Judy Duarte – Triple Trouble / A Real Live Cowboy: Triple Trouble (страница 5)

“I’m very happy, and he is a great guy,” Angie said firmly. “Now come on, let’s get your things inside so you can meet him.”

Charlene followed Angie up the sidewalk, towing a rolling suitcase behind her.

What am I going to do now? The question made her feel totally selfish in light of her mother’s transparent happiness. But Charlene’s practical side told her the situation required a change of plans. She couldn’t stay at the condo with her mother and Lloyd during what was surely the honeymoon stage of their relationship.

She needed a new plan. And fast.

What the hell was I thinking?

Nick strode away from Charlene and didn’t look back. The airport wasn’t crowded and it was a matter of moments before he reached the exit doors and walked outside. He knew it was the worst possible time to meet a woman who interested him. And Charlene London was too pretty to hire as a nanny.

He was going to have enough problems dealing with the sea change about to happen in his life. He didn’t need to move a sexy, gorgeous woman into his house to complicate life even more.

He spotted a uniformed driver holding a sign with his name in big block letters, and changed direction to reach the black Lincoln Town Car. During the drive to Andrew Sanchez’s office, he scanned a file with information about Stan and Amy’s estate the attorney had asked the driver to give him.

Andrew Sanchez was a rotund, balding man in his mid-fifties. Businesslike and efficient, he still exuded an air of concern and sympathy.

“Do you have family or friends available to help with the triplets?” he asked Nick as they concluded their meeting.

“No, but I’m planning to find a nanny. Until then I have a housekeeper, and she’s agreed to work longer hours until I can find someone.”

“You might want to consider two nannies,” Mr. Sanchez commented. “Those three little girls are dynamos.” He grinned with wry affection. “I’m glad you’re a younger man, because just spending an hour with them at their foster home wore me out. You’re going to need all the energy you can muster.”

Nick nodded. He didn’t tell the older man that he had no clue how much energy one little girl required from a caretaker, let alone three of them at once. “You’re continuing to search for Amy’s sister?”

The attorney nodded. “I’ve hired a detective agency to look for her. They told me they can’t give us a time frame, since she’s out of the country, but at least Amy’s e-mail files gave us the name of the mission organization in Africa that employed her. It’s a place to start hunting.” He sighed. “The e-mail records on Amy’s computer indicate her sister stopped communicating a month or so ago. Also that Amy had been trying to contact her but had no success.”

“Any idea why?”

“Lana and her husband apparently resigned their positions with the relief agency where they were employed. But we don’t know where they went after that. And given that the two are working in a remote area of Africa, well…” Sanchez spread his hands and shrugged. “It’s anyone’s guess where they’ve gone or how long before they surface. As I said, the detective agency warned me they can’t guarantee a time frame for locating the couple.”

“Let’s hope they find her soon. I have to believe Amy’s sister and her husband will be better at caring for three little girls than I am.”

“The important thing is that you’re willing to try.” The attorney shook his head. “The interim foster home where the girls are staying is a good situation, but they can’t stay there indefinitely. They’ll be much better off with you while we’re searching for their aunt.”

“I hope you’re right.” Nick wasn’t convinced.

It was after 6:00 p.m. before the attorney and Nick finished going over the will and other documents.

“I took the liberty of booking a room for you in a nearby hotel,” Sanchez told him as they pushed back chairs and stood. “I understand the triplets are in bed for the night by 7:00 p.m. I thought you might want to wait until morning to see them.”

“I appreciate it.” Nicholas held out his hand. “Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome.” The attorney’s clasp was firm. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you. And I’ll notify you as soon as I receive any information as to the whereabouts of Amy’s sister.”

Nick walked to the door. “It seems odd to pick up the girls and leave Amarillo without saying goodbye in some way.”

“I know.” The attorney nodded. “But their wills were very specific. As the closest living relative, Amy’s sister will organize a memorial service so friends can pay their respects when she returns.”

“I’m damned sure neither of them ever thought they’d die together and leave the kids,” Nick muttered, almost to himself.

“No one ever does.” Sanchez shook his head. “It’s a hell of a situation. We’ll just have to do the best we can and search diligently for the children’s aunt.”

“Right.” Nick said goodbye and left the office to climb into the town car once more.

The conversation with Andrew Sanchez had driven home the unbelievable fact that Stan and Amy were gone. Nick barely noticed the streets the limo drove down as they headed toward the hotel.

Despite his conviction that Charlene wasn’t the best choice for an employee on a purely personal level, he definitely believed her experience made her the perfect woman to care for Stan’s daughters. Before he unpacked his bag in the hotel room, he called his office in Red Rock and asked his assistant to run a preliminary employment check on Charlene London.

Just in case, he told himself, she called and said yes to the job offer. He knew the fact that she hadn’t given him her contact number made the likelihood a million-to-one shot—but he was a man who believed in luck.

And he was going to need a boatload of luck to get through the next few days, or weeks, or however long it took before the triplets’ aunt showed up to claim them.

Chapter Two

The following morning, the same limo driver picked Nick up promptly at 9:00 a.m.

“We’re here, sir.” The driver’s voice broke Nick’s absorption in memories and he realized they were parked in front of a white rambler with a fenced yard and worn grass. It looked lived-in and comfortable.

“So we are,” he muttered.

“Mr. Sanchez told me to wait and drive you all to the airport when you’re ready, sir.”

“Good, thanks,” Nick said absently, focused on what awaited him within the house.

A round young woman in jeans and green T-shirt answered his knock, a little girl perched on her hip.

“Hello, you must be Nick Fortune. I’m Christie Williams. My husband and I are…were friends of Stan and Amy. We volunteered to be temporary foster parents for the girls. Come in.”

She held the door wide and Nick stepped over the threshold into a living room, the green carpet strewn with toys. Two babies sat on the floor in the midst of the confusion of blocks, balls, stuffed animals and brightly colored plastic things that Nick couldn’t identify. The girls’ black hair and bright blue eyes were carbon copies of the child on Christie’s hip, who stared at him with solemn interest.

A woman in a gray business suit rose from the sofa as he entered.

“Mr. Fortune, it’s a pleasure to see you.” She stepped forward and held out her hand, her grip firm in a brief handshake. “I’m Carol Smith, the caseworker. As you can see, the girls are doing well.”

Nick nodded, murmuring an absent acknowledgment, his attention on the two little girls seated on the floor. Both of them eyed him with solemn, bigeyed consideration. They were dressed in tiny little tennis shoes and long pants with attached bibs, one in pale purple, one in pink. He glanced at the baby perched on the foster mother’s hip. She wore the same little bibbed pants with tennis shoes, only her outfit was bright yellow.

“They’re identical?” He hadn’t expected them to look so much alike. If it wasn’t for the color of their clothes, he wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.

“Yes, they are,” Ms. Smith replied. “It’s quite rare, actually. In today’s world, many multiple births are the result of in vitro procedures and the children are more commonly fraternal twins or triplets. But Jackie, Jenny and Jessie are truly identical.”

“I see.” Great. How am I going to tell them apart?

“Fortunately, Amy had their names engraved on custom-made bracelets for each of them. She and Stan didn’t need to use them, of course, but any time the triplets had a babysitter, the bracelets were immensely helpful,” the foster mother added. “This is Jackie.” She shifted the little girl off her hip and handed her to Nick.

Taken off guard, he automatically took the child, holding her awkwardly in midair with his hands at her waist.

Jackie stared at him, blue eyes solemn as she studied him, her legs dangling. She wriggled, little legs scissoring, and Nick cradled her against his chest to keep from dropping her.

She responded by chortling and grabbing a fistful of his blue polo shirt in one hand and smacking him in the chin with her other. Startled, Nick eyed the little girl who seemed to find it hilarious that she’d found his chin. She babbled a series of nonsensical sounds, and then paused to look expectantly at him.