The Holiday Triplets (11 page)

“You're sure you won't be wasting them?” Tony asked. “Most women aren't that crazy about football.”

“My sister's a big soccer fan.” Ian's twin sister lived in Belgium with her husband and kids. His family had moved all over the world as they were growing up, Mark recalled.

“Well, Jennifer isn't your sister,” Tony pointed out. “Did you ask her?”

“If she turns you down, I'll go,” Mark volunteered.

“Lucky man. You don't have to check with anyone,” Ian said. “Not that I envy you being single.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way.” And yet, oddly, Mark
felt a hollow twinge as he said that. New Year's Day…he
had
no plans. What would Sam and the kids be doing?

Sleeping, he hoped.

“Take Jennifer to the Tournament of Roses Parade instead,” advised Tony, the only one of the men who'd grown up in southern California. “You have to practically spend New Year's Eve waiting on the sidewalk to land a good position, but those floats are fantastic up close. And you can attend the game later, if you do manage to get tickets.”

“I'll look into it,” Ian promised.

“Oh, wait,” Tony said. “Forget the sidewalk. There's VIP seating. If you have enough pull to get tickets to the game, I'll bet you could get some to the parade, as well.”

“I'll
definitely
look into it.” Ian turned to Mark. “By the way, did Jennifer talk to you about Eleanor Wycliff?”

The name rang a bell. “Isn't she the widow of that federal judge who died while under indictment for bribery?”

“Technically, she isn't his widow—they were divorced,” Ian said. “But that's right. I interviewed her about the case a few months ago, just before he died.”

The man had succumbed to a heart attack, Mark recalled. “What about her?”

“Their seventeen-year-old daughter, Libby, took her father's death hard, as you can imagine,” Ian explained. “Eleanor's wealthy, and she's been looking for a project that she and Libby could work on together, not just a charity to throw money at, or a place to serve hot soup on holidays.”

“How'd she get interested in the clinic?”

“She heard on the news about it having to move and remembered that it was named after my wife's son,” Ian replied. “She's eager to serve on the board, except that we don't have a board yet.”

“Sounds promising.”

“It would be, except that Sam practically bit Jen's head off when she mentioned I was talking to a sponsor.” Ian shrugged. “Jennifer thinks she can't bear to lose control.”

“Especially not to some amateur. Isn't that how she put it?” Tony must have discussed this with Jennifer, too.

“How did I miss all this?” Mark wished he'd paid more attention to the PR director's comments.

“You've been busy,” said his sympathetic staff attorney.

Mark shook his head. “Not that busy.” How frustrating for Ian to find a backer, only to run into Fortress Samantha. In her physical and emotional state, she might be turning down the clinic's salvation. Did she have the right to do that? “I'm not even sure who the clinic belongs to.”

“It's not incorporated,” Tony said. “It belongs to whoever funds and operates it.”

“Up to this point, that's been the hospital,” Ian put in.

“Sam would disagree,” Mark said. “She believes it's hers. Besides, the hospital has no interest in holding on to the clinic.”

“Well, my wife has strong feelings on the subject,” Ian returned tightly.

Squabbling between Jennifer and Sam could only hurt both women as well as the clinic. Besides, once Sam caught up with her sleep, put Christmas behind her and had to stare eviction in the face, surely she'd be more amenable to the offer. Especially if they paved the way diplomatically.

“Here's an idea,” Mark told the other men. “Ian, why don't you invite Mrs. Wycliff and her daughter to the fundraiser? Perhaps they could take an hour or so out of their Christmas plans to stop by and meet Sam.”

“To discuss the clinic?” the writer asked.

“She might mention her interest, but ask her not to make any specific proposals yet. This is just to break the ice. I have a feeling that seventeen-year-old girl will melt Sam's heart.” Mark hoped so. “I'd like this to feel like a partnership rather than a coup.”

“Sensible,” Tony agreed.

“Mrs. Wycliff is a bit of a powerhouse,” Ian warned. “She's used to having her own way. But she's done a lot of organizational work with charities before. I'm sure she knows how to smooth things over.”

“Excellent.” Mark's cell rang. Not surprising, given the unpredictable nature of childbirth. In fact, he'd enjoyed more uninterrupted time this afternoon than usual. He answered, “Dr. Rayburn,” and hoped this wouldn't be an emergency.

Turned out that it was. But not the medical kind.

“She's having a meltdown,” Lori gasped into Mark's ear. “I've never seen Sam carry on like this.”

“She's supposed to be resting.” Surely the sitter should have arrived by now.

“Resting?” his nurse went on. “She didn't even get to finish her coffee this morning. There was supposed to be a Christmas party for those teen girls she counsels, and it got screwed up, so somebody begged her to rescue them.”

“She isn't a party planner,” he growled. Sam should have better judgment than to take on such an unnecessary task.

“I think it was Candy who called,” Lori admitted.

Sam obviously felt an obligation to the triplets' mother. “What happened?”

“Sam insisted on picking up party platters and decorations. She had the triplets with her, so of course I helped.”

“Thank you.” He hoped Sam appreciated her friend's dedication.

“During the party, Candy started acting possessive about the babies, and she and Sam had some kind of blowup. Candy stomped out, complaining that they were her kids—it was scary. Then we got home late and the sitter had given up waiting and left. Sam's in a foul temper,
the babies are crying, and frankly, I'm fed up.” Lori's voice broke. “She accused me of being bossy and interfering.
Me!
I'd walk out, but I hate to leave the kids. I'm not sure Sam's up to coping with them right now.”

Nearly two weeks of sleeplessness and too much work had finally pushed her over the edge. Somebody had to call a halt to this downward spiral, and like it or not, Mark was elected, both as hospital administrator and as Sam's friend.

Suddenly, he got an idea. Not merely an idea—a potentially dangerous but irresistible plan.

He was going to stage an intervention.

 

S
AM COULDN'T STOP PICTURING
the horrible moment at the party when she'd realized Colin was missing. Earlier, she'd seen Candy playing with him, so, trying not to panic, she'd gone in search of the young mother.

After another girl reported seeing Candy take the baby out of the community center, Sam had hurried to the parking lot. There, she'd spotted Candy preening in front of a tattooed, long-haired man astride a motorcycle. Cradling Colin in the crook of his arm, the man stood there revving his bike as if about to shoot into gear.

Sam didn't remember exactly what she'd said, but she'd grabbed the baby away and given both the man and Candy a piece of her mind. Unbelievable, to expose a fragile infant to exhaust fumes, germs and the possibility of being driven unsecured on a Harley.

Candy had pouted and declared that the babies belonged to her. As if they were possessions. As if she hadn't signed them over to Sam.

But she could still take them back. And now, she might, although for today she'd backed off.

Since their argument, Sam's emotions had been roaring
around like a lion in search of prey, ready to pounce on anything that moved. She regretted venting at Lori. Her friend hadn't spoken to her in more than half an hour since then, and who could blame her?

If only Sam didn't feel strung as tight as a wire, she might be able to focus her thoughts.

Pacing through her house, holding Courtney and a bottle that the agitated baby refused to suck, Sam seemed unable to calm down. From a bassinet, Colin's hungry cries scraped on her nerves. At least Connie, settled on Lori's lap, appeared to be taking her formula.

Lori. Today, her friend had done far more than Sam had a right to expect. “I'm sorry I overreacted.”

“You freaked out.” Lori's hazel eyes regarded her accusingly.

“I apologize. For everything. My rotten mood. My ingratitude.” She hoped that wasn't too little, too late. “By the way, who did you call earlier?” She'd heard Lori talking on the phone, but hadn't caught the gist of the conversation.

“Jared. And…” The nurse bit back whatever she'd started to reveal. “And who?”

“I called my ex-fiancé to come over and help with the babies. Isn't that enough?”

“And who else?” Suspicion threatened to overbalance Sam's delicate restraint. “Lori, you have no business going behind my back.”

“You aren't rational today.”

“I'm rational at an elevated hormonal level, that's all. Early menopause combined with unplanned motherhood.”

“Is this a new medical condition?” her friend grumbled. “It sounds more like an excuse.”

“And a pretty poor one, at that.” Although Samantha
intended the remark to be humorous, it failed to draw a smile. Mercifully, though, Courtney began sucking at the bottle, and Colin's cries had subsided. Perhaps he'd fallen asleep.

At a knock on the door, Lori half jumped from her seat. “I'll get it.” She took Connie with her.

Sam drew in a deep breath. If her friends could watch the babies for a while, she might be able to sleep. Or, more important, call Tony for advice about heading off any attempt by Candy to assert her rights. The worst part was the acknowledgment that girl was so irresponsible, she shouldn't be allowed
near
the triplets, let alone have a chance at reclaiming them. If Sam hadn't been so blindly optimistic, she'd have faced that fact months ago and helped Candy arrange…

What? A home for the triplets with a two-parent family? But then Sam would have lost her chance to love and cherish them.

For once in her life, she wasn't sure what the right course would or should have been.

From the front doorway, she detected two male voices: Jared's light tenor, and a deeper tone that had an amazingly soothing effect on her. Rounding a corner, she got a clear view of the entryway. There stood Mark in slacks and a knit golf pullover, his powerful frame overshadowing Jared's slender build.

She could have sworn Jared and Lori wore guilty expressions. Mark looked determined.

She must be a mess, Sam reflected. But she was too tired to care. And glad as she felt to see him…everyone…she couldn't muster the energy to conduct a polite conversation.

“I already hosted one party today, so forgive me if I'm
not in the mood to entertain,” she said wearily. “Thanks for dropping by, guys. Are you here to babysit?”

“Not exactly.” Mark studied her with resolve. Why did she get the sense that he'd come here for a purpose? “Please hand Courtney to Jared.”

His tone struck Sam as odd. Instinctively, she resisted. “She's doing fine. Colin's the one who needs to be fed.”

“Let me see her, okay?” With a shy smile that made his mustache twitch, the neonatologist held out his arms. Puzzled, Sam yielded her little charge.

Mark kept his gaze fixed on Sam. “You know how much we care about you, right?”

“What?” Dazedly, she wondered if everyone was behaving strangely or if she was simply imagining it.

“You're one of the toughest, most accomplished people I know,” Mark went on. “We're lucky to have you in our lives.”

“Wait a minute.” His words rang a bell. “This almost sounds like an—”

“But lately, you've driven yourself to exhaustion,” he continued.

If she agreed with him, maybe he'd stop talking like a shrink. “I admit, I could use a few hours of sleep. Things went haywire today.”

“
You
went haywire today,” Lori put in.

“I need a nap,” Sam conceded, again.

“You need a break,” Mark said levelly. “A nice long one.”

“In an institution with padded walls and locks on the doors?” she returned irritably.

“Do you honestly believe you're in any shape right now to be responsible for three infants?” Mark persisted.

“The night nurse will be here in…” How many hours? Seven? Eight? “Well, whenever.”

“I'll arrange for her to come to my house,” said Jared, who had tipped Courtney's bottle at a jaunty angle that the baby seemed to like.

“Your house?” Sam repeated dully.

“We'll set up a temporary nursery,” Lori told her. “That way, you can get some uninterrupted rest.”

And Candy wouldn't be able to find them, so there'd be no immediate confrontation. “Not a bad idea,” Sam agreed. “I'll bring my sleeping bag.”

Mark took her arm and steered her toward the bedroom. What was he doing? she wondered, feeling that she ought to shake him off but too grateful for his strength to react. “You're going to pack an overnight case. You won't need a sleeping bag but be sure to bring warm clothing.”

“What's wrong with this?” Sam indicated the clothes she had on. “Okay, I may have spilled some formula on the sweater, but…”

“You aren't going to Jared's house,” Mark told her as Lori retrieved Sam's keys from a hook. “They'll transfer the car seats, pack up the babies and drive them to Jared's. You're coming with me.”

She blinked. “Mark, there's no reason for me to sleep at your house.”

“We aren't going to my house.” Holding her elbow, he spoke so close that his voice vibrated through her. “Sam, I don't want you driving and I don't want you staying alone. Accept my help, for once.”

“But where—?”

“You'll find out when we get there.”

They were running an intervention. Saving Samantha from herself. Any idiot—well, any idiot in the medical profession—could see that.

She didn't need saving. For crying out loud,
she
was the person who saved others. Like Candy, except that today
Candy had accused her of being selfish and manipulative. Like the counseling clinic, except that Sam still had no idea how to assure its future. Like the teen moms, except that all they'd done at the party was whine because she hadn't provided a live band.

How had things become so messed up?

Somehow, while these thoughts were rattling around her brain, Sam managed to stagger into the bedroom and stuff fresh clothing into a small suitcase, along with a few reports she'd been meaning to read. Ducking into the bathroom to grab her toiletries, she got a shock when a witch loomed in the mirror. Could this Medusa-like creature really be her?

She burst into tears.

The worst of it was that she had to sob without making any noise. Because if Mark heard her, he might storm in here, grab her pathetically wrecked self and haul her off to…where?

She couldn't bear it if he turned her over to a crew of rehab specialists who talked in the first person plural, as in, “Now, Samantha,
we
shouldn't take responsibility for the entire world on our shoulders, should we?”

Sam felt certain she would commit vicious and unlawful acts if anyone spoke to her like that.

Taking a deep breath, she recalled her mother's advice that when chaos threatened, she should start with the things she
could
control. So she returned to the bedroom, grabbed clean jeans and a clingy pink sweater, and went to take a shower.

While blow-drying her hair, she noted with approval that the sweater did wonders to emphasize her breasts. If she had to spend the weekend feeling like a failure, at least she could make Mark uncomfortable in the process.

In the living room, she found him sitting on the sofa,
feeding Colin. Significant amounts of baby gear had vanished, presumably into Lori's and Jared's cars. Outside, she heard them discussing the correct method of installing an infant seat in Lori's subcompact.

Startling, the things a neonatologist and a nurse didn't know, when they'd never actually had children.

“This is an intervention for
them
, right?” Sam joked. “To get them together?”

Mark didn't miss a beat. “You bet. It's like a soap opera in the delivery room these days, with his longing gazes and her red-rimmed eyes. This has to stop.”

She set her suitcase on the floor and tossed a windbreaker over it. “Are we going somewhere on a boat? I should warn you, I get seasick.”

“No clues.” At a coo from Colin, Mark bathed the infant in a warm smile. “Are we done, little man? Ready for Doc Rayburn to burp us?”

Sam grimaced. “Do me a favor. No ‘we' and ‘us,' okay?”

“Why not?”

“Reminds me of the wrong kind of men in white coats.”

Lori banged in through the door. “Jared's heading off with the girls. Is Colin ready for his close-up?”

“You really think this will work?” Sam asked.

Her friend regarded her with uncertainty.

“Exposing Jared to all these babies to turn him off having children,” Sam clarified. “You should cancel the special nurse so he has to get up and down with them.”

“I already did that while you were in the shower. Although not for nefarious reasons. I just didn't think we needed her.” Cautiously, Lori asked, “You're not mad at me for calling in reinforcements?”

“I plan to make Mark suffer appropriately,” Sam assured
her. “And I forgive you if you'll forgive me for calling you bossy. You never did accept my apology.”

“I forgive you—even if you are overbearing and irrational,” Lori said cheerfully, and scooped up Colin.

Mark collected Sam's luggage. She locked the house, Mark tucked her into his passenger seat, and off they went into the unknown.

The only explanation for her meekness, Sam decided, was that she truly had reached the end of her resources. Either that, or someone had drugged her.

On the plus side, she caught Mark stealing a peek at her sweater. She'd have teased him about that, but she couldn't keep her eyelids from drifting shut.

 

S
AM FELL INTO A DEEP SLEEP
that lasted the entire two-hour drive to the mountain community of Big Bear. Although Mark was relieved, he wished she didn't have to miss the gorgeous scenery. Late-autumn rains had transformed California's brown summer landscape into an explosion of wildflowers and greenery. As they approached the 7,000-foot level, pine trees scented the chilly air, and he turned on the car heater for the first time that year.