Mothers In A Million: A Father for Her Triplets / First Comes Baby...

But this—watching Missy start her company from nothing—it was energizing. Emotional.

“You need to get business cards.”

She glanced over at him, her cheeks rosy, her eyes shining. “What?”

“Business cards. So that people can call you.”

She laughed her musical laugh, the one that reminded him he liked her a lot more than he should.

“It’s better for them to give me their numbers. This way they don’t get lost, and I control the situation.”

He sucked in a breath. She liked control, huh? Well, she certainly had control of him, and it confused him, didn’t fit his plans. Probably didn’t fit her plans. “That’s good thinking.”

“I’m just so excited. I’m already starting to get work for next year.” She slapped the steering wheel. “This is so great!” But suddenly she deflated.

He peered over. “What?”

“What if all the weddings are on the same day? I can’t even do two cakes a week. Forget about three. I’d have to turn everybody down.”

“Sounds to me like you’re borrowing trouble.”

“No. I’m thinking ahead. I might look like an uneducated bumpkin to you, but I’ve really thought through my business. I know what I can do and what I can’t, and I’d have to turn down any cake for a wedding on the same day as another booking.”

He nodded, curious about why her fear had sent a rush of male longing through him. He wanted to fix everything that was wrong in her life. The depth of what he felt for her didn’t make sense. He could blame it on his teenage crush. Tell himself that he felt all this intensity because he already knew her. That his feelings had more or less picked up where they’d left off—

Except that didn’t wash. They were two different people. Two new people. Fifteen years had passed. Technically, they didn’t “know” each other. The woman she’d become from the girl she had been was one smart, sexy, beautiful female. And how he felt right now wasn’t anything close to what he’d felt when he was eighteen, because he was older, more experienced.

So this couldn’t be anything but sexual attraction.

A very tempting sexual attraction.

But only sexual attraction.

She had goals. She had kids. She’d already warned him off. And he didn’t want another relationship…

Unless she’d agree to something fast and furious, something that would end when he left?

He snorted to himself. Really? He thought she’d go for an affair?

Was he an idiot?

He lectured himself the whole way home. But when they had unloaded the SUV and stood face-to-face, her in her pretty blue dress, with her hair slipping from its pins and looking sexily disheveled, his lips tingled with the need to kiss her.

She smiled. Her full mouth bowed up slowly, easily. “Thanks for your help.”

“Thanks for…” He stopped. Damn. Idiot. She hadn’t done anything for him. He’d done a favor for her. He sniffed a laugh to cover his nervousness. “Thanks for letting me go with you?”

She laughed, too. “Seriously. I appreciated your help.”

He nodded, unable to take his eyes off her. The way she glowed set off crackling sparks of desire inside him. Even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to kiss her, his head began to lower of its own volition.

Her blue-gray eyes shimmered up at him. Her lips parted as she realized what he was about to do. He could all but feel the heat from her body radiating to his—

She stepped back. Smiled weakly. “Thanks again for your help.”

Then she spun away and raced into the house.

He stood frozen.

It took a while before he realized he probably looked like an idiot, standing there staring at her back porch. So he walked into his grandmother’s house and dropped onto the guest room bed without even showering. He was tired. Crazed. Crazy to be so attracted to someone he couldn’t have, and it was driving him insane that this attraction kept getting away from him.

Two minutes before he fell asleep that night, he wondered if somehow her excitement for her business had gotten tangled up in his feelings for her and morphed into something it shouldn’t be.

That would really explain things for him. Normally, when he decided someone was off-limits, he could keep her off-limits. So it had to be the excitement of the day that had destroyed his resolve. That was the only thing that made sense.

The next morning he strode over to her house. Ostensibly, he’d come to get Owen to play. In reality, he had decided to test out this attraction. If it had been seeing her excitement about her business that had pushed it over the line the day before, then he’d be fine this morning.

Her door was open, so he knocked on the wood frame of the screen door. “Hey. Anybody home?”

“Come in, Wyatt.”

Her voice was soft but steady. No overwhelming attraction made her breathless. In the light of day, they were normal. Or at least she was.

Now to test him.

He pulled open the screen door. “I came for Owen… .”

Papers of all shapes, sizes and colors littered her kitchen table. But she had a pretty, fresh, early morning look that caused his heart to punch against his breastbone. So much for thinking it was her excitement about her wedding cake opportunities that had gotten to him the day before. It was her. Whatever he felt for her was escalating.

He carefully made his way to the table. “What’s up?”

She peeked up, her blue eyes solemn, serious. “Doing some figuring.”

He sat on the chair across from hers. “Oh?”

She rose, took a cup from her cupboard, filled it with coffee and placed it in front of him.

“What I need is an assistant.”

“Do you think—” Because his voice squeaked, his cleared his throat. “Do you think your business is going to pick up that fast?”

She refilled her own coffee cup and sat again. “I plan for contingencies. I don’t want to be known as the wedding cake lady who can’t take your wedding.”

He laughed. “There’s something to be said for playing hard to get… .” Maybe that’s why she was suddenly so attractive to him? Didn’t he always want what he couldn’t have? Maybe he’d only been kidding himself into thinking he was trying to get his inner nice guy back? And her playing hard to get had just fed his inner selfish demon? “Everybody wants what they can’t have. You could charge more money—”

“The more cakes I bake, the more referrals I get. I don’t need to be exclusive. I want to start a business, a real business. Someday have a building with a big baking area and an office.”

Their knees bumped when she shifted, and her gaze jumped to his as she jerked back. Her voice was shaky when she said, “I’ve been going over my figures, and if I didn’t save money for the winter I could hire someone.”

He tried to answer, but no words formed. Mesmerized by the gaze of those soft blue eyes, everything male in him just wanted to hold her.

He frowned. Hold her. Protect her. Save her.

Was he falling into the same pattern he’d formed with Betsy? Once they’d started dating, he got her a great apartment, a new car. All because he didn’t want to see her do without.

And he knew how that had ended.

Owen came running into the room. “I made my bed!” He jumped from one foot to the other, so eager to play that energy poured from him.

Wyatt scraped his chair away from the table. “Then let’s go.”

Missy swallowed and she rose, too. “Yeah. You guys go on outside. Mommy has some things to think about.”

Wyatt’s gut jumped again. He could solve all her problems with one call to his bank. He glanced at the papers on the table. Was it really an accident that she’d picked today, this morning, after he’d nearly kissed her the night before, to run some numbers?

He sucked in a breath. He had become a suspicious, suspicious man.

But after Betsy, was that so bad? Especially if it caused him to slow down and analyze things, so neither he nor Missy got hurt?

“Come on, O. Let’s go haul some dirt.”

He and Owen left the kitchen and Missy squeezed her eyes shut. Since that dance, she’d had trouble getting and keeping her breath when he was around. And she knew why. He was good-looking, but she was needy. Four years with no romance in her life, four years of not feeling like a woman, melted away when he looked at her. His dark, dark eyes seemed to see right through her, to her soul. And since that dance, every time he looked at her she knew he was as attracted to her as she was to him.

They could be talking about the price of potato chips and she would know he was thinking about their attraction.

And everything inside her would swing in that direction, too.

Luckily, she had a brain that wouldn’t let her do anything stupid.

They hardly knew each other. What they felt had to be purely sexual. She had kids who needed protecting. And the only way she could truly protect her kids was to make her business so successful she’d never have to depend on a man. Keeping her eye on the ball, creating the best wedding cake company in Maryland, that’s what would keep her safe, independent. Eventually, she might want a relationship. she might even marry again, if she didn’t have to be dependent on a man. But it would be pretty damned hard not to become dependent on Wyatt when she was broke and he had millions.

He had to be off-limits.

No matter how good-looking he was. And no matter how much she kept noticing.

Playing with Owen cleared Wyatt’s mind enough that he made a startling realization as he was eating another dry sandwich for lunch, this one peanut butter from a jar he’d found in a cabinet.

His relationship with Betsy ultimately had become all about money. But so did a lot of his relationships. He hired friends who became employees, and the friendships became working relationships. He invested in the companies of friends and those friendships became business relationships.

Because money changed things. If he really wanted his feelings for Missy to cool, all he had to do was give her money for her business. Then his internal businessman would recategorize her.

Sadness washed through him. He didn’t want to recategorize her. He wanted to like her. But he ignored those thoughts. He was recently divorced. With his limited time, all He and Missy would have would be a fling. She deserved better.

Walking to the back door of his grandmother’s house, he sniffed a laugh. It looked as if he’d gotten what he wanted. His inner nice guy was back. He was putting Missy’s needs ahead of his.

He strode through her empty backyard, knowing the kids were probably napping. He and Missy wouldn’t just have time to talk privately; they could go over real numbers to determine exactly how much money she’d need.

His heart pinched again. He kept walking. This was the right thing to do.

On her porch, he knocked on the wood frame of the screen door.

She turned and saw him.

Time stopped. Her eyes widened with pleasure. When he opened the door and stepped inside, he watched them warm with desire. Her gaze did a quick ripple from his face to his toes, and his gut coiled.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I didn’t expect you back until the kids woke up.”

He scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck. Offering her money suddenly seemed so wrong. She was pretty and she liked him and he’d always liked her. The house was quiet. He could slide his hand under that thick ponytail, nudge her to him and kiss her senseless within seconds.

The very presumptuousness of that thought got him back on track. She’d already rebuffed him twice. She knew what she wanted and was going after it. She wouldn’t sleep with him on a whim. No matter how attracted they were.

He needed to behave himself, think rationally and get them both beyond this attraction.

“I’ve been considering what you said this morning about hiring someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Can we sit?”

“Sure.”

She sat on the chair she’d been in earlier that morning. He sat across from her again.

“You need to buy a new vehicle. Maybe a van.”

She laughed. “No kidding.”

“So the way I figure this, you need salary for an assistant, day care for the kids in the morning and a new van.”

She nodded. “Okay. I get it. You just talked me out of spending my winter money on an assistant. It won’t work to hire an assistant if the SUV breaks down.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here.” He took one last look at her face—turned up nose, full lips, sensual blue-gray eyes. His hormones protested at the easy way he gave up on a relationship, but he trudged on. “Rather than you using your winter money, which isn’t enough anyway, I’d like to give you a hundred thousand dollars.”

He expected a yelp of happiness. Maybe a scream. He got a confused stare.

“You want to give me a hundred thousand dollars?”

“There are hidden costs in having an employee. I’m guessing a good baker doesn’t come for minimum wage. Add benefits and employer taxes and you’re probably close to fifty thousand. A van will run you about thirty thousand and I’m not sure about day care.”

She rose. “You’re kidding me.”

“No. Employer taxes and benefits will about double your expense for an assistant’s salary.”

“I’m not talking about the taxes. I’m talking about the money.” She spun away, then pivoted to face him again. “For Pete’s sake! I don’t want your money! I want to be independent.”

“Your business can’t stand on its own.”

“Maybe not now, but it will.”

“Not if you don’t get an influx of cash.”

She gasped. “I thought you had some faith in me!”

“I do!”

“You don’t!” She leaned toward him and the hot liquid he saw in her eyes had nothing to do with sexual heat. She was furious with him. “If you did, you’d give me a few months to work through the bugs and get this thing going! You wouldn’t offer me money.”

“You’re taking this all wrong. I’m trying to help you.”

“So this is charity?” She looked away, then quickly looked back again. “Get out.”

“No. I…” Confused, he ran his hand along the back of his neck. What had just happened?

“Get out. Now. Or I won’t even send Owen out to play with you.”

Wyatt headed for the door, so baffled he turned to face her, but she’d already left the room.

She sent Owen out to play after his nap, but she didn’t even peek out the window. Confusion made Wyatt sigh as he trudged up the steps at suppertime. He opened another can of the soup he’d found in the pantry. Seeing the sludgelike paste, he checked the expiration date and with a groan of disgust threw it out.

What the hell was going on? Not only was he eating junk, things that had been in cupboards for God knew how long, but he was attracted to a woman who seemed equally attracted but kept rebuffing him. So he’d offered her money, to give them a logical reason to keep their relationship platonic, and instead of making her happy, he’d made her mad. Mad. Most people would jump for joy when they’d been offered money.

She should have jumped for joy.

Maybe what he needed was to get out of this house? He hadn’t really cared to see a lot of the people from his high school days, but he was changing his mind. A conversation about anything other than Missy Johnson and her wedding cakes and her cute kids might be just what he needed to remind him he wasn’t an eighteen-year-old sap anymore, pining over a pretty girl who didn’t want him. When it came to women, he could have his pick. He didn’t need one Missy Johnson.

He straddled his motorcycle and headed for the diner. He ambled inside and found the place almost empty. Considering that it was a sunny Sunday afternoon, Wyatt suspected everybody was outside doing something physical. A waitress in a pink uniform strolled over. He ordered a hot roast beef sandwich and mashed potatoes smothered in brown gravy. For dessert he ate pie.

After a good meal, he felt a hundred percent better. He hadn’t seen anybody he recognized or who recognized him, but it didn’t matter. All he’d needed to get himself back to normal was some real food.

He paid the bill, but curiosity stopped him from heading for the door. Instead, he peeked into the kitchen. “Hey, Monty. It’s me. Wyatt McKenzie.”

Missy’s dad set his spatula on the wood-topped island in the center of the diner kitchen. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Tall, balding and wearing a big apron over jeans and a white T-shirt, he walked over and slapped Wyatt on the back. “How the hell are you, kid?”

“I’m fine. Great.” He looked around. “Wow. The place hasn’t changed one iota in fifteen years.”

“People like consistency.”

“Yep.” He knew that from running his own company, but there was a difference between consistent and rundown. Still, it wasn’t his place to mention that. “I’m surprised you don’t have any of Missy’s cakes in here.”

Monty stepped back. Returning to the wood-topped island, he picked up his spatula. “Oh, she doesn’t bake for me anymore.”

“Too busy with her own cakes, I guess.”

Monty glanced up. “Is she doing good? I mean, one businessman to another?”

Wyatt laughed. Having seen a bit of her pride that morning, he guessed she probably hadn’t told her father anything about her business beyond the basics. Maybe he’d also made the mistake of offering her money?

“She’s doing great. Three future brides corralled her when she tried to leave yesterday’s wedding reception.”

“Wow. She is doing well.”

“Exceptionally well. She’s a bit stubborn, though, about some things.”

“Are you helping her?”

He winced. “She’s not much on taking help.”

Monty snorted. “Never was.”

Well, okay. That pushed his mood even further up the imaginary scale. If she wouldn’t take help from her dad, why should Wyatt be surprised she wouldn’t take help from him?

The outing got him back to normal, but not so much that he braved going into Missy’s house the next morning. He went to the sandbox and five minutes later Owen, Lainie and Claire came racing out of the house.

While playing Wiffle ball with the kids, he ascertained that their mom was working on a new cake.

“This one will be yellow,” Lainie said.

Not knowing what else to do, he smiled. “Yellow. That’s nice. I like yellow.”

“I like yellow, too.”

“Me, too.”

“Me, too.”

He laughed. He didn’t for one minute think yellow was that important to any one of the triplets, but he did see how much they enjoyed being included, involved. His heart swelled. He liked them a lot more than he ever thought he could like kids. But it didn’t matter. He and their mother might be attracted, but they didn’t see eye to eye about anything. Maybe it was time to step up the jewelry search and get back to Tampa?

CHAPTER FIVE

WYATT THREW HIMSELF into the work of looking for the Scottish heirlooms in the mountain of closet boxes.

He endured the scent of sachets, billowing dust and boxes of things like panty hose—who saved old panty hose and why?—and found nothing even remotely resembling jewelry.

To break up his days, he played with Owen every morning and all three kids every afternoon, but he didn’t go anywhere near Missy.

Still, on Saturday afternoon, when she came out of the house dressed in a sunny yellow dress that showed off her shoulders and accented her curves, lugging the bottom of a cake with the babysitter, he knew he couldn’t let her go alone. Particularly since her SUV had already had trouble starting once that week.

While she brought the rest of the cake to her vehicle, he changed out of his dirty clothes into clean jeans and a T-shirt. Looking at himself in the mirror, he frowned. His hair was growing in and looked a little like Owen’s, poking out in all directions. He also needed a shave. But if he took the time to shave, she’d be gone by the time he was done.

No shave. No comb. Since he usually didn’t have hair, he didn’t really own a comb. So today he’d be doing grunge.

Once again, he didn’t say anything. Simply walked over to her SUV and got in on the passenger’s side as she got in on the driver’s side.

“Don’t even bother to tell me one person can handle this big cake. I watched you and the babysitter cart it out here. I know better. If the caterer can’t spare a waiter you’ll be in a world of trouble.”

She sighed. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t spoken to me since we fought on Sunday.”

He made a disgusted noise. “I know that, too.”

“So why are you going?”

He had no idea. Except that he didn’t want to see her struggle. Remembering her fierce independent streak, he knew that reply wouldn’t be greeted with a thank-you, so he said, “I like cake.”

Apparently expecting to have to fend off an answer that in some way implied she needed help, she opened her mouth, but nothing came out. After a few seconds, she said, “I could make you a cake.”

He peered over at her. In her sunny yellow dress, with her hair all done up, and wearing light pink lipstick, she was so cute his selfish inner demon returned. He’d forgotten how hard it was to want something he couldn’t have.

“Oh, then that would be charity and we can’t have that. If you can’t take my money, I can’t take your cake.”

She sighed. “Look, I know I got a little over-the-top angry on Sunday when you offered me money. But there’s a good reason I refused. I need to be independent.”

“Fantastic.”

She laughed. “It is fantastic. Wyatt, I need to be able to support myself and my kids. And I can. That’s what makes it fantastic. I can do this. You need to trust me.”

“Great. Fine. I trust you.”

“Good, because I feel I owe you for playing with the kids, and a cake would be a simple way for me to pay that back.”

He gaped at her. “Did you hear what you just said? You want to pay me for playing.”

She shoved her key into the ignition and started the SUV. “You’re an idiot.”

“True. But I’m an idiot who is going to get cake at this wedding.”

But in the car on the way to the reception venue, he stared out the window. He couldn’t remember the last time anybody had ordered him around like this. Worse, he couldn’t remember a time a woman had ordered him around like this—and he still liked her.

He sighed internally. And there it was. The truth. He still liked her.

The question was what did he do about it?

Avoiding her didn’t work. She wouldn’t take his money so he could recategorize her. And even after not seeing her all week, the minute he was in the same car with her all his feelings came tumbling back.

He was nuts.

Wrong…

Really? Wrong? They were healthy, single, attracted people. Why was liking her wrong?

Because she didn’t want to like him.

They arrived at the wedding reception more quickly than the week before because this venue was closer. As they unloaded the square layers with black lace trim, Missy gazed at each one lovingly. In high school, she’d hated having to bake fancy cakes for the diner, but now she was so glad she had. At age thirty-three she had twenty years of cake-baking experience behind her. And she was very, very good.

“The kids told me this one is yellow.”

She peeked over at Wyatt, relieved he was finally talking. “It is. It’s a yellow cake…with butter cream fondant and rolled fondant to make the black lace.”

“How do you make lace?”

His question surprised her. Most people saw the finished product and didn’t care how it got that way.

“There are patterns and forms you can buy, but I made my own.”

He studied the intricate design. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“I do things like this when you’re playing with the kids.”

He shot her a funny look and she turned away. The little spark of attraction she’d felt when she’d seen his scruffy day-old beard and butt-hugging jeans that morning flared again. With his sexy, fingers-run-through-it-in-frustration hair and his long, lean body, he was enough to drive her to distraction.