Mother In A Moment

Chapter Four

By the time Darby pulled her car to a stop at the curb in front of Garrett’s house later that evening, she had convinced herself that she’d made a monumental error in judgment.

She hadn’t even been able to talk it over with Georgie. When she’d gone up to the house to see her, Georgie had been sleeping, thanks to the latest round of meds she was receiving for her condition. So she’d had to content herself with leaving a note for Georgie with her homecare nurse.

For now Darby was on her own with this decision.

She looked at Garrett’s house and feared she’d decided badly.

Why on earth had she agreed to this? Six days, six hours, six minutes. It was all too much for her to contemplate. To stay in that house there, with the golden light spilling from the front picture window, for even the shortest period of time was only asking for trouble.

Her boss, Molly, hadn’t exactly been delighted, either, when Darby had requested the necessary days off from work. Smiling Faces was at its capacity, and extra staff simply wasn’t available. But Molly had softened when Darby had admitted that she was trying to help out the Northrop children. She’d even looked at Darby with a speculative look that Darby had had no trouble deciphering.

She’d seen that look often enough in Georgie’s eyes, too. Whenever she started thinking of suitable male companions for Darby, her eyes turned sparkly and sly. If Darby had been able to talk the situation over with her elderly aunt, Georgie would have probably been delighted.

Frankly, she didn’t need Molly or Georgie conjuring notions of Darby and Garrett. It would be ridiculous. Even if the situation weren’t what it was, Darby was not in the market for a man. She had enough on her plate just keeping herself focused, thank you very much. She had no desire to offer her heart up on a chopping block again. The last time she’d done so, two years earlier, had been her final graduate course in that foolishness. She’d finally learned her lesson.

She looked at Garrett’s house again. She blew out a noisy breath and pushed open her car door, reaching in the backseat for the overnight bag she’d packed. She slung the strap over her shoulder. The bag didn’t weigh a lot. She didn’t need much, after all. Six days spent taking care of children didn’t require much fanciness in the fashion arena.

She had barely started up the sidewalk leading to the house when she heard a baby’s infuriated yowl. She hurried her pace, bounding up the steps to the screen door. She lifted her hand to knock, then jumped back when the door flew open.

Darby looked down to see Regan a moment before the little girl pounced on her legs, nearly taking them both right back down the porch steps. Darby hastily grabbed the rail for balance and realized that another person had appeared in the doorway, too.

She patted Regan’s back and tried to mentally force blood to circulate through the girl’s strangling grip on her legs. “Hello. I’m—”

“Hallelujah, extra hands have arrived. You must be Darby. I’m Carmel.”

Before Darby could blink, the other woman—shorter than Darby, and that was saying something—wrapped her hand around Darby’s arm and dragged her and Regan through the door. “Garrett,” she called over her shoulder as she pulled the door shut and fastened the latch. “The savior has arrived.” Liquid brown-black eyes turned back to Darby. “Thank God you’re here. We’re drowning.”

Darby flushed. Regan finally let go of Darby’s leg and lifted her arms. She picked up the child and tried not to wonder too hard over who Carmel was.

“We don’t got a pool anymore to get drownded in,” Regan whispered worriedly in Darby’s ear. “Are we gonna go ’way like Mommy and Daddy?”

Darby hugged the girl and set her on her feet, keeping hold of her little hand. It didn’t matter who Carmel was. Darby’s purpose here was clear in her mind. “No,” she told Regan calmly. “Where’s your uncle Garrett?”

“In the kitchen,” Carmel answered. She straightened her shiny red shirt and patted down her equally flaming shoulder-length curls before turning on her spiked heel and clattering down the tiled hallway toward, Darby presumed, the kitchen.

Feeling like a faded dishrag in the wake of Carmel’s, well, color, Darby followed. She noticed the playpen in the living room, the toys littering the floor, the full laundry basket sitting on the couch. The kitchen was no better. The bottom cupboard doors were all opened, and pots and pans and plastic bowls and lids spilled out onto the linoleum.

It looked as if an earthquake had hit.

And smack in the middle of it sat the triplets, lined up in their trio of high chairs. Keely was the one caterwauling, but Garrett, who sat in front of the high chairs on a straight-back kitchen chair with green goop dripping down the front of his white shirt, appeared to be the one in true pain.

He looked over at Darby, and his face was so grim and determined that she had to fight a smile. Then he raked his hand through his hair, leaving a streak of green lumps behind, and Regan made a little gasping sound. As if she wanted to laugh but couldn’t quite get the sound out.

“Nice look for you there, boss,” Carmel said smoothly. She was gathering up an enormous neon-yellow purse, clearly planning her escape route. “Too bad the folks from GQ aren’t here with their cameras.”

“Darby, this pain in the rear is my assistant, Carmel Delgado. Carmel, Darby White.”

“Nice to meet you,” Carmel said cheerfully. “I’m outta here to my nice motel room that has a working air conditioner and room service for dinner. Unlike this place.”

“Carmel—”

“See you tomorrow!” She clattered back out of the room. In seconds they heard the slam of the screen door followed by the roar of a car engine.

Darby realized she was staring at Garrett and quickly looked down at Regan. It was well after eight o’clock. And the house was definitely warm, still retaining the heat of the day even though it was very pleasant outside now. “Have any of you eaten dinner?”

Regan shook her head.

“Where’s Reid?”

“Digging up the backyard, most likely. It seems to be something that he really excels at,” Garrett answered. He’d turned back to the babies. Keely’s yelling had, thankfully, subsided.

“Go get Reid,” Darby instructed Regan. “And wash your hands, then come and sit at the table.”

The little girl didn’t look thrilled, but she went. Darby set her overnighter on the floor by the wall and looked at Garrett.

“Don’t say it,” he said flatly. “They should have been in bed an hour ago. And I have been trying to give them dinner for two hours now. I was gonna order pizza or something, but Regan vetoed everything I suggested. Whatever she says, Reid pipes right along with her.”

“Actually, I was going to say that you might have better luck with the triplets if you gave them some finger food. They’re at the age where they want to feed themselves. Or try, anyway.”

“Which would explain why they’ve been throwing their food back at me,” he muttered. He scooted back the chair and rose, seeming to realize what a mess his shirt was. Dusky color rose in his throat, and Darby told herself she was not charmed. This was just a job.

She walked purposefully to the refrigerator and opened the door. The offerings were slim, but he did have eggs and milk. She pulled out both and set them on the counter, then began opening cupboards—the ones up top that hadn’t already been divested of their contents. “Why don’t you get cleaned up, too,” she suggested without looking his way.

He went.

And Darby breathed easier. She found a clean dishcloth and wiped up the mess the triplets had already made, then gave them each a handful of dry cereal. Regan trooped in with a disheveled Reid, and they disappeared in a room off the kitchen. She heard water running, then giggles.

Darby figured she’d go into the bathroom later and find bubbles and water flooding half the room, but she didn’t care. The children were giggling and the happy sound warmed her. Then, overhead, she heard a hideous, groaning rattle of pipes.

A shower, she realized. And a prompt vision of Garrett pulling off his food-decorated shirt popped into her mind.

She shook her head sharply and reached for the waffle iron that sat on the floor under the table. Waffles and scrambled eggs for dinner wasn’t exactly imaginative. But it would have to do for now. Until she could get to the grocery store and stock up on—

“Whoa, Nellie,” she muttered out loud. All she needed to worry about was the next few days. After that, Mr. Garrett Cullum and his crew would have to depend on other arrangements. Darby was only here as a stopgap.

Garrett paused in the doorway to the kitchen. It looked almost like the kitchen that had come with the house when he’d first rented it a few weeks ago. Except for the row of high chairs and the kids, that was.

And except for a rusty-haired sprite who’d worked wonders in a bare half hour. Then, as if he’d cleared his throat or stomped his foot to announce his presence, Darby turned around and looked at him.

His chest locked up for a second. She’d rolled up the short sleeves of her tan T-shirt, displaying the sleek, perfect curve of her shoulders. He managed to smile crookedly and drag his eyes from the T-shirt that clung damply to her chest. So she wasn’t quite as bony as he’d thought. “Looks like you were target practice for someone yourself,” he said.

Darby’s eyes flicked to Regan, and she smiled gently. “Just a little accident with our water glasses,” she said as she moved toward the table.

Garrett realized she was setting a loaded plate onto the table, and he looked away from Regan’s ducked head. Regan had probably had the same “accident” as she’d had when she’d dumped her milk on Garrett the day before.

“It’s not much,” Darby murmured, gesturing a little so he knew the plate was for him.

Salivating over the nanny was not an option. So he focused on the food, instead. “Are you kidding? I didn’t have to fix it, and I didn’t have to order it at a restaurant. Looks great.” He sat down at the table and reached for the syrup. It was in a tidy little pitcher, not the entire bottle stuck in the center of the table the way his mother’s cousin would have done it. He dumped the warm syrup on his waffle and watched Darby wipe sticky hands and faces. “But you don’t need to cook for me.”

Her eyebrows rose as she glanced at him. Then she turned her pretty eyes away again. “I have to feed them and myself. You’re just one more,” she said evenly.

Which put him nicely in his place. Just one more. Nobody special. No surprise there.

Over his fork he watched Darby pluck Keely from the high chair and settle her on the floor. He thought it was Keely, anyway. She didn’t do anything but crawl speedily out of the kitchen.

“I think I should get a big old black marker and write their names on their shirts,” he said. “Easier than counting teeth or checking under the diaper.”

Darby smiled faintly as she wiped up another sticky little face.

Regan and Reid were watching him from their seats across the table. Finding him wanting, no doubt. He smiled at them and received the glorious response of Regan, immediately followed by Reid, scrambling out of their chairs and racing from the room. He gave up the smile and found Darby looking at him.

“They need time.”

“They need their parents,” he countered grimly. “Unfortunately, that isn’t gonna happen.”

Darby’s eyes looked wet. She blinked and turned away, then with the other two babies propped on both hips she followed the children who’d already escaped.

He thought about following, too. But the restored-to-order kitchen seemed to mock him. In just a short time Darby had cooked, fed and cleaned up. Even the living room had been restored to some semblance of order. She was utterly competent, just as he’d known she would be. And the kids hadn’t looked at her with anything but trust despite the spilled water across her shirt.

He might be the uncle, but just as Regan had said, he was the stranger here.

Appetite gone, he finished eating, anyway, then rinsed his dishes and added them to the dishwasher that Darby had left all ready to go. He flipped the switch, and it groaned to life.

Upstairs, thanks to walls he considered miserably thin, he could hear the children talking and the lower murmur of Darby’s husky voice. He stood at the base of the staircase and listened for a moment. He wrapped his hand around the plain wood banister. Put his foot on the first step.

But he went no farther.

Then the telephone rang and he went to answer it, using the phone in the downstairs den that also served as an office. It was one of his subcontractors calling from Dallas, wanting to go over some details of a shopping center project there. By the time he finished with the call, it was nearly ten and he’d managed to put away whatever it was that had stopped him from going up the stairs earlier.

The sight of Darby sitting on the lumpy couch in the living room reminded him, though. What had she said at Smiling Faces?

I can’t live with you.

He’d glossed over it at the time. But now, it was all he could think about. Six days or not, she was staying under his roof.

She saw him, and if anything, seemed to draw even more tightly into the corner of the couch. She’d replaced her tan T-shirt with a white one. Big and baggy and eclipsing.

“I’m not the bad guy, you know,” he said. He sat down on the fake-leather recliner with a rip in the arm.

Surprise widened her eyes. “Did I say you were?”

“It’s not exactly cold here in the house, and you’re huddling there like you expect to be devoured by the wolf.”

She immediately straightened out her legs from beneath her. “Wolves have never been interested in me,” she demurred.

Sleek thighs, curving calves, narrow ankles hidden beneath little, white folded-down socks. He was better off with her legs hidden beneath the folds of that gigantic T-shirt.

He looked at the empty fireplace, thinking she’d met some mighty stupid wolves. “The kids asleep?”

“Yes. Where did you get the cribs for the triplets?”

“From Elise’s house. Laura managed to arrange it. Yesterday after the funeral.”

She fell silent. Her fingers pleated the hem of her shirt. “The, uh, the master bedroom is pretty full, up there. What with the cribs. And the…bed.”

“Wall to wall,” he agreed absently. She really did have pretty knees. And in the light from the lamp behind the couch her skin looked like cream.

“And the other room with the twin beds. Regan and Reid seem very comfortable there.”

“Except Reid doesn’t seem to sleep through the night any better than the triplets do.”

She chewed her lip and looked away. “Well.”

Then it dawned on him, and amusement unexpectedly hit him. “You can use the master,” he said. “I’ll use the pullout in the den.”

“Oh. I don’t want to put you out of your bed.”

“You just don’t want to sleep in the same room as Bridget, Tad and Keely.”

Her cheeks colored. “No, of course I don’t mind that. I mean, I’m here to take care of them, after all.”

“But?”

“Perhaps we could put the triplets in the, uh, the den. And I’ll sleep there with them.”

“The den is smaller than the second bedroom upstairs. The simplest solution is for you to take my bed.” He watched her closely. “Unless sleeping in my bed is a problem?” He knew exactly how that sounded. And damned if he didn’t care. No, that wasn’t right. He did care. And he wanted to hear her answer.

“It’s not as if you will be there with me.”

He smiled faintly. Her cheeks were fiery-red, but her husky voice was as tart as vinegar. “Then we have no problem. You take the bed. I’ll make do. Elsewhere.”

She blinked. “You were teasing me.”

“Maybe a little,” he allowed. Better that she think that. “My intentions are honorable.” Sort of. “I’ve already moved some of my stuff out. Put on clean sheets. There’s an attached bathroom with a shower that almost works. Clean towels and all.”

Her cheeks reddened all over again. Charming him. Making him feel a hair guilty for involving her in his plan. Just because every time Darby looked at him with that energy that seemed to crackle about her, and every time she opened her mouth to speak in that husky, rich voice, making his brain short-circuit and turn from the business at hand to hot afternoons, tangled sheets and throaty moans didn’t mean he couldn’t control himself. He’d hired Darby to do a job. She would be well compensated. Double her normal pay.

Speaking of which—

“I’ll also give you a check up front for your time,” he said. He’d bet his antique tool collection that Darby’s conscience would never let her run out on a job that she’d already been paid for.

“Actually, I’d prefer cash. If that’s all right.” She stood and brushed her hands down her shirt, then moved to the fireplace, studying the framed photos that sat on the plain mantel. “I’m not trying to avoid taxes or anything,” she assured. “I just don’t have a bank account.”

“Don’t trust bankers?”

She plucked one photo off the mantel. Her shoulder lifted casually. “What can I say? I’m strictly a money-in-the-mattress kind of girl.”

Right. It was no skin off his nose how she preferred to be paid. “Cash it is, then. I’ll have Carmel take care of it in the morning. I’ll be gone all day tomorrow, so if you need anything you can call her at the office. She can track me down, though I doubt there’s anything you’ll need me for, anyway. I’ll make sure to leave the numbers for you.”

She smiled at him, but it was quick and nervous. Then she changed the subject. “This is a nice photograph of the falls.”

Apparently, she still wasn’t too anxious to take over his bed. He looked at the framed photo in her hand. “Is it? They all came with the place.” He certainly made no claim to the pictures. Not the ones on the mantel or those hanging on the walls. The house had come furnished, right down to the ugly pink vases with the faded silk flower bouquets that bracketed the mantel.

“Georgie once mentioned that there is a legend surrounding the waterfall, but she didn’t tell me what it was. Do you know?”

He knew. He just didn’t believe. “That when two people discover love while looking at the falls, they’ll have that love for a lifetime and beyond. Bull, if you ask me.”

She nibbled her lip and set down the photo. “Did you, um, get all this stuff from your sister’s house, too? Along with the cribs?” She touched her hand to a wind-up swing and set it in motion. “It’s amazing how much stuff you need for children.”

He nodded. The room was littered with enough baby equipment and toys to stock a children’s boutique. “It would have been easier to move into Elise’s place, but apparently Caldwell owns it. He’s already put it on the market. Carmel managed to get this stuff out of the house before he sold all of it, too.” Or moved it to his stone mansion on the hill in preparation for the grandchildren he was probably certain he’d be able to take away from Garrett.

Darby latched on to yet another topic. Almost desperately. “Your secretary seems very nice.”

“Assistant. And she is nice. Worth twice her pay, but don’t tell her I said that.”

“Does she have children?”

“No.”

“Mmm.” Finally Darby seemed to run out of questions to ask, inane topics to broach. “Well. I guess I’ll go to…go on up. Stairs. Now.”

He stood and pretended that he didn’t see her nearly jump out of her cute white tennis shoes. “I’ll take your bag up for you.” It was still where she’d left it in the kitchen.

“No!” She darted in front of him and snatched up the long strap, practically yanking it out of his hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s not heavy.”

He looked down at her. “You’re an intriguing mixture, Darby White,” he murmured. A natural with the children. A woman with a voluptuous voice that sent shivers down his back.

“There’s nothing intriguing about me.” She slid past him. “I’m just a…regular woman. Nothing special.” Her voice whispered down the stairs as she lightly ran up. “Good night.”