The Trouble With Twins

From Megan Maitland’s Diary

Dear Diary,

Shelby Lord is one of the special people in my life. Not just my goddaughter, but a caring, loving soul who deserves all the love a man can offer. My heart is glad that she’s found Gray Jackson, even though it meant she hit another dead end on the search for her birth mother.

It says everything about Shelby that this all came about out of a simple act of kindness. While Gray might be devilishly handsome and terribly bright, he really did have his hands full taking care of those rambunctious twins! Heaven knows what mischief would have occurred if Shelby hadn’t stepped in. And what a reward—it’s impossible not to see how much he loves her. Now, if Garrett can find the peace and love he deserves…Have faith. I think it’s all going to turn out better than I could even imagine.

There’s never a dull moment around

MAITLAND MATERNITY

Shelby Lord: Is Shelby really staying to help with the children—or does some part of her think there might be some hope with Gray? After all, he’d kissed her…even after he knew her painful secret.

Gray Jackson: Watching Shelby with the twins, Gray feels a longing for a child of his own. Family. The ache is real…and it scares him half to death.

Jem and Scout Jackson: The four-year-old twins delight in rattling their uncle Gray at every turn—yet they’re as eager as Gray for Shelby to stay. Can they sense how much Gray needs her?

Jim Lattimer: To Gray’s potential employer, family is everything. He assumes Shelby is Gray’s wife—and the twins are theirs. Will finding out that Gray isn’t even married end Gray’s career plans?

The Trouble with Twins

Jo Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A writer of modern fairy tales with sensuality and humor, Jo Leigh grew up in Southern California dreaming of making movies. She worked in the film industry for fifteen years and during that time she fell in love with writing. Jo hadn’t really thought about writing romance novels, even though her father had been a voracious romance reader for many years. She’s written over twenty-five books and writes regularly for the Temptation, American Romance and Intrigue lines. A launch author for the Blaze line, she also contributed to Trueblood, Texas and Heart of the West. You can imagine how proud Jo’s father is of her career at Harlequin! Jo has also taught writing for many years. She lives in Nevada and loves to hear from readers at www.joleigh.com.

To my niece Trysa Shy, who is as loving and

kind as she is beautiful. I love you, sweetheart.

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

SHELBY PAUSED just before her hand touched the doorbell. What if this was another dead end? What then?

The information Michael and Garrett had given her was sketchy at best. A couple by the name of Jackson had given birth to triplets almost twenty-six years ago. Her brothers hadn’t been able to find out the exact date yet. The hospital where Mrs. Jackson had given birth had lost its records in a fire, but one doctor had remembered Mrs. Jackson and the triplets. He’d suggested they come here and try to find out if the Jacksons who lived on this ranch were any relation to the Jackson family with the triplets. It was a long shot. But it was a shot.

The quest to find out what had happened to her birth mother had taken on a new urgency in the past few months. Shelby didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell her why. Almost everyone she knew had found someone to love, all in a matter of months. And most of them were already parents or expecting to be parents. Shelby couldn’t stop thinking about her own family.

She loved her brothers and sister with all her heart. She harbored nothing but love and respect for her adoptive parents, and she missed them something awful. She loved her diner in Austin, her friends, her apartment. It was all perfect, except for two little details. Thoughts of her birth parents had kept her up night after night. Why had they abandoned four babies? What kind of woman could walk away and never look back? Maybe she couldn’t look back. Maybe her note of a few months ago had been sent posthumously. Or as a dying goodbye.

And that other thing? Shelby straightened her shirt and smoothed her hair, then her hand went to her stomach, just beneath her breasts. To the scars…

While there was nothing she could do about that, she could do her utmost to get to the bottom of the mystery of her parents. So here she was. A hundred miles from home, in Blue Point, Texas. Standing on a stranger’s doorstep about to ask some very personal questions.

She cleared her throat, prepared to accept whatever was about to happen. But hoping like mad it was going to turn out wonderful.

The doorbell rang loudly enough for her to hear it from the front porch. She expected the door to open immediately, but it didn’t. Not even when she rang a second time.

The ranch house was big, though, so it might take someone a while to get to her. Two stories, white colonial, beautiful porch with a double rocker for warm spring nights. The grounds looked well cared for with particular attention paid to flower beds and a small herb garden.

A noise startled her. A bang like a backfire or a gun. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to show up unannounced like this. She took a step back, prepared to bolt if she had to. The door swung open, and she cringed, waiting for the worst, only mid-wince she realized there was no one at the door. She dropped her gaze and her frightened stance. There was someone at the door. She just hadn’t expected a pre-schooler, that’s all.

“I hate you!”

Shelby wasn’t quite sure how to respond. The little blond boy looked to be about three or four, although the chocolate all over his face made it difficult to be certain. His attire, a rather droopy pair of Toy Story underpants and a T-shirt desperately in need of washing, lent a certain air of nonchalance to the proceedings. She wondered briefly if he was alone in the house. A masculine shout eased her mind. The child hadn’t been abandoned. He just wasn’t taken care of very well.

“Jem, where are you? Jem!”

Shelby opened her mouth to call to the father, but a howl stunned her into silence. Another child. This one seriously unhappy about something.

The crying got louder as a man holding a second child came around the steps to the foyer. As soon as the little one saw Shelby, she stopped crying. The man, Mr. Jackson presumably, appeared to be in over his head, He also looked to be in his early thirties, which didn’t bode well for her purposes.

Shelby had the feeling she’d just discovered the answer to her quest, but she didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Maybe he wasn’t Mr. Jackson at all. Maybe he wasn’t one of the triplets.

He put the child down—a girl, Shelby saw, dressed almost identically to her brother—but before he could say a word, the towheaded child raced toward the stairs, her little legs pumping like pistons. The boy shouted in delight, his dislike for Shelby forgotten, and took off after the girl. The man threw his hands in the air and headed after them. “It’s about time you got here,” he said over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

Maybe she should come back another time. Say when his kids were in college. But then again, he looked about at the end of his rope. He obviously thought she was someone else. Someone, she assumed, who could handle children. If she lent a hand, he might be more inclined to talk about his family. Even though her hope had dimmed, she had come all this way. It seemed prudent to find out what she could. That decided it for her. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

As soon as she walked around the base of the stairs she was assailed by chaos. Toys were strewn everywhere, with a preponderance of stuffed dinosaurs and broken crayons. Clothes from long pants to pjs were on the floor, on the tables, and one sneaker perched precariously on top of the wide-screen television blaring Disney’s Pinocchio. It was a disaster, and from the crying in the other room, she doubted things were going to settle down anytime soon.

“Excuse me?” She walked toward the sound of wailing. “Mr. Jackson?”

He was in the dining room struggling with the little boy. Mr. Jackson, if he was indeed Mr. Jackson, wanted the child to sit down. The child had other plans.

“Mr. Jackson?”

He spun toward her. The little one picked up a spoonful of something white and yucky and threw it on Mr. Jackson’s head. “You were supposed to be here two hours ago,” the man said, his voice determinedly calm.

“I don’t believe I’m the person you think I am.”

“You’re not from Child Minders?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry to barge in on such a busy day. But I’m here on something of a genealogical quest. Would you—” The screaming went up two decibels. “Would you have a few moments to spare?”

He opened his mouth. Blinked. Closed his mouth. Then burst out laughing. Hard. The little boy stopped crying. The little girl’s eyes widened with surprise. Mr. Jackson continued to laugh as he sank down on the seat, unmindful that there was no telling what he was going to sit on.

“Yeah, well, I can see that you don’t.” She took a step back. “I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath and wiped his eye with his knuckles. “No, hey. My fault. My fault. No problem…”

“Your wife isn’t here?”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“Oh.”

He pointed to the boy. “Jem Jackson.” Then to the girl. “Scout Jackson.”

“As in…?”

He nodded.

“And you are?”

“Their uncle Gray.”

“Ah, I see.” Being boy and girl, the children were fraternal twins, but their hair was identical in color and texture. Scout’s was shaped in what used to be called a Buster Brown, capitalizing on the straight locks. Jem’s hair was much shorter, fashionably buzz cut on the sides. Their little faces, dirty and unhappy, were strikingly similar, too. Big blue eyes, pink-tinged cheeks and upturned noses. She’d bet a bundle that when they weren’t throwing tantrums, they were downright adorable.

“I know you probably won’t believe this,” Uncle Gray said, “but I don’t have a great deal of experience with children.”

“No,” she said, feigning disbelief, liking him for his ability to laugh at himself.

“Yes. It’s true. I can speak three languages. I won the Long Beach Five Hundred. I’ve danced a tango with Hillary Clinton. But this—” His hands went up in a gesture of helpless despair. “They’ve won. I accept my defeat.”

“How noble.” She stepped over a rocking horse. “But have they eaten lunch yet?”

He shook his head.

She peered at the goop inside the little blue bowl on the Winnie-the-Pooh place mat. “No wonder. That looks awful.”

“I know. It tastes worse.”

“That’s it, then. You need to give them something tasty. Of course, you can’t forgo nutrition. But there are lots of things that taste good and are good for them.”

His gaze landed on hers, and he studied her for several seconds, reminding her that she was in a strange home, with a man she didn’t know. A devastatingly gorgeous man, now that she looked at him, but potentially dangerous nonetheless.

His right brow rose. “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to make them lunch.”

It was her turn to laugh. “That’s a hefty fee.”

“You do know how to cook, don’t you?”

“It so happens that cooking is my business. I own a diner in Austin.”

His eyes rolled back in sheer gratitude. “Oh, thank God.”

“But,” she said, picking up the blue bowl, “it’s not a thousand dollars that I want in return for my services.”

“What? Anything. My car? This house?”

“Nothing quite that expensive. I need time with you. To ask about your family.”

“My family?”

She nodded. “I—”

Scout wasn’t interested. She was hungry. And her piercing cry brooked no quarter. “I want pizza!”

“I’ll make food now and talk later.”

He nodded before he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.

She felt sorry for him. Tackling one child this age was an exercise in stamina, but two? She gathered a few other plastic dishes then went through the swinging doors into the kitchen. It was neater in here. The oatmeal box was out, the milk carton, too, and the can of coffee was open next to the pot. Nothing a little spit and polish wouldn’t take care of. But first, lunch.

In the refrigerator, she found eggs, milk and butter. Along with the bread on the counter, it was all she needed. Oddly, there was a large assortment of sauces and condiments on two racks, but then, this was Texas. She didn’t see many fresh fruits or vegetables, though. With two youngsters, that wasn’t good. She took out the ingredients she required.

The battle continued outside. She heard Gray Jackson’s calm, reasoned voice as he tried to inform the children that lunch was coming soon. Shelby was no expert on child care, but she did know that when hunger struck, reason had no foothold.

She got to work. Instead of scrambled eggs or French toast, she decided to be a tad more creative and make them something she’d liked as a child.

As she cooked, her thoughts shifted from the children to Uncle Gray. Interesting eyes. They were like his name. More gray than green or blue. But they weren’t dull. On the contrary, she saw intelligence there. And humor. Which was right up there on top of her hit parade.

Shelby had always been wildly attracted to men with dark, thick hair. Add his angular nose and chin, pecs to swoon over and a butt made for jeans, and she was practically a goner. Not that she could ever get a man like him. But it didn’t hurt to dream, right?

What was this man Gray doing alone with his niece and nephew? Where were their parents? Whatever the situation, it really was none of her business. Except that Gray Jackson was more than likely one of the triplets Mrs. Jackson had delivered, which meant this was, after all, another dead end. She wasn’t going to find any answers here. Still, it wouldn’t do any harm to ask.

She turned down the flame under the eggs. He certainly was tall. Over six feet. And in wonderful shape. She’d checked out his shoulders as he’d sunk in his chair. And checked out other things as he’d walked toward the living room. Very, very delicious. And, undoubtedly very, very taken. A man like that wouldn’t be alone. And even if he was…

“You almost done in there?” Gray called from the living room. “The natives are about to revolt.”

“One second. Tell them to sit at the table.”

“Right.”

She heard an impressive whine, something along the lines of, “I don’t wanna.” The crash of a chair tipped over, which explained the sound she’d heard at the front door, followed by childish laughter. These kids needed lunch, a bath and a nap.

She put the fried eggs on one big plate, then used Cheerios and shredded wheat to make faces with the eggs as eyes. She picked up two small plates as she headed toward the danger zone.

The children were sitting. And so was Gray. Only they were all on the floor. “Is that where you want to eat?” she asked.

The kids screamed, “Yes!”

“Then that’s where you shall eat.” She put the big plate between them and gave them a second to look at it.

Scout pointed. “It’s a clown.”

“It’s a big poop,” Jem countered.

“It’s lunch,” Gray said, his voice as weary as the sigh that followed. He looked at Shelby and tried to smile. “Jem is big on poop these days.”

“So I gathered.”

“His mother says it will pass.”

“Everything does.” She crouched beside them, grateful she’d worn jeans instead of a skirt, and served each of the kids one egg and split the cereal between them. They tackled the food as if they hadn’t eaten in a week.

Gray stood up, watched the children for a moment, then turned to her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You want some coffee?”

“I’ll get it. You sit down. How do you like it?”

“Hot,” he said. “And black.”

She nodded, then went to the kitchen.

GRAY STARED at the swinging doors as they swayed on the hinges. He always felt like a cowpoke at his brother’s. At least the urge to bolt had left with the propitious arrival of the redhead from Austin. Her hair was an interesting color, a mixture of copper and rust and gold. He liked that she wore it down past her shoulders so it swayed, too.

She had nice eyes. Wide. Green. Filled with amusement. It didn’t even bother him that her amusement was at his ineptitude. What in hell had he been thinking? No way he should be taking care of these kids. Someone would end up in the emergency room before he was through, and that was the last thing Ben and Ellen needed.

The woman came back carrying two cups of coffee. He took a moment to check her out. A little rounder than he was used to, but nice. An hourglass shape that would have knocked them dead in Marilyn Monroe’s day. She put her coffee down first, then turned the other cup around so he could take it by the handle. Her nails were painted the same color as her hair. “Did you tell me your name?”

“I don’t think so.” She sat across from him. “It’s Shelby. Shelby Lord.”

“It’s a real pleasure, Shelby. You couldn’t have come at a better time. Another few minutes and I would have raised the white flag.”

She smiled, her lush lips curving easily over straight, white teeth. “So how did you end up in this mess?”

He shook his head. “I was a fool. An arrogant idiot. I didn’t know, honest. I haven’t been around kids much. Especially not twins. And certainly not on my own.”

“Their parents?”

“My sister-in-law, Ellen, had to go see a specialist in Dallas.”

“She’s ill?”

“Yeah. But it’s not dire. Not yet. And now it looks like things are going to be fine.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I thought so. Which is why I said I’d watch the kids.” He sighed again. Sipped some coffee. “I’ve been staying here for the last couple of months, although this is my first time watching the kids by myself. Ellen and Ben made everything look so easy. Ha.”

“So you’re not from here?”

“Originally, yes. But I’ve been away for years. Los Angeles, mostly.”

“Ah, but you’ve come back to your roots, eh? Home to stay?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. If I get the job I’m hoping for.”

“What’s that?”

“Marketing. There’s a company out here, Lattimer Spices. They make barbecue rubs and specialty sauces. They’re going national and they need someone to head the operation.”

“That explains the racks of jars in the fridge.”

He winced. “I’m supposed to go to the grocery store.”

“It might be a good idea.”

He shook his head. “I called a service and hired a baby-sitter. She was due here at eight this morning.”

“She didn’t call you?”

“Not a word.”

“Maybe something happened. You might call them and see.”

“I would. Except I can’t find the phone.”

“Oh.”

“Let me rephrase that. I can’t find any of the phones.”

She nodded. “I see.”

“I imagine you can. It’s been…” He didn’t finish. It was obvious what his day had been like. The house had been immaculate before Ben and Ellen had taken off. Everything in its place. They’d made it sound like a piece of cake. Feed the kids, play games, maybe a nap. They should have warned him. But then Ben probably thought it was a big joke. “My apologies. You haven’t caught me on my best day.”

Her smile stayed generous. “No problem. But now that we have a moment, I’d like to ask—”

“The genealogy question.”

She nodded. “You’re one of triplets, aren’t you?”

He nodded, wondering where she’d gotten her information. And why. “I have a brother, Ben, and a sister, Kate. Ben’s the oldest, but— Never mind. It’s triplet stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Want to bet?”

“Are you kidding?”

She shook her head, making her hair shimmer.

“Is that what your study is about? Triplets?”

“In an indirect way. I am a triplet. I have a brother, Michael, and a sister, Lana.”

“I haven’t met many.”

“Me, neither. Lots of twins, though.”

He shook his head. “Twins. They think they’ve got problems. They don’t know the half of it.”

“Well, perhaps they don’t know one third of it.”

He grinned. “Right. So, what is it about my being a triplet that brought you here?”

Her smile faded, and her gaze went past his shoulder to the far wall. “We were abandoned as infants, along with my older brother, who was two. My brothers are trying to find out who our birth parents are. We’ve got records of about five triplet births around that time that match our configuration—two girls, one boy. The only couples left to check were your parents and one other. Your hospital records were lost, so we didn’t know for sure what the sexes of the triplets were—or even the exact date of birth. Obviously we’re down to our last possibility.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you. My mother died a year ago. My father still lives here in Blue Point. This was their house. We go back three generations.” He looked at Jem, who was picking up Cheerios from the floor and shoving them into his mouth. “Four generations now.”

“I figured as much. Not the generation part, but the parents part. It was a long shot, believe me.”

“I wish I could give you something. You really saved my life.”

She put her cup on the table and gave him a troubled stare. “What about my thousand dollars?”

“Your thou—”

She laughed. A terrific sound. Not a trace of self-consciousness, not at all girly. She laughed like a woman ought to.

“Very amusing.”

“Couldn’t resist.” Her gaze went to the twins. Scout had abandoned her meal and was trailing egg yolk across the wooden floor.

Gray watched as the little girl picked up a broken crayon and stuck it in her mouth. “I’d better get going. I have to give them a bath, go to the market, clean up in here…. Oh, hell.” He turned to her, making himself look as pathetic as possible.

She stood up. “Stay right there.” Then she walked out of the room.

Jem had grown bored with the cereal and had moved over to the box of Lego by the staircase. Scout was still sucking on her crayon. Gray didn’t understand how parents did it. How they got anything done.

He heard the front door shut. Damn. She’d probably taken off for the hills. He didn’t blame her. What a mess. What a joke.

But then he heard the door again. Her footsteps. She rounded the bend and smiled as she neared him. “Here.”

In her hand was a cell phone.

“Pardon?”

“To call the baby-sitter.”

“Oh, right.” He closed his eyes for a moment as he cursed his own stupidity. “Thanks.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Except I have my own cell phone in my room.”

“Does it work?”

“It works.”

“Oh.” She sat again.

He went into the kitchen and grabbed the notepaper from behind the hamburger magnet on the fridge. As he dialed the agency, he walked to the dining room. A woman answered on the third ring.

“This is Gray Jackson. You were supposed to send a baby-sitter here this morning.”