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Married in Haste
Roz Denny Fox


Ben Galloway and Abby Drummond both work with children–he's a pediatrician and she's a teacher–and they've both ended up with custody of their respective nieces and nephews. They decide that combining their households is the best solution to their individual problems.Which it is–except that their solution leads to a whole new set of problems.Kids before marriage. Not the easiest route to married bliss. And not the route Ben and Abby would've chosen. But love for their unexpected family brings them together in all the ways that count.









“Abby, lets get married,” he blurted out


“Wha-a-at?”

“Married. You and me.” Ben sat up. “Think about it—if ever two people had good reason to get married, it’s us.”

She stared at him for several seconds, then shot upright, hurriedly buttoning her jeans. Her face flamed and her breath came in short spurts. “But…marriage! Ben, that’s such a…huge leap. The kids—” She waved a hand feebly toward the house.

“Need a mom and a dad,” he finished. “Abby, we’ve both admitted we need help with them.”

“Yes, but…” Her tongue stumbled over her racing thoughts. Ben’s cell phone rang.

He frowned as he took the call, then clicked off abruptly. “Abby, I have to go to County Hospital—an emergency. Could I leave Erin and Mollie with you?”

“Of course you can.” She managed to get to her feet semigracefully, although her head still spun from his marriage proposal.

Ben went on instant doctor-autopilot. He hurried inside, spent two seconds explaining his hasty exit to the girls—then, poof, he was gone.

Desperate for something ordinary to focus on, Abby ran water to wash the dishes. A business merger, she told herself. That was all it had been. He’d made no mention of love. The absence of such a tiny word shouldn’t bother Abby. But it did….


Dear Reader,

During the period in my life when I worked for three pediatricians, our doctors saw a lot of blended families. These yours, mine and ours families presented a special brand of problem for the office staff—where to file their charts. And then, where to find them for kids who had a different last name from the mother or dad who’d phoned for an appointment.

One year we installed a color-coded charting system. Color of folder was determined by the patient’s name. Merged families suddenly became everyone’s nightmare. We could have Johnstons and Smiths living with Browns, but no one wanted to decide which of the coded colors to use.

Because you can’t work in medicine and not develop a good sense of humor, finding the correct patient charts for kids from blended families became a challenge and a game. Who could find them the fastest when a doctor bellowed down the hall? And heaven have mercy if the chart ended up in the insurance drawer or in a stack needing dictation.

In all those years I never really stopped to consider the daily challenges faced by the parents in these blended families. While I worried whether Johnny’s file was blue or red or green, these stepmoms and dads dealt with far greater concerns.

I’m not color coding Abby Drummond and Ben Galloway’s story. Their trials and tribulations with the seven kids they’re doing their best to raise are laid out in black and white. I hope readers empathize with the unique problems faced by this couple, who started out in love. They lost it, and found it again.

I enjoy hearing from readers. You can reach me at P.O. Box 17480-101, Tucson, AZ 85731 or by e-mail (rdfox@worldnet.att.net).

Roz Denny Fox




Married in Haste

Roz Denny Fox





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This story is for Adrianne, Ashley, Mandy and Morgan.

You girls are Harlequin’s next generation of readers. In the

not too distant future, some of you may even be writers.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN




CHAPTER ONE


THE HOLLOW DISTANT RING of a telephone made Abigail Drummond fumble and drop the colored pencil she’d been using to mark second-grade state math tests. She automatically reached over to answer it. When her hand touched air, Abby remembered stuffing the phone, which normally sat on a corner of her desk, into her bottom drawer to make more room for the test packets. By the fifth ring, she managed to extract it and get the receiver to her ear. “Ms. Drummond.” Abby answered in her crispest professional voice. Calls coming in after school were usually from parents complaining about homework she’d tucked into their students’ backpacks. Abby tended to get defensive on that topic, as she assigned far less than did her counterparts at West Seattle’s Sky Heights Elementary school. Today, the familiar masculine voice came as a pleasant surprise.

“It’s Ben Galloway, Abby. Am I interrupting a teacher-parent talk or anything? If so, I’ll try to phone you later at home.”

A ripple of pleasure sent Abby’s pulse skittering. She’d dated Ben, whom society columnists listed as one of Seattle’s “most eligible bachelors,” for roughly ten months. She’d met him when he attended an end-of-the-year-conference in his sister, Marlo McBride’s stead. Marlo was a single mother, and her older daughter, Erin, had been Abby’s top student.

“Ben…sorry if I sounded abrupt. You caught me grading our mandatory math exams.” Abby twisted a lock of her crackling red hair around one index finger. “I hate to say the early results look abominable. But they do. Which makes me seriously question my ability to teach.”

“Ouch. I recall you said that your principal is holding staff responsible for the overall class scores on those tests.”

“Yes. Odd that you phoned when I was wishing I could clone your niece. Or her sister. Where’s Mollie when I need scores in the ninetieth percentile?”

Ben chuckled. “You’ll probably get Mollie next year. She’s every bit as clever as Erin but that kid’s a pistol. She’s stubborn as a Missouri mule.”

“This from a pediatrician who sees our city’s most advantaged kids? Don’t forget, I’ve observed Mollie on the playground. She’s a jewel.”

“Ha! Next time I get volunteered to take those little stinkers to the zoo, I’ll know who to con into assisting.”

“No need to con. If I’m free, I’ll be happy to help. Not that I’m bragging, but since I’ve made zoo field trips part of my curriculum for eight years, I have it honed to a fine science.”

“How did I miss knowing all this good stuff? Consider it stored for future reference. But Abby, I called to discuss an adult-type excursion.” His already deep voice lowered to a sexy growl. Welcoming any diversion, she responded in kind. “If you’ve got the night off and want to rescue me from these depressing tests, I’ll toss in a home-cooked meal. I can be home in…say, thirty minutes.”

“Don’t I wish. Sorry, I’m on call tonight. I’ve admitted a kid to Children’s Health Hospital and I’m waiting for a lab workup.”

“Oh.” Her one-word reply failed to cloak Abby’s disappointment.

Ben cleared his throat. “Getting back to why I called—remember last week I said I’d like to wangle time for skiing?”

“Yes.” Her racing pulse slowed appreciably. “I take it you’ve managed to free your schedule for a day at Stevens Pass?”

“Better. A full week. At Whistler. I’ve rented a condo up there.”

“Zowie! I guess you did wangle time off. Well…have fun. While you’re swishing through hip-deep powder, think of me here slaving away.”

The open phone line hummed following Abby’s statement. “Oh, if you need me to water your plants, Ben, I can easily swing past your apartment after work.”

“I botched this call from the get-go, Abby. I want you to come with me. I happened to see the school calendar taped to Marlo’s fridge. My week off coincides with your spring break.”

Abby’s skin prickled with excitement. What Ben was proposing would boost their relationship to a new level. Thus far, they’d gone to dinner, movies, concerts and an occasional school function together. In that time, Ben had spent one night at her town house and she’d slept at his apartment twice. Up to now, neither had suggested going beyond catch-as-catch-can dating. They tended to go out on the spur of the moment—if and when their busy schedules allowed. Which was why his invitation for a weeklong tryst silenced Abby’s tongue.

“Abby? You’re not responding. Am I off base in assuming that we’re seeing each other exclusively? If so, please tell me straight out.”

“You’re not. Off base,” she said quickly, her heart tripping madly. She quickly thumbed through her desk calendar. “Yikes! Spring break is next week. I’ve been too busy to notice, I guess. No wonder the kids are bouncing off the walls.”

“I’ll understand if you’ve already made other plans. The clinic wasn’t something I could walk away from without a lot of finagling and appointment switching. I knew asking you this late was a long shot. And I’d like to leave Friday afternoon.”

“Four days,” she muttered, minor panic building as she worried about finding time to dig her skis out of storage, not to mention dashing past the mall to stock up on a few necessities—like a sexy nightie and silky undies. Hers tended to be a hodgepodge of much-washed white cotton.

“To be exact, it’s three days, twenty-two hours and fifty-four minutes from now. Jeez, I didn’t mean—uh, don’t think I was counting the minutes until I can get you into my bed,” Ben said. “Well, that, too,” he added, laughing. “What I meant, though, is that’s how long I have left to deal with all my outstanding cases.”

“I knew what you meant. You said the other day you haven’t had a real vacation since you and Steve opened the clinic. Ben,” Abby murmured, “are you positive you want me horning in on your days off?”

“Oh, yeah!” This time there was no mistaking the implication in his seductive growl.

Abby pictured the two of them living together for seven whole days. And nights! Thirty-two-year-old, Benjamin Galloway, M.D., was the sort of man mothers the world over prayed their daughters would bring home for keeps. At six foot two, he honed his muscles with a daily jog. His light-brown hair, naturally streaked gold, was perpetually wind-tossed. Not only was he easy on the eyes, Ben was good to the bone. Intelligent. And articulate. He laughed easily, too. He genuinely liked people, especially kids.

For most of Abby’s twenty-eight years, she’d watched his type gravitate to her prettier, sexier girlfriends. Abby suffered no illusions about her too red hair and the freckles that went with it. In high school she’d been drab. Abby supposed that if her good friends were asked to describe her, they might note her above-average intellect. Or perhaps they’d mention that she kept a cool head in a crisis.

Big whoop! as her second graders would say. Given her meager dating history, the fact that a guy like Ben Galloway would invite her on a romantic getaway made Abby worry that he’d wake up tomorrow with second thoughts. “If you do change your mind or anything, Ben, you’ll let me know?” she blurted.

He laughed. “I won’t change my mind. Can you be ready Friday by five-thirty? I’ll pick you up at your place. We can grab dinner somewhere between here and the Canadian border if that’s all right.”

“Sure. It sounds fantastic. Uh…is there any chance of your coming over for dinner tomorrow night? My offer of a home-cooked meal stands.”

“Tempting as it sounds, Abby, I can’t. I’m up to my eyeballs in dictation. As usual, I’ve put off completing paperwork far too long. The hospital records staff and my secretary are at the point of leaving death threats with my answering service. If I work my tail off all week, I might actually get to go with a clear conscience.”

“Maybe I’ll do up lesson plans in advance,” she said. “In case I break my neck on the slopes. You do recall that I haven’t skied in more than two years?”

“Ditto,” Ben teased. “Last time I skied was before we opened the clinic three years ago. Or is it four? Man…let’s hope we don’t both fall. One of us has to drive home. Or maybe not,” he added in that earlier suggestive tone. “Picture us stranded in a mountain chalet. The place I rented has a hot tub.”

Abby fanned herself with a test packet. “Now, that’s something to consider. Careful, Ben, I may shove you off a cliff and leap after you—if only to ensure that we get stranded.”

His delighted laughter was interrupted by an insistent bleat. “Oops, gotta go. That’s my pager. See you Friday. G’bye.”

“I hope your page is nothing serious. I’m looking forward to spring break. I’d hate for anything to interfere.”

“Nothing will, short of flood, famine or pestilence. Well, scratch pestilence. In my line of work that’s a marked possibility. Damn! Whoever has my pager number isn’t giving up. See you Friday, babe.”

“Okay. Bye, Ben.” Abby gripped the receiver tight even after she heard the soft click. Ben’s calling her babe was new, too. Lordy, lordy—he was definitely turning up the flame. In spite of her shiver of anticipation, Abby was bothered by one teensy detail she hadn’t brought up to him.

The Reverend Elliot Drummond.

Abby’s older brother posed an obstacle for two reasons. In past years, during spring break, she’d always baby-sat for him and his wife, Blair. She’d started the annual treat as a way to repay Elliot for the numerous sacrifices he’d made after their parents died. Their folks had been volunteer counselors with a youth outing in the San Juan Islands when a sudden, violent squall struck the Strait of Juan de Fuca and capsized their rented canoe. All the canoeists were lost.

Abby never thought of that period in her life without profound sorrow. Especially as the months before the accident had been nearly perfect. Her parents had left their mission in Calcutta. John had accepted a church in West Seattle, where his wife had grown up. Elliot had just left for Oxford on a Fulbright scholarship. The whole family was proud of him. And for the first time ever, Abby would attend regular middle school. She’d been elated at the prospect. As the daughter of missionaries, she’d always felt rootless.

Bless Elliot. He’d given up his scholarship, returned home and gone to work at a grocery store to keep Abby out of foster care. Those had been tough years. Instead of making lasting friends, Abby was shut out by kids at school who blamed her parents for the disaster. As if they could control the weather.

Elliot’s unswerving faith got Abby through. He attended college at night, and made her study hard as well. As a result, she earned a scholarship to Washington State University, where she earned a teaching degree. Teaching allowed her to make a difference in young lives. In Abby’s classes, every child counted.

Considering everything Elliot had sacrificed for her, baby-sitting seemed a small repayment. Especially since he’d delayed his marriage to his childhood sweetheart because of his responsibilities to Abby.

She broke into a grin. Once Elliot and Blair did marry, they set to work repopulating the Drummond clan with five boys. Two sets of twins and an only. It wasn’t hard to see that Blair needed a break from being a stay-at-home mom.

But who was Abby kidding? This uncomfortable feeling wasn’t only a matter of not being available to baby-sit her brother’s kids. Quite simply, Elliot would disapprove of her going with a man. And Elliot liked Ben well enough. Her brother would never condone sex outside of marriage; the who wouldn’t matter. In Elliot’s mind, Abby would forever be his baby sister. His responsibility.

She supported her chin on one hand and stared at the chalkboard. It hadn’t been a week since he’d mentioned how many of her contemporaries’ weddings he’d officiated at over the past year.

Marriage was a difficult issue for her. The forever-after vow bothered Abby. Nothing lasted forever. While she hated to disappoint Elliot, marriage was a subject on which they held fundamentally different views. He just didn’t understand. Elliot would never bend a single one of the ten commandments. Ever. Not for any reason.

While she wasn’t one to avoid confrontation, Abby decided she ought to rehearse what she’d say to Elliot and Blair. There was no one sweeter than Blair. And no one who deserved a break more.

Abby stacked her tests to take home. She’d think about it overnight and maybe something would come to her.

Nothing did. She stalled for two more days and nights.

Friday, her back was to the wall. She had no choice but to go by their house before work and ’fess up. But when she phoned to inform them of her plan, Elliot didn’t have time to talk. He said he had a meeting in town. Blair was accompanying him so she could use the van later. “Sam needs shoes,” Elliot said, sounding rushed. “And we have to drop the twins off at school.”

Abby turned her calendar and panic set in. It was her morning to do the breakfast shift in the cafeteria. “I forgot I have morning duty. But what I have to tell you is important. I can’t sit for you guys next week. I’m going skiing with Ben. We’re going to Canada.”

“What? Nonsense!”

“Sorry, Elliot. I have to dash or risk being late. Is your meeting an all-day affair, or can I call you on your cell phone during my lunch break?”

“I’ll phone you at school as soon as I finish my meeting,” Elliot told her sternly.

Abby wrinkled her nose at the buzzing phone as she hung up.




CHAPTER TWO


WHILE HER CAR IDLED off the morning chill, Abby was pleased to see sun chasing off the clouds. She hoped this would turn out to be a nice day. For February, Seattle enjoyed relatively mild temperatures.

Her breakfast duty started at seven. Their school had so many single moms and working parents, they’d long since instituted a hot breakfast plan five days a week. If she’d thought sooner, Abby would have offered Blair the use of her car. She wouldn’t need it for a week, and Ben could as easily pick her up at school. Besides, it would be easier to talk to Blair about her plans. She was less…uncompromising than Elliot.

As she approached the school, Abby scanned the line of cars pulling through the bus lane to drop students at the cafeteria. If she saw her brother and his wife, she’d still make the offer. Unfortunately, the Drummonds’ aging van wasn’t among those parked in the circular drive, so Abby drove by and parked in the faculty lot.

She’d missed them, she discovered as soon as she entered the building. Her nephews were lying in wait to pounce on her. Nine-year-old Noah and Michael both had missing front teeth, which made what they said hard to understand. Ultimately Abby deduced that they were regaling her with the latest antics of their beloved boxer, Ruffian. “You know what, Aunt Abby? Ruffian chewed holes in Daddy’s best tie this morning.”

“Yeth,” agreed one of the younger twins. At seven, Brad still lisped. He tugged Abby’s jacket, wanting to be heard over Reed, his more gregarious twin. “Mama covered our ears, ’cause Daddy said bad words.”

“No kidding?” Abby knew she should let remarks of that sort slide rather than draw attention to them. But it seemed so…not like Elliot. She paused to consider whether or not he might be exceptionally upset by her news. Or were things rocky at his church? She knew from past history that working with congregations wasn’t always sweetness and light. Ministers were often unduly pressured by either their flocks or their governing boards. Maybe Elliot and Blair needed a break more than she’d assumed. What if they were really counting on her for next week?

Blair had been vague about their plans, but still…

Friends of the boys called to them. True to their fickle natures, her nephews abandoned Abby and hurried off to line up for chow with their pals.

Other kids circled around her. Abby rarely lacked the company of kids during her cafeteria or playground duties. Her attention wandered to a group entering the room. Ben’s nieces were among them. Abby hadn’t seen Erin and Mollie with the breakfast bunch before.

She worked her way in their direction, deciding to ask if there’d been a change in their mom’s schedule.

“Girls, hi.” Abby spoke to the girls even as her eyes strayed to a rowdy collection of fourth-and fifth-grade boys who seemed to be getting out of control at one of the tables.

“Ms. Drummond, how come you’re on morning duty?” Erin exclaimed.

“All teachers rotate morning and after school, hon. I was just thinking I hadn’t seen you and Mollie here before.”

Mollie danced from foot to foot until Erin stilled her. “Mommy’s insurance office went to flex time.” The eight-year-old’s elfin face grew serious behind her wire-rimmed glasses. “Mollie and I have to get up earlier now.”

“I don’t like it,” Mollie interjected.

Erin, the more sedate of the two, placed a firm hand on her younger sister’s shoulder. “We don’t really mind. It means Mommy’s home at two-thirty when school lets out.”

“Well, that’s good. So you’re no longer going to Mrs. Scott’s?”

“She moved to California to live with her son.”

Mollie piped up again. “Mrs. Scott said her old bones don’t like Seattle rain.”

“Ah. Last year, I do remember her having problems with arthritis. Well, it seems your mom’s new schedule came at a good time. Excuse me, girls. I need to go chat with those boys. In case I don’t get back to you, have a great day.”

Abby had taken maybe five steps toward the disruptive boys when, without warning, the cafeteria floor shifted under her feet and sent her reeling. Simultaneously her stomach tightened, then dropped. She lurched sideways, right, then left, as if she’d stepped on a carnival ride. A Tilt-A-Whirl. Abby grabbed for a chair only to have it bob crazily away. As she tried righting herself, another jolt threw her to her knees. All around her, kids began to scream and cry.

For a moment, an unnamed panic seized Abby. Her heart raced as she crawled across the bucking floor. She forced herself to climb to her feet.

Food trays flew off nearby tables. Chairs toppled. Kids scrambled over one another. Automatically, Abby clutched a whistle swinging from a cord around her neck. She blew two sharp blasts. Stretching out her arms, she caught a bunch of kids who hurtled past her. “It’s an earthquake,” she shouted, realizing what was happening. “Remember our drills! Jason Bingham, stop in your tracks. All of you! Listen to me.”

This wasn’t the first quake in Abby’s career. Oddly, it was the noisiest and seemed to last longer than most. Her attempts to achieve order went unheeded.

The cook and cashier exploded out from their stations. Abby’s counterpart, a fourth-grade teacher, began herding older kids out the back exit while yelling something Abby couldn’t distinguish. A third shrill blast of her whistle failed to cut through a horrendous rumble.

As sheer pandemonium erupted and inanimate objects bounced past her, Abby’s training kicked in. Two facts struck her—the rumble had turned into a roar, and the shaking, which had always faded quickly in past earthquakes, was splitting wide cracks in the tile floor. Tables slid in one direction, then the other. Some toppled. Dust billowed from the cracks, making everyone cough and choke.

“Children, line up by twos,” Abby said between gagging. “We’re going outside just like we’ve practiced. Leaders, head for the middle of the playground, away from anything that might fall from the building. Stop screaming! I know you’re scared. You older kids, hold hands with someone younger.” She had to shout to be heard. And her own stomach pitched as fear tried to take hold. She spat out grit.

When she lined up the children closest to her, more converged from all corners of the room. Their copious tears, frightened eyes and ashen faces added to Abby’s mounting urgency. Off to her right, a row of pots fitted in a special warming table buckled, split, overturned and spread hot oatmeal, dollar pancakes and boiling syrup across the floor.

Hustling the first of her brood over the front threshold, Abby flinched and ducked to avoid wildly swinging light fixtures overhead. Any moment, she feared, one or all might crash down on the rows of students. Until right now, she’d never thought about how many kids ate breakfast at school. She began counting heads as sobbing, shivering groups exited the building.

“There’s safety in being orderly,” she hollered above the deafening roar. “I want everyone to get a buddy. Walk fast, but don’t run. If you run, you may fall. Once you’re outside, move away from the walls but not toward the street or parking lot.” As she spoke, two windows on the north side of the cafeteria ruptured. The front bumper of a blue Ford that must have been parked beside the cafeteria had obviously jumped the curb. Slivers of glass rained everywhere like glittering icicles.

Ms. Fielding, another teacher, dodged a ceiling tile as she led her group of children toward an exit. Abby scooped two of the smallest kids into her arms. She set them outside, out of harms’ way, and in so doing took a direct hit from the heavy door that suddenly swung shut. Terrified, she watched the metal casing crumple as if made of paper. The door splintered, sending a new wave of fear through the kids trapped inside. Bawling, they trampled over those near the front of the line.

Abby forcefully shoved them away from falling debris. “About face, everyone!” she commanded. “We’ll use the side emergency exit.” Herding the remaining few, ranging in age from six to twelve, the length of the cracking, groaning building was no easy feat. Inside her head a hollow voice chanted. Why doesn’t the shaking stop? Lord, please, it can’t go on much longer.

It felt as if an eternity had passed before she reached the side exit, and wrenched it open. Abby knew they’d lost power when the door sprang open without emitting the piercing squeal that told the world she’d breached security. She doubted anyone else noticed or cared. Outside, the air was filled with wailing sirens, ringing church bells, barking dogs and earsplitting car alarms. The sky was brown with floating debris.

Keening, shaking children fell to their knees, all trying to make sense of the disorder. There was confusion everywhere. Bricks tumbled from the second story, splitting the walkway circling their newly constructed gymnasium. Asphalt beneath the playground equipment seemed alive as it puckered and broke apart. A river of water zigzagged between buildings. “Kids, stay away from that water,” Abby shouted, veering her last charges to higher ground. “We don’t know if a water main inside the building broke, or if that’s sewage from the bathrooms.”

Teachers and students, all looking shell-shocked, attempted to band together in the center of the playground. Abby began collecting her nephews and Ben’s nieces. She checked each child for injuries before she allowed herself a deep, calming breath.

“Where’s the sun gone?” Erin asked in a frightened voice. Until then, Abby hadn’t noticed that an ugly ecru sky had replaced the earlier blue. A thick layer of smoke or dust or both thickened the now still air. Blessedly, the horrid rumble had begun to recede, and the shaking was slowly subsiding. Disaster sirens didn’t let up their howling.

Glancing at her watch, Abby couldn’t believe that minutes, not hours, had passed. She tapped her watch to see if it’d stopped. But it was seven-fifteen the last time she’d looked, just before crossing the cafeteria to greet Erin and Mollie. Now her watch said twenty-three minutes after the hour. All this chaos occurred in less than ten minutes?

Mr. Conrad, the school principal, a slightly stoop-shouldered man who’d announced his plans to retire at the end of this school year, worked his way among his scattered staff. Usually impeccable, he looked thoroughly disheveled.

Abby had to peel Brad, Reed and Mollie away from her so she could go have a word with her boss.

“It’s not good news,” he said in a hushed voice. “The university seismology lab is saying this quake was 8.0 on the Richter scale. The West Seattle Bridge and parts of the viaduct along the waterfront have collapsed. No telling how many of these kids who were dropped off early have parents buried in that rubble.”

Abby’s heart did a double flip. Bile rose to gag her. Practically anyone headed downtown after leaving the school crossed that bridge. “What about the floating bridge into the city?” she asked, unclenching her teeth to speak.

Conrad hiked a shoulder. “I only got sketchy reports before I had to evacuate the main building. Our job, Abigail, is to calm the students until we get specific information on the whereabouts of their families.” He sighed. “It might be a selfish reaction, but why couldn’t this have waited until next week when school’s out for spring break? Then parents would’ve had the responsibility that’s fallen to us.”

Abby thought about her plans for spring break, and a shiver rushed up her spine. Had her selfish decision brought God’s wrath?

Don’t be ridiculous!

She shrugged off the childish thought as fast as it popped into her head. A counselor way back when had made her see that her parents’ accident was nobody’s fault. She’d believed, as kids often do, that she’d been somehow to blame. The counselor had convinced her acts of God weren’t caused by human deeds.

Beyond her, Mr. Conrad was saying, “No, children. We can’t let you go into your classrooms. Remember our earthquake drills? We stay out in the open until the fire department gives us an all-clear.” Numerous hands shot up, and the principal patiently answered each and every question. The smaller kids huddled inside their jackets looking dazed. A fifth-grader, whose teeth chattered, enquired about aftershocks.

Aftershocks. Abby wondered how many kids knew they could be as devastating as the original quake. If the aftershocks were big enough, already damaged buildings and bridges could shake apart. Secondary quakes often delayed rescue attempts, too.

Her head was a jumble of worries. She tried to focus on something that might occupy the restless students. The cell phone she wore clipped to her belt vibrated. Abby flinched until she realized it wasn’t the beginning of another quake.

Fumbling the phone out of its case, she ventured a raspy, “Hello?”

“Ms. Drummond? This is Mercy General ER. Thank God I’ve finally gotten through to you! Some regular circuits were knocked out. The phone company said that eventually undamaged cell towers would route calls past towers that collapsed.”

Abby said nothing.

“Have I reached, Abigail Drummond, sister of Elliot David Drummond?”

Spinning away from her nephews, Abby answered with a shaky, “Yes.” The hole in her stomach widened. The woman on the phone identified herself as Nurse Olivia Warren. She continued in a thankfully even voice, “I understand the streets are a mess, Ms. Drummond, but Dr. Nelson thinks you should try to get here to see your brother. His injuries are…serious. Please come if you can make it through the snarled traffic.”

“I…am a teacher. We have our own emergency here. Exactly what are Elliot’s injuries? And…Blair. What about his wife? They were traveling together with their son, Sam. He’s four.”

Abby heard paper rustle, or maybe it was static on the line. “I can’t tell you anything about his wife. But Samuel—a team’s working to stabilize him now.”

“Sam, oh, no!” Abby’s voice broke. “Listen, tell Elliot I’ll do my utmost to get there. Are you at liberty to relay the nature of Sam’s problem?” Abby bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from revealing her panic.

“I believe it has to do with his legs. Dr. Nelson is trying to find a pediatric orthopedist. But…the entire medical community is on triage alert. We’re not sure which hospitals have which physicians at this point. Your family arrived in one of the first ambulances.”

Ben. Ben would know how to find the best doctor for Sam. “I have a friend. A pediatrician. Dr. Galloway. I’ll see if he can recommend a doctor for Sam. And I’ll do everything I can to get to the hospital. I’d appreciate it if you’d give my brother a message. Tell him his two sets of twins are safe. I have all four boys right here.”

Her hand shook so badly after she ended the call, Abby had to order herself to calm down. At first she couldn’t remember Ben’s number. She felt the same numbness she’d experienced when her parents died.

Taking a deep breath, she remembered that Ben’s clinic and hospital pager were programmed into her phone. She tried his clinic first. After four tries, someone there told her he’d gone to the Children’s Health Hospital. He picked up on Abby’s fifth attempt to connect with his cell. “Galloway. Make it short unless you’re calling about blood gasses on Bobby Harris.”

“Ben, it’s Abby. I’m sorry to bother you.” Her voice sounded reedy to her ears.

“Abby?” People were shouting in the background. “I’m surprised you got through,” he said loudly. “Are you okay? Newscasters say the city suffered widespread damage. Phone and power lines are down. In fact, our hospital’s working off a generator.”

“I’m fine. I’m calling because I need a favor. Elliot and Sam are in Mercy General. I don’t know any particulars, but Sam apparently needs an orthopedist. The nurse who phoned made it sound urgent. Ben, I didn’t know where else to turn.” Abby was afraid she was on the verge of hysteria.

“My father,” Ben said flatly. “Kirk Galloway. As a dad, he stinks, but as a bone surgeon, he’s the best in the city. Hell, in the state. Mercy General? And the boy is Sam? Sam…Drummond?”

“Yes. He’s only four. I appreciate this, Ben. I know you’ve never met the kids, only Elliot and Blair at the opera that night. But—jeez, I’m rambling. If your dad can see Sam, tell him I’ll guarantee his fee. Elliot’s insurance through the church probably isn’t the greatest.”

“That wouldn’t matter to me, but I’m sure it matters to my old man. I hate to cut you off, Abby, but I’m being paged. Let’s try to connect later, okay?”

“Right. And…thanks again, Ben. Oh, before I forget— Erin and Mollie are here with me. They’re regular little troopers. Tell Marlo if you talk to her. I don’t know if anyone’s answering our school phones. We’re not allowed inside. I’m sure parents are worried sick.”

“Marlo? I forgot her agency recently changed her hours. She crosses the West Seattle Bridge, and I’ve heard—” Ben’s voice sank, then broke entirely. “Abby, I need to go. I’ll grab a minute to call my sister. Thanks for the info on the girls. Tell them I’ll see them when this craziness settles down.”

Abby relayed Ben’s message to his solemn-eyed nieces before she went to find Mr. Conrad and explain her situation. “I have to go,” she said. “I’ll ask Raina Miller to take the boys home with her if I’m delayed getting back. Until I know where their mom is and how severely their dad and brother are hurt, I’d rather not worry them. I’ll tell them I have a problem at my town house.” Her lips almost didn’t move, they were so icy cold.

“I’m sorry, Abigail.” The principal eyed her sympathetically. “I’m afraid your news is only the first we can expect. You take care driving across town. I have a really bad feeling about this quake. I suppose we should be thankful more students weren’t at school. But I can’t help wondering if we’re prepared to care for the many whose parents won’t be able to get through the wreckage to pick them up.” Normally a sedate man, he was all but wringing his hands.

Oddly, his unrest had the opposite effect on Abby. She began to think more clearly. “Someone should go get the student files. Most parents have cell phone numbers listed. The nurse who called me said the cell towers fared better than standard phone lines. You could designate one teacher to call parents.”

“Excellent suggestion, Abby. I should have thought of it myself. It goes to show that no matter how many drills we have, nothing prepares us for the actuality.”

“I’m sorry I can’t stay and help. But…the nurse was insistent, even though she’s aware of conditions in and around the city.”

“Go. Reassure the boys and don’t forget to explain that you’re leaving them in Raina’s care.”

Abby turned away, hoping she’d be able to hide her alarm.




CHAPTER THREE


THE TWINS, especially the younger set, hung on Abby’s jacket, and begged her to take them. “Aunt Abby,” Noah, one of the nine-year-olds, pleaded. “Can’t you drop us off at home? Ruffian will be so scared. So will Speedy and Poky, me and Mike’s hamsters. And Brad and Reed’s gerbil. Even Daddy’s fish, I bet. What if a tank broke or something? Mommy’s gone, so there’s nobody home to save our pets.”

Abby ruffled his wheat-blond hair. “Guys, I need you to stay here where I know you’re safe. Mrs. Miller has agreed to watch you until someone in the family comes by. She might take you home with her. You boys have been to her house before, remember? I promise I’ll be as quick as I can, but I want your word that you’ll do exactly as she says.”

“What if Mama or Daddy comes to get us first?”

Abby glanced worriedly away from Noah’s direct blue eyes. “You’ll go with them, of course.” She hugged each boy harder than she normally would, but wasn’t able to look back at their tearstained faces after she’d hurried off.

“Raina, I have no idea how long I’ll be.” Abby spoke in a low voice to her good friend and fellow teacher. “Maybe I can reach some neighbors, to see if the kids’ home—and my apartment building—are still standing.”

“Don’t worry, Abby. Do whatever’s necessary. I have a freezer full of hot dogs left over from our Super Bowl party. Jerry won’t be home. It was his day off, but he just phoned and said the precinct’s called everyone in.”

“I hate to ask another favor, but…I called Ben Galloway to ask for an orthopedic referral for Sam. Ben’s sister is Marlo McBride, and her daughters are in the breakfast bunch.” She nodded toward the huddled girls, who sat still as mice. The older child’s arms were looped tight around her younger sister. “Would you keep an eye on them, too, until Marlo or her designee arrives? Erin told me this morning that the woman who used to baby-sit them moved to California.”

“Hey, the more the merrier. Our house is so close to the school, it’s not a problem. If the city streets are as messy as Jerry said when he phoned, I might be a clearing house for a whole bunch of school refugees. Abby, you take extra care, hear? The streetlights have been knocked out. Some roads have buckled and others are flooded. Maybe you shouldn’t go.”

Abby rubbed at the furrows forming between her eyes. “If it were me in the hospital and Elliot at work, he’d make every effort to reach me. Outside of Blair and the boys, I’m Elliot’s only relative.”

“I understand. I’ll round up the twins and the McBride girls right now, and reassure them as best I can. You’ll call me when you learn something for sure?”

“I will. Raina, I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“Don’t start that, Abby Drummond. One favor does not make you indebted to me for the rest of your natural life.” Mustering a smile, Raina offered Abby a stick of gum, which she unwrapped on her way to the parking lot. Remembering the cars that had come through the cafeteria windows, she prayed her small compact had fared better.

It had, and started on her first try.

An aftershock struck when Abby was little more than a block from the school. It gave her an odd sensation. Her car seemed steady, but around her the sidewalks and curbs undulated. Trees dipped and swayed. It was as if she was viewing the world through a vibrating camera. Homes lining the street gyrated for a moment, dancing to silent music. Thankfully the aftershock was over quickly, and cars proceeded normally in both directions.

Abby popped out the CD she’d listened to on the way to school, and turned on her radio. The ringing of her cell phone caused her nerves to jump and her heart to speed up. “Hello,” she said after groping the instrument out of its case and nearly dropping it.

“Abby?” Ben’s voice, however welcome, sounded terribly strained.

“Sorry, Ben. I had a little trouble retrieving my phone. I’m in the car, headed to Mercy G. We just experienced a fair-size aftershock. I’m still shaking even though the tremor stopped.”

“I wish you’d stay put, Abby. We’ve been bombarded by the first wave of casualties. There are so many critical injuries coming in, you’d think this was a war zone. Two things, and then I have to dash. My dad’s probably examining Sam as we speak. Dad’s condominium on Queen Anne is a matter of blocks from Mercy. So tell Elliot that Sam’s in good hands. Since you’ve left school, it may not matter that I haven’t been able to raise Marlo. I did get in touch with a co-worker who said the agency sent everyone home. She also said one end of their parking garage has crumbled.”

Abby heard worry in his words. “Ben, I doubt Marlo got that far. I don’t know the exact time she dropped the girls at school, but I saw them shortly after they arrived. In fact, I’d gone over to talk to them just before the shock hit. At the most, Marlo couldn’t have been on the road ten minutes. Oh, before I forget, I asked Raina Miller, one of our teachers, to keep tabs on my nephews and your nieces. Marlo knows where the Millers live. If no one’s at the school, she’ll find the girls with Raina.”

“That’s great, Abby. I’m up to my ears in emergencies. All the doctors are.”

“Can your mother collect Erin and Mollie?”

“My folks split a long time ago. Mom lives in Rome. I’m all the family Marlo has here. Dad—well, he and Marlo rarely speak.”

“This is the doctor you recommended for Sam?”

“Believe me, Kirk’s patients get better treatment than his family ever did.”

Abby had never heard Ben speak quite so sharply. Which proved, if nothing else, that she knew relatively little about the man she’d been seeing for almost a year. And she’d planned to spend a week alone with him in the mountains? Looking at it like that, she found it easier to understand Elliot’s concern.

Abby heard Ben talking to someone else, then he came on the line again, sounding rushed.

“I’m needed for an injured baby they just brought in. Thanks, Abby, for arranging for Erin and Mollie’s care. If you have a number for Mrs. Miller I’ll jot it down and see if maybe Dad’s girlfriend will go pick them up.”

Abby had come to a street where the signals weren’t operating, and crossing appeared to be in the hands of the bravest. She quickly relayed Raina’s number, concentrating on traffic.

“Thanks,” he said. “With the bridge out, you’ll have to swing south before you can cross and go north to Mercy. I’ll call again when I get a chance.”

She dropped the phone in her lap and gripped the steering wheel tight. She surprised herself by making it across the intersection unscathed. But she couldn’t help noticing that her palms were slick with sweat. So was her forehead. Navigating around debris spilling out in the roadway claimed her full concentration.

More than once Abby considered turning back. Love for her brother and his family kept her doggedly taking the detours that skirted the worst of the damage.

A full two hours after she’d left the school, Abby was about a quarter mile from the hospital. A policeman directing traffic at a cross-street flagged her down and motioned for her to roll down her window.

“Only ambulance and aid cars beyond this point, miss.”

“But…” she sputtered, her fingers clutching the steering wheel. “The hospital contacted me. My brother and his son have been injured.” She blinked back tears. “The nurse said it was urgent, and it’s taken me hours to reach this point.” She explained how she’d started in West Seattle and had to detour along East Marginal Way, then zigzag from street to street. “Please,” she implored, panic cracking her voice.

“I’m sorry, I can’t make exceptions, ma’am. But…I’ll tell you what. My precinct station is a block ahead on your right. I’ll write you a tag to park in our lot. From there you can walk up the hill to Mercy.”

“Oh, yes, please. Thank you, officer. I’m not trying to be difficult.”

He smiled wearily as he wrote out a permit. Abby rolled up her window, then swung around him in the direction he indicated, heading—she hoped—to his station. A short while later, she found it and parked. Once she’d climbed out of her car and locked it, leaving the tag visible, she took a minute to get her bearings.

Midway through her hike up a steep sidewalk that led to one of the city’s oldest hospitals, she heard neighborhood dogs begin to bark and howl. Abby automatically braced for another afterquake. Sure enough, within seconds everything began to jump crazily. To her left, a flower bed of tulips rose and fell, reminding her oddly of ocean waves.

Up to now, she’d been so focused on her destination, she hadn’t really absorbed the surrounding damage. An elegant old home beyond the bed of glads had once boasted mullioned windows. Now jagged, gaping holes left a living room filled with antiques open to the casual passerby. Next door, a neighbor’s wraparound porch had split off the main house. A man, presumably the owner, who’d been surveying his roof from atop a six-foot ladder, scurried down it as the aftershock bared its teeth. He sought refuge under the spreading limbs of a giant fir. As with the previous aftershock, this one quickly subsided. But it made Abby wonder momentarily about the condition of her town house, and also Elliot’s rambling old home that always seemed to be in some stage of reconstruction.

Feeling the first splatter of raindrops from a cluster of dark, fast-swirling clouds, Abby let her earlier concerns slip away. She zipped her windbreaker and pulled up the hood. Tucking her chin to her chest, she ran the remaining two blocks.

Thoroughly winded, she stared up at the solid old hospital, which overshadowed clusters of two-and three-story clinic complexes. Once used as apartments, many of them had been renovated into medical offices. Some had been turned into assisted living quarters for the elderly.

An ambulance screamed past Abby and screeched to a halt under the emergency room awning. She was relieved to note that visible wings of the gray brick hospital appeared to be intact.

As she entered the main lobby, Abby unzipped her jacket and shook rain from her bangs. She located a horseshoe-shaped reception desk, but was forced to wait while a gray-haired clerk fielded calls via a switchboard lit up like a Christmas tree. Abby strove for a composure she didn’t feel. The aftershocks, along with constant worry over what she’d find here, left her brain addled.

Between calls the operator glanced up. “May I direct you, miss?”

“A nurse, Olivia Warren, phoned me. Earlier. Nearly three hours ago,” Abby said in surprise as she checked her watch. “I, uh, need directions to my brother’s room. His name is Elliot Drummond. His son, Sam, is also a patient. And maybe Elliot’s wife, Blair.” Abby sent up a silent prayer for her sister-in-law, and mentally crossed her fingers. Olivia hadn’t found any record of Blair earlier.

The woman ran a finger down a patient index. She then leafed through a stack of cards piled beside her switchboard. The lighted board constantly went bing, bing, bing in the background. “I—oh, my.” She looked up briefly. “Please take a seat in the lobby. I’ll call a volunteer to assist you.” Making a neat pile of the cards, the clerk again busied herself with insistent callers.

Abby realized the futility of trying to ask another question. She stepped into the teeming lobby and eventually did sit on the very edge of a chair. She called to let Raina know she’d made it, and got through after numerous attempts. Her friend still had her nephews and Marlo’s girls. How long, Abby wondered after telling Raina goodbye, would the clerk’s “minute” be? Her stomach was jittery, and anxiety nibbled away at her calm attitude. But of course she wasn’t alone in her fear. The lobby was filled with pacing, terrified relatives.

Half an hour later, a volunteer in a pale-yellow uniform showed up. At a word from the clerk at the desk, the woman turned and sought out Abby—who rose at once. She rushed to meet the volunteer, and repeated her request. Her guide in yellow spun on soundless white shoes, striding quickly along a bustling warren of halls. She walked so fast, Abby barely kept pace. As they sped around the turns, Abby was actually glad she’d been given an escort. After one sharp, right-angled turn down a dead-end hall, Abby’s helper flung open a door and motioned Abby into a dimly lit room. Squinting, Abby stopped short the moment she realized she’d entered a chapel.

Her teeth began to chatter. She backed up, shrieking No, no, no inside her head. Her mind refused to accept the news she was about to receive. “No!” she shouted, and snatched the front of the woman’s cheery uniform.

Frightened, the volunteer wrested the material from Abby’s clutching hands.

Because her already wobbly knees simply gave way, Abby fell heavily onto a padded bench. Nearly blinded by tears, she stared at a wooden cross rising stark and silent at the front of the room, backlit by a pale, shimmering light. Wanting—needing—to run, but unable to make her legs function, Abby shrank from an approaching man. His kind but controlled expression, coupled with a black jacket and white clerical collar, declared him an enemy. Abby heard an awful noise gush from her throat, a scream of denial ripped from her very soul. Shivering, she shut her eyes, covered her ears and rocked to ease the pain in her heart. It thundered so loudly, she missed the name the man offered along with his hand.

“Easy, Ms. Drummond.” Sitting beside her, he pried apart her icy hands. “Abigail Drummond?” he asked again, forcing Abby to open her eyes and really look at him through a veil of tears.

She nodded, even though words refused to form on her numb lips.

“According to Dr. Nelson, your brother, the Reverend Drummond, fought to hang on until you could get here. His chest injuries would have felled a lesser man at the scene of the accident. With God’s help, he managed to attract the attention of a firefighter sent to assess the rubble of the bridge. I understand Elliot’s only request was for the fireman to help his wife and son. Unfortunately—” the man paused, “Mrs. Drummond succumbed in the aid car as paramedics tried desperately to stabilize her breathing.”

Blair and Elliot, both gone. “No. Nooo!” Abby’s lungs refused to expand and contract as she attempted to haul in air. The priest plucked several tissues from a box and thrust them into her hand. A heaviness invaded her limbs and the glowing cross receded until it was a mere pinprick of light. Then it loomed large again as her burning throat swallowed her curse against an unmerciful God.

The priest clumsily patted her bent shoulders.

“Sam?” Abby whispered at last, twisting the tissues into wet clumps. “My brother’s son? How’s he? Dr. Galloway…uh…the senior Dr. Galloway was to evaluate Sam.”

“The boy is in surgery. Reverend Drummond gave verbal consent. That’s not how the hospital normally operates, but considering this tragedy, our chief of staff accepted your brother’s word. Ms. Drummond, did you come here alone? May I call someone for you? Your parents, perhaps? Or a sibling?”

“No one. They’re all gone. All but me.” She shook her head and tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m all that’s left of Elliot’s family. And Blair’s.” Burying her face in her hands, Abigail gave in to the weight of anguish pressing in on her. She sobbed, great gulping sobs, denying everything this man had said. “Someone’s made a horrible mistake. Elliot and Blair’s identification could’ve been mixed up at the bridge. I’m sure—”

“There’s no mistake.” The priest bowed his head and began to pray aloud. The words meant to comfort Abby landed on deaf ears.

Before he’d finished his prayer—in what later would seem a true miracle—Ben Galloway stood in the door of this out-of-the-way chapel. His recognizable voice penetrated the darkness that cocooned Abby. Half rising, she cried his name. “Ben. Ben?” Disbelief warred with her abject sorrow.

Ben wedged himself past the Episcopal priest. Murmuring softly, he reached for her.

“Ben! Oh, Ben.” She threw herself into his arms. “The bo…ys,” she cried. “How will I ever break this terrible news? I know what it’s like to lose both parents. They’re so much younger than Elliot and I were when our parents died.” Her voice became hysterical at the end. “How did you know to come here? Did Raina contact you?”

Tightening his hold, Ben rocked Abby from side to side. What he didn’t say—couldn’t bring himself to say—was that he’d have to impart the same unbelievable news to his nieces. Their mother was dead. Even though his own heart had shattered, Ben couldn’t tell her about Marlo, which would only add to Abby’s crushing grief.

But neither could he lie and say he’d come solely to comfort her. When the police had contacted Ben about finding Marlo’s car under a broken pillar at the viaduct, his chief of staff ordered him off duty. At first he’d planned to phone his father—which was how Kirk would handle notification were the shoe on the other foot. But when Ben attempted to call him, he learned that his dad had scrubbed for Sam Drummond’s surgery. He was also told about Sam’s folks. The decision to drive to Mercy General was Ben’s.

Devastated, he’d guessed correctly that Abby would be doubly so. As strong a woman as she was, Ben knew instinctively that it’d be like reopening old wounds, like reliving her parents’ accident. Feeling Abby shake in his arms, Ben didn’t regret his spur-of-the-moment decision to make the harrowing journey between the hospitals.

The priest’s pager went off. “Sorry, I’m needed elsewhere,” he murmured, lightly nudging Ben’s arm. “Sir, may I leave Ms. Drummond in your care?”

Ben’s answer was to tighten his arms around the still-crying woman.

“Uh, if I can be of any further assistance, please leave word at the front desk. They can usually find me. Today,” the priest said with a sigh, “it may take longer. Ms. Drummond, I hope you will one day take comfort in the fact your brother and his wife are reunited with their parents and their Creator.”

Unable to speak, Abby buried her face in Ben’s shirtfront.

“Thank you.” Ben shook the priest’s hand from an awkward angle. “I’m Dr. Ben Galloway, by the way. I practice mainly at Children’s Health. Abby and I both live in West Seattle. Mercy was the closest triage hospital to the accident.”

“I understand. Good luck to you both.” He shook his head. “As prepared as everyone thought we were after the big quake four years ago, this one caught us flatfooted. It’s more important than ever for us to get in step with God’s larger plan. He expects those of us left behind to carry on his work. Remember he’s a merciful God.” Giving Abby’s arm a last pat, the priest exited the chapel.

Abby stirred. She hated to leave the shelter of Ben’s arms. But the priest’s parting words rankled. “Elliot said almost that exact same thing to me at Mom and Dad’s funeral.”

She eased away from Ben, rubbing her upper arms. “His belief was a bone of contention between us for years. Now—” Abby faced Ben with wet eyes and trembling lips “—it’s as if Elliot’s sent a message back to me from…you know…” Shuddering, she eyed the cross, then glanced quickly away. “Perhaps Elliot’s right and I’m wrong.”

“Like hell, Abigail!” Uncaring that he was in a place of worship, Ben punched a fist into the air. “You, not God, will look Elliot’s kids in the eye tonight. It’s you who’ll wipe their tears, chase away their nightmares and stumble around trying to find a way to explain their incomprehensible loss. Whose merciful plan is that?”

In all the time she’d known him, Abby had never seen Ben get so worked up. She pulled her jacket tighter, and considered the bleak truth of his statement. As always when faced with hard facts, Abby dug deep for a resolve that had never failed her yet in times of need. “Then…if I’m all those poor kids have to hang on to, Ben, I’d better pull myself together. I—uh—thank you for providing a shoulder to cry on. But I’d better let you go. I’m sure you’re needed elsewhere, by other injured children.”

Ben saw determination replace the gut-wrenching pain in Abby’s tear-drenched eyes. Hopelessly in need of courage himself, he closed the gap between them and cupped her pale face. The freckles he loved were never more pronounced than now. He kissed the ones scattered across the bridge of her nose. Then he let his thumbs trace the blue shadows beneath her lower lashes. “I wish we had more time to spend together today. But…” He hauled in a deep, shuddering breath. “I need a word with Kirk…uh, my father, before I go back to my trauma unit. You’ll want to see him, too, about your nephew.”

Abby curled her fingers around Ben’s solid wrist. Something she’d found immensely attractive about Ben from the outset—his masculine hands. Some doctors had effeminate hands, she’d noticed. Not Ben Galloway. She could as easily see him paddling a kayak in an open sea, or tossing a log on a burning campfire. Yet his touch was gentle the few times she’d seen him cradle a baby or wipe away an older sibling’s tears.

“I’ll never be able to express how much it means to me that you were here when I most needed someone, Ben. In a way, you were an answer to my prayer.”

“Don’t.” He dropped his hands away from her face. “We can talk later. For now, it’s enough to know we’re both okay.”

“Right. I need to see how Sam is. I can’t believe I forgot to ask what kind of surgery he’s having. He’s so little. Oh, Ben! None of this seems real. I know it’ll all crash in on me when I least expect it. Right now, I feel as if I’m operating in a fog.”

He placed his hand on her back, and guided Abby out of the dim chapel. “I know where my father is operating. There’s a small waiting room in the wing. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll go see what I can find out for you.”

“Please.” Abby might have said more, but her throat tightened again.

As it turned out, Ben’s father had just stepped out of the surgery theater, a nurse informed Ben when he inquired. They spotted the elder Galloway, his surgical mask still dangling around his neck. He walked soundlessly toward them on blue booties. Impassive gray eyes surveyed his son. “What brings you to my neck of the woods? Aren’t you the one who insists they work your butt off in munch-kin land?”

“I know nothing’s quite as important or glamorous as what you do with bones,” Ben said edgily. “Rather than argue, let me introduce Abby Drummond. She’s the aunt of the boy you had in surgery.”

“Have in surgery. We’re at the halfway mark. My assistant is setting some of the minor bones.” The doctor’s demeanor changed abruptly as he paused to study Abby. Which was only fair, as she also assessed him. Any similarity between him and his son ended with the comparable height and breadth of their shoulders. What struck Abby about Kirk Galloway was that he seemed to be a man attempting to recapture his youth. His tan was far too dark, both his hair and mustache shouted salon blond.

“Ms. Drummond.” He clasped Abby’s hand between soft, perfectly groomed fingers. His professional charm clicked in automatically. “You’re lucky, my dear, that Benjamin phoned me. I assume he’s told you I handle only the most difficult cases. After surgery I’ll give you a rundown on the new technique I’m using on Sam. It’s one I developed while on tour in Vienna last year.”

Realizing he hadn’t released her hand, Abby jerked hers away. “You’re only half done with Sam?” Her stomach rolled. “I’ll…have to make a call. To arrange care for his brothers.”

Ben grabbed his father’s elbow. “Would you excuse us a moment, please, Abby? Kirk, we need to talk privately.”

The gray eyes flashed. “Can’t it wait? I’ve got a patient waiting. I came out to change into fresh scrubs.”

“This is important. As you said, I have work piling up back at Children’s Health.”

“Very well. Walk with me.” He spared a stiff smile for Abby. “If all goes well, I should have Sam in recovery by six o’clock.”

“I’ll go make my call,” she murmured. But she stood there a moment and watched the men walk away. Body language said a lot. Ben had jammed both hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks. His father threw back his shoulders. Ben said something and the older man whirled on his son. Abby could almost see the sparks flying during their brief exchange. Ben thrust out his chin. His dad waved his arms and kept shaking his head from side to side.

Abby wondered what they were saying. Were they discussing Sam? Her worry grew, especially as their argument came to a close and Ben slammed a fist into the wall before stalking off. Instead of coming to find her, he stiff-armed his way through the door to a stairwell and disappeared without a word.

His father continued down the hall in the opposite direction.

Abby didn’t see Kirk Galloway again until almost six-thirty. She was exhausted, hungry and intermittently weepy. The noted surgeon appeared brittle and tense.

“I understand Sam has siblings?” he said without preamble.

“Yes. Four brothers,” Abby murmured. “Two sets of twins, nine and seven.”

Galloway processed that information. Or maybe not. Abby couldn’t tell.

“Sam will be in recovery another hour. He’ll be under heavy sedation most of the night. I suggest you go home and settle his brothers. Come back in the morning. I’ll make rounds at six and update you at seven. Is that too early?”

“No. May I see him before I go? I imagine he’s upset and frightened.”

“Don’t baby the boy. He needs to be tough if he’s going to find the will to walk.”

“You mean—he m-might not?” Abby breathed in deeply to stem a threatening expulsion of fresh tears. She wished Ben had stayed. About now, she could use less of his father’s brusque manner and more of Ben’s TLC.

A nurse, obviously overhearing, stepped up to them. “You’ll owe Sam’s ability to walk entirely to Dr. Galloway’s surgical expertise.”

“Nonsense.” But Galloway preened. “If the boy walks, it’ll be because he thinks he can. His right leg, hip and ankle were crushed by his mother’s seat. I’ve straightened his lumbar spine. It remains to be seen if we’ll need to go in later and do any fusing. I repaired the boy’s right hip, knee, tarsal and metatarsal bones. What saved his life very probably is the fact that he was in a sturdy booster seat. Even though paramedics had to cut him out, his parents should be commended for adhering to the law. As robust a child as Sam is, some parents might ignore the law and declare him big enough to use a regular seat belt.”

Abby did her best to follow Dr. Galloway’s clipped speech. She found her mind wandering. Elliot and Blair’s van, with its seat belts for seven and Sam’s car seat, had obviously sustained considerable damage. Given the state law stipulating that kids had to be five years old or weigh fifty pounds to use regular seat belts—how would she manage to transport the lot of them in her midsize compact?

She sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“Am I going too fast for you, Ms. Drummond?” Dr. Galloway folded the chart, presumably Sam’s, clicked his slim sliver pen closed, and fixed a smile on Abby.

“I’m sorry. I just feel overwhelmed by everything I’m facing in the days and weeks to come. None of which I need to burden you with. But…did I miss hearing you say whether or not I can visit Sam?”

“I’ll authorize a brief visit. Say five minutes? I can’t promise he won’t be too woozy to recognize you. Which is just as well. You won’t want to get into explaining about his mom and dad yet.”

“No. Not today. First I’ll tackle telling the other four. Before I forget my manners altogether, thank you, Doctor. Frankly, if Ben hadn’t recommended you, and if you hadn’t been available…” She let the sentence trail off. But that was okay as he cut her off with a wagging finger.

“Save your thanks until after you’ve seen my bill. I’ll give you a courtesy discount, of course. I hear the quake played havoc with a ski trip you and my son had planned. Quite honestly, Ms. Drummond—Abby—you’re not what I’d expect Ben to… Oh, never mind. I’m pleased to see the boy taking an interest in something other than that clinic of his. Of course, if he’d followed my advice, his career would’ve allowed him more freedom, prestige and needless to say…more money.” Still smiling with his lips alone, Kirk Galloway, M.D. extraordinaire, left Abby in the hands of a passing nurse. One he stopped to bark orders at.

“From Dr. God’s mouth to my ears,” the young nurse muttered too low for the doctor to hear as he went on his way.

“But he is tops in his field?” Abby said.

“Yes. The best. Sorry, I shouldn’t have made that remark in front of you. My only excuse is that I hit the ground running at 6:00 a.m. and haven’t slowed since. Which isn’t your problem,” she added with a deprecating shrug.

“I sympathize,” Abby said. “I hope your day hasn’t been as bad as mine. After I see Sam I wonder…could you direct me to the department in the hospital that can tell me where—” she cleared her throat “—where, ah, a person or persons who died here might be sent?” Her throat clogged and her eyes filled with tears. “Funeral homes, I mean.”

The nurse broke her stride, and gave Abby a brief, spontaneous hug. “I’m on break, but I’ll wait until you visit Sammy, then I’ll get you a list of the area funeral homes. The front office gave each nursing center copies of the list after we began to get figures on fatalities. Last I heard it was ninety and rising.”

“Oh, so many? I’m from West Seattle. My brother and his wife were apparently almost across the bridge when it—” Abby swallowed hard, and ended by simply shaking her head. “I thought Taylor’s. They handled my parents’ funeral—a long time ago. Maybe them if they’re still in business.”

“They are. I’ll get them on the line while you look in on Sam.” Abby already had her nose pressed to a window of the glassed-in room. “Sam’s in the third bed. Someone’s monitoring his vital signs. Go on in. I’m sure Dr. Galloway gave an order to let you see him.”

“You’ve been very kind.”

“I wish that I could change your circumstances.” Gravely, the nurse, who was near Abby’s age, turned and went behind the counter at the nursing station. That left Abby wretchedly alone to enter a room that was silent except for the hum of monitors.

She glanced hesitantly at a nurse working with her nephew. Sam looked pitifully tiny, swathed as he was in padded white bandages. Abby’s chest constricted.

“Sam, honey, it’s Aunt Abby. Can you hear me?” Although his eyelids fluttered, they remained closed.

“He’s responding subconsciously to your voice,” the nurse whispered. “Try to speak normally.”

Abby blinked back stingingly hot tears. Try to speak normally? Sam’s life had changed dramatically today. Hers, too. From now on, their roles would be totally different. Never again would she be Aunt Abby, a person to whom Sam and his brothers could look to get them off the hook with their folks. She, who never raised her voice to the boys and rarely meted out discipline except occasionally on the school playground, would be a parent. Starting tomorrow. Large tears leaked from her eyes and dripped on Sam’s pristine sheets.

“Get better, guy,” she muttered. She did her utmost to keep her voice from sounding panicky. “I’ll be back in the morning, and I’ll bring Raggedy Andy,” she promised softly. Each of the children slept with a favorite toy. Sam’s was a rag doll Blair had made for his first birthday. Andy had undergone several surgical procedures himself. Maybe Sam would be comforted by that. Because the older of the two nurses kept eyeing her watch and then Abby, she took it as a hint to leave. Smoothing Sam’s mop of carrot-red curls, she dropped a kiss on the tip of his freckled nose. Abby had always been partial to this child. She understood firsthand the teasing he’d one day endure at the hands of schoolmates. Of her brother’s five children, only Sam had inherited Grandfather Drummond’s fiery Scots hair. The others all had strawberry-blond shades, and few freckles. Sam and Abby—kindred spirits.

With a last look at her broken nephew, Abby scrubbed at her cheeks and escaped from the room.

The nurse who’d promised to help Abby contact the funeral home appeared in her peripheral vision. “I have a representative from Taylor’s on the line in the conference room. Come. I’ll wait outside until you’ve finished making arrangements.”

“Thank you—what’s your name? I feel I should call you something.”

The woman frowned at the left side of her uniform. “Drat. I lost another name tag. I lose one a month. It should say Olivia Warren here.” Abby’s helpful companion tapped a torn flap near her left shoulder.

“Olivia? Oh, you’re the one who phoned me. I remember the name.”

“I made a lot of calls. Too many.” Pursing her lips, the nurse continued to stroke the spot where she was missing her name badge.

“Hmm. Perhaps you should take your uniforms to one of those firms that embroider names on kids’ ball shirts.” Part of Abby couldn’t conceive how she could carry on such a mundane conversation in the midst of tragedy. On the other hand, discussing inconsequential things gave her an excuse not to face the task she needed to face.

“I never thought of having my name stitched on. That’s a great idea.”

“Sports King in West Seattle does it on site. Our elementary school gives them a lot of business,” Abby said. “I teach second grade, and I coach sixth-grade girls’ soccer.” It dawned on Abby, as she entered the conference room and saw the phone lying on the table, that, too, would probably change in the coming months. She knew how much time Blair spent shuffling the boys to soccer, baseball, karate and what-have-you. She deliberately blanked from her mind the fact that Blair’s full-time job had been taking care of the house, the menagerie, the boys and…Elliot.

Picking up the phone with a damp hand, she said in a shaky voice, “This is Abigail Drummond.” She gave her address and mentioned that Taylor’s had handled her parents’ funeral. “I need to arrange for a double, ah, burial. No. I…don’t know if they had lots at Shady Glen. I understand you have to ask, but this is very…difficult for me. I’m calling to arrange for my brother and his wife. Apart from their asking if I’d serve as guardian to their sons, I’m afraid we never discussed the details of their…uh…wishes. I thought…we all thought we were planning for a remote possibility.” Abby’s voice faded.

“Uh, huh. Now I see the need, but then…sir…must I provide this information tonight? Oh, fine. I don’t mean to be difficult, but—” She burst into tears. “Sorry.” She blotted her eyes on her jacket sleeve. “If you could work with the officials at Mercy General, I’ll come in tomorrow and fill out the papers and give you a check.”

Abby fumbled the receiver as she attempted to hang it up. She looked through her tears as Olivia Warren popped into the room.

“Hey, are you okay? Taylor’s didn’t give you a hard time or anything, did they?”

“I expected this to be rough, Olivia,” Abby said around muffled sniffles. “I had no idea how bad. Taylor’s were nice enough. I’m just so horribly ill prepared.”

“Are you related to Dr. Galloway?” the woman asked as they left the room and started down the hall.

“No. What made you ask?”

“My friend said she saw you come out of the chapel with Dr. Kirk’s son. She said he had an arm around you.”

“We’re…” Abby hesitated. She’d started to say, friends. But in view of their interrupted plans, she supposed they were more. Right now, she wished they were much more. Which was odd. Abby couldn’t recall ever picturing herself married. If ever the vows of for better, for worse had meaning, this would be it.

“Ben and I met last year. I had one of his nieces in my class. We’ve dated. So, of course, he was my first thought when I learned Sam needed an orthopedic surgeon.”

“I see. You taught Ben’s niece? Then I guess you must know he lost his sister today.”

“What? No. No, I didn’t know anything of the kind.” Abby stumbled over nothing on the tiled floor. “Surely you misunderstood. I…saw Ben. We spoke. He talked with his father.” Abby waved a hand feebly.

“Yes,” Olivia said with eyes gone dark. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it, but apparently Dr. Ben and Dr. Kirk had a difference of opinion over who should look after the little girls.”

Going back over a scene she’d witnessed from afar, Abby pictured it from a new perspective. From Ben’s. They shared the same predicament, and her heart ached for him. For him and for Marlo’s sweet, sweet daughters. Was there no end to the horror of this earthquake? Abby wondered how she had tears left to cry.

She went to Raina’s to get her nephews, then to her own town house and finally the boys’ home. Both places were cluttered with various things, shaken from shelves and walls and cupboards.

She learned that tears were nature’s release valve, and over the next weeks she and the boys shed them freely, often in shared moments with friends and neighbors, many of whom suffered, too.




CHAPTER FOUR


SIX WEEKS AFTER the quake, the city began to restore order and set about rebuilding, a process the engineers expected to take a year or more.

Ben Galloway, in a slow moment at the clinic, studied a book on how to braid hair. He’d assumed the housekeeper-cook he’d hired after laying his sister to rest would be equipped to handle his nieces’ “girlie” requirements. But after watching normally good-tempered Erin dissolve into tears for the tenth morning in a row over messy braids, Ben was at his wits’ end. Hence the book. About the only thing in his life he hadn’t altered or dispensed with to accommodate the girls had been his morning stop on his way to the clinic at a bookstore-coffee house.

Today, while the attendant brewed his hard-hitting double espresso, it struck him that a man with the manual dexterity to sew up cuts on little people surely ought to be able to braid hair. But he hadn’t stopped with the braid book. Before he got out of the store, he’d purchased a hundred dollars’ worth of current information on raising girls. Books promising confident, happy girls. Happy was what his formerly sweet niece was not. Erin had turned into a brat. Ben couldn’t help thinking it was partly his fault. In spite of coauthoring a pamphlet on discipline, he was obviously missing the mark when it came to girls.

“Doctor, your next patient’s in room five.” Anita Sorenson stepped into the room. She was one of a staff of three that Ben and his partner, general practitioner Steve Thomas, shared. Marching straight to Ben’s desk, Anita straightened the books spilling out of his store bag. “What’s all this?” She rifled through the stack, reading titles aloud. “Is there something you haven’t told us? Are you trading pediatrics for child psychology? Or are you and Steve collaborating on another parents’ guide?”

Ben didn’t want to tell his nurse how many times he woke in the dead of night worrying about the girls. “Anita, how did you raise six kids on your own? Is there a secret?”

The nurse tipped back her head and laughed, but she must have seen the misery in her employer’s eyes, because she sobered midstream. “Gosh, I guess I never thought about it. Except I raised my kids from birth, so I set the house rules. Even then, there were months after Lorne died that I had to take it one day at a time.”

“Time. That’s my biggest problem. I never seem to have enough hours to spend with Erin and Mollie. On short notice, with half the city in chaos, I spent two weeks locating a suitable housekeeper-caretaker. But Mrs. Clark still doesn’t understand that medicine isn’t an eight-to-five job. She wants a regular schedule I simply can’t deliver.”

“According to an article in the newspaper, the quake did more damage to this side of town. Our death toll is sixty percent of the more than one hundred reported. Area schools have added crisis counselors. I don’t know which elementary the girls attend, but you might want to have a chat with school staff if you’re seeing behavioral changes. The article also said individual schools plan to form parent support groups.”

Ben scowled. “How would that look, Anita? Half the parents at the girl’s elementary school bring their kids to me. Since the quake, my patient load has doubled. Most come for direction related to tantrums and other disruptive behavior.”

“Oh, well, if you’re the expert…” Anita snorted, crossing her arms.

Ben gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. That sounded more like something my old man would spout.” At the mention of his father, and totally unexpectedly, Abby Drummond’s face appeared in his mind. Ben had last seen her at Marlo’s funeral. Abby looked harried, pale and drawn. Given her circumstances, it’d pleased Ben to see her there. He’d meant to call and thank her for the rosebuds she’d sent the girls. And she’d written each one a thoughtful note, too. All other expressions of sympathy had been directed to him. But he’d barely found time to scribble his name at the bottom of the gilt-edged thank-you cards his secretary provided.

That was another issue that grated. He’d suggested his father’s current live-in take over thanking the friends who’d sent remembrances. Kirk threw a virtual fit. He let it be known in no uncertain terms that Millie or Lily, or whatever the hell her name was, served as arm candy and nothing more. Well—a lot more, Ben assumed. But nothing Kirk would ever discuss with him. And after the reaming out Kirk delivered when Ben proposed the blond bombshell collect the girls from Abby’s friend the day of the quake, one might think Ben would have learned his lesson. If not then, certainly after Kirk made it clear that his role as grandfather—a term he disliked—was confined to gifts at birthdays and Christmas. Foolishly, Ben had thought his dad might want to have a say in who took care of his granddaughters.

Why Kirk’s response had surprised him, Ben didn’t know. After all, it was the way his old man had handled fatherhood—via his checkbook. Ben and Marlo had never been able to figure out why their dad went through a court battle to retain custody of them after their mom announced she was leaving. Eventually they’d decided it was a matter of pride to the great Kirk Galloway. No one left his exalted sphere except by his edict.

Which Marlo did when she married a no-account who later walked out, leaving her pregnant, and with Erin a toddler. A self-fulfilling prophesy, according to Kirk.

But Ben had dealt their father a blow when he chose a pediatric residency over the more prestigious orthopedic post he’d been offered at a hospital where Kirk pulled strings to get his son considered.

Sweeping aside old irritants and unproductive thoughts, Ben closed the book on braids. Again he wondered how Abby was getting along. Admittedly he’d put her out of his mind once it became evident that his carefree bachelor days were over. Except, dammit, they weren’t over. The carefree part, yes. But he was still as single as single could be.

Ben snatched the chart from Anita’s hand. “Would you see if Pat can get me out of here at a decent hour today? By two-fifteen. I’ll phone Mrs. Clark and tell her I’m picking Erin and Mollie up from school. I’m friends with one of the teachers. I haven’t wanted to bother her, knowing she’s in a similar spot—worse, since she’s been left to raise her brother’s five boys, one of whom was injured in the quake. I should’ve contacted her before this. If anyone has the lowdown on support groups, it’ll be Abby.”

“Five boys, you say?” Anita shuddered. “The poor woman has my sympathy. I raised six of ’em. Frankly, Ben, I always thought girls would be a whole lot easier.”

“From a woman’s perspective, maybe. From where I stand, two tearful girls and their finicky cat present the most daunting challenge I’ve ever faced.”

This time Anita did laugh as they departed Ben’s office. “Maybe you ought to combine forces with your friend who has the five boys. You could help with her boys, and she could advise you on dealing with emotional girls.”

Ben mulled over Anita’s suggestion as he greeted his next patient and her triplet daughters. If they’d been more than two months old, he might have asked her for advice. But the poor beleaguered new mother needed all the help she could get. Before she left, though, she said something profound that stuck with Ben. “Somebody missed the boat, Dr. Galloway. Every college should offer classes in parenting. At some point in life, most people become one. Yet the only people who get training are those going into early childhood education. Or maybe pediatrics,” she said, tossing him a tired sigh. “I think teacher training is best. Teachers have to be in control of kids six or more hours a day. No offense, but pediatricians only see kids ten minutes at a time.”

He considered her words for the rest of the day. And he recalled the ease with which Abby Drummond had handled Erin’s class. She’d had twenty-two or so kids in that class. The few times Ben had dropped by at the end of the day, Abby appeared calm and unruffled. Who better to teach him the skills he needed to raise his sister’s girls than a woman he already knew and admired?

“Anita!” He met up with her and traded charts. “Was Pat able to rearrange my afternoon schedule?”

“Yes, she managed to clear your afternoon. Actually, she said if you used the time to relax and quit biting off everyone’s head, she’d blank out one afternoon a week.”

“Ouch. Have I gotten that bad?”

“In a word—yes. But the staff can suffer through for a while. We recognize the strain you’ve been under these last weeks, Ben.”

“I’ll have to make a conscious effort to watch myself. I meant what I said during the initial interviews before Steve and I opened the clinic. People spend more hours a day at their workplace than at home. The environment should be pleasant. It shouldn’t contribute to a person’s stress.”

“Yeah, but all work and no play makes guys like Ben and Steve cranky. I know it’s not your fault you both had to cancel your vacations. The staff think you should reschedule those trips.”

“Wouldn’t it be loverly?” Ben quipped. “In a way, Steve ended up being more tied down than me. Not only was his mom hurt, meaning he has to care for her and his wheelchair-bound grandfather, but her house suffered major quake damage.”

Ben had missed seeing the clinic receptionist walk up behind him. “Excuse the interruption, Doctor.” Pat waved a pink message slip under his nose. “Your bank is on line one. What’s this they’re saying about a change of address on your checks? Did you move and not tell us?”

“Jeez, did I forget? I let the lease on my apartment go. Even though Marlo’s house is small and I had to store some of my stuff, I couldn’t bring myself to uproot Erin and Mollie. What really tipped the scales was that my complex didn’t allow pets. Not that it wouldn’t suit me to give away that damned cat, but…” Ben heaved a sigh. “I couldn’t, of course. She sleeps on their bed, and she’s one of the few constants left in their lives.”

Checking the name on the chart, Ben whisked the note from Pat’s fingers. “Anita, tell Mrs. Jensen I’ll be in to see Daniel in a minute. This call shouldn’t take long. My banker’s a former college buddy. He probably assumes the bottom fell out of the medical profession. You watch, he’ll love rubbing in how my new address is quite a comedown from the area I’m leaving.”

Pat tugged the message out of Ben’s lax grip. “Go see Danny Jensen. I’ll tell this bank buzzard to mind his own beeswax. In our books you’re a good man, Dr. Galloway. A good man with a heart of pure gold.”

Was he? Ben pondered Pat’s statement as he paused outside the Jensen room to collect his thoughts. He certainly hoped so. He’d hate to think he’d turned into an unfeeling bastard like his father.



BEN MANAGED to arrive at Sky Heights Elementary ten minutes before classes let out. He’d already stopped at the office to inform them he’d be picking up Erin and Mollie, which meant their teachers would pull the girls out of the bus line. It should allow him a minute to swing by Abby’s classroom first. Considering what his staff had said about needing to make some time to play, Ben pictured meeting Abby later at a sports bar they both liked. Just to relax over a beer and talk like they used to.

He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered into her room. Whoa! He didn’t recognize the dark-haired woman at the desk. She looked fresh out of college. Stepping back, Ben rechecked the room number.

It was the right one. He peered through the glass again. Maybe Abby had acquired an aide. Or the other woman could be a parent, though Ben had his doubts. She didn’t look parental, somehow. But then, what in hell were parents supposed to look like?

The door opened fast, almost hitting his nose. Ben jumped back. Clear green eyes that were probably the result of colored contact lenses took his measure openly. “Well, hello,” exclaimed a breathy, high-pitched voice. “Tell me you’re lost, and that you don’t have a student in my class.”

Ben tugged at his tie, recognizing a come-on when he heard one. “Things have obviously changed since the last time I visited the school. I’m looking for Abigail Drummond. I thought this was her room.”

“Technically it is.” The young woman with the bouncy curls extended a slender hand. “I’m Stacy Thorpe. I’m filling in for Ms. Drummond, but I intend to get the job permanently. And you are?” she prompted, tipping her head coyly.

The bell rang announcing the end of school. Doors opened and kids poured into the hall to line up. A teacher leaving the room directly across from Ben eyed him. She crossed to where he stood. “Hi. Are you looking for Abby? You probably don’t recognize me. I’m Abby’s friend, Raina Miller. I watched her nephews and your nieces the day of the quake.”

He relaxed. “I should’ve contacted you before now, to thank you. A…friend of my dad’s picked the girls up that day. So…thanks for helping me and Abby. My schedule’s been crazy. I came to get Erin and Mollie today and thought I’d take the opportunity to talk to Abby.” A small frown creased Ben’s forehead, especially as the Thorpe woman crowded close, apparently keeping tabs on his and Raina Miller’s conversation.

“Abby requested a two-month leave. I assumed you knew. Aren’t you managing Sam’s medical case?”

“Sam? Oh, uh…wrong Dr. Galloway. My father’s the surgeon. So, you’re saying Abby’s at home caring for Sam?”

“I suppose Sam is home by now. Last time we talked she was only caring for the doubles. Er, that’s the twins.”

“I had no idea. The boy must be in worse shape than I thought. I’ll grab the girls and run by Abby’s. I should’ve done that sooner.”

“She’d like that. I get the feeling she’s floundering. Or thinks she is. Good seeing you, Ben. Tell Abby hello for me.”

“I will.” He turned away and bumped into Stacy Thorpe, who blocked his path.

Raina Miller had returned to her line of students. She turned and called across the hall. “Ben, I don’t know if you’re aware that Abby’s not at her town house. She’s moved in with the boys.”

Boy, did that scenario sound familiar to Ben. “Do you have an address? Or are you allowed to give it out?”

Raina grinned. “I think she’d say it’s okay to make an exception for you. I have to walk my class to the busses. You’re meeting the girls? How about if I stop at the office in ten minutes? I’ll look up the address on the register and jot it down for you.”

“Hey, thanks. I’ll owe you one. Shoot, I already owe you for watching Erin and Mollie. So, I’ll owe you two.”

As Ben excused himself and skirted the teacher who’d taken over for Abby, he had an odd feeling Stacy Thorpe had slipped across the hall to question Raina Miller about him. Ben resisted turning around. He left dating women half his age to his dad. Ben and Marlo had found his preference for trophy girlfriends embarrassing. While it was evident Kirk would never change, Ben made a point of dating women who were smart, articulate and most of all, mature.

His youngest niece, Mollie, saw him first. “Unca Ben! Unca Ben. Erin, Unca Ben’s here.” The girl ran up to him, her eyes aglow. “Erin didn’t think you’d really pick us up.”

“Well, here I am.” He knelt and gave each girl a hug.

Erin, always more reserved than her sister, pulled away to adjust her wire-rimmed glasses. “Is Mrs. Clark sick? Do we have to find a new sitter?” The child’s somber eyes reflected her concern.

“Mrs. Clark’s fine, honey. Everything’s fine. And didn’t I used to come and get you now and then?”

“Only when you wanted to see Abby, er—I mean, Ms. Drummond.”

Ben tweaked the lopsided bow he’d laboriously tied in Erin’s long dark hair that morning. “I think you can call her Abby. You never told me she was on leave. I thought we might run by and visit her. Would that be agreeable?”

“What’s agree…ble?” Mollie screwed up her face.

Ben swung the sturdy girl aloft and tickled her to make her laugh. “It means, squirt, that I’m asking if visiting Abby is okay with you and your sister.”

Giggling, Mollie bumped her forehead against his. “Sure, Unca Ben. I miss Abby. Maybe if we ask her nice, she’ll come back and be my teacher next year.”

“Erin, you’re awfully quiet.” Ben glanced down at his elder niece. She wore an all too serious expression.

“Nothing’s the same. Miss Abby’s not ever going to come back. Just like Mommy’s never coming back. I don’t like how you and Mollie laugh. That’s wrong! Nothing’s funny anymore. Laughing makes everything worse!”

“Hey, button eyes!” Ben set Mollie down quickly, and bent to look at Erin. He gathered her tense little body against his own. “Baby, sometimes people need to laugh to keep from crying.”

But his words didn’t penetrate Erin McBride’s unhappiness. Her face crumpled and tears tracked down her cheeks. Holding her as tight as he dared, Ben worried that she’d lost weight since he’d done her last checkup.

“Goodness. Erin, did you fall and hurt yourself?” Raina Miller rounded the corner and stopped in front of the trio.

Rising, Ben gave a warning shake of his head. And Raina assumed an I see expression. No doubt she did understand. Surely those who worked with quake survivors weren’t unused to mopping up tears.

Raina passed Ben a paper on which she’d written Abby’s address. “Normally I’d tell you to give Abby a hard time about leaving the rest of us to deal with the fallout. Except I suspect she has her hands full with her own fallout. So don’t say a word. Just give her a big hug from me. I’ll phone her over the weekend. I have a few bits of scuttlebutt she’ll want to hear.”

Touching the paper to his brow in salute, Ben steered his nieces out of the building and toward his car. He settled both girls into the back, buckling Mollie into her booster seat. Afterward, he made a cursory check of Erin’s buckle. The first day he’d driven the girls, Erin had thrown a fit because he’d yanked on her belt. Now Ben played it cool. She’d insisted she was eight and not a baby who needed help buckling herself in. But Ben had seen some nasty injuries to kids who weren’t properly fastened in their seats. So he continued to discreetly check her buckle.

Placing Abby’s new address on the dash, Ben realized he’d wrongly assumed Elliot’s home would be adjacent to his church. This address was a mile or two beyond that. Beach property, unless he was way off base.

As the house numbers counted upward, he knew he was right. When at last he reached the address, he stopped and stared. The place was a rambling two-story structure built on a knoll. The backyard probably sloped to the beach. Ben imagined the view of Alki Point would be spectacular from an upper deck he could see, it extended all the way around the house. Gray shake siding, typical of homes built in the 1900s, was warped and weather-faded, but to Ben, it added to the overall charm.

“Why are we stopping here, Unca Ben?” Mollie kicked restlessly at the back of his seat.

“This is where Mrs. Miller said Abby’s staying. Did you know she’s caring for the Drummond boys? I think you girls know the twins.”

“Noah and Michael pull my braids,” Erin announced. “Why is Ms. Drummond staying with them at this old house? I like where she lived before. She had an awards party for her students there. It’s nicer.”

Ben was at a loss. How should he answer Erin? According to a newsletter the school had sent home to parents and guardians after the quake, Mr. Conrad had spoken to all classes about the personal losses many of their classmates had suffered. Ben himself had attended quite a few funerals. Too many. Wanting to spare the girls needless anguish, he’d gone alone to pay his respects. Now Ben wondered if he shouldn’t have at least discussed Abby’s situation with the girls.

“Erin, will you unbuckle Mollie?”

“They’ve got bicycles,” Mollie said loudly. She pointed to a cluster of bikes and trikes in a detached garage whose door opened onto the street near where her uncle had parked. “Maybe the twins will let us ride, huh, Erin?”

Erin scowled. “They’re boys’ bikes, Mollie. We’re wearing dresses.”

“So?” Mollie skipped ahead toward concrete steps leading up to the house. “I’m wearing tights. So what if somebody sees my slip? It’s the new one Mommy bought me before school started. That’d be okay, wouldn’t it, Unca Ben?”

Ben glanced quickly around the area and determined that the sidewalk was fairly flat in spite of the hilly terrain. The neighborhood looked peacefully rural. “Sure, Mollie girl. You’ll have to ask Abby first, of course.”

Erin gripped her sister’s shoulder, making the younger child flinch. “Mommy always said we had to change out of our school clothes before we play outside.” The girl faced Ben. “We have books to read until we go home. Here, Mollie, this is your library book.” Erin shoved a thin volume into her sister’s hands.

Since the girls had returned to school after spring break, anything Ben allowed Mollie to do, Erin contradicted. Her every sentence of late began with Mommy says or Mommy did. Ben had no idea how to counter that. He’d hoped that, over time, Erin would grow to accept his authority. He hadn’t wanted to lay down the law, but plainly he couldn’t let her bossiness continue. It wasn’t fair to Mollie. Furthermore, there was no need for Erin to burden herself with parenting chores. Yet this wasn’t the time or place for a family showdown. “Stellaluna.” Ben read the name on Mollie’s book. “I haven’t read this story, Mollie. Did your teacher help you select it?”

Nodding, Mollie shook off Erin’s hand and skipped alongside her Uncle. “It’s about bats. A mama and baby bat. Will you read it to me, Unca Ben?”

“Later, princess. After dinner.” He smiled down at her as he reached over her head to ring the old-fashioned door bell. The bell not only didn’t ring, it fell off in Ben’s hand.

Erin sounded horrified. “You broke Miss Abby’s door bell.”

Not knowing what to do, and because he heard laughter and thumping inside, Ben set the pieces of the bell on the porch rail and knocked loudly.

A sandy-haired boy of six or seven yanked open the door and squinted at them from brilliant blue eyes.

“I’m a friend of Abigail Drummond’s. Is she home?” Ben asked.

“Did you come to help with the toilet?” The boy’s voice seemed too deep for his age. “Water’s running all over upstairs. Aunt Abby’s mad at Mike ’cause he didn’t tell her sooner that he flushed a dead fish, and the strainer, too.”

The boy threw the door wide and beckoned them in. Ben herded the girls into a tiled entry. From there he had a clear view into a large living room. It boasted a sweeping staircase and vaulted ceilings. Colored fish tanks took up one whole wall, which would explain the dead fish in the toilet. A birdcage, home to a squawking cockatiel, hung in a bay window. The disorder of it all shocked Ben.

A little boy with bandaged legs occupied a huge recliner. Coloring books, crayons, toys and Tupperware containers were spread everywhere around him. Though pale, the kid seemed oblivious to the din. A TV blaring. A radio or CD playing. A raucous bird. And kids. Everywhere, kids.

Twins older than the boy who’d let Ben in, plus another—a mirror image of the first one—huddled midway up the stairs. All were high-fiving each other, and in general making too much racket to realize they had visitors.

All at once, a foot-high replica of an off-road truck, complete with oversize balloon tires, bounced and rumbled down the long expanse of stairs. At the bottom, the wheels spun a few times, then the truck careened across slick maple floors. Its bumper whacked Ben hard on his shins, and brought the truck to a halt. Not, however, before Ben glimpsed a rat—no, a gerbil, he decided—with a bottle cap tied to its head. Belted into the front seat of the motorized truck, the animal had obviously withstood the bumpy ride down all those steps and when one of the boys got him out, the gerbil seemed none the worse for wear.

Ben might have taken the cheering boys on the landing to task for their foolish stunt had he not been blindsided by a barking, slobbering brown and white dog that jumped on him and stared him straight in the eye. Were Ben any less nimble, he’d probably have been knocked off his feet, and would’ve been in danger of being licked half to death. As it was, he dodged and mostly managed to evade the wet, pink tongue.

Erin and Mollie screamed. Both girls dropped their books and took refuge in a corner of the massive entry as far as possible from the boisterous dog.

Above the racket, Abby’s voice floated down the same stairs that had so recently served as the Indy 500 for the truck with its gerbil driver. “Boys, will you hold the noise down to a dull roar? Somebody see what’s wrong with Ruffian. Please, guys, cut me some slack. If I don’t get this water valve shut off, you five will be building an ark.”

The boys on the stairs at least had the grace to nudge one another and clam up sheepishly for a minute. Then one of the two older kids spotted Ben. “Aunt Abby!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Reed let some strange guy in off the street. Do you want me and Mike to call the cops?”

Ben heard Abby yelp, followed by two loud bumps, followed by what might have been a muffled curse. By then he’d corralled the rambunctious boxer, a half-grown pup, Ben saw, seconds before a disheveled-looking Abby hove into view. She leaned over the bannister, brandishing a very large wrench. Her red hair, always hard to tame, stood in wild disarray. Her blue jeans were rolled up to her knees and showed signs of sogginess, as did the long tails of a too large man’s shirt. Dirt streaked her face, hands and arms. Even with all that she managed to look appealing to Ben.

“Ben? Noah scared me! I thought Ruffian had cornered a burglar or at the least a vagrant. I’m glad to see you, but I’m afraid I can’t talk at the moment. I’m kinda busy.” She waggled the wrench.

“So I see. The girls and I stopped by to see how you’re doing.”

Bending lower, Abby zeroed in on the pale faces of the frightened girls. “Erin, Mollie, hi! Boys, you know the McBride girls. Honestly, guys, where are your manners? Put Ruffian in the laundry room until he settles down. Invite Erin and Mollie in. Find a game everyone can play. Make it an easy one for Sam, okay?” She gazed helplessly at Ben. “If you care to supervise, Ben, I just need a minute to deal with a situation. There’s fruit punch in the fridge. Michael will show you where to get clean glasses. Or there’s coffee in the thermos by the stove if you’d rather.” She pulled back, then ducked down again to peer at Ben through the white balusters. “Better yet, I could use a man with a strong arm and a clear mind up here.”

Recovering from his shock at seeing such chaos around a woman he always found to be orderly in all things, Ben dredged up a rakish grin. “Let me settle the girls, Abby, and I’ll be right up.”

“Uncle Ben, I don’t want to stay here.” Erin sidled up to her uncle. “This house is dirty, and that dog slobbered all over me.”

“Erin McBride,” he said sternly. “Start by apologizing to Abby and the boys. While you figure out what you need to say, I’ll lend Abby a hand. Later, if you girls behave, I’ll get you some juice.”

Mollie’s face fell. “I didn’t say the house was dirty. Why can’t I have juice?”

One of the boys—Michael, Ben thought—relieved his death grip on the boxer’s collar. “I’m big enough to pour juice,” the boy declared. “Go ahead and help my aunt. I’ll take care of stuff down here.” He puffed out his thin chest.

Abby, who’d heard the exchange, called over the railing, “Wash your hands first, Mike. And while you’re at it, refill Sam’s glass. Sam? You doing okay, my man?”

A meek voice responded from the confines of the big chair. “I have to go potty. When’s the toilet gonna be fixed?”

“Oh, sweetie. The hall bathroom works. Darn, give me a minute to take off my shoes so I don’t track water downstairs. Then I’ll take you.”

“That chore I can handle like a pro,” Ben informed her. “If it’s okay with Sam, that is. Hey, guy, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dr. Ben Galloway. My father, Dr. Kirk Galloway, fixed your legs.”

Sam’s eyes grew round and he shoved thick auburn curls off a pale forehead with a freckled hand. “’Kay. You look nicer. Dr. Kirk never smiles.”

Ben lifted the boy, doing his utmost to support the right leg which was casted all the way to the boy’s hip. Sam wore a short cast on his left. Ben guessed the kid wouldn’t be walking anytime soon. He wondered why Abby didn’t have household help. The ages of the children seemed reason enough to seek assistance. To say nothing of the sheer hours involved in maintaining this household.

No wonder Abby looked as if she’d dropped twenty pounds. Ben guessed dashing up and down stairs a hundred times a day would burn a lot of calories.

“There you go, Sam.” Ben straightened after maneuvering them both into the small half bathroom. He glanced up, feeling a drop of water strike his ear. He identified a water stain on the ceiling, which seemed to grow larger as he studied it.

Jeez, Abby probably didn’t know her problems weren’t limited to the upstairs. The flooded commode must be directly above this one. “Hey there, Sam, let’s not dally. I’d just as soon neither of us had to be treated for ceiling plaster falling on our heads.”

The child’s lips quivered. “I wish Daddy was here. Will that phone in your pocket call everywhere?”

“Pretty much,” Ben murmured, still focusing his attention on the damaged ceiling tiles while he helped Sam tie his robe. “Do you have a friend you’d like to call? If you tell me where I can find his number, I’ll dial for you.”

Donning a serious expression, the boy waited patiently while Ben washed and dried his hands. “I don’t got the number for heaven. Maybe it’s in my daddy’s ’puter. Mommy said Daddy put everybody’s number from church on his ’puter. And Daddy said God’s the most important member of his church. So I think God’s number hasta be there.”

“Oh. Oh, Sammy…” Ben patted the sad-eyed child’s back as he carried him to his recliner. “I wish making contact with the Almighty were so simple. But…he’s everywhere, you know, watching over us. Like…maybe the reason I picked today to visit your aunt is that I’m supposed to help her.” Ben gave the four-year-old a coloring book and opened it to a picture of a partially colored ark. “Ah…I believe your aunt was saying you guys might need one of these,” he teased.

He needed to get out of the room before Sam asked more questions. Ben figured he was the last person able to explain why any supreme being let kids lose their moms and dads. He left the room no wiser than before.

Upstairs, he put his foot into two inches of water on the bathroom floor.

Abby was draped over a gurgling commode, mumbling at a pipe wrench that kept slipping off a valve cap. Rolling up his shirtsleeves, Ben relieved Abby of the wrench. He threw his considerable muscle into budging the solidly stuck shut-off cap.

“I think it gave a little,” Abby said. “Ben, I’m sorry you walked into this mess. Oh, there…you got it. Oh, no! The valve twisted off.” A gusher shot everywhere. “Ben, make it stop!”

Leaping aside, he swore roundly.

“Shh.” Abby clapped a hand over his mouth. “We don’t use language like that in this house.”

“Apparently you don’t ask for help in this house, either. Why are you just standing there watching Old Faithful? Get me a damn phone book.”

“What for?”

“Something you should’ve done at first splat. To call a plumber.” So saying, Ben whipped out the phone Sam thought he could use to call heaven. Directory assistance was close enough to heaven’s hotline to suit Ben. As he was connected to a local plumber and gave the man terse directions to the house, Ben wrapped a white towel around the broken pipe to stem the geyser.

“My best Egyptian cotton towel. Ben, what are you thinking?”

“Something else I should’ve done when I first walked in,” he growled, closing off her sputtering tirade with a kiss that drove the air from her lungs.




CHAPTER FIVE


BEN SET ABBY DOWN, then had to grab her arms to hold her upright.

A bit stunned, she did rally. “Here I thought my day had tanked. If that’s your standard method of dealing with hysterical women, Dr. Galloway, I can see why your practice grows by leaps and bounds.”

Laughing, Ben leaned in for another, slower, more sizzling and satisfying kiss. “This brand of superb bedside manner is reserved for an elite few, Ms. Drummond.”

“You’re full of it, Ben, you know that?” Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder and down the hall, Abby segued to a new subject. “How are the girls? I thought Erin looked…different. But I guess that’s understandable, since everything’s changed because of the quake.” She shrugged. “Which may be all it is with Erin. I shouldn’t forget she’s by nature a serious child.”

“True. But you’re dead on, Abby.” Ben bent again to twist the soaking white towel tighter. “Erin’s not bouncing back. Not like Mollie, anyway. Erin’s whole personality has nose-dived.”

“With time and hugs, maybe she’ll be her old self again. It’s been almost two months. But it feels like forever. I still step into a room and expect to see Elliot and Blair.” Her eyes were glossy, and she turned aside. “Nighttime is the hardest on the boys.”

“For the girls, too.” Ben’s back tensed. He should be the man with answers.

Abby stroked a hand up his side. She thought how good the hard outline of his ribs felt, and wondered if men didn’t need the hugs she’d spoken of.

She missed Ben’s touch. Even if they’d had a casual dating style, they’d been demonstrative with each other. Whenever they saw each other, Ben had doled out a squeeze or two. Vastly different from the brief impersonal brush of their cheeks at their respective family funerals. Different, too, from the almost desperate kiss Ben had just delivered.

Would their lives ever get back to normal? The first few weeks after the quake, Abby thought Ben had disappeared from her life. On those occasions, an ache settled in her chest. And yet she’d accepted that was the way things might have to be.

Abby understood that she and Ben had obligations and responsibilities that came before any personal wants or needs. For perhaps the first time, she realized what it felt like to walk in her brother’s shoes. Elliot, who’d selflessly put his life on hold until she was grown and off to college. Did she owe his children any less?

Straightening away from the valve again, Ben started to take Abby in his arms. A commotion downstairs split them apart. Although Abby had wrenched loose from his touch and taken a step back before the disturbance began. “Sorry, Ben. I’m afraid the timing here is off. Besides which, Ruffian’s going crazy in the laundry room. I think the plumber’s arrived.”

Ben tried to reconnect with Abby’s eyes, to no avail. Giving up, he said magnanimously, “I’ll stay right here, if you’d care to rescue the poor man. Send him on up. Since I made this major mess, I’ll do the explaining. Maybe you could spend a few minutes reassuring Sam. He’s down there coloring an ark like mad. I’m afraid he’s worried his home’s in danger of floating away.”

“Poor Sam. I only just brought him home from the hospital today when all heck broke loose. I’d checked the twins out of school early so they could ride along. We’d barely gotten home when Brad reported that Mike had scooped a dead fish out of one of the tanks. The minute he flushed it, he dropped the strainer.” She rolled her eyes. “I tried the plunger. That did nothing, except maybe compound the problem. You showed up as I decided I’d better shut off the water to the toilet tank.”

They heard one of the boys bellowing for Abby. “Go,” Ben urged. “By the way, you maybe should also check on the status of a gerbil. The older twins had him in a remote-controlled truck. They sent him down from the second landing.”

“Noah and Mike,” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Harry’s their gerbil. Brad and Reed have hamsters. Yesterday I caught them harnessing their pets to G.I. Joe’s parachutes. Luckily I caught them before they dropped them over the bannister. I don’t know why Blair didn’t go completely gray.”

“Hmm. I wonder if that’s what my nurse Anita meant when she said I should jump for joy that I have girls to raise instead of boys. You ought to meet her, Abby. She raised six boys on her own.”

“And she’s still sane?” Shaking her head, Abby turned and walked out. Ben heard her tripping lightly down the stairs.

It was twilight by the time the plumber finished, took the check Ben wrote out, packed up his tools and left.

“Ben, you shouldn’t have paid the bill. It’s my house. Well, not mine, actually,” she amended when the twins declared the house belonged to them.

“I broke the shut-off valve,” Ben said by way of explanation.

“Yes, but the problem occurred before you set foot in the house. And…speaking of feet… Your Italian leather loafers are history, pal.”

Ben surveyed his soaking shoes as well as the lower edges of his slacks. “Abby, you’ve got no idea what gets dripped on the shoes of a pediatrician throughout a normal workday.”

“I think I have a fair idea. You still shouldn’t have to pay,” she murmured.

“I paid the plumber because you said you’d feed this hungry mob.” His sudden boyish grin creased his cheeks, which had begun to sport a five-o’clock shadow. “My stomach is growling.”

“My guys missed lunch as well as dinner. Hey guys—and I’m including girls—how about I order in pizza tonight?”

Erin Drummond, who hadn’t budged from one small corner of the couch since they’d first arrived, was the lone dissenter. “I want to go home, Uncle Ben.”

Kicking off his shoes and peeling off wet socks, he walked barefoot to the couch and sat beside her. “Hey, mouse, what gives? I know you like pizza.”

She held herself stiffly aloof. “I don’t like it here. It’s noisy, and boys are dorky. Noah keeps saying he’s going to turn that awful dog loose.”

Abby gasped. “Noah David Drummond. I’m ashamed of you. What do you have to say for yourself, mister?”

The boy’s square jaw lifted pugnaciously. “Let them go home. Who wants Erin Drummond hanging around looking bug-faced?”

Mollie flew at Noah. “My sister’s not bug-faced. You take that back.” She punched him in the mouth and blood spurted.

Although Abby reached for the combatants, Ben moved faster. But Noah shoved Mollie hard. Her back struck the recliner, causing Sam as well as Mollie to cry out.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Erin cried, slamming her book closed as she popped to her feet and glared at Noah. She stretched out a hand toward Mollie.

Ben’s two-fingered whistle rent the air. “Time out,” he snapped, his scowl sufficient to send both girls scurrying toward the door. The older twins froze in place. The younger ones dropped the Hot Wheels cars they were lining around the room’s perimeter. Kneeling next to Sam, Ben softened his voice while he efficiently checked the boy’s legs for possible injury. Then he examined Noah’s swelling lip. Used to the sound of crying, Ben didn’t realize all the other kids had joined the chorus. Not until he rose and assured Abby that Noah was okay.

“What’s gotten into the ones who weren’t involved?” he asked Abby.

“Perhaps we should postpone sharing pizza,” she responded, circling her arms around the four boys. “It appears we’ve all had an eventful day. I’m sorry, Ben. We didn’t have a chance to catch up.” She checked her watch again, but instead of meeting Ben’s confused eyes, she let her gaze stray toward the kitchen, where the dog had set up a racket again.

“Ruffian’s hungry and lonesome,” Noah declared, clenching his small hands as he stalked past the huddled girls. “It’s not fair he can’t come out ’cause of twitty girls. It’s his house, too, you know.”

“See, Uncle Ben,” Erin squealed. “Noah’s going to let that monster out.”

“Ruffian’s not a monster,” Brad and Reed shouted in tandem.

Throwing up his hands, Ben grabbed his shoes and socks and waved his nieces toward the exit. “I give up. There’s no chance of us carrying on a civilized conversation in this madhouse. Abby, I’ll be in touch.”

Ben missed the longing look she aimed at his retreating back. “Thanks for everything, Ben, including moral support,” Abby said, trailing him to the door. “If you only knew how much I miss adult conversation. It goes without saying that I love the boys, but…”

Ben spun around, without realizing she’d crept up on him. She stood near enough so that her light, flowery perfume washed over him.

Shifting his shoes to his left hand, he raised his right and brushed the back of his scraped knuckles over Abby’s chin. “We aren’t saying goodbye permanently. Lord knows I need to talk to someone about what’s happening with the girls. Preferably someone who understands what I’m dealing with.” Worry clouded Ben’s brown eyes as he silently watched his nieces climb into the back seat of his BMW.

“I don’t know if I can be of any help, but I’d like us to talk, Ben. I care about Erin, and I thought she acted…well, odd today. Granted, the twins en masse can be overwhelming.”

“She got off on the wrong foot with the dog. The girls have a cat who rules the roost at home. So…I know they like animals.” He sighed wearily. “We’ve…uh…gotta go. I need to feed us, check Erin’s math and supervise baths before getting the girls off to bed.” As he spoke he stepped barefoot into the wet loafers.

“You’re doing all that, Ben? I thought your father said you’d found a woman to look after the girls and take care of the house.”

At the mention of his father, Ben’s slight frown became a scowl. “Mrs. Clark only works from eight to five. I assure you, if my dad gave a damn, he’d help a little. Who knows better than him that doctors don’t keep regular hours?” Just then Erin leaned out of the car and called plaintively to Ben. He blew out the breath he’d sucked in, tossed Abby a last so long, and trudged down the steps in his soaking shoes.




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