Twins Included. Grace Green

the words she’d printed there the day she’d realized she was pregnant with Matt’s baby:

      Beth Garvock

      Mrs. Matthew Garvock

      Mr. and Mrs. Matt Garvock

      As she looked at the words now, a torrent of memories brought tears to her eyes. She’d been so naively trusting, so sure Matt would ask her to marry him…

      Instead he’d let her down badly.

      But his failure to stand by her hadn’t dimmed the joy and wonder she’d felt at the prospect of being a mother.

      And this time around, her wonder and her joy were just as intense.

      Sometimes, though, she worried in case anything went wrong with her pregnancy. And sometimes she felt totally overwhelmed by the responsibility of being a single mom.

      But over and above her anxieties was an unwavering determination to be the best parent she could possibly be…in a way that her own father had never been for her. More than anything, a baby needed love. And she already loved this child more than words could express—

      A light double tap on the door made her jump. Automatically she crushed the scrap of paper into a ball and threw it into the garbage pail where it got lost in a jumble of scribblers and Teen magazines and exam papers.

      “Liz?” Matt’s voice was tired. “May I come in?”

      She sat frozen, not answering, her heart thudding wildly.

      “Liz?” This time his voice had a hard edge. “I need to talk to you. I’m coming in now.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      MATT pushed the door open.

      And saw Liz scrambling up from her chair.

      She stood facing him, leaning back against the edge of the desk. She seemed actually to be trying to press into it, as if desperate to get away from him.

      “You can’t come bursting in here anytime you want,” she said. “Please respect my right to some privacy.”

      “Liz.” He moved forward but stopped a few feet from her when he met the wall of hostility she’d erected between them. With a pleading gesture, he said, “I’m not your enemy. You seem to think of me as some kind of a threat—”

      “You’re wrong, Matt. I don’t think of you at all.”

      He sighed. This conversation was going nowhere. Or at least, it wasn’t going in the direction he wanted it to.

      He started again. “All I wanted to ask was…did you find the cemetery?”

      “Yes.”

      “And your father’s grave?”

      “Yes.”

      “I know,” he said, “that you and your dad never got along…but still, it must have been tough.”

      To his dismay, he saw a mist of tears in her eyes. Tears which she quickly blinked away.

      “What was tough,” she said levelly, “was finding out from the caretaker that in the weeks before he died, my father was…incarcerated—for want of a better word!—in Blackwells Nursing Home.”

      “Incarcerated…that’s kind of harsh, Liz.”

      “Harsh? I don’t think so! That place, as I recall, was like something out of a Dickens’ novel. The only people who ended up at Blackwells were people who couldn’t afford anything better. So tell me, has it changed?” she demanded.

      “No, it hasn’t.”

      “I don’t understand how my father ended up there then. He had pots of money.”

      “Most of it was apparently invested in the stock market and a few years after you left, he lost it. It was the news of that loss that brought on his stroke.”

      She swallowed hard, and her voice shook a little as she asked, “How did he cope…after the stroke?”

      He knew she was finding this conversation difficult, but there was no way he could make it any easier for her. The facts were the facts, and he wouldn’t be doing her any favors by sugarcoating them. If she didn’t hear them from him, she would hear them from someone else. “He had to have a round-the-clock attendant.”

      “Where did he get the money for that?”

      “It was a costly business and as I mentioned before, that’s why he eventually had to mortgage the house. In the end, just before he went into Blackwells, he had to put the place up for sale to pay his debts. The day before I put in my offer, he had another stroke. And then a few weeks later, he had his fatal heart attack…”

      “How sad to end up like that. With no family around, and in a place like Blackwells. I should have come home years ago.” Liz hid her face in her hands and started to sob, muffled little sounds seeping out between her fingers.

      He couldn’t bear to see her so distressed.

      With a groan, he closed the space between them and drew her tenderly into his arms. “I knew this would be tough for you,” he murmured. “That’s why I wanted to drive you to the cemetery. But you didn’t want me around. You wanted no part of me.”

      She felt so fragile he was afraid she might snap in his embrace. Like the most delicate of crystal. Anguish twisted his heart. She had once been his, and through a moment of stupidity and immaturity, he had lost her.

      He looked down at her as she leaned against him, weeping gently.

      And he felt a ray of hope.

      She’d wasted no time last night in telling him she was independent, but…was she really so independent? She wasn’t fighting him now, was she? Maybe this was the time to press his case again. He so desperately wanted the opportunity to make amends.

      “Liz, please let me help you,” he begged. “I’d do anything to—”

      She jerked away from him, and with a little hiccuping sob, glared at him through eyes that shone with tears.

      “I don’t need help.” She dashed a hand over her eyes. “And if I did, you’d be the last person in the world I’d turn to. I can handle this on my own!”

      She was a fighter. Once again, the word came into his mind. Liz Rossiter was no longer the easily intimidated girl she’d been at seventeen; she was strong and she was determined.

      And she didn’t need him in her life. He was going to have to accept that; but it wasn’t going to be easy.

      “Just tell me one more thing,” she said. “About this house.”

      “Anything.”

      “My father was under great pressure to sell.”

      “Yeah, he was—”

      “So you got yourself a good deal? I mean, if he was under pressure—”

      “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Liz.” But he knew damned well what she implying. She was implying that he had taken advantage of an old man’s desperate financial plight; whereas, in actual fact, he’d had to stretch himself to the limit to come up with the asking price.

      “So tell me,” she said, with a careless shrug of one shoulder, “were you happy with the deal you made?”

      He somehow managed to hide the anger he felt at her insinuating tone. “Happy?” He lifted one shoulder, mimicking her careless shrug. “I wouldn’t have used the word ‘happy.’ But I was certainly more than satisfied.”

      “I’ll bet!” Her scorn was blatant. And it didn’t sit prettily on her face.

      He wanted to wipe that contemptuous expression away, he burned to tell her exactly why he had