The Acquired Bride. Teresa Southwick

at each other. Then he saw Dana, standing in the doorway with Molly and Kelly. He drank in the sight of her like the plains soak up the first rain after a drought. He could hardly breathe. If anything, she grew more beautiful every time he saw her.

      He looked closer and noticed that her eyes lacked their special sparkle. Her full mouth turned up in a smile of greeting, but he knew it was the generic one she used for customers at the end of a particularly long day. She seemed tired, or tense. Or both.

      “Hello, Dana,” he said. Then to the two girls now clinging to her legs, “Hi, Kelly. Hi, Molly. Thanks for coming to see me.”

      Shyly, they hid their faces in their mother’s red dress, but in such a way that they could peek at him.

      “You remembered their names,” Dana said. This time her smile was genuine and for just a moment her eyes shone.

      “Of course.” He tried to sound casual, but inside he was doing the touchdown dance at pleasing her. “Although they look so identical, I’d crash and burn if you asked me to address them by name and be correct.”

      She laughed. “When they were born, I knew that would be a problem. So I came up with a cheat sheet. Molly has a small mole, or beauty mark as I refer to it, just to the right of her mouth. M for Molly and mole.”

      “Clever mother,” he said.

      “Thank you. One tries even if one isn’t always successful.” There was an edge to her voice that made him suspect a double meaning to her words. And another black look replaced the pleasure on her face. “But I didn’t barge in to dazzle you with my foxy maternal instincts.”

      She just dazzled him with her foxy self, he thought. Then he noticed the basket in her hands and remembered her promise to make retribution for dumping coffee on him. He wanted to tell her she could dump as often as she wanted if it meant he could spend time with her. He realized that he very much wanted to do that.

      “Why did you drop in and dazzle me?” he asked instead.

      She smiled. “If you’ll put my son down, we’ll do our thing.”

      “There you go, big guy,” he said, setting the boy on the rug.

      He raced over to his mom, and Quentin realized Lukas had only one pace: light speed. Dana bent down and together they moved forward and handed him the green-cellophane-wrapped basket.

      “For you,” Lukie said proudly. “Cuz me and mommy spilled.”

      “Thank you.” Quentin took the basket. At the same time, he got a whiff of Dana’s fragrance and realized he could find her in a pitch-black room. The memory of her scent would haunt him forever.

      The thought made him hot all over. In his shaky hands, the cellophane snapped, crackled and popped. Not unlike what was going on inside him. Could she tell? He glanced at her to see if she’d noticed.

      But she was watching Lukie, who had lost interest in the peace offering. The boy had crawled under his desk and was now on the other side diddling with his computer keyboard.

      “Lukie, don’t touch Mr. Mac’s things,” she warned him.

      “Okay,” he said and stopped. For a moment.

      “I should have left them with Hannah for a few more minutes while I made my peace offering,” she said. “But they’re there all day and I hate to leave them longer than I absolutely must.”

      “I’m glad you didn’t. I like seeing them. And this is great,” Quentin said, peering at the wrapping. It was not quite transparent enough to see the contents. “But you really didn’t have to do it.”

      “It’s no big deal. But do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with a contrition offering for a man who has more money than God?”

      As always, his warning signals went up at the mention of his money. “It’s the thought that counts,” he said automatically.

      “That’s a cliché, but I hope you really mean it,” she answered.

      “Open your pwesent,” Lukie said. He raced around the desk. “Mommy and me wapped it. Me and my sisters maked cookies.”

      “Way to go, buddy.” Quentin looked at the boy’s mother. “When did you have time?”

      She shrugged. “They get up at the crack of dawn. We baked this morning before work and day care.”

      Quentin put the basket on his desk and untied the ribbon. Inside he found cookies, muffins and peanut brittle. Nestled in the center of the baked goods there was an envelope. He opened it and found a gift certificate to the local dry cleaner.

      “Perfect,” he said chuckling. He met Dana’s gaze. “Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome,” she said.

      The children lost interest as soon as the basket was opened and they drifted away. Quentin noticed the girls quietly checking out the magazines sitting on the table in the corner.

      “Don’t touch things,” Dana warned them. “You too, Lukie. Put down Mr. Mac’s eyeglasses.” The boy had retreated to the other side of his desk again and was examining the glasses Quentin used for computer work.

      Quentin studied Dana. She was definitely tense. He hoped she wasn’t really worried about spilling on him. Or was something else bothering her?

      “The kids are fine, Dana. It’s their job to explore,” he said gently.

      “And it’s my job to pay for what they destroy in the process of doing their job,” she said. Glancing around his office she continued, “And you have a wonderful office with all kinds of things to break.”

      “Thank you, I think.”

      “So much to explore, so little time,” she said, giving his work space an admiring glance.

      He followed her gaze. He liked it and was pleased that she approved. On the hunter-green carpet, his oak desk and computer return filled the center of the room. Across from it was the soft brown leather sofa. From time to time, he had picked out pieces of art and knickknacks that caught his fancy. The cost hadn’t fazed him.

      A worried frown marred her smooth forehead. “But do you have something against plastic?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Everything in here is breakable. I’d better get the children home before you regret that we dropped in. Dropped being the operative word.”

      “Don’t go yet,” he said before he could stop himself. “The carpet is thick. Things bounce.”

      “I’m glad. Because my budget doesn’t have much bounce,” she said ruefully. “But we’re doing fine financially,” she added quickly.

      To reassure her or himself, he wondered. He decided to change the subject. “How’s business?”

      “Good. Storkville is a wonderful community for a baby store. The population is growing steadily, hence the store is doing well. I think word is out about what a great place it is to raise children.” Her pretty face clouded. “Which is probably why the twins were left with Hannah. I hope they find whoever abandoned those babies.”

      “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, uncomfortable with the direction his change of subject had taken her.

      “There should be a special place in hell for someone like that. Who could walk out on their children? Steffie and Sammy are so adorable. I worry about Molly, Kelly and Lukie every moment I’m not with them.”

      Had she heard that the sheriff suspected him of fathering the twins? He studied her reaction, trying to decide if her tirade was general or specific to him. Suddenly an alarmed expression suffused her features and she hurried around his desk.

      “Lukie, put that down,” she said, removing a ceramic paperweight from the child’s hand. She glanced ruefully at Quentin. “Something