Daddyhood

had a varied and interesting career as an R.N. before finally hanging up her stethoscope to write romances. She indulges this passion in Kansas City, Missouri, where she lives with her husband and one very spoiled poodle. Her first romance in 1987 reached the finals of the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart contest

When she’s not writing, she loves to travel or just curl up with a good book.

Prologue (#ulink_8acecf8f-e489-518e-8f8e-ad8dd9b842ef)

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not”

“Dad…!”

The twins were fighting again. Gabe Lawrence took the cake he was baking for their sixth birthday out of the oven. It was to be a three-tiered job, with lots of fluffy icing between the layers.

But as he flopped the round layer pans onto the kitchen countertop, he sighed at the sinkholes in the center of each. He probably should have bought a cake. But he was determined to be a hands-on dad.

Was this penance for the years he hadn’t been?

He took off the oven mitts, tossing them beside the sorry cake layers, and went to settle his daughters’ dispute.

“Dad, she’s got my Barbie and won’t give it back,” Hannah said the moment he stepped into the playroom, the one that used to be his home office.

“It’s my Barbie. Nana gave it to me—just me!” Heather retaliated, at which time each girl grabbed a leg and pulled, snapping the poor doll’s legs like a wishbone.

That really set up a howl.

“Okay, princesses, stop your crying and I’ll see if I can…perform doll surgery. Okay?”

That brought a snuffle and a sob and wide-eyed hopefulness from each girl.

“Then she can’t play with it anymore. Isn’t that right, Dad?” Hannah said.

“No one will be playing with Barbie,” he informed them. “She’ll need about six weeks to convalesce.”

Maybe in that time he would have decided which twin had ownership.

“What’s con…con…v’lesce?” Heather asked.

“It’s—Never mind, sweethearts. Just try to play. Without fighting—okay?”

Two sets of bright blue eyes peered up at him through long, fringed lashes. Small rosebud-pink mouths pursed into appealing pouts. Gabe considered his look-alikes’ small cherubic faces, full of sweet innocence, but he suspected it was only a matter of time before there’d be a new squabble between them.

He confiscated the Barbie parts and frowned, wondering if he’d made a mistake turning down his sister’s offer to come and help with the twins. But he knew he hadn’t. The girls were his—and he loved them. He’d get the hang of this fathering thing.

Somehow.

He ruffled their blond curls and tweaked their pert upturned noses, which made them both giggle. In minutes they were playing again—quietly, this time. Gabe made his way out of the room and into the den, sinking into his favorite overstuffed chair.

The twins were still adjusting to life here with him. It had been six months since the accident that had killed their mother, Gabe’s ex-wife. Meg had been a terrific mom, but he hadn’t always been the best dad in the world…and he was sorry about that. He wasn’t sure one inexperienced father could make things right again for two little girls, but if love counted for anything, they would all weather this.

He might not be experienced at child rearing but he was getting plenty of advice—from every female in the family and from the women in the neighborhood. One had even sent him a book on the subject of raising twins, a wordy tome by the renowned child psychologist, Dr. Sabrina Moore.

He unearthed the dog-eared copy from beneath a stack of kiddie books on the end table beside him. Gabe had read the book—or rather, tried to read it. It was a real snoozer, full of facts and figures and theories that he wondered if the lofty Dr. Moore had ever put to the test.

Somewhere besides a clinical lab, that is.

He scanned the glossy photo of her on the back cover. She was pretty, in a soft, don’t-touch sort of way. A brunette. With long, silky hair that barely brushed her shoulders squared for the picture. Her smile looked posed—and he wondered what it would take to make the lady smile like she meant it. Her silk blouse with its high neck didn’t do much for a man’s libido, but still he had the feeling there was a lot of sensual woman beneath that prim facade.

Not that Gabe had any business being curious.

The only women he had time for in his life right now were two soon-to-be six-year-olds who needed him. Which brought him back to the problem of the twins’ sibling rivalry.

He flipped the book over and thumbed through the pages, wondering just what intellectual theories the intriguing Dr. Moore had to offer on the subject….

Chapter One (#ulink_a156c920-d7c0-50dc-b9a6-c5063b82e97d)

Dr. Sabrina Moore glanced out over her audience in the small community-college auditorium, smiling at the group of young moms, and one dad, who sat listening to her. The dad had come in late, looking harried and restless as he sat in the back row, somewhat apart from the others.

In seven cities around the country in as many days, she’d given this discussion on the joys and problems of raising twins, promoting her new book, Multiples. The text was a compilation of her years researching twins, triplets, even quadruplets and one rare set of quints.

She’d saved her final round of talks on her busy tour for Denver—her home—and she was glad to be back. The tour had proved tiring and stressful and she wanted nothing more than to unwind.

Her gaze went to the man in the back row again. In his right hand he clutched a copy of her book, and a little thrill of excitement rippled through her. She shifted in her chair, fully expecting him to come up afterward and ask her to autograph it for him, or maybe for his wife.

She was still having a little trouble getting used to all this fame and attention. She’d devoted so much of her life to research, had hidden herself away in quiet, safe, academia for so long, she’d forgotten there was a real world out there.

Shuffling her notes, she went on with her talk, trying to keep her attention off the man in the last row and on the subject at hand. Maybe it was because she had so few men sit in on her sessions that he garnered her attention.

Or maybe it was that he was such a handsome specimen of fatherhood, with a strong square jaw and hair the nut-brown color of an acorn. He wore it slightly long, just brushing the collar of his light blue shirt that stretched across impossibly broad shoulders.

It wasn’t like Sabrina to scrutinize her audience— she’d never done it before now—and she tore her gaze away, concentrating on the group closer to the front.

Questions and answers followed the discussion, along with a brisk sale of copies of her book—which was the reason she was there, after all. That and to share the knowledge of her extensive research.

Her work at the Sherwood Institute was important to her. In fact, since her marriage fell apart a year ago, it had been everything to her. The one bright spot in her life, the one constant, and she poured her heart and soul into it. All her energies.

Sabrina spoke a friendly word to the last mother who’d come forward to purchase her book, remembering the woman had told her at the beginning of the session that she and her husband were the proud parents of triplets, a result of fertility drugs.

With the advent of fertility medications, more and more multiple births were occurring than normally did in nature—which made Sabrina’s research on the subject that much more vital.

As the woman trailed out, Sabrina moved to gather together her discussion materials and deposit them in her briefcase.

“Interesting theories, Dr. Moore.”

Sabrina nearly dropped her charts and graphs at the low male voice that rumbled so close beside her. She knew without glancing up to whom it belonged. She’d been so busy talking with the last few mothers that she’d forgotten all about the solitary dad occupying a seat in the back row. His deep resonant greeting, however, brought her sense of recall to vivid life.

When she looked up, blue eyes met her gaze. Not just any ordinary shade of blue, but a cool, glittering sapphire. Up close he was even more intriguing, not to mention daunting. For a moment she felt unnerved, but only for a moment.