Daddyhood

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

About the Author

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Copyright

“Who are you, Sabrina Moore?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t want to know.”

Gabe was sure that was true. He shouldn’t try to open Pandora’s box. He might never get Sabrina put back inside, where she couldn’t wreak havoc with his senses, stir his hormones—make him want what he shouldn’t have.

When her voice came, it was low. And soft. And very, very sexy.

“I’m not really a puzzle, you know. What you see is what I am.”

“And what is that?”

“I’m a student of research. I like things clear and concise.”

He leaned forward, searching her eyes. “What about Sabrina, the woman? What does she like?”

Dear Reader,

Love is always in the air at Silhouette Romance. But this month, it might take a while for the characters of May’s stunning lineup to figure that out! Here’s what some of them have to say:

“I’ve just found out the birth mother of my son is back in town. What’s a protective single dad to do?”—FABULOUS FATHER Jared O’Neal in Anne Peters’s My Baby, Your Son

“What was I thinking, inviting a perfect—albeit beautiful—stranger to stay at my house?”—member of THE SINGLE DADDY CLUB, Reece Newton, from Beauty and the Bachelor Dad by Donna Clayton

“I’ve got one last chance to keep my ranch but it means agreeing to marry a man I hardly know!”—Rose Murdock from The Rancher’s Bride by Stella Bagwell, part of her TWINS ON THE DOORSTEP miniseries

“Would you believe my little white lie of a fiancé just showed up—and he’s better than I ever imagined!” —Ellen Rhoades, one of our SURPRISE BRIDES in Myrna Mackenzie’s The Secret Groom

“I will not allow my search for a bride to be waylaid by that attractive, but totally unsuitable, redhead again!”—sexy rancher Rafe McMasters in Cowboy Seeks Perfect Wife by Linda Lewis

“We know Sabrina would be the perfect mom for us—we just have to convince Dad to marry her!”—the precocious twins from Gayle Kaye’s Daddyhood

Happy Reading!

Melissa Senate

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to: Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Daddyhood

Gayle Kaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my brother, my friend, Gary Sondergard— thanks for sharing my childhood. And to my own little charmers, Diane and Cathy, who inspired this book. Love and hugs.

GAYLE KAYE

had a varied and interesting career as an R.N. before finally hanging up her stethoscope to write romances. She indulges this passion in Kansas City, Missouri, where she lives with her husband and one very spoiled poodle. Her first romance in 1987 reached the finals of the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart contest

When she’s not writing, she loves to travel or just curl up with a good book.

Prologue

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not”

“Dad…!”

The twins were fighting again. Gabe Lawrence took the cake he was baking for their sixth birthday out of the oven. It was to be a three-tiered job, with lots of fluffy icing between the layers.

But as he flopped the round layer pans onto the kitchen countertop, he sighed at the sinkholes in the center of each. He probably should have bought a cake. But he was determined to be a hands-on dad.

Was this penance for the years he hadn’t been?

He took off the oven mitts, tossing them beside the sorry cake layers, and went to settle his daughters’ dispute.

“Dad, she’s got my Barbie and won’t give it back,” Hannah said the moment he stepped into the playroom, the one that used to be his home office.

“It’s my Barbie. Nana gave it to me—just me!” Heather retaliated, at which time each girl grabbed a leg and pulled, snapping the poor doll’s legs like a wishbone.

That really set up a howl.

“Okay, princesses, stop your crying and I’ll see if I can…perform doll surgery. Okay?”

That brought a snuffle and a sob and wide-eyed hopefulness from each girl.

“Then she can’t play with it anymore. Isn’t that right, Dad?” Hannah said.

“No one will be playing with Barbie,” he informed them. “She’ll need about six weeks to convalesce.”

Maybe in that time he would have decided which twin had ownership.

“What’s con…con…v’lesce?” Heather asked.

“It’s—Never mind, sweethearts. Just try to play. Without fighting—okay?”

Two sets of bright blue eyes peered up at him through long, fringed lashes. Small rosebud-pink mouths pursed into appealing pouts. Gabe considered his look-alikes’ small cherubic faces, full of sweet innocence, but he suspected it was only a matter of time before there’d be a new squabble between them.

He confiscated the Barbie parts and frowned, wondering if he’d made a mistake turning down his sister’s offer to come and help with the twins. But he knew he hadn’t. The girls were his—and he loved them. He’d get the hang of this fathering thing.

Somehow.

He ruffled their blond curls and tweaked their pert upturned noses, which made them both giggle. In minutes they were playing again—quietly, this time. Gabe made his way out of the room and into the den, sinking into his favorite overstuffed chair.

The twins were still adjusting to life here with him. It had been six months since the accident that had killed their mother, Gabe’s ex-wife. Meg had been a terrific mom, but he hadn’t always been the best dad in the world…and he was sorry about that. He wasn’t sure one inexperienced father could make things right again for two little girls, but if love counted for anything, they would all weather this.

He might not be experienced at child rearing but he was getting plenty of advice—from every female in the family and from the women in the neighborhood. One had even sent him a book on the subject of raising twins, a wordy tome by the renowned child psychologist, Dr. Sabrina Moore.

He unearthed the dog-eared copy from beneath a stack of kiddie books on the end table beside him. Gabe had read the book—or rather, tried to read it. It was a real snoozer, full of facts and figures and theories that he wondered if the lofty Dr. Moore had ever put to the test.

Somewhere besides a clinical lab, that is.

He scanned the glossy photo of her on the back cover. She was pretty, in a soft, don’t-touch sort of way. A brunette. With long, silky hair that barely brushed her shoulders squared for the picture. Her smile looked posed—and he wondered what it would take to make the lady smile like she meant it. Her silk blouse with its high neck didn’t do much for a man’s libido, but still he had the feeling there was a lot of sensual woman beneath that prim facade.

Not that Gabe had any business being curious.

The only women he had time for in his life right now were two soon-to-be six-year-olds who needed him. Which brought him back to the problem of the twins’ sibling rivalry.

He flipped the book over and thumbed through the pages, wondering just what intellectual theories the intriguing Dr. Moore had to offer on the subject….

Chapter One

Dr. Sabrina Moore glanced out over her audience in the small community-college auditorium, smiling at the group of young moms, and one dad, who sat listening to her. The dad had come in late, looking harried and restless as he sat in the back row, somewhat apart from the others.

In seven cities around the country in as many days, she’d given this discussion on the joys and problems of raising twins, promoting her new book, Multiples. The text was a compilation of her years researching twins, triplets, even quadruplets and one rare set of quints.

She’d saved her final round of talks on her busy tour for Denver—her home—and she was glad to be back. The tour had proved tiring and stressful and she wanted nothing more than to unwind.

Her gaze went to the man in the back row again. In his right hand he clutched a copy of her book, and a little thrill of excitement rippled through her. She shifted in her chair, fully expecting him to come up afterward and ask her to autograph it for him, or maybe for his wife.

She was still having a little trouble getting used to all this fame and attention. She’d devoted so much of her life to research, had hidden herself away in quiet, safe, academia for so long, she’d forgotten there was a real world out there.

Shuffling her notes, she went on with her talk, trying to keep her attention off the man in the last row and on the subject at hand. Maybe it was because she had so few men sit in on her sessions that he garnered her attention.

Or maybe it was that he was such a handsome specimen of fatherhood, with a strong square jaw and hair the nut-brown color of an acorn. He wore it slightly long, just brushing the collar of his light blue shirt that stretched across impossibly broad shoulders.

It wasn’t like Sabrina to scrutinize her audience— she’d never done it before now—and she tore her gaze away, concentrating on the group closer to the front.

Questions and answers followed the discussion, along with a brisk sale of copies of her book—which was the reason she was there, after all. That and to share the knowledge of her extensive research.

Her work at the Sherwood Institute was important to her. In fact, since her marriage fell apart a year ago, it had been everything to her. The one bright spot in her life, the one constant, and she poured her heart and soul into it. All her energies.

Sabrina spoke a friendly word to the last mother who’d come forward to purchase her book, remembering the woman had told her at the beginning of the session that she and her husband were the proud parents of triplets, a result of fertility drugs.

With the advent of fertility medications, more and more multiple births were occurring than normally did in nature—which made Sabrina’s research on the subject that much more vital.

As the woman trailed out, Sabrina moved to gather together her discussion materials and deposit them in her briefcase.

“Interesting theories, Dr. Moore.”

Sabrina nearly dropped her charts and graphs at the low male voice that rumbled so close beside her. She knew without glancing up to whom it belonged. She’d been so busy talking with the last few mothers that she’d forgotten all about the solitary dad occupying a seat in the back row. His deep resonant greeting, however, brought her sense of recall to vivid life.

When she looked up, blue eyes met her gaze. Not just any ordinary shade of blue, but a cool, glittering sapphire. Up close he was even more intriguing, not to mention daunting. For a moment she felt unnerved, but only for a moment.

She lifted her chin. “Thank you. I’m glad you liked them.”

His gaze took her in—a slow, thorough assessment that unnerved her all over again. “Oh, I didn’t say I liked them, I said I found your theories interesting. There’s a world of difference.”

Was there something the man didn’t understand about her discussion? It was all there in her book, which he’d obviously read, given the dog-eared condition of it.

She finished stuffing her charts and graphs inside her briefcase, and gave him a smile. “Did you have a question about some point I made, Mr….?”

He gave her a smile, too. Albeit a small one, it did wonderful things to those blue eyes. She read a wisdom in them, one that comes from living life and not having it turn out exactly to your liking. Sabrina knew all about that—and she didn’t ever want to run the gauntlet again.

“Gabe Lawrence,” he supplied. “And I don’t have a question. I have a comment.”

“And that is…?”

Gabe had found the woman far prettier than her picture. A beauty, in fact, with green almond-shaped eyes that were far too sultry—and a definite counterpoint to that starched, bookish look she seemed to hide behind. He could go easy on her, but that had never been his style.

He dropped the book on the speaker’s table in front of her. “Your theories, Dr. Moore, are a lot of hooey.”

“Hooey?”

She spoke the word like it were not in her vocabulary, her lips cupping it and forming something akin to a pucker as she did so, lips he’d consider kissing if it were the right time or place. Her green eyes sparked with silent fury, a warning he should back off. “Psychobabble, Dr. Moore.”

“I know the meaning of the word, Mr. Lawrence. But perhaps you could be a bit more specific than psychobabble or…hooey.”

There went that pucker again. It heated his insides in a way he wished it didn’t.

“Happily,” he replied. He’d go with a small point first. “You stated that twins should never be dressed alike. ‘It thwarts their individuality,’ I believe were your exact words.”

“I know what I said—and I stick by my theory,” she added emphatically.

Gabe wondered if she knew that twins were sometimes frightened, that sometimes there was comfort in pairs. Hannah and Heather had lost their mother recently—dressing alike gave them a sense of belonging, at least to each other. He wished they felt they belonged to him, as well—but that would come in time.

He hoped.

“It so happens, Doctor, that my twins like to dress alike. If one has a big pink bow in her hair, the other wants one, too. Same holds true for lacy socks or pink sundresses,” he added.

“Just a regular pair of little bookends, aren’t they?”

Gabe hadn’t missed the hint of sarcasm in her low, soft voice or the way her chin had raised when she’d delivered her comeback. She obviously wasn’t a woman who could be backed into a corner easily. “No need to get all prickly, Doctor. It’s just a practical fact—practical being the key word here. Something that was noticeably absent in those theories of yours.”

She gazed up at him, her green eyes soft and silvery in the overhead light. “Do you do this often, Mr. Lawrence?”

“What—point out the error of someone’s ways?”

That, too, Sabrina thought “No—sound so opinionated.”

He struck Sabrina as the kind of man who’d leave the parenting to his wife. In fact, she’d be willing to bet six months of her royalties on it. Still, she had to admit, he had come here to her talk—though he seemed to have missed the whole point of it.

He smiled. “Only when I believe strongly in something.”

“Well, I’d really love to stay and debate the practicality of my theories with you further, but I can’t right now.” She paused. “I’m giving a second talk here next week. Perhaps you and your wife would care to attend. You might even learn something.”

“I don’t have a wife.”

She’d picked up her briefcase and taken a step toward the door. Now she stopped and turned back to him. A single father struggling with twins. That could make an interesting sidebar to her research, but she quickly checked that thought. Not with this man, who made her all too aware of her femininity. And found fault with her carefully researched theories.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Because I hadn’t told you,” he offered.

“Well, then…perhaps you’d like to attend the session,” she added. “It’ll be a more in-depth—”

“I doubt that.”

“Doubt that you’ll attend?”

“Doubt that it’ll be more in-depth. I read your book, Dr. Moore. Cover to cover. You don’t go in depth on any point.”

Sabrina’s spine grew ruler straight. What did this man know about her work, her theories? “For your information, Mr. Lawrence,” she said emphatically, “that book was the culmination of five years of painstaking research, five years of dedicated study of child development. I have not one, but two—count ’em— two doctorates. I’ve taught countless seminars on the subject and have just finished a speaking tour around the country.”

He gave her a slow, thorough smile. “Yeah, well, that may be, Doctor. But have you ever seen a pair of twins up close and personal?”

“What?”

“You heard me. How many twins have you spent time with? Not studying them like a scientist would an interesting bug, but putting a ribbon in their hair, listening to their squabbles, drying their tears when they cry?”

Gabe watched her pretty mouth open, then close around whatever angry rebuttal she’d been about to toss his way. “That’s what I figured,” he answered smugly at her nonanswer.

She ducked her head and, clutching her briefcase, stormed through the doorway and down the hall, the firm click of her sexy high heels tapping a staccato beat against the tile floor.

Maybe he’d come on a little too strong—one of his less flattering habits, Gabe knew. “Hey, wait up,” he said and tailed after her.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he allowed when he’d caught up with her. “I didn’t mean my comment as a total criticism of your book.”

“Of course not.” She kept on walking. Down the hall and out the door into the bright early-afternoon sun. She didn’t even slow, just made for the parking lot and her small, sensible blue-gray car parked there.

Gabe kept pace beside her. “Look, maybe we can discuss this.”

She kept walking. “I’m a busy woman, Mr. Lawrence. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She reached for the door handle of her car.

“Then meet the twins. I promise you, you’ll learn a thing or two.” She’d learn just how silly a few of her well-thought-out theories really were. She’d learn how Gabe dealt with the realities of twins on a daily basis. She’d learn she didn’t have all the answers.

But the woman didn’t jump at his invitation. She only handed him a glower that could have buried a lesser man beneath the parking lot.

Gabe was not a lesser man.

“You surprise me, Dr. Moore. I thought you were woman enough to accept a challenge.”

She paused, tapping her fingers on the door handle of her car. “And just what challenge might that be?”

“Meet one cute little set of twins, head-on. Hannah and Heather,” he said. “I might be partial about the cute part, but then I’m their father.”

Hannah and Heather—at least it wasn’t rhyming names, Sabrina thought. She’d devoted a whole chapter of her book to what that did to siblings. She’d have to give him credit though for his fatherly pride.

“Look, I’m taking them for pizza tonight. Join us. Antonio’s—it’s their favorite place.”

“I—I have plans this evening,” she told him and opened her car door.

“Then how about tomorrow night? It’s the twins’ sixth birthday and I’m throwing a party for them. Cake, birthday punch, dinner.”

“A birthday party…?”

“Yes.”

Why was she hesitating? Why hadn’t she hopped in her car and roared off, leaving Gabe Lawrence standing in the dust, with nothing to do but stare at her retreating back bumper?

Because he’d appealed to her on some level beside just the feminine? Called out to her scholarly side— the side that was curious about two sweet little girls who had a bonehead for a father?

She knew that it was.

And perhaps, just perhaps, she wanted to recover the reputation the man had so effectively taken aim at.

His planned birthday party sounded safe—well, safe enough. And she did want to meet the twins.

“I just may take you up on it, Mr. Lawrence. But— it’s certainly not because of your charm.”

The smile her double-edged acceptance put on his lips had a part of her doubting the wisdom of what she’d just done.

The part that could get hurt….

Sabrina glanced again at the suburban address on the tan-colored business card with crisp black lettering that Gabe Lawrence had given her. According to the card, he ran Lawrence Advertising, and his office address was the same as his home. An arrangement that enabled him to stay close to his twin daughters? she wondered.

A few moms enjoyed the luxury of working at home these days—why not fathers?

She had to admire his effort, and the fact that it couldn’t be an easy proposition for him, raising two little girls alone.

Perhaps it was better not to find anything more to admire about the man, she decided, and spent the next few minutes searching for house numbers on the treelined block of modest brick homes. The neighborhood bespoke easy comfort and a warmth that was nurturing. A neighborhood for raising children.

Then she spotted the house number—a small ranch home with a hopscotch game drawn in white chalk on the long driveway. In the yard was a large red maple that had already begun to drop its leaves, a signal that Denver’s warm summer days were fast drawing to an end.

Sabrina turned into the drive, carefully avoiding the hopscotch markings, and came to a halt in front of the double-car garage. The thought that possibly this wasn’t the best ending for the confrontation she’d had with Gabe Lawrence yesterday afternoon assailed her. But just as she considered backing out of the evening, she thought of the twins and realized she very much wanted to meet them. She just wished they didn’t have a father who rattled her senses.

When she turned off the car’s engine she saw the man in question standing at the front door. She sucked in a breath at the sight of him. Gabe Lawrence was every bit as intriguing as he’d been yesterday. And just as daunting.

Those wide shoulders filled the doorway, doorjamb to doorjamb, and she decided it was better to concentrate on her reason for being here: the twins and the party she’d been invited to.

Scooping up two brightly colored birthday packages from the seat beside her, she made her way toward the front porch—and Gabe.

He greeted her with a dangerous smile, one that made her want to reconsider her evening. “Welcome. I thought you might have decided not to come.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have.

Sabrina wondered if it was too late to plead a previous appointment. Across town. “Are you sure I’m not intruding?”

“Of course not Come on in. The party’s out back.”

Sabrina expected as much. She could hear the childish exuberance echoing from just that direction.

She only got a brief glimpse of the house as Gabe led her through on their way to the back patio where the party was in full swing. Sabrina dropped her carefully wrapped gifts for the twins onto a table filled with other gifts, just inside the sliding glass door in Gabe’s party-cluttered kitchen.

She hadn’t bought matching gifts, as most people insisted on buying for twins, but individual ones— ones she hoped each girl would enjoy.

When they reached the back, Gabe waved the two birthday girls over to meet her. He hadn’t mentioned whether the twins were identical or not, but she could see now that they were—right down to their pink, little-girl party dresses and shiny new Mary Janes.