Mothers In A Million: A Father for Her Triplets / First Comes Baby.... SUSAN MEIER

and get it back in the box. As I’m collecting, I’m checking for jewelry. At this rate I’ll have this whole room done by noon.”

      She laughed.

      And he sighed with relief. But the relief didn’t last long. With her tears dry and her mood improved, he knew she’d never tell him about her dad. And he couldn’t just say, “Hey, I saw Monty running out of your house this morning.” It would be awkward for her, like dropping someone in an ice-cold swimming pool.

      Still, he couldn’t let this go. He’d been the one to tell Monty she was doing well. He’d thought he was doing her a favor. Turns out he had everything all wrong. And somehow he had to fix it.

      “So what happened this morning?”

      She strolled back into the bedroom and walked over to Helaina, who’d dumped out a box of panty hose.

      “What is this?”

      He grabbed the ball of panty hose and stuffed it back into the shoe box. “My grandmother never met a pair of panty hose she didn’t want to save.”

      “My grandmother saved them, too. She used them as filler when she made stuffed animals or couch pillows.”

      “Thank God. I was beginning to think my grandmother was nuts.” And he’d also noticed Missy had changed the subject. “So what happened this morning?”

      She sucked in a breath, ruffling Lainie’s dark hair as the little girl picked up another shoe box, popped the lid and dumped the contents.

      Bingo. Jewelry.

      He swung around to that side of the bed. Beads and bobbles rolled across the floral comforter. “Well, what do you know?”

      Missy caught his gaze. “Don’t get your hopes up. Most of this looks like cheap costume jewelry.”

      He picked up a necklace, saw a chip in the paint on a “pearl.”

      “Drat.”

      “Finding jewelry is a good sign, though. At least you know it’s here somewhere.”

      He dropped the string of fake pearls to the bed. “Yeah, well, she has three furnished bedrooms. I found clothes in the drawers in the dressers in each room. All the closets are full of boxes like these.” He sighed. “Who wants to go play in the yard?”

      Missy laughed. “Is that how you look for jewelry? In the yard?”

      He faced her. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m sort of, kind of, the type of guy who doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

      Shaking her head, she laughed again. “So how do you intend to find the jewelry?”

      He shrugged. “Not sure yet. But I’m an idea guy. That’s how I got rich.” It was true. Even his writing was a form of coming up with ideas and analyzing them to see if they’d work. “So eventually I’ll figure out a way to find the jewelry without having to look through every darned drawer and box in this house.”

      “Well, I’d volunteer to help you, but I have some thinking of my own to do today.”

      “Oh, yeah.” He sat on the bed, patted the spot beside him. That was as good of an opening as any to try again to get her to talk to him. “I just told you I’m a good idea man. Maybe I could help you with that thinking.”

      “No. You and I have already been over this. Your idea to solve my financial problem was to give me money.”

      He remembered—and winced.

      “So this morning I need to go over my books again, think through how I can get a van and an assistant.”

      “Why the sudden rush?”

      She shrugged. “No reason.” She clapped her hands. “Come on, kids. Let’s go.”

      A chorus of “Ah, Mom,” echoed around him.

      He rose from the bed, suddenly understanding that maybe she didn’t want to talk about her dad because the kids were around. Which meant they wouldn’t talk until the triplets took their naps. “I promised them time in the sandbox.”

      She sighed. “They’re not even out of their pajamas yet.”

      “How about if you go get them dressed while I clean up some of this mess? Then I’ll take them when you’re done.”

      “I do want that thinking time this morning.” She blew her breath out in another sigh. “I don’t know how to pay you back for being so good to them.”

      “I already told you it makes me feel weird to hear you say you want to pay me for playing. So don’t say it again.”

      She laughed. Then she faced the kids. “All right. Let’s go. We’ll get everybody into clean shorts, then you can go out to the sandbox with Wyatt.”

      Owen jumped. “Yay!”

      Lainie raced to the door.

      Claire took her mom’s hand.

      Wyatt watched them go, then fell to the bed again. She’d been beaten by her dad, left by her husband with three babies, and now struggled with growing a business. It didn’t seem right that he couldn’t give her money. But that ship had sailed. Worse, he had to confess that he was the one who’d told her dad how well she was doing.

      Wyatt looked at his watch, counting down the hours till naptime, feeling as if he was counting down the hours to doomsday.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      STILL TOO WORKED UP to sit at a table and run numbers, Missy pulled a box of flour from her pantry, along with semisweet chocolate chips, sugar and cornstarch. Wyatt taking the kids without pushing for answers as to why she was so upset was about the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, so she would repay him with a cake. A fancy chocolate cake with raspberry sauce.

      While the cake baked, she took snacks and juice boxes out to the kids, with an extra for Wyatt. Though he accepted the cookies and juice box, he more or less stayed back, but she understood why. Not only had he seen her sobbing that morning, but she’d rejected his advances the night before. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to talk to her.

      But the cake would bring them back to their normal footing.

      As it cooled, she put raspberry juice, cornstarch and a quarter cup of sugar into a saucepan. After it had boiled, she strained it to remove the seeds, then set it aside. Using more chocolate chips, she made the glaze for the cake.

      By the time the kids returned to the house for lunch, the cake was ready. As usual, Wyatt didn’t come inside with them. He went to his own house for lunch. But that was okay. While the kids napped, she’d take the baby monitor receiver with her and deliver the cake to him.

      The kids washed up, ate lunch, brushed their teeth and crawled into their little beds.

      Missy took a breath and tucked the monitor under her arm. She grabbed the cup of sauce in one hand and the cake in the other and carried the best looking cake she’d ever baked across her yard, under the shrub branch and to his porch.

      She lightly kicked the door with her foot. “Wyatt?”

      He appeared on the other side of the screen. “Yeah?”

      She presented the cake. “I made this for you.”

      He glanced down at the cake, then back at her. “I thought we talked about you baking me a cake?”

      She laughed. “It’s a thank-you for helping me out this morning. Not a thank-you for playing, because we both know that’s wrong. It’s thanks for helping me.”

      When he said nothing, she laughed again. “Open the door, idiot, so we can cut this thing and see if it tastes as good as it