Cassidy's Kids. Tara Quinn Taylor

No matter how often Ellie fell short of being everything a Maitland should be, Megan continued to love her. “I won’t let you down,” she whispered, afraid she was really going to make a fool of herself and cry.

      Ellie never cried. At least not where anyone in her family could see.

      “I know you won’t,” Megan said.

      And that had been that. Ellie, the ugly duckling baby Maitland, might not feel she was an asset to the family, but they were generous enough to love her anyway. And she had just enough Maitland blood running through her veins to make certain that she didn’t let them down. At least not professionally.

      Which was why, sitting at her desk later that morning, she refused to back down when the man who serviced their current piping system tried to convince her not to invest in a new, upgraded one. Maitland Maternity, the clinic founded by her mother and late father almost twenty-five years ago, had outgrown its present system, and Ellie would not put the clinic’s patients—or reputation—at risk.

      Once the man had left, she turned back to the financial statements Drake Logan, Maitland’s VP of finance, had left her.

      “Ellie—?”

      At the sound of the voice she froze. She’d been wrong. Things could get worse.

      “—I’m sorry to barge in, but the phone just seemed so cold after all this time.”

      Heart pounding, Ellie stared at the handsome man standing in her doorway. He wasn’t supposed to just show up at her office. He wasn’t supposed to show up at all. She’d gotten over him years ago. Wasn’t ever going to have to see him again.

      “I can’t believe you’re here.” It was the only thought she had.

      Forcing herself, she rose, offered her hand, pretended that warm touch of his calloused fingers did nothing to her.

      The only plausible reason she could come up with for his sudden appearance was that he and his wife, Marla, needed the clinic’s services.

      “You look great!” he said, admiration in his voice and in the steady brown gaze that was taking in every inch of her.

      “So do you.” Gorgeous. Incredible. And in her office. Damn him.

      “You’re the boss now, huh?” he asked. He looked around her big office, but only briefly, then his eyes focused back on her.

      Nodding, Ellie started to sweat. Seeing him after all this time couldn’t mean anything to her. He couldn’t mean anything to her.

      “I knew you’d make it to the top quicker than anyone,” he said, his voice full of easy camaraderie.

      “Why are you here?” she blurted, feeling the need to get rid of him before she made a fool of herself and hugged him or something. Maybe he’d forgotten their last, devastating conversation, but she hadn’t. It had shaped every day of her life since.

      “I need a favor.”

      His voice was sexier than she remembered it. Deeper. “What’s it been, ten years?” she asked, trying to smile in spite of the tension. He actually thought that he could waltz in after all this time, and she’d be waiting to do his bidding.

      Not that she could blame him completely. Practically every girl in their high school—Ellie included—had done just that. Sloan was definitely one of God’s gifts to the world’s female population, though one with a cruel twist when it had come to Ellie.

      “’Bout that,” he said. He didn’t appear to be the least bit contrite about the ten year lapse, though age seemed to have taken the edge off his supreme self-confidence. “I’ve wanted to stop in many times, Ellie, to see you.”

      “So why didn’t you?”

      “I figured it was best just to leave well enough alone.”

      Which was just about the best non-answer she’d ever heard.

      “Until now,” she reminded him.

      He shrugged. “I’m in trouble, and you’re the only one I know of who can help.”

      She wasn’t going to be party to his and Marla’s family problems. No matter how nicely he asked.

      Leaning forward, resting her thighs against her desk, Ellie crossed her arms over her chest. “So how’ve you been?” she asked, and then made herself continue, “How’s Marla?”

      “I wouldn’t know.” He didn’t take his eyes off her. “She’s in New York.”

      She hadn’t heard about that. But then, lately she’d been concerned about the problems in her own family.

      “What’s she doing in New York?” Is she still your wife?

      “Trying to act, last I heard.” His eyes continued to assess her. “We were divorced six months ago.”

      Ellie sat down. Hard. Sloan was divorced. No one had told her.

      “Y-you said you had a favor to ask.”

      Divorced, he was more dangerous than ever. She had to get rid of him. To focus on what mattered. Her goals. The clinic. Getting through the day.

      “I know it’s presumptuous, me coming in here like this after all this time, but I’m at my wits’ end, Ellie, and I don’t know where else to turn. We were pretty special friends once.”

      Opening her mouth to grant him whatever he asked, Ellie bit her tongue, instead. She was working day and night trying to prove herself—and going to night school besides. She didn’t have time to spare for him. Or to risk another broken heart. Sloan Cassidy had had his chance.

      “I’d never ask for myself—” Sloan’s big brown eyes were imploring her, and his body made an imposing figure in skin-tight, earth-worn denim and a corduroy shirt that fit his cowboy bulkiness to perfection.

      “But the girls are getting so out of hand that if I don’t do something soon, it may be too late.”

      The girls? Ellie swallowed, glad she’d bitten her tongue. Even after ten years, hearing about Sloan’s relations with the opposite sex still hurt. There’d never been just one girl in love with him, panting after him: there’d never been fewer than a dozen.

      “What, exactly, is it you want from me?” She was curious, that was all. And maybe a bit of a masochist. Entertaining visions of herself posing as Sloan’s fiancée long enough to ward off the troublesome women, Ellie almost smiled again.

      “Just some pointers, Ellie. Teach me how to raise them.”

      “Raise them?”

      “You know how I grew up, El. My own folks didn’t set such a hot example. I’d already been having trouble getting the dad stuff down right. I’m a complete failure at the mom part.”

      Mom? Dad? Feeling a resurgence of the panic attack from earlier that morning, Ellie forced her fingers to relax their grip on the arms of her chair. “Just how old are they?” she asked. Sloan was a father? More than once? Somehow she’d just never pictured homecoming-queen, cheerleader-captain Marla having babies. Not even for Sloan.

      “Eighteen months.” He looked desperate, standing there in front of her. Desperate and needy. Which was the only reason Ellie didn’t have him removed from her office.

      “And?” He’d said girls, plural.

      “That’s it. I have eighteen-month-old twin daughters who are holy terrors, and not particularly happy, either.”

      The catch Ellie felt in her chest must be part of the panic attack she was fighting. It had absolutely nothing to do with the mention of Sloan and daughters in the same sentence. There was no reason why she should feel a longing at the mention that they were twins. Or a kinship, either.

      “I have no idea what to do for them.”

      Ellie didn’t