Adopted: Twins!. Marion Lennox
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Whoops. Her pure white ensemble was now smudged grey.
House fires, however, required courage. Matt had been brave and she could be, too.
‘It’ll wash off,’ she told her beloved. ‘Not to worry. But, Matt, Sally said the doctor said you’re not to stay alone.’ She turned to Rob. ‘Bring him to my place.’
It was time Matt put a word in, but it was tricky to do.
However, Rob was made of sterner stuff.
‘We can’t,’ Rob said, and thumbed back to the cavalcade. ‘Matt’s got all the company he needs.’
Charlotte looked back—and then stared in horror as she saw who was in the police car. ‘Not the orphans!’ she gasped. ‘You’re not taking the orphans home with you. Matt, you’re burned!’
‘I can cope.’
‘You can’t.’
‘Charlotte, there’s only two kids needing a place to stay, and Erin will take care of them.’ Matt was growing uneasy now. Erin had emerged from the police car and was walking over to see what was happening. From where she was now, she could hear every word Charlotte said. ‘Erin’s been through a lot, Charlotte.’
‘I’m sure she has.’ Charlotte shook her head in disbelief that this could be happening. ‘But darling, so have you.’ She turned her head and raised her voice. ‘Erin, Matt’s coming back to my house. He needs to be looked after. Your organisation can look after you.’
Whoa…
Erin took a deep breath. Count to ten, she told herself. This is important.
Charlotte was not one of Erin’s favorite people. Lovely and gracious, and generous to people she considered the ‘right sort’, her graciousness had never extended to Erin. Erin was three years younger and about a million miles below her on the social ladder. As she’d grown older, Charlotte had grown more adept at hiding her distaste for those she considered beneath her, but somehow Erin always knew exactly where she stood. Right on the bottom rung!
But, like Charlotte, Erin could be ruthless when she needed to be, and she needed to be ruthless now. ‘Charlotte, Matt’s offered us accommodation.’
‘I don’t care if he has.’ Up until now, Charlotte had had a wonderful feeling about this evening. The sight of that tiny crimson box confirmed she’d been right, and now all it had come to was this! ‘Anyone can see he’s unwell.’
And so was Erin. She’d been through enough without Charlotte’s arguments. Back in the police car were two subdued little boys who needed a bed, fast. She knew well enough that at Matt’s house she would find one—and one for herself, too.
There wasn’t an alternative.
‘Matt’s offered to take us in and I’ve accepted,’ she said, and there was a certain amount of grit in her voice. ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte, but we’ve been through too much tonight to stand on the road and argue. If you could just let us go…’
‘Matt’s hurt.’
‘Then follow him home and fix him up,’ Erin replied wearily. ‘I’m sure I can’t do it with your style. A sticking plaster and a push in the direction of bed is all I’m capable of, believe me.’
Charlotte glared. She didn’t like this one bit.
But what was the alternative? Charlotte was thinking on her feet, and she was thinking fast.
Firstly—naturally—she was thinking that Erin was attractive and unmarried and she didn’t like the thought of such a woman staying with Matt. But then, Matt had known Erin for ages—since childhood in fact—and he hadn’t seemed attracted in the past. So maybe that was okay.
Her eyes moved imperceptibly sideways. He’d already purchased the contents of the box, so she needed to concentrate on priorities.
Which were, secondly, that Erin was saddled with the twins. They might be subdued now but the whole town knew their reputation. Matt would be driven crazy before he could get used to them in the house.
The only alternative open to her now was to invite them all back to her place, and that didn’t bear thinking of. She had a perfect little horse stud in the hills; the house was immaculate and children would destroy it.
What else then? Create a scene? No! She knew Matt would hate it. She’d worked so hard to make him see her as the perfect wife that she’d be a fool to mess it up now.
The velvet box was there, like a tantalising promise. She could concede a little.
‘Okay, sweetheart,’ she said softly, ignoring Erin totally and turning back to her intended. ‘You go ahead. I’ll bring your dinner over.’
‘My dinner?’ Matt was still too befuddled to think.
‘You were coming to my place for dinner. Quails with the most gorgeous sauce… I’ve kept it hot for you.’ She gave him her most loving look, and he responded with gratitude. But he didn’t want her quails.
‘Eggs on toast is all I’m capable of tonight,’ he said wearily. ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte. Freeze my dinner. It’ll have to wait for some other time.’
This wasn’t going to work.
Erin had never been inside Matt’s house, but she walked through the front door and she darn near walked out again. This and the twins? No and no and no.
‘You’d best take off your shoes,’ Matt said, through force of habit. ‘The carpet shows every mark.’
‘I’d guess it would.’ Erin stared at the floor in doubt, but obligingly removed her shoes and then turned to the boys and slipped theirs off too.
The twins let her do what she wanted and they hardly moved as she did. The Welfare lady had dressed them—sort of—but they were so subdued they hadn’t said a word. Now Erin badly wanted to get them alone. She wanted them bathed and tucked up somewhere warm and safe and alone, where she could cuddle the shock and fear out of them.
Matt was stooping to help with their shoes, and she was grateful for that at least.
‘Did…did you choose this carpet—or did Charlotte?’ she managed. It was a stupid conversation starter, but it was something.
‘My mother chose it,’ he said stiffly and that made her blink in surprise, memories flooding back.
She’d known Matt’s mother—not that they’d ever spoken, of course. Matt’s family owned one of the wealthiest farms in the district. Not so Erin’s. As one of eight kids in a big, loving and decidedly impoverished family, Erin was considered by Mrs McKay to be a nobody.
Which suited her nicely, she acknowledged. Erin had no wish to move in Matt and Charlotte’s exclusive world. She and her friends—and their respective parents—used to check out Louise McKay’s