relatives who sat at one of the round umbrella tables on the far edge of the patio. To keep everyone off the potentially damp grounds, tall pyramids of yellow, amber and auburn mums were strategically placed to encircle the stone floor. Potted red maples hid the in-ground pool. By the grace of God they had a warm sunny November day.
Grant glanced at the people who’d caught Evan’s eye and he, too, waved. But even as he greeted people whose names he barely recalled, he realized his brother was stalling.
“Evan,” Grant said, his brother’s name coming out like a warning growl.
“All right,” Evan said, exasperated. “Claire and I put an ad in all the Pittsburgh newspapers, advertising for a nanny. We’d had such good luck with the ad that brought us Mrs. Romani that I thought…”
“What do you mean we had such good luck with Mrs. Romani?” Grant gasped. “The woman hates kids.”
“The woman hates you,” Evan corrected, extending his arm over his wife’s shoulders when she came over and sat on the chair beside his. “Isn’t that right, Claire?”
Stunning in her burnt-orange gown, dark-haired, blue-eyed Claire looked him right in the eye. “I’m sorry, Grant, but sometimes you come across as being a little gruff.”
“Gruff!” he all but barked.
“I rest my case,” Evan said, then laughed.
“I give up on you two,” Grant said, walking away because there really were a hundred more important details to attend to than sitting around discussing their cantankerous housekeeper and his disposition. For him there was no question that Mrs. Romani was a grouchy old bat. And he also didn’t have to debate whether his disposition had gone to hell in a handbasket because he knew damned well that it had. He was a thirty-six-year-old man who’d just married off his youngest brother. He’d never, ever considered marriage for himself, but he had to admit—if only to himself—that during the ceremony he’d felt old and alone.
And right now, standing outside the French doors that would take him inside the house, and eventually upstairs to the nursery to give Kristen a reprieve from watching the kids, he couldn’t help but wonder. Did seeing the spark of attraction in the eyes of a woman as beautiful and sexy as Kristen Devereaux cause him to ignore the nagging feeling that something about her wasn’t quite right?
“I’m surprised it took you this long to get here.”
Kristen peered at the curious housekeeper, wondering if she was making an enemy or an ally. Since she couldn’t tell and expected everybody to know who she was in another two hours or so, she decided to rehearse what to say to the triplets’ guardians to make sure she said it with finesse and dignity.
“I didn’t know the triplets existed until a few weeks ago. I was grieving so hard that I couldn’t handle looking into Angela’s personal effects.”
Mrs. Romani patted Kristen’s hand. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have been more sensitive. I’m just so used to being tactless with Grant that I sometimes forget not everybody’s a pigheaded fool like him.”
That made Kristen laugh. “If you dislike the guy so much, why do you work for him?”
“I don’t dislike him. I just think he’s a man who’s far too accustomed to getting his own way.” She paused long enough to catch Kristen’s gaze. “If you’ve come here for the kids, you’re in for a fight. And you’re going to lose. This is Brewster County,” she said, artificially accenting the Brewster name. “And these guys are Brewsters. Because the Brewster lumber mill and the construction project for Grant’s new shopping mall employ eighty percent of the population, people fall at their feet to serve them. Especially Grant. Unless the Brewsters were incompetent caretakers, no judge in his right mind would award custody against the wishes of Grant Brewster.”
“Are you saying I’m wasting my time?”
“I’m saying you’ve got to be careful and smart.”
Kristen studied the housekeeper. “And if I’m careful and smart, I’ll eventually get the kids?”
The housekeeper shook her head. “Those babies are Brewsters. This is their world. This is their empire. Someday they will own everything the brothers now control. The best you can hope for is to be part of the kids’ lives. And your best bet for being a part of the triplets’ lives is to make yourself a place in the lives of the brothers, then explain who you are.”
Kristen held the housekeeper’s gaze. “I can’t do that. These are Morris children every bit as much as they are Brewsters. If I take them back to Texas they’ll inherit a multimillion-dollar ranch. If I don’t take them back to Texas the ranch will probably go out of my family’s hands.”
Mrs. Romani sighed and set her rocker in motion. “Okay, one of two things is going to happen here,” she said with authority. “First, you could tell the Brewsters you need to take the kids back to Texas to get their ranch, and the Brewsters will tell you they will handle getting the ranch for the kids.” She glanced at Kristen. “Which means your family has as good as lost it. Or, second, you could tell the Brewsters about your ranch, and they could cooperate with your plan to take the kids to Texas to get it back into your family’s hands, but they will expect you to bring the kids home. You’re never going to get those kids. Not permanently. And not even for a few months unless the Brewsters trust you.”
“Which way do you think this will pan out?”
“I think you’re going to tell them about the ranch. They will thank you, and then when Chas returns from his honeymoon, he will set the wheels in motion to get the property for the triplets. Once it’s securely in the triplets’ hands, it will be nothing but an investment.”
“But that’s my home,” Kristen protested indignantly.
Mrs. Romani conceded that with a nod. “If you remind them of that, I’m sure the Brewsters will let you live there…until they want to sell it.”
Obviously seeing the panic-stricken look on Kristen’s face, Mrs. Romani laughed. “Honey, these guys are nothing if not smart and quick. They won’t let the ranch fall out of the kids’ hands, and they might even be sentimental enough to let you live there, but when push comes to shove, they’re going to handle this like any other business deal.”
Absorbing the painful truth, Kristen studied the old woman. “What about the kids?”
Mrs. Romani looked at her. “What about the kids?”
“I want them.”
“The Brewsters want them, too.”
“But they belong in Texas.”
“The Brewsters think they belong in Pennsylvania.”
Glancing at her hands, Kristen smiled wryly. “You aren’t painting a very nice picture.”
“And you aren’t taking these kids anywhere,” Mrs. Romani said frankly. “Look, honey, I don’t think you have much more than a snowball’s chance in hell, but just so you get an understanding of how the Brewsters feel about these babies, and also to have a real shot at letting the Brewsters get to know you before they see you as the enemy trying to steal their brother and sisters, I’m going to make a suggestion.”
Kristen
