must be in the genes. Like mother, like son,” he teased. He studied her face and added, “That was a joke, Dana. And it was an accident.”
After watching her work, Cleland said, “My apologies. You all right, Dana? Sorry, Quentin. The missus keeps telling me to watch where I’m going.”
“No harm done,” Quentin said graciously.
“Again, I must offer to pay any dry-cleaning costs.” Dana twisted her hands together.
“Why, he wouldn’t dream of letting you do that. He’s got more money than God,” Cleland said with a laugh. Then someone from across the room called him over.
“He’s right, Dana. It’s not a big deal. Forget it.”
“If you say so. I just can’t believe the Hewitts have clobbered you twice. But I promise I won’t come near you again.”
“Ever?” he asked.
Was that disappointment on his face?
“Not while I’ve got food or drink in my hand,” she qualified, trying to quell the glow his expression had caused.
“Deal,” Quentin said. “But it wasn’t your fault.”
“Still, if this keeps up, you won’t have any decent clothes left. I know how hard it is to get stains out.”
“Not as hard as it’s been to get you out of my thoughts,” he mumbled.
“What was that?”
“I said, you should know with your tots. About stains, I mean,” he added.
“You can say that again.” She met his blue-eyed gaze, which held an intensity that stole the breath from her lungs. Suddenly he grinned and it was as if the heavens had opened and the earth stood still. Her heart skipped.
“From now on, I’ll wear a raincoat when I’m around you,” he teased.
“Go ahead. Joke about it. But truly, I feel just awful. This time, I will make it up to you.”
No excuses. Time and money were hurdles she could overcome with ingenuity. Before another twenty-four hours passed, she would do something to show him how very sorry she was. The only question: how do you make amends to a man who has more money than God?
Chapter Two
The morning after the chamber of commerce meeting, Quentin entered his office and sat down behind his desk. At the same time, the intercom buzzed and he pushed the button. “Yes, Doleen?”
“You have a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“Sheriff Malone is here to see you, Mr. McCormack.”
“Send him in.”
Quentin figured he was making a pitch for the police department’s Halloween fund. Usually one of the deputies made a phone call; it was good that the sheriff was making a personal appeal. The man kept too much to himself. And the annual event was a worthy cause. The money raised was used for a haunted house to keep the kids supervised and out of mischief. Every year, Quentin made a generous donation. After all, Storkville was all about kids.
A vision of Dana Hewitt and her three children flashed through his mind. It was something that had been happening on an alarmingly regular basis ever since he’d met her. Even though he’d done his darnedest to forget her. It might be easier if he could put his finger on exactly what made her so unforgettable.
After seeing her again last night, sleep had been elusive. When he’d finally managed to doze off, his dreams had been of Dana. He’d never met a woman who had captivated him so quickly and so completely.
When his office door opened, Quentin was relieved that he didn’t have to pursue his last thought. Then he noticed the grim look on the sheriff’s face. Tucker Malone was tall, imposing and probably intimidating to someone on the wrong side of the law. His brown hair showed silver at his temples. His eyes, the color of dark chocolate, hid secrets that Quentin had a feeling were painful. Not a stretch, since he’d been an undercover detective for the Chicago police department. Quentin didn’t know the sheriff well, but he liked and respected him.
He held out his hand. “Good morning, Tucker.”
“Quentin,” the sheriff answered, firmly clasping his outstretched hand.
“Have a seat,” he said, indicating one of the leather wing chairs resting in front of his desk. Then he sat down on the other side.
“Thanks. But this isn’t a social call,” the sheriff answered, lowering himself into the chair.
“Oh?”
“It’s about the twins abandoned at the day-care center.”
Quentin had heard that the sheriff had been called in because no one had claimed the babies. Since then, Tucker had been following up every lead. But Quentin had no idea why he’d come to see him. He had no information to aid in the search.
Tucker cleared his throat. “There was a rattle found with the twins’ belongings when they were left at Hannah’s.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He nodded. “Good. I’ve been trying to keep details quiet. Cleaner that way.”
“Did it lead you to the mother?”
“No. But maybe the father.” The man’s piercing gaze never wavered.
Quentin tensed as he went cold inside. “What are you implying?”
Tucker pulled a long-handled, tarnished metal rattle from his shirt pocket. “I think this might belong to you. It’s silver. Expensive. And has the McCormack crest on it.”
“Are you sure?” Quentin asked. Stunned didn’t come close to describing how he felt.
“The markings are faint so it took me a while to place it. But you’d know best.” He held it out.
Quentin hesitated a moment. “Will I smudge any fingerprints?”
One corner of the sheriff’s mouth turned up. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows on TV.” He shook his head. “It was dusted for prints, but we couldn’t get a clean set.”
Quentin took the rattle and examined it. Several moments later anger sliced through him as he recognized the nearly worn-away family crest. What the hell was going on? “This is a McCormack heirloom, all right.”
“Any idea why it was with the twins?”
He shook his head. “Not a clue.”
“Would it have something to do with you being their father?” Tucker asked grimly.
“No.”
“That’s it?”
