“Hey, I didn’t bring you here to work.”
“And there’s no way I’m sitting here idle. I’m scared to sit down. This stuff is the pits, and if I have to stay here for a month I’ll go nuts. You remember what I did with your office?”
Did he?
His office had been a bit like this, all chrome efficiency. Five months ago-it must have been about the time Jenny started-it was suddenly transformed. His glass desk was replaced by a vast antique wooden one, his swivel chair became old leather, the chrome disappeared, and someone painted the walls a dusky pink instead of gray.
He hadn’t realized she’d done it until now. He’d thought it was part of an office renovation ordered by Ellie. Come to think of it, though, it was a darn sight more comfortable place to work now than it had been before.
But… She was starting on his home?
“We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“There’s no problem.” She was staring at the furniture as if it were poison. “I’ll be able to sell these for heaps and replace them with items that are much more comfortable. You won’t even have to write a check.”
“Jen…”
She fixed him with a look, and for the first time he felt like a-like a husband! “Tell me that you like this stuff, and I won’t touch it.”
“I don’t like it, but…it’s home.”
“You watch TV at your brother’s.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Let me have carte blanche to fix this place, and I’ll feel happier living here. It’ll be a project for me.” She smiled at him, her most charming smile. It was a smile that made him blink. Made him take a step backward. “Please?”
“You haven’t even seen your bedroom yet. Maybe you won’t want to stay,” he said weakly, knowing he was defeated before he started.
“I don’t want to stay,” she said honestly, her eyes sparkling at the sound of defeat in his voice. She knew she’d won. “But if I must stay then I’ll be useful, and I’ll run replacements past you before I buy them. I’m not taking over your life, Michael. It’ll be your choice.”
“Hell, Jen.” He stared at her, baffled. He was so far at sea here he was almost drowning. That’s just how he did feel, as if his life were being taken over-by a tidal wave.
“You do what you want,” he said heavily, humor fading. “You’re my wife, so this is your home. Do what you want.”
HER BEDROOM was the most comfortable place in the house.
“Shelby stayed in it while her place was being redone,” Michael told her as he showed her in. Jenny had fallen silent again, and it was worrying him. It seemed there were two Jennys-the one who’d been kicked so many times it was hardly worth getting up again, and the stronger Jenny who was only allowed to escape for brief airings and then put firmly back in her box. “She added a few of her own touches.”
There was a bright patterned quilt on the bed, a floral print on the wall and a large framed photo on the bedside table. The picture showed a middle-aged couple, parental and proud, with their children. The two girls and the younger boy looked to be about four years old, and there was an older boy of about six.
There was no mistaking who they were. Michael’s grin, even then, was unique.
“I’d forgotten you’re a triplet,” Jenny exclaimed, finding her voice. “Who are the others?”
“That’s Lana sitting down. I gather you’ve met her. Shelby’s behind me and has my arm twisted behind my back-that’s because I was going through a phase of sticking my tongue out at the camera. Garrett’s the big guy.”
“They all live here? In Austin?” She frowned in concentration.
“Lana runs the baby shop, and Shelby owns Austin Eats Diner, next to the hospital. Garrett lives on his ranch a few miles out of town.”
Jenny was frowning. Something about the picture didn’t make sense.
“You all have red hair,” she said slowly. “But your parents don’t.”
“We were adopted.”
Something in his voice warned Jenny she shouldn’t take it further, but she was so far past exhaustion she didn’t pick up on it. “That’s right. You said your birth mother abandoned you. But your adoptive parents took all four of you? That’s wonderful.”
“They were wonderful people.”
“Were?”
“They died some time ago.”
“Oh, Michael, I’m sorry.” She hesitated. “And your birth parents?”
“I know nothing about them.” His voice was clipped and tight, but she was still too tired to pick up on it. “As I said, my birth mother abandoned us when we were babies.”
“You’ve never tried to trace her?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“It must be the most awful thing,” she said, her hands moving unconsciously to her stomach. “To give up your baby. And to give up four babies… It’d be like tearing yourself apart.”
“Not everyone feels like you do.”
“Maybe not.” Her eyes were clouded, doubtful. She obviously couldn’t see how anyone would feel different.
His birth mother had, Michael thought bitterly. She’d just walked away.
“There must have been some dreadful reason. It’d probably be easy enough to trace her-”
“Leave it, Jen,” he said roughly. “Let’s leave it.”
The force of his words took her by surprise, and she backed off. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
She was hurt. He could see in her eyes that she was flinching inside, wondering what she’d said. He hadn’t meant to snap.
“We’re both tired,” he said, a note of contrition in his voice. “Let’s turn in now. The guest bathroom’s just here. If there’s anything more you want…”
“No, thank you, Michael. You’ve done enough.” It was an odd, formal little speech and sounded wrong to both of them.
“I’ll go to bed then,” he said.
“Good night.”
Damn, she sounded so forlorn he wanted to take her in his arms and…
He didn’t know what. He just knew he had to get out of that room while he still had the strength to resist.
“Good night, then, Jenny. Sleep well.” And he walked out of her bedroom and closed the door so fast you’d think there were demons after him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MICHAEL WOKE to the smell of pancakes.
He lay for a moment in his stark white bedroom, sniffing the air, wondering if he was mistaken. Nope. Definitely pancakes.
There were pancakes being made in his kitchen.
How long since anyone had cooked in his kitchen? Shelby had when she was here. When was that-eighteen months ago? He’d eaten at home then, but mostly he ate breakfast down at her diner. The rest of his meals, too, come to think of it. He used the kitchen for making coffee and heating TV dinners.
But pancakes. Jenny was making pancakes?
What time was it? He lifted his wrist and inspected his watch. Seven-thirty. He stared at the dial as if it must be a mistake. What was she doing up?
It had been well past midnight when she went to bed. She should still be sleeping. He shoved back the covers
