The Christmas Triplets. Tanya Michaels

before leaving a message. The situation seemed a bit too complicated to sum up after the beep.

      “All right, we can do this,” he told the baby. “But you’re going to have to work with me, Tommy.” Didn’t babies mostly eat and sleep? Since the kid had already napped, it stood to reason he was hungry. Will just had to strap him back into the car seat long enough to figure out what to feed him. Probably not lasagna.

      Milk? Formula? Baby food? “Let’s get you buckled safely into your chair so I can see what your mama left us.” No doubt the massive duffel bag was packed with supplies. But when he attempted to put Tommy back in his seat, the baby arched his back and went rigid, protesting so loudly that his face turned purple.

      “Hey, none of that, now,” Will coaxed. “I have a next-door neighbor who specifically asked me to keep it down over here. You wouldn’t want to get your uncle Will in trouble, would you?” Thinking of Megan filled him with a sudden reckless hope. She managed three daughters all by herself. Surely she’d know what to do about one crying baby?

      You’re forgetting, she hates you.

      True. But maybe her maternal instinct would kick in when she saw Tommy, and she’d help anyway.

      * * *

      “MAMA?”

      Megan glanced up just in time to catch the cordless phone. Daisy didn’t always wait to make sure recipients had a grip on whatever she was handing them before letting go.

      “Gammy!” Daisy said as she toddled out of the kitchen, blissfully unaware of how much Megan did not want to speak with her mother.

      Since Daisy had so helpfully answered the phone, it was too late to pretend not to be home. Megan hadn’t even heard it ring over the mechanical whirr of the food processor. She’d been shredding broccoli into pieces too small for the girls to pick out of tonight’s macaroni and cheese. Whether the broccoli smithereens were big enough to actually add any nutritional value was debatable, but sometimes the best you could hope for in motherhood was a moral victory.

      Frankly, daughterhood was no picnic, either. “Hello?” she said, pasting a smile on her face in an attempt to sound cheery and welcoming.

      “I can’t believe you let a three-year-old answer the phone.”

      “I’m sure Daisy thought she was being helpful. I was busy getting dinner ready.”

      “Too busy to speak to your mother?”

      Yes. The word hovered on her tongue, but Megan knew she’d never say it. The lasting drama of Beth Ann’s hurt feelings wouldn’t be worth the short-term satisfaction. “What do you need, Mom?”

      “The chance to apologize, for starters. I never should have discouraged you from divorcing Spencer. That man is a no-good cheat.”

      Megan blinked, stunned by her mother’s sudden about-face. After Spencer’s first affair, Beth Ann had defended her son-in-law, saying he’d acted rashly in his panic over impending fatherhood and had only succumbed to temptation because Megan was on bed rest and unavailable for “marital relations.” Wanting to believe his infidelity was a onetime mistake, Megan had agreed to stay with him on the condition that they see a therapist. But less than a year later, she’d caught him in another affair and left him. Her mother had argued vehemently, claiming Megan was insane to try to raise triplets by herself and that she would regret her decision.

      Not as much as I would have regretted setting the example for my girls that it’s okay for a husband to be unfaithful.

      And now, two years later, her mother was randomly offering her support? “I accept your apology,” she said cautiously.

      “When I urged you to stay with him, I was only thinking of your well-being. I know how hard it is to raise a child alone.” Her own husband, a soldier, had been overseas for much of their marriage. Then, while Megan was in high school, he’d died of a heart attack in his sleep. “But your situation is different than mine. I was almost fifty when Jeremy left me widowed. You’re young enough to remarry.”

      Ah. So that was why Beth Ann was suddenly okay with the divorce—she thought Megan should start searching for Spencer’s replacement. No, thank you. “I’m glad you’ve made your peace with the divorce.” She ignored the other half of what her mom said. “Maybe we can talk later in the week? If I don’t concentrate on the girls’ dinner, I may end up burning something.”

      “If you were married, your husband could keep an eye on the stove long enough for you to chat with me.”

      Yeah, there was great incentive to look for a man—more phone calls like this one. “Mom, I—” A discordant gonging sounded through the house, its warble reminding her that she needed to get her doorbell fixed. “There’s someone at the door.”

      “Uh-huh.” Beth Ann’s skepticism was palpable. “Well, I’ll just call back at a more convenient time.”

      By the time Megan set down the phone, Daisy was standing on her tiptoes at the baby gate, trying to get a glimpse of who might be outside, and Lily had dashed into the kitchen to cling to her mother. Meanwhile, Iris—very focused for a preschooler—remained on the kitchen floor and continued to color a picture.

      Megan distracted anxious Lily with a sippy cup, then stepped over the gate to answer the door, fully expecting someone who would try to sell her lawn care or aluminum siding. Salesmen had a knack for always interrupting right at dinnertime. Still, whoever this person was, he had helped free her from a conversation with her mother, so she was prepared to be friendly as she sent him away. She opened the door, keeping the screen door shut between them, and her mouth dropped open at the sight of Will Trent, holding a ginormous bag and one seriously unhappy baby.

      The red-faced infant bore little resemblance to the sleeping cherub she’d seen that afternoon, but she recognized the knit hat with the cute koala. Amy’s son. In certain circumstances, an attractive man holding a baby would be adorable. But since the baby was loudly broadcasting his displeasure and the man in question was Will Trent...

      “Can we come in?” he asked.

      Preferably not. “Where’s Amy?”

      “Visiting an aunt. Tommy will be staying with me for a while.” His expression and stiff body language told her how much he resented the circumstances even before he muttered, “She didn’t give me much choice in the matter.”

      Despite her earlier suspicions, Megan hadn’t wanted to believe he was the baby’s father. He was older and more worldly than that vulnerable young woman. Men were scum. Not all of them. She forcibly reminded herself of Jarrett Ross, who’d been so sweet with her daughters at the fall festival, and Sheriff Cole Trent, a man of integrity who clearly adored his fiancée. Unfortunately, Will’s resemblance to his brother seemed to be strictly physical.

      “I could use a hand. Please, Megan.” It wasn’t his pleading tone that got to her, but the baby’s pitiful sobs. Tommy was running out of steam, his cries now more bewildered than furious. He seemed perplexed as to why his mother had left him with Will. Biological bond or not, there had to be better babysitters in Cupid’s Bow. Of course, after what Amy had said about expenses, maybe she couldn’t afford to hire one.

      With a sigh, Megan opened the screen door. “Last night it was the car alarm during bedtime. Tonight you’ve caught us right at dinner. Maybe tomorrow you can park the fire truck outside the house with sirens blaring at bath time.”

      He gave her a sheepish grin. “Is that your way of saying that life next door to me is never boring?”

      Refusing to be sucked in by his humor and aw-shucks charm, she reached for the baby. “When was the last time you fed him?”

      “Technically, never.”

      Her eyebrows shot skyward. “You’ve never helped Amy feed him?”

      “Until today, I’ve barely even held him.” He said it without a trace of shame, reminding her of Spencer. For all that her