Ten Acres And Twins

Abby felt a rush of relief. “Of course,” she said. “Are you planning to leave Wyatt with me?”

“No,” Jack said, dashing her hopes in a word. “I’ll sublet my place in the city and find a place to rent around here. You know of any place?”

She thought of the land surrounding the farm. The land that Jack owned. And the farmhouse on it that was now hers.

Her gaze swooped across to the precious baby girl she’d been entrusted to raise, and then to baby Wyatt. She loved these babies. She wanted to be near both of them every single day and night. She’d do anything to achieve that goal.

Anything.

“We could both move in here,” she suggested.

Ten Acres and Twins

Kaitlyn Rice

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

As a child, Kaitlyn Rice loved to lie on the floor of her bedroom and draw pencil sketches of characters. She remembers assigning each one a name and personality, and imagining what their lives might be like. This study of people and relationships—both real and made up—has always fascinated her. By her midteens she was drawn into the world of romance fiction.

Through the years, Kaitlyn’s most enduring pastime has been to curl up with a good romance novel, and her fondest dream has been to create full-fledged versions of those character sketches—in book form. She’s thrilled to have finally realized that goal. Kaitlyn lives in Kansas with her husband and two daughters.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

ABIGAIL BRIGGS had outgrown temper tantrums well over twenty years ago, when she still wore bandages on her knees and thought marshmallows were a satisfactory lunch entrée.

Still, if someone didn’t answer her questions soon, she was considering lying on the floor, screaming like a forgotten tea-kettle and thrashing around as wildly as the most precocious of toddlers.

Even in her brand-new business suit.

After she’d announced her arrival to the receptionist, she had sat on the edge of the sofa to begin her wait. She must have glanced at her wristwatch at least a hundred times. The second hand kept whirling around its perpetual circle with easy fluidity, but the minute and hour hands seemed sluggish. Twenty-eight minutes she’d waited. It may as well have been twenty-eight hours.

Abby’s mother had always said she was intense, while her father called her spirited. They were apt descriptions, she knew, since she’d spent her adolescence diving blindly and defiantly into a sea of mistakes.

Over the years, however, she had developed patience for most things. Anyone who made her living as a gardener learned to wait.

She could scatter a few handfuls of seeds, and in a season orchestrate the blooms of enough bouquets to please every bride, mother, wife and lover in Topeka, Kansas, and the surrounding county. She could plunk the rooted end of a twig into the ground and nurture it for years, until it became a robust tree capable of bearing bushels of fruit so tender their flesh melted in your mouth.

But some things were too hard to wait for, and this appointment must rate at the top of the charts in importance. Whatever that slick lawyer was doing right now, it could hardly compare to the weighty deliberation about the future of two precious babies.

Abby’s indignation had risen with every minute, and now she tapped her foot forcefully on the cushioned carpet, trying to achieve a loud enough sound to catch the notice of the delinquent receptionist. But the woman tapped away at her keyboard, apparently unaware of the hateful thoughts being directed toward her pencil-punctured bun.

The painting on the wall above the receptionist’s head caught Abby’s eye, if only because it was unimaginative. She wondered if any client had ever been distracted by the watery scene. She wanted to slash it with her pen, paint vivid, deep purple figures across it to express a hurt so deep no lawyer’s meeting could ever truly mend it.

Paige and Brian were dead, which was reason enough for her impatience, and for the relentless ache in Abby’s gut. The fact that her sister and brother-in-law had died a quick death did little to lessen the agony.

Each of them had been only twenty-two years old, and they had left behind much. A wide network of friends and acquaintances. A couple of broken-hearted families. And a pair of adorable twins, not yet six months old.

The sound of footsteps drew Abby’s attention to the conference room door. It swung open, and a tall man stepped out. His eyes bore the dazed look of a person in shock. His jaw was clenched, his face chalky. His appearance was worlds apart from the tanned and relaxed man Abby had met at her sister’s wedding, but she couldn’t fail to recognize him—Jack Kimball was Brian’s older brother.

He hesitated midstep when he saw her, as if he was once again struggling to place her in their out-of-the-ordinary surroundings. At the funeral, they’d traded arm-patting hugs and the expected words of comfort, but it had hardly been a time for renewing their acquaintance. Now, Abby sat up straighter and smoothed a long wisp of hair behind her ear. Then she balled her fist and dropped it in her lap, perturbed with herself for caring about her appearance.

She knew the exact instant he recognized her by the renewed hint of life in his expression. He gave a curt nod as he walked past her toward the exit, offering only one word in greeting. “Abby.”

She had scarcely enough time to question his presence in the law office before the conference room door opened again. Sheila Jeffries, upstart attorney and daughter of the firm’s founder, poked her head through. “Miss Briggs,” she said. “I’m ready for you.”

Abby picked up a briefcase containing every pertinent document she’d been able to find among her sister’s things, and went inside. The attorney smoothed her hands down the lines of her red linen suit as Abby stepped in, then motioned toward a chair at a corner of the table.

“Coffee?” she asked. Without hesitating, she walked over to a setup on the far end of the room to pour herself a cup.

Abby swallowed. Her throat had been so dry lately. She wondered how much bodily fluid a person could actually lose by crying. “I’d love a glass of water.”

“Certainly.” The attorney pushed a button on the wall, and the hum of an intercom pervaded the room.

“Yes, Ms. Jeffries,” said a crackling voice.

“Please bring Miss Briggs some ice water.”

The hum faded, and the lawyer took a seat across from Abby and started thumbing through the papers stacked in front of her. The only movement on her face was the occasional blink of her perfectly made-up eyes, beneath a pair of perfectly arched eyebrows.

She looked refined. Disinterested. Detached.

As an attorney, she must deal with this type of situation constantly. People died all the time. But since it was her kid sister who’d been snatched away from this earth in a tragic accident, Abby couldn’t be detached. She stared at the other woman, shaken by her composure. How could she sit there so calmly, as if the entire world hadn’t tilted on its axis?

One of the strangest aspects of losing Paige was having to exist in a world that, for the most part, didn’t recognize its loss.

The door opened and the receptionist walked in, carrying a pitcher and glass. She set them near Abby and left the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Ms. Jeffries waited until Abby had poured a glass of water and taken a drink before saying, “You have a document you wanted me to see?”

Abby released the clips of her briefcase, searching inside for the note. “Yes, I do,” she answered. “When Paige was pregnant, she asked me to raise her children if she and Brian ever died. No one ever thinks that’ll happen, but…”

Breaking off when the lump in her throat got too big to talk around, she shrugged, finally locating the note and shoving it across the table. The smell of roses reached her nostrils, and she willed back the threat of tears that came all too often now.

Her sister had always written to her on rose-scented stationery, as a sort of gentle ribbing about Abby’s middle name. A sisterly prank that had begun when they were kids had developed into a loving habit that seemed poignant now. Who would have thought that Paige could die so young?

Ms. Jeffries studied the note. She read the first side slowly, then turned it over to skim the rest before tossing it back down in front of Abby. “This is not legally binding,” she stated bluntly. Almost cruelly.

“It’s all I have in writing, but I’ve been taking care of the babies since the night of the accident and…well, actually, I watched them quite often before.”

“If you can prove that, it might help,” the attorney said. “But a handwritten and unwitnessed letter won’t hold up in court.”

“And I could lose the twins?”

In the middle of sipping her coffee, Ms. Jeffries answered with a one-shouldered shrug.

“What can I do to change that?” Abby asked, reaching over to touch the attorney’s crisp red sleeve.

She frowned. “You’re lucky. A few months ago your sister and her husband drew up a will specifically stating what should happen to their children and their property if they died. Paige didn’t tell you?”

“No, she didn’t. A legal will?”

“I have a copy here. All you have to do is sign a statement petitioning the court for guardianship rights. If the judge agrees, you’ll have every right to make decisions on your ward’s behalf.”

Huffing out a bellyful of air, Abby wondered why Ms. Jeffries couldn’t have shared that information as soon as they stepped into the conference room. She could have been halfway home by now. “And I’ll get to raise the twins?”

“Not both of them.”

A wave of dizziness swept through Abby’s head. “What do you mean, not both? Paige wouldn’t have separated them.”

“It appears that, in a way, she has.”

“Who gets the other twin?”

“I’m not at liberty to say until the hearing tomorrow morning at nine o’clock,” said Ms. Jeffries. “Either you or the other party has the right to surrender guardianship at that time. If you both agree to uphold the intentions of the will, the judge will likely do the same. If you don’t, we’ll have to fight it out in court.”

Abby frowned down at the note her sister had written nearly a year ago. Ignoring its scent now, she studied the curlicue letters of her sister’s handwriting, scrawled across pink paper. Paige had been young and suggestible. Brian must have convinced her to change her mind. She shouldn’t even have been allowed to sign that will.

Abby drew a ragged breath and pressed a thumb and index finger against her eyelids. “Is there anything else?”

“There is. Do you prefer legalese or plain English?”

“Plain English would be fine.”

“You’ve been named as the desired guardian for the baby girl, Rose Allison Kimball. You’ve also been left the house, its contents and the land and structures within the confines of the fenced yard.”

“The farmhouse?” Abby asked, looking up.

“Um-hmm.”

Abby clenched her eyes shut, once again feeling faint. Her usually capable demeanor had been hammered with one too many traumas lately. But at least this surprise had been welcome news—she could continue developing the farm into the profitable enterprise she and her sister had envisioned.

“Are you all right, Miss Briggs?”

“Fine,” she said, opening her eyes. “Is that it, then?”

“Look over this document.” The attorney slid a paper in front of Abby. “If you agree, show up in court tomorrow prepared to sign it. If you don’t, call me tonight.”

“Okay.”

“The twins are with a sitter now?”

“Yes—with my mother.”

“Bring them tomorrow. All family members have been told about the hearing, and some of them may be at court. If all goes as planned, you can take little Rose back home with you in time for lunch tomorrow.”

Abby slid the document into her briefcase alongside her sister’s note, and left the building without uttering another word.

At this moment, she didn’t know which news had been harder to take—the sheriff’s department phone call informing her of the car wreck, or this idiotic notion that she might not get to keep both twins.

She loved those babies. She’d been a doting aunt since their birth. She should be the one to raise them.

She climbed into her truck, stashed the briefcase on the passenger seat and stared out at the office building in front of her.

The adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins in anticipation of this morning’s meeting was dwindling, and in its place was sheer exhaustion.

Last night the babies had each awoken twice, at different times. Abby had sat alone in her dark living room, tending to their needs. Worrying about their future. Ignoring her own pain so she wouldn’t upset them more.

The fitful night had made her understand the burdens of single parenthood better than she ever would have imagined. Her short period of full-time caregiving had been an intense and powerful lesson.

She rubbed her temple, trying to remember where she’d put her grocery list. Wasn’t it on the seat beside her? She lifted the briefcase, searching, and peered over the edge to the floorboard. The sheet was sticking out from under the seat; it must have fallen when she’d gotten out. After snatching it up, she started her truck. She’d have to buy groceries on the way home.

Forty-five minutes later, she walked through the door of her apartment carrying two bags full of baby supplies. She’d bought one single item for herself—a frozen chicken entrée that she could heat later, after the babies had gone to sleep for the night. “Mom, I’m back!” she called out.

Faye Briggs stepped through the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Hello, dear. How did it go?” she asked, taking a bag and carrying it to the table.

Abby followed her, putting the other bag down before giving her mother a hug and a peck on the cheek. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Where are they?”

“On your bedroom floor, asleep.”

Abby scurried through the apartment, then slowed to peer quietly around the door to her bedroom. Her queen-size mattress covered most of the floor space. Pillows and blankets were stacked alongside every edge, creating a giant, makeshift crib in the middle of the room.

Drawn by some maternal force she’d had no idea she had until two weeks ago, she walked into the room and knelt beside the mattress, looking down at the twins. Rosie’s fist was pulled next to her plump cheek, and ringlets haloed her head—just like Paige’s had.

Wyatt was beside his sister, his mouth sucking gently in his sleep. His tiny sock had slipped halfway off his foot, so Abby pulled it off and tucked his blanket over his legs.

Although both babies were sleeping soundly, their faces were turned toward one another, as if each one had fallen asleep in the comfort of the other’s presence.

Tears blurred her vision. Rosie and Wyatt had already lost both parents. They shouldn’t lose one another, too. And she couldn’t lose either one.

She had to find a way to keep them both.

When a shadow fell across the bed, Abby realized her mother was standing beside her. “How long have they been asleep?” she asked, swiping a knuckle under her eyes.

“Just a few minutes.”

Abby tugged Rosie’s blanket over her shoulder, looking down at the babies for one more minute before she got to her feet. Then she and her mother tiptoed out, and Abby closed the door quietly behind them.

They returned to the kitchen and began to put groceries away. “How did it go?” they both asked, and laughed together, too.

“Tell me about your morning first,” Abby said as she put a can of formula into the pantry. “Did they eat breakfast?”

“Rosie drank half her bottle and ate a little rice cereal. Wyatt drank more, but didn’t want the food. They took a sink bath, and we went for a walk. They were fine.”

“Good.” Abby smiled. Her mother had been great to help out. Losing your sister was terrible, but burying your youngest child had to be heartbreaking. Having the babies around to keep them busy had been a blessing to them both.

“Tell me about the meeting,” her mother prompted again.

“It wasn’t good news,” Abby said. “Paige and Brian made up a will a few months ago, naming me as Rosie’s guardian. But someone else has been asked to take Wyatt.”

“Oh, no!” Faye gasped. “Who?”

“I don’t know. If it’s not you, it must be someone from Brian’s side. His mom or brother, I suppose.” Abby squinted at her mother. “It’s not you and Dad, right?”

“No, it’s not. We love the babies, but you’re young and able…and you want them so much. We got a notice about the hearing, but that was all.”

“That leaves Brian’s mom and brother,” Abby said.

“Would his mom want custody?” Faye asked as she handed Abby a couple of packs of diapers.

Abby stacked them on the countertop and turned to look at her mother again. “Based on what Paige told me, probably not. Brian’s mom has her hands full raising a couple of kids from her second marriage. She’s only seen Rosie and Wyatt once, just after they were born.”

“What about Jack?”

Abby shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “He’s single, and seems to live for work and women. Why would he want custody?”

Faye folded the two grocery sacks and handed them to Abby before picking up her car keys. “Well then,” she said, “maybe we’ll get good news tomorrow in court.”

Maybe.

But Abby didn’t want to take any chances. Whoever had been asked to take custody of Wyatt must know by now. She was betting Jack at least knew who it was, since he’d been in the lawyer’s office this morning. In fact, she had a feeling he was her culprit.

Why couldn’t she do a little detective work?

She managed to marshal enough brainpower to see her mother to the door, but her thoughts were already rushing ahead, developing a plan. Jack was a businessman; he must carry a cellphone. She was fairly certain she’d find his number in the address book she’d found at the farmhouse.

She was going to play on her hunch.

SITTING ALONE at a linen-topped table, Abby glanced at the door every time a shape passed by the other side of the window. He was either very late or not coming at all.

The waitress had bustled by three times already, filling Abby’s water glass and asking if she wanted to go ahead and order. The pretty redhead must think she was a pathetic spinster who was being stood up for a date.

Abby didn’t care. Her feet were planted too solidly on this good green earth to worry about what some stranger thought of her.

Practical and outspoken, Abby had learned early in life to meet challenges head-on. Not much intimidated her. But she couldn’t afford to lose another loved one. Paige and Brian had been enough.

The only thing Abby feared right now was losing one of the twins, and she’d do almost anything to keep them together, and in her life. If Jack was, in fact, the chosen guardian for Wyatt, she was prepared to argue, lie or even grovel if it would persuade him to relinquish custody.

Nearly an hour after their prescribed meeting time, a single shadow loomed, tall and somehow threatening. Abby felt a tingle of awareness surge through her, knowing without looking closer that Jack had arrived. He removed his ball cap as he stepped through the door, and ran a hand through his hair as he spoke to the hostess. Then he turned and spotted Abby.

She smiled briefly, lifting a hand in greeting. He strode quickly to the table, beginning to make excuses before he was even halfway there. “Abby, I got caught up in a business call that took awhile to wrap up. I’m glad you waited.”

“It’s okay,” she said, and then wondered why she felt compelled to appease his feelings at the expense of her own. Surely he could see that this meeting was just as crucial as a business call that he could have dealt with later.

He sat down across from her and put his hat on an empty chair seat. Right away, he began to study the menu.

Abby sipped from her water glass and watched him. Though he wasn’t as ghostlike as he’d been this morning, his eyes sported dark circles uncommon to a man as vital as Jack. Brian’s death must have been torture for him.

“Have you ordered?” he asked, without looking up from the menu.

“Nope—wasn’t sure you were coming,” she said, perturbed with herself for feeling sympathetic toward the man she intended to manipulate over dinner.

He looked up quickly after hearing the note of complaint in her voice. “Since I’m late, I’ll treat.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I insist,” he said with a wink and a grin. “What’s good here?” And with a simple change of expression, he became the man she knew. The one she’d met at the wedding.

Charming. Devil-may-care. Lethally sexy.

“Depends on what you want,” she answered tersely.

He searched her eyes. “Are you mad at me for something?”

“Why would I be mad?” she asked, even more agitated with herself for being attracted to him, after all this time.

“I don’t know, you just seem…perturbed.”

She slapped the palm of her hand on the tabletop with a satisfying thump. “Let’s not start things off by arguing.”

“I’m not arguing.”

She knew that must be the voice he used with his clients when their feathers were ruffled, and she refused to be mollified. “But you’re telling me I’m mad, and I’m not—”

She slammed her jaw shut when she noticed the hand reaching between them to pour water into Jack’s glass. The waitress was leaning over them, so intent on her chore she seemed unaware that she’d interrupted a dispute.

After topping off Abby’s water, she started to scuttle away, only glancing up when Jack thanked her for the water. That one peek caused a sudden shift in her demeanor. Her brisk pace slowed to a hip-swinging saunter as she headed back toward the kitchen.

Jack frowned into his menu again, seemingly unaware of the flirtation. But Abby had noticed, and she wasn’t surprised. There was something about the man that made women fawn all over him.

Her sister had always said he was the Romeo type, but Abby knew better. He might very well be a good-time lover to many, but he was a true love to no one. Jack Kimball was your everyday, garden variety Casanova.

Since she’d decided on her menu choices long ago, she took another opportunity to scrutinize him. There was nothing spectacular about his looks—she’d seen men more handsome who didn’t hold her attention for longer than the bat of an eyelash. But Jack had something unique.

He was lean and wiry, and his sun-kissed brown hair waved wildly around his head. His style of dress tended toward the casual. Even at the wedding he’d loosened his tie before the last “I Do.” He didn’t work too hard on his appearance.

But his sky-blue eyes were nice, and probably responsible for half his appeal.

But it wasn’t their hue she noticed, it was their expression. Thick lashes framed eyes that drank you in as if he’d never get his fill of your beauty.

If you were the one lucky enough to have caught his attention, that is. For a brief moment in time.