One Baby, Two Secrets. Barbara Dunlop

had my diploma for four years. I did a lot of fill-in work for the first two, and my last posting was newborn twins.” Christina smiled. “They were a handful.” She smoothed a lock of hair across Annabelle’s forehead.

      “Boys or girls?” asked Kate, easing her way onto one of the other chairs.

      “Boys. We got them into a routine at about four months. Mom took them on by herself when they hit six months. She still sends me email updates.”

      “They’re doing well?” Kate continued to watch Annabelle.

      “They just had their first birthday. They’re finally both sleeping through the night.” Christina sobered. “I’m very sorry about your sister.”

      “Me, too,” said Kate. “I hadn’t seen her in a long time. Well, I guess you would know that since I haven’t been to see Annabelle. I didn’t even know Francie was pregnant.”

      Christina didn’t respond to that. Kate supposed there wasn’t a whole lot more to say on the subject.

      “I’m glad she had Annabelle and Quentin in her life,” said Kate.

      Christina’s brow furrowed ever so slightly “You know we lived in the gatehouse, right?”

      Kate wasn’t sure what that meant. “The gatehouse?”

      “Quentin and Francie, they weren’t... They weren’t together as a couple. He said he liked having Annabelle close by, but I understood his relationship with Francie was short-lived.” Christina glanced away, as if she was aware that she’d shared too much.

      “Thanks for telling me that. I didn’t know.”

      Cristina didn’t answer, instead adjusting the bottle at Annabelle’s mouth.

      “It was nice that Francie could live here,” said Kate, glancing around at the huge, ultramodern kitchen.

      From where she sat, she could see the estate grounds and the city beyond. The great room was behind her with its expensive furniture and art, the plush carpeting and a massive stone fireplace across one entire wall. If the gatehouse was any comparison to the main house, Francie had lived in the lap of luxury.

      “She did enjoy the lifestyle,” said Christina.

      Kate could well imagine, at least from what she remembered of her sister. “Quentin seems to throw her kind of parties.”

      “He does,” said Christina, removing the bottle from Annabelle’s mouth and holding the baby against her chest to pat Annabelle’s back. “She definitely liked the nightlife better than the mornings.”

      “I remember that about her.”

      “But she had me. So she didn’t need to worry about the mornings.”

      A male voice interrupted their conversation. “Sorry to barge in.”

      Kate stood, turning to see the man she’d met Saturday night.

      Brody Herrington looked a whole lot fresher than she felt in her crumpled cocktail dress. He’d topped a pair of well-worn jeans with a crisp charcoal dress shirt.

      “I wouldn’t have taken you for an early riser,” he said to Kate.

      She stuck to her story. “The vacuuming woke me up.”

      “I’ll get out of your way,” said Christina, her demeanor immediately changing to deference as she rose with Annabelle.

      Kate wanted to tell her not to leave, to ask her to please stay and talk some more. She wanted to learn about her sister and Annabelle’s life here with Quentin. But she couldn’t risk tipping her hand. If Quentin knew she was here to judge his fitness as a parent, he would send her packing.

      “It was nice to meet you,” she said instead.

      Christina gave her a brief nod and left the room.

      “You crashed here last night?” Brody asked.

      “One too many martinis,” Kate lied, pushing past her embarrassment to stay in character.

      What must he think of a woman who passed out at a party? Then she told herself he probably didn’t think anything. He likely met that kind of woman all the time.

      “I may have left my watch behind last night,” he said, holding up his bare wrist as evidence. Then he seemed to spy a coffeepot. He smiled and crossed to it.

      “Want some?” he asked.

      “Kill for some.”

      He retrieved a pair of mugs from a glassed-in cupboard. “I was going to take a look around and see if I could find it.”

      “It must be expensive,” she observed.

      He looked puzzled. “Expensive?”

      “You’re here at six in the morning. I assume you were worried about it.”

      “Oh. Yes. Well, it is a nice watch. It was a gift. From my mother on my twenty-first birthday. It’s engraved.”

      “So, sentimental value.”

      “Sentimental value,” he agreed as he poured the coffee.

      The revelation surprised Kate. Brody didn’t seem like the sentimental type.

      “You need anything in it?” he asked.

      “Black is fine.”

      He held out one of the mugs, and she moved to take it. In addition to a movie-star-handsome face, he had the most extraordinary eyes. They were dark and deep, slate gray in some lights, shot with silver in others. Right now they seemed to shimmer with contemplation. For a second she worried he saw right through her disguise.

      “Want some help?” she asked, more to break the silence than anything else.

      “Help?”

      “To find your watch.”

      “Oh. Sure. It has a black face and a platinum band.”

      She couldn’t help but grin at that. “To help me distinguish it from all the other watches lying around the mansion?”

      “It was a great party.”

      “Yes, it was,” she lied.

      She simply couldn’t understand the appeal of such a rowdy event. It was impossible to carry on a conversation over the loud music, music that grated in her ears. The guests were all drunk or high and only interested in gossip and fashion and bragging about their money or their connections.

      “You don’t say that with a lot of conviction,” Brody observed.

      She covered her expression with a swallow of the coffee. It tasted fantastic. “I guess I’m still recovering from the fun.”

      “You do look a little rough around the edges.”

      “Aren’t you suave.”

      “You want me to lie?”

      “Sure. Why not?”

      His dark eyes warmed with humor. “You look fantastic this morning.”

      “Lukewarm delivery. But I’ll take it.”

      His gaze moved downward, noting her one-shouldered, jeweled, sea-foam cocktail dress. It was tight and stiff and terrible to sleep in.

      “I like the dress,” he said.

      “It’s too late for you to try to flirt with me.”

      “I disagree.”

      “Then it’s too early for you to flirt with me.” She took another satisfying swallow of the coffee. “Chat me up later, when my brain is fully functional.”

      “I’ll hold you to that.”

      Kate knew flirting