The Acquired Bride

“Ah. That explains why I’ve never seen you before.”

“You mean you’ve never shopped our aisles of smiles containing diapers, cribs and layettes?”

“Can’t say I have.” He couldn’t help joining in her laughter. Then, he asked, “And where does Mr. Hewitt work?”

He wanted to kick himself when a dark look erased the merriment from her face. In its place she wore a pinched expression that pulled her full lips into a straight line. “There is no Mr. Hewitt. He passed away.”

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically.

Except he found himself very much not sorry that she was unattached. But he couldn’t help wondering if part of the Storkville legend had touched her long-distance. Was her love for the husband she’d lost boundless? He hoped not.

As soon as he’d thought it, he was appalled. What had gotten into him? He’d been slimed on the outside and now he knew it was merely a visible manifestation of what he was like on the inside. Worse, he didn’t know what to say to get past the awkward moment.

He could only come up with, “You’re very lucky to have the children.”

“Don’t I know it. And no one is going to take them from me,” she added emphatically.

“Why would anyone take them?” he asked, puzzled.

“A better question would be why would anyone but me want them,” she shot back. “They’re demanding, rambunctious, active. They do everything in triplicate.” She nodded forcefully. “But Molly, Kelly and Lukas are my whole life.”

“I envy you. My whole life is business and it’s not nearly as exciting as your children.”

“Should I be flattered or insulted? What kind of business are you in?” she asked.

Her face appeared innocence itself, but he read between the lines of her question to another one: How much money do you make?

“I deal in investments. Finances. A little of this and that,” he said vaguely. “That’s not the same as the commitment you’ve made. Your children are lucky to be on the receiving end of such unconditional love.”

“They might trade a small percentage for an extra pair of hands,” she said ruefully. “Sometimes these three seem like twenty. But thank goodness I found a job in Storkville. I relocated here about six months ago and found that it’s a wonderful place to raise children. If Lukie had gotten away from me anywhere else—” She suppressed a shudder at the unthinkable.

“Why did you leave Omaha?”

There was a troubled, faraway expression on her face. But all she said was, “I had no family left. I’m an only child and my parents are both gone. And—the memories there were too much. I decided to start over here with the children.”

“It’s Storkville’s gain,” he said.

“Thank you.” She glanced guiltily at his pants. “Not necessarily yours, though. Are you certain you won’t let me pick up the cost of dry cleaning?”

Clear, beautiful gray eyes looked into his own. Odd, he thought. He wanted to drown in her eyes. He blinked a couple of times, mentally shaking himself. He was a by-the-numbers businessman, not a poet. What was he thinking—drown in a woman’s eyes? Get a grip, McCormack.

He might have been able to rein in his acute response if the rest of her hadn’t inspired him, too. Her petite form fit nicely into a pair of black slacks topped by a black-trimmed beige sweater. Her breasts, not too big or too small, filled out the sweater perfectly, as if it was made for her. In fact, he couldn’t help thinking that she would fit him nicely, as if she was made for him too. Whoa, Mac.

“Mommy, I hafta go.” One of the little girls—Kelly or Molly?—tugged on her hand.

No, don’t go, he thought. He felt like he could stand there and talk to her forever.

Dana looked down at her daughter. “Okay, sweetie.”

Dana turned back to Quentin and said, “I think I’d better get the children home. Let me know if you change your mind about the cleaning charges,” she offered.

“I won’t. But thanks.”

Dana released one of the girls and instructed Molly and Kelly to hold hands tight. Then she took her son’s sticky fingers in a firm grip. “I appreciate your understanding about Lukie. Somehow, I’ll figure out a way to thank you. Goodbye, Quentin.”

He searched for something to say that would keep her there a little longer, but came up empty.

He watched her walk away, and the crowd swallowed Dana Hewitt and her brood before his lightning-fried brain functioned normally again. He realized he hadn’t asked for her phone number. He could always drop by the store, or…

No.

This was for the best. He would bet everything he owned that she was still getting over the loss of her husband. But because of all he owned, it was necessary to question the motives of every woman he met. And Dana was especially risky. He was pretty sure she didn’t have a lot of money to spare.

He looked down at his pants. In spite of the spectacle he must make, he grinned. Cute kids—especially Lukas. But the fruit didn’t fall far from the tree. Cute mom.

Now he would do himself a favor and forget her.

“I guess that does it.” Cleland Knox, owner of Storkville’s insurance agency and president of the chamber of commerce, consulted his notes.

It was October first and the merchants of Storkville were meeting in the town hall to discuss the tentative schedule of holiday events, from Halloween to Christmas and New Year’s. When finalized, it would be printed and posted all over town.

Dana, sitting in for her boss, fidgeted in her chair. She wondered if her hair and clothes looked all right. Normally, she didn’t question her appearance. Ordinarily, she did the best she could with what she had. But tonight wasn’t normal or ordinary. Quentin McCormack was sitting behind her.

Goose bumps that had nothing to do with the chill in the hall skittered up and down her arms. She had carried around a mental picture of the brown-haired, blue-eyed hunk ever since she’d first laid eyes on him in August. His cover-model good looks had been responsible for her not noticing right away what Lukie had done to him. And that was because her gaze had only strayed as far from his face as to his impossibly broad shoulders and his flat abdomen. Only later had she noticed his muscular thighs encased in the expensive material—and covered with gunk.

“Is there any other business?” The C.O.C. president interrupted her delicious yet mortifying daydream.

Dana raised her hand. “Mr. Knox?”

He looked into the crowd. “The chair recognizes Mrs. Hewitt of Bassinets and Booties.”

She suppressed a grin at his formality. He and his wife Grace were regulars in the store, frequently buying toys, clothes and furniture for their four grandchildren.

“Mr. President, I just wanted to make sure that the Bassinets and Booties holiday party, fashion show and raffle are on the schedule. I didn’t see it on the rough draft.”

Dana had just come up with the idea a couple days ago. Her boss had loved her suggestion for the store’s Christmas promotion this year. Every merchant planned something and the events were staggered so that people could get to them all. It was also a last big push that boosted sales through Christmas and the end of the year.

Cleland scanned the paper in his hand and nodded. “I have it penciled in here. Don’t worry. It will be on the final schedule. Second Saturday in December,” he confirmed.

“That’s right,” she agreed. “Thank you.”

“The weekend after that is Santa’s visit to the kids at BabyCare. That okay with you, Hannah?”

“Wonderful,” the woman sitting to Dana’s left answered. “And don’t forget the costume party for the kids at the day-care center the week before Halloween.”

The blond highlights in Hannah’s brown hair glowed beneath the town hall’s fluorescent lights. But that was nothing compared to the sparkle in her brown eyes. And that had everything to do with Jackson Caldwell, the love of her life, who was sitting beside her. Her face was so bright, she could have lit the town of Storkville for the entire holiday season, Halloween and Thanksgiving included.

Dana sighed. She envied them. They’d been childhood sweethearts who had recently been reunited and rekindled their love. Together they were caring for, and falling in love with, the twins abandoned at the day-care center a few days after she’d first met Quentin.