plates. But even the whimsical WHEEE couldn't allay his concerns.
"Mr. Gifford?"
The receptionist had followed him outside, so Ross waved aside her concern. "I've got to get home, Bernice. Family emergency. Can you reschedule my appointments for me?"
"Of course."
"Thanks."
Without explaining himself further, Ross loped toward his car, retrieving his cell phone from his pocket as he ran. Punching the speed dial that would connect him with his office, he waited for his secretary to answer.
"Marci, do you still have that connection with the DMV? I need an address fast."
"What have you got for me?"
"A vanity plate."
"Go ahead."
"It'sWHEEE."
There was a pause. "Excuse me?"
"W-H-E-E-K"
"Gotcha."
"Call me back as soon as you've got it."
Less than ten minutes had elapsed before his phone rang again. In that time, Ross had aimlessly circled the nearby streets in his car, hoping to catch a glimpse of a candy-apple-red Volkswagen. With each second that passed, he grew more and more convinced that something was going on here, something he should be grasping about the entire situation. But what?
He'd known Cara for less than a day, yet he felt drawn to her in a way he had thought was purely physical. But was there something else between them that he was refusing to see?
Damn it all to hell. He shouldn't have kissed the woman. He shouldn't have given in to the reawakening of his physical hungers. By focusing on himself rather than his children, he had allowed his guard to drop. He couldn't afford to make such a mistake. He had too much to worry about with his life as it was. He didn't need to open himself up to more—
More what? Pleasure or pain?
The phone beeped and he grabbed it in mid-ring.
"Her name is Cara Wells. If you've got a pen, I'll give you her address."
Within minutes Ross found himself on the stoop of a quaint bungalow located in the Avenues. Steeling himself against everything but the fury that had begun to build within him, he pressed his finger against the bell and kept it there.
But he didn't have long to wait. Almost instantly the door creaked open and he found himself staring down at a familiar pair of faces—one a brilliant carrot top, the other a strawberry blonde.
"Becca? Brianne? What the—"
The anger within him flared, then suddenly turned to ice as Cara stepped into the doorway behind the children. In an instant he was struck by the disparity of the scene in front of him. Becca and Brianne? The faces were so familiar to him, so dear, so earnest....
But there was no recognition in their features. And the hair, the clothes...
"Ross, I'd like you to meet my children," Cara said, her voice low and filled with resignation. "Heidi, Zoe, this is Mr. Gifford. Believe it or not, he has a pair of twin daughters that look just like you."
The man in front of her grew pale, and knowing from her own experience the swirl of confusion
and disbelief that was robbing the color from his skin, Cara waved wide with her hand.
"Come in and take a seat. The time has come for us to have a talk."
He moved slowly, woodenly, with none of the usual grace that she'd begun to expect from him. All the while his gaze clung to Heidi and Zoe.
"But they're—"
"Yes, I know. Please. Sit down."
Briefly he tore his eyes away from the children. She saw the way he looked around him, but sensed he only absorbed a small portion of what he saw.
Looking at the room with new eyes, Cara winced. Toys littered the floor, and a pile of books had been left on the couch. The room was small, the furnishings a hodgepodge of antiques and flea market finds.
Briefly Cara wondered what Ross was thinking, if he was comparing his sumptuous castle to her own simple home. Polly had once said that Cara's bungalow looked like a Laura Ashley catalog had exploded. She loved pastel colors, chintz, English roses and a rich combination of textures. But she also loved comfort. Her favorite books were always at hand and her shoes were
"Mr. Gifford?"
The receptionist had followed him outside, so Ross waved aside her concern. "I've got to get home, Bernice. Family emergency. Can you reschedule my appointments for me?"
"Of course."
"Thanks."
Without explaining himself further, Ross loped toward his car, retrieving his cell phone from his pocket as he ran. Punching the speed dial that would connect him with his office, he waited for his secretary to answer.
"Marci, do you still have that connection with the DMV? I need an address fast."
"What have you got for me?"
"A vanity plate."
"Go ahead."
"It'sWHEEE."
There was a pause. "Excuse me?"
"W-H-E-E-K"
"Gotcha."
"Call me back as soon as you've got it."
Less than ten minutes had elapsed before his phone rang again. In that time, Ross had aimlessly circled the nearby streets in his car, hoping to catch a glimpse of a candy-apple-red Volkswagen. With each second that passed, he grew more and more convinced that something was going on here, something he should be grasping about the entire situation. But what?
He'd known Cara for less than a day, yet he felt drawn to her in a way he had thought was purely physical. But was there something else between them that he was refusing to see?
Damn it all to hell. He shouldn't have kissed the woman. He shouldn't have given in to the reawakening of his physical hungers. By focusing on himself rather than his children, he had allowed his guard to drop. He couldn't afford to make such a mistake. He had too much to worry about with his life as it was. He didn't need to open himself up to more—
More what? Pleasure or pain?
The phone beeped and he grabbed it in mid-ring.
"Her name is Cara Wells. If you've got a pen, I'll give you her address."
Within minutes Ross found himself on the stoop of a quaint bungalow located in the Avenues. Steeling himself against everything but the fury that had begun to build within him, he pressed his finger against the bell and kept it there.
But he didn't have long to wait. Almost instantly the door creaked open and he found himself staring down at a familiar pair of faces—one a brilliant carrot top, the other a strawberry blonde.
"Becca? Brianne? What the—"
The anger within him flared, then suddenly turned to ice as Cara stepped into the doorway behind the children. In an instant he was struck by the disparity of the scene in front of him. Becca and Brianne? The faces were so familiar to him, so dear, so earnest....
But there was no recognition in their features. And the hair, the clothes...
"Ross, I'd like you to meet my children," Cara said, her voice low and filled with resignation. "Heidi, Zoe, this is Mr. Gifford. Believe it or not, he has a pair of twin daughters that look just like you."
The man in front of her grew pale, and knowing from her own experience the swirl of confusion
and disbelief that was robbing the color from his skin, Cara waved wide with her hand.
"Come in and take a seat. The time has come for us to have a talk."
He moved slowly, woodenly, with none of the usual grace that she'd begun to expect from him. All the while his gaze clung to Heidi and Zoe.
"But they're—"
"Yes, I know. Please. Sit down."
Briefly he tore his eyes away from the children. She saw the way he looked around him, but sensed he only absorbed a small portion of what he saw.
Looking at the room with new eyes, Cara winced. Toys littered the floor, and a pile of books had been left on the couch. The room was small, the furnishings a hodgepodge of antiques and flea market finds.
Briefly Cara wondered what Ross was thinking, if he was comparing his sumptuous castle to her own simple home. Polly had once said that Cara's bungalow looked like a Laura Ashley catalog had exploded. She loved pastel colors, chintz, English roses and a rich combination of textures. But she also loved comfort. Her favorite books were always at hand and her shoes were
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