting Kyle’s and Melanie’s needs first. She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed. For an instant he seemed surprised by her touch, then his fingers twined tightly with hers in a bond of shared understanding. Tears gathered in her eyes.
But their joined hands, and the tingling warmth generated by the contact of their palms made her very much aware that marriage had a physical as well as an emotional commitment.
Her cheeks heated. “Just one more question,” she said, determined to make things clear right from the beginning. “Where do you plan on sleeping while you’re here?”
“On the couch, Mrs. McClure. Sex is the last thing on my mind, but we might have to get Tom’s legal opinion on whether or not the marriage needs to be consummated.”
Hope blushed from her toes to her scalp at the idea of asking her brother-in-law such a question.
“Or maybe not.” His fingers tightened a notch around hers, protective and familiar. “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”
She tilted her head back to look up at him and gave him a tremulous smile. “Yes.”
The glow that warmed his eyes created a stirring of response in her belly. Reminded her of a week long ago when being Quinn McClure’s fiancée had brought her such happiness and eventually pain.
“Thank you. You won’t have to worry about money. I’ve got savings, investments, a condo and a business I own half of. Not to mention life insurance and the trust fund Quent and Carrie set up for the kids. It should be enough.”
“I’m not worried. I can manage on my own if need be.”
She saw the tension loosen in the planes of his face. “Carrie would have approved of you. Quent always did.”
Her voice caught in her throat. “I’ll love the children like they’re my own flesh and blood.”
“I know you will.”
“Quinn?”
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid.”
“I know. Me, too.” His arms came around her then, the solid feel of his hard body bittersweet. But Hope nestled her cheek against his breastbone where she could hear the reassuring pound of his heartbeat and hung on tightly. For better or worse. Till death they would part.
SHE’D SAID YES. Relief settled through Quinn as they carried Melanie and Kyle upstairs to the bedrooms that Hope used for the children who occasionally required night care or spent a few days with her when their parents were away on business trips.
Kyle held fast in his arms, Quinn had feelings he’d never expected to have tumble through him as he watched Hope expertly tuck Melanie into a picket-fence bed in a yellow bedroom where butterflies fluttered from one tulip bloom to another on the walls. Observing Hope with Melanie was like being given a glimpse of what could have been. Mel didn’t awaken or utter a peep as Hope moved quietly in the room, closing the blinds, switching on a night light on the dresser. Then she rummaged through Melanie’s bag.
“Is this all you brought?” she whispered, gesturing at the bag.
Quinn nodded. He only had a small bag for each child. “The kids were whisked out of the house pretty fast. Someone else packed their things. I didn’t want to risk returning in case it was under surveillance,” he explained quietly as he cradled Kyle’s head against his chest. He hoped the toddler would doze off in his arms.
“It doesn’t matter. We can buy more clothes and I’ve got toys and books galore.” She gave him a reassuring smile and pulled from the bag a floppyeared bunny, its brown fur noticeably worn, that she tucked into bed with Melanie.
When she moved to put Mel’s clothes in a drawer, Quinn stopped her. “It would be better if you didn’t. We may have to leave in a hurry.”
Hope looked stricken as the meaning of his words seemed to seep into her. Abandoning the bag, she hovered over the slumbering child and ever-so-gently cupped one of Mel’s curls. “Good night, little lamb.”
Quinn turned away. At least something good would come of all this. Hope would have the children she deserved, if not the husband. Quinn had no delusions about what kind of father he’d be, given the chance.
Kyle twisted his head to look up at him, his eyes round and hopeful. “Daddy?”
Quinn gritted his teeth and shook his head. Kyle’s brow wrinkled in confusion. Hope closed the door to Mel’s room and brushed past him, smelling sweet and feminine.
