Solemn Vows

Ginny McBlain

ISBN 1-891020-86-2

Rocket eBook ISBN 1-58608-103-9

Copyright by Virginia H. McBlain, 1999

New Concepts Publishing

4729 Humphreys Road

Lake Park, Georgia 31636

http://www.newconceptspublishing.com

SOLEMN VOWS is a work of fiction. The situations and characters are a creation from the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is strictly coincidence.

~~ Dedication ~~

Solemn Vows is dedicated to all those who care for other people's children, especially to the faculty and staff of Boys Town.

~~ Acknowledgments ~~

I wish to thank the following professionals who gave so generously of their time and expertise in helping me with the research for this book. Any mistakes are my own.

Debra Kingsley, Software Engineer, USWest

LTC David A. McBlain, USAR (Ret.)

Larry Mahagan, Assistant Vice President and Claims Manager, Woodmen of the World Life Insurance Society

Chaplain Morton "Chip" Funkhouser, Major, USAF (Ret.)

SSGT Rob Shevlin, USAR

Glendon Thomlison, former teacher, Boys Town

Chapter 1

A part of himself was missing.

Lost in thought, Quinn McAllister guided his black Probe down the two lane highway flanked by Kansas farmland. It was only another twenty miles to Fort Riley. Dusk deepened by slow degrees on the June evening, bathing the sky in soft shades of lavender and mauve. The peacefulness of the passing scene could have been a balm to his aching heart, but he barely noticed anything beyond the ribbon of blacktop winding through the wheat and corn fields.

Memories flooded his mind. Steve Dutton... football on the Boys Town High School team, puckish pranks they'd played on their Family-Teachers, the rigors of Army basic training…then the separations, which somehow had only strengthened their bond. He blinked to ease the burning in his eyes. He wouldn't, couldn't, cry. Once he started he wasn't sure he could stop, and he had to see the road. He must reach the children safely. He was all they had now.

Meredith had offered to drive. She would've taken over and done everything to get them to Fort Riley if he'd let her, but Quinn needed to keep busy. It was bad enough having all this time to think. If he had been sitting in the passenger seat with nothing to do with his hands for over three hours, he would've gone stark raving mad.

It seemed like weeks rather than hours since he'd awakened this morning snuggled next to his beautiful bride. He stole a glance at her dozing in the seat next to him, her head resting on the window.

It had been an endless day. Before leaving their honeymoon retreat in Colorado, he had contacted the authorities at Fort Riley by telephone and relayed their travel plans. He and Meredith then flew into Omaha and took a taxi straight to their apartment to pick up the car and clean clothes. Two and half hours after touchdown at Eppley Airfield, they headed south.

Quinn wasn't sure how he'd make it through the next few days, but he knew he must. He cast another glance at his wife of five days. At least he wasn't alone. So far, Meredith had proven a tower of strength. He needed her support. There were funeral arrangements to make and the kids to see about.

The kids… Something tore and bled deep inside him. How could he have gotten himself into such a mess? He'd made two pledges, both given in good faith.... To keep either, he must break the other. And yet, what choice did he really have?

Could their marriage survive the upheaval in their carefully made plans? Would Meredith accept the inevitable changes? He shook his head. There would be time enough to deal with that later. Right now he had more immediate problems to consider.

The post gate loomed before him. Like most US Army installations, Fort Riley was an open post, the gate unmanned except on rare occasions. Quinn drove through, heading for Steve's assigned quarters in one of the housing areas. He'd learned that the couple who shared their duplex were caring for Brett, Wynne and Brittany.

He parked in the Dutton's driveway and touched Meredith's arm. "Honey, we're here."

Meredith sat up with a start and rolled her shoulders. Guilt surged through her. A whole lot of help she'd been, sacked out. "Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep. Why didn't you wake me?"

"No problem. You needed the rest."

She couldn't deny his statement. Their lovemaking had lasted well into the early morning hours….again.

"Let's go," Quinn said.

He swung out of the car and straightened his spine, as if preparing himself for the ordeal ahead. Accustomed to decisive action, Meredith hated feeling so helpless. There must be something she could do to make things easier for Quinn. But what? When it came to the military, she didn't have the least idea how to proceed.

She rounded the car and grasped his hand, giving him the only thing she had to give, her love and emotional support. They crossed the lawn, heading for the opposite side of the duplex. Before they reached the porch the door opened, the void filled with a tall, wiry black man.

"Quinn McAllister?" The man pushed the screen open. "Come in. I'm Joe Jamison."

Quinn placed his hand on the small of Meredith's back, indicating for her to precede him into the house. "Joe," he acknowledged. "This is my wife, Meredith."

"How do you do," Meredith murmured.

A pretty woman with a short Afro hair cut and café au lait skin entered the living room from the hallway. Her red-rimmed eyes expressed her grief before she said a word. "They're all asleep."

"Hon," Joe said, "Quinn and Meredith are here." He turned to his guests. "My wife, Anita."

Anita flashed a fleeting smile. "I'm so sorry we have to meet under these circumstances." She directed her gaze at Quinn. "I know how close you and Steve were."

"I appreciate your keeping the kids," Quinn said. "How are they?"

"Brett and Wynne are bewildered. The baby's cranky. Patti was nursing." Anita slid onto the arm of Joe's chair. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, iced tea, a beer?"

"No, thanks," Quinn replied. He turned to Meredith.

"Nothing for me, either."

"The SAO told me Patti's father is flying in from Alabama tomorrow," Joe said.

"What's the SAO?" Meredith asked.

"The survivor's assistance officer. That's the person assigned to help with the arrangements."

"Oh."

"Do you know when to expect Patti's dad?" Quinn asked.

"Early afternoon, but I don't know the exact time," Joe answered.

Exhausted despite her nap in the car, Meredith scooted back on the couch cushion, easing her tired shoulders into the softness. She experienced an odd detachment. Here she was, sitting in a stranger's home, talking about people she barely knew. Although filled with a certain sadness since they'd been awakened by the chaplain, doctor and officer who'd notified them of Steve's and Patti's death's, she was devoid of the profound grief evident in the others. Mainly, she hurt for Quinn.

She worried about him. From the moment he'd snapped out of his initial shock, he'd said little, but kept working, doing everything necessary to get here. Even on the flight to Omaha he'd scrawled notes about the funeral. How long could he continue to push himself before he fell apart? Aside from herself, Steve had been dearer to Quinn than anyone.

She still didn't understand how Quinn, a close friend, was considered next of kin. Obviously, the designation was official and carried some responsibility. At least Patti's father was on the way to help with the arrangements and to take over the children.

"...you're sure the kids can stay?" Quinn said when she turned her attention back to the conversation.

"It'll be less unsettling if they remain here," Anita said. "This is familiar territory. Our children play together all the time. It's the least we can do."

"Okay. I guess we'd better go."

"You can bunk next door," Joe said. "I've got the key."

"Patti's family should stay there. I made a reservation at the VOQ." Quinn turned to Meredith. "Visiting Officers Quarters."

"Then we'll see you tomorrow?"

"First thing. I want Brett and Wynne to know I'm here for them."

* * *

The next morning Anita met Meredith and Quinn at the door cradling Brittany in her arms. The baby's distraught screaming tore at Meredith's heart. Poor little thing. She missed her mommy.

"Let me take her," Quinn offered. "Maybe I can calm her down."

"She isn't happy with a bottle," Anita said, handing the infant to him. "I called the post hospital. They assured me she'd take it when she got hungry enough."

"Poor baby," Quinn soothed, holding the tiny girl against his chest and patting her on the back. He settled into an overstuffed chair. "I know things aren't right, but we're going to take care of you. Don't you worry."

Meredith marveled that at the sound of his low voice Brittany's screams lessened. He continued talking until her screams were reduced to hiccups. The almost bald infant leaned her head back and watched his face, entranced. Meredith wondered why she was surprised. His voice, deep and resonate, always induced a spine-tingling current on her own senses. Any female, even one so small, would appreciate the beauty of his lyrical baritone, especially when he spoke to her and her alone.

A door at the back of the house slammed and feet pounded on the tile floor. In seconds Brett barreled into the room and hurled himself at Quinn, locking his pencil-thin arms around Quinn's shoulders. The boy's chin quivered and a fat tear fell from a blue eye and rolled down his cheek. "My daddy and mommy died, Quinn."

Quinn reached around with his free arm and pulled the tow-headed boy onto his knee. "I know, ace, I know."

"I don't have no daddy and mommy no more."

He nestled the distressed child into the crook of his arm. "You still have me, Brett. You still have me."

Meredith heard the reassurance and quailed. What was Quinn saying? He couldn't be thinking clearly. Soon they'd return to Omaha and Brett and his sisters would go to Alabama with their grandfather. She expected Quinn would maintain an interest in Steve's children, but at such a distance telling a child he still had his father's friend seemed unwise. However, she knew better than to make things worse by saying so in front of the boy. As soon as they were alone, she'd mention it to Quinn.

At that moment, Wynne sidled in from the hall, dragging a tattered blanket behind her, her thumb in her mouth. Another blond, her wispy curls framed a sweet face dominated by huge blue eyes. She spotted Quinn and scampered straight for him. He scooted Brittany higher on his shoulder, making a place for Wynne on his unoccupied knee. She climbed on his lap and snuggled into his stomach.

What a wonderful father he'd make. Meredith's thought was bleak. Never before having observed him with children at close range, she was taken aback. Guilt surged through her. They hadn't known each other but six months. It was plenty long enough for them fall deeply in love, but they hadn't really explored each others hopes and dreams to any great extent. She was committed to remaining childless. It had never occurred to her that she might deprive a natural father of the family he should have. Well, it was too late to undo the damage now.

They were already married.

She made a silent vow. Their relationship would be so wonderful he wouldn't miss having children, or she'd die trying. She couldn't bear the thought that he might come to regret his promise or their marriage.

* * *

The afternoon sun blazed in the front window of the Dutton's quarters. Meredith closed the drapes, blocking out the hot rays. At the far end of the L-shaped room, Quinn, Patti's father, John Carter, the SAO and a post chaplain sat around the dining table planning the funeral service.

Mr. Carter was a frail man, who looked far older than his years. His hands were gnarled with arthritis. He leaned heavily on his cane, his gait slow and, obvious to even a casual observer, painful. His wife, stricken with Alzheimer's disease, was at home, unable to make the trip. Meredith sighed. How in the world would the infirm couple manage three preschoolers?

She gazed around the room. The furniture showed signs of hard use and many moves…a Kool-Aid stain here, a loose thread there, scratches on the wood. The place was clean, but toys were scattered about. Having grown up in such crowded quarters that anything left out of place was a hazard, the clutter bothered Meredith. Before she could stop herself, she picked up the strewn blocks and tossed them into a laundry basket already half full of toys.

A chair scraped against the tile floor and Meredith realized the meeting was over. She accompanied Quinn to the door, and they said good-bye to the SAO and chaplain.

"The service is tomorrow at eleven," Quinn said, turning to Meredith. "Would you find something appropriate for Brett and Wynne to wear?"

"You aren't planning on taking them to the funeral, are you?" Horror crept into her words.

"Certainly."

"But…but, they're too young!"

"Honey, they need to say good-bye to their parents."

"I agree with Quinn," John Carter said. "They should attend. The ceremony will help them understand… Patti and Steve...aren't coming back."

Meredith looked from one man to the other and shook her head. They were both definite in their opinion. Who was she to argue? "All right, I'll find their clothes."

* * *

Meredith sat next to Quinn in the family pew holding Wynne on her lap. The main chapel at Fort Riley was filled, a sea of green uniforms with occasional dots of color from civilian dress. Masses of flowers surrounded two caskets, one draped with an American flag, the other covered with a purple brocade pall. Quinn, although a Reservist and not on active duty, wore his Army uniform: dark green coat and pants, light green shirt and black tie. His brass and shoes gleamed. His shoulders straight, his pale face etched with grief, he perched on the edge of the pew.

She turned her gaze on Mr. Carter. His face, gray with pain, revealed both his emotional and physical suffering. Brett, clad in the blue suit he'd worn to her wedding, his miniature tie askew, slouched in his seat, wedged between Quinn and his grandfather. The little boy patted John's arm, offering comfort. Undone by the sweet gesture, a tear escaped the corner of Meredith's eye.

Following the opening hymn, Quinn rose, his steps to the lectern slow and measured. Standing tall, he adjusted the microphone to accommodate his six feet plus height. He gazed out over the congregation before speaking. "Steve Dutton's faith was forged as a teenager at Boys Town and strengthened through the rest of his life. I'm reading today from his favorite passages of scripture."

Lulled by the reassuring sound of Quinn's voice, Meredith tried to imagine Steve's life before Boys Town and the metamorphosis the institution's program had wrought. His life..and Quinn's…had been forever changed by the love and respect offered at the school.

Quinn read on, his voice strong and sure, comforting the mourners. Meredith only hoped he was drawing comfort to himself as well.

He closed the Bible and resumed his seat. Meredith reached for his hand and knew the instant their fingers touched that he wasn't as untouched as his strong voice portrayed. His clammy cold hand trembled. She admired his courage. To put aside his grief and take part in the service...she didn't have the inner strength to pull it off.

Throughout the eulogies and meditation Wynne whimpered and wiggled on her lap. Poor kid, this service must seem interminable to her.

The organist began the last hymn. The message offered hope and promised victory in eternal life. Moved once again, tears poured from Meredith's eyes. She cradled Wynne to her breast, drawing as much consolation as she gave. The little girl, smelling of the magical combination of floral bubble bath and baby shampoo, wound her arms around Meredith's neck, burying her face in Meredith's shoulder. Her hold on Wynne tightened. At the same time she reinforced her resolve to maintain her distance. It would be far too easy to become attached to this little one. That must not happen.

The solemn service ended and the pall bearers, twelve soldiers from Steve's Military Police Company, escorted the caskets down the aisle. Meredith followed carrying Wynne. Brett clung to Quinn's hand, John to Quinn's other arm.

On the ride back to the chapel following the committal service, Brett and Wynne were restless and fussy. Anita had reported that both had woke up crying with nightmares the night before. The tykes must be tired, as well as scared, confused and, Meredith imagined, hungry. They needed kid food, not the casseroles supplied by generous friends for the traditional post-funeral gathering.

"Quinn, the children need naps," she whispered as they stepped out of the limousine. "I know you can't leave yet, but I'll slip away and take them home."

He nodded and reached in his pocket for his car keys. "Good idea. I'm sure John and I can hitch a ride with Joe and Anita." He patted her shoulder, his ghost of a smile grateful. "Thanks, honey."

* * *

"What're you going to do about their household goods?" Anita asked.

"We'll have to sell most everything, or give it away," John replied. "We don't have room for anything more in our retirement apartment. What do you think, Quinn?"

"I'll need the kid's stuff including their bedroom furniture."

In the Dutton's kitchen pouring iced tea, Meredith overheard Quinn's answer. She spun around so fast she bumped her head on the open cabinet door. Why would he need the kid's stuff? Unless he planned to take them home with them? Surely she'd misunderstood. The children were John's responsibility. He was their grandfather, their blood kin.

"I'm sure the adjustment will be easier all around if the kids have familiar things," Anita agreed.

"New furniture would cost a lot more than I have to spare." Quinn sounded matter of fact. Still bewildered, Meredith concurred with his assessment.

Their upscale apartment, a converted Old Market warehouse, was located in downtown Omaha. They'd kept little of the make-do furniture from their separate places. The new furnishings had cost a small fortune. Their budget couldn't stand the strain of further major expenditure at the moment.

"I hope you'll allow me to come visit my grandchildren, Quinn."

A condensation-slick glass slipped through Meredith's fingers and shattered on the floor. Stunned, she stared at the mess without seeing it. Clearly, John expected them to take the children….and just as clearly, it sounded like Quinn had every intention of doing so.

Pain swelled inside her, spreading so hard and fast that she couldn't say what hurt precisely. Only one thing was clear in her mind. She could not mother children…her own or anyone else's. Her experience with Kirsty had proven Meredith was an unfit mother.

"You okay? I heard a crash." She blinked at the sound of Quinn's voice, the broken glass registering at last.

"I dropped a glass. Take the rest. I'll clean up the mess and join you in a minute." She reached for a paper towel. "Ah...Quinn, we need to talk."

"Shoot."

"Alone."

He raised a quizzical brow.

"Alone," she repeated.

* * *

Meredith entered their VOQ room and waited while Quinn slid the chain lock into place. He swung around, facing her. "All right, what's this about?" he said.

"I heard what you all said this afternoon."

"And?"

"Tell me I heard wrong. You aren't really planning to take those children to Omaha."

His face reddened, and she knew there was nothing wrong with her hearing. Meredith's stomach clenched in a painful knot.

"Of course, I am. How can I raise them if they don't live with me?" His voice rose and his color deepened.

"They're John's grandchildren, his responsibility."

"They are my responsibility." His statement emphasized each word, leaving her no doubt that he meant what he said.

"How can that be?"

"I'm their legal guardian. Steve named me in his will."

"I don't understand. Why?"

"Because I promised years ago, a promise I confirmed before Brett was born. Steve doesn't have an extended family and neither do I." He stopped and drew a deep breath. Meredith stared at his stone face, each word he uttered increasing her pain. Was this the man she'd married? "We pledged we'd raise each other's kids if anything happened to either of us. He couldn't bear the thought of his kids going to a stranger. Neither can I."

"But Patti has family."

"Be honest. Do you think John is capable of caring for three children, ages five, three and six months? There's no way he can chase after them. Patti's mom is so far gone with Alzheimer's she isn't even aware her daughter's dead. John has his hands full taking care of her and himself."

Meredith's knees turned to jelly. She sank onto the bed and dropped her head into her hands. The room was so quiet the air conditioning blowing through the vents sounded like the whine of jet engines revved for takeoff. What Quinn said was true. Guilt devoured her. Silently, she raised her head. His tormented expression rent the fabric of her soul. What could she say?

Darn it. He'd promised. She just didn't understand.

He dropped into the room's only chair. "I was raised by my grandmother until she died. It was hard on both of us. I loved her dearly. I never doubted she loved me, but she was too old to cope with a rowdy boy. I drove her crazy. Especially in the winter when I couldn't play outside. She'd accuse me of bouncing off the walls."

"Being younger doesn't preclude any of that," Meredith replied. "Every parent I know complains about their children driving them crazy."

"I'm sure we'll have more patience. And the stamina to contend with the kids."

She sprang to her feet and paced to the window, parting the drapes just enough to gaze out at the parking lot. Her thoughts churned. She hated to sound selfish, especially when her position was in reality the exact opposite, but in order for him to form any other opinion, she'd have to tell him about Kirsty. She couldn't do that. He must never know her one dreadful secret. Someday, she prayed, Quinn would forgive her. She gulped and squared her shoulders. Spinning around, she planted her feet in a militant stance, and hardened her expression. "You promised we wouldn't have children before I accepted your ring."

"This is different."

"How?" She tossed her hair from her cheek. "Tell me how?"

"Brittany, Wynne and Brett aren't our own."

Refusing to back down, Meredith didn't move so much as an eyelash. He squirmed under her unflinching stare.

"I didn't plan this, you know."

"Don't you think you should have warned me about this..this promise?"

"It never crossed my mind."

"You made a commitment that will change our whole lives, and it never crossed your mind to clue me in." Her voice shook.

Quinn stared at the ceiling, then met her gaze. "I didn't expect Steve to die. We're not at war. Supposedly, he wasn't in harm's way. How could I have predicted a drunk would mow them both down on a street corner?" His voice cracked. He stopped and raked his fingers through his hair. "I never dreamed I'd actually have to raise his kids. If I thought about it at all, I assumed that I'd lend Patti moral support and maybe a little financial aid if Steve died."

Desperation drove Meredith. "You could put them up for adoption."

In all honesty, she hated the thought of those precious children going to strangers. Still, she couldn't bear to tell him the real truth about herself. After seeing how good he was with them, he'd never understand her flaw.

"No!" Quinn shouted. He catapulted from his chair, startling her. "I promised I'd raise them, and by God I will. I gave my word."

"You gave me your word, too. Doesn't that count?"

Quinn crossed to the window and placed both hands on her shoulders. His fingers dug deep into her flesh. "Honey," his tone softened, "please try to understand. Steve was raised by a druggie without a father. He was a punk into petty crime by the time he was nine. Boys Town turned him around. He was determined his children wouldn't become juvenile delinquents. He trusted me to make sure they'd be okay, to see that they grow up to be fine upstanding citizens.

"I owe Steve. I arrived at Boys Town a three time loser in foster homes. A runaway, who lived by his wits. The judge who placed me at the Home put the fear of God in me. It was my last chance and I knew it, but I couldn't accept the love offered. Steve had already been there six months. He took me under his wing, became my pal. Without Steve's friendship and protection, God knows where I'd be today."

"That's all well and good but what about us?" she whispered.

Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead, then enfolded her in his arms. "We can make it work. I know this isn't what we planned, but everything will be okay if we try hard enough."

Meredith pulled away, frustration seething inside her. He was so focused on what he wanted, he hadn't heard a word she said. She marched to the chair Quinn had vacated moments before. "I don't want a family. You knew that going into this marriage. You aren't being fair."

She sounded like a petulant child and she knew it, but she couldn't stop herself.

"Part of being an adult is understanding that life isn't always fair."

"Are you calling me a child?"

"If the shoe fits." Quinn sighed. "Look, let's not resort to name calling. I just don't understand where you're coming from."

"I made my position clear earlier." She stressed each word.

"Yes, you did. But Steve's and Patti's deaths change everything." He slumped on the foot of the bed. "There's no way I will allow those innocent children to end up in the court system like Steve and I did. In the long run we were lucky, but the years before Boys Town were tough. The Dutton kids won't have to endure what we did as long as I have breath in my body."

"Remember the part of the marriage service that says forsaking all others?" she pleaded.

"Meredith, that's a low blow. This is not a case of you against them. I want us to become a family. It's not like I'm asking you to have my child. I promised I wouldn't demand that of you and I won't."

"But you expect me to play mother to someone else's children," she retorted.

"What do want me to do? Walk away and leave them to their fate, whatever that might be?" He rose and strode to her chair, towering over her. Shoulders back, chest out, he stood as straight and tall as the commanding officer he was. She cringed under his steely gaze.

"Please, Quinn," she begged. "Don't do this to me. To us."

"Meredith, honey," his shoulders relaxed the smallest bit and his expression softened, "I love you with all my heart. I want us to be together always. You're a strong, talented woman. You have the resources to take care of yourself." He hunkered in front of her and took her icy hands in his. "Brett, Wynne and Brittany can't take care of themselves. Please, darling, don't make me choose between them and you."

He paused and sucked in a deep breath. "If you force me to choose, I have no choice...."

Chapter 2

Oh, God! What have I done?

The door latch's solid click still echoed in Quinn's head minutes after Meredith left the room. She was gone. Where, he didn't know. His heart pounded a drum beat of doom.

He collapsed on the bed and stared at the door, willing the portal to open. If he lost her, what would he do? Meredith was his life. He couldn't go on without her.

What other option did he have? None. Absolutely none. He couldn't violate Steve's sacred trust. Besides he loved those kids just like they were his own. Cognizant of the pitfalls of foster care from his own miserable experience, it would kill him to see those precious tykes mired in the system, and while he had no problem with the concept of adoption, he wasn't about to shirk the obligation he'd accepted so long ago.

Meredith had thrown their marriage vows in his face. It had taken all his resolve to keep from tossing the "for better, for worse" part right back at her. Although justified, his profound guilt overshadowed his anger.

His wife didn't want children. She'd gone to great lengths to make certain he understood her position on the issue before she accepted his ring, as she had pointed out so heatedly. She was right. He had pledged to remain childless.

Just as he had pledged to Steve to raise his kids.

His eyes burned with unshed tears and his muscles ached with mounting tension. He rolled over seeking relief and found none.

What it all boiled down to was, despite his pledge to her, the kids needed him more than Meredith did. But did she need him as much as he needed her? Quinn rolled to his feet and strode to the window. Everything hung on her decision.

* * *

Twilight gathered, turning the summer sky a deep indigo. Fireflies flickered and mosquitoes buzzed around her ear. Meredith marched on, swatting at the insects, unaware of doing so. Cars whizzed by, but from the safety of the parade ground, she paid no attention.

As if caught in the middle of a horrible nightmare, she sought an avenue of escape. At every turn, a stone wall loomed. How could this have happened to her? Married a week and a day and she faced losing the only man she'd ever wanted. All because of some stupid promise Quinn had made when he was little more than a teenager. A promise he, by his own admission, had never expected to have to keep.

Meredith shook her head, admonishing herself. His expectations weren't the issue here. Quinn had promised his friend, not once but twice, and he fully intended to honor his commitment. He'd made his position crystal clear.

The decision was hers.

Relinquish the emotional support he gave unstintingly? He, unlike every other man she'd dated, wasn't in competition with her. He never put down her ambition. In fact, he understood her driving need to succeed and encouraged her.

Quinn teased her, made her laugh like no one else. Give up seeing his dimples dance and his pewter eyes glint with mischief? A lump rose in her throat. Oh, dear lord....

She could walk away from their first serious test as a couple. Or she could stand by his side and help him shoulder the enormous responsibility he aimed to undertake. She kicked a small stone out of her path, wishing she could kick away the problem as easily. Her choices were lousy. Stay and put the children at risk from a carping pseudo-mom, or live the rest of her life regretting her cowardice.

She stopped and stared at the stars popping out in the night sky. Coward, an ugly name, and one she'd never before in all her introspective moments applied to herself. Yet, what else was she when she looked at the situation honestly? Running away went against her personal code. She'd attained success against tremendous odds, had escaped poverty and sought higher moral standards than she had learned at home. Cowering wasn't her style.

Still, she was scared…make that downright terrified...that she'd damage the children's psyches by screaming hurtful words at them.

The specter of Kirsty loomed before Meredith. She'd driven the girl from their home by pitching a walleyed fit when she discovered the sixteen-year-old drinking and in a sexual relationship with a guy just like the creeps their mother brought home. The terrible names Meredith called her sister haunted her to this day. Stupid slut. Dumber than dirt. Irresponsible idiot. No wonder Kirsty had fled. Meredith had no excuse for such vile behavior. None! She'd been the adult in the situation, albeit all of twenty-two. A mature, responsible twenty-two, whose one irresponsible act had resulted in another runaway on the streets.

A new wave of grief assailed her. Meredith hung her head. Would she ever see her little sister again?

Forcing her thoughts back to her current quandary, she acknowledged she wasn't, by nature, a screamer or one prone to belittling. She didn't yell or demean to gain control over the large section she supervised at work. Actually, she had a reputation for fairness in problem solving. Maybe there was hope.

Candor compelled her to admit Quinn's choice bruised her ego. Without a doubt, he loved her. He'd proven it over and over, especially in the last week. Still, he meant to move those children to Omaha and nothing she could say would stop him.

When she viewed the situation from his perspective, she understood his reasoning. Given his background and integrity, he didn't have another option. Even she could see that.

She'd orbited the parade ground, her thoughts making a full circle. She stopped and studied the American flag, unfurled in the gentle breeze and illuminated by flood lights. What to do, what to do?

These colors don't run. The slogan from the Gulf War era sprang into her thoughts. Meredith knew she couldn't live with herself if she fled without a fight. She must talk to Quinn. She wanted more than anything to stay with him, to remain his wife. Simply, she loved him too much to walk away, but she wasn't mother material and she wouldn't pretend…even for Quinn. She absolutely could not. There must be room for compromise here.

She trudged on, wrestling with her dilemma. She weighed and discarded options for an hour until her head ached as much as her feet.

In all that time only one even halfway viable solution came to mind. If she could keep the children at arms length, she figured everything would be okay. She'd pull her weight as…she never thought she'd see herself in this particular role …the family housekeeper. Her idea was far from perfect. It wouldn't take a raw recruit to shoot it full of holes, but remaining aloof was the best answer she found.

Serving as the maid was far better than the alternative… giving up the man she'd looked so hard to find, the man she needed, the man she loved.

* * *

Meredith tapped on the VOQ door. Apprehension filled her. Quinn released the lock so fast he must've been standing there the whole time she'd been gone. "You're back," he said, re-locking the door.

"Yes." Burdened by despair, Meredith crossed the threshold, her shoulders hunched.

"Nice walk?"

"Yes. It's pleasant out now." She reached down and clawed a mosquito bite, belying her assertion. She couldn't bring herself to address the issue weighing on her like an anchor.

Steps ponderous, she walked to the bed. She opened her mouth and closed it. She dropped to the mattress. Her clasped hands fell between her thighs.

"You're leaving," he said. His words were stark, his tone filled with pain.

She hung her head, guilt a heavy mantle on her shoulders. "No. Not yet anyway."

The taut muscles in his face relaxed. His shoulders sagged. He swallowed hard. "You'd better explain."

She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I can't be a substitute mother for the children, Quinn. I can't! At the same time, I can't bear to lose you and what we have together. I've mulled everything over and come up with a compromise. If...if you're agreeable."

"I'm listening," he said, sinking into the chair as if his legs wouldn't hold him any longer.

"Well..." Jumping up, she sucked in another deep breath, and strode to the window. "With both of us working, we'll have to share the responsibility for the children. I'll do the scut work…"

"Scut work?"

"The laundry and cleaning…even the cooking…if you'll handle the nurturing part. In other words, I'll do my share as housekeeper and you'll be their parent."

"And when I'm not there?"

Meredith glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Not there?"

"Have you forgotten my Reserve commitment? Monthly drills, two weeks active duty. I can't promise I'll always be there when the kids need me."

She paced back to the bed and sagged into the pillows propped against the headboard. "Are you saying this won't work?"

"No. I'm saying I can't let you off the hook entirely. We can limit your 'mommy' time as much as possible but I won't always be home. If you can see your way clear to take over on those times when I can't be there, then I think your idea has merit."

She faced him, her shoulders slumped, sadness permeating her soul. "I'd forgotten about your weekend duty."

"We have to take my drills into account. You'd be ticked if I trotted off one Saturday morning and left you with the kids when you weren't prepared."

Meredith grimaced. Yes, she'd be more than ticked. She suspected she'd feel betrayed, ready to wring his neck. He'd shown a great deal of honor by bringing up the obstacle now. She couldn't help but admire him. It would've been easy for him to leap at her solution without pointing out its flaws. She owed him the same honesty.

"I'm not sure I can handle them without you there."

"I don't understand. I've watched you the last couple of days. You like those kids."

Oh, yes, she liked them, too well. Leave it to Quinn to notice the one thing she didn't want to reveal.

Her gaze zeroed in on his wide shoulders. She wanted to bury her head against his strength and forget the last few days. She grasped a fistful of the bedspread, fighting a wave of helplessness. She must find a way....

Silence languished between them. She searched for a plausible explanation. Everything she came up with sounded lame, yet she couldn't tell him the truth. To watch the love in his eyes die would kill her. She realized she'd backed herself into a corner. "Ah...they're great children. It's just that I'm inexperienced."

"Honey, most people are inexperienced when they first become parents. I know you're a perfectionist. Believe me, the kids don't expect perfection. All they need is acceptance and love, and a decent home."

"Yes, but most people don't have three children thrust on them all at once. They get to practice on a single baby who doesn't know mastery from a mistake."

He stood up and turned toward the door. Her hand flew to her chest. Her heart still pounded. She gave up searching for excuses. "All right. Let's give this family thing a try. We can reassess if it doesn't work."

"Thank you, Marigold," he said, his voice husky. "I'll shoulder as much of the responsibility as I can. I promise."

Quinn McAllister was an honorable man. Meredith knew his word was his bond. She could, and did, trust him. She banked her fear, determined to make an honest effort to make the situation work, grateful that for once in her life she didn't face a difficult task alone. Smiling for the first time in hours, she stretched her hand toward him.

Relief visible on his face, Quinn lifted his gaze toward the ceiling. In two quick steps, he moved to the bed. He flopped on the mattress beside her and tucked her into the tight circle of his arms

"Now that we've decided that we're in this together," he said, "we'd better figure out the logistics."

"I really have to get back to work."

"John plans to stay a few more days and help me sort through the house. I called Jenkins and extended my leave until Monday."

"The children will need day care."

"I'll look into hiring a nanny."

"That's a generous thought, Quinn, but not very feasible. Even I know they need to play with other children. They'll be pretty much isolated in the apartment. If they go to day care, they can make special friends."

"Hmm. You have a point."

"And we'll need to rearrange the apartment." A note of distress crept into her voice despite her effort to contain it. Her safe haven would never be the same.

He pulled her closer to him. "This isn't easy for you."

"No, it isn't. But it has to be done. I'll take care of the arrangements at home this week while you do your thing down here. I'll come back Friday night after work."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Scut work, remember?"

Meredith glanced at the alarm clock on the table beside them. "It's only 10 o'clock. If I leave now, I can make it home in time to grab a nap before work in the morning."

"I'd rather you got up early and drove in the daylight." His fingers, roving under her shirt, gave their own rationale for her staying the night. "You might be a little late, but not much."

"I am too tired to drive now," she admitted.

"But not too tired?" he said, his voice ripe with hope.

She twisted in his arms and, mimicking his action, ran her hand over his chest. Her lips sought his. "Not too tired," she breathed against his mouth.

* * *

In the early morning half-light, Quinn leaned inside the open car window and dropped one last good-bye kiss on Meredith's full lips. "Drive carefully. And call me when you get home."

"I will. See you Friday night." She slipped the gear shift into reverse and backed out of the Dutton's driveway.

Watching the Probe's taillights disappear, the full weight of the burden he'd undertaken descended on Quinn's shoulders.

At least he faced the future with his partner at his side. Their compromise wasn't the solution he wanted, but it was better than he'd dare to hope. Parenting was daunting in itself, single-parenting even more so, and he was caught in the uncharted territory somewhere in-between. While he could count on her to make his task easier by undertaking the essential chores, he understood that she meant to keep her interaction with the kids to the bare minimum. At least she'd agreed to stay, a concession he didn't deserve.

A plaintive cry broke the silence. Britanny was awake, wet and hungry. His new life had begun.

* * *

Meredith placed her hand on the small of her back and leaned backwards, stretching her aching muscles. She pointed to the corner of the master bedroom by the closet. "The desk goes there."

Two strapping men, friends of Quinn's from work, hoisted the heavy oak desk and carried it from the second bedroom. "That it?" one of the men questioned.

"Yes, thanks. I don't know how I would've managed without you guys."

"Tell Quinn to give a holler if he needs help when he gets back."

She escorted the men to the door. "I will. Thanks again."

Meredith slipped the chain lock into place and wandered into the living room. The entertainment center crowded the furniture arrangement. She gazed at the brand new white damask couch and black lacquer, mirror-topped coffee table…not a practical choice for a home with children. Well, it couldn't be helped.

She stepped into the bare room that they'd planned as a den and winced. There wasn't enough space here for all three children.

Leaning against the door frame, she surveyed the apartment they'd splurged to rent. Their corner location provided a wonderful view of the Heartland of America Park with a glimpse of the Missouri River beyond from their bedroom. Looking out the living room and den…no, the children's room, she reminded herself…the Gene Leahy Mall with its lagoon and swans stretched westward.

The Old Market area of downtown Omaha was a vibrant part of the community. Just strolling the sidewalks, she sensed the vitality. Living here gave her a feeling of having arrived. This was a great place for a couple. They were close enough to walk to work in nice weather and not work up a sweat, but for kids.... At least there were open spaces where they could romp, but neighborhood playmates would be in short supply.

She glanced into the bedroom again. It would accommodate two twin beds and a chest of drawers just fine. She could even squeeze in the changing table, but where could she put Brittany's crib?

She walked across the living room and into the bedroom she shared with Quinn. The desk and computer, along with the file cabinet, were jammed into the corner by the closet. The crib could go under the window, but would there be enough space to walk between the crib and their bed? Shaking her head, she refused to think about how that arrangement would cramp their style.

She shrugged. She'd done her part by rearranging her carefully planned home. Quinn could wrestle with making the children's belongings fit.

* * *

After a fitful night, Meredith welcomed the obnoxious blare of her alarm clock on Friday morning. The big bed was lonely without Quinn. She missed his warm body snuggled against her. Funny how some things became ingrained habits in a short time.

Doubts plagued her. Could she pull off this family act? Heaven help her, what did she know about family life? Her own family was the worst possible role model.

She dragged herself out of bed and started her morning routine. In the short time she'd been home she'd made only a small dent in the work piled on her desk. Under other circumstances she would've worked through lunch and stayed late every evening until she got caught up, but there were too many arrangements to make. She had run errands at noon and left on time each day to juggle things here at the apartment. Everything was organized now to the best of her ability. Barring a crisis she couldn't delegate, she planned to head back to Fort Riley at five. Ready or not, tomorrow the children were moving to their new home.

* * *

Usually focused, Meredith's mind wandered as the day progressed. Until Quinn, her entire life had centered on her job. Her world revolved around the myriad details involved in running her department. She thrived on the challenge of her duties at Omaha National Life and Casualty Company. Today she saw Quinn's face on every page of the report she prepared, heard his voice no matter who spoke to her. Their separation, brief though it was, seemed interminable.

One minute she was impatient to hit the road, the next minute dread filled her. Three--count them, three--children were about to invade her home. How would she ever cope? Sheer force of will kept panic at bay. Somehow everything would work out. It had to. There was too much at stake.

Normally Meredith was one of the last to leave the department at the end of the day. Not today. At five o'clock sharp, she slung her purse strap over her shoulder, grabbed her brief case and headed home at a brisk trot, rather than her ordinary sedate pace.

She changed quickly from her business suit into a casual denim skirt and a blue and green stripped polo shirt, then snatched the overnight bag she'd packed the night before and headed to the garage.

Approaching Quinn's prized Probe Meredith noticed something wasn't quite right. The car set at a strange angle. Stepping closer, she realized the left front tire was flatter than a tortilla. Automatically, she opened the back and reached for the spare. She paused. It was after five-thirty. If she stopped to have the tire repaired now, the delay would cost her at the very least an hour, most likely longer. The more reasonable option was to drive her own car. They could deal with the flat tire when they returned tomorrow.

Decision made, Meredith turned to the two-seat, flame-red Miata parked next to the Probe. Grinning, she stroked the soft roof. She tossed her bag on the passenger seat, climbed in and turned the ignition key. The engine purred like a contented cat. The sports car, her pride and joy, was the visible symbol of the success she'd worked so hard to achieve. After all those years of putting every spare cent into schooling and the trappings necessary for professional advancement, her promotion last year had allowed her to purchase her dream car. She loved zipping around town with the top down, while the wind blew through her hair.

It wasn't until sunset turned the western sky a medley of reds and oranges that the truth dawned on Meredith. Driving the Miata was a poor decision.

* * *

Quinn stood in the window watching the quiet street. Dusk turned to darkness. The last impromptu baseball game ended and the neighborhood children drifted indoors. This was his first minute to himself all day. He peeled his damp T-shirt away from his chest. Brett had gotten carried away with the game he played during his the bath. Quinn winced. Good thing neatnik Meredith hadn't seen the flooded floor.

How in the world would they make this arrangement work? He'd seen irritation flicker in his bride's eyes every time he dropped his clothes on the bed instead of putting them away. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. He knew she was annoyed.

Patti had been an easy-going mom. Small things like scattered toys and a little water on the bathroom floor didn't bother her. Quinn didn't need much imagination to know that if--let's be realistic here--when Brett overflowed the bathtub Meredith would have a conniption fit. He thought of the dining room furniture she'd searched so hard to find. The lacquer set matched the tables in the living room. The rectangular table contained three beveled mirrors set in the top. The chair seats were snow white. He pictured sticky hand prints and spilled milk and cringed. Was he acting insensitively? Was he asking the impossible of his new wife? None of this was fair to her, but what else could he do?

He rolled his shoulders, more tired than if he'd put in a tough week at the office and then pulled a full drill weekend. Three children were more hard work than he had ever imagined. If he'd only known how much child care took out of a guy before he'd blithely committed to raise Steve's kids. It was too late now. For better or worse, the little rascals were his.

He glanced at his watch. Where was Meredith? She should be here by now. He had missed her something awful. How many times, since she had returned to Omaha, had he turned to say something to her? To share a memory, to plea for reassurance, to seek advice? It had been an arduous week, so many decisions to make. Sorting Steve's and Patti's personal effects had been the most trying thing he'd endured in a long time. He had needed Meredith's comforting presence.

A cry from the other room jerked Quinn from his reverie. He loped down the hall to the girls' room. Brittany mustn't wake Wynne. He'd learned the hard way just how impossible Wynne was if she got less than her required sleep. One grouch at a time was all he could handle.

The baby had been cranky since her mother died. Patti's child care book called it anxiety separation from the baby's special people. He figured that was a fancy name for grief. Whatever it was, he hoped the infant would settle down soon. Her bouts of endless crying were getting to him, making him doubt his ability to succeed as a father substitute for the kids.

"Hey, Sweetpea," he whispered, lifting the unhappy baby from her crib. "It's okay."

He grabbed a dry diaper off the changing table and headed straight for the kitchen, closing the door on the way out. He put Brittany's bottle on to warm, then stretched her out on the couch, a rubberized pad positioned under her bottom. He changed the wailing baby with a proficiency born of necessity and a few days practice.

As he tested the milk on his wrist like Anita had taught him, the beam of headlights swept through the front window. About time! He'd worried about Meredith driving alone more than he would ever admit out loud.

He shoved the nipple into Brittany's mouth. Blessed quiet! Cradling the tyke against his chest, he raced to the porch and waited while she parked.

* * *

With every mile Meredith drove the anxiety in her heart grew until she reeled under its weight. She passed through the post gate almost sick. It'll be all right. It'll be all right.

After a couple of wrong turns she found her way through the rabbit warren of the housing area and located Steve's quarters. Before she pulled the key from the ignition, Quinn bounded down the steps.

"Hi, Marigold." His smile wrapped her in loving warmth. "I sure am glad to see you! How was your trip?"

"Seemed to take forever." She swung her feet to the concrete. "I couldn't wait to get back."

Leaning forward, Brittany jammed between them, he kissed his wife.

Meredith pressed her lips into his and twined her arms around his neck, returning his welcome. A noisy sucking sound obscured the cicada's symphony. A tiny foot kicked her breast. Something told her the blow was a mere preview of things to come. Silently, she railed against fate. A brand new bride should be able to kiss her husband without interference.

"Let's go in before the mosquitoes gnaw us alive," Quinn said. "I'll get your bag as soon as I put Sweetpea back to bed."

Meredith followed him into the living room, overcome by awkwardness. One look at Quinn in adequate lighting revealed he hadn't had an easy week. Fatigue etched lines around his mouth and bags shadowed his eyes. For his sake, she wanted to pretend happy contentment. Could she stretch her acting capabilities that far?

Quinn dropped into a clunky recliner and continued to feed the baby. His rapt expression caught her by surprise. Why, he enjoyed cuddling that tiny creature! Despair engulfed her.

"So what's up at the office?" he asked, propping the baby against his shoulder, his big hand patting her back.

"Your boss announced he's retiring."

"I'm not surprised. He's hinted at the possibility."

A loud belch and a puddle of formula erupted from the infant's mouth. "Darn it, Sweetpea, you've christened me again. Why can't I remember not to feed you without a burp rag?"

Every crooning word stabbed Meredith's heart like the point of a rapier. She gave herself a mental pep talk. If so small a thing put her in such a tizzy she'd never make it. She'd promised to make an honest effort. That meant concentrating on the practical side and closing her heart to the sentimental stuff. She stood and stiffened her spine. Why couldn't she, just once in her life, chose an easy path? "I'll get you a towel."

"There's a cloth diaper--" Quinn gestured to the dining table "--somewhere in the clean clothes."

Meredith wove her way through the packed boxes. A mountain of laundry covered the table. Only a few pieces were folded. Just how ready to leave were they? She'd expected to find everything done when she arrived. She pulled a diaper from the teetering heap and handed it to him. "I'll finish folding these," she stifled a yawn, "while you put her back to bed."

After settling Brittany, Quinn went outside for Meredith's suitcase. Moments later he returned, his face a grim thundercloud. "Meredith! Why in the Sam Hill did you drive that toy down here?"

Her hand balled into a fist of its own volition. "That toy happens to be my car."

"You should've driven the Probe. It's got more room."

"On a flat tire!" she snapped, then closed her eyes and gulped a calming breath. Easy, Meredith. You promised to try. "I figured stopping to get it fixed would delay me too long."

His expression softened. "I guess we'll manage. I'd planned for you to take the kids in the car, while I followed in the truck."

Guilt swamped her once again. Driving the Miata had not been a deliberate choice, but she was glad she wouldn't travel home cooped up with the children.

* * *

Sated from another dose of Quinn's incredible lovemaking, Meredith closed her eyes. Hovering on the brink of sleep, a sudden terrified cry from the other room startled her.

Quinn bolted from bed and snatched his well-worn cutoffs from the floor. "Now I know why I found pajamas in Steve's drawer," he muttered, tugging on the shorts.

Long minutes crept by. Meredith resisted the urge to join him in comforting whichever child had awakened in distress. She dared not risk forming even the smallest bond with the children.

Quinn returned, shucked his shorts and crawled in beside her.

"Everything okay?" she asked, snuggling against his furry chest.

"Yeah. Brett had another nightmare."

"Another?"

"Every night. Wynne, too. And Brittany's been waking up howling. Guess she's having bad dreams and can't tell me."

"You've had a rough time."

"Theirs is worse. Go to sleep, hon. I doubt that's the last time I'll have to calm a kid tonight."

* * *

The highway stretched northward, an endless blacktop strip. Strapped in a protective car seat beside Meredith, Brittany cried piteously. The din drowned out Enya's soothing music issuing from the tape player. Meredith tried once more to satisfy the baby with her pacifier. She spit the empty nipple out again.

The poor kid. It was a safe bet her diaper needed changing. Meredith kept an eye peeled for a place to pull off the road safely. Fifteen minutes of ceaseless crying passed before a small lay-by with a picnic table came into view. She flipped on her turn signal and stopped.

It wasn't until the bright yellow rental truck disappeared over a hill that she realized neither she nor Quinn had foreseen one of them needing to stop and not being able to communicate with the other. Oh, well. She knew where she was going and how to get there. Still, when the truck vanished her heart sank. Her lifeline was miles up the road.

It would be best to get on with the task at hand. The sooner she finished, the better chance she had of catching up with Quinn and the older children. Lifting Brittany from the car seat, she encountered a damp spot too high up the child's back to have come from a leaky diaper. Of course. Thick quilted cotton lined the surrounding plastic. While the seat kept Brittany safe, it was like being wrapped in a winter coat. Meredith carried the baby to the picnic table to change her. Better let the kid cool off a bit before she had to go back in the torture seat.

Since they were stopped, Meredith rummaged in the diaper bag for the apple juice Quinn had stashed inside. With any luck, a drink would calm Brittany enough to fall asleep.

Meredith wished she could indulge in a cool beverage herself. However, this wasn't an interstate highway with decent rest areas. She'd better wait, and if she was going to catch up with Quinn, she'd better get going.

Brittany remained content as long as she sucked on her bottle, but the moment the juice was gone, she started crying again. Meredith thought she'd go crazy. Nothing she could do and still drive the car helped. Hours cooped up in a vehicle with a screaming baby were not part of her bargain with Quinn. It was a good thing he wasn't anywhere near or she'd make herself a widow.

Quinn's tired face floated in her mind and her righteous wrath faded. She was aware he'd gotten up during the night with one child or the other no less than three times. It had taken most of the morning to load the truck. She smiled to herself remembering how she'd feasted on the display of gleaming, bulging muscles while he worked. He was exhausted before they'd started north, yet he had remained patient with the children's numerous questions and obvious anxiety.

She turned onto I-80 at Lincoln and breathed a sigh of relief. In a few minutes she'd clear the city limits and could crank up the speed. The sooner they arrived in Omaha the better.

* * *

Two hours and two stops later, Meredith parked the Miata in its reserved space in their apartment garage. Now she knew the true meaning of the word frazzled. Brittany had finally cried herself to sleep ten minutes earlier.

Meredith was upset with herself for allowing the trip to turn into such a nightmare. Her renowned organizational skills had taken a powder. Of course, a little experience would've made the whole trip easier, but that was a poor excuse and no comfort. The smart thing would've been to travel with Wynne and let Brittany ride in the truck. Then Brett could have entertained her. It was another case of twenty-twenty hindsight. She surmised they'd experience a whole lot of that before Quinn and she figured out how to cope with the children.

Thinking ahead for once, she unstrapped the car seat. The crib wouldn't be set up yet. Maybe, if the gods were smiling, the little one would stay asleep at least until they unloaded everything.

The elevator opened on the eighth floor. She stepped into the hushed hallway. Opulently decorated with patterned carpet and wallpaper bordered chair rails, complementary artwork hung on the walls.

Halfway toward her own front door, Brett exploded into the corridor. "Meredith," he shouted to the top of his lungs.

"Shh! You'll wake the baby and disturb the neighbors."

He slid to a stop in front of her, a tear leaving a trail on his dusty cheek. "Me and Wynne're starvin'! There's nutin' in the fridge. Nutin'!"

Chapter 3

If one more thing went wrong, Meredith figured she'd scream. Of course, there wasn't any food in the refrigerator. Grocery shopping had ranked at the bottom of her priority list during her brief time in Omaha between trips to Fort Riley. Amidst wading through the work accumulated during her absence and making arrangements for the children, cooking had proven to be too much of a hassle. She'd opted to dine at one of the many Old Market restaurants, like she'd always done. A new consideration hit her with the impact of an elephant sitting on a ant. Another aspect of life as she'd known it was about to change. Nutritious meals geared to young palates became a high priority at that moment.

Meredith faced the distressed boy, guilt gnawing her. "I'm sorry, Brett. Let's go inside and figure out what to do."

The elevator door swished open and Quinn stepped into the hall pushing a dolly piled high with large boxes. "You made it," he said, smiling.

Although an innocent enough comment, Meredith saw red. "No thanks to you."

He strode into the apartment and unloaded the boxes on the den floor. Swinging around, he faced her, his hands planted on his hips. "Mind explaining that?"

Meredith turned to the dining alcove to the left of the front door and, using her free hand, spread a flannel receiving blanket on the mirror-topped table. Then she set Brittany, still asleep in her car seat, on the protected spot.

She faced him, anger with him, with herself, simmering inside her. "You drove off and left me."

"How was I supposed to know you were pulling over?" Quinn asked, his expression grim, although he kept his tone of voice calm. "If you'd blown your horn or something I would've stopped. When I realized you weren't behind me you were nowhere in sight."

"Of course," she hated sounding like a first class shrew, but couldn't stop herself, "it didn't occur--"

"I'm hungry!" Brett shouted, tears spilling down his face.

Quinn dropped his gaze to the child. His facial muscles softened. "C'mon, let's see what we can scare up in the kitchen."

"Ain't nutin' there," Brett announced.

Wynne, trailing her blanket, slipped wraith-like beside Quinn and wrapped her arm around his leg. Thumb in her mouth, she peered at him, her gaze beseeching.

"Is Brett right?" Quinn asked.

"Pretty much," Meredith said. "We didn't stock the refrigerator before we left."

"You didn't shop this week?" His tone carried an accusatory note.

She shook her head.

He extended a hand to each child. "I'll show you where you can wash your hands, then we'll go out for supper."

"Shouldn't we finish unloading first?" Meredith asked. "It'll be dark soon."

"These kids are hungry now. We'll empty the truck after we eat."

He was right. An overwhelming sense of ineptitude assailed her. She wanted to crawl under a rock. After listening to a screaming baby for miles on end, her head was pounding. She wasn't thinking straight, but the problem was more than her headache. She felt as if she was floundering in the dark with only the smallest pinprick of light to guide her.

Darn it all. She was doing the best she could. She wasn't proficient with children. When she and Quinn had moved their things to this place they'd worked until the job was finished, then eaten. He could cut her a little slack.

Moments later, the trio returned. "Where're my car keys?" Quinn asked.

Meredith reached for her purse. "Right here. But, uh...there's a small problem."

He groaned, his face the thundercloud she was beginning to know so well. "Flat tire on the one vehicle big enough to hold us all."

She clutched her purse to her chest. If she'd planned ahead she would've shopped. If she'd thought beyond the immediacy of getting on the road, she would've changed the dog gone tire. What a time to blow her always-prepared reputation. "Why don't you guys set the table and I'll run to Cubby's Market and bring something back."

Quinn's glower could've eaten a hole in her. "Okay."

Meredith backed out the door with a silent vow to do a better job of keeping her end of their bargain--beginning right now. "I'll hurry."

* * *

Meredith's glance shifted from the closed bedroom door to the clock plopped in hit-or-miss fashion on the coffee table. It was almost ten p.m. Her knees wobbled and her back ached. Brett and Wynne were asleep in the queen-sized bed in the master bedroom, Brittany in the playpen crammed under the window.

She sighed. What a mess! The apartment was overrun with the children's belongings, and she had not yet found the perfect spot for their wedding gifts. She craved order. She needed order. Well, standing here staring at the chaos wouldn't make the clutter go away.

Yawning, she searched among the boxes Quinn had brought from Fort Riley until she found the children's sheets. He should be almost finished fitting the bed pieces together.

"Marigold, can you give me a hand?" His voice contained none of his earlier huff. Funny how a little food had tamed the snarling beast. Quinn might have a short fuse, but he got over his anger quickly.

You always knew where you stood with Quinn. She should take lessons. She tended to brood over things until they were blown all out of proportion.

"Sure." She dropped the linens on a chest of drawers. "What do you need?"

He cast her a leer so hot she all but evaporated on the spot.

"Besides that." A grin tilted her lips upward in spite of herself. The man had a one track mind.

"You're no fun!"

"What I am is tired and so are you. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can go to bed."

"Now you're talking. Hold these--" he indicated Wynne's white gilt-edged headboard and the railing which held the springs "--while I tighten the bolts."

They worked together another hour before the beds were assembled. Brett's pine mate's bed occupied the corner under the west window. Wynne's four poster filled the middle of the room. Meredith yawned, like she had every few seconds for the last hour, and shook her head. The room arrangement distressed her. "If we put a screen down the middle, it'll seem like they each have their own room. More like at home."

"Yeah," Quinn laughed. "I can picture it now. Their first scuffle and the screen will come crashing down, on top of one of their heads most likely. Don't fret about it tonight. Neither of us is awake enough to think straight." He patted her back and gave a gentle shove toward the door. "Hop in the shower. I'll move the kids."

* * *

A strident cry woke Quinn from a sound sleep. It seemed like he'd closed his eyes just a moment ago. The bright blue numerals on the clock radio confirmed that was close to the truth.

He'd envisioned transferring the children a simple task. Not so. Brett roused, just enough to protest with flailing arms and legs and muttered complaints. Quinn played bob and duck, staving off a black eye or broken nose, while he staggered across the living room. The commotion awakened both Brittany and Wynne. Thirty minutes passed before they were all settled.

It was another lesson learned. When Brett and Wynne went down for the night, they'd better be in their own beds. Thank heaven Brittany had proven more flexible.

Quinn reacted to the crying like an old firehouse dog responding to the alarm. In one short week his actions had become pure reflex. He was on his feet, reaching for his cutoffs, before he realized Brittany was the child awake. He changed her--not an easy task while bending over the side of the play pen--speaking nonsense words in calming tones. In a few moments, she drifted back to sleep.

He crawled back in bed, his eyelids already drooping. He burrowed against Meredith's soft body, treasuring her closeness and soothed by her flowery scent. His heart swelled...he drifted off before he finished the thought.

At ten to six, Brett screamed in terror. Quinn sped across the apartment and stubbed his toe on one of the packing boxes. Muttering a curse suitable to the barracks, he came within a hare's breath of regretting his bargain with Meredith. Sure would be nice to nudge her in the ribs to remind her it was her turn to get up, but not nice enough to risk a further strain on their relationship.

So far she'd given every indication of meaning exactly what she had said. She had made no attempt to interact with the children any more than necessary. She wore the same aloof mantle that had earned her the ice princess tag at Omaha National. He wanted the sweet, loving woman he's found under all that ice back.

He eased Brett against the wall and climbed in bed with him, too tired to sit on the edge while he reassured the grieving boy. These jack-in-the-box nights better end soon, or he wouldn't be worth shooting. He cuddled Brett close, and they both returned to the arms of Morpheus.

* * *

A cooing sound coming from somewhere near the foot of the bed roused Meredith. She reached over to prod Quinn. Her hand encountered the cool sheet, not warm flesh. Cracking one eyelid, she noted a sliver of sunlight glowing around the edge of the shade. No light shone under the bathroom door. Except for Brittany's babble, the apartment was quiet. Wherever Quinn had gotten to, he'd hear her in a minute. Meredith closed her eye, prepared to go back to sleep.

Brittany had other ideas, however. Her cheerful noise turned to fussing. Where was Quinn? Resigned that sleep was over, Meredith hauled herself out of bed. The baby's fussing changed to indignant crying the second Meredith's feet hit the floor. The sounds grated on her nerves. After yesterday's experience she wasn't about to let the baby get wound up again. Meredith leaned over the play pen and lifted Quinn's youngest charge, holding her at arm's length.

Brittany stopped crying and flashed a just-what-I-wanted smile. Meredith's heart melted. Before she could stop herself, she cuddled the baby close and kissed the top of her down-covered head. Only the coldest, meanest woman on earth could resist such a sweet gift.

Was Quinn flaked out on the couch? She opened the bedroom door and peeked into the living room, darkened by the closed drapes. Not there. Or in the kitchen either. The only place left was the children's room.

She found Quinn scrunched up next to Brett in the twin size bed dead to the world, his feet hanging over the footboard. The once-brilliant hues of the Sesame Street characters sheet covered his body from the waist down. She stifled a giggle, not only at the Gulliver in Lilliput image, but the incongruity of the Muppet monsters protecting a soldier.

Sleep softened his features, and the dark shadow of his whiskers hid his dimples. Morning radiance spilled through the spot where the curtains weren't quite pulled together and spotlighted his broad shoulders. His dark chest hair enticed her to plow her fingers in the curly tangle. Heavens! Even sound asleep he managed to tempt her. What she'd give to be able to crawl in beside him and tease him awake. Her churning arousal would have to wait. She realized this wouldn't be the last time she'd lament their lack of privacy.

She noticed the purplish smudges under his eyes. It was just as well this wasn't the right time to make love. He looked almost as tired as when he'd gone to bed. Shame beset her. Again last night, she'd remained snuggled under the sheets and let him drag himself out of bed time and again in answer to one or another of the children's cries. Quinn needed sleep more than anything else. She didn't have the heart to wake him until he had just enough time to eat, change the tire and get ready for Sunday worship.

He wouldn't miss church. If she knew anything about her husband, she knew that.

Brett woke up and reached out to touch Quinn. Meredith put a finger to her lips and shook her head, then beckoned with her hand.

Her resolve to keep the little ones at arms length slipped a notch. Well, darn. What was she supposed to do? Let the poor guy wear himself to a nubbin while she stood around and watched? It was her fault he had to change the tire before church. If she'd taken care of the flat when she first discovered the problem, he could see to the children and get ready on time.

Still, the knowledge that she was a potential child abuser terrified her. In the few hours since they had moved into the apartment, it was obvious all of them were going to live on top of each other. She couldn't keep her distance, at least not in the way she'd envisioned. Brett, Wynne and Brittany were a part of her life, whether she liked it or not. She'd have to watch herself. Think first, speak and act second. Otherwise she'd lose Quinn.

That was unthinkable.

* * *

Groggy, Quinn needed a few moments to identify the weight centered across his middle. A child sat on top of him. A small hand stroked his cheek.

"Ouch! You scratch, Quinn."

"Go 'way, Wynnie Pooh. I'm sleeping."

"Merith says break'ast." Wynne slid to the floor and yanked on his arm. "C'mon."

"Okay, okay." He sat up and rubbed his gritty eyes. The rich aroma of fresh-brewed coffee urged him awake. Only then did it penetrate his foggy brain that he was in the kid's room. He threw back the sheet and stood. Scraping his hand across his stubbled chin, he glanced down at his cutoffs, zipped but unbuttoned at the waist. At least he was decent.

Sunday morning, already. Where had the week gone? He was tempted to skip church this morning but he wouldn't. No way. Steve and Patti had taken their children to Sunday School and worship services every week. Quinn intended to continue as they'd started.

That meant he needed to change the flat tire first.

"Quinn," Wynne tugged on his hand. "Break'ast!"

He stumbled after the fairy-like girl. "Lead me to the coffee, Wynnie Pooh."

Quinn shuffled toward the coffee pot in a half-awake stupor. He filled the over-sized souvenir mug Meredith had bought him in Colorado and downed half in two deep swigs. Caffeine jolted him awake.

He blinked, but the scene before him didn't change. What the Sam Hill? Three small kids were gathered around the dining table. His wife was feeding the baby. The contentment glowing on her face hammered him right in the gut. For a woman who had sworn up and down that she was no good with children, who insisted she didn't want anymore to do with them than necessary, she looked mighty happy, more than happy in fact. She looked beautiful. Her mahogany hair was sleep-tousled, her face devoid of make-up, her robe stained with baby cereal. Yet, the inner loveliness she hid more often than not, showed this morning with a brilliance he'd never seen before. Free of their wide-eyed, sharp-eared, impressionable audience he would've acted on the emotions she stirred in him. Later, he promised himself, he'd kiss her like she ought to be kissed and tell her the things that burned in his heart.

Instead he leaned over Meredith's chair, draped his arms around her neck and nuzzled a circumspect kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"You scratch," she accused.

"So I've been told. You women--" he winked at Wynne "--are all alike. Don't give a guy a chance to shave, then complain when he scratches. At least this little lady loves me," he said and bussed Brittany's cheek.

The baby started to cry, her dainty hand touching her soft cheek.

"Now see what you've done," Meredith exclaimed, laughing.

"I'll feed her," Quinn offered. "You should've wakened me earlier."

"I hated to disturb you. Go ahead and eat. I'll finish this." She loaded a long-handled feeding spoon with strained peaches and aimed for Brittany's rosebud mouth. "Here, Sweetpea."

Puzzled, he wasn't awake enough to understand what was going on. Could Meredith be softening toward the children? Or was she doing her best to take care of him? He frowned and shook Cheerios into the bowl at his place.

"Sorry about breakfast," Meredith said. "I was in a hurry to get home while the deli chicken was hot last night. I guessed at what the children like."

"This is fine, honey. We'll have a family conference later and find out their preferences. Pass the doughnuts, please, Brett."

"My dad likes doughnuts," Brett announced. He spoke in an undertone, as if afraid to mention his father.

Quinn exchanged a glance with Meredith. Her dismayed expression told him she'd noticed Brett's use of the present tense also. He turned his full attention on the boy. "You bet he did. At Boys Town all the kids helped with the grocery shopping and Steve always made sure we bought doughnuts."

He caught sight of the kitchen clock. They'd be late if he didn't get a move on. "Hurry and finish, Brett. I need your help changing the tire so we can go to church."

* * *

Quinn assembled the jack and inserted it in the proper notch in the bumper. Each clicking pump of the handle raised the Probe higher in the air. "My dad wants a Corvette," Brett stated. "Mom said no."

That didn't surprise Quinn. Steve had always dreamed of owning a fast sports car. The closest he'd come was a beat up Mustang convertible.

"A Corvette wasn't practical for a guy with three kids."

"My dad likes kids better than cars."

"He sure did." Quinn loosened a lug nut with the spin of the wrench. How should he respond to the boy's grief? It was as if Brett couldn't accept that his father was really gone. Quinn didn't claim any expertise, but instinct told him not to go along with the fantasy. He dropped the lug in the hub cap Brett held and looked the child in the eye. "Brett, your dad is dead. He can't come back. He and your mom are in heaven."

Tears spilled from the little boy's eyes. "I want my dad and mom."

The abject sadness on Brett's face, in his voice, tore at Quinn's heart. He missed Steve and Patti, too--missed them more than he knew words to express--but it wasn't the same. He remembered how lost and alone he'd felt when his grandmother died and he'd been sent to live among strangers. At least he'd prevented Steve's kids that fate. He couldn't replace Brett's parents, but he could--and did--love the young Duttons in a way no court-appointed foster parents could. He dropped the wrench and reached for the boy. "C'mere, ace. I need a hug."

* * *

The morning sun shimmered on the stained glass windows adorning the small stone church where he and Meredith had been married. Quinn parked on the street in front. He got out and flipped the seat back forward, enabling Brett to climb out. Since they'd changed the Probe's tire, the boy hadn't shaken his melancholy. It worried Quinn. Nothing he'd tried so far had helped.

Meredith helped Wynne out on the other side.

He crawled in the back seat and lifted Brittany from the car seat and banged his head on the door frame as he straightened. Two-door cars were the pits for hauling a young family. Diaper bag slung over his shoulder, he started up the walk to the church door. Brett stood rooted to the sidewalk.

"C'mon, ace."

"No! I'm not goin' in there with the coffins."

"There aren't any coffins in the church, Brett," Meredith said, annoyance clear in her voice. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"No!" The boy stomped his foot, his face contorted in fear. "I'm not goin' in there."

"Brett! We'll be late," Meredith scolded.

"Here," Quinn said, passing the baby to his wife, "take Brittany and Wynne inside. Brett and I will be along in minute."

He thought Meredith would refuse, but she took Brittany from him. He watched until she and the girls reached the door, then crouched and took both Brett's hands. "What's wrong, son?"

"Don't like coffins."

"Remember, we took the coffins from the church to the cemetery."

Traffic whizzed by. A blue jay squawked from a linden tree in the yard. An elderly couple skirted Quinn and Brett on their way inside. Finally Brett nodded.

"There won't be coffins in the church this morning."

Quinn stood. Still the child didn't budge. Lord, how do I handle this? "Let's take a walk. We'll go in when you're ready."

Hand in hand they strolled up the block. "If your dad and mom were here what would you do on Sunday morning?" Quinn asked.

"Go to church."

"Don't you think that's what they'd want you to do today?"

Brett considered for a moment. "Uh-huh."

They reached the corner and turned around. "I promise there are no coffins in the church today," Quinn repeated. "Don't you think we should go find Meredith and your sisters?"

The boy stopped and seemed to screw up his courage. "You promise?"

He held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."

"Okay."

* * *

"I wanna go to the cemetery," Brett said from the back seat on their way home from church.

What's with this child? Meredith couldn't fathom the boy's behavior. First he didn't want to see the caskets, now he wanted to go to the cemetery. It made no sense, but then grief wasn't logical. She watched Quinn, his struggle for an appropriate answer almost visible.

"The cemetery is in Kansas. We can't drive down there today, but we will one day soon if you want."

"Tomorrow?"

"No, Meredith and I have to work tomorrow. On a Saturday."

"Next Saturday?"

"Let's wait until the markers are in place. You want to see your mom's and dad's names don't you?"

"Uh-huh."

Meredith was awed that Quinn handled this bizarre conversation so well. If she were fielding the boy's incessant pronouncements and questions, she would've lost patience a long time ago. As it was, she wanted to tell Brett to hush, they'd talked about it enough. She remained silent, aware that this was part of the child's healing process.

"After lunch we need to unpack your stuff," Quinn said. "If you work real hard helping, when Brittany wakes up from her nap, we'll go to the park and ride the boat out to the fountain. Okay?"

"Okay!"

Meredith welcomed the enthusiasm in his reply.

Quinn parked on a cobblestoned street in the Old Market not far from the apartment. The sidewalk teamed with people, tourists and residents alike. "I thought we'd eat lunch at the Spaghetti Works. Okay?"

"Fine by me," Meredith said. "While you and the children are unpacking, I'll run to the grocery store. We can't afford to eat out all the time."

"Good idea."

They trooped inside and were seated at a table separated from the others by three walls.

"This is a family conference," Quinn said after they ordered. "Meredith has to buy groceries and she needs to know what to get. What's your favorite food, Brett?"

"Chocolate cake and pizza."

Meredith swallowed a chuckle and dug in her purse for a notepad and pen.

"How 'bout a vegetable?"

Brett wrinkled his nose. "Don't like none."

"Don't like any," Quinn corrected. "Are you sure? What about lima beans?"

Brett shook his head.

"Cauliflower?"

"Cuddyfuddy's yucky!"

"Cuddyfuddy?" Meredith questioned.

"Steve's name for cauliflower," Quinn supplied. "He called it that as long as I knew him. Don't know where it came from." He turned back to Brett. "You can't go through life without eating veggies. You need 'um to grow big and strong. So tell me one you'll eat."

The boy grimaced. "Corn, I guess."

Quinn grinned and focused his attention on the little girl in the booster seat next to him. "Your turn, Wynnie Pooh."

The thumb in her mouth garbled her reply. He reached over and pulled her hand down. "Say it again. I can't understand when you talk around your thumb."

"Peas and scetti-os."

Meredith wrote until the waiter arrived with their food. By teasing them, Quinn had not only provided her a list of their likes, but he'd gotten them to reveal some emphatic dislikes. It was clear her meal planning required a dramatic change. Spinach soufflé, stir-fried shrimp and watercress salad would have to wait for an adults only dinner.

* * *

By the end of the week, they'd established a routine of sorts. After Monday morning's frantic rush to get all five of them out the door, Meredith realized her good luck. The same day care had accepted all three children, which meant only one stop. However, the center was located in mid-town, an inconvenience that meant dragging out the car even though Quinn and she usually walked to work. Maybe someday an enterprising soul would open a child care facility downtown, but at the moment the resurgence of dwellings was geared to singles, young childless couples and empty nesters.

Friday evening, Meredith punched the start button on the dishwasher and wandered into the living room, savoring the temporary quiet. She plopped on the white damask couch more tired than she cared to admit. BC--before children, as she'd begun dating events prior to two weeks ago--Friday had been her night to play. During their courtship and engagement, she and Quinn had stopped at M's Pub or Billy Frogg's with his friends after work on Friday. Afterward, the two of them ate dinner out somewhere followed by a movie or window shopping at one of the malls. Tonight she didn't have the energy, even if a baby-sitter had, by some miracle, appeared.

She'd spent each evening this week unpacking and rearranging between calls from the office, while Quinn took the children to the slides on the Gene Leahy Mall or to romp on the grassy hillside at the Heartland of America Park.

After much thought, she'd rigged a large fish net from the ceiling, dividing the children's bedroom in half. Quinn had warned both the older children not to swing, hang or otherwise support their weight from the net. Would the warning have any impact? Time would tell. At least if the net tumbled down, no one would get hurt.

Glancing around the living room, a strange feeling overcame her. The place was wall-to-wall furniture. The elegant lacquer tables with their mirrored tops bore numerous hand prints. She picked up one of the couch pillows from the floor. Although the apartment did not meet the show place standard she had worked so hard to create, a homey atmosphere existed. Maybe once she recovered from her sense of loss, she'd fully appreciate that simple fact.

Her gaze strayed to the window. The view of the Woodmen Tower, Omaha's tallest building, framed by the final slashes of another incredible Nebraska sunset filled her with peace. Like the sunset, her respite wouldn't last long. Quinn would return with the noisy crew soon. Even when the children weren't boisterous, the walls seemed to vibrate from their energy. She wondered if she'd ever get used to the constant hum of activity.

In the quiet time remaining, Meredith decided to figure out what she needed from the grocery store tomorrow. The kitchen lacked abundant cabinet space. If she served food they liked, the children ate well. Consequently, after less than a week, the cupboards were close to bare. She dragged herself off the couch and back to the kitchen, notepad in hand.

Minutes later the apartment door burst open, the stillness shattered by chattering voices and the rumble of wheels that accompanied each child. Brett pushed his bicycle complete with training wheels into the entry. Wynne followed riding her clackity Big Wheels and Quinn brought up the rear pushing Brittany in her stroller.

"Okay, you two," he addressed the older kids, "park the vehicles in your room. Bath time."

"Ah, Quinn. Do we havta?" Brett whined. "I don't wanna take a bath."

Meredith didn't to need to look at the filthy child to know he needed a bath. He smelled of little boy sweat and plain old dirt. How in the world he managed to get so grimy in one short hour, she'd never know.

Quinn fixed the boy with the stare Meredith now recognized as don't-argue-soldier-that's-an-order, but said nothing.

If Brett had figured out that quibbling with Quinn got him nowhere, he chose to contest the directive anyway. "Don't want a bath."

"We aren't going to the zoo tomorrow," Quinn said as if he were making a passing comment on the weather. He locked an arm around Brett's waist and braced the boy, horizontal to the floor, against his hip. Brett kicked and fought, but Quinn marched to the bathroom. "Don't know why you have to do everything the hard way."

Meredith shook her head and bit her tongue, the urge to paddle Brett's bottom great. It wasn't the first time he'd tested Quinn's authority. Lord help them--and her poor tongue--when the child reached his teens if this behavior continued. She hoped Brett was seeking the boundaries and would soon accept that Quinn wasn't likely to back down. Her resistance to interfere wore thinner with each incident. Only her mistrust of her unruly tongue kept her quiet.

Brittany cried. "I'll get her as soon as I dump this kid in the tub," Quinn called over his shoulder.

Meredith picked up the baby, telling herself she was too tired to listen to the little one cry. She held the baby close, a warm fuzzy feeling engulfing her. She tried, but no rationalization explained her contentment. "I've got Brittany. You concentrate on the other two."

She and Quinn would never have any quiet time, just the two of them, until the children were down for the night. By taking care of Brittany, she just added precious moments to their evening together.

Meredith bathed the baby in the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, then fed her a bottle. She laid Brittany in the crib, which had replaced the play pen under the window at the foot of their bed. Covering her with a light blanket, Meredith left the room, easing the door closed behind her.

Wynne, her blonde hair a halo of damp curls around her head, stood in the middle of the living room, dressed in a pink, cotton-knit nightgown. The bottom ruffle caressed her ankles. Thumb in her mouth, her beloved "blanky" clutched in a wad against her chest, she looked so cute Meredith wanted to hug the stuffing out of her.

"Merith, say prayers with me? Peese."

Meredith dissolved in a puddle. How could she maintain her distance when the tot tugged at her heart strings? No way could she brush Wynne aside and not feel like the biggest heel on the planet. "All right."

She followed Wynne into the bedroom. Quinn sat on the floor beside Brett's bed, deep in discussion with the boy. Wynne knelt and folded her delicate hands. Meredith waited. The child remained silent.

"Now I lay me," a deep voice prompted from over Meredith's shoulder.

"Now I lay me..." Wynne repeated.

Meredith cringed. She remembered that prayer from her childhood. Had Quinn left his brain at the office? The line "if I should die before I wake" had always given her the willies. To teach those words to a child who'd just lost both parents was horrible.

"Keep me safe throughout the night..." Wynne singsonged.

The phrase jerked Meredith from her mental tirade. Thank goodness Quinn had changed the words. She should've known he wouldn't do anything to damage the children. It bothered her that she'd jumped to a conclusion that was out of character for the man she loved. Where was her trust? She knew he always acted in Brett's, Wynne's and Brittany's best interest.

The children lived with them. What more proof did she need?

Wynne scrambled into bed, lifting Meredith from her troubled thoughts. She leaned over and smoothed the sheet over the girl. Wynne sat up and latched her arms around Meredith's neck. "I luv you, Merith."

"Oh, Wynne." As if of their own volition, Meredith's arms closed around Wynne's slight body. This was wrong, yet Meredith couldn't stop herself. The sooner she left the room, the better. "Goodnight. Sleep tight. Night, Brett," she called.

She fled, trembling inside. Nothing was going according to her plan. She'd lost control of her life, and worst of all, of her emotions. Remaining aloof was her only salvation, yet her resolve kept eroding, bit by bit.

Quinn's hand clasped her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Was she that transparent? She couldn't tell him. If she did, he'd worm her secret from her. That must never happen. "Of course."

She twirled around and walked her fingers up his chest to the open vee of his polo shirt. Her nails skimmed his skin, then she tugged the tuft of hair peeking through the opening. She licked her lips and cocked her head in what she hoped was a sultry tilt. "Just anxious to have you all to myself."

He hauled her close, locking his arms around her. He slanted his mouth over hers. His tongue dallied with hers. She melted against him, the hard ridge of his arousal pressed against her stomach. She struggled for breath. All the trials and annoyances of the week evaporated in the heat of his kiss. What started as a ploy to prevent his probing further, soon reasserted itself as the reason for her existence. She couldn't live without his cocky grin, his incendiary touch, his deep love. At one time the knowledge had frightened her. Now she accepted the inviolate truth, determined that nothing, especially her secret, would come between them.

Quinn stepped back and caught her hand, leading her to their bedroom. He removed her clothes, the process slow and teasing. She returned the favor, just as slowly, just as teasingly. He laid her across the bed and blew on her stomach, as if she were a toddler. Meredith retaliated, tickling him under the arm where she knew she'd get a reaction. They rolled and tumbled, giggling like happy children.

Brittany stirred and whimpered in her sleep. Meredith froze.

After a few seconds, Quinn expelled a pent up breath. "It's okay. She's asleep."

He wrapped his arms around his wife, prepared to resume their lovemaking. …only it was like hugging the ironing board. So they were back to that. He sighed. Every time he'd tried to make love to her this week, she'd frozen. It was always a different excuse. She was tired. She had a headache. Her back hurt. Trite explanations, but given that they were moving furniture, working and adjusting to a brand new life, they seemed reasonable. He'd resolved to remain patient. This time she'd started their dalliance, and by darn they were going to finish it.

"What's wrong?" he said in a fierce undertone.

"Shh! You'll wake the baby."

He rolled off the bed and strode to the closet. He grabbed both their robes, tossed Meredith hers and jammed his arms into the sleeves of his own. Squeezing around the crib, he stopped long enough to drag her off the bed and into the living room.

She stared at the floor.

"I repeat," his tone more gentle than before, "what's wrong? Do I turn you off?"

Her head jerked up. "Oh, no."

"Then what?"

She looked toward the window, at the painting hanging over the couch and at last at him. "I--I just can't let go when there's another person in the room."

"That other person is a sleeping infant. She doesn't know what's going on. And if she did, she wouldn't understand."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just can't help it."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"What's to say. There's no other place to put her. I thought if I kept trying, I'd get used to having her there. Only it hasn't worked."

Quinn pressed his lips together. "If that's the case, the baby will have to go. I want my wife back."

Chapter 4

"What!" Meredith dropped into one of the matching raspberry red upholstered chairs.

"You heard me," Quinn said. "Brittany's not staying in our room. We deserve our privacy."

"I agree. So where do you propose we put her? Swing the crib hammock-style from the ceiling? We can't cram her in Brett's and Wynne's room."

Quinn paced the perimeter of the living room, assessing the few inches of bare space. The royal blue love seat and club chair with its matching ottoman, plus the entertainment center intended for their den were stuffed into a room already furnished adequately. He saw one possibility--over by the front door next to the coat closet. The closet, covered by bi-fold doors, could only be opened from one side if the crib were shoved in the corner. He scanned the room again, searching for any other plausible solution and shook his head. There just wasn't another spot big enough for Brittany's bed.

He sprawled in the club chair, more than one kind of frustration, gnawing at him. "Over by the door," he said, jerking his head in that direction.

Meredith's skeptical expression didn't need words.

"I know it's not the best solution. Have you got a better one?"

"No," she admitted. "But I don't see how your idea will work. Brittany sleeps more than anyone in the family."

Progress! She referred to them as a family.

"If we move the crib out here, the poor child might as well sleep in the middle of O'Hare airport," Meredith continued. "We can't make everyone go to bed whenever the baby naps."

He heaved a sigh. "You're right. We need a bigger place."

"Quinn, we signed a year's lease little more than a month ago. Even if we could sublet, we can't afford a three bedroom apartment."

He propped his forehead on his hand, his favorite thinking pose. "What if...no that won't work. How 'bout letting her nap during the day in our room. We'll move her out here when we go to bed."

"And shuffle the crib from one room to the other every day? The neighbors below would just love that."

"She can nap in the playpen. At least until we figure out a better solution."

Meredith nodded. "Not ideal, but it'll have to do for the time being. I guess we should be thankful Brittany isn't grouchy when her sleep is interrupted like the other two."

Quinn grinned, pleased beyond reason that Meredith had noted the little quirks in the kid's personalities. For the first time, a ray of hope pricked the hazard of losing her. Another thought darted through his mind, and his grin faded. What would he do if she concluded she couldn't cope with their ready-made family? Don't even think it. "I'll move the crib in the morning."

He rose from the chair and sauntered to her. Extending his hand, he grinned. "We have unfinished business," he said, pulling Meredith to her feet.

Her hazel eyes sparkled gold with laughter. "And where do you propose to complete this unfinished business?"

"Nothing wrong with the couch."

"I beg to differ. We'd end up with a thud on the floor for sure."

"Aw, Marigold. You're a party pooper."

She slid her hands inside his robe and massaged his chest. In the blink of his eye, the titillating sensation sped straight along his nerve endings to his groin.

Devilment gleamed in her eyes. She moistened her lips and untied the belt on his terry robe. "There's nothing wrong with starting on the floor," she drawled.

* * *

Meredith sat on the carpet, her back against the couch. The stereo played soft rock in the background. Stacks of clean clothes surrounded her. How the devil did three small children create such a horrendous amount of laundry? Brittany, lying on a quilt beside her, rolled over and batted down a stack of peewee-sized jockey shorts. "Oh no, you don't, my friend," Meredith chided, moving the underwear and a stack of Quinn's T-shirts out the baby's reach. "I don't have time to do this job more than once."

Brittany beamed a big, two-toothed smile and blew a bubble. Meredith's heart caught. What a sweetie! She reached over and tickled the baby's tummy. "Pretty proud of yourself, huh kiddo?"

Brittany crowed a happy shriek. Two weeks ago Meredith wouldn't have believed the infant possessed such a sunny disposition.

The children were adjusting to their new home, slowly but surely. In fact, Brittany had settled in pretty well. She now slept through the night, from the time they moved her to the living room until the family was up and rattling around in the morning.

The front door lock tumbled, and Brett stomped in, his clothes, like Wynne's, wet and covered in sand. The boy's face was screwed up in a scowl. "My dad would let me stay out after dark and catch fireflies."

"Sorry, kid. You have to get up early in the morning and go to day care," Quinn said, his voice calm and even, despite an impatience-born furrow between his eyebrows.

Before Meredith could open her mouth to tell the children to stop right where they were, Wynne scooted around the guys and darted across the room. She tromped over a pile of folded bed linens, scattering sand in all directions and leaving muddy smudges on the Battenburg lace trimmed sheets. Catching her toe in the stack of towels, Wynne landed in a damp heap in Meredith's lap.

"Merith! We feeded the fish and saw a big--" her blue eyes wide, her arms reached as high as she could "--big horsy and we went down the slide. And we fell in the water. Quinn's a meanie. He maked us come home."

Wynne's tale tumbled from her mouth so fast Meredith had a hard time following the story, mainly because she was concentrating hard on stifling the explosion boiling inside her. She clenched her jaw and counted to ten, then to twenty, throwing in 'Mississippi' between each number. The ploy's supposed calming effect failed. In two seconds flat this sweet little angel had destroyed two loads of laundry! Nearly two hours of her valuable time down the drain. She bit her tongue and breathed deeply.

Her anger held on a tight leash, Meredith forced herself to hug Wynne. "I'm glad you had a good time, Wynnie Pooh. It's time for your bath now."

She struggled to her feet and gave the girl a gentle push in Quinn's direction. Without waiting to see if he had corralled the children, she walked, her spine taut, into her bedroom and closed the door. She didn't slam it, yet the sound of the latch hitting the striker plate reverberated in her ears.

Her gaze caught the backlog of employee evaluations on the computer desk. Her team, twelve members strong, required a detailed performance review yearly. Each one took hours and hours to write, and they were due next week. The muscles at the base of her skull tightened, sending shooting pain into her head and neck. She threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillow. She couldn't cry, wouldn't cry, she vowed around the thickness in her throat. She'd give herself a minute or two to calm down, then she'd head for the computer. At the moment she couldn't face the children. Or Quinn.

Whatever had possessed him to let Brett and Wynne get in the water. The man needed his head examined. The lagoon wasn't the cleanest spot to start with, and then they had tracked all that sand from the foot of the slides, not only all over the apartment, but into the public areas of the building as well.

Well, she'd face the mess later--after Quinn put the children to bed. At least she'd managed not to yell at Wynne. Congratulations, Meredith. You didn't emulate your mother. How did Quinn stay so calm when dealing with Brett and Wynne? He didn't raise his voice, nor did he threaten, yet the children minded him for the most part. He was a natural parent. She was the exact opposite. The fact that she didn't possess parenting skills shouldn't have mattered to her, since she didn't plan to parent these or any children, but her deficiency mattered, mattered a whole lot. She couldn't imagine anything she wanted more, or feared more, than motherhood. She felt like a complete failure.

Meredith comforted herself in the fact that she was good at her job. It was cold comfort, a poor substitute for her impossible dream.

The more she stewed, the more her head throbbed. She reached around with both hands and rubbed her neck. Without warning, her hands were pushed aside and replaced by bigger, less soft ones.

In her self-absorption she hadn't heard Quinn come in.

"The sheets are in the washer," he said, working the kinks from her muscles. "I'll vacuum the floor in the morning."

"You don't need to do my jobs. That wasn't our agreement."

"So? I thought you could use a hand."

"Well...thanks." Why couldn't he let her wallow in self-pity? The amount of work the three little ones created without half trying threatened to overwhelm her. The laundry alone was a full time job, not to mention the housework. It took her the half day a week she used to spend whisking through her whole cleaning routine, just to remove fingerprints from the lacquer, glass and walls, but no, Quinn tried his best to make things easier for her.

She sighed. She really did appreciate his thoughtfulness when she wasn't trying to work up a self-righteous anger. Instant parenthood couldn't be any easier on him than it was on her.

"I didn't intend for the kids to get all wet," Quinn said. "They were feeding the fish." His fingers continued their magic, easing the tightness at the base of her skull.

Meredith's pain diminished to a tolerable degree. Another few minutes of bliss and she'd feel like tackling the evaluations.

"One of the horse-mounted policemen rode by and stopped to chat," Quinn continued. "Wynne shied away from the horse and backed into the water. Before I could grab her, Brett hollered 'I'll save ya!' and wadded in after her. He slipped on the submerged bricks and they both went down."

"At least they're not hurt."

"They weren't in any danger. The officer had complete control of the horse and the water's shallow."

Meredith rolled over and sat up. "Thanks for the massage. Now I've got work to do."

Then, as if the starch dissolved from her spine, she flopped back on the mattress. "Where's Brittany?"

Quinn had wondered when she would remember the baby. "Sound asleep in her crib."

"Oh."

He wasn't sure what reaction he had expected from her, but this almost indifference wasn't it. He got the impression she'd like to shrug her shoulders and ignore the children, but she couldn't quite do it. Give her time. This whole family business was still new.

He picked up his Command and General Staff course correspondence manual from his nightstand. Military training in the Reserve required study on his own time. "I'll leave you to those evals. I have to get cracking on this."

Meredith swung her feet to the floor. "Mmm."

Quinn moved to the door.

"Where're you going? Brittany's asleep. You can't rattle around out there."

"Reading quietly won't bother her."

"It won't bother me if you read in here."

He clapped his hand over his heart. "You wound me, Marigold. Being in the same room with you sure bothers me."

"You goof! Get out of here and let me get my work done."

He blew her a kiss and headed for his easy chair. Propping his feet on the ottoman, he opened the text, but his mind wouldn't settle on the printed page. Something wasn't right with Meredith, although he couldn't put his finger on the problem. Wynne had trashed the clean laundry before he had a chance to stop her. The kid moved faster than Emmitt Smith heading for the goal line. What had Meredith done about it? Not one damn thing. Not a word of admonishment, not a swat on the seat, nothing. Oh, she'd been angry all right. He hadn't missed her clenched jaw. But all she'd done was get up and leave the room, after hugging the kid, for Pete's sake. What kind of discipline was that?

Come to think of it, she seemed to have a problem correcting either of the older children. Guess he'd better have a talk with her. Steve would never allow his kids to run roughshod over anybody. Quinn had no intention of permitting that kind of behavior either. The whole bunch of them needed the guidelines spelled out before he drilled next weekend and left Meredith to cope with the gang all on her own. He sure didn't want a disaster from the get go.

Tomorrow night after supper he'd call a family conference to set up a list of rules. That decided, he picked up the manual again.

* * *

Brett shoved his plate toward the center of the table and slid from his chair. "Hurry up, Quinn. I wanna go to the park now."

Uh-oh. Meredith glanced at Quinn out of the corner of her eye. He stopped cutting his ham in mid-slice.

"Were you excused from the table, young man?"

Brett scuffed the toe of his shoe on the carpet and remained silent.

"I asked you a question, Brett." Meredith winced at Quinn's stern tone.

"No."

"Then I suggest you sit down and wait until the rest of us are finished."

"My dad let me leave when I finished."

"Not true. Your dad used good table manners, and he expected you to do the same. Now sit down."

Brett sat, and proceeded to kick the chair leg with an annoying impatience.

Meredith bit her tongue. Quinn ignored the boy, not giving him the satisfaction of noticing his gambit.

The scene reminded her of the conversation she'd had with Quinn last week. He had related how much Brett reminded him of Steve. Meredith's heart ached at the grief that crept into Quinn's voice whenever he related Steve stories. According to Quinn, father and son shared a Missouri mule-stubbornness, a trait responsible time and time again for Steve's trouble. Finally, after more suffered consequences than Quinn could count, his friend had learned when to dig in his heels and when to give in gracefully. Quinn reckoned he and Steve's son were destined to knock heads at regular intervals.

The family finished dinner to the tune of a rubber-soled shoe tapping against wood. Meredith chewed her tongue as much as her food.

The moment Quinn set his fork down, Brett hopped up. "Can we go now?"

"Go where?" Quinn asked, slanting a glance at Meredith.

Here it comes. About time, too.

"To the park!"

"I don't recall promising we'd go to the park." Quinn's tone of voice was enough to make grown men quake in their combat boots.

"We always go to the park after supper."

"Frequently. Not tonight."

Brett slammed his bottom into the chair so hard, it had to hurt. "Why?"

Meredith was glad Quinn's officer-in-charge glare wasn't directed at her. Why didn't Brett give it up?

"That behavior for one. You sit there while I help Meredith with the dishes, then we're all going to talk about manners and family rules. Wynne, you may be excused until I call you."

Meredith wanted to clobber Quinn. She'd counted on their evening romp to give her time to complete the evaluation she'd started last night. However, she saw his point. Brett was more and more out of control. Something had better be done--and quickly--or the child would turn into a spoiled, self-centered tyrant.

She glanced at Brett and removed his plate. He wore his patented scowl. His foot drummed harder than ever on the chair. She stifled the urge to yell at him to stop before he damaged the finish. Anger and frustration knotted in her chest. She refused to allow it to get the best of her. Quinn was much better suited to handle Brett. Besides, behavioral problems were Quinn's part of the agreement.

Quinn washed Brittany's face, and put her on her quilt on the floor with her favorite toys. Meredith concentrated on loading the last of the dishes.

"Wynne," Quinn called, "come on back. Time for family conference."

Meredith poured coffee for Quinn and herself and returned to the table. He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded across his stomach. His stern expression was one she didn't see often.

"This is a small apartment for five people," he said. "We're all going to have to work real hard at being nice to each other in order to get along. We need to talk about courtesy and respect for other people." He glanced at Brett, then at Wynne. "Do you understand what courtesy and respect mean?"

"No," Brett said. His expression said he didn't much care either.

Wynne stuck her thumb in her mouth and stared at Quinn, wide-eyed.

"Courtesy means consideration, cooperation and generosity. That means when you finish eating you wait for everyone to finish before you leave the table. And it means when Meredith has stacks of folded clothes on the floor you don't walk on them or scatter them around. It's not nice if you do something that makes more work for someone else."

Good lord! If he insisted on using all those big words, then went on to explain each one, they'd be here all night. She had work to do.

Quinn pulled a legal pad in front of him. "Let's write down some rules for courteous behavior. Can you think of one, Brett?"

Obviously thinking, the boy pursed his lips. "Be quiet in the hall."

Meredith was surprised he cooperated. She'd expected back talk at the very least.

"Good." Quinn jotted it down. "Wynne?"

Wynne fidgeted in her chair, sucking her thumb. No wonder, the little girl was only three, too young for this discussion. The family conference idea baffled Meredith. She would have informed the children of the rules, not taken all this time to explain and let them participate. This sure wasn't a concept Quinn had learned in the military. It must've come from Boys Town, which meant there was a good track record of success, but she wasn't convinced the concept would work here. The Boys Town's program was geared toward older children.

Quinn went on to explain cooperation, generosity and respect by giving examples from their own experiences. He asked for rules and they contributed, each in turn. Even Wynne added "don't wake the baby."

"I'd like to add something to Wynne's rule," Meredith said, at last getting into the spirit of the session. If Brett could take part so could she. "Don't turn on the TV before Brittany is awake and an adult is up."

"Okay, now we vote--"

Vote! That's carrying everyone participating to an extreme.

"--If you think the rules I wrote down are good, raise your hand." Quinn held his hand high and Wynne copied him.

Meredith raised hers for two reasons. The rules were good, and she wanted the meeting over with. Slowly, Brett's hand lifted.

"Okay, two other points," Quinn added. "Everyone has chores. I brought your mom's chore chart up here. We'll put it on the refrigerator just like she did. Every night you'll get your stars if you've done your jobs.

"The other thing is treats aren't automatic around here. They'll be taken away--" he looked from one child to the other "--if someone misbehaves. On the other hand, extra special good behavior might earn a special treat. Understood?"

They each nodded.

"You're excused."

Would the protracted meeting do any good? Meredith shrugged and headed to her desk. She hoped Quinn had something quiet to do so he could put Brittany to bed in the crib again tonight.

Guilt stole over her. Quinn could use help with the bath routine. However, those blasted evaluations wouldn't wait. She reminded herself that the children's care wasn't her part of the deal, but that didn't alleviate her shirking-your-duty feeling.

She closed her eyes. With the added responsibility of three extra mouths to feed, she couldn't afford to screw up and risk her job. Good jobs with a fast track for advancement didn't grow on trees these days, and they needed her income. Meredith strode straight to the computer.

* * *

The piercing blare of Quinn's alarm clock woke Meredith with a start. Why the Sam Hill was that thing going off on Saturday morning? She turned over in time to see Quinn roll out of bed. "Where're ya goin'?"

"Drill. Remember. Go back to sleep." He headed to the bathroom.

Meredith snuggled into her pillow and closed her eyes. She doubted she'd get as much sleep as she wanted but she wasn't wasting whatever time the children allowed her.

Intentions and deeds were two different things. The more she willed herself back to sleep, the more a corkscrew of apprehension coiled inside her. What if Brett pulled one his stunts and she couldn't control her reaction? What if she couldn't handle all three children at once? What if she proved once and for all that she wasn't mother material? The consequence--losing Quinn or at the very least, diminishing herself in his eyes--didn't bear thinking about.

She twisted to her back and stared at the textured ceiling, picking out images in the swirls until Quinn emerged from the bathroom. Freshly shaved, the top of his close-cropped, otter-brown hair neatly in place, he wore a woodland camouflaged battle dress uniform with the shirt sleeves rolled up and spit-shined combat boots. BDUs, designed for utility wear, weren't pretty. They tended to emphasize any weight that settled around the middle. But a soldier with Quinn's trim, muscular build looked good wearing the uniform. He presented an impressive picture.

He retrieved the matching cap from the dresser top. "I thought you were going back to sleep."

"Guess I'm awake now."

"Good luck with the kids. If you have a problem, call me." He leaned over and kissed her good-bye.

His fresh outdoorsy-scented after shave teased her senses. The house was quiet, and the longing in his eyes shifted her libido into overdrive. If only he didn't have to report for formation in twenty minutes. She forced her mind to practical matters.

"We'll be fine." Meredith wasn't nearly as confident as she sounded, but she wasn't about to let him know that. "See you tonight."

Quinn stopped at the door and winked as if he'd read mind. "Yeah. After five."

She lay in bed daydreaming about the promise she'd read in his gray eyes until she heard the soft click of the front door closing. Eyelids heavy, she yawned widely, and contemplated dozing off, but a cooing babble from the living room changed her mind. In the few minutes remaining before Brittany's patience ran out, Meredith ducked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She threw on baggy knit shorts and an oversize T-shirt, figuring she might as well dress in old, comfortable clothes. Her agenda for the morning included cleaning, cleaning and more cleaning. It seemed like she couldn't keep ahead of the handprints and clutter no matter how hard she tried.

She slid her feet into leather sandals and headed to the door. As she grasped the knob, the blare of Saturday cartoons penetrated the wall.

Young Brett was in big trouble! Not more than twelve hours ago they had set a few simple rules, and he'd already violated one. Meredith wanted to crawl back in bed and pretend she didn't know what he'd done. Don't be chicken. Stay calm. Handle this in the same straight-forward manner Quinn does and it'll be okay. No matter how sacrosanct he thought Saturday morning cartoons might be, rules were rules. She drew a deep breath and strolled into the living room.

Brett was curled up on the couch, eyes glued to the TV screen. Meredith marched over and punched the off button. Standing in front of the screen with her hands on her hips, she waited.

He sat up, his trademark scowl in place. "Why'd ya do that?"

She could almost see smoke pouring from his ears. She met his glare with what she hoped was a neutral expression. "What's the rule about morning TV?"

"Brittany's awake."

So he hadn't forgotten. "You're forgetting the other part. An adult must be up."

"You're up," he shot back. "You've got clothes on, too."

Meredith forced a straight face. As if Brett was ever likely to see her running around without her clothes. "That's true, but you didn't bother to find out before you turned on the TV. For all you knew I was still asleep."

"You're up now. So I can watch cartoons."

"No. Maybe next time you'll remember the rules."

He stomped off to his room. At the doorway he turned and faced Meredith. "I hate you. My dad would let me watch cartoons."

She wanted to throttle the child. She bit back a testy retort and heaved a huge sigh, then picked up the baby.

Brittany crowed and laughed the whole time Meredith changed and dressed her. The infant's sweetness did little to lift Meredith's cloud of depression. If the bratty boy had acted the least bit repentant she would've relented and allow him to watch his shows with just a warning, but he seemed bent on challenging her authority. Darn it all anyway. She didn't want control over these children. If she had her way she'd remain a casual acquaintance, a person only around for the good times. The familiarity of living with them continued to terrify her. She hated her hard-nose role but didn't dare relent. Quinn was a tough disciplinarian, and from everything she'd gathered so was Steve. She realized Quinn and she must present a united front to the children. They were confused enough without getting mixed signals from the adults in their lives. She'd made a bargain, which included playing "mommy" on drill weekends. Come hell or high water or recalcitrant little boys, she intended to keep it.

On her way to the kitchen, she stopped at Brett's door and stuck her head inside. "I'm fixing breakfast now. Come and eat."

"Not hungry."

Don't let him get your goat, she warned herself, knowing he was pretty darn close to doing just that. "Suit yourself. Remember, though, once I clean up the kitchen there won't be any eating until lunch."

Ten minutes later Brett crept up to the table. Meredith smiled, hoping he understood she wasn't at war with him. "Glad you decided to join us. What can I fix you?"

"Kix and cinnamon toast on raisin bread," he mumbled, gazing at the table cloth. He raised his head and focused over her shoulder. "Please."

"Coming right up."

Meredith stacked the last cereal bowl in the dishwasher, congratulating herself on handling Brett. Only her poor gnawed tongue suffered damage. She'd get the hang of this yet.

Gathering fresh linens and cleaning supplies, she headed to tackle the children's room. Caught up in a mental review of her to-do list, she stepped over the threshold. Brett, outfitted in a miniature BDU uniform similar to Quinn's, jumped in her path, a military model squirt gun crossed over his chest. Startled, she leaped back a step. "Gracious sakes, Brett, you scared me! "

"You can't come in 'til you say the password. "

"What password? "

"You know. "

The urge to grasp his shoulder and bodily move him out of her way exploded inside her. Biting down on the inside of her cheek, she counted ten. "Please, Brett, I don't have time for this. Let me by. "

He grinned from ear to ear and stepped aside. "You knew. I told ya, you knew."

Meredith shook her head and crossed to Wynne's bed. Quickly, she stripped the sheets and remade the bed.

Wynne tugged on her shirt tail. "Merith! I wanna a drink. "

"All right. " Meredith dropped the pillow and started to the kitchen. Brett sprung out from behind a chair. She gasped and her hand flew to chest. "Oh! "

"Password! "

"Oh, " she sighed, "all right. Please. "

"Go through."

"Gee, thanks. I'm getting Wynne some juice. Want some?"

The morning sped along to the sounds of mock battle. Brett's credible imitations of the drone of airplanes, the clatter of tank treads and the staccato report of machine guns ricocheted off the walls. Meredith did her best to shut out his noise and concentrated on her cleaning. Spray bottle poised on smudges on the window by Brett's bed, she glanced through the glass. The sun peeked through the trees and kissed the city street below. A gentle breeze stirred the lush green leaves. What a beautiful day. Much too pretty to keep energetic children cooped-up inside.

Brittany's wake-up cry broke into her thoughts. Darn. Meredith had wanted to finish in here before the baby woke from her morning nap. BC--before children--her household tasks were done by noon. At the rate she was going, she'd be lucky to get through her list by the time Quinn got home.

Watching her steps, she skirted military vehicles and blocks arranged precisely in the middle of the living floor. From out of nowhere Brett bounced in front of her. Meredith jumped and gasped a startled sound. This game was getting old.

"Got ya again! Password!" he demanded at the top of his lungs.

She held onto her temper by a thread. From his gleeful expression, she knew every time she jumped, he got the reaction he wanted. If only she could send him outside to play. She'd never turn him loose on the city streets unsupervised, and right now she couldn't leave. If they went outdoors, she wouldn't finish the cleaning. The household chores were her job, her part of the bargain. She heaved a sigh. "Brittany's crying, Brett. "

"Say the password."

Tenacious kid. "Please."

Even though his game might just send her to the funny farm, he was doing a good job of entertaining himself. It wasn't fair to tell him to sit down and be quiet. She bit back the scream poised on the tip of tongue and went to change the baby.

It was time to fix lunch already. On her way to the kitchen, she heard Wynne whimper from under the dining table. Holding Brittany, she crouched down, peering at the middle child's woebegone face through the spindles that ran from the top of the chair back clear to the floor. "Wynne, what're you doing under there?"

"Brett said I's a bad guy. I's in jail."

Meredith straightened, shaking her head. The unusual chairs did make a perfect cage. "Well," she pulled the chair away from the table, "I think you've served your time. Come out now."

Brett strutted out of his room. "Hey," he shouted at his sister, "you're 'posed to be in jail."

"I commuted her sentence," Meredith said.

"I'm an MP, just like my dad and Quinn." Brett planted his feet wide apart and threw back his shoulders. "She didn't say the password. She hasta go to jail."

Meredith couldn't help herself. Her shoulders shook with laughter. The boy looked like a juvenile Rambo-in-training standing there in his toy uniform with his squirt gun slung over his shoulder.

"Sorry ace. I'm a higher authority." She needed to pull rank. Quinn was a captain, but she figured that was too far down the chain of command to carry any weight with Brett. She remembered only one other rank that she was sure was higher than captain. "I'm the general. I say she's free."

Brett shrugged. "Aw, o-kay."

Wynne tapped her arm. "Merith, I's hungry."

"I know, Wynne. I'm going to fix lunch right now."

* * *

"Hey, kiddo, don't get your dander up," Meredith admonished the crying baby when she woke from her afternoon nap. Meredith diapered Brittany and dressed her in a pale yellow bubble outfit, embroidered with ducks.

"Wynne, honey, go to the potty and put on the pink shorts and top I laid on your bed. We have to go to the grocery store. Tell Brett, too, please."

She set Brittany on the floor while she changed into something decent. A quick search of the closet produced a pair of cream-colored linen slacks and a jade silk camp shirt.

"Brett, Wynne. Are you ready?" Meredith stuffed several clean diapers in the diaper bag and added a bottle of juice. Now where was her purse? "Come here, Wynne. Your shorts are crooked. Where's your brother?"

"He's comin'."

Brett appeared, still wearing his BDUs. If he'd gotten the outfit dirty, it didn't show. "Let's go," she said, fishing for the Probe keys.

On the way to the garage she thought how much easier grocery shopping had been BC--going anywhere for that matter. Now she allotted ten extra minutes just to get out the door.

Inside the garage, Meredith blinked and looked again. No black Probe. Nothing but her pride and joy, her little red Miata. Whatever could Quinn have been thinking, leaving her without a vehicle big enough to haul the children? He knew they needed groceries. Darn him. This was one more thing to throw her carefully planned schedule out of whack.

"Oops," she said, trying to cover her frustration. "We can't go to the store without the big car. Let's get the stroller and walk over to Ted and Wally's for an ice cream cone."

* * *

Captain Quinn McAllister left the Reserve Center, automatically tugging on his uniform cap the instant he stepped outside. He followed Specialists Meyers and Tipton, eavesdropping shamelessly as Meyers related one of his hilarious practical jokes. Tipton's guffaw rang loud enough to turn the heads of several departing reservists. "What goes around, comes around," he commented, slapping Meyers on the back.

The specialist's words wiped the grin from Quinn's face. Unbeknownst to him, Tipton had quoted the note John Melton, President of Omaha National, had found on his desk yesterday morning. Melton had notified Security at once. Hal Jenkins, Director of Security and Quinn's boss, instructed everyone in the department to stay alert to anything, no matter how minute, that might explain the cryptic message. It was the second such message the head man had received. Shortly before the wedding, the first one which stated, "Melton: You're toast" had been found on the president's office floor. Melton had dismissed it as a stupid prank, but neither he nor Jenkins took the second one lightly. The head of security demanded a report on any possible clue, even though the notes seemed nothing more than a joke.

The lanky young man walking to the parking lot ahead of Quinn was proof that pranksters worked hard to pull off their basically harmless tricks. However, Quinn was trained, as a military policeman and as a member of the corporate protection team, to remain suspicious until all suspicion was removed. He drove home lost in thought.

Stopped at a traffic light on Tenth Street, he noticed his wife pushing the stroller along the grassy verge a block away. She balanced a grocery sack in her other arm. Brett cavorted on the lawn in front of the ConAgra World Headquarters and Wynne straggled along behind. He caught sight of the car seat in his rear view mirror and groaned a word he'd never say in front of the kids. He was in deep kimchi. She'd reminded him last night that she planned to grocery shop today. It had never crossed his mind until this very moment that he'd left Meredith without transportation for the kids.

He parked the car and headed upstairs. He figured he had enough time to change his clothes before the troops arrived and he faced the music.

* * * Quinn stepped into the living room as soon as he heard Brett's voice. Meredith looked...dazed, defeated, dirty. Her hazel eyes were grayed with emotion and glazed with unshed tears. Her shoulders were slumped. Her slacks bore chocolate finger streaks, and if he wasn't mistaken, baby-barf stained her shirt. She set the sack on the table, her movements careful and deliberate.

He was in deep kimchi all right. He'd rather face an irate battalion commander than his wife at the moment. He smelled disaster. Or was that dog do? He almost wished he saw anger in her eyes, but he didn't. Anger he could deal with, but this.... His strong, capable wife, the woman known for her leadership skills, looked like a whipped puppy.

Quinn stepped toward her, ignoring the grubby kids. "Marigold? What happened?"

Chapter 5

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that. Obviously, something happened." Quinn ambled behind her and looped his arms around her neck, hoping she'd relax against him. She didn't. It was a small thing in itself, yet he sensed an invisible barrier between them. For the first time in his life Quinn wished he'd lived with more females growing up. He could use a little insight into the feminine mind right about now.

She twisted out of his loose hold, her body stiff. "Not now. I don't want to talk about it. I have to fix supper."

"Do we have any food in the house?"

She shot him a killing look. "Of course, there's food. I may not have mastered all my new duties, but I have learned to keep an emergency shelf."

Decidedly, something had upset her other than a missed trip to the grocery store and grubby children. Her clenched jaw warned him to leave well enough alone. Never one to respond to badgering, she would explain when she was good and ready. Quinn rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. First Brett, now Meredith. Lord deliver him from stubborn people. Later, when the world looked better, he'd glean the whole story out of her. It would be best to apologize, and with luck, ease the tension between them.

"Honey, I'm really sorry. I didn't think this morning, except about the upcoming unit inspection. I drove my car from force of habit. I didn't mean to leave you stranded."

Her expression softened ever so slightly. "We'll talk later." She spun on her heel and marched to the kitchen.

"I'll order pizza," Quinn offered, reaching for the phone. "You could use a break."

"No, don't." She yanked several cans and boxes from the cupboard.

He dropped the receiver back in the hook. "Why not?"

"Have you looked at the bank balance lately?" Meredith asked, turning to unpack fresh fruit and vegetables from the sack she'd carried home from the farmer's market.

"Not in the last few days. Why?" He shook his head. He sounded like Brett at his inquisitive best.

"The checkbook's in my purse. Take a look."

* * *

"Where did the money go?" Quinn lamented, digging into a heaping bowl of ice cream. A few minutes ago he'd tucked the last kid in for the night. He hoped.

Puzzled, now he tried to make sense out of their low bank balance. He and Meredith had worked out a budget before the wedding and as far as he knew they'd stuck to the guidelines. Of course, the trip to the funeral and moving the children to Omaha incurred extra costs. Some day, when the wheels of bureaucracy overcame inertia, the Army would reimburse them the cost of the rental truck.

He acknowledged they'd gone a little overboard on furnishing the apartment, however the payments were interest free for one year. He'd made the furniture a line item. They owed on Meredith's Miata, but the Probe was free and clear as of six months ago.

"The children, Quinn. I'm spending more on groceries than we planned, but it's day care for three that's killing us."

Meredith had arranged and paid for the first month while he was still at Fort Riley. "I didn't think about that. We'll have a family conference and figure out what to do about the finances."

"A family conference on rules is one thing, but those children aren't going to have a say in how we spend our money," Meredith said, emphasizing each word.

"We have to teach them how to budget and live within their means."

"Of course. When they're old enough. Right now they don't know the difference between a dollar and a dime. Quinn, face it. The concepts you learned at Boys Town are good in their place but they weren't geared to preschoolers."

"You're right," he conceded, his tone grudging. He knew two ways to live. The upright, loving way instilled in him at the Home and the live-by-your-wits way of a chronic runaway. The Family-Teacher's lessons in practical living, getting along and caring for others had turned Steve's and his lives around. Quinn wanted Steve's kids--now his--to learn those same lessons in their own home.

"Will the children inherit anything?" Meredith asked, dragging him out of his thoughts.

"Darn little. The armed forces don't compensate on a grand scale. The kids have a small, and I mean small, college fund started. I put the pittance from the sale of the household goods into their fund."

"We have to do something. Right now, their clothes fit. That won't last long, especially the way Brett's eating. I think he's in a growing spurt."

Quinn glanced at the budget he'd written down two months before. Their combined salaries afforded them luxuries denied many young couples. Upscale apartment, nice cars, recreation and travel. Right now they weren't living within their means, however. Their plan reflected the lifestyle of a childless couple, not a family of five. He should've realized the fact immediately, but somehow with all the changes in his life in the last few weeks, the need to restructure their finances had failed to sink in.

He studied the line items, assessing the necessity of each one. "Meredith, we're in for major changes. We'd better do this together."

She sat down beside him, her expression grim. "Bad, huh?"

"I won't tolerate fiscal irresponsibility. I should've realized we were headed for trouble sooner. Five people can't live on a plan designed for two."

"Don't beat yourself up. You've had a lot to deal with lately." She patted his arm. "I don't see how I can spend less on food, and we can't reduce the rent unless we move. Besides the problem of breaking the lease, moving's not cheap."

"You're right." He pointed to the next item. "The monthly payment on our IRAs isn't negotiable. Period."

"Agreed. I'm no more willing to take a chance on our future than you are."

"That leaves the funds we allocated for restaurant meals and nights on the town."

Meredith studied the work sheet between them. "That won't cover day care."

"We'll have to cut back somewhere else."

"I'll make a pot of coffee. This'll take awhile."

An hour later, Quinn rubbed his neck and stared at the jumbled figures on the pages scattered on the table.

"What's the verdict?" Meredith asked.

He pushed back in his chair. "Between us, we earn plenty to raise three children. Or we can live like--what's that term? Dinks--double income, no kids. Whatever, we can't do both."

If Meredith stayed home with the children, they would save, not only on day care, but on other work related expenses. Not that he'd even suggest such a measure. She'd made her position clear from the beginning. Meredith McAllister identified herself as a career woman. It would be unfair to expect her to give up the profession she loved just because he fancied the convenience of a "traditional" wife. He stashed that dream in the farthest corner of his mind.

"And?" she prompted, frowning.

"Well..." Quinn straightened in his chair. "We can limit evenings out to the dollar-fifty theater. I know the shows are second run but..."

"Go on."

"Free concerts in the park. Brown bag lunches." He looked Meredith in the eye, knowing the next part would upset her. He'd give anything not to say it, but there wasn't another place to cut back. "Trim the clothing budget and grooming expenses. Cheaper haircuts. Do your own nails. Fewer, less expensive suits and shoes."

Her frown deepened and she swallowed hard. He felt like Scrooge, denying her the simple luxuries she'd earned. It wasn't like she whiffed off money on high-priced jewelry, or exotic vacations.

"There's no other way?" she asked, faint hope creeping into her voice.

He shook his head.

Resignation settled over her features and she shrugged. "I guess we do what we have to do."

He expelled the breath he'd held. "Thanks, Marigold. I've said it before but it bears repeating. You're a good sport."

"Quinn?" Meredith's inflection was tentative. "What happened to Steve and Patti's cars?"

"The clunker Steve drove to work croaked. I sold it to a kid on post for parts. The minivan was totaled in the accident."

"But I thought they weren't in the car."

"That's right. They were waiting on the sidewalk to cross the street. Steve parked in the first slot from the corner. The guy jumped the curb and hit them, then rammed into the van."

"Oh. Then we can't bring one of their cars up here."

She made no accusation but the arrow scored a bull's-eye nonetheless. "Honey, I really am sorry about leaving you without wheels," he expressed the guilt-ridden apology a second time. "I won't do it again."

"It's more than not being able to use my car. I keep bumping my head or banging my shin trying to get Brittany in and out of the car seat in the Probe. Every time I lean in when I'm dressed for work, my skirt rides up. A four-door car is easier."

Quinn had knocked his noggin helping the kids in and out of the car more than once. She was right. They needed kid-oriented transportation. "I guess--" he grieved at the thought of giving up his dream machine "--we'd better consider trading cars."

He trudged into the living room in search of the classified section of the Omaha World Herald, as if the small delay might produce a brainstorm that would stave off the inevitable. No such luck.

He spread the newspaper on the table and together they poured over the ads. "Until we know how much we can get in a trade-in, we can't make a decision," Quinn decided. "I'll make some calls on Monday."

Meredith's shoulders sagged and the defeated expression she'd worn earlier marred her face again. "Nothing's working out like we planned."

He pounced on the opportunity she handed him. "Wanna tell me what happened this afternoon?"

She sighed and brushed her burnished hair off her cheek. "I guess I got cocky. Brett and I had a disagreement about the TV this morning. He turned it on despite the rules we established last night."

"That rascal. I'll have a talk with him."

"No need. I handled the problem. Very well, even if I do say so myself." She grinned at him, sending enchantment straight to his soul. "The rest of the day went fine, until we started to the store. Brett was bouncing off the walls and needed a change of scene. We couldn't get groceries, so I decided we'd walk over to Ted and Wally's for ice cream. Everything went downhill from there."

"If Brett misbehaved, why did you take them for ice cream? That's rewarding bad behavior." Exasperation charged his voice.

"The children weren't misbehaving, just rambunctious from being cooped up inside. I couldn't cope.

"We came up here to get Brittany's stroller. On the way down, the elevator got stuck. The emergency bell scared Wynne. She cowered behind my legs, crying. Then Brittany started in. And Brett, in his panic, rang the bell again and again." Meredith didn't add that the whole episode had wiped out every bit of confidence she had accrued during the day.

"Did the bell bring help?"

"No. I resorted to the emergency phone. Talk about weird. This voice floated down from somewhere and asked if anyone was in there. Stupid question. If I could hear him, surely he could hear the din the girls made. I yelled yes and wondered if I spoke to the walls. Finally, the elevator moved. We couldn't have been stuck more than five minutes, but it seemed like forever."

"I'll bet." He cast her a sympathetic smile.

"I've never been so glad to get out of any place in my whole life. By that time, I thought we all deserved a treat. If I were an octopus, I might've managed better. Brett darted here, there and everywhere. Wynne mimicked his every move. Then she fell and scraped her knee. Barely broke the skin, but she screamed bloody murder. Somehow she managed to smear my slacks with chocolate ice cream. Then Brittany started howling again. I gave her a bottle of juice, and she urped all over my silk blouse."

He patted her hand. "I'm sorry they gave you a bad time."

She jerked her hand away. "Don't patronize me, Quinn. Other women handle three children easily. You handle three children easily. I didn't handle them at all. Brett even knocked over a display of apples at the farmer's market. I'd no sooner gotten that mess taken care of when he trounced in dog poop."

Quinn chuckled. "Sounds like something out of a Laurel and Hardy movie."

"It's not funny!" Meredith's voice rose an octave. How dare he make light of the disaster? She had to make him understand her inadequacy. If she went through another day like today while he drilled tomorrow, she doubted she could control her unruly tongue. She'd come so close to screaming at all three children this afternoon. "I'm a complete failure where children are concerned."

"Now you know how I felt when both kids fell in the lagoon. There are 'no wadding' signs posted at every park entrance and both my kids take a dunk right under the nose of a cop."

"That's different."

"How so?"

You can roll with the punches and I can't. "You didn't know Wynne would back into the water or Brett would rush to save her."

"No more than you could've anticipated what happened this afternoon. For the record, I'm sure Brett's heroics were prompted more from a good excuse to get wet than from altruism."

"I feel so inadequate." She blinked and swallowed hard. "Every time I think I'm making progress, something like this happens. I just don't know how to manage them, Quinn. You see, there is a good reason why I don't want children."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Nobody, especially me, expects you to know everything about kids instantly."

She knew more than she let on, but her statement wasn't a lie. Her experience raising Kirsty was nothing like having three little ones. She stared at her hands, her thoughts turning to the sister she'd driven away. Meredith's pain was as intense today as it had been all those years ago.

"I honestly think you have good instincts where the kids are concerned," Quinn said. So good, in fact, her stand against having children baffled him. Her excuses didn't add up. There must be more to this whole thing than she'd told him. He watched a despondent veil settle over her features and an uneasiness swept over him. His wife, with whom he should be able to share any and everything, had a problem she didn't trust him enough to divulge.

His idealism reared up and smacked him in the face. Since inheriting the children, he'd come to realize he craved a "Leave-it-to-Beaver" kind of family. The only trouble was he'd married the wrong woman to fit his fool's paradise. He'd plodded through life, his course set from one day to the next until he'd fallen head over heels in love with Meredith. She knew her path--straight up the company ladder--and focused on her goal. He truly thought he could follow the direction she'd mapped out with such painstaking care. Now everything had changed. Their goals no longer meshed.

Dear Lord, what could he do? He'd made a commitment to a woman with whom he couldn't communicate on the deepest level. A sound relationship required trust and honesty. If he demanded the real reason she didn't want children, he feared she'd cut and run. His ready-made family, the family he wanted, needed and treasured, had never been part of her plan. She was going along with him for now. Should he risk rocking the boat? No way. He couldn't force her to change her heart. He prayed that in time the children thrust upon him by fate would become as much hers as they were his.

* * *

At eleven forty-five Monday morning Quinn joined Meredith on a bench at the Gene Leahy Mall. She handed him a sandwich from the sack lunch she'd packed before work. Remarkably, the temperature hovered in the low seventies, cool for July. Refugees from nearby offices lounged on the grassy slopes. Others strolled, power walked or jogged along the path. Snow white swans glided across the lagoon adding a touch of grace to the island of green serenity surrounded by high-rise steel and glass. After his frustrating meeting with his boss, trying to make sense out of the cryptic notes, plus his disappointing phone calls, Quinn welcomed the peace and relative quiet of the park.

"I called four auto dealerships this morning," Quinn said. "They all told me the same thing. The trade-in on the Probe isn't as good as I'd hoped."

Meredith dropped her sandwich and heaved a long sigh. "I don't want to sell the Miata!"

"Calm down. I'm not asking you to get rid of your car." The day he'd made his last payment on the Probe he'd rejoiced and heaved a sigh of relief. Now he wished he still owed on his car. Trading her newer Miata for a vehicle with a similar payment schedule would help their cash flow problem, but he just couldn't ask another major sacrifice of her. Almost every cutback they'd made was directed at her. She'd been a trooper, all for something she didn't want in the first place. "You've given up enough. We have kids you'd rather not have. We're eating sandwiches in the park for lunch. You shouldn't have to forego your dream machine. I know how long you scrimped and saved for the down payment."

"Thank you, Quinn. I know it's silly, but that car means a lot to me."

Her voice contained a tiny quiver that tore his soul. He had to find another way to purchase a family-size car. "I know. Don't worry. We'll figure something out."

* * *

Two days later, Meredith bent like a pretzel to situate Brittany in her car seat. She snapped the harness strap into place and backed out too fast, catching her leg on the bottom corner of the door, once again. A tingle started at the spot she hit and zinged up past her knee as a major run worked its way up to mid thigh. Damn it, Quinn. This is all your fault. What was the use of trying to economize when she spent what she saved on replacing ruined panty hose?

She stood aside and gestured to Brett to crawl in the backseat. "It's my turn to sit in front," he said.

"I get to sit by Merith," Wynne insisted, trying to open the large passenger door to no avail.

Brett turned up his nose at his sister. "You're a doofus."

Biting her inner lip, Meredith helped Wynne into the front seat and prayed for patience. "Please, Brett, don't call your sister names."

She slid behind the wheel and started the engine. She must've been out of her mind suggesting that they alternate the day care shuttle, but sharing the chauffeuring seemed only fair. Quinn's job was as important to the company as hers. Taking turns allowed him to stay late or go in early, also.

The nobility of her gesture didn't make her feel one iota better this morning. Their budget, the car problem, the whole blasted week had been rotten. She had slashed her expenses according to Quinn's plan. While she didn't think he intended to make her feel like a spendthrift, he had all the same. She knew, far better than she had ever wanted him to know, what it was like to do without. She had experienced such pride in achieving a salary level which afforded luxuries. They weren't poverty stricken by any means. They were just reduced to the status of an average American family with children, minus the discretionary income they'd once enjoyed. They had to modify their priorities, along with their lifestyle. Meredith couldn't help herself, she resented the forced change.

Pulling into the Wee Tots parking lot, she shoved her sour mood into storage. She had more pride than to allow the ladies who took such excellent care of Quinn's charges to witness her pity party.

She opened the door and got out of the car. Flipping the seat back forward, she stepped back while Brett scrambled out, then went into her Gumby routine to lift Brittany from her car seat. She cupped the baby's head against her chest and backed out, careful not to bump Brittany's head. While Meredith was still bent over in her protection position, Brett jarred the door. The top corner caught Meredith's upper cheek.

A sharp pain shot through her face. Tears stung her eyes and she fought to keep them from spilling over. That's it. We need a four door car before I kill myself on this hunk of junk. If I'm to live to see thirty-one, the Miata will have to go. A dull ache spread from her cheekbone to her heart. She hated to sell her jaunty sports car, but so far Quinn hadn't found suitable transportation that was both trustworthy and within their limited means. Trading her darling made the most sense. It was the practical solution. She dashed a wet trickle from her cheek.

Twenty minutes later Meredith strode into her office. Darcy, her secretary, glanced up and turned back to the computer quickly. "Good morning," she mumbled.

Meredith noted Darcy's red-rimmed eyes, despite her secretary's effort to hide them. "What's the matter? Can I help?"

Darcy looked up and shook her head, her lip trembling.

"Oh, no. You started your period, didn't you?"

Darcy nodded.

"I'm so sorry."

The secretary sniffed and straightened. "I'm...okay. We're going...to try a new fertility doctor. I made the appointment just before you came in."

"I hope his method works." Meredith's words sounded trite to her own ears. But what else could she say? Darcy and her husband had tried for three years now to have a baby.

"Meredith, what happened to your cheek? It's all red."

"I tangled with the door trying to get the baby out of the car seat." The second the word baby left her lips, she wanted to crawl under the nearest rock where she belonged. Fresh tears streamed down Darcy's cheeks. Meredith swore under her breath. Make that under a vermin-infested rock.

"Me and my big mouth. I'm sorry." She handed Darcy a tissue. "Go ahead and take a break. I'll catch the phone."

Meredith slumped in her desk chair. Life wasn't fair. Here she was, blessed with the family so many couples coveted and she acted like a spoiled brat over a stupid car, a material thing, for Pete's sake. What was the matter with her? Ashamed, Meredith chided herself for her selfishness. She held better values than that.

She owed Quinn an apology. The atmosphere at home was strained, to say the least. She'd put too little effort into making their situation work lately. It was time to shape up. It wouldn't hurt to put a little romance back into her marriage, either.

They were newlyweds, after all.

Quinn planned to car shop tonight, but tomorrow evening she'd knock off early. If she fed the children dinner early and put them to bed a tad before normal, she could surprise Quinn with a nice quiet dinner, just the two of them, something inexpensive but special, candlelight and wine, and Quinn's favorite dessert. She'd wear a sexy dress. Who knew where the evening could lead?

Her plan of action decided, she settled down to work, feeling better than she had all week.

* * *

Quinn rubbed his hand along the rear door of the station wagon, then hunkered down and studied the bumper. Meredith caught the anxious expression on the used car salesman's round face. She glanced at the business card in her hand. Bernard Schwimmer. Somehow, the name fit the rotund man. Looking up, she noticed sweat popping out on his forehead. He jerked a red bandanna from his back pocket and mopped his brow. "Hot night. Sure could use some rain."

"This car was rear-ended," Quinn said.

"No, sir. Our mechanics went over it with a fine tooth comb. It's a sound as fifty dollar gold piece. Good as new. The old folks who owned just drove it around town." He patted the roof. "This baby is just what the little woman needs to haul all those kiddos."

Meredith's hackles rose, but before she could protest Quinn took Brett and Wynne by the hand. "Good night."

"Wait. There's this full size van a couple of rows over."

"Thank you, no," Quinn said. "We'll look elsewhere."

"It's a beaut. Loaded with all the extras."

Quinn kept walking toward the Probe. Meredith, carrying Brittany, followed.

"Thanks for wasting my time," Bernard whined.

"You're welcome." Quinn looked the other man straight in the eye. "Try a little honesty, then you wouldn't waste your time."

Meredith managed to stifle her laughter long enough to get inside Quinn's car. "I can't believe you said that! Did you see his face? I thought he'd burst a blood vessel on the spot."

"Buckle up kids," Quinn ordered before he started the engine. "That wagon had been in a collision. And that bit about just being driven around town. Did you look at the odometer? A three-year-old car with over 60,000 miles on it wasn't just driven to the grocery store, the doctor's office and church on Sunday. I wouldn't buy a car from old Bernard if he had the last one in Omaha. I can't abide a liar."

"I didn't want to do business with him either."

"I figured after that crack about the little woman, I'd better get you out of there before you coldcocked him."

"I was tempted. Where to now?"

"L Street. You've heard the ads. 'If you can't find a car on L Street, you might as well quit looking.'"

On the third lot Brett ran ahead and skidded to a stop by a bright red Villager minivan. "This looks like Mommy's car, 'cept hers was green."

It was a well kept vehicle, not new, but it showed someone had loved it. Quinn began his now familiar routine, checking under the hood, inspecting the body.

"Would you folks like to test drive her?" the salesman asked. "The automatic choke sticks so she's a little hard to start. The shop was swamped today, but the job's number one on the schedule for tomorrow." He handed Quinn the keys.

He passed them to Meredith. "I'll stay here with the kids. You take it for a spin."

"But--"

"I'll go after you come back. It'll save transferring the car seat."

"Oh. Okay."

Meredith pulled into the interstate traffic, pleased with both the acceleration and the way the minivan handled. It didn't feel as cumbersome as she'd supposed and she liked the fact that she sat up high. Her visibility was so much better than in the Miata. She zipped passed a slow moving grandma with ease and decided she could live with a kid kind of car after all.

* * *

The next afternoon, Meredith staggered into the apartment juggling two large grocery sacks, her purse and briefcase. Allowing the bags to slither to the counter, she kicked off her pumps and headed to the bedroom. She changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and as if by reflex action, hung her suit in the closet.

In the kitchen, she hummed along with the soft rock playing on the radio and set to work preparing Quinn's special treat--French apple pie. While the dessert baked, she assembled lasagna. The scents of cooking apples and cinnamon mingled with tomato sauce, oregano and basil taunted her. It had been a long time since breakfast, and she'd skipped lunch in order to leave early. She grabbed an apple, munching while she tossed a generous bowl of salad.

The precious and rare solitude warmed her soul. Amazing. This meal had come together so much faster without the constant interruptions of the children. She reached into the china cabinet for crystal candle sticks, a wedding gift from Quinn's commander. It dawned on her that though she welcomed the quiet, she'd miss the children something awful if they weren't around. She'd been home alone less than two hours and she couldn't wait to hear all about their adventures today.

What had Quinn done to her? She could no more keep the Duttons at arm's length than she could fly off the roof of the Woodmen Tower. Each child possessed unique, endearing qualities. If she didn't inure herself, she would find herself ensnared totally. She wanted to blame Quinn for her predicament, but in all fairness she couldn't.

The assignment of duties didn't quite fall along the lines they'd agreed upon, although he undertook the bulk of the child care. With three children, however, he sometimes needed an extra hand and hers were the only pair available. Of course, he never turned down any help she offered, but he rarely asked for her assistance. She glanced at the kitchen clock and hurried to find her purse and keys. It was time to run taxi.

* * *

Quinn checked his watch and groaned. It couldn't be six-twenty already. He shoved the papers pertaining to the breach of security in the payroll department into the file and locked the packet in the office safe. He considered telephoning home, but figured the call would waste time. Schedule-conscious, Meredith made every effort to serve dinner at six-thirty. If he left right now, he'd arrive on time. It would be better just head on home.

He pulled on his suit coat and picked up his briefcase. On the way to the elevator, he passed dark, empty offices. It was small wonder considering it was a Friday in the middle of summer. Only the most urgent business coerced folks to hang around after quitting time.

He emerged from the elevator on the ground floor and noticed the vacant security desk inside the main entrance. The company required a guard on duty at all times. He heard a voice. The sound came from the corridor to his left. The break room? Quinn frowned and started down the hall. The quality of help supplied by the outside protection company varied widely. More than once he'd chastised a "rent-a-cop" for goofing off.

Quinn crept toward the break room with the instinctive stealth of a undercover policeman. Outside the door he paused. Something in the vehemence of the guard's tone of voice set warning bells clanging in Quinn's head. "I'm not dinking around," he heard the man say. "I'm playing the scene for all its worth."

Quinn peeked around the door frame, careful to see inside undetected. George Ellsworth, one of newer of the men the protection company had assigned to Omaha National, spoke into the pay telephone. He clutched the receiver in a white-knuckled grip. His stance was rigid.

"It takes time to do it right," Ellsworth said.

Quinn backed away from the door. The guard's words seemed innocuous enough, yet something didn't add up. Why would Ellsworth use the pay phone instead of the telephone on his desk? His obvious tension didn't jibe with his end of the conversation. In light of the strange notes Melton had received, Quinn couldn't disregard his vague suspicions. His superior expected a report on occurrences like this.

He headed back to his office, all thought except contacting his boss, Hal Jenkins, driven from Quinn's mind.

* * *

Meredith sat on the couch with Brittany on her lap, Brett on one side and Wynne on the other, reading a bedtime story. The scent of baby shampoo and soap blended with the spicy aroma of baking lasagna. She carried out this genial task for the first time. Not that she hadn't wanted to before, but she hadn't allowed herself the indulgence. The tender side of child care fell into Quinn's part of their bargain. The children's story time required more nurturing than any aspect of their supervision she'd attempted so far. Usually, she didn't allow herself the pleasure, but tonight necessitated a different routine. The sooner the children settled down, the sooner she and Quinn could enjoy an evening alone.

Even the weather had cooperated. A sudden storm had blown up a few minutes earlier. Rain beat on the window in a lulling tattoo. The gray skies gave the illusion of a later hour. All in all, it boded well for an early bedtime.

Meredith anticipated a quiet meal--hands held across the table, their gazes locked on each other, their banter sprinkled with sexual innuendo. By the time they'd finished eating, they'd want only one thing.. a romp behind closed doors. The image grew so vivid she ached.

But where was Quinn?

The VCR read seven-thirty-five. If he'd hit a snag in his investigation, why hadn't he let her know? She proceeded into the kitchen and turned the oven down fifty degrees. Picking up the phone, she dialed his office number. Quinn's recorded voice answered and announced he was away from his desk, please leave a message. Relief surged through her. If he'd switched his phone to automatic pick up, he must be on the way home. She'd read the children one more story and by the time she finished, Quinn could tuck them in.

* * *

"And they lived happily ever after," Meredith intoned and closed the time-honored fairy tale. In a way, she hated for the story to end. The rare moment tempered her worry. The children, so soft and sweet, snuggled against her. Even Brittany remained quiet. Meredith set the book on the coffee table and broke the spell. Brett bounded to his feet.

"Can I watch TV?" he asked.

"Not tonight," Meredith answered. "You may read in bed for awhile."

Wynne wrapped herself around Meredith's leg. "Where's Quinn, Merith?"

Good question. "He had to work late, sweetie. You and Brett go crawl in bed. I'll be there to tuck you in as soon as I put Brittany down."

* * * The hands on the clock inched ever closer to eight o'clock. Meredith adjusted the top of her strapless sun dress one last time and sprayed White Shoulders into her cleavage. Her weapons in place, she tiptoed from the bathroom careful not wake Brittany.

Where was Quinn?

She stifled her rising panic, and turned the oven to warm. Surely he'd arrive by the time she set the table.

The romantic meal she had envisioned required an ambiance divorced from the Sesame Street set. Off came the vinyl tablecloth and foam pad which protected her beautiful table from the children's accidents. She substituted exquisite embroidered placemats and matching napkins. Out of protective custody for the first time came their best silver, china, and stemware. Tall white tapers held in cut crystal candlesticks and the matching bowl piled high with fresh fruit added the finishing touch to her masterpiece. She'd walked right by the cut flowers in the supermarket, not allowing herself the extravagance. A pang of regret shot through her. Oh well, she comforted herself. Quinn wouldn't miss the flowers and the table did look pretty.

Only one thing spoiled the effect. She folded the high chair and stashed it in the closet, along with the plastic-backed seat covers. She popped 'Johnny Mathis Greatest Hits' into the compact disc player. It was a perfect setting for the evening she planned, minus the guest of honor.

Visions of Quinn held at the tender mercies of Omaha's unsavory element flashed through her mind. Rather than allow the terrifying pictures to take hold, she resorted to anger. Darn the man, anyway! At least he could have the courtesy to let her know he was tied up. The double entendre sent a frisson of fear crawling up her spine.

* * *

"Hal, sorry to interrupt your evening," Quinn said into the telephone. "No red flag, just a bit of concern."

A shriek echoed over the wire. "Sorry about that," Hal responded, "the grandchildren are here. What's up?"

"Uh...I've run across something on that matter you mentioned at the meeting last week. It's probably nothing, but I think it bears looking into."

From ingrained habit, Quinn never relayed sensitive information over an unsecured telephone. Nor did his boss, a retired Air Force intelligence officer, question his subordinates when they spoke in veiled references. Hal Jenkins respected his team and gave them credit for having the smarts to know what was important and when to practice caution.

"Then get on it," Hal said. "It's your baby. Holler if need help. I'll put Ammons on the payroll problem."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll discuss this further on Monday. Good night."

Quinn hung up the phone and flipped on his computer terminal. There was no time like the present to begin the preliminary investigation. Hal would expect some kind of report before the end of the day on Monday. Quinn punched in the access code for the Human Resources files and typed in George Ellsworth's name. The symbol which indicated search mode appeared on the lower corner of the screen.

While Quinn waited, he pulled a scratch pad over and jotted down a rough outline of his Army correspondence course's required research paper. He'd better get cracking. The due date was closing in--only two weeks away. He had never intended to put it off until the last minute, but time had gotten away from him these days.

Ellsworth's personnel file flashed on the screen, tugging him back to the job at hand. He studied the entries in detail, punching in requests to the central computer every now and then for more information.

So far, the man was clean. Still, Quinn couldn't dismiss the body language that had accompanied the overheard remarks. He propped his chin in his hand, lost in thought. Maybe a different approach...he typed in the name Margaret Ellsworth, listed as George's next of kin, and waited.

His stomach growled. He checked the time. It was past eight o'clock! No wonder his was stomach grumbling. Another thought followed instantly. He hadn't called Meredith. Oh, hell. He was in deep, deep kimchi this time.

Chapter 6

The rain-washed evening's gray half-light cast shadows in the McAllister living room. From the window, Meredith watched the street eight stories below and hoped against hope to see Quinn striding down the sidewalk. The shower had slacked off to a fine mist. The greenery glowed, free of dust and city grime. The freshness failed to lift her heavy heart.

Her anger had fizzled in the face of increased fear. Visions of Quinn, the victim of a mugger, his broken, bloodied body lying in a gutter somewhere flitted through her mind. She shivered at the thought. If she never saw his dimple-dancing grin again, how could she go on? "He's tied up at the office," she muttered out loud. "Working late, that's all. Just working late. And when he gets home, I'm going to wring his neck for scaring me like this."

A beer truck took the corner below too fast and fishtailed. Meredith cringed. What if that idiot hit Quinn as he walked down the sidewalk, just like the drunk who had plowed into Steve and Patti? What if the trucker already had killed Quinn and was making a fast get away?

Who could she ask to serve as pall bearers? A mirthless laugh echoed in the quiet room. Calm down. You're getting hysterical. The admonition preceded the realization that she didn't have a clue about how to arrange for military honors at a funeral.

With that morbid thought, she sank onto the love seat under the window and scolded herself for her foolishness. Since she couldn't get Quinn on the phone, she should go over to the office and drag him home by the hair on his head. Except one small--make that large--problem kept her chained to the apartment. Three children snoozed in their beds. She couldn't leave them alone. After weeks of nightmares, they now slept through most nights. She refused to disturb them. Besides, Brett turned into a snarling, clawing tiger when awakened. Wynne merely snarled. Meredith pounded a fist on the cushion. If she hadn't volunteered--out of the kindness of her heart--to pick up the children at day care, Quinn would be here right now. Whoever had said nice guys finish last had hit it right on the button.

Again fear crept into her angry thoughts. Maybe the preacher knew how to contact the military officials. Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Oh, God, Quinn. Where are you?

* * *

Quinn inserted his key in the lock. Trepidation surged through him. For the second time in less than two weeks he'd failed to consider Meredith's feelings. Bachelor habits didn't break easily. He wouldn't blame her if she whacked him with an iron frying pan.

He stepped into the apartment. Meredith jumped to her feet, flew across the room and hurled herself into his arms. She buried her face against his neck, her action reminiscent of a scared Wynne. "Where've you been? I pictured you in a gutter somewhere," her voiced quivered, "maimed and bleeding."

"Honey, I'm sorry. I started home on time--" He dropped his briefcase on the floor and noticed the dining table and the lack of childish chatter. He pulled away from her hold, shaking his head. "Uh-oh. I blew it, didn't I?"

Meredith dropped her arms. Tears tickled down her chalky cheeks. "You could say that."

Heat suffused Quinn's face. She'd planned a special surprise. Plus, for some strange reason, she was terrified. He felt lower than a snake trapped under a steam roller. Damn. He had no excuse, none whatsoever. He could've called. No, he should've called while he had waited for the computer to relay the information he'd asked for--if he'd given her a single thought. "I'm really sorry," he repeated, "I should've called."

"No kidding." Her clipped words matched her grim expression. "You started to tell me what happened."

He couldn't believe she had let him off the hook so easily. No way would he argue.

"The security guard wasn't at the front desk when I started to leave the building..." Quinn related the rest of the incident.

"What did Jenkins think?" Meredith asked when he finished his tale.

"He's concerned. Assigned me to conduct an investigation. That's not for publication, of course."

"Of course." She started toward the kitchen. "I don't know about you, but I'm starved."

Quinn washed his hands at the kitchen sink. "I'll help."

"Get the salad. I'll zap the bread."

Her jerky movements belied her calm words. At-war emotions played across her face even though it was obvious from the way she avoided looking at him that she didn't want him to witness her conflict.

Meredith removed the lasagna from the oven. The cheese was overdone, almost black instead of a rich golden brown, the edges curled and dry. Fresh tears welled in her eyes.

"Mmm. That smells good," Quinn said.

Meredith bustled about the kitchen as if nothing was amiss. Just as she tamped down her displeasure with the children, she attempted to do the same with Quinn. She couldn't lose him the way she'd lost all the others she'd loved. He was home now, safe and sound, delayed by an important assignment. She understood--oh, so very well--the pressures of their work place. More than anything, she craved their rare evening alone. She was determined to salvage their special time, no matter what.

However, intense hurt got the better of her good intentions. "Couldn't you have at least called?" she admonished, on the verge of tears.

Quinn set the salad bowl on the table and enfolded her into his arms. He kissed the hollow behind her ear. "I forgot, Marigold. No excuses, I plain forgot. I'm sorry. Really sorry."

Meredith sniffed and straightened her shoulders. If she strung him up by his toenails like he deserved, who'd take care of the children? "Okay. Next time, call. Please."

"I will. I promise."

Dear honest Quinn. He had offered no trumped up excuse, even though he had screwed up royally.

She smiled despite the despair cutting deep into her soul and handed him a book of matches. They would enjoy this meal if it killed her. "Light the candles and pour the wine, will you? Dinner is served."

"You've gone to a lot of trouble," Quinn said, and pulled out her chair.

"I thought we needed a little time to ourselves."

"Excellent idea, honey." Silence. "So, how was your day?"

"Okay, I guess. Jorene's out sick. James and Pat are on vacation so things are backed up and bogged down, but I handled the confusion. Unless we have another crisis, we'll meet our deadline."

"In other words, you managed with your usual calm efficiency."

"Well..." His compliment warmed her heart. "Are you really worried about Ellsworth?" she asked.

Quinn shrugged. "I'm not sure what to think. What I heard and saw probably adds up to zilch, but we can't take a chance. I have to check him out."

"Of course you do."

He cast a glance towards their bedroom door. Meredith wished she could attribute the eagerness written on his face to his dying to take her to bed, but she could almost see the wheels turning in his head. His mind wasn't on seduction. The PC in the bedroom was linked to the main computer at Omaha National. She'd bet her last dollar he was itching to log on and check out the ideas popping into his head.

If he did, he deserved every bit of the ire she'd stifled. He'd jolly well better enjoy the evening she'd engineered.

He ate the last bite of lasagna on his plate. "That was delicious, honey."

She pushed a curly, brown edge aside with her fork, her smile forced. "Thanks. Hope you like dessert."

"Dessert, too?"

"Yes." She pushed back her chair and picked up his plate. "Sit still. I'll get it."

Quinn watched her uncover a pie, the crust fluted in perfect symmetry. She cut a wide wedge and lifted it to a dessert plate. The scent of apples and cinnamon wafted under his nose. His heart sank.

It was apple pie, his absolute favorite. He stood and peered over her shoulder. That was no store bought pastry. Jeez, his loving bride had hurried home from work after a problem-filled day and baked this work of art especially for him. And what did he do while she slaved away to surprise him? Forget all about her and the kids when an exciting challenge presented itself. Remorse burned deep in his soul. How could he make it up to her? Nothing could undo his thoughtlessness. He owed her this special evening, no matter how much he wanted to get back to work.

"A la mode?" she asked pointing to his slice with the server.

He grinned at the golden glint in her eye. "You know the answer to that."

She chuckled and took a five quart bucket of French vanilla ice cream from the freezer. His grin widened when she dropped a second huge dollop onto the wedge.

Quinn dug into his dessert the moment he sat down. "This is excellent, Marigold. I didn't know you could bake."

"My best friend in high school's mom taught me to make pie crust. My mother didn't like cake and I wanted to make her a pie for her birthday." Meredith didn't add that her mother had been too drunk to eat the pie. "The Smith's were a wonderful family, especially Mrs. Smith. She always made time to teach and listen and give advice--"

The telephone rang. Quinn reached behind him and answered it. "It's for you," he said, handing her the receiver.

"Hello. Yes, Mason. Which system's down? How long 'til we're back in service? Oh...I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?...Don't worry about a thing. I'll take care of it. Let me know when you get back to town."

Meredith hung up the phone and headed straight to the bedroom. Easing the door open, she tiptoed past Brittany sleeping in the playpen. In a few moments she was back, briefcase in hand.

Quinn leaned back and watched one of the company's top middle managers shift into high gear. After consulting work schedules and her roster, she called one of her employees.

"Bob, this is Meredith McAllister."

She identified herself with his name. Pride surged through Quinn.

She looked gorgeous. Refracted light from the chandelier transformed her mahogany hair into warm embers. He imagined his fingers twined in her tresses. Her bare shoulders were bathed in soft luster and her cleavage in mysterious shadow, places he ached to kiss. She jotted notes in her day timer. She listened. Her coral-painted nails tapped on the page. He imagined her creative hands on his body, her ear tuned to his faint moans. All at once, the romantic mood Meredith had worked so hard to achieve struck him full force.

"Thanks, Bob. I owe you one. Call me if you need help. Good-bye."

"Problem?" Quinn asked. He stood behind her chair and massaged her tense shoulders. Her satin-soft skin sent tingles through his fingers.

"Mason Ames' mother isn't expected to live through the weekend. He's on his way to Kansas City and has no idea when he'll be back."

"And you're already short-handed." He trailed his index finger along her spine. She quaked in response. "Do you have to go in?"

"Not now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring."

He extended his hand and helped her up. "In that case, shall we make the most of the time we have?"

She faced him, her eyes aglow. She moistened her lips, now devoid of lipstick. His heart turned over at the sweet anticipation of her expression.

Meredith nodded. "You move Brittany and check on Brett and Wynne. I'll put the food away and join you--" her breathy voice completed his arousal "--in the bedroom."

* * *

An hour later, Quinn lay beside Meredith oblivious to her lack of response. His hand moved over her soft skin, but it might have been alligator hide for all he noticed. Is Ellsworth in debt? Bad credit? A gambling habit? Wonder if he has an Omaha National policy? I should check the rescinded claims. If I could just log on the computer. This is my biggest assignment yet--my golden opportunity to show the boss and the company my brilliance and competence...

When in the Sam Hill will I get that Philosophy of Leadership paper written for Uncle Sam? Gotta pass the course. It's required for promotion. If I'm passed over for promotion twice, I'll be out on my ear. I've put in ten years service, and I'm halfway to retirement, too much time in to blow a decent supplemental pension after I turn sixty. I need it now. I've got a wife and family to support.

The thought jerked him back to the woman stretched out next to him. Her hand lay still on his stomach and her eyes were trained on the ceiling.

Meredith lay close beside Quinn, barely conscious of his hand stroking her body. How in the world do I complete the project with the current personnel shortage? I really should go in tomorrow even though it's Saturday. I've worked countless weekends in the past. But if I do, when do I clean and shop, wash and iron? I'll scream if I have to press one thing at a time another week in order to go to work.

Turn it off, she ordered herself. She rolled on her side and kissed Quinn's shoulder.

I should fold clothes. The children's drawers are empty. At least I think they are. I haven't tried to pick my way to their dressers today. I don't even want to think about their bathroom. How do they manage to splatter the mirror and smear toothpaste on the countertop?

Quinn pulled her closer and nuzzled her neck. "Whatchya thinkin?"

She sighed. "Trying to figure how to juggle the work schedule to cover all those people who're out. Laundry and dirty bathrooms." She sighed again. "I'm sorry, Quinn. This isn't how I planned the evening."

"Don't apologize." He flipped on his back, and his gaze strayed to the computer. "I'm bouncing between Ellsworth and Uncle. We're both on overload."

Meredith's scheme for an intimate evening had fallen flat. She raised up on one elbow. Neither one of them could concentrate on the other while so many problems whirled in their heads. She leaned over, kissed his cheek and ran her finger through his chest hair. "You've cast surreptitious glances at the computer ever since we walked in here. Go ahead and log on. You'll never sleep until you do."

"You sure?"

"Positive. While you do your thing, I'll play fruit basket turn over with my people's schedule."

Quinn sprang out of bed and reached for his threadbare cutoffs before she had finished the sentence. "Hand me my briefcase, will you?" Meredith asked, plumping the pillows into a backrest.

A wave of sadness washed over her. Sometimes it seemed like she'd been married a hundred years instead of less than six weeks. It shouldn't be so easy for both of them to admit defeat in the lovemaking department and pick up their work where they left off. But what to do about it? She didn't know.

* * *

Wynne bounced atop her Hoppity Horse, a large rubber ball with a horse's head, into the bedroom. Quinn looked up from the computer screen.

"Wanna go to the park on my horsy." She gazed up at him with her big guileless eyes, her thumb, as usual, stuck in her mouth.

"Not tonight, Wynnie Pooh. I'm working and so's Meredith." Leave me alone so I can finish this. She needs the computer. "I wanna go to the park. You's and Merith's always workin'." Wynne bounced the horse and stuck out her bottom lip.

Quinn checked an oath unfit for little girl ears. Why did the pixie have to choose this week to morph into the demanding child in the family? Meredith's and his jobs shortchanged the children, no doubt about it, but neither of them could change the situation. He was under the gun. His army paper must be in the mail by the end of the week. At the office, he continued to wrack his brain and the resources at his disposal, but so far, the obscure notes and an overheard conversation didn't add up.

At the same time, Meredith's evening shift supervisor, Mason, remained on emergency leave. One of her vacationers had returned, but another had left, and another was out with chicken pox, of all things.

A loud crash, followed by a howl of pain, boomed from the kid's room. Quinn pushed past Wynne and loped across the living room. He met Meredith at the door.

By the time they reached Brett's side of the room, the boy was halfway out from under a tangle of quilt, table legs, books and a broken lamp. "Show me where you're hurt," Quinn said and helped the child to his feet.

"My head," Brett cried, touching the goose egg already started near his temple.

Quinn pushed Brett's sandy blond hair aside and probed the wound gently. "There's a bit of a knot. Skin's not broken. You'll live, ace."

"I'll get ice," Meredith offered.

Quinn stretched Brett out on the bed and sat down beside him.

In a few moments Meredith returned with a plastic bag full of ice cubes wrapped in a dishtowel. She picked her way through the rubble of Brett's creation and handed Quinn the ice pack.

Once the cold bag covered the bump, Quinn fixed Brett with his best parental stare. "Mind telling me what you were doing?"

The boy's mouth trembled in fear, pride danced in his eyes. "Buildin' a fort. I didn't mess with the fish net, just like you said."

"I appreciate that." Quinn caught Meredith's grin just before she slipped into autopilot and started straightening the disorder. Brett had emptied the whole blasted bookcase to anchor the quilt walls of his stronghold. The framework on the lampshade was bent and the light bulb broken. "I'll fix that later, hon," Quinn said. "Wynne, please bring Meredith the dust buster from the kitchen."

Quinn didn't know what to say to Brett. If his workload hadn't precluded rollicking outside with the kids after dinner, this wouldn't have happened. The boy had resorted to entertaining himself, an ability Quinn encouraged. Brett had asked him to come see a "surprise" earlier, and he'd promised to come soon. That had only been...thirty minutes ago. He dropped his head and studied the frayed legs of his cutoffs.

He was neglecting not only his wife, but his young charges. He'd never experienced such a tug-of-war in all his life. He brushed Brett's hair off his forehead and kissed the spot he'd bared.

"Next time you want to build a fort, you'd better pick more stable materials. How does your head feel now?"

"Still hurts."

"Lie here for awhile and keep the ice on it. I know it's cold, but the ice will keep the swelling down."

"I've got a better idea," Meredith said. "He can lie on the couch and watch 'The Lion King' on the VCR."

Quinn quirked an eyebrow. Movies were a special privilege in their household. He didn't believe in allowing the TV to baby-sit the kids.

"He's hurt, Quinn. If he watches a movie, he'll lie still more easily."

She was right about that part, but it still went against the grain to allow it, although, his reluctance was his own guilt speaking more than anything else. If the children were absorbed in the video, he could get back to work. Okay, just this once.

"Get the tape going. I'll carry him in."

* * *

Quinn took a break long enough to bathe the children and put them to bed. Meredith seized the opportunity to use the computer. They really needed two machines, something they couldn't afford, money or space wise.

As it was, they shifted Brittany from pillar to post in an effort to find a quite corner for her to nap. It was a good thing she was such a good baby and could sleep anywhere. Meredith doubted they could rely on that ability much longer. They required more space, which would cost more money, which they didn't have. One solution came to mind. She'd better make sure she was in line for the next promotion, preferably one with a healthy salary increase.

* * *

The next night the apartment was quiet except for the clacking of the computer keys. Meredith read in bed while Quinn polished his paper and ran the spell checker. She yawned and stretched, trying to stay awake. It was after eleven o'clock and she'd put in another long and frustrating day.

"Done!" Quinn exclaimed and hit the print button. "Will you proof it for me, while I take a shower?"

"Be happy to." He handed her the hard copy and a red pen. Meredith read the whole paper through without making a mark on the pages and shook her head. Where was the content? He'd talked in circles and said so little. She knew he'd rushed this, and she also knew he could do a whole lot better.

"Well, whadya think?" Quinn asked, emerging from the bathroom.

"How important is this paper?"

"Important. I have to pass the course and to do that I need a passing grade on this assignment."

"Honey, I hate to tell you this, but do yourself a favor and start over."

His face fell. "What's wrong with it?"

"Everything." She tapped the pages with her pen. "What were you trying to say?"

"I expressed my philosophy of leadership." He sounded frustrated, as if after reading the paper she should know his thoughts on the subject.

"Your's or the text's? I thought the specific instructions were that this was how you'd run things when given the chance." She tapped the pages with the pen. "That's not what's written here. It's not personal."

Quinn sank down on the bed and shook his head. "I guess I should rewrite it, but I don't have time. I'll send it in and if I flunk, they'll allow me the opportunity to redo the darned thing."

"At what cost?"

"Pass-fail instead of a grade. I'll be out of contention for recognition. I need every little edge I can get these days. Since the draw down competition is as fierce for Reserve slots as it is for jobs in the active forces."

"Don't throw away the chance. You've got a couple of days. I'll take over the children so you can work uninterrupted."

"That wasn't our deal."

"It's okay. It'll give me a little more experience before you leave for annual training." Boy, do I need it. She found the thought of the full responsibility for the children for two weeks daunting to say the least.

He slumped in silence for a moment. "I hate to renege on our agreement, but I'll take you up on your offer. The reduction in force already cost me a commission in the regular army. I ended up in the Reserve after I graduated from college with ROTC training because there were so few second lieutenant slots available in the active army. Now the promotion requirements are higher than ever. I can't afford to blow it because of a sloppy paper."

She grinned. "That's right. Go get 'um, tiger."

He leaned over and kissed her, hot and hard. "I don't deserve a peach like you."

Her grin widened. "We'll let that be our little secret. Now get back to work while I take my shower."

* * *

Meredith stood at the ironing board and wrestled with the weird shaped BDU uniform. Chaos reigned in their bedroom. She sighed. The bed was loaded with olive drab and brown uniform pieces with an occasional black combat boot and a few bright civilian clothes thrown in for good measure. Brittany sat in her playpen and fussed, disturbed by the confusion. Brett darted about, dressed in his play uniform, getting in the way. Wynne followed Quinn around like a shadow.

Quinn stuffed clothes into his duffel bag. "Hey ace, come make yourself useful," he said to Brett. He lifted the boy under the armpits and stuck him inside the upright duffel bag. "Stomp that stuff down for me."

"What are you doing?" Meredith exclaimed. "I just spent thirty minutes ironing one uniform and now you have him tromping all over them!"

"I told you just to press the collars and pocket flaps. I'm going to the field, not a dress parade."

"But--but that's only doing half the job."

"It's okay, really, Miss Perfectionist. By the time I've sweated ten minutes in Wisconsin's heat and humidity at Fort McCoy, nobody's going to know whether the uniform started out with a beautiful press job or not."

Quinn ruffled Brett's hair and hoisted him out of the bag. "That's enough for now, you can stomp again in a minute."

"I wanna turn!" Wynne demanded.

"Sure, Wynnie Pooh. I've got two bags."

Meredith rolled her eyes. Leave it to Quinn to make a game out of his departure. She wasn't sure if she liked his approach or not. However, it helped the children cope to keep the atmosphere light. She dreaded their reaction when their lifeline since their parents' death walked out the door and they realized he wasn't coming home for many nights. As a substitute, she came in a poor second.

She got the distinct impression Quinn looked forward to two weeks away. Given the tension between them, the pressure at work and the stress of the children, she wasn't surprised that he relished the breather. But why couldn't he camouflage his enthusiasm?

Every doubt she'd ever suffered over having children had resurfaced to torment her in the last few days. How could she manage on her own? That she had doubts at all only added to her concerns. She prided herself on her independence. She'd overcome monumental odds all by herself, yet the thought of caring for three pre-schoolers threw her into a tailspin.

If only she could vent every misgiving and worry on Quinn this venture might prove easier, but that would make it difficult for him to leave. Orders were orders. He didn't have a choice. He must report for duty no matter if she pitched a walleyed fit or accepted his assignment with good grace. She had decided, in the interest of their marriage, to make as few waves as possible.

"Did you see the return receipt for your leadership paper in today's mail?"

Quinn looked up from wrapping a pair of boots in a dry cleaning bag. "Yeah. Boy, am I glad you insisted on the rewrite. Ted said he got his back last week. Some stickler colonel made his paper look like it'd been to the slaughter house. He's going nuts trying to finish his revised version before we leave."

Meredith unplugged the iron. "I'll bathe the children while you finish in here, unless you need me for something else."

"Oh, I need you for something all right." His wicked grin left her no doubt about what that something might be.

Keep it light. She sashayed toward the door and wiggled her figures over her shoulder. "All in due time, soldier boy.

"C'mon, Brett, Wynne. Time to get ready for bed."

Quinn watched his wife walk across the living room ahead of the older children. She never touched them except when forced to accomplish a task. That small thing annoyed him, yet observing how well she interacted with them this week relieved some of his anxiety. He'd worried about leaving the kids in her charge, especially after the fiasco of his last drill weekend, but now his concern appeared unfounded.

Meredith cared a whole lot more for the Duttons than she let on. Her eyes gave her away. He'd seen warmth and something else--longing perhaps?--flash in unguarded moments. He prayed that without him to run interference, she would resolve her mysterious problem. His kids needed a mother to love them, not just an uninvolved housekeeper, and he suspected that whether she knew it or not, she needed them. The crack in her wall of resistance grew bit by bit. What would it take to break the barrier down completely? He wished he knew.

Ignored too long, Brittany howled in protest. Quinn picked her up and cuddled her close. A pang shot through him. It would be two whole weeks without seeing this baby's sweet smile, not to mention the other kids. He delighted in their antics. Had anyone told him three months ago that he was a family man at heart, he would've laughed in their face. Now he couldn't deny that his family was the most important thing in his world.

The hub around which his universe revolved was Meredith. She was the dream he had never thought he'd win. Trite as it sounded, without her, he wasn't complete. He wasn't much for syrupy phrases. He could tell her he loved her with ease, but he'd never figured out how to express in mere words what she meant to him. She gave so much, forgave his stupid mistakes and worked in subtle ways to ease the pressure of his unexpected parenthood. Lately, he'd given damned little in return. She deserved more than his sorry self. He wanted to shower her with his undivided attention, with little surprises and loving nights. That disastrous evening last week still stuck in his craw. He'd never failed to tune out his problems like that before and she'd been so understanding.

Her offer to alternate weeks on the day care shuttle eased his load. Neither of them paid much attention to the clock when there was a job to do. Yet she'd taken on half the chauffeuring duty to free him to put in the extra time he needed at work. It was a sacrifice to someone as determined to break through the glass ceiling as Meredith.

Then, to take over the kids so he could rewrite his paper. He never intended to dump on her that way. They'd made a pact, and he wasn't keeping his end of the deal. He appreciated her support of his ambition. In today's Army it wasn't good enough to skate by, which he would've done on that paper if she hadn't made it possible for him to turn out something of quality.

He owed her big time.

He hated leaving. He already missed her with a deep ache and he hadn't walked out the door….two weeks without her good morning kiss, without her cuddled close beside him in the long hours of the night. ..fourteen days…an eternity.

Still, he admitted the challenge of annual training enticed him. In the field, the unit's work combined all the various exercises practiced at the monthly drills. This was his first AT as a company commander. He'd always wanted this opportunity to lead, to make decisions, to rise or fall on his own merits. He welcomed the chance to prove his worth, both to himself and to his superiors.

He kissed Brittany's downy hair and put her back in the playpen with her favorite bunny rabbit.

Folding the last uniform, he stuffed it in his duffel bag, then added his foul weather gear, mess kit and canteen. He closed the flaps and locked the bag with a padlock. Everything was ready. Formation, according to his orders, began at five a.m. Setting the alarm for four, he thanked his lucky stars he lived close to the Reserve Center. He hated these oh-dark-thirty departures.

He would tuck the kids into bed, then he could tell his wife a very private good-bye.

Chapter 7

Meredith roused from a fitful sleep to the sound of the shower coming from the bathroom. Her eyes sprang open. Sleepiness fled. She only had a few minutes left before Quinn left for two weeks. Myriad feelings assailed her. She was tender and lethargic from their tumultuous lovemaking. Her stomach was queasy and her head throbbed, adding to her misery. It was nerves, pure and simple. Any brand-new bride would find saying good-bye to her husband difficult. She'd miss Quinn so much it already hurt.

Worse still, dealing with the children sent her into a tizzy. An inadequacy she experienced in no other aspect of her life teased and tormented her. She'd tried to bury her anxiety under the old ignore-the-problem-and-it'll-go-away theory. Her plan had failed miserably. The apprehension remained despite her best intentions.

Even with Quinn around as a buffer, she struggled to keep her frequent displeasure with the children to herself. Could she maintain the hunky-dory pretense day and night for two whole weeks? And if she did, what would happen to the pattern of discipline Quinn had established?

She pushed herself to a sitting position and snapped on the bedside lamp. It was too easy to dwell on bad things while lying in the dark. One person, and one person only, could get her through the next two weeks: herself. In order to survive, she'd better start some positive thinking right now. Continuing a constant litany of "I can't, I can't, I can't", only ensured that she'd never succeed. She hadn't clawed out of a rotten childhood and poverty to her present position with a negative attitude. She refused to wallow in pessimism now.

I think I can, I think I can... No! Not good enough. I know I can. I know I can!

As for discipline, the answer was simple.. follow the example Quinn had established after the children came to live with them. She'd emulated his technique with the TV incident and the method had proven successful.

Meredith swung her feet to the floor and looked for her robe. Quinn, fully dressed in his utilitarian BDU uniform, eased the bathroom door opened. "Oh, you're up. After our late night--" his eyes twinkled "--I hoped you'd sleep late."

"Did you really think I'd let you slip out without saying good-bye?"

He ambled toward her, his smile heart-stopping. His dimples deepened and her breath caught. His special smile always induced a giddy-school-girl reaction. With luck, she'd respond in the same way on her dying day.

He caressed her shoulders, bare except for the narrow ribbon and lace strap of her clingy satin nightgown, and drew her closer, pressing her securely against his chest. Ever so slowly he lowered his head. His sensuous lips hovered above hers. His gray eyes smoldered. Seconds ticked by. She couldn't wait until he got around to closing the fraction of an inch left between them. Her hand cupped his head and hauled his mouth onto hers. Their ardent kiss smothered his chuckle. The warmth, the love, behind his passion telegraphed through her. Weak-kneed, she clung to him. She longed to tumble onto the mattress and take up where they had left off such a short time ago. Since it couldn't be, she threw herself into reminding him of what awaited when he returned home.

Despite the ugly rumors going around about troops who played around on their spouses, she wasn't concerned. She trusted him. No man kissed like Quinn kissed her, or made sweet love to her like he had last night and cheated. At least Quinn McAllister couldn't. He possessed far too much integrity.

"I wish I could have my way with you one last time," he said, his low voice laced with yearning.

"I do, too. Two weeks'll seem like two years." Meredith tilted her head back and gazed into his smoky eyes. After a moment, she rested her head on his shoulder and breathed in the wind-swept fragrance of his after shave. "I'll miss you, every minute you're gone."

"I'll miss you every second."

She chuckled. "Is this a game? Okay, I'll miss you every millisecond. No, make that microsecond, then we can stop."

He rolled down his lower lip, looking for all the world like one of the children. "You're no fun."

"Fickle. You've changed your tune in the last four hours."

Quinn's deep laugh rumbled against her breasts, and his hands caressed her back. "You malign me. There's fun and then there's fun."

"I stand corrected." She sighed. His attempt to ease the moment with humor worked only for a instant. When she thought of the days ahead without his jokes, she wanted to cry. When she thought of any aspect of his time away, she wanted to wail and gnash her teeth. Stop it right now. Think positively.

Quinn seemed to sense her change in mood. He held her so close she could scarcely breathe. "You'll be okay? With the kids?"

"Of course." The confidence in her voice amazed her. He mustn't suspect she harbored any doubts. He was carrying a big enough load. Responsibility for the soldiers in his company and the security problem at work rested on his shoulders. His civilian job didn't disappear when he donned his uniform. Active duty right now was inconvenient, but orders weren't written for the convenience of the troops. At least she could remove his concern about her and the children.

"I'll call as often as I can," he pledged. "I wish I could promise every night, but that won't be possible, not when we're out in the field."

"We'll be fine. I have the emergency numbers. Don't worry about us." The more she reassured to him, the more confident she became. Everything would be great on the home front. She was, after all, a competent adult, capable of handling three children on her own. Other women coped alone all the time. She could, too. She'd keep telling herself that until she believed it.

"That's my girl." Quinn lowered his head, his kiss gentle-- blissful--this time. He released her by slow increments, as if he couldn't quite bear to let go, and stepped around the bed. He hoisted one of the duffel bags onto his back and slipped his arms through the straps. Grabbing the other bag, he strode to the front door. Nothing but the baby's night light illuminated his way through the early morning darkness.

Meredith tossed on her robe and followed, her stomach roiling. At the door, she threw her arms around his neck, her hug fierce. "Be careful, sweetheart," she whispered. "Have a safe trip."

"I'll call you tonight. I love you, Marigold." He kissed her, a quick farewell peck. It wasn't enough. Meredith held on. Quinn didn't let go. He kissed her again and again and again, his lips clinging to hers. At last he raised his head and traced her jaw line with his fingertips, his expression bleak. Without another word, he executed a precise pivot and marched down the hall.

Her heart pounding, Meredith flipped the dead bolt into place and leaned against the door, fighting tears. Her fingers pressed the skin he'd grazed as if she could preserve the gentleness of his touch. Endless moments passed before she pulled herself together and headed back to the bedroom. If she rattled around in here, the noise would wake all three youngsters in no time. It wasn't yet five a.m., far too early for them--or her--to arise, although she knew she'd never go back to sleep. The responsibility Quinn had just heaped on her shoulders already weighted her down.

Rather than allow herself to slip into hand-wringing melancholy, she headed straight to the computer. Her staff's training schedule must be posted by Monday. There was no time like the present to start figuring out the pesky thing. Work-at-home time would be limited while Quinn was gone.

She padded barefoot across the living room and stepped on something small and sharp. The corner dug into the tender flesh of her instep. She felt around in the soft carpet pile until she located the culprit, an odd-shaped Lego block. That boy! She dropped the piece in her robe pocket. Teeth gritted, she massaged her abused foot. Brett should do a better job of picking up his toys. He'd been told and told.

* * *

Two hours later, Meredith spotted Brett creep out of his room and peek around the curtains which shielded Brittany's crib from the rest of the apartment, his face a study of hope. She stopped mid-pour of her second cup of coffee and glanced at the clock. Straight up seven. It never ceased to astound her that Brett possessed a built-in alarm clock which functioned one day a week, on Saturday mornings. He rose at seven o'clock, no matter what time he'd gone to bed on Friday night. She swiveled her gaze back to the boy. His baby sister still slept. His face fell and his shoulders slumped.

He looked so disappointed, Meredith hankered to trot into the living room and turn on the TV, but she couldn't. The house rules applied to her as well as the children. If she didn't abide by them, she'd lose whatever control she had gained. Besides, this was the same child she'd been ready to throttle two hours ago.

Brittany stirred. The slightest murmur came from the crib. Before Meredith had a chance to make a sound, a huge grin lit Brett's face and he dashed to the TV. "'Mornin' Meredith," he hollered over his shoulder. "Brittany's awake."

"Good morning to you, too." She crossed the dining area and lifted the groggy baby in her arms. "I know, kiddo. You'd have rolled over and gone back to sleep if your big brother hadn't bellowed like a drill sergeant."

"She was awake," Brett protested, his lower lip stuck out.

"Sort of," Meredith corrected, fingering the Lego piece in her pocket. "Next time make sure she's really awake before you talk so loud. And Brett--"

All of a sudden moisture penetrated Meredith's nylon robe, soaking her breasts. Brittany needed attention now. Besides her brother was already so absorbed in his cartoon that anything she said would bounce off his memory like a well-served racket ball. There would be a better time later to discuss his predilection for leaving his toys littered about. Coward. You're rationalizing to avoid a confrontation. You bet I am. The last thing I need is war with Brett the moment Quinn leaves.

* * *

The lingering light of day lurked around the high-rise buildings. Meredith slipped out of the children's room and sighed. Peace, at last. Her vision zeroed in on the American Skyforce action figures placed in strategic positions behind the coffee table legs and under the couch cushions. Add a demerit to Brett's chart. She stooped to pick up the figures, knowing she would face the boy's wrath in the morning for dismantling his battlefield, but she couldn't stand the mess. It was her fault. She should've reminded him to clean up before she tucked him in. Rationalizing again, old girl. Brett was a smart kid. He knew the rules, and he also knew she wouldn't leave any disorder. Why should he put his things away when she'd do it for him?

How would Quinn handle the situation?

She stared at the telephone and willed the instrument to ring. Shouldn't he have called by now? Soldiering wasn't a nine to five job. Quinn had drilled that concept into her head often enough. He'd call when he could.

She tossed the toy soldier from one hand to the other, weighing her options. She slapped the action figure against her palm, then replaced the toy in the same spot she found it. Brett could jolly well gather up his belongings right now.

Meredith strode into the children's room, careful not to disturb Wynne. "Brett, come with me," she said in a quiet tone that brooked obedience.

They reached the living room, and she closed the bedroom door. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to the battleground.

"My Skyforce."

"Where do they belong?"

He raised his chin and cocked his head. Where had he acquired that defiant gesture? It would've been cute if she hadn't been so annoyed.

"Where they are. I'm not through playing with them."

"Wrong. Please put them away. We don't leave messes for someone else to clean up around here. Quinn talked about that at family conference not long ago." Pretty sneaky bringing Quinn's name into the discussion, but she needed reinforcement from a respected authority.

"Do I havta?"

The pitiful voice tugged at Meredith's heart, and she almost lost it. Her lips quirked at the corners despite her effort not to laugh… the little con artist. He used every means he could think of to get his own way. Too bad for him that she was on to him. "You have to."

"My dad..."

That did it. She closed her ears and stalked to the kitchen for a drink of water. If she listened to that phrase one more time, she'd commit mayhem.

Meredith psyched herself up for another round and returned to the living room with the stray Lego piece in her hand. "Know where I found this?"

"No," he mumbled, his gaze trained on his big toe, dug into the carpet.

"I stepped on it this morning and hurt my foot."

Brett's head remained bowed.

"Look at me when I speak to you," she snapped. Age old guilt followed in an instant. When would she learn to control her emotions? She drew a deep breath, striving for calm and reason. He raised his head, his trademark scowl in place, and she continued in a softer tone. "I'm not really an old meanie, Brett. Brittany is scooting around on the floor these days. She puts everything into her mouth. What if she swallowed this? She could choke."

"Oh."

She knelt and placed her hands on his drooped shoulders. "It's really important for you to put your toys away when you aren't playing with them. What would happen to your action figures if I sat on one?"

"I dunno." His scowl deepened.

"It might break, mightn't it?"

"Maybe." He poked out his lower lip in a facsimile of Wynne's pout.

Why couldn't he just agree and collect his army? All she wanted was a neat, safe room, not this wicked-witch feeling. Meredith remained silent for fear of blurting out hurtful words. Waiting, she tapped her foot. She stared at Brett. He stared at her..a real Mexican standoff, but she refused to back down. Finally, Brett grabbed one soldier, then two and stuffed them in the old metal ammo box in which he kept them.

"There! I done it," he said, slamming the lid with a clatter.

Meredith's hands balled into fists. One day she'd correct his grammar, but not today. She didn't have the energy for another battle. "Thank you. Go on back to bed now. Do you want me to tuck you in again?"

"No!"

"Okay. Good night."

Brett disappeared into his room. Meredith collapsed onto the couch, shaking. She clamped her sweaty palms across her cramped stomach. Why should such a minor incident take so much out of her? It was ridiculous that one small boy could reduce her to a quaking leaf without half trying.

But...but, she rallied. She had kept her cool. She'd made her point, and he'd done what she asked without a battle royal. She could manage. She would.

But at what price? Did every parent go through an emotional wringer at every turn? Still she reveled in her small victory.

The phone rang. She dashed to answer it before the bell woke the baby. "Meredith McAllister speaking."

"It's a joy to hear your voice, Mrs. McAllister."

Funny things happened inside her. Her pulse raced, little quivers rippled through her. "Well if it isn't Captain Glib! You arrived safely?"

"Sure. Convoys are slow and a humvee--well, let's just say it's not the most luxurious mode of travel. But we're here. Everything all right there?" Genuine concern telegraphed with his words.

"Okay...so far."

"Really? You sound unsure."

"Really." Close enough to the truth. She refused to admit her anxiety. That a mere child could reduce her to jelly was too silly for words. "Brett and I just went round and round over his scattered toys. He picked them up and everything's fine."

"Good. Don't let him walk all over you."

Yeah, sure. Easy for you to say. He respects you. "I won't."

"Tell me how you are."

"Missing you."

"I'll be home before you know it." His assurance sounded forced.

"I know." Somehow her words didn't come out as convincing as she had intended.

"The girls okay?"

"Just fine." An urgent voice in the background called Quinn's name.

"Gotta go, honey. I'll phone again as soon as I can. Love you."

"Love you, too. Bye."

"Love you, three. Bye, honey."

Meredith dropped the receiver in the cradle, buoyed by Quinn's all-too-brief call. One day down, thirteen to go. There was a free concert in the park next Tuesday. Saturday they could go to the Safari Park and Sunday to the Children's Museum. If she planned enough activities, the time would sprint by. She hoped.

* * *

"This will not happen again. Last chance, Tyson." Meredith flattened her hand on her desk to still the trembling. "I want that report finished by the end of the day."

Watching Tyson leave, Meredith brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek and fought to control her shaky hand. She hated, absolutely hated, to reprimand an employee. As much as she'd like to avoid the unpleasant part of her managerial responsibility, however, she followed through anyway. It's over and done. Time would tell if her rebuke had made a lasting impression. Now she needed a caffeine and sugar break, a reward for performing the essential duty with the appearance--false, for sure--of confidence and ease.

She glanced at her white-skirted lap and decided a caffeine break would suffice. She'd granted herself several rewards for triumphs at home in the week since Quinn had left. If she kept up the bad habit, she'd face the four letter D word in no time.

She poured a cup of straight black coffee and returned to her desk. In moments she was immersed in projecting the departmental budget for the next fiscal year. The telephone rang and shattered her concentration. As soon as she finished this call, she'd switch the blasted phone to automatic pick up.

"Meredith McAllister speaking."

"Mrs. McAllister, this is Joyce at the Wee Tots Day Care." She rushed on before Meredith could respond. "Wynne fell on the playground and cut her head. I think she'll need stitches. We're taking her to the University of Nebraska Medical Center emergency room."

Meredith gasped and made an instantaneous decision. "I'll meet you there. I'm leaving right now."

She hung up and grabbed her purse. "Wynne's hurt," she called over her shoulder to her secretary. "I'm on my way to the Med Center."

Meredith trotted to the elevator as fast as her straight skirt and heeled pumps would allow. It was a good thing she carried the medical power of attorney Quinn had left in her wallet. He was the children's legal guardian. She was not. Thank God he'd had the foresight to provide the document which allowed her to authorize treatment.

She exited the elevator and the strangest sensation came over her. The skin on the back of her neck prickled, as if the fine hairs rose. She couldn't shake the certainty that someone was watching her. She spun around. The security guard sat at his desk. Otherwise the lobby was empty. Her imagination was running amuck, nothing more. Her concern for Wynne was manifesting itself in a strange way.

She hurried to the minivan. Mid afternoon traffic moved at a reasonable pace. Still, Meredith chafed at every signal light, at every slow moving vehicle, 42nd Street had never seemed further away. Fifteen long minutes passed before she raced into the UNMC emergency room. Joyce was waiting by the door.

"Wynne needs stitches." Joyce pointed toward the examining rooms. "She's in the pediatric treatment room."

"Thanks." Meredith replied, slowing down long enough to deal with bureaucracy.

Halfway past the open treatment area, she heard Wynne crying. The terror in the child's voice wrenched Meredith's gut. She hurried on.

"Merith!" Wynne screamed. "I want Merith!"

Meredith's heart skipped a beat. Wynne wanted her. Not her mother. Not her father. Not Quinn. The child's plea humbled Meredith. Injured, the little girl demanded the woman who'd tried so hard to keep the children at a distance. Tears pooled in her eyes. Dashing them away, she opened the door.

Wynne tossed and turned on the examining table, fighting with all her strength the nurse who struggled to restrain her. Meredith's knees turned to jelly. She clutched the doorknob and steadied herself. "I'm here, Wynnie Pooh."

Wynne stilled and held out her arms, fat tears soaking her red face. "Merith! I hurted my head."

"I know, sweetie." Meredith caught the nurse's eye. "May I hold her a minute? Maybe I can calm her down."

"Sure," the nurse answered and stepped aside.

Meredith dropped her purse on a chair and lifted Wynne, cuddling her close, in total disregard of her white suit. The child filled her arms.

And the gaping hole in her heart.

Wynne rested her head on Meredith's shoulder. A bloody smear marred her pristine jacket. The little angel's tennis shoes smudged dust on her skirt. It didn't matter. Meredith realized she was born to nurture a child. How could she have ever thought she could live her whole life without the motherhood experience?

Meredith paced back and forth in the small cartoon-decorated cubicle until Wynne's sobs decreased to sighs and shudders. "Let's dry your eyes, Wynnie Pooh, and let the nice doctor fix your head. Then we'll go home. Okay?"

"No!" Wynne cried again.

"Sweetie, the doctor has to fix your head so it'll get all better. Now lie still." She stretched the shaking child out on the examining table. "I'll stay right here and hold your hand."

"When we're done you can pick your bandage," the nurse added, and held up a sample of gaudy adhesive strips.

"O-kay." Wynne acquiesced and lay still. The nurse fastened the restraint across her tummy. Wynne gazed at Meredith, her big blue eyes wide and trusting. "You won't go 'way?"

Meredith squeezed Wynne's hand, then brushed the child's tear-stained cheek. "I'm staying right here. I promise."

With each pull of the needle Wynne howled and Meredith soothed, wincing inwardly, her calm facade cracking a little bit more. Thank goodness the cut required only four stitches. One more and the trauma of watching the little girl's pain would've reduced Meredith to the same hysterical sobs that shook Wynne.

"All done," the doctor announced. "Which bandage would you like?"

Not a moment too soon. Meredith prayed for the angry crows in her stomach to stop flapping their wings before she disgraced herself.

Wynne's hand hovered over the green one splattered with gold stars, then she changed her mind and selected the fuchsia strip with purple flowers. "Matches my shorts," she informed her audience.

Meredith shook her head. Color coordinated bandages. Just what she needed--a miniature fashion freak. Future battles flashed behind her eyes, but she didn't care at the moment. Wynne wasn't hurt seriously. If the garish bandage dried her tears, nothing else mattered.

Meredith hoisted the tot on her hip and left the cubicle. At the desk, she paused long enough to finish the paperwork.

"Let's go get your brother and sister, then we'll go home," Meredith said, snapping Wynne's seat belt.

Joyce met them at the Wee Tots door. "What a pretty bandage, Wynne."

"I picked it!"

Meredith spotted Brett. "Hi," she greeted. "Ready to go home?"

"Yep," he said, slinging his backpack onto his shoulder. He glanced at her, then stared, his gaze riveted to her blood-stained jacket. His lower lip trembled. "You hurt, too, Meredith?"

Meredith followed his vision and shook her head. "Oh no, Brett, I'm fine. Wynne smudged my shoulder before the doctor stitched her cut."

He brightened. "Good. I was real worried. Don't want nothin' to happen to you."

He sounded so grown up, so concerned, Meredith melted inside. She hugged him close, his hot sweaty body a balm to her soul.

Poor kid. A child his age shouldn't worry about the adults in his life, but Brett had lost his parents a short time ago. She'd worry, too, in his shoes.

A worker appeared with Brittany, barring further reflection. The infant held out her tiny arms, smiled and squealed a loud, ecstatic greeting.

Between them, all three children had ensnared her in a proverbial gilded cage in the last two hours. Whatever would she do now?

* * *

The children slept. In the silence, the full impact of Wynne's accident, like a steel ball dropped from twenty stories up, hit Meredith. Everything had changed. Nothing had changed. She'd admitted she desired--required--motherhood to become whole. Quinn filled a part of the cavern in her life, but even he couldn't assuage her strong maternal instinct. Nevertheless...her flaw remained.

She slouched in the corner of the couch, hugging a soft throw pillow to her chest. What a lousy substitute for Quinn's solid male body. She ached to share her momentous discovery with him, and yet she couldn't. She'd deceived him...and herself. Someone as innately honest as Quinn would never understand.

How could she become the children's mother when such dread hung over her head? One small incident and she might well explode. The basic question remained. What if the old adage, "familiarity breeds contempt" proved true? Yet, how could she continue to keep the children at a distance? In truth, it wasn't possible.

Despite her best efforts, each of Quinn's charges had breached her defenses and forged their own place in her heart. All she could do was work double hard to keep her cool. If she didn't blow it, her hidden longing was within her grasp.

A shiver shook her shoulders. Life, so simple two months ago, was now complicated by the knowledge that it was futile to keep up her pretext of indifference to the children. She wasn't that good an actress. Certainly, if she couldn't stay aloof before, she couldn't now.

She longed to chat with Quinn, to hear his wonderful, soothing voice, no matter how inconsequential their conversation. She needed the reassurance of his deep, rumbling tones tonight, but a call was impossible. Quinn was slogging in the field, away from luxuries like telephones, and running water and a firm roof over his head.

She railed against the unfairness of the enforced isolation. In a genuine emergency she could get word to Quinn. Otherwise, he was incommunicado during the exercise. She had better get used to it. If the unit was called up and sent God knows where, she'd really be on her own. Quinn's annual training was, not by design but in reality, as much for her as it was for the soldiers. One thing she understood in her short experience with the military: dependent spouses--how she disliked that official designation--endured rough times. Well, she was self-reliant, maybe too much so, but that didn't mean she was immune to the need of a little encouragement when disaster struck.

Loneliness overwhelmed her. It would be so easy to allow despair to take over, but she was stronger than that. Wynne was all right. Meredith, herself, was all right. Brett and Brittany were all right. Meredith would manage without talking to Quinn.

* * *

"Why is it that every time I need to look my best, I pop a zit?" Meredith muttered at the mirror. She focused on the offensive blemish marring her chin and sighed. Pimples belonged on teenagers, not thirty-year-old career woman. Especially on the morning of an important conference with her boss. She required every bit of self-confidence she could muster, not adolescent anxiety. Whisking the cover stick from her make-up bag, she dotted the red spot with fleshed-toned color.

"Whatchya doin'?" Sleep tousled, Wynne stood in the bathroom doorway.

"Hiding my ugly boo-boo." Meredith replaced the make-up and turned around. "I didn't know you were up. Will you get dressed while I finish my face? Then I'll fix breakfast."

"Okie-dokie," Wynne chirped. She showed no ill effects from her playground spill two days before.

"Your clothes are laid out on top of your dresser," Meredith called as Wynne skipped out of the bedroom.

Meredith sighed and slapped on the rest of her make-up. The time necessary for a meticulous job wasn't in the cards today. Mornings were crazed around their place. To get herself and three children fed, dressed and out the door on time was a monumental task. She missed Quinn's hands…not only when it came to the morning routine either. Just three more days and she'd feel his callused fingertips skim a loving message over her skin. She couldn't wait!

Enough. Keep up that line of thought and you'll turn to a quivering bowl of longing in two seconds flat. Better concentrate on the other kind of hunger or you'll never make a decent impression on the boss.

With a tug on her robe's sash, she strode to the kitchen.

* * *

One eye glued to the clock, Meredith snapped Brittany into her terry cloth playsuit. Nerves over her upcoming interview built by the minute. "Ready to go, Brett?"

"Yep." He ran toward her, grinning. "I made my bed."

"Good for you. That makes me proud. Will you play with Brittany while I finish dressing?"

"Okay."

"Where's Wynne?"

Brett shrugged. "Dunno."

Meredith glanced through the dining room into the kitchen…Not there. Wynne wasn't in the living room either. The silence deafened. A sinking feeling ballooned in Meredith's stomach. She sped into the her bedroom. Empty.

Meredith skidded around the bed. The chair was missing from it's usual place in front of the computer desk. The bathroom door was closed. "Wynne!"

A clatter resonated from beyond the door. Meredith shoved the barrier open and stopped dead in her tracks. The small room was a Technicolor disaster area. Cosmetics of every shade and description were splashed, smeared and smudged on the sink, on the countertop, down the front of the little girl's clothes. The mixed fragrances of Wind Song, Chloe and White Shoulders smelled like Meredith's image an old-time bordello.

"Oh, Wynne, how could you?"

Wynne was standing on the chair and peering into the mirror. Caught in the act, she scrambled down. The chair rolled. Meredith sprang forward and caught the little imp before she fell.

Wynne's face sported a sample of every cosmetic in Meredith's collection, applied more or less in the intended fashion. Her mouth, a deep melon shade, was painted twice its normal size. Soft greens and dusky browns, spread with a lavish hand, framed her eyes. Mascara caked her lashes and blackened the delicate area under her lower lids. Clown-like dots of blush adorned Wynne's cheeks.

Unable to hold back, Meredith chuckled at Wynne's peacock-proud grin at the same time tears threatened. Whatever had prompted the little girl's experiment today of all days? Meredith's appointment with her fearsome boss began in exactly forty-five minutes. How in the world would she make it on time?

"What were you doing, Wynne?" Meredith scrubbed the child's hands.

"Hiding my ugly boo-boo." She pointed to the line of stitches coated with foundation, cover stick and loose powder.

Monkey see, monkey do.

Would all that gunk infect the still-healing wound? Meredith cringed. No time to clean up the mess now. She whipped Wynne's soiled outfit off and carried her to the children's room for fresh clothes.

Maybe when Quinn got home she could laugh about this disaster, but right now she wanted to scream...and cry...and gnash her teeth.

No time for that either.

Chapter 8

Breathless, Meredith flopped into her desk chair and gulped a lung full of air. Eight minutes left before her appointment with her boss, John Sawyer. By some heaven-sent miracle she'd arrived at the office on time. Grinning, she remembered the astonishment on Joyce's face when she dropped the children off at Wee Tots. No wonder. The paint on Wynne's face could've made up the whole Barnum and Bailey Circus' clown patrol, plus the Shrine clowns thrown in for good measure.

Poor Joyce. Meredith had thrust Wynne into her arms and wished her luck, without stopping to explain. There wasn't time.

She opened her briefcase in search of the papers she needed to back up her proposal, rehearsing her spiel mentally. The phone rang. Her secretary wasn't in yet. She shouldn't take the time to answer the call, but what if it was Joyce? Or--her heart skipped a beat--Quinn? "Yes," she said, sounding as distracted as she felt.

"Meredith?" It was a muffled, indistinguishable voice, not Quinn. Disappointment ripped through her.

"This is Meredith McAllister. I'm on my way to a meeting. May I call you back?"

A deep sigh came over the line, followed by a click.

"Hello? Hello?" She pressed the button a couple of times. Nothing but a dial tone greeted her. How strange. She shrugged. If it was important, the person would call back. Catching sight of the wall clock, she grabbed her file.

Meredith raced upstairs and paused outside her boss's office long enough to tug her teal blue suit into place and smooth her hair. She'd never felt more thrown together in her life. Of course, Wynne would pick today to create a major disaster. The day couldn't start any other way according to Murphy's law. She desperately needed to create a good impression while she presented the germ of an idea percolating in her mind. If Mr. Sawyer thought her innovative concept bore merit and approved, she'd need a small task force to develop it. That meant people, which translated into money, a commodity difficult to shake loose from the cost-conscious higher-ups. Only the best received funding.

She spared one last thought for Wynne, hoping Joyce had managed to remove the little girl's war paint without further damaging her cut. Meredith resolved to check later, but right now she focused her full attention on the task at hand.

"Hi, Marge," she said, stopping at the secretary's desk. "I have an appointment with Mr. Sawyer."

The secretary glanced up from her computer. "'Morning, Meredith. He's expecting you. Go on in."

Her hand shook the slightest bit. Calm down. He's not an ogre, only seems like one. The worst he can do is say no. She tapped on the closed door.

"Come in." She stepped inside.

Mr. Sawyer rose, and lumbered around his wide desk. His massive size and perpetually fierce expression intimidated her. She shook his hand, her grip firm. Nothing turned her off like a limp handshake.

"Ah, Meredith right on time, as usual. Have a seat."

She smiled to herself, glad he'd never know how many yellow lights she'd run to preserve her punctual reputation. "Thank you, sir."

He peered over the top of his glasses. "What did you want to see me about?"

"It came to me the other night..." Before she lost her courage, she rushed on to define the problem and her idea. From her file, she pulled various papers to support her plan. Twenty minutes later, she leaned back, her whole body clammy with nervous perspiration.

Mr. Sawyer shoved his wire-framed glasses up his nose. His spectacles and navy pinstriped suit reminded her of a Franklin Roosevelt era politician. The pocket watch attached to a gold chain stretched across his vest covered stomach completed the image. "You've identified a definite problem. Your solution warrants consideration."

She expelled a pent-up breath. "It's only a start, sir. I didn't want to waste time working the whole thing through without authorization. Besides, some of the pieces are outside my jurisdiction."

"Let me shoot your idea by the fellows upstairs. I must warn you. Money's tight. Your suggestion may go nowhere, which as far as I'm concerned, in no way reflects on the validity of your idea." He nudged his glasses into place again and nodded. "Mind if I borrow your notes?"

She handed him a folder. "I made copies of everything I have for you."

"Excellent. Not that I'd expect anything less from you. You've shown extraordinary diligence and initiative since you started working here. Let me take this opportunity to thank you for getting the job done despite a personnel shortage. That was quite a feat."

Wow! She couldn't wait to tell Quinn. "My people were very cooperative and understanding. They really came through in the crunch."

"It takes a good leader to instill that kind of loyalty."

Her face heated. If he'd asked her to strip naked and parade down Farnam Street, she couldn't have been more stunned. Mr. Sawyer required top performance and wasn't lavish in his praise. She didn't think she had achieved anything out of the ordinary--only gave what he demanded--but she wasn't about to say so. "Thank you, sir."

"I'll get back to you when I hear something. Don't expect an answer any time soon. The wheels around here move slowly."

She nodded and stood. The meeting had gone better than she'd dreamed possible. Now that it was over, she could concentrate on more immediate concerns. "I appreciate your time and support."

"Meredith, one more thing. I expect you to attend the team leader seminar in Denver next week. Good-bye."

Her heart sank. It was one business trip she'd hoped to avoid. Quinn was coming home Friday night. The three day meeting started early the next Wednesday. She would have to travel on Tuesday evening. Not much time together before she left, but what could she do? She flashed what she hoped was a passable smile. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Meredith expected Quinn anytime now. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach every time she envisioned his homecoming. He hadn't been off to war for an extended period of time or anything like that. However, her body didn't seem to understand the relative shortness of two weeks. A deep ache, one Quinn alone could assuage, intensified with each passing minute. Her gaze caught the bright numerals on the clock radio. Seven-thirty-seven. She tried to calculate the time required to convoy from Fort McCoy, Wisconsin, to Omaha and drew an absolute zero. There were too many factors missing, like when the unit pulled out, how many stops they'd made, not to mention how long the unloading of equipment would take. Quinn would show up when he showed up, which didn't help her butterflies one little bit.

Rubbing a dust cloth over their bedroom furniture, her gaze returned to the clock time and again, as if counting off the minutes could hasten his return. How foolish. She forced her attention to the task at hand. Quinn's stuff was stowed--by her own neatnik hand--in their proper places, and she never left her things lying around. She breezed through the dusting.

In anticipation of a joyful, rollicking homecoming, she changed the sheets on their bed. If someone had told her a year ago that in twelve months she would wallow hip deep in domesticity, with a man at the center of her life, she would've accused them of gross prevarication. This time last year she had accepted only the most platonic dates. Self-sufficient and self-contained, she had fooled herself with the belief that she didn't need anyone. Then she'd met Quinn, and everything changed. Now she couldn't imagine life without him. She could survive, but the happiness, the zest in living would disappear.

She tucked in the top sheet and smoothed the bedspread into place.

Her pager went off. Darn it all, not tonight. Office emergencies had spoiled many weekends in the past and would in the future, but please, please not this Friday. Maybe--please, guardian angel--the summons would prove minor. Beep, beep. She searched her purse. Wallet...keys...check book...make-up bag...sunglasses. No electronic wonder. Where was the irksome thing?

Wynne watched her scrambling hunt from the doorway. "Merith, your beeper's beeping."

"I hear it. Now all I need to do is find the darned thing."

"It's under the table," Wynne said around the thumb in her mouth, wide-eyed and innocent.

"How did my pager get there?"

"Brett used it for a megabomb."

"A what?" Meredith hurried to the living room. "Just wait till I get my hands on that boy. The things I use for work are not toys."

A glance at the occasional tables divulged a variety of toys and shoes, but not the pager. The whole place was a shambles. As much as she wanted to see Quinn this very minute, she hoped for enough time to straighten the living room.

The beeping sounded again, drawing her attention to the dining table. Brett's arrangement of the cage-like chairs created a perfect fortress for his soldiers. She shook her head and retrieved her little black leash, checking the number displayed.

Before she took the six steps to the kitchen phone, the pager went off again. Her heart sank. Isaac was impatient. He hadn't given her three minutes to return the call. A chill scampered up her back. She doubted an easy fix to whatever crisis was facing her. Punching in the number, she dreaded whatever awaited on the other end of the line. "This is Meredith McAllister," she said when the phone was answered. "What's the problem, Isaac?"

"The system crashed."

As if to emphasize the enormity of her employee's words, a crash echoed through the apartment. "Hold on a minute," she said.

She ran to Brett's door and ascertained that the noise stemmed from overzealous play. "I'm on the phone," she said, willing herself to stay calm. "Please put your toys away, and go take your bath.

"Wynne, would you hang up this phone, when I pick up in the bedroom? And keep an eye on Brittany for me."

She sped into her room and closed the door, feeling like she was trapped on a sinking ship. How had everything gotten out of control in two minutes flat? "I'm sorry, Isaac. Is the problem in the hardware or software?"

"Hardware," Isaac said.

Before Isaac finished his explanation, Brittany's shrill squeal penetrated the door. "Quinn's here," Wynne shrieked.

Oh, no. He was home and she wasn't ready.

"Okay, I'll contact the vendor." Meredith glanced up. Quinn was lounging against the door frame, Wynne balanced on one hip, and Brittany draped over the opposite shoulder. His face and arms were suntanned. His brown T-shirt was damp with sweat, his uniform creased and dirty. Once spit-shined, his boots were caked with mud. She'd never seen a more beautiful sight in her life. She raised her index finger, asking him to wait and continued talking to Isaac. This wasn't the homecoming she'd planned, not at all. "Call me back in an hour if you haven't heard from him."

Quinn allowed Wynne to slide to the floor and skirted the bed, his stride long and fast. The moment Meredith hung up the phone, he was beside her, his free arm looped around her shoulders, his mouth pressed against hers. The faint stubble on his chin and upper lip abraded the tender skin around her mouth. Sensation shot through her, all the way to her toes. She lost all sense of time, place and audience. The man crushing her against him held her total attention: his taste, his smell, his feel. Travel-stained, weary--nothing mattered but the fact Quinn was here in her arms where he belonged.

She could've kissed him forever, but Brittany had other ideas. Tried of being squashed between them, she kicked her feet and tugged Meredith's hair.

At the same moment, Brett raced in. "Oh, gross! Kissing."

A hearty laugh shaking his shoulders, Quinn released Meredith. A bereft feeling surged through her. "Hello, Marigold," he whispered against her ear.

His deep lyrical voice reduced her insides to quivering jello.

"Oh, Quinn, I'm not ready. This isn't the homecoming I planned." That sounded so awful, so unwelcoming. "But I'm really glad you're home," she quickly amended.

"Don't fret. Let's get this crew tucked in, then you can tell me again how glad you are to see me." His words alone sent shivers down her spine, but his inflection almost compelled her to forget the children and drag him into bed right then and there.

"Did ya bring me somethin', Quinn?" Brett asked.

Quinn ruffled the boy's damp blond hair. "Ace, it's not polite to ask for presents."

"Oh. But did ya?"

"Brett!" Meredith exclaimed.

"It's all right, honey. We'll work on this particular lesson later," Quinn said. He crouched in front of the boy. "I brought something for everyone. Let's go in the other room, and I'll unpack your treats. Meredith has a call to make."

Meredith's hand flew to her mouth. In all the excitement she'd forgotten her crashed computer system. She grabbed the phone and punched in the number. Quinn herded the children to the living room.

Meredith heard squeals in the background the whole time she conferred over the phone. She finished her business and skipped to the living room, as if she'd reverted to a child Wynne's age.

"See what I got," Brett said, running to meet her. He waved a bright gold T-shirt with Fort McCoy's name and triangular logo on the front.

"Very nice, Brett," she said.

"See mine," Wynne said around her thumb. She held her pale yellow shirt by both shoulders giving Meredith a proper view, then threw her arms around Quinn's neck. "Tank you, Quinn."

Consummate pride glowed on her husband's face. Meredith's heart caught. He sat cross-legged on the floor, Brittany perched on one thigh, her tiny pink Fort McCoy shirt spread across his other thigh. Brett pranced around flapping his shirt like a bull fighter's cape. Meredith hoped the carpet muffled his elephant-like footsteps from the neighbors below.

"You're welcome, Wynnie Pooh."

"Yeah, thanks, Quinn," Brett said.

Meredith glanced down at Brittany. "Uh-oh. The one in your arms is dead to the world, and I haven't bathed her yet."

"Don't worry about it, hon. She can have her bath after breakfast," Quinn said. "The way she eats, she usually needs one anyway."

As usual, when Meredith started to get bent out of shape, Quinn came up with a simple solution. Brittany wouldn't come to any harm if she went to bed one night with dirty knees from crawling around on the floor. Meredith figured she'd better learn to live with offended sensibilities if she planned to raise three children, especially since a rough and tumble boy numbered among them.

"Okay, troops," Quinn said, rising to his feet. "Time for bed."

"You haven't given Meredith her present," Brett said.

"I'll give it to her later. No more dilly-dallying. Bedtime." Meredith chuckled watching the two older children scamper toward their bedroom. Quinn's tone of command had been well-honed in the last two weeks.

* * *

Quinn knelt before his duffel bag and removed a bundle of jade green cotton knit. He thrust the soft cloth into her hand, wondering if he'd done the right thing. "For you, Marigold."

He suspected he'd benefit more from the gift then she would. Darn. It wasn't her style. He should've gone with a T-shirt like those he'd gotten for the children.

She took the package and unfolded a sleep shirt. Her eyes scanned the slogan emblazoned on the front: Weekend Warriors are Ever Ready. Her cheeks bloomed a deep rose.

Ah, half the reaction he'd hoped for. Quinn loved to watch his usually unflappable wife become flustered. Now if she responded to the message, he'd have it made.

"Huh, thanks, I think. Now I see why you didn't want to give me this in front of the children."

He stood, his joints creaking from being cramped in a vehicle for most of the day. He nuzzled her neck, slipping his hands under her shirt, and cupping her breasts. His thumbs drew concentric circles around her nipples until they purled. She sighed and arched into his palms. "If you're referring to the slogan, our children can't read yet," Quinn purred into her ear. "But I thought the extracurricular activity which accompanies the present should remain private."

"Hmm, yes." She hugged his neck, pulled his head down and kissed him with more fire and intensity than ever. It dawned on him that separations weren't all that bad when such a heartfelt homecoming awaited. "I missed you very, very much."

"I missed you, too, sweetheart. More than I can say." Quinn deepened their kiss, enfolding her tightly against him. Considering the evidence, she couldn't doubt at least one part of his anatomy had indeed missed her something terrible.

She stepped back and dropped her gaze below his belt, her smile sassy. "The slogan's a truism, I see."

Bingo! One glimpse at her cheeky grin and he knew the evening would end in a realization of the fantasies he'd conjured up over fourteen, long, lonely nights.

Her hand brushed the hard ridge under his fly. Her cheeks darkened to the shade of a burgundy peony. He couldn't help the guffaw that erupted from deep inside him. She was so darn cute. Sometimes Quinn found it difficult to equate the serious, uptight woman he'd first met with the bantering, brazen woman in his arms. He adored her teasing him. This facet of her personality--private and special--she kept hidden from everyone but him. "We aren't called the Ready Reserve for nothing."

The phone rang. "Let the blasted thing ring," Meredith said, reaching for him again.

"It's probably your office. Better answer and solve their problem so we won't be interrupted. I need you, Marigold."

She sighed. "I wish I could disconnect the phone for the rest of the weekend." She snatched the receiver. "Meredith McAllister."

Quinn shucked his uniform, grateful to shed the sweaty clothes. Twelve hours in a humvee, sans air conditioning, wasn't the most pleasant way to travel in ninety plus degree heat. He smelled like a goat. Meredith really must love him to snuggle close anyway. He gestured toward the bathroom door, letting her know he was headed to the shower.

He stepped under the warm spray, delighting in the feel of one layer of grime sluicing away. The soap foamed in his hands. He lathered away the remaining grit.

The bathroom door clicked. "That you, hon?" he asked.

Meredith peeled back the shower curtain and joined him under the cascading water. "Who'd you expect? Miss July?"

He shook his head, as much in surprise as denial of her silly question. She'd never joined him in the tub before, although he'd hinted that he thought showering together would be a whole lot of fun. "My wife would never tolerate sharing my charms."

"You bet she wouldn't!"

Quinn hugged her to him, locking them from breast to thigh. Meredith's softness yielded to his rugged brawn. Her marble-like nipples burrowed into his furred chest. Hard and throbbing, joy surged through his veins. His soap-covered hands caressed her satin-soft tush, then roamed wherever they could reach. He just couldn't touch her enough. She moaned and clasped him tighter. She was so unique, so loving. He was one lucky dog.

Had he initiated their kiss, or had she? Maybe they had both had the idea at the same time. His lips clung to hers. Their tongues darted and weaved in a frenzied exploration.

Meredith, her mouth locked to his, fumbled for the soap. The next thing Quinn knew, she had backed him into the corner. Laughter alight in her eyes, she tormented him with suds-slick fingers from his dimpled cheeks to the tips of his toes. He quivered, delighted by her teasing.

He savored her provocative torture until he couldn't stand anymore. "Enough, woman, or you won't like the consequences."

She reached for him. "Can't have that, can we?"

He thrust forward, uniting their bodies.

Home at last.

The water splashed around them, creating a musical backdrop to their dance as old as time. Just when he thought he couldn't hold out any longer, Meredith, her breath coming in labored pants, surged against him and gasped. He exploded with pleasure and clung to her for dear life.

Long moments later, realization dawned. They'd been in the shower an eternity. He reached around her and shut off the water. "C'mon, prune-lady, let's finish this on our nice comfortable bed."

Meredith stepped over the bottom edge of the shower stall and stumbled. He grabbed her slippery arm, halting her mid-fall. "You okay?"

"You turn my knees to limp spaghetti, take my breath away, and you have the brass to ask if I'm okay?" She beamed at him, her smile sated, satisfied…gorgeous. "I'm wonderful. Are you?"

The tentative question, softly spoken, stabbed him in the gut. How could she even ask? Didn't she know what she did to him? He caressed her wet shoulders, delighting in the feel of her silky skin, and kissed the tip of her adorable nose. "Never better. You fixed all that ailed me...at least for the next ten minutes."

"I had no idea I was so powerful."

Her expression was coy, yet the wonder of a woman only now coming to the full realization of her own sexual power slipped into her words. Her priceless gift awed Quinn. "You're a witch of the nicest kind. I'm under your spell."

Once more the ringing telephone intruded.

Meredith wanted to stomp her foot in frustration even though she had expected the call. In fact, she hoped Isaac hadn't tried while they were showering. Still, anticipating the interruption didn't make it any less disconcerting. She wanted to curl up and purr like a well-fed kitten. How was she supposed to concentrate on solving Isaac's crisis?

She padded into the bedroom, dripping on the carpet, and seized the phone. For one insane instant she contemplated smashing the blasted thing against the wall before reason prevailed. "Mrs. McAllister," she barked, not quite able to stifle her ire.

She listened to her employee's report, her gaze trained through the half-opened window blinds on the twinkling lights of the city. The scene failed to soothe her.

All of a sudden, fluffy terry rubbed between her legs and Quinn's fingertips skimmed the inside of her thigh. Arrows of pleasure shot to her toes, and she swallowed a moan. How was she supposed to sound professional, when her spouse was bent on playing sweet games? She cast him what she hoped was a daunting scowl. She received lascivious grin and another tickle for her pains. The man was incorrigible, but then she wouldn't want him any other way. "Would you stop?" She batted Quinn's hand away. "No, not you, Isaac. You were saying?"

Quinn finished his ministrations and dropped her new sleep shirt over her head. She poked her arms through the sleeves, and yanked the hem down, grateful for the covering. The scant garment stopped at the tops of her thighs. Well, better than nothing. Even though Isaac couldn't see her, she wasn't comfortable conducting business in her birthday suit.

"Thank you and the rest of the team, Isaac. Sounds like you have everything under control. Call me--" oh, please don't! "--if you need anything else. Good night."

"All fixed?" Quinn massaged her neck.

"Mmm. I think so. We shouldn't have anymore intrusions tonight." She twisted in his light hold. "Are you hungry?"

"Oh, yeah." He licked his lips and stared at her chest.

She glanced down, following the line of his vision. The hard points of her nipples tented the soft knit of her shirt.

"Not that kind of hungry, insatiable. I baked an apple pie."

His grin flickered and died. He played with his fingers as if ticking off the pros and cons of each offering. "Can't I have both?" he begged, sounding like a hopeful little boy.

"Poor baby. I won't make you choose. How about a little of each?"

"How 'bout a lot of each."

"In which order?"

He extracted his favorite tattered cutoffs from his dresser drawer and stepped into them. "Apple pie. I'm afraid once I hit the mattress, I won't be able--" he yawned, proving his point "--to get up again."

* * *

Brittany's, by now familiar, I'm-awake-I'm-wet-I'm-hungry cry roused Meredith from a deep slumber. She glanced to the head on the pillow beside her. Quinn was sleeping like a hibernating bear. Tired as he'd been, they'd still talked and made love well into the night.

She crept from the bed, eager to get the infant up before she woke the others, especially Quinn. He must be exhausted not to hear the baby's summons.

Two steps into the living room, she tripped over his combat boots. She fought for balance and almost won, except Brett's giant Tonka truck blocked her path. Falling sideways, she twisted her ankle. On the way down, her head grazed the padded arm of the chair, knocking the furniture into the wall.

Pain throbbed up her leg. Brittany howled louder. She mustn't let the baby wake Quinn, assuming he'd managed to sleep through the conk on the wall. Dazed by acute pain, Meredith struggled to her feet, tears streaming down her cheeks.

At that moment, another sound penetrated her consciousness. Cartoons. She saw red. All thought of quiet evaporated in the heat of her anger and the fog of hurt. "Brett Dutton, what do you think you're doing?" she yelled in a loud, penetrating screech that would've done a fishwife proud. "You know you aren't supposed to watch TV until the family is up. Turn it off and pick up these toys. Right now."

Not sparing the boy another glance, she limped to the curtained-off crib.

"What the Sam Hill's going on out here?"

Meredith glanced over her shoulder. Blurry eyed, Quinn was leaning against the bedroom door frame.

Brett, busy collecting his stray toys, answered. "Meredith fell, Quinn."

He frowned. "You all right, hon?"

Meredith picked up Brittany, then clutched the crib rail for support. Her ankle held her weight--barely. "N-no."

She wasn't sure she had made herself heard over Brittany's cries.

Quinn leapt across the living room in two bounds. Nabbing the infant from Meredith's slack hold, he locked his other arm around her waist. He half led, half carried her to a dining room chair. Crouching in front of her, he set Brittany on the floor. "Brett, come play with your sister, while I look after Meredith."

He lifted Meredith's foot onto his knee, his touch gentle. Despite his care, the movement sent a wave of agony radiating both up her calf and down her foot. Lightheaded, she couldn't suppress a sob.

"That's nasty, Marigold. Your ankle's already ballooning. Let's get ice on it."

Before she could blink, Quinn lifted her and carried her to the couch. He propped the injured ankle on a throw pillow. "Sit tight. I'll get the ice."

She gazed around the living room, distressed by what she saw. Overcrowded with furniture, the place was a pig's sty. Brett had consolidated his toys in a single pile by his bedroom door, but Wynne's doll clothes were still strewn about, not to mention Quinn's two duffel bags, the contents spilled and scattered. Two pairs of combat boots, mud flaking on the carpet, added to the general disorder…and to top it all off, now Brittany's rattles and stuffed animals littered the floor. Meredith sobbed harder.

"Does it hurt that bad?" Quinn wrapped an ice-filled plastic bag around her ankle, then perched on the edge of the couch and cuddled her in his arms.

She cushioned her face in his chest hair. "Every...thing's out of-of con-control," she cried. "I...I y-yelled at Brett. Oh, lord, I-I couldn't s-stop myself."

"He'll get over it. He's playing with the baby. They're both happy little campers."

Dear God, she hoped Quinn was right. She'd rather die than harm those precious children, but yelling at Brett wasn't all. "Look at this pl-place. They tr-trash it f-faster than I-I can cl-clean up. I-I w-wish I were a st-stay at h-home m-mom."

"Shh," Quinn soothed, brushing her hair from her face. "Everything'll be okay. Close your eyes and rest."

Brittany howled again. Quinn strode over and picked her up, longing for a fog-lifting jolt of caffeine. Diapering the baby by rote, he tried to make sense of what Meredith said. Stay home with the kids? Nah, she couldn't've said that. Could she?

Carrying the infant, he stepped over Brett's pile of toys and into the living room. "Marigold, did you--"

"I'm starvin', Quinn," Brett announced, dancing in front of him. "Can I have French toast for breakfast?"

"Me too, me too!" Wynne chanted.

Brittany slapped at his cheek and squalled.

"Okay, okay. Hold your horses, Sweetpea." How fast he'd forgotten what mornings were like in the McAllister household. He settled the littlest hungry Dutton in her in the high chair and pacified her with a hand full of Cheerios.

First things first. Quinn started a pot of coffee, then gathered the ingredients for French toast.

"Brett, set the table, please."

"Do I--?"

"Just do it and don't give me grief. Okay?"

"You don't havta look so mean!" Brett yanked the silverware drawer open.

Quinn shot him another stern look and turned to beat the eggs. Soaking bread slices in the egg mixture, he plopped four slices on the griddle and reached for the largest mug in the cupboard.

The rich aroma of brewing coffee sharpened his caffeine craving. Watching the coffee level rise in the pot, he replayed Meredith's words. A mom? Unlikely as it seemed, he was sure he'd heard right. She wanted to stay home with the kids. Even though he repeated her words, he still couldn't quite grasp them. The woman claimed no maternal instincts, despite considerable evidence to the contrary.

Filling his mug, he sipped his coffee with gusto. What had happened to provoke Meredith's about-face?

He turned and headed toward the living room. "Mer--"

At that moment all hell broke loose. Smoke and the smell of burning bread filled the kitchen. The smoke alarm blared it's obnoxious racket. Both Brittany and Wynne screamed in terror. He spun around, dashed toward the stove and grabbed the griddle off the burner.

"My toast is burning," Brett wailed.

Quinn hit the exhaust fan button and in seconds the alarm quieted. Lifting the baby from the high chair, he dropped into a chair, holding her against his shoulder and pulled Wynne onto his lap. "Shh, girls! It's okay. The bad old noise stopped. Shh!"

He comforted his daughters, his thoughts on his wife. She couldn't mean it. Her job meant too much to her.

Pondering, he realized she'd think she had to prove she could manage everything to perfection without his help. Sure he'd harbored doubts in the beginning, but they were laid to rest before he left.

She'd attempted to pull off the impossible and almost succeeded. His favorite dessert awaited his return. Two of the three kids were bathed and ready for bed. The apartment sparkled, except for the living room. Without the system crash, she would've worked her magic there, too.

Not even her work crisis had spoiled the best part of his homecoming. Their lovemaking had far exceeded any of the scripts his poor brain had dreamed up during those long nights, alone on his narrow cot.

Quinn's thoughts returned to Meredith's puzzling change-of-heart. The kids were well cared for--happy and healthy. He discounted Wynne's accident. Childhood spills happened. What mattered was how Meredith had handled the incident, which from all accounts was fine.

So, clutter obscured the decor. What else did she expect? She'd flown solo with the kids. An extra pair of hands made a difference. Raising kids was never a piece of cake. Perhaps things hadn't gone as well as he'd been led to believe?

"I's hung-ery, Quinn," Wynne whined.

"All right, Wynnie Pooh. Play with your sister while I fix more toast." He returned to the stove and ten minutes later served perfect French toast to Brett and Wynne. He fed Brittany oatmeal and strained plums, empathizing with Marigold's feeling of loss of control.

Pouring a second mug of coffee, he took it into Meredith. "Want some breakfast?"

She reached for the coffee, shifting slightly. Gasping, her pasty, tear-stained face lost what little color she had. She shook her head.

"Is there anything I can do?" Quinn said, adjusting the ice pack and wishing he had the power to take away her discomfort.

"No." Her voice was a mere whisper.

No way could she really mean she wanted to stay home. It was only frustration and pain talking.

"Things seem a bit out of control, but don't worry about anything. Just lie there and rest." He fluffed her pillow. "The kids and I'll have the place ship-shape in no time."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Honey, I know you're upset, but you can't quit your job yet. This apartment's too small. If we're ever going to move out of here, we need your salary."

Chapter 9

The apartment buzzed with activity. Meredith, vacillating between anger and despair, reclined on the couch--by the good captain's order--in glorious isolation. She might as well have been a snow shovel in Florida for the good she accomplished flaked out sporting a grapefruit-sized ankle.

How dare Quinn waltz home and in the blink of an eye transform her domain from junk yard to showcase? And with the uncomplaining cooperation of Brett and Wynne, no less. Both children grumbled when she enlisted their aid for the tiniest chore. The injustice of it all! She threw a pillow halfway across the room.

The greatest affront--even worse than Quinn's meddling in her housekeeping--was his bald statement that they needed her salary. As if she didn't know. She was the one forced to sacrifice all her hard-earned luxuries. Not a day passed that she wasn't reminded. Sack lunches and a minivan were the mainstays of her life. She hadn't spent an entire day alone with her new husband since their honeymoon.

Worse by far, he brushed aside her wishful plea. Opening her heart and soul to share her innermost dreams wasn't something she did easily. Until Quinn, no one cared, and now the habit of keeping her thoughts to herself was hard to break. In the interest of the communication a good marriage required, she'd voiced her heartfelt desire to stay home and raise the children as their parents had intended. He'd shrugged off her aspiration without any serious thought. His slight hurt beyond her ability to express. So maybe the middle of a crisis wasn't the best time to share her dream, but that didn't excuse his discounting her feelings. She nursed her righteous indignation with the same care she'd give a case of measles.

Meredith swung her feet to the floor and levered herself to a standing position. Gingerly, she tested her weight on her sprained ankle and sucked in a ragged breath. Teeth gritted, she let go of the arm of the couch.

Quinn strolled out of their bedroom, his arms loaded with sheets. The very same sheets she'd put on the bed not twelve hours before.

"What're you doing up, Marigold? Lie back down and I'll bring whatever you want."

"You can't bring what I need in here."

"Oh. Hold on a sec while I dump these in the washer and I'll help you."

"I don't need any help, thank you. You've done quite enough already."

She hobbled into the bathroom and back to the couch with her teeth clenched, realizing she'd let her pride run away with her good sense. More than anything, she wanted solitude.

"Would you like more coffee?" Quinn asked. "Orange juice?"

"What I'd like is to be left alone."

"Okay. Fine."

Stubborn woman, Quinn fumed. Here he was, more than willing to drop his chores and give her a hand. She rebuffed his offer rather than let go of her stiff-necked pride. Would've served her right if she'd fallen flat on her face. Meredith's golldarned independence got under his skin. It wouldn't hurt her to lean on him once in awhile.

He stuffed the sheets into the washer and dumped in a scoop of detergent, then banged the lid closed.

He really didn't want Meredith to fall, but he wished she could accept help with, if not alacrity, at least good grace. If she would shed the superwoman syndrome, the whole family would get along better. No one person could do everything, despite what she thought.

When he had walked in last night and seen all the clutter, he'd breathed a sigh of relief. The place looked like a home. He liked order as well as the next man, but there was neat and neat. A toy or two on a clean floor wasn't a big deal, but Meredith didn't see it that way. To her a shining floor wasn't clean while one shoe remained out of the closet.

He'd worked his buns off all morning, trying to restore the place to her standards. She'd been stuck with the whole load, and now she was injured. He tried to help and what did he get for his trouble? A thank you? No way. She snarled and donned her I-can-do-it-myself shield. Her attitude was enough to make him wish he'd stayed at Fort McCoy. Women! Impossible to live with, but he darn sure didn't want to live without this one, either.

Let her stew. He'd get out of her way like she asked--take the kids to the park.

* * *

From her nest on the couch, Meredith watched Quinn hustle the three tots out the door. The dead bolt clicked into place, the sound echoing in the silent room and locking her in a prison of her own making. She couldn't blame Quinn for his escape. She wasn't fit company for anyone today--even herself.

"Blast it, Quinn," she wailed to the walls. "Why did you have to come home and start cleaning? We made a bargain. The housework's my job. Why couldn't you stick to the agreement?" To be fair, he must think his cleaning frenzy was an act of kindness. But all he'd done was make her feel more inadequate, incompetent.

Her ankle throbbed and her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. A nap sounded tempting, but the sheets needed folding. She never lolled around while someone did all the work.

What a difference a day made. Yesterday she couldn't wait for Quinn to come home. Today she couldn't wait for him to leave her in peace--at least for a little while. She thought she'd scream if he fixed one more thing she'd left undone.

The moment she got her precious solitude, however, loneliness set in. The silence more grew oppressive with each passing second.

What had happened to yesterday's joy? She'd looked up from her phone consultation and seen him braced against the door frame holding the girls. One glimpse of the silvery sparkle in his eyes, the flash of his dimples and she had experienced a meltdown. Ever so slowly he had unfurled his drop-dead-gorgeous smile. The yearning she had kept in semi-check all day, had burst and seeped to every cell of her being.

She searched her soul for some way to restore last night's magic and drew a blank. A nice dinner might help, but she couldn't stand long enough to prepare one. Sex without the loving feelings they'd always shared in the past lost both meaning and beauty. At the moment her feelings were far from loving. A "date night" was out of the question, and given her ill humor, a waste of valuable resources.

She needed a break. There had been so many changes in such a short time.. New husband, new home, new family. The adjustments were too much to absorb at once. Maybe her business trip to Denver would help put her life in prospective. Three days away sounded like heaven. She needed time to regroup. Besides it wouldn't hurt Quinn to shoulder the responsibility alone. Then he might appreciate what she'd been through.

* * *

Quinn lay on a worn, age-softened quilt with Brittany perched on his stomach. "Don't you wish you could play hide and seek with the big kids?"

The baby cooed and squealed, sucked on her toes and batted his nose.

Children's laughter, shouts and groans floated by on the warm summer breeze. Oh, how he'd missed their happy noise. The scene was almost enough for contentment to encompass him…almost, but not quite.

"All that unbridled energy. I'm dreading winter, Brit." The image of five people tripping over each other in their small apartment chilled his veins. "How's Meredith going to cope when the snow falls and icy wind keeps you kids inside for weeks on end?"

Brittany crowed and stuck her tiny finger in his mouth, her baby smile his joy to behold. Time spent with the kids brought him such pleasure, a happiness Meredith didn't share.

Guilt ripped through him. He asked so much of her. It wasn't fair, but what else could he do?

Brett raced across the lush grass, his skinny legs churning. He flopped down beside Quinn, panting, his red face sheened with sweat. "I'm thirsty. Can we get a pop from the hot dog man?"

"Sorry, ace. I don't have money for treats today." Quinn hated the stingy sensation that came over him every time he told the kids or Meredith he couldn't afford the smallest thing. He'd have to live with his miser image, though. He would not spend money he didn't have.

Brett clutched his throat and his tongue hung from the corner of his mouth. "I'm dyin'."

"You're destined for the stage, Brett Dutton." Quinn delved in the diaper bag and presented the boy a plastic sipper filled with frosty lemonade. "Here, try this."

"Thanks!" Brett pulled on the straw until the slurping sound signaled an empty cup, then tore off again.

"Tell your sister there's a drink for her, too, if she wants one," Quinn called after him. A little forethought had saved him several dollars. If only he could think of a way to accrue the thousands he required to get them out of the apartment before his wife went nuts. Even with a VA mortgage loan, he needed some down payment in order to afford the monthly payments on the size house they needed.

Sweat trickled down his back. After spending his annual training in the hot, humid outdoors or the hotter still, World War II vintage bachelor officers quarters at Fort McCoy, he craved the luxury of refrigerated air.

He glanced at his watch. "Reckon Meredith'll think we've been gone long enough, Sweetpea? No telling what foolish thing she attempted while my back was turned. She's contrary, but I miss her."

Brittany babbled and bounced on his chest.

"Glad you agree," he said and swung her high over his head. He stood and hollered. "Brett, Wynne, time to go."

After a five minute hassle to corral the kids and gather their belongings, Quinn pushed the stroller onto the sidewalk bordering Farnam Street. On the other side, a vendor peddled roses. Without a second thought he, with all three kids in tow, crossed the road.

Quinn opened his mouth to request a bouquet. At the same time, the sign quoting the price caught his eye. A short time ago he'd refused to buy treats. He couldn't waste money on a bouquet. The fact bruised his ego. Damn it! A man should be able to buy his wife an I'm-sorry-you're-hurt-gift. One rose wouldn't break the budget. He selected the most perfect single stem from the bucket.

* * *

Meredith sat at the dining table cutting fresh fruit into a salad bowl, her bad foot propped on a chair.

She heard voices in the hall and moments later the door burst open.

"Merith, Merith!" Wynne pranced in and headed straight for her, shouting at the top of her lungs. Knees grass stained, shorts twisted on her narrow waist, Wynne's hair was full of dried bits of leaves. Meredith sighed inwardly. The child--make that the children, she amended noticing Brett's similar disheveled state--were a walking disaster area. Visions of black bathtub rings and heavy duty cleaners danced before her eyes. Somehow those quintessential parts of childhood didn't bother her like they had a few weeks ago. The idea of raising a bunch of perfect little angels lost its appeal in the face of these wonderfully real munchkins.

"Wynne, be careful," Quinn warned. He lunged across the stroller and just missed the girl's arm. "Don't bump her fo--"

"O-o-h," Meredith yelped, a shaft of agony soaring up her leg.

Quinn shoved the stroller out of his way knelt at her side, the rose in his hand. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, right." He thrust the blush-tinged white flower into her hand. "I brought you something."

"Oh!" she repeated, mist swamping her eyes. Triggered by the pain or his gift? Or a little of both? As bitchy as she'd acted today, she didn't deserve his thoughtfulness. Shame crushed her. She bent her head to sniff his fragrant offering, blinking hard. "Thanks. You shouldn't have."

Meredith set her foot on the floor and started to rise. A desperate need to make amends filled her. Swollen ankle or not, the least she could do was prepare a decent meal. Quinn put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back into the chair. "I'll find a vase."

"I'll get it. I have to cook supper anyway."

"I'm cooking tonight, honey," Quinn said. "You can't stand around on that ankle."

"I'll do it." She attempted to shrug his hand off her shoulder.

He held fast. "I'm cooking. Why do you fight me every time I try give you a hand? It wouldn't hurt you to let me help you once in awhile. Marriage is supposed to be a partnership. You know, you help me when I need it and I help you. Now sit still."

Meredith clamped her lips closed. If she uttered so much as a syllable she'd explode. He meant well, but why couldn't he understand she couldn't shirk her duty?

She dropped her head in her hands and fought tears. He made her feel like such a failure. Not only was her housekeeping below standard, but he implied she didn't even have a basic understanding of what marriage was all about. Perhaps he was right. She had a difficult time accepting anything from anyone, whether it be a simple rose, a shoulder to lean on or a helping hand. She just didn't know how to share in the way he needed.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a machete. As far as Meredith was concerned, her business trip couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

What a hellava way to start a Monday morning. So much for easing back into his investigation. Quinn sipped his coffee and reread the latest note. When life hands you a lemon, make lemonade. "Where was this found, Hal?"

Hal Jenkins leaned forward in his chair and tapped his pencil on the desk top. "Came in Melton's office mail, middle of last week. The envelope was marked personal. Local postmark, no return address, of course. No prints either."

"Hmmm. A cliché like the others. There's no real clue here. Not a threat, unless you take into consideration that you have to squeeze a lemon to make lemonade."

"Could be a childish prank."

"I don't think so, Hal. A prankster wouldn't drag the joke out this long. He couldn't wait for the punch line."

"Point taken. Any link between the notes and Ellsworth?"

"Zip. He looks clean. Nothing in our file implicates him. No police record. Credit's okay." Quinn frowned, his brow puckered. Meredith--if she were speaking to him any more than necessary--would tease him about permanent lines, but he didn't care. This case stumped him. He shook his head and dropped the note on the desk. "Wish I could dismiss the phone call I overheard, but I can't. Something's fishy. I'm checking for a connection between Ellsworth and a recently dismissed or reprimanded employee."

"Keep me posted," Hal said.

"One other thing. Melton should take a defensive driving course. The other execs, too. We don't know what we're dealing with here. There've been too many executive kidnappings around the country lately. Our guys need to take serious precautions."

"I agree. Set it up. I'll persuade Melton. He's not as concerned about these cryptic messages as we are."

"Better convince him to vary his routine and have his secretary and family keep close tabs of his movements. Established habits make a hit easy. Oh, and make sure there's a cell phone in every vehicle Melton drives."

"Right."

Quinn rose and shook Hal's hand, and returned to his own office, lost in thought. This case was a puzzle. He'd bet one lousy piece of information would make the whole thing make sense. But where? The ambiguous notes provided no apparent clue. "You're toast" sounded more threatening than either "what goes around, comes around" or "when life hands you a lemon, make lemonade". True, Ellsworth's remark about playing the scene for all it was worth fit the script of the silly sayings. But the rent-a-cop's records were squeaky clean.

Somewhere, somehow Quinn would uncover the reason for those blasted notes if it killed him. A shiver slithered up his spine. If it killed him...the stupidity of the expression didn't stop his sense of foreboding. There was no logical reason for his feeling, but he couldn't shake it. Dear Lord, he prayed this tangle wouldn't end in tragedy. His family depended on him.

The thought of his family brought a different set of worries to mind. The weekend could only be described as strained. Meredith was so damned determined to keep her end of their bargain. She wouldn't ask for help. He'd exhausted himself trying to anticipate her needs. Still the friction intensified. He couldn't do anything right but darn it all, neither could she. In the end he had given up trying to reason with Miss Stubbornness and let her limp around doing whatever she wanted.

The weekend had contained one bright spot, though. Brett and Wynne chattered on and on about all the fun things they'd done with Meredith while he was gone. And she definitely responded to them differently. She had hugged Brett--actually touched him voluntarily!--when the boy scratched his finger. At least something good had happened in his absence.

He dreaded Meredith's upcoming trip. One of two things could happen. She would miss them and long to come home, or--and he feared that this would be her reaction--she'd enjoy the sample of life the way she planned it and wouldn't want to come back.

He shoved that unthinkable notion to the back of his mind and went back to work.

* * *

Meredith stared at the wilted rose on her dresser, and a lump lodged in her throat. Picking up one shed petal, she fingered the white leaflet. The velvety softness had turned dry and brown around the edges. A rose started life in a burst of glory but was destined to die a slow, sure death. Like her marriage?

She shrugged and returned to her packing. Melancholy engulfed her like a cloud of smoke. She tucked a pair of shoes into the side of her carry-on and did a quick double-check. It didn't look like she'd forgotten anything. She closed the bag and reached for her briefcase. Quinn had insisted on a family excursion to take her to the airport. Anxious to get away from all of them, she intended to request that he drop her at the door. It was early, but rather than drag out the farewells, they might as well leave now.

While Quinn stowed her luggage in the back of the van, Meredith strapped Brittany into her car seat. "I wanna sit in the back-back," Wynne announced, shoving her brother out of the way.

"That's my place," Brett shouted. "Meredith make her move."

Give me a break. Meredith counted ten and gulped a long breath. She should be well versed in containing the urge to scream by now. Let me stay calm and reasonable. "I don't see your name engraved on the back seat, Brett. Sit here beside the baby on the way to the airport. On the way home, you can sit in the back."

She stepped down to the garage floor, careful of her still-tender ankle. Brett threw himself onto the middle seat. He crossed his arms over his chest and rolled out his lower lip, his scowl firmly in place. "Wynne's a doofus."

"Am not," Wynne whined. "Merith!"

He crawled to his knees and leaned over the seat back. "Doofus, doofus, doofus."

"That's enough, Brett. Apologize to your sister," Meredith said, sliding the side door closed. Three whole days in Denver looked better by the minute. And she'd thought she wanted to stay home with the terrible trio day in and day out? Her brain must have taken a sabbatical. She got in the front and twisted around to face him. "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."

Quinn climbed in the driver's seat and adjusted the mirrors. "Everybody belted in?"

He drove out of the garage and waited for traffic to clear before heading down the street. A rust-marred, yellow compact followed behind them. For the second time recently, a creepy sensation came over Meredith. It was as if eyes bored a hole in her. She searched the street. The usual vehicles were parked along the curb and pedestrians wandered the sidewalk. Nobody stared. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Quinn braked at the stop sign before pulling onto the Abbott Drive viaduct. The sensation of being watched intensified. Stop the foolishness. You're just stressed out. Still, the sense of foreboding clung, despite her struggle to shake it. Finally, she couldn't resist any longer and shifted in her seat to peer out the minivan's back window. The same yellow car remained behind them, but that wasn't surprising. Abbott Drive was the main road to Eppley Airfield and lots of people flew in and out every day. She wished she could see the driver.

"You're jumpy as a hop toad," Quinn said, casting her a sidelong glance. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I guess." She sighed. "I have the strangest feeling I'm being watched. It happened once before, the day Wynne cut her head."

Quinn braked at the Locust Street traffic light, one mile from the airport. "Good lord, Meredith. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Don't yell." She murmured and cocked her head toward the back of the car. "Little pitchers. What's to tell? I'm stressed and feeling spooked. Imagination working overtime, I'm sure."

"And what if it isn't?" Anger laced his words. "I'm in the middle of an investigation. We work at the same place. Someone could be trying to scare you to stop me. Has anything else out of the ordinary happened?"

"No. Wait. I received an odd phone call one morning while you were gone. A muffled voice said my name. I was on my way to a meeting. When I asked to call them back, the person hung up."

"Male or female?"

"I couldn't tell." Meredith hugged her arms to her chest. "You think someone's stalking me?"

"Anything's possible." Quinn drove up the ramp into the parking garage. "Damn. I don't know if I should let you go or keep you here where I can protect you."

"I can answer that right quick, Quinn McAllister." Her shrill voice sounded like her shrewish mother, but she couldn't stop herself. "I'm going to Denver whether you like it or not. I have meetings scheduled and appointments to keep. I can't just not show up because my suspicious husband blows a silly feeling all out of proportion."

"It's my job to be suspicious," Quinn snapped. He parked the car, then turned to face her, his face set in hard lines. His voice softened. "I will safeguard you, Marigold. I'd die if anything happened to you."

She read concern and the love that never failed to touch her soul in his gray eyes, despite the strain of the last few days. She reached out and skimmed the dimple in his cheek. "Don't worry. I'm sure this is nothing."

He captured her hand between both of his and kissed her finger tips. His lips curved in the faintest of smiles. "I hope you're right."

Until this moment she couldn't wait to leave. Quinn, darn him, had just reminded her of all the wonderful things she possessed, of all she would miss. If she sat here one more minute, she'd burst into tears. "I have to go."

His storm-colored eyes looked bleak. He sat stone-still for several seconds, then fumbled for the door handle. "Get the kids, I'll get your bags."

"There's no need for you to drag the children inside."

He speared her with a fierce gaze, his whole body tense. "You might as well stop arguing. I'm not letting you out of my sight until you're on the plane safely."

* * *

Betsy Pierce's strident, oh-so-superior voice carried through the rest room door. If Meredith hadn't needed the facility so badly, she would've hovered in the hall until Ms. Pierce and her adoring entourage emerged. However, some things wouldn't wait.

Meredith pushed the door open and meandered by the vanity area, her head held high with what she intended as nonchalant grace. From the day she'd started working for the company, Betsy Pierce had looked down her Vassar-educated nose at Meredith. The woman was smart, beautiful and extremely ambitious. No matter how hard Meredith worked, Queen Betsy was always at least a half step ahead of her on the ladder to success. There were two kinds of women in the work place; those who subtly--or sometimes no-so-subtly--undermined every other female at each opportunity and those who supported other women. Betsy Pierce fell into the first category, and Meredith hoped to heaven she represented the second. Six months ago, Betsy had transferred to the Denver office, and Meredith had actually done a tap dance in her office.

"I submitted my resume for the Technical Director's position this morning," Betsy said, her voice loud, for Meredith's benefit obviously. If she wanted me to know, why didn't she just tell me straight to my face? "I'm a shoo-in. There isn't another soul in this company as well qualified as I am."

Meredith's hackles rose. We'll just see about that. She exited the stall and paused long enough to wash her hands, never once acknowledging the other women.

The sorry truth was Betsy was probably right. The Technical Director of Data Center Operations was a plum job for anyone willing to work hard. With Betsy's longevity and ambition, plus her outstanding record, Omaha National would be hard pressed to find a better candidate. Still, her presumptuous arrogance annoyed Meredith no end.

Darn it, why should Betsy land the assignment unchallenged?

Meredith was certainly qualified, although she lacked Betsy's experience. Her chances of securing the position were akin to Frosty surviving the hot place, but she vowed to submit her own resume by morning. Let the witch sweat a bit.

* * *

Denver's skyline called Meredith to the hotel window. Unfortunately, smog obscured the distant mountains. She kicked off her pumps and dug her cramped toes into the plush seafoam green carpet. After a day of interminable meetings, she basked in the quiet, pristine elegance of her sitting room. Due to a snafu in her reservation, the management had assigned her a small suite, complete with luxurious touches. A bouquet of fresh, spicy-scented carnations in a delicate crystal vase graced the coffee table.

She really should head out for dinner. Although she was starved, the idea of eating alone in a crowded restaurant didn't appeal…and it would be just her luck to run into Betsy Pierce. She'd stomached as much as she could stand of the woman for one day. Besides, her ankle still hurt. She'd rather stay off her feet for the rest of the night.

…And she wanted to call home. Given Betsy's reputation, Quinn would appreciate her plot to yank the other woman's chain.

Meredith's stomach rumbled. She needed food. She crammed her right foot in her shoe and noticed the run in her hose. That did it. Her per diem would stand room service. Studying the menu, she ordered, then changed from her business suit into the thick terry robe provided by the hotel. No need to stay dressed up to spend the evening up to her eyeballs in paperwork.

Thanks to her lap top computer, she copied her resume to disk while she waited for her dinner to arrive. The secretary could print it at the office tomorrow morning.

* * *

With the kids tucked in, quiet reigned at last. All three monsters were so wound up tonight, Quinn thought he'd never get them settled.

Coffee in hand, he headed to the computer. The sooner he got to the bottom of those blasted notes the better. He didn't want to believe some nut case was stalking his wife, but until he proved otherwise, he couldn't discount the notion. Anything was possible. He'd feel a whole lot better if he could see her sweet face, touch her smooth skin, hear her soft voice. He chuckled. Don't kid yourself, McAllister. You want her where you can keep an eye on her, but not for altruistic reasons entirely.

He thought of his homecoming reception. Between Meredith's sprained ankle and frayed tempers, they hadn't repeated that passionate night. The void in his heart swelled with each passing day.

He caught sight of the bright blue numerals on the clock radio. Eight-oh-five. Although tempted to telephone her, he resisted. Denver, in the mountain time zone, was an hour earlier, which made it dinner hour.

As if on cue, the phone rang. He strode to the nightstand and answered before the second bell.

"Hello, Quinn," Meredith said. Her ebullient voice trilled over miles separating them.

"Ah, the devil speaks."

An uncharacteristic giggle floated through the phone. "How'd you know?"

"Huh?"

"I'm about to do something I never do. Something devilishly naughty." The laughter remained in her voice.

"Do I wanna know?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Do you?"

"Come on, Meredith, quit teasing. Tell me."

"Queen Betsy--"

Quinn groaned. "What's the bitch done now?"

"--has applied for the Technical Director opening out here. She's convinced no one can possibly get the job but her. Her superior attitude drives me crazy."

"Let me guess...crazy enough to give her a run for her money?"

"You bet I am." She enunciated each word.

Quinn laughed. "I love it when your competitive spirit kicks in."

"Yeah, well, Betsy knows all the buttons to push to get my dander up."

"Honey, are you sure you want to do this? She's damn good. She has several more years experience than you do. Everybody knows the job's hers if she wants it. Are you gonna be okay when she beats you out?"

"I'd really like the position, but I don't hold any illusions about my chances. I figure reminding the power movers on the top floor I'm still around won't hurt. Kind of positioning myself for the next opening. Besides, I can't resist shaking old Bets up a bit."

"Then go for it, hon."

"How's everything at home? Are you managing all right?"

"Fine and dan--" The sound of shattering glass stopped his words. "Uh-oh, gotta go. Sounds like disaster just struck."

Meredith cradled the receiver, her conscience heavy. She didn't have to deal with whatever ruckus Quinn faced. She didn't even want to know what happened. The respite from domestic chores relaxed her tension.

She nestled into the mound of pillows piled against the headboard and purred with contentment. Her fingers caressed the fresh, pressed sheet. Tomorrow would be the same. The bed was made in the morning and turned down at night. In this haven, someone waited on her for a change. Wet towels disappeared and the bathroom fixtures sparkled. No one scattered stuff on every bare surface. She unwrapped the creamy chocolate mint the maid had left on her pillow this evening and the confection melted in her mouth.

How could she face all the drudgery at home?

Chapter 10

Wallowing in guilt, Meredith stowed her briefcase under the seat in front of her by rote. Ready or not, it was time to go home. She turned to the white-haired lady, reminiscent of Mrs. Claus, seated next to the window, her raincoat wadded in her lap. "Would you like me to put your coat in the overhead bin?"

"Why thank you, dear," a reedy, sweet voice answered. Faded blue eyes, wise with experience, twinkled at her. "I should've thought of that before I squeezed myself into this corner. Airplanes aren't made to accommodate us horizontally challenged types."

Grinning, Meredith stashed the coat and settled in the aisle seat. On the other side of the airplane and up a row, a baby cried around a squeeze toy stuffed in her mouth. "Poor child. Sounds like she's teething," Meredith said, fastening her seat belt.

"Sure does. You know that fretful cry?"

"My youngest went through it recently."

"How many children have you got?"

"A boy and two girls."

"Raised eight boys myself. Have eighteen grandchildren and six great-grandchildren. There's a good reason my hair's snow white."

Tears tightened her Meredith's throat. "They're not really mine."

"Stepchildren?"

"Not even that. My husband's their guardian." Her voice sounded choked to her own ears.

"Name's Essie Pender," the lady said, her expression inviting.

Before Meredith realized what she was doing, she related how they'd inherited Steve's children and the difficult adjustment she'd made. "My husband's the greatest person I've ever known. He's everything I never thought I'd find in a mate."

"You should see your face. You're glowing."

Heat flooded Meredith's cheeks. "Not that I don't want to wring his neck sometimes."

"Naturally. No matter how wonderful, men're still men, imperfect beasts." Essie chuckled, her expression smug. "Women aren't perfect either, but that's a little secret we'll keep under our hats."

A smile tugged at Meredith's mouth. "I miss Quinn. Still, I'm not quite ready to go home and face the confusion. I feel so guilty." She dabbed a tear that escaped the corner of her eye with a tissue. "Three days away, accountable to no one but myself and my boss, was wonderful. I loved the quiet, being waited on, all of it."

"Of course you did. It's only normal."

"And yet... The life I envisioned three months ago--living with Quinn in our picture-perfect apartment, slaves to our rising careers--seems so empty now, so self-centered. I realized this morning how much I miss the children, and that surprised me."

"Not me. Little ones have a way of growing on you. Now don't you feel guilty about enjoying your time away. Every parent needs a breather once in awhile. Gotta recharge our batteries for the next thing we havta face. Sounds to me like you've faced a lot this summer."

Meredith sighed and shredded the tissue balled in her hand. "The children turned my world upside down. Everything changed, even my perception of my husband. Maybe if I'd looked closely I would've realized his potential as a wonderful father, but it's a quality I didn't want to see."

"Tell me about your kiddos," Essie said.

Meredith smiled and swallowed, hoping to loosen the tightness in her throat. The endearing face of each child flashed in her mind. "Brett's the oldest. He's bossy and noisy, one-hundred percent all-boy. Loves to tease his sister. He's having the most difficulty getting over his parent's death."

"Naturally."

"Wynne's shy, although she warmed up to me pretty fast. She's got the biggest blue eyes and curly blond hair. Looks like an angel. Sometimes I can almost see her wings. Most of the time she lives up to the image, but more and more lately she's been the one who has created a disaster. Usually it takes me twenty-four hours to laugh about her latest escapade."

"I had one like that. Looks were deceiving, that's for sure. And the baby?"

"She's such a good-natured little thing. Brittany's our sunny child. Now that she feels secure in our care, she just goes with the flow. Thank goodness there's an easy one. There're good children. No one could ask for better. I...love them...as if they were my very own."

"Of course you do. I see it in your face and hear it in your voice."

"But I didn't want them and made no bones about it."

"Now you quit worrying." Essie patted Meredith's hand. "That was before you'd grown to love them. Forget yesterday and concentrate on today."

"Something to drink?" the flight attendant interrupted.

They gave their orders and Meredith relaxed. Sipping her Coke, she marveled that she'd revealed so much to a perfect stranger, and yet it had seemed natural to unload on the grandmotherly woman. Even though she'd withheld the worst of her story, Essie Pender had helped Meredith see the dream she held secret in her heart of hearts lingered within fingertip reach. Like a mantra she silently repeated the wise woman's words. Every parent needs to recharge. Forget yesterday and concentrate on today. Knowing it wouldn't be immediate or easy, Meredith vowed to drop her load of fear and guilt and grab hold.

Utopia, in Meredith's mind, revolved around a family with two parents. Her children would have the father she never had. Quinn McAllister fit the bill far better than she would ever have imagined, if she'd allowed the vision to surface. Besides being a loving and firm dad, he truly came about as close to being her ideal husband as anyone could expect. Grinning, she reminded herself that Quinn possessed an arrogant streak and a healthy temper. Well, who'd want to live with insufferable perfection anyway?

The plane touched down at Eppley Airfield. "Do you need help getting into the terminal, Essie?" Meredith asked.

"I ordered a wheel chair. Now don't you hang around waiting for them to come get me. You scoot out of here. Your young man and those kiddos are waiting for you."

Meredith reached over and squeezed the old lady's blue-veined hand. "Thank you so much. You helped me a lot. Everything looks a lot better now."

Everything? A sudden chill crawled up her spine. Besides home, husband and career, did she need to worry about being a stalker's victim? Quinn seemed to think it was plausible, but.... Her vague someone's-watching-me feeling could be chalked up to stress, the over-active imagination to which she must plead guilty, or weariness.

The memory of her husband as she'd last seen him, his eyes clouded with concern for her well-being, stirred myriad emotions. She could take care of herself. She'd been doing exactly that for most of her life. Yet, knowing she wasn't alone, that Quinn's love prompted his consuming demand to protect her, filled her with tenderness.

..And the children. More than anything, she wanted to let down her guard and allow Quinn's little family to absorb her totally. Her involvement had far exceeded the boundaries she'd set when she agreed to take the Dutton children into her home. She didn't object to all the extra work they created, not really. The emotional threads strengthened and tightened, noose-like, day by day, and she inched closer and closer to the role of full-fledged mother. If only she didn't have to guard against her emotions. The agony she had suffered the day she had yelled at Brett was pure hell. She could not, would not, allow her reproachful behavior to spill out again.

* * *

Quinn sprawled in a chair facing the plate glass window overlooking the ramp. Brittany straddled his thigh, entertaining the tired-looking businessman sitting next to them with her coos and slobbery smiles. Brett and Wynne stood, noses and hands pressed to the glass, watching for the airplane.

Quinn was bushed. In the few weeks since returning to Omaha with the kids, he'd forgotten--as he'd been told women forget the agony of childbirth--his nightmarish week at Fort Riley. These past three days didn't compare to the gut-wrenching despair of that week, but exhaustion held him in a tight grip all the same. Three little kids were a handful, no doubt about it. If he'd needed the enormity of the task spelled out for him, nothing could have succeeded better than these days alone with his kids. How had Meredith managed so much longer on her own?

He missed her more than he'd thought it possible to miss someone. When had she crawled into his soul and claimed squatter's rights? She filled his emptiness with warmth and compassion and the kind of love he'd believed only belonged to a select few.

He never would've gotten through the traumatic loss of his best friend and the upheaval in his own life without her support. It had cost her, too, something he couldn't forget. He loved her more with each passing day.

"I see the plane!" Brett chortled and danced an impromptu jig with Wynne. Quinn grinned at their unbridled enthusiasm. Just a housekeeper? Ha! How long would it take Meredith to accept the fact that she was indeed these children's mother? She took a step forward, then two steps back, as if she was involved in a tug-of-war and yet he thought she was hovering on the brink of accepting the role.

If all went according to plan, tonight would speed the process along.

"There she is!"

"Merith, Merith!"

Familiar childish voices greeted Meredith as she stepped into the terminal. Brett jumped up and down, clapping his hands. Wynne dashed to meet her and threw her arms around Meredith's knees. The baby bounced and crowed in Quinn's arms. Why...they were glad to see her! It had never occurred to her that the children would miss her. Something she couldn't put a name to started in the pit of her stomach and curled through her. Meredith blinked hard. She would not cry. She wouldn't. How could she have questioned coming back to this family?

"Hi, guys." She patted Wynne's back and tousled Brett's hair before focusing her gaze on her husband. His frazzled appearance tugged her heart. At a glance, she noted his khaki shorts were streaked with chocolate and red sauce spotted the toe of one beat-up running shoe. A large damp, creased spot, square across his stomach, spoiled his once-pristine shirt. The result of a leaky diaper, perhaps? No one would suspect a spit and polish officer and a well-dressed professional hid under this guise.

His dear, tired eyes lit up as soon as she stepped toward him. His smile spread from ear to ear and his dimples came out to play.

"Welcome home, Mo--Marigold." Quinn's deep voice, husky with tenderness, telegraphed a non-verbal message along her nerve endings.

He opened his free arm. She dropped her bags and sailed into his embrace. Enveloping her in a one-armed hug, his mouth swooped down on hers, his kiss short but thorough. How did he manage it? Even his most discreet kiss conveyed the depth of his feelings. Of its own volition, her hand reached up and cupped the back of his head, pressing his mouth on hers again.

"Merith, Merith!" Wynne tugged on her suit skirt. "We decorationed--"

Meredith twisted in Quinn's arm and faced a frowning Brett and gleeful Wynne.

Brett clapped his hand over his sister's mouth. "Shut up, doofus. It's a surprise."

Wynne shook him away and stuck her bottom lip out. "I's not a doofus, are I, Merith?"

"Of course not, Wynnie Pooh." However Brett defined the word. She wished she could curb Brett's frequent picking on his sister. Essie had said it was natural, she reminded herself. Meredith knelt and hugged the curly-headed angel close. "You're my sweet girl."

"Brett." Quinn's voice brooked obedience. "Please keep your hands to yourself and refrain from saying shut up and calling your sister names."

Standing, Meredith glimpsed amusement in her husband's eyes. The surprise Brett alluded to? Oh, well. Right now all she wanted to do was get home and out of her too-tight waistband, the twin torture chambers called a bra and pantyhose and ease her swollen feet out of her dress shoes.

"Huh, huh," Brittany grunted and reached for Meredith. If Quinn hadn't held on to the baby, she would have lunged into Meredith's arms.

"Come here, sweetie." Meredith took the baby and cuddled her close. There was something priceless in the unreserved trust of a child. Brittany's tiny hand brushed her cheek and a hollow place in her soul filled.

"Did you check anything, Meredith?" Quinn asked.

"Nope. This is it."

"Then let's get this show on the road."

* * *

Meredith gazed around the apartment building hallway soaking up the familiar surroundings while Quinn unlocked their door. It really was good to be home.

Pushing past everyone, Brett burst inside and flipped on the overhead light. "Surprise!" he yelled, loud enough to wake the dead, or at least their closest neighbor.

Stepping over the threshold, she stopped, a lump rising in her throat. A "welcome home" sign, generated on the computer and colored by very young hands was pinned to the curtain surrounding Brittany's crib. There wasn't a toy or piece of clothing in sight. A lopsided cake, chocolate crumbs showing through the white icing rested in a spot of honor in the center of the dining table. Chocolate kisses, surrounded by small fingerprints in the frosting, spelled out "We missed you", and sticky-backed bows festooned the chair backs.

How had Quinn managed to find time to bake a cake? She hadn't even managed to straighten the living room before he returned. Focusing on the sweetness of the gesture, she buried her niggling jealousy in the very depths of her soul.

"Thank you all. What a lovely surprise," she said, her voice choked. A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. She hugged Brett and Wynne, then turned to Quinn and hugged him, too. "You amaze me, Quinn McAllister."

He dropped his gaze to the floor, his ah-shucks-it-ain't-nuthin' expression straight out of a John Wayne western. "It was the kid's idea. I just helped."

Wynne tugged on Meredith's jacket. "Me decorationed the chairs, Merith."

"You did a beautiful job. What a lovely surprise! The sign is wonderful, too."

Brett beamed. "I colored most of it, but Quinn made me let her--" he pointed to Wynne, disgust apparent in his tone "--help. I stayed in the lines. Mostly. Can we have cake now? I'm starvin'."

"Coming right up," Quinn said, pulling a knife from the utensil drawer.

"Let me change my shoes," Meredith said and headed to the bedroom. She opened the door and once again stopped dead in her tracks. One bedside lamp bathed the room in a soft glow. The bed, made up with her best Battenburg lace-trimmed sheets, was turned down, and on her snowy white pillow lay a single red rose. Scalding tears overflowed and swamped her cheeks.

To think she'd considered the impersonal ministrations of the hotel staff constituted pampering. Nothing could compare to the cosseting, the loving care, provided by her family. An awful pain, centered in the region of her heart, seized her. All her self-centered thoughts while in Denver haunted her. She stepped around the bed, picked up the rose, and sniffed its sweet fragrance. Her tears fell harder.

Quinn slipped into the room so quietly she didn't know he was there until he touched her. Catching her by the waist, he pulled her back against him. "Hey, I didn't mean to make you cry."

She wished she possessed his talent for expressing his feelings. She didn't doubt he loved her and never had. If only she were truly worthy of his devotion. "I-I don't deserve all this...this..."

Quinn turned her in his arms. He cupped her chin in his palm. His thumb traced a sensual path along her jaw. "Tender loving care?"

His words, murmured in a low, sexy voice, zinged white-hot filaments straight to her center. She nodded, unable to speak around the boulder lodged in her throat.

"Au contraire." He pulled her close and nuzzled her cheek. His evening beard grazed her skin, the heat igniting to flames. She quaked as if the earth had moved. It amazed her how she reacted to his simplest touch. "While you were gone I realized just how much you do day in and day out to keep this family afloat. Meals, cleaning, laundry, ironing, car pooling. Plus working a demanding full-time job. I'm worn out after three days, and you shouldered the whole load for two full weeks.

"The kids missed you. I missed you, and not just because of the--to use your term--scut work," he said, pressing his arousal into her stomach. His hand cupped her head, his tongue caressing her parted lips. She deepened the kiss, seeking the sweetness of his mouth. Lost in a world populated by just the two of them, Meredith drank the heady wine of his kiss for long moments until a sudden hubbub from the other room called her back to the present.

Quinn broke their embrace. "The natives are getting restless."

"You'd better check on them. I'll be right there as soon as I shed my clothes. I feel like I'm trussed up in a straight-jacket."

A devil gleamed in his eyes. "I'd rather stay and watch."

She chuckled and pointed to the door. "Go, before they tear the place apart. We can play later."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart." She waved an X across her chest. "I'll be right there."

* * *

Meredith followed Quinn out of the children's room. All three slept, Brett and Wynne tucked in their beds, the baby in her playpen in the master bedroom.

Quinn tugged on Meredith's hand, his eyes glinting with pure mischief. "We have unfinished business."

She yanked her hand free and cocked her head toward the kitchen. "Hold your horses. Before we get carried away, I'm going to clean up the kitchen."

"Can't you leave the dishes for once."
"You have the place so neat. It'll only take five minutes."

He looked uncomfortable. "I'll do it first thing in the morning. Promise."

"I'm not going to get up and face this mess when the children are clamoring for breakfast." Meredith strode to the table and stacked the dessert plates. She opened the dishwasher, pulled out the rack stuffed--not properly stacked--with the dirty supper dishes and sticky mixing bowls. Silently, she glanced at Quinn. His face was beet red.

"I'm sor--" He stared at the floor.

Meredith laughed, her chuckle escalating to body-shaking guffaws. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she grabbed the edge of the sink for support.

"You okay?" Quinn asked, his expression bewildered.

She gasped for breath, but it took another minute for her to calm down. "I thought you'd managed better than I did while you were gone."

Quinn shook his head. "Not hardly. I barely finished the cake before we left to meet your plane."

"Why didn't you leave the dishes in the sink?"

"And spoil the aesthetics for the kid's party? I wanted everything perfect when you came home. Just couldn't pull it off."

"I never expected..."

"I know, but I wanted you in a really good mood. You get bent outta shape when things are a mess."

She raised her head, her gaze boring into his. "Am I really that bad?"

"Yeah. Remember how you reacted the morning after I came back from Fort McCoy? You were hurt. I busted my buns straightening up, but nothing I did was right."

A mirthless chuckle escaped her mouth. "Oh, Quinn, no. I thought you were criticizing my housekeeping. It was my job, my part of our bargain, and you charged in and went right to work. Then I walked in here tonight and everything looked wonderful. Not a toy out of place and a beautiful party laid out to boot. I felt inadequate, like a total failure."

"Let me show you wonderful." Quinn grinned, clasped her hand, and led her to Brittany's curtained-off crib. He swept the drape aside and pointed to the basket of unfolded, pink-tinged underwear under the bed. "Exhibit number one. Brett's red T-shirt somehow got mixed in the bleach load."

"Oh."

He dragged her into the living room. "Exhibit number two," he said, turning on the lamp. "Handprints here," he indicated the end table, "there," he tilted his head toward the coffee table, then took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the TV screen and the windows "and everywhere."

She clutched him around the waist and rested her head on his chest. "I know. Doesn't matter how many times a day you clean them off. I think a fingerprint phantom invaded the place."

He laughed. "No kidding. Not one but three. I couldn't stay ahead of the them, no matter how hard I tried."

He hauled her into their bedroom and tiptoed past Brittany, to the bathroom. "Exhibit number three," he said after he closed the door.

She laughed softly, muffling the sound against his chest. The room was a full-fledged disaster area. A damp towel was wadded on the rack. Shaving cream and water spots splattered the mirror. Dirty clothes spilled from the hamper, but the worst was the toilet paper arrayed around all the fixtures.

"I discovered Wynne's idea of 'decorationing' for your homecoming just as we headed out the door."

Meredith allowed his shirt to soak up her silly tears before she lifted her head. "Sometimes I think our angel's halo is supported by horns."

"Mmm." He kissed her nose. Digging into his pocket, he withdrew a quarter, flipped it in the air and slapped the coin on the back of his hand. "Call it."

"Ah...tails. Why?"

"You tackle this mess. I'll get the kitchen." Mischief sparkled in his eyes again. "And hurry. Our unfinished business won't wait much longer."

* * *

The moment Meredith stepped out of Mr. Sawyer's office, she dropped her professional demeanor and decorum. She raised her arm in a power salute and did a little jig. "Yes!"

It was a good thing the hall was empty or her professional reputation would've been shot to smithereens. By exercising the greatest willpower, she resisted dancing the can-can all the way to her own office. She knew, without benefit of a mirror, she wore a hundred watt smile. The grin tugged at her lips and crinkled the corners of her eyes. Nothing, not even the news that the decision had come down from on high that the company didn't have the personnel needed to implement her plan, could dim her euphoria. To best Queen Betsy, just this once! Wow! She couldn't wait to tell Quinn but sharing her news would have to be put on hold until later.

Calm down right now. You can't conduct a departmental meeting from cloud nine. Nonetheless, she breezed into her office, her feet barely skimming the floor. "Hi, Darcy," she greeted her secretary. "Please call my husband and ask him to meet me for lunch at the Garden Cafe at one-thirty."

"What happened?"

"Later, I'm late." Meredith dashed into her office, grabbed her notes, and darted for the conference room.

Two hours later, she strolled into the vibrant, green and white, plant-bedecked restaurant and slid into a booth across from Quinn.

"What's up?" he asked. "According to Darcy, you all but floated into the office, told her to call me, and floated out again."

"You'll never guess."

"Sawyer accepted your plan," Quinn said as if nothing else could possibly evoke her elation.

She shook her head. "No." It took all her considerable self-discipline to curb the glee bubbling inside her. Never before had she received such good news and had someone really important with whom to share her joy. She intended to savor every last crumb from this moment. "In fact, he nixed the whole thing. No money."

"Well, then, don't keep me suspense. What's got you beaming like a sailor in a whorehouse on a slow night?"

"Quinn!" She tried to purse her lips like an old school marm, but failed miserably. Her smile possessed a mind of its own.

"Sorry, slip of the tongue."

She wrinkled her nose. "But cleaned up for my benefit, just the same."

"Something like that." He leaned back and perused the menu.

Meredith sat motionless, waiting. Finally, he slapped the menu on the table.

"Quit stalling," he said, "and tell me why we're lunching in style instead of at our desks."

The waitress appeared and took their order. As soon as the woman turned away, Meredith leaned forward, unable to suppress her news another second. "I got the job!"

Unadulterated pride surged through Quinn. His jaw dropped, and he set the water glass on the table with a thud. "I'll be darned. You did it! Congratulations, honey! No wonder you're about to bust your buttons."

"Can you believe it?"

Quinn had never seen his wife so animated. Her whole body betrayed her excitement. He shook his head, dazed. Never in his wildest imagination had he considered Meredith might be offered the Denver position. Not that she didn't deserve the recognition, but everyone in the whole company knew Betsy Pierce was a cinch for the job. Whatever Queen Betsy wanted, Queen Betsy got. That was a given.

"I'm still pinching myself," Meredith giggled.

Child-like spontaneity penetrated her usual serious demeanor on such rare occasions that her gaiety was music to his ears. Her happiness brought him such pleasure, filled a deep need inside him. "Your promotion deserves more than a lunch out."

"That may be, but lunch out is all our budget will stand right now."

His stomach knotted. He hated not being able to afford to celebrate her impressive achievement in style. Penny-pinching at a time like this wasn't fair to either of them. She deserved a special tribute, and doggone it, he deserved the privilege of providing one. "You're a good sport, Marigold. What did Mr. Sawyer say?"

How would a move effect his own career? And the kids. How would they react to another sudden upheaval in their lives? He refused to voice his personal concerns and spoil her shining moment.

"I have seven days to decide if I'll accept the job."

"You want it. Don't you?"

She sobered for the first time since sitting down. "We need to talk about that. The position is in Denver. Yours is here."

"I'm sure I can transfer out there. The branch office requires security, too."

"You'd give up your job here to follow me? What if there's nothing available at your level? I never want to jeopardize your career." Worry laced her tone.

"There're other companies in Denver besides Omaha National." She would never know how much he'd rather stay in Omaha. After what she had sacrificed in order for him to honor his obligation to Steve, he couldn't in good conscience throw a roadblock in her path. "You've worked hard for the promotion. Don't let my job stop you."

Still her worried expression remained. "What about your Reserve slot?"

"If I can't find an opening in a unit out there, I can commute back here. Lots of soldiers do, from a whole farther away than Denver. One of our guys lives in Maryland."

She frowned. "Uncle Sam pays for that?"

"Heck, no. They travel at their own expense. For some, their monthly drill pay barely covers their expenses."

"That's dedication."

"Yeah. Let's hope I can find a unit in the Denver area. I don't want to eat up your raise on airline tickets."

"Before we make a firm decision, we need to figure out if the move is reasonable financially," Meredith said.

Quinn nodded. "We'll need the whole seven days to weigh everything."

"No matter when we decide, I'm waiting until the deadline to let them know. Revenge isn't one bit right, but if I turn down the job, Betsy gets it. After the way she's lorded over everybody all these years, she can jolly well sweat until the last minute."

He chuckled. "That's understandable."

The waitress brought their meals. Quinn dug into his potato casserole, thoroughly enjoying the uncustomary treat. "Sure is nice to eat a meal without worrying about which kid will spill their milk first."

"Nice," she agreed, "but I wouldn't want to make a steady diet of meals without them."

His heart leapt. Was it possible she really meant what she'd said about being the children's mother?

"Wynne's such a little monkey. I still laugh when I think about her 'decorationing'. So often she reminds me of Kirsty--" Meredith clamped her lips shut and her fingers flew to her mouth. She cleared her throat and emitted a phony cough. He could have sworn her face was at least three shades paler. Curious. "Who's Kirsty?"

"Someone I knew once."

"Just someone?" His gaze pinned hers.

She all but squirmed on the booth bench. She stared back and after what seemed forever, lowered her head. "My...sister."

As if Meredith had punched him in the stomach, Quinn jerked back in his seat. "Sister! I didn't know you had a sister."

Red-faced, she gulped and twisted a paper napkin. "We aren't close."

How could his wife forget to tell him something so important as a living, breathing relative? Knowing how much family meant to him, she'd nonetheless lead him to believe she was as alone in the world as he. "Why didn't you tell me you had a sister? Didn't you think I might like to know--" hurt stole into his voice despite his determination to remain calm "--I have an in-law?"

"I haven't seen Kirsty in years. In fact, I don't even know where she is."

Raw pain rang in her voice, acute heartache shone in her face. Still, he couldn't stop himself. She knew how crucial honesty was to him and yet she'd deceived him. Why on earth would she hide the fact that she had a sister? Didn't she trust him? He couldn't imagine anything so terrible that would change his love for her or anything that would infuriate him more than lying. Hurt warred with burgeoning anger and pounded through him with the force of a sledgehammer wielded by a giant. "How could you keep something so significant from me? I'm your husband. Don't you think I have a right to know about your family?"

"I'm sorry, Quinn. I didn't mean to shut you out. I try not think about her and never, ever, talk about her." Her voice shook and she blinked hard, as if fighting tears. "It hurts too much."

In spite of his anger, he couldn't withhold a modicum of comfort in the face of her anguish. He reached across the table and clasped her hand. "What happened?"

Meredith drew in a deep breath and sighed. Her lips compressed in a thin line and the muscles in her neck worked as she swallowed. Opening her wallet, she removed a dog-eared picture from a hidden compartment and handed the print to him. "Kirsty ran away from home eight years ago. This came, with nothing more than a signature, in a card addressed to the office three Christmases ago."

Quinn studied the young blond woman with unsettlingly familiar features. Flipping the photo over, he read the notation: 'Kirsty Hansen, age 21.' He turned it back to the front and scrutinized the likeness. "She resembles you except for her coloring."

Meredith snatched the photo from his fingers and tucked it back in its hiding place. If anything, Meredith's skin had lost more color. She looked decidedly ill. Question after question popped in his mind. Why had Kirsty left home? What had Meredith done about it? Was their mother involved?

Was this the real reason for Meredith's reluctance to mother the kids? But why couldn't she have been up-front about it? He wasn't an ogre. He would've tried to understand. A public restaurant wasn't the place for the kind of discussion necessary to resolve the issue.

Meredith lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "She left because I--"

"Will there be anything else?" the waitress asked interrupting Meredith's confession.

"No thank you," he said automatically.

Meredith checked her watch. "I've got to run. I have a meeting in ten minutes. See you tonight."

She fled like a scared rabbit. Quinn watched her go, his gut tied in a tight knot. What had she been about to say? One thing was sure, his marriage wasn't as rosy as he'd thought an hour ago. He couldn't conceive of a healthy relationship in which one partner harbored major secrets.

He rose to leave, feeling as shaky as if he'd been in bed with the flu for a week. Was their whole marriage built on sand instead of the rock solid foundation he'd thought?

Chapter 11

Quinn stared, without seeing, at his computer screen, frustration mounting. Here it was Thursday afternoon, and he was no closer to a solution to his problem with Meredith now than he'd been after lunch last Friday. Why had she kept her sister a secret? The issue plagued him. On Friday night Meredith had been called back to the office until midnight. He had drilled with his Reserve unit all weekend. Sunday night the kids had refused to settle down until neither he nor Meredith were in any frame of mind for a rational talk. Another office emergency broke on Monday, the minute she arrived home with the kids. On Tuesday night Melton had found another note taped to his windshield when he left his office. Quinn was had been forced to pigeonhole his personal problem while he struggled to make sense out of the tritely phrased messages.

His glance strayed to the patchwork words glued to wrinkled paper on his desk. The chilling declaration "Vengeance is mine" captured his gaze. A frisson of fear crawled down his back. This note contained the first clear-cut threat. The possibility that the messages were a childish game no longer existed. Quinn closed his eyes. Dear Lord, help me figure this out before Melton gets hurt.

Although he had contended he felt foolish, the company president had exercised the precautions Quinn had prescribed for his safety. After this last note, Melton no longer insisted the messages were a prank. A sense of urgency enveloped Quinn. If only he knew what kind of vengeance the loony-tune behind the notes planned. Protection against a kidnapping or murder plot differed from an extortion scheme. Who and why? Quinn needed the answers. Now.

The snake was coiled, poised to strike.

He shuffled through a stack of computer printouts one last time. Why bother? These blasted personnel records had revealed nothing useful yet. They didn't now. He shoved them aside and pulled up the computer file on rescinded claims. One by one, he scrolled through the current year file, scrutinizing each entry for any helpful tidbit. Names, addresses, and reasons for denied payment blurred together. His head swam.

He got up and stretched, more emotionally wrung out from the investigation-going-nowhere than he cared to admit. A real hot shot! Yeah, sure, so why hadn't he cracked the case long before this? It didn't help that he'd been shooting in the dark, that until the day before yesterday he wasn't even sure there was a case, but none of the excuses eased his mind. He had been entrusted with a vital task and to date had failed miserably. If anything happened to John Melton, Quinn, his sense of responsibility so deeply ingrained it was as vital as breath itself, would never forgive himself.

He wandered to the window, gazed at the tree tops and rubbed the back of his neck. The humidity-hazed greenery below offered no solution. He poured a mug of muddy black coffee and returned to the computer. Letter by letter, he waded through the alphabet, more stymied by the minute. The letter P finished, Quinn leaned back and sighed. This tedious search was leading nowhere. The investigation remained stagnant. He wanted to chuck the whole thing and go home. He'd rather play with his kids. He'd rather resolve his difficulty with Meredith. He'd much rather hold his wife in his arms and tell her he loved her. This whole exercise was futile.

The ornate old English V, the first letter of the word Vengeance, caught his eye from under the corner of the stacked printouts. He couldn't stop now. Very possibly a man's life was on the line. Detective work required diligence and perseverance. He couldn't afford to leave even the smallest detail unscrutinized. The clue he sought could be something so inconsequential he would overlook it with only a casual perusal. He chided himself to stop wasting time. With luck he might finish the current year's rescissions before quitting time and could go home with a clear conscience, satisfied he'd thoroughly checked these records.

S, T, U. Ah, hell. This track amounted to so much wasted effort. His hand hovered over the keys that would shut down the computer. A persistent little voice nagged, insisting he complete the job properly. He called up the V file. Victor, Vigar, Vinson. Same old, same old. Nothing. Keep going, McAllister. You're almost done. Vitello. Automatically, Quinn punched the page down key. What was that? He struck page up. Vitello, Anthony. Residence on Izard Street. The odd street name had struck his fancy when he was a kid. He remembered from fourth grade Nebraska history that the road was named for a territorial governor. And, more important, he remembered seeing Izard Street earlier this afternoon. But where?

Quinn sifted through the piles of papers on his none-too-tidy desk, scanning the addresses for twenty minutes. He knew he'd seen the name somewhere today. He couldn't be mistaken. It must be here. Izard Street. There! In, now-why-doesn't-that-surprise-me, George--of the suspicious phone call fame--Ellsworth's file. Good old George listed his mother, Margaret, as next of kin. And mama lived on Izard Street. Quinn's gaze shifted from the printout to the computer screen. The house numbers logged for Mrs. Ellsworth and Anthony Vitello matched. Interesting, and possibly, the needed clue. Now to establish a connection, beyond residence, between Vitello and Mrs. Ellsworth. For all he knew Mrs. E took in boarders.

Doors closed and cheerful voices sounded from the hall. Quinn checked the clock. He could leave now without feeling guilty. He'd study Vitello's life insurance policy after the kids were tucked in.

Quinn donned his suit coat, gathered his briefcase and sauntered to the elevator, his step lighter than any time since Friday after lunch. Once on the lobby level, he chose to exit the door closest to the guard desk deliberately. He strolled by the suspected rent-a-cop and cast a surreptitious glance at Ellsworth.

George Ellsworth slouched on the chair, concentrating on writing something rather than his job--watching the people flow in and out the doors during shift change. The front desk guard was supposed to keep an eye on the entrance. Fury boiled inside Quinn. A whole damn terrorist squad could waltz in, easy as you please, and Ellsworth wouldn't know it. Quinn stopped at the desk fully intending to give good ole George the chewing out of his life.

He opened his mouth, words of reprimand poised on the tip of his tongue. The markings on the page in front of the man stopped Quinn cold. George had scrawled "Make my day" at the top of the paper. Doodling an unmistakable smoking gun, he was totally oblivious to the sea of humanity surging through the lobby, including the security supervisor standing in front of him. Quinn's first instinct was to arrest the man on the spot. It only took a split second to figure out the inadvisability of such an act. Number one, Quinn didn't have the authority to arrest anyone. He wasn't a civilian policeman, and his military role dealt with prisoners of war. Number two, he didn't have concrete proof--yet. The last thing Omaha National needed was a law suit slapped on the company because an overzealous security guy got carried away.

Quinn turned around and walked at a deceptively nonchalant pace back to the elevator. Ellsworth wasn't likely to leave his post during the five to six rush. His absence would be too conspicuous. Still, Melton needed warning. Quinn jabbed the button for the top floor. Thank heaven he had the elevator to himself. If his luck held, he wouldn't stop until he reached the executive floor. The car climbed in slow motion. Come on, come on. When had the ride taken so long? The movement stopped and eternal seconds later the door slid open.

Quinn sprinted to the President's office, his briefcase slapping his leg as he went. He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop before Melton's secretary's desk. "It's imperative I see Mr. Melton immediately," he said.

"I'm sorry, Mr. McAllister, you just missed him. He left for the day."

"When?"

"A minute or two ago."

Damn! "Thanks."

Quinn dashed back to the elevator bank. Sure enough the executive elevator was enroute to the garage level. He punched the down button and noted every car in the whole bank was on the ground floor, seventeen stories below. Waiting took time he didn't have. Quinn raced for the stairs at the end of the hall, skimming over the steps as fast as his long legs would carry him. Ellsworth wasn't supposed to leave his post but....

Down, down he ran. He panted more from escalating concern than from being winded, thanks to his military obligation to pass a physical fitness test every year. Sweat soaked his shirt.

Reaching the basement garage, he bounded to the heavy metal door and stopped. Gut-level instinct urged caution. Setting his briefcase aside, he eased the door open. Praise be for well-oiled hinges. Twenty feet away, John Melton stood frozen next to his car.

His back to Quinn, George Ellsworth waved and looped a silver 9mm handgun like a child imitating a one-armed orchestra conductor.

* * *

Meredith stuffed documents and papers into her briefcase to deal with at home after supper. She picked up her whole life, her trusty day timer. It wouldn't fit unless she ditched the cell phone Quinn insisted she carry. She refused to believe someone was stalking her. After all, the ominous feeling hadn't reoccurred since that day on the way to the airport. Stowing the phone in a drawer, she slid the all-important day timer into her briefcase.

Her hands hovered over the lid and a wave of anxiety gripped her. She had never meant to lie, especially knowing Quinn's penchant for honesty. It had been a sin of omission rather than commission, but she knew in his eyes it was a sin all the same. The issue lay between them, bloating like government spending, unresolved. Not a single appropriate moment for quiet, reasonable discussion had presented itself since Friday and chicken-heart that she was, she'd been loath to force one.

If she were lucky her spouse would forget all about it in the face of the increased pressure of his investigation. Yeah, sure, and the Missouri flows north.

How could she explain about Kirsty without destroying his faith in her? As if she hadn't already done just that. He'd never feel safe leaving his children in her care if he knew the truth. Every single day she struggled to make herself worthy of his trust and the children's growing love. Quinn would never know the true extent of the angry, child-provoked words she'd eaten in the last three months.

She'd better snap it up. It was her week to drive the children to and from day care. For half a second she considered asking Quinn to make the run for her, then rejected the idea. Ever since Kirsty's existence had slipped out, the fact had hung in the air between them like a vulture just waiting to rip into carrion.

Meredith realized the longer she put off talking to Quinn, the more difficult the whole thing would be. Yet, fear that she'd lose every last one of her dreams impelled her procrastination. She loved the man with everything in her. His grin had melted the icy corners of her heart. His touch had lit a fire that warmed her soul. He had shown her goodness and honesty and trust. And how had she repaid him? By withholding the ugliness of her past. It killed her to know she had caused him pain, and the worst of it was she expected her story would exacerbate the wound. She toyed with the idea of leaving out the part she had played in Kirsty's running away. No, not again. Lying had gotten her in this mess in the first place. She could live with herself by making a clean breast of it. He deserved that much from her.

Stewing solved nothing, and the clock ticked on. Sick at heart, she pulled her essentials-only style purse from the bottom desk drawer, picked up her briefcase and left the office. The solitary elevator ride to the garage indicated more than anything the lateness of the hour.

How she envied Quinn's solid grounding in the ethical, moral values on which she had striven to base her life. Not that she was trying to excuse her actions. Still the fact remained. He didn't waver and bounce around searching for the right direction like she did. Along his life's bumpy road, his grandmother had laid a firm foundation and while he'd veered from the direction the good lady had set, Boys Town had planted him back on track. Among his fine qualities, Quinn's steadiness--so opposite from the precariousness of her own childhood--had attracted her to him in the first place.

Now she'd run smack up against those admired values. Because she knew their importance to the essence of the man, she understood how disappointed, how hurt, he would be when she told him the truth.

She wished she could predict Quinn's reaction. Her lie had betrayed him in the worst possible way.

The door glided open on basement level three. Accrued seniority awarded her an inside parking space, for which she was grateful, especially in inclement weather. Still, the concrete cavern never failed to give her the creeps, a feeling which remained until she reached the street level, daylight and fresh air.

She climbed in the stuffy van, rolled down the front windows and turned on the air conditioning. Easing the vehicle along the rising circular pathway to the street, she approached level one. Out of nowhere a familiar prickling began crawling along the back of her neck.

A stalker? Her gaze darted to the left. To the right. Nah, imagination. It's nothing more than hurrying. And yet, moisture formed on her palms. Perspiration coated the skin under her clothes. Out of the corner of her left eye she caught a glimpse of something bright. She turned her head for a closer look. A woman, blonde hair swinging as she moved, stepped out of the garage. Oh, for Pete's sake. Spooked by an innocent bystander. Meredith relaxed, vexed by her foolishness and drove on toward the exit.

At that moment, an angry voice drew her attention to the parking spaces closest to the elevators, forty feet away. Unfolding with all the drama of an Emmy-winning TV show, was the reason for her apprehension. President Melton, still as a statue, stood next to his car. An agitated man, wearing the uniform of the security company which provided Omaha National's watch-dog guards, held a gun on him.

Meredith stomped on the brake, afraid to move one inch closer. Straining to hear, she killed the engine. Why had she left the cell phone in her office? Quinn would have a fit.

She noticed someone creeping up behind the fool with the pistol. She didn't need to call for help. It was already there.

Then, her heart sank to her toes. No one moved with quite the same mixture of fluid grace, arrogant swagger and military precision as Quinn McAllister. "No," she gasped.

* * *

Quinn's heart, already pounding from his run down the stairs, threatened to jump out of his chest. He was too late to warn Melton.

But not too late to stop Ellsworth.

Neither the cellular phone in his briefcase nor the one in Melton's car did him one ounce of good. He couldn't waste time calling for help when at any second the irate rent-a-cop might decide to pull the trigger. Saving Melton was up to him.

"You owe me," George Ellsworth ranted, flinging both his arms around. His furious words reverberated off the concrete walls of the nearly empty garage.

Quinn admired John Melton's cool. So far, he stood stone still, doing nothing to further upset the guard. It took a brave--or terrified--person to stare down an angry man from the wrong end of a weapon.

"Put the gun away and explain your problem to me," Melton said, not by the slightest flicker of an eyelash giving away Quinn's presence.

Wrong thing to say. Quinn swallowed the groan forming in the back of his throat. Keep quiet, man. At the mention of the gun, Ellsworth seemed to realize he held the firearm. His arm straightened. And steadied. He aimed the barrel straight for Melton's chest.

"Shut up, you rich son of a bitch. You're swimming in money and some of it's mine--hers. You're gonna pay me-my poor mama what you owe her."

Quinn slipped away from the stairwell. Keep talking, George. Let me get close enough to stop you. He inched toward Ellsworth, soundlessly, carefully. His focus trained on the weapon.

"That money's mine...hers," Ellsworth screamed. "You owe. You owe my poor mama!"

"What money?" Melton asked, the slight quiver in his voice betraying his emotional state.

Quinn's window of opportunity was about to close. If he didn't disarm Ellsworth mighty damn quick, Melton would take the matter into his own hands. Quinn trusted his own training and ability. Melton's was an unknown quantity.

Quinn wished for his own weapon…a gun… heavy pipe…a stout stick… anything. All he possessed were his bare hands and the skills honed by sometimes monotonous military training. He drew in a deep breath. It's now or never.

"You'll pay. Pay the policy. Pay my poor mama what Tony left her! Pay! Pay the policy."

Quinn stole one step at a time from the stairwell door toward Melton's assailant. He halted behind Ellsworth. Grabbing George's wrist, Quinn twisted the guard's arm downward. Simultaneously, he rammed his knee just below Ellsworth's elbow. The guard lost his grip. The gun skittered across the concrete floor.

* * *

Meredith watched in spellbound horror, her heart in her throat. Helpless to do anything else, she prayed. Be careful. Oh God, please be careful.

Suddenly the tempo changed. Quinn struck with the swiftness of a snake. Meredith's fingers flew to her mouth, stifling the shout poised in her throat.

Ellsworth lunged at Quinn. Quinn ducked. Ellsworth grazed Quinn, throwing him off balance. They collapsed in a tangled heap on the concrete floor.

Without conscious thought, Meredith scrambled from the minivan and raced toward the wrestling men.

Then it was over. Quinn reared back and with one powerful jab to the guard's solar plexus, gained supremacy. Melton retrieved the gun and handed it to Quinn. His hand shaking, Melton called 911 on his car phone.

"Don't move," Quinn panted, kneeling on the oil-stained floor. He kept the 9mm trained on the assailant.

"I want Mama's money," Ellsworth whined.

Quinn rose to his feet. Fine gray grit covered both knees and smudged his navy suit coat. A lock of his otter brown hair fell over his forehead. A self-satisfied grin curved his lips and lit his eyes. To Meredith he looked like Brett at his rowdy-boy best.

She lurched to a stop a car length away. "Qu-quinn? Are you all right?"

"Meredith? What the Sam Hill are you doing here?" He frowned, irritation--anger--unmistakable in his voice.

"Are you all right?" she repeated, stepping closer. Her insides trembled.

She touched his sleeve to reassure herself. The steely steadiness of his outstretched arm penetrated her confused brain. She jerked her hand away. All she needed on her list of sins was to spoil his aim and allow the guard to get away.

"I'm fine," he snapped. "Aren't you supposed to get the kids?"

Sirens sounded in the distance, their ooga screams increasing in volume by the second.

"Oh! I was on my way--"

"Get outta here! Now! Before the cops get here. You'll have to talk to them later."

Stung by his attitude, Meredith spun on her heel and ran back to the van. She peeled out of the garage, the squeal of her tires echoing in her ears.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes. What was the matter with Quinn? There was nothing unreasonable about her being in the garage. She parked there everyday.

Replaying the incident in mind, her heart pounded all over again. She'd rather not know her husband was capable of dealing with a lunatic with a gun. Unarmed, no less. She wanted him to remain, simply, the firm but jocular father, the gentle, teasing lover, the protective husband she woke up beside every morning. Nothing would ever erase the scene she'd just witnessed from her mind. Did he realize that? Was he trying to shield her from something seamy?

Or himself from her concern? Well darn it, she couldn't help being concerned. She'd just watched him put himself in danger. That pistol was more than enough to scare her spitless, without witnessing him roll around in a fist fight on the dirty floor. How else was a loving wife supposed to act? What did he expect? This time she'd done nothing wrong, and she wasn't about to apologize.

* * *

His stomach rumbling, Quinn returned to the apartment, an officer from Omaha's finest in tow to take Meredith's statement. It was late, and Quinn was bone-tired. His bruised shoulder ached and the muscles in his back were tight, the result of his wrestling match with Ellsworth. A hard garage floor made a rotten substitute for a regulation mat.

He wished he didn't have the officer with him. Things between his wife and him had been strained enough before his boorish behavior earlier this evening. He needed to apologize, and he couldn't, at least until the man left.

"Have a seat," Quinn said to the officer. He spoke in a hushed voice. No doubt the kids were asleep, and he wasn't about to wake them. He headed to the bedroom, figuring she would be holed up in front of the computer. "I'll get my wife."

"Meredith?" She swiveled around, jaw clenched, her hazel eyes dark gray stones. Her lips were drawn in such a tight line they almost disappeared. Never in his life had he seen such an unwelcome expression. She said nothing. Her silence cut him to the core. He tried to remember that she had lied to him about Kirsty, but it didn't help. He deserved her anger. "There's a policeman in the living room waiting to talk to you."

"All right." She walked barefooted across the room and through the door, her bearing dignified, regal….no mean feat considering she wore wrinkled, baggy shorts, and a T-shirt smeared with the baby's dinner.

"You wanted to see me," she said to the officer.

Quinn closed the door and changed his clothes. His tossed his suit over the edge of the playpen. There was no point in hanging it up until the cleaners did their thing.

Dressed in his usual evening outfit, cutoffs and a T-shirt, he strode to the kitchen, hoping Meredith had saved him some dinner.

"Your plate's in the fridge, ready to zap," she said, her words frosty, as he walked by. "Salad's in the blue Tupperware."

"Thank you," he mumbled, barely looking at her. She never acted like this, and he didn't know how to deal with it. He might as well eat while she talked to the cop. As soon as he left, Quinn intended to have a heart-to-heart with his wife. They couldn't go on this way.

He warmed his meal, grateful that she'd cared enough to prepare his plate. After the way he had acted in the garage, he wouldn't have blamed her if she'd made him fix his supper from scratch.

There was no way he could justify his churlish behavior. He wasn't sure he could explain it, even to himself. Stuff she would label macho jumbled his thoughts. His wife was supposed to be doing the motherly thing, picking up the kids, not intruding on his male world. The fact that her car was parked in the garage didn't matter. The old-fashioned notion, planted in his young mind by his grandmother, that ladies should be sheltered from the sordid side of life had played a part. In one way he wanted Meredith to know he was more than capable of protecting her and the kids from dangerous fools who carried guns. Yet, he didn't want her worrying about that part of him either. He'd seen her distress, plain as day. He rejoiced in the love behind her tension, but he hated causing the tension in the first place. None of his thoughts made logical sense. His actions were based on gut-level emotions, something he couldn't explain if he tried.

He was still sitting at the table, a bowl of ice cream melting in front of him, when Meredith escorted the policeman to the door. Bolting the lock, she turned toward him. She looked... Damn. He didn't know. For once he couldn't read her expression. Slowly she walked past him to the refrigerator. Pouring a glass of iced tea, she leaned against the counter and took a sip. Arms crossed under her breasts, she stared at the chandelier hanging over the table.

He waited, not knowing what to say. Her unapproachable expression and stance didn't invite conversation of any kind. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, but he wouldn't waste his breath.

"The officer said Ellsworth confessed," she said.

Quinn nodded. Okay. So that's how she wants to handle this. "Seems his mother's live-in boy friend held a policy naming her as beneficiary. The company rescinded it after he died of smoking-induced lung cancer. His application clearly stated he did not smoke. In court they tried to claim that he chewed tobacco, but medical records and other testimony proved he'd been a heavy smoker since his twenties."

"What did Ellsworth plan to do?"

"Hold Melton hostage until the company turned over the money. He almost got away with it." Quinn shook his head. "Too bad for him, his taste for drama got in the way.

"If he'd just nabbed Melton instead of ranting and raving first, I wouldn't've made it in time to intervene."

Meredith still refused to look at him. "Seems like a pretty desperate plan."

"It was dumb."

"It's sad," Meredith said, her soft voice, full of sympathy.

"Yes. But the boy friend out and out lied. If we'd known he smoked, we would've issued the policy at a higher rate."

"Which he probably couldn't afford."

"Probably. Falsifying the application is just cause to rescind any policy. We were within our rights." Quinn scooted back in his chair and straightened his shoulders. "Vitello knowingly lied, Meredith."

Her grip on the tea glass tightened, turning her knuckles white. What in the world? He shifted his gaze to her face. Her pale skin had lost the last drop of color. Then it dawned on him what he'd said.

This had gone on long enough. They were going to clear the air right now, even though her grim face suggested there would be a better time for a reasonable discussion.

Before he could say a word the phone rang. Of all the lousy timing. He sprang to answer the call.

Five minutes later he hung up and turned toward his wife, still frozen, white-faced against the counter. "That was John Melton. He called to thank me. We're invited to dinner on Saturday night."

A dull red stole over her cheeks. Her hand flattened across her stomach as if she were in pain. "Dinner? You and me?" she murmured. "At the Melton's?"

Quinn nodded. He switched his gaze to his unfinished dessert. His appetite vanished on the cold draft of her whispered words. She sounded like she didn't want to be seen anywhere with him. "Like it or not, when the company president asks, we have no choice but to attend."

Chapter 12

The black night dragged on. Meredith inched across the mattress and eased her feet to the floor. Her heavy heart boomed in her chest. Surely the thunderous sound would wake Quinn. She couldn't cope with his accusing eyes right now. Guilt-ridden, hurt and...well--she might as well admit it--angry, she moved in wraith-like silence into the living room.

Brittany, hidden in her crib behind the curtains, kicked a side slat in her sleep. Meredith held her breath, hoping against hope that the baby wouldn't wake. The cramped apartment drove her crazy. There wasn't a spot where Meredith could go and vent without fear of disturbing someone. Instead of opening the drapes and staring out the window like she wished, she curled up in the club chair, and rested her chin on her knees.

Over and over, her mind replayed the scene in the garage. She had thought she knew the meaning of fear until she realized the man intending to stop the rent-a-cop was Quinn. Any wife who'd witnessed such a scene couldn't help being terrified. What should she have done? Ignore the fact that her husband had not only disarmed a lunatic with a gun, but participated in a wrestling match to subdue him? No way. That was the man she loved rolling around on the hard concrete, and she had needed to know whether or not he was hurt. Just a little reassurance, that's all she had wanted. She hadn't meant to intrude. She still didn't understand Quinn's curt attitude.

His only rationale, as far as she could fathom, lay squarely at her own feet. The lie about Kirsty loomed before her in mountainous proportions. The tension between them came back to her blatant omission. Nothing else made sense, and his remarks about Vitello bore out his strong feelings concerning lying.

Why, oh why, had she lied? The decision was a conscious one, made more than once. Every time an opening had come her way, she had dismissed the opportunity to tell the truth. She couldn't bear for Quinn to know the bald facts about her family, her upbringing. Her immoral mother's life defined poor white trash. Nothing mattered to Sammie Sue except her next bourbon bottle, her next bed partner. Meredith had worked so darned hard to put her past behind her. With the exception of Kirsty, Meredith had succeeded beyond anything she'd dreamed possible.

Pressing both hands against her stomach, she attempted in vain to alleviate stress-generated cramps. She blinked over and over hoping to produce moisture in her burning eyes.

She knew how Quinn felt about the truth. And yet, she had continued the deception by saying nothing. Was shielding him from her sordid past worth losing the only man she'd ever loved? Unequivocally, no. Most likely, he would've overlooked the life of her youth. A lie, never.

What to do? How could they get through dinner at the Melton's without some understanding between Quinn and herself? Given their current animosity, they'd need an Oscar-winning performance to act as if nothing was wrong. She didn't possess such skill, and she doubted Quinn did either.

Her thoughts bounced to social graces. Where did Quinn McAllister get off anyway, lecturing her on protocol? Did he think she lacked the basic social refinement not to know an invitation from the company president equaled a command performance? She realized the Army and to great extent, Boys Town, had provided Captain McAllister opportunities to develop a polish never given her. Still, she wasn't a mannerless ignoramus. In fact, he ought to give her credit for rising above her background.

How come every thought came full circle back to her lie? Quinn might well give her credit for rising above her background if he knew the truth. Oh sure, she remembered telling him her mother was a barmaid, even remembered labeling her as promiscuous and a drunk, nothing more. She had never mentioned the abuse, the shabby apartment over the bar and worse, the young sister she'd failed. Glossed over facts was one thing. A deliberate omission was quite another.

She must beg his forgiveness, although what she'd done was unforgivable. How could she hope to build a trusting relationship when she lied? She'd placed her own fragile security above honesty, knowing honor was the backbone, the mainstay, of Quinn's personal code.

She felt like pond scum.

Mr. Sawyer required her--their--decision on the Denver job in a few short hours. The week allotted for making an objective choice had vanished in a flurry of crises. Lacking cold hard facts, Meredith had nothing more than Quinn's initial expression of support on which to base her answer. She wanted the position. Did her lie change his conclusion?

Dawn broke. Brittany woke up crying. Wynne spilled her juice. Brett couldn't find his shoe. It was another routine morning at the McAllister's. Discussion of any sort was out of the question in the hurry-scurry of the a.m. rush. A simple yes or no would have to do.

Meredith donned her blazer, slung the diaper bag over her shoulder and picked up the baby. Quinn dashed out of the bedroom shrugging into his suit coat. He grabbed both of their briefcases and headed for the door. "Wynne, Brett! C'mon. We're late."

The children's running commentary prevented adult conversation all the way to the garage. They were in the van heading west before Quinn spoke to her. "Drop me off on the way to Wee Tots. I want to get started on my report. I have a feeling today'll be one distraction after another."

Meredith nodded. "I have to see Mr. Sawyer first thing and let him know if I accept the promotion. Do I take it or not?"

"You want it, don't you?"

"Yes." She stopped at the curb in front of the Omaha National building.

"Then accept." His indifferent tone implied he couldn't care less. He climbed out without another word and melted into the crowd entering the building.

It wasn't the wholehearted endorsement she had craved. Still, he'd given her his okay. She wished for the weekend to straighten out her problems with Quinn before she made the final decision. Dream on, Meredith. With Betsy Pierce breathing down his neck, Mr. Sawyer would demand her answer today. Meredith wasn't about to let her coup slip through her fingers. She would accept. She hoped her decision wasn't a mistake. And she prayed, given Quinn's ire and indifference, that she wasn't moving to Denver alone.

Come fire or flood or the tortures of the damned, they would talk tonight. The tension between them, her building uncertainty, couldn't continue much longer. Unless she diffused this time bomb it would explode and destroy them all.

* * *

By eight p.m. Meredith was dead on her feet. A sleepless night hadn't prepared her for day-long commotion at the office. The story of Quinn's daring-do swept through the building like wind-whipped flames across the dry Nebraska prairie. From the minute she stepped into the lobby until she pulled out of the garage at five-thirty she'd fielded questions, accepted congratulations and smiled until her face ached and her head throbbed. The ruckus continued unabated all evening.

Meredith stood at the changing table, diapering Brittany. Brett streaked past, his naked body dripping a bath water trail on the carpet, the scent of bubble bath lingering in his wake. She'd kill the child yet.

No! She must never, even in jest, think in those terms. She gnawed the inside of her cheek. Calmly now. Don't yell. "Brett, please go finish your bath. You're tracking water on the floor."

He kept moving in the opposite direction. "I gotta get my submarine."

"No submarines tonight."

The boy bent over the toy box, his wet, dimpled bottom gleaming in the light. He looked so darned cute she wanted to hug him almost as much as she wanted to swat the target his upturned rear-end presented. He rummaged in the toy box, scattering bits and pieces of childish treasures everywhere. Brittany kicked and squirmed, resisting Meredith's effort to fasten her pajamas. "Lie still, Sweetpea. Brett, I said no submarine tonight."

"But--"

"No buts either," she snapped. Why did he have to test every simple instruction? She picked up the half dressed baby and marched to Brett's half of the children's room. Grasping his arm, she led him, protesting all the way, back to the tub. "No more shenanigans. I want you washed and out of the tub in five minutes. Wynne needs her bath, too. And don't forget to scrub behind your ears."

Quinn appeared in the doorway. "Trouble?"

"No," Meredith denied instantly, not looking at her husband. She mustn't botch something as simple as putting the children to bed. Another blot on her record would only make their exchange later worse. "Brett is finishing his bath quickly--" please don't make a liar out of me "--so Wynne can take hers."

The phone rang--again. Was there a person left on earth who hadn't called to congratulate the hero? Quinn's preoccupation with the telephone meant the bedtime routine fell on her shoulders tonight. He left to answer the call.

"Hurry up, Brett." Even though they relaxed bedtime many Friday nights, Meredith wanted the children tucked in early tonight. Was it too much to ask for one quiet hour before midnight to talk to her husband?

A thud, followed by breaking glass emanated from the kitchen. Heavens, now what? She raced to investigate. The place resembled a three ring circus tonight. Wynne stood on the countertop, a package of cookies in her hand. The opened drawers gave testimony to her route up. A box of cocoa lay on the white vinyl floor, its contents billowed a fine dark dust in a two foot radius. A shattered bottle of Karo syrup rested in sticky glory in the middle of the cocoa.

"Oh, Wynne. How could you?"

"I's hung-ery, Merith." Tears trickling down her cheeks, the horned angel stuck her thumb in her mouth.

"What's going on in here?" Quinn's voice boomed from behind them.

"Wynne's into another do-it-herself project," Meredith said and sighed. She wasn't destined to manage the bath and bed routine on her own tonight. She thrust Brittany in his arms. "Please, take her and I'll put Miss Mischief in the tub. Between us, we'll have them all settled in no time."

* * *

So much for good intentions, Meredith thought an hour later.

Yawning, a steaming mug of rich smelling coffee in each hand, she plodded into the living room, feeling like she was heading to face the executioner. She found Quinn sprawled in the club chair, staring off into space. "Children in bed?"

"Brittany's asleep in the playpen. I'm not sure about the other two. They're wound up tonight. Too much excitement, I guess. Did the mess come off?"

"Cocoa and syrup make terrific glue, but yes, the floor's clean." Meredith handed him one of the mugs. "Can we...talk?"

"Yeah, we'd better."

She perched on the edge of the couch. She could no more relax against the cushions than she could sprout wings. "I'm sorry--"

The phone rang. When Quinn didn't move, she started to rise. "Let the answering machine pick up," he said. "This is more important."

Quinn sipped his coffee, regarding her over the cup's rim. She wished she could interpret his silence. Still, she drew courage from the fact that he considered their conversation more important than a telephone call. Taking a fortifying swig of the black brew, she searched for the right words.

"I'm sorry, too," Quinn said. "I was short with you. Bad enough without Melton there to witness my rudeness."

Meredith plunked her mug on the coffee table and shot to her feet. "Oh, no!"

"What's the matter?"

"The Melton's dinner party tomorrow night. We need a baby-sitter."

"Hell. I never thought of that."

She strode toward the phone. "I'll call Joyce from Wee Tots. Maybe she can recommend someone. I don't have a clue."

After three short calls, Meredith returned. Her insides roiled. This was hard enough without constant interruptions. "All taken care of. Joyce suggested either Angie or Pearl. The children know them both. Angie's got a date, but Pearl will sit."

"Good."

Meredith sank down on the couch once again. She stared at her hands, then drew a deep breath. "As I was saying--"

"Quinn! Quinn!" Brett rocketed into the room and flew into his guardian's lap. "I gotta know. What happened to the gun?"

"You, young man, are supposed to be in bed."

"Yeah, I know. But I wanna know what happened to the gun?" He wiggled, getting himself comfortable for a long chat.

"Brett, you're interrupting our conversation." Quinn set the boy on his feet and gave him light swat on the seat. "Back to bed. Now."

"Okay, okay. But first, where's the gun?"

Persistent little cuss. Meredith gritted her teeth. Let Quinn handle him. Her fuse was darn short right now. She yawned, her energy draining by the moment.

Quinn shot out of the chair and scooped the boy into his arms. He glanced down at Meredith. "Hold your thought. I'll be right back."

She snuggled into the cushions and closed her eyes. Just for a minute--

* * *

Right back turned into fifteen minutes. Finally, Quinn cajoled Brett and Wynne back to bed and returned to the living room. "You were saying? Meredith?"

He crossed the room and stood, hands on his hips, in front of her. She slept more or less sitting straight up. Dark lashes feathered over the lavender circles under her eyes. "Meredith?" he repeated.

She didn't stir. The carnival-like atmosphere they had both experienced at the office today had exhausted him, and he knew she hadn't slept the night before. Even though they'd kept to their own sides of the bed during the past strained week, Quinn remained attuned to her. He'd roused several times during the night and known instantly that she wasn't in bed. The first time he considered going to find her, to apologize and bring her back where she belonged, but he wasn't awake enough to hash out their difficulties coherently.

He sighed. With luck they could find a few quiet minutes to finish their apologies tomorrow.

He leaned over and lifted her in his arms. "C'mon, Marigold," he whispered against her shining hair. "Beddy-bye time for you, too."

Her eyelids raised a slit. "Mmm."

Quinn carried her to their room and laid her on the bed. She awakened enough to allow him to wriggle her out of her shorts and T-shirt. Tucking her under the covers, he hurried through his own bedtime routine. He didn't plan to sleep hovering to the edge of the mattress tonight. Their differences might not be resolved, but at least he could snuggle close. Then maybe he'd sleep well enough to wake refreshed and ready to sort out their problems.

* * *

Quinn held the car door. Meredith slid out of the Probe, parked at the curb in front of the Melton's home in the exclusive Fairacres neighborhood. Her perfume caught on the night breeze, reminding him of a tropical garden he'd visited once in the Caribbean during a tour of duty. The exotic, showy scent didn't quite jibe with her cool, elegant appearance. Then he remembered Wynne had ruined the perfumes Meredith preferred. He guessed this scent was something she'd had tucked away somewhere. He was sure she hadn't whiffed off money on smelly goods considering their tight budget. The thought saddened him. A bottle of cologne wasn't a horrendous expenditure, yet, at the moment a luxury relegated to later. As soon as they got a little ahead, he'd buy the biggest bottle of White Shoulders he could find and bubble bath, too. He took her elbow, urging her up the long walk.

"Just a minute," she said, stopping to smooth her dress.

"Stop fidgeting." He wondered how they'd get through this evening. From the moment the washing machine had overflowed at eight o'clock this morning, nothing had gone according to plan. His apology remained incomplete, and he still didn't understand why she had chosen to lie to him. "You look fine."

In truth, Meredith's appearance bordered on perfect. Her chin-hugging mahogany hair, swept back over one ear and held with a pearl encrusted clip, gleamed. Her slender, black column dress embraced her figure in all the right places. The scoop neckline bared her delicate collarbones. Pearls encircled her swan-like neck and dangled from her ears. Her sling-back pumps, higher than she wore to work, showed off her long legs and trim ankles.

The only thing missing was a smile. They were both on edge and it showed.

She checked her watch and shot him a nervous look. "Where is everybody? I thought this was a dinner party. There aren't any other cars. You did get the time right," she babbled, betraying her apprehension, "didn't you?"

Quinn stopped abruptly. "I got the time right. Melton's secretary called yesterday to confirm it." He sighed. "Look, I know we need to talk. But that's impossible right now. I need you to be supportive this evening. Can't you smile and at least pretend everything is okay until we get home?"

Her head snapped back, as if he'd slapped her. Quinn glimpsed wounded pride in her eyes. Damn it, now he had something else to apologize for, yet he had spoken nothing but the truth. He had no intention of retracting a word now. He did need her support…. and her smile.

"I will if you will." Her frown frozen, she met Quinn's gaze. He nodded.

Meredith's lips were flattened in a tight line. Slowly, silently she complied, her facial muscles relaxing into a reasonable facsimile of the smile he loved.

"Thank you," Quinn said, donning his own party face. "Let's go."

They marched up to the impressive double doors, and Quinn rang the bell. To his surprise, Mr. Melton answered himself.

"Come in, come in, my boy. It's good to see you."

"Good evening, sir." Quinn shook Melton's hand, then placed his hand on Meredith's back. "May I present my wife, Meredith?"

She extended her hand. "How do you do, sir?"

"Fine and dandy, thanks to this man of yours. Come and meet my wife." He led them through the wide foyer to the massive sunken living room.

Meredith stifled a gasp. Her feet sank into ecru carpeting. Not too long ago, this was the type of decor she would have chosen for herself. Not any more. It would take a whole army of maids to keep the many-shades-of-white room looking like it did now if her little darlings resided here. The floor to ceiling, multipaned windows overlooking the lush backyard begged for handprints. She pictured soldiers and tanks hiding in the ficus trees and stifled a laugh.

Mrs. Melton rose from the curved sectional sofa and glided toward them. John Melton had always impressed Meredith as a just-plain-folks sort of a fellow, despite his lofty position. Mrs. Melton appeared untouchable. The exquisite cut and fabric of the woman's ivory sheath screamed megabucks. An elegant jade oval, set in heavy gold, rested in the hollow of her throat. There wasn't a platinum blonde hair out of place on her perfectly coifed head.

"Lil--"

She smiled, first at Quinn, then at Meredith. The warmth of her expression changed Meredith's mind. Untouchable didn't fit at all.

"This is the young man who saved my life, Quinn McAllister, and his wife, Meredith." He turned and motioned for them to step down into the living room. "My wife, Lilith.

"Good evening," Mrs. Melton replied. "I can't thank you enough for what you did, Quinn." She slipped her arm around her husband's waist. "I'm not ready give up my fella any time soon."

Quinn's color deepened slightly. "Mr. Melton's exaggerating. I just did my job."

Meredith knew John Melton didn't exaggerate one whit. She'd witnessed the whole terrifying episode.

"Don't argue," John said. "You weren't standing there with a gun pointed at you, son. You saved my life. Again, thanks."

Quinn turned redder. Meredith worked hard to keep a straight face. She'd never seen him so flustered. The sooner the subject changed, the more comfortable he would be. "Thank you for asking us, Mrs. Melton," Meredith said. "You have a lovely home."

"Why thank you, dear. Let's sit down."

"What can I get you to drink?" John asked. His offer implied a fully stocked bar.

"White wine," Meredith said, hoping it was a sophisticated enough choice. Certainly, these were friendly people, but not in the same circle as their friends. She didn't drink alcohol often and never anything stronger than wine. The ravages of her mother's alcohol abuse were indelibly engraved in her mind.

"Beer for me," Quinn said.

So much for sophistication…but then Quinn never put on airs. He remained himself, regardless….his steadiness again. Meredith relaxed into the couch cushions. By darn, she intended to be herself, too.

"Lilith?" John asked.

"A whiskey sour."

John distributed the drinks, then sat down with his own beer, reinforcing his just-plain-folks image. Meredith repressed a grin. Pleasantries flowed until a maid announced dinner, and they moved to the dining room.

The light airiness of the living room was repeated here. An enormous bouquet of garden flowers, graced the center of the table, perfuming the air with a delightful fragrance. The meal, chateaubriand accompanied by an array of succulent vegetables and followed by Key lime pie, melted in Meredith's mouth. Accustomed to the sort of fare that tempted youngsters, the food was a welcome feast.

"Do you have children?" John inquired.

"We've only been married three months," Quinn replied, "but my best friend and his wife were killed in June. We're raising their three kids."

Lilith's coffee cup clattered as she set it in the saucer. She looked like her eyes would bug out of her head. "Oh, my. That's quite a responsibility. How in the world did you end up with them?"

Quinn leaned toward his hostess. "It's quite simple. I promised."

"What an imposition on a pair of newlyweds."

"It certainly isn't how we planned to begin married life." Quinn sipped his coffee. "Their dad and I were as close as brothers from our days at Boys Town. I'm determined those kids will have the stable childhood their father didn't have."

Lilith turned to Meredith. "I admire you for agreeing."

She wondered how much to say. She didn't want to come off sounding like a martyr--or a heroine--yet she couldn't, wouldn't, lie. "It wasn't an easy decision, but I'm glad I decided to honor my husband's commitment. We've had our ups and downs but they're wonderful children. Now I can't imagine life without them."

"I'm impressed," Lilith said.

"So am I," John agreed. He reached into his jacket pocket, took out a check and handed it to Quinn. "With all those kids to raise, I'm sure you can use this bonus."

Quinn stared at the blue paper. His jaw dropped and his face warmed. It took a moment to gather his wits. "You're very kind and extremely generous but I can't take this, sir."

"Nonsense, son. Our company always rewards good work."

"To the tune of five thousand dollars? I don't think so."

Meredith choked on her coffee.

"There's more," John said, grinning like a self-satisfied cat. "Beginning September first, you are the new Director of Security for Omaha National."

"What!"

"Hal Jenkins is retiring."

"I knew that," Quinn shook his head, "but there're several others in the department senior to me."

"But no one more deserving of the job."

"Mr. Melton, I appreciate the honor. I truly do. But--"
"The appointment comes from the Board of Directors. The chairman would've been here tonight to tell you himself, except he had a previous engagement. They, and I, think you've demonstrated that you're the man for the job."

Did Mr. Melton have any idea of what he'd done? Quinn watched the color leech from Meredith's face. The room seemed warm despite the air conditioning. His palms sweated. Director of Security! Man, he wanted the job. He'd fill the position well. He knew he would. But...Meredith's promotion was in Denver. Just as he opened his mouth to tell Mr. Melton he couldn't accept, he noticed Meredith swallow hard and lean forward. "Congratulations, darling. I'm so proud of you. You'll do a great job."

His stomach knotted. Did she understand the ramifications of her words?

She grinned at Mr. Melton. "You've stunned him."

"I don't know what to say," Quinn said.

"Say you'll accept the position," John said.

Quinn shot Meredith a silent query. Do I take it? She met his gaze, her own unwavering, then beamed and nodded. "I accept," he said, his voice not quite steady. "I'll work very hard to justify your confidence in me."

* * *

"Can you believe it, Marigold?" Quinn asked on the drive home. "Director of Security. As Brett would say, awesome!"

"Am I surprised? Yes. But, indeed, I can believe they'd select you. You were pretty incredible the other day."

"Did you think it through? You're willing to forego your promotion?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. You can't turn down such an extraordinary opportunity. How many times does the Chairman of the Board and the President of a company hand-pick the most junior guy to head the department. You'd insult them. I'll have...other opportunities."

He braked for a traffic light. Hearing the catch in her voice, his stomach churned. Their marriage was troubled enough without further complication. Quinn took his eyes off the light for a second to stare at her. The neon sign marking the entrance to an Irish pub cast a green glow on her translucent skin. A trick of the light or a real indication of her feelings? "I can't ask you to make another sacrifice."

"Marriage is about sacrifices." Her voice cracked. A single tear rolled down her cheek. "On Monday I'll tell Mr. Sawyer to give the Denver position to Betsy."

This woman had given up so much for him already. He couldn't ask her to relinquish her promotion for the sake of his. "It's not fair for you to forfeit your dream to further mine."

Meredith tilted her head back on the head rest and expelled a long breath. "You reminded me not too long ago that life isn't fair."

He drove in silence, his mind rivaling the turmoil in his stomach. His needs and hers skittered through his thoughts. He wanted the position Melton had offered. He knew he'd do a good job. She wanted the Denver position. He knew she'd do a good job. So much had been denied him in his life. Parents, a normal childhood, the military career he'd craved. The same could be said for Meredith. And he couldn't forget the needs of the kids he'd vowed to raise.

He pulled into the apartment garage no nearer a solution than he'd been ten minutes ago.

The silence continued on the elevator ride up to their floor. He couldn't think of a constructive thing to say. Small talk seemed out of place.

Pearl jumped up from the couch the moment Quinn unlocked the door. "Did you have a good time?" she inquired.

"It was a lovely dinner," Meredith answered, her voice lacking enthusiasm. "Did the children give you any trouble?"

"Wynne didn't eat much supper, otherwise they were fine. Except..."

What now? His first "date" with Meredith since their honeymoon and the evening had dissolved into one disaster after another. "Except?"

"Wynne went into your room while I was changing the baby. I found her cutting the pictures she'd drawn out of a day timer."

"Oh, no!" Meredith moaned and ran to the bedroom.

If she'd had looked sick before, she appeared positively ill now, Quinn thought.

"I'm sorry," Pearl said. "I thought she was in the living room watching the video with Brett."

"Believe me, we know how fast she gets into things," he said. He pulled out his wallet and paid the lady. "Hold on a sec while I speak to my wife, then I'll run you home."

He stepped into the nightlighted bedroom. Brittany slept, sweet and innocent, in the playpen. Meredith hunched on the edge of the bed, staring at the mangled remains her day timer. Dry sobs shook her shoulders. His gut clenched. She recorded her whole life in that book, every appointment--work related and otherwise--phone numbers, addresses, notes and reminders. He knew, he kept one, too. He didn't make a move without consulting his. "How bad?" he whispered.

"Bad."

"Hang on while I take Pearl home. When I get back, we'll see what can be salvaged."

Chapter 13

Meredith slumped at the dining table, hunks and slivers--the sad remains of the next two months of her life--spread out before her. She choked back the tears constricting her throat and burning her eyes. Scribbles, executed in indelible black marker on the slashed day timer pages, added insult to injury. Could she ever restore the desk surface where the little artist missed the paper? Possibly, but the same couldn't be said for her appointment calendar. The black streaks obliterated her careful notations. Why hadn't she backed up her calendar? Worse yet, some important notes lay hidden under Wynne's renderings.

Meredith gazed at the disaster, the urge to smash something mounting by the second. Her hand balled into a fist of its own volition. Raw rage burned. Her insides tightened like an overwound clock. Wynne knew better--she knew better!--than to mess with anything on the desk. Good thing, young Miss Dutton was asleep or she'd be dead meat.

The front door lock clicked, the jangling sound of Quinn's keys grating on Meredith's super sensitive nerves. She looked up from the jigsaw puzzle Wynne had created of her life. He strode through the door, worry etched on his face. Good heavens, did he expect she'd done something rash in his absence? Not that several dire options hadn't crossed her mind. However, common sense had prevailed.

"Can you rescue any of it?" Quinn asked, removing his suit coat. He hung the jacket over the back of the chair beside her and sat down, covering her hand with his.

"I'm not sure. She used a permanent marker. The heavy ink curled the pages. Even if I can tape the pieces together I probably can't read anything."

"At least try a page. Doesn't look like the scribbles are solid in many places."

"It's a waste of time. Absolutely hopeless. How'm I supposed to figure out which pieces go on which page? She trashed my schedule for the next eight weeks."

Quinn shook his head, his expression sad. "Defeatist."

"No, I'm a realist."

He manipulated blackened snippets of paper as if she hadn't spoken. Over the next ten minutes, he patiently, carefully, assembled half a page. "Cut me some tape," he said, "and don't breathe."

How come he had managed to reconstruct the page when she couldn't? Because she had given up without trying and he refused to admit defeat. She wasn't a quitter. She jerked a strip off the roll and handed it to him. Every time she thought things couldn't get any worse, they did.

Quinn held the half page to the light. "Can you read it?" Meredith asked.

"No." He flipped the paper over. "Still nothing. Where's the magnifying glass?"

She refrained from gloating 'told you so'. "I'll get it." A minute later, she raised the glass and studied the partial page. "Still can't read anything."

"It was worth a try," Quinn said. He fetched blank pages from his own day timer. "Let's re-create what we can."

He remained unflappable. By his calm, steady attitude he suggested neither of them could change the disaster. They could only make the best of a bad situation. Intellectually, Meredith knew he was right. Still, she couldn't let go of her anger. Sure, Quinn stayed cool-headed. His affairs weren't reduced to tatters.

She sorted through a pile of fragments, her fingers trembling. The job was impossible. So they found a clear notation for a crisis management team meeting at two o'clock on a Wednesday. Without the weekly heading at the top of the page, how was she supposed to know which Wednesday? Close her eyes and point? There was one chance in eight of picking the right one.

A door creaked and Wynne, thumb in her mouth, slunk into the living room, dragging her beloved frayed blanket. "Merith," she whined. "My tum--"

Meredith shot out of her chair, her view of the child impaired by a red haze. "Wynne Dutton!" she screeched, her heart pounding. "How many times have I told you to leave my work things alone? You wrecked my appointment book."

Wynne gazed at her, her blue eyes wide, her pixie face pale.

Quinn placed his hand on Meredith's arm. "Meredith," he said in a soft, warning tone.

She shrugged his hand away and crouched, eye level to the child. Her meager control evaporated. "You did a very bad thing," she yelled, wagging her finger under Wynne's nose. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Wynne opened her mouth and emitted a choked sound. In the blink of an eye, she vomited….on Meredith's lap…in a puddle on the white carpet…on herself. Stunned, Meredith sank back on her heels and stared at her elegant black dress.

She gasped. Oh, no. How many times had she vowed she wouldn't yell at the children again? Only the most awful witch in the world would yell at a sick child. "Oh, Wynne, I'm so sorry."

Every maternal instinct she had ever possessed kicked in, overriding her anger. An ill child needed love and attention. She reached for the little girl, but Quinn had already scooped her up in his arms. "She needs a bath," he said. "So do you."

"Does she have a fever?"

He rested his cheek against Wynne's forehead. "She's a little warm, not much." He striped Wynne's nightgown over her head. "I'll take her temperature and bathe her. Go grab a shower."

Meredith sped to the other bathroom, undressed and showered in record time. She hurried, anxious to return to the sick child. Why bother? After the dreadful thing she'd done, Quinn wouldn't let her near Wynne. The carpet needed cleaning. Meredith started for the kitchen for supplies and stopped. Even knowing full well that the little girl couldn't be in better hands, something deep inside Meredith compelled her to go to Wynne. The carpet could wait.

Meredith paused in the bathroom doorway. Quinn was balanced on the edge of the tub, gently drying the whimpering girl with a fluffy towel. Snatching a clean nightgown from the dresser, Meredith passed it to him. "If...you want to change out of your suit," she said in an undertone, "I'll...rock her."

He hesitated a moment, then handed Wynne to her. "Looks like she's got the bug going around day care. Her temp is up a couple of degrees, that's all. Nothing to get excited about unless it shoots higher. I gave her a dose of the pink stuff."

Familiar inadequacy assailed her. He always knew what to do for the children. Patti's dog-eared child care book, in permanent residence on his nightstand, gave testimony to how often he consulted the experts. She kicked herself for not following his example.

Meredith eased into the large oak rocker, grateful, not for the first time, that Quinn had remembered to include it with the children's bedroom furniture. She snuggled Wynne's warm face against her breast and set the chair in motion, savoring the softness of the little girl's soap-scented skin. Even though Meredith had scolded the toddler, Wynne needed mothering so badly she accepted Meredith's ministrations without a qualm. Honest to goodness, she didn't deserve such unreserved trust.

"Does your tummy still hurt, Wynnie Pooh?"

"Huh-uh."

"The medicine will make it better in few minutes. If you feel like you're going to throw up again, tell me. Okay?"

"O-kay." Wynne stuck her thumb in her mouth and nestled closer.

"I'm sorry, Wynnie Pooh." Meredith's voice cracked. "I didn't mean to yell at you."

Meredith rocked, her thoughts in turmoil. She'd committed an unpardonable offense. Had she undermined the child's sense of security? What a terrible thing to do to a helpless orphan. At least Meredith knew Wynne wouldn't run away like Kirsty. Quinn's charge was too young.

A tear trickled down Meredith's cheek, followed by another and another. She'd tried for the past three months to hold her abusive nature in tight control. A sense of worthlessness, of total failure swamped her. Despite all her numerous accomplishments in the business world, she had bombed big time in the one area she wished with all her heart to excel.

She knew Wynne meddled and yet, she'd gone out tonight and left the day timer open on her desk. The catastrophe was her own careless fault…and then she had made the situation even worse by venting her misdirected anger on a sick child. Most horrible of all, she'd betrayed Quinn.

She rocked, her tears dripping onto Wynne's blond curls. These children needed a loving mother, and clearly she didn't pass the most generous test. Two hours ago, John Melton had altered their plans with his announcement of Quinn's promotion. Now, she realized, Mr. Melton had provided the perfect solution. She would move to Denver. Quinn and the children would stay in Omaha.

Could they survive a commuter marriage? Probably not. Their relationship was too shaky. Quinn was better off without her. Still, she loved him too much to sever their vows. It was selfish on her part, but if they got a divorce, Quinn would have to make the decision.

"She's asleep," Quinn said softly. "I'll put her in bed."

His deep-timbered voice slithered down her spine and twisted her insides. How could she leave him?

How could she stay?

He crouched beside her. With the pad of his thumb, he wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "Quit beating yourself up. She'll be fine."

Meredith relinquished her burden--at least the physical one--but couldn't muster the energy to move.

Quinn tucked Wynne under the sheets and dropped a kiss on her shiny curls. He returned and offered Meredith a hand up. "Come to the living room."

Studying his face, she wished for some clue to his feelings, but in the shadowed bedroom, his expression was impossible to read. It was time to face the music.

Silently, her shoulders hunched, she trudged into the living room. Where to begin? What to say? Would he understand? She sank into the pillows in one corner of the couch.

Quinn slouched in the easy chair, his bare feet propped on the matching ottoman. A threadbare T-shirt clung to his muscular chest like a second skin, and ragged cutoffs embraced the small part of him they covered. She thought of the nights she'd lain snuggled close to his powerful male body and sighed. After this discussion was finished, she doubted he'd ever touch her again. Empty years loomed before her…years to regret her poor judgment…years in which to die a slow tortuous death, lost and alone.

"I cleaned the carpet," Quinn said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Her head jerked up. "I intended to do it."

"Wynne needed you right then." He shrugged. "The smell got to me."

Meredith sucked in a deep breath despite the thickness in her throat. She would not cry again. She deserved everything coming during this talk.

"I needed to apologize to her more than she needed me." Meredith gulped, determined to get through this with a modicum of dignity. "I try not to scream at the children, but sometimes I can't stop myself."

"You were upset."

"That's no excuse. I'm an adult. I should have more control."

"That's your problem. Why can't you accept that you can't control everything? Parents can't always maintain the upper hand with kids, no matter how hard we try. Learn to roll with the punches."

"That won't be necessary. I'll be moving to Denver soon."

He paled, his dark stubble pronounced, and straightened. "You're leaving?"

"I accepted the position," she said. "Gave my word." His look of disbelief tore at her heart. Why should he believe in her integrity?

"There's got to be a better solution than to have you in one state and me in another. I need you. The kids need you."

"No, the children don't. I'm no good for them. They drive me straight up the wall just being children. I've tried to hold back," she babbled, "but sometimes I lose it and scream. Brett and Wynne fight. Every time he calls her a doofus, I go crazy."

"Siblings fight. But you'd know that better than I would."

"Yes." Meredith struggled to keep her voice strong. He mustn't know she bled inside. "That's the whole point, Quinn. I've botched mothering your children. I tried to warn you. But you wouldn't believe me. My track record was established a long time ago."

"You have kids I don't know about?"

Oh, God, one little omission and he thought her capable of such a horrendous lie.

"No," she said. Tell him, Meredith. Get it over with. "I should never have children for one very simple reason. I'm a child abuser, like my mother and grandmother."

He shook his head. "Excuse me? Repeat that. I didn't hear you right."

"You heard me." She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "I'm a child abuser."

"Meredith, you're a lot of things, but a child abuser is not, I repeat, not, one of them."

She snorted. "How little you know."

"Whose fault is that?" He grimaced. "Sorry, slinging arrows won't get us very far." He paused. "Do you beat the kids?"

"No."

"Do you shake them?"

"No. But I've wanted to."

Quinn chuckled. "Believe me, so have I. The point is, you don't. Have you ever locked one them in their room, or anywhere else?"

"Of course not."

"Then tell me why you're convinced you abuse children."

Meredith picked at a spot of Brittany's breakfast on her robe. "My mother's style of child rearing was verbally abusive. She yelled and screamed and flung around nasty names when any little thing annoyed her.

"She worked at the bar until closing, then usually brought some creep with his brains below his belt home with her. I learned early to stay quiet and out of sight when she had company and drank too much."

Oh, how she hated telling this tale, right to the depths of her soul. Meredith squirmed. She didn't dare stop now. The past had hung between them far too long already. "One of those men was Kirsty's father. He was the exception to Mother's one night stand rule. She married him, and things improved for awhile, but one man was never enough for Sammie Sue. After two years he walked, fed up with her adultery. She picked up right where she left off, a man a night.

Quinn straightened. "Meredith, honey--"

Meredith shook her head and rushed on. "Let me finish. I was seven and Kirsty a year old when her father took off. Mother slept most of the day, worked until one in the morning and partied all night. I took care of my little sister. If we disturbed Mother, she'd let loose, screeching at the top of her lungs. I remember her cruel words booming off the walls. She punctuated her outbursts by throwing anything handy across the room."

"Why didn't the authorities step in?"

"We had no neighbors to report her. Our apartment was over the bar. On the surface, she took care of her children. She checked on us at every break, even had an intercom set up so the bartender could listen for us. She kept us fed and I kept the apartment presentable."

Longing for the comfort of Quinn's arms, Meredith hugged a throw pillow to her chest, wishing something could ease her pain. "One night on her evening off, she went to the dog races and got rip-roaring drunk. On the way home, she wrapped her car around a tree. They said she died instantly. At the ripe old age of nineteen, I became Kirsty's legal guardian."

A shiver crawled up her back, shaking her shoulders. "I tried to provide a stable home, the kind of environment my best friend in high school came from. The type I read about in the books I devoured. Somehow, some way, I was going to make a better life for both of us. I worked two jobs so we could move to a decent apartment. With scholarships and loans, I took as many college classes as I could fit in my schedule. My little sister wasn't going to turn into a tramp like our mother. I tried to teach her good values. Kirsty was a troubled teen, convinced my rules were a personal insult. We fought all the time."

Meredith stopped. A sheen of perspiration chilled her skin. Inside she quivered from head to toe. She drew a ragged breath.

"Go on," Quinn said. "What happened next?"

"After three years, the tension came to a head. I came home from class one night about ten-thirty. Instead of doing her homework like I'd told her, Kirsty was glued to the TV. Swallowing my anger, I reminded her as nicely as I could that homework came before television. I went to get a cold drink and found beer in the refrigerator. She was only sixteen years old. I let her have it--a sharp, to the point, lecture.

"Before I headed to bed, I threw a load of clothes in the washer. Can you imagine my shock, then panic, when I found condoms in her jeans pocket? I tried to reason with her, even thought I'd won that round.

"But the next night...." This was the hardest part. Meredith trembled. "Class finished early. When I got home, the living room lights were on. Kirsty was nowhere in sight. I went to put my books in our room. I opened the door and this guy's bare butt stared me in the face. He had long greasy black hair, tattoos to rival Dennis Rodman and he was...on top of my little sister."

Quinn kicked the ottoman. "The scuz ball!"

"I lost it--screamed like a banshee." Meredith bit her lip reliving the painful memory. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, unable to watch disgust register on his face. "I grabbed his arm, jerked him off her and literally threw him out the door buck naked. It was an awful ruckus. Kirsty was wrapped in the sheet, yelling at me. He cussed me out. And I bellowed like a wild woman. Neighbors crowded in the hall. He begged for his pants. I never aimed so well. That heavy belt buckle cut his cheek and one of his boots hit where it hurts the most."

"Jeez, Meredith."

"I locked the door and started in on Kirsty…called her terrible, hurtful names. Grounded her for the rest of the school year.

"The next day I went to work and when I got home, she was gone. No note, nothing." Meredith's whole body shook. The tears she'd held in check leaked from her closed eyelids. "I drove her away."

The cushion gave as Quinn sat down beside her and took her in his arms. Her icy body warmed against his solid chest. "Shh. No more."

She raced on, baring her soul of the last of her torment. "For two years I spent every spare cent I could scrape together trying to locate her. I finally came to accept that Kirsty didn't want me to find her. At least I know she's alive. She sends a card every Christmas, postmarked in a different city. There's never a note or a return address."

Quinn held Meredith's shivering body close, wishing he could absorb her despair. No wonder speaking of Kirsty upset her. "Sounds to me like you were patient for a long time. I'd blow, too, if I found out any of our kids were drinking and screwing around."

"I failed her, Quinn. When she needed love and understanding, I turned into an abuser, just like our mother. Now I'm going to do the same thing with your children."

He gritted his teeth. She'd said it again. Your children. Not theirs. He stroked her back. She had it all wrong. Meredith McAllister was no more a child abuser than he was General Colin Powell. But how could he convince her? He sighed against her soft hair. After a moment, he leaned back enough to observe her face. "Define abuse."

"I just did."

"No. You shared a tragic incident from your past. Thank you for that. We've already established that you don't physically hurt our kids. Answer me this. Do you swear at them?"

"No."

"Call them names?"

"I haven't been pushed that far."

"I think you have. Tonight you were ready to explode. With just cause. Our horned angel created one big problem for you. Yet, you didn't react in any way I'd call abusive. Remember what you said to Wynne?"

"Not the exact words."

"You told her she'd 'done a very bad thing.' You didn't tell her she was bad. You didn't call her foul names."

"Yes, well...I went to a counselor after Kirsty left. I needed help handling the guilt. I guess I learned more than I thought."

"If counseling helped, I'm glad you went." Quinn kissed her temple.

"Meredith, you can't go through life stifling your anger all the time. Nor should you feel guilty when the house wreckers make you angry. Anger is a human emotion, part of life. Kids need to know when they make you mad. How else are they going to learn right from wrong? A little yelling isn't going to hurt them."

She said nothing. He wondered if he'd gotten through to her. His paltry reassurances, pitted against years of conditioning? He cringed at the burden she carried, reinforced year after year by a Christmas card with no return address and no personal message. Small wonder she kept quiet about her sister. He was surprised she managed Brett, Wynne and Brittany as well as she did.

As well, hell. Damn well. The woman in his arms was a natural mother. It was past time for her to realize the fact.

Meredith pulled away. What now? Her ramrod straight spine warned him to brace himself for the worst. Denver, of course. She wanted the job so bad she could taste it. Not only that, but everybody who would work with, and for her, wanted Meredith in the position.

"Quinn, can you ever forgive me?" Her voice quavered, barely above a whisper. "I lied to you. I was wrong not to tell you about Kirsty and my past."

He pulled her against his chest, stroking her back. She unbent only slightly. "I wish you'd trusted me with your secret. I'm hurt that you didn't. But I'll get over it. If I'd known, we could've handled the whole set-up with the kids differently. Now I understand why you don't talk about your childhood."

She cocked her chin at a tenacious angle. "I'm glad you understand, but can you forgive me?"

"Of course." He clasped both her icy hands in his, in much the same way he had during their marriage service. "Whatever made you think I wouldn't?"

"You can't bear lies."

"You think I have so little compassion that I can't forgive a mistake?"

"N-no."

"Forget it. Nobody's perfect."

She collapsed against him and buried her damp face in his neck. "Thank you."

He eased her back and tilted her chin up with his thumb. "I love you, Marigold," he smiled and kissed her nose, "no matter what."

Wynne's muffled cry penetrated the cracked door. Meredith bolted to her feet so fast she stumbled.

"Easy," Quinn cautioned, steadying her until she found her balance. "She's okay. Sounded like she stirred in her sleep."

"She might be sick again. I'll check."

No real mother could be more concerned for her kids than Meredith. For the first time in ages the long-stowed image of her suckling a newborn to her breast flashed in his mind. A pipe dream? Quinn wasn't convinced--not yet.

The clock read one-fifteen. Their future remained up in the air. He didn't know about Meredith, but he'd never sleep until they figured out where they went from here.

He followed her. She knelt on the floor, tucking the sheet around Wynne's shoulders. She kissed the child's cheek and stood. "She okay?" he mouthed.

Meredith nodded and stepped around the fish net divider, repeating the process with Brett. In the glow of the nightlight, Quinn caught her look of longing and hope surged through him. She cared too much to walk away. He knew it. But did she?

They returned to the living room together, once again leaving the door cracked. She glanced toward their bedroom, her expression identical to the one he'd caught as she covered Brett up. "Go on, Mom, finish your rounds."

"Please don't call me that." Her beautiful mouth uttered the words, but her hazel eyes glowed with maternal love. "It's fraudulent."

"I beg to differ."

"I'm not these children's mother, Quinn--"

He regretted turning his gaze to her mouth. Now he couldn't tear his eyes away. Her lips, long since freed of the perfectly applied lipstick she'd worn earlier, glistened in the light from the chandelier. He yearned to kiss her.

"--no matter what you say. Patti will always be their real mother."

She had a point, but there was another side to the issue, one he'd save till later. "Go on. Check Brittany."

Quinn retreated to the kitchen, fighting his raging hormones. His body protested too many nights without making love to his bride. How could he live without her? The thought chilled him. How could he raise the kids alone?

He put a pot of coffee on to drip. Nothing like a good jolt of caffeine to kick his tired brain in gear. Somehow he'd convince her they belonged together, just as they'd promised, "until death do us part. This is my solemn vow".

"You're staying up awhile?" Meredith asked from behind him.

"Thought we would." He turned and faced her, in order to judge the impact of his words. "I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to live with one foot in Omaha and the other in Denver."

"Oh."

Her dismayed expression pleased him. If his reading between the lines wasn't totally skewed, the prospect of separation tore her apart as much as it did him. A wave of relief washed over him. He cautioned himself not jump to conclusions. They still had a major problem to work through.

He poured them each a mug of coffee and headed to the living room. Taking a sip, he dropped into the easy chair. "Meredith, honey, c'mere."

She stepped within reach, her expression unsure. Did she think he was going to pounce? "You wanted something?"

Yeah, but it'll wait. He took another drink, set the cup down, then slipped her mug from her fingers and set it beside his own. Clasping her hand, he tugged until she tumbled in an unceremonious heap in his lap. "You."

Flustered, Meredith struggled to a more decorous position. "Quinn!"

"Shh. You'll wake the kids."

"You're crazy, you know."

"Without a doubt. I'm nuts about you. Which is why we're gonna finish this little discussion."

"Don't you think we'll have a more reasonable talk if I sit somewhere else?"

"Nope."

"That's sneaky tactics."

"I'm a master tactician," Quinn warned. He drew her close. His hand rested above--not touching--her breast. "This is a friendly reminder of what you'll miss if you go to Denver and leave me here," he said softly against her ear.

She arched closer. His hand slid toward her shoulder, and deep disappointment arced through her. After the tension of the last week, it was heaven to be close to him again, and not just physically. If only it could last.

"I'd turn down the job--" Meredith said burrowing against his chest "--in a minute if I thought it best for you and the children for me to stay here. After what happened tonight, I'm not convinced."

Quinn traced her collarbone, the slight roughness of his fingertips sending sweet tingles straight to her center. "Okay, we'll come back to that point later. Let's talk about dreams for a minute."

"Dreams!" As if on cue, she yawned. "The only dreams I want to think about are the ones I might have if a certain someone would take me to bed." She spoke in the sexiest voice she could muster.

"Hold that thought." He tucked her head under his chin. "In an ideal world, what role would you play? I'm talking about absolute, best case scenario."

"I--"

"Don't tell me what you think I want to hear. I want an honest answer."

Still feeling guilty and unsure, Quinn's words stung. Meredith struggled to escape. He held her tight against him. "I don't make a habit of lying," she bit out, "no matter what you may think."

"I know you don't. Relax." He hugged her until her stiff body softened. "My question deserves a straightforward answer. We can't solve our predicament unless I know where you're coming from. Most days I think you're totally career oriented, but once in awhile, something happens and I wonder."

"I love my job. Until you came into my life, it was all I had."

"And now?"

She'd told him her worst secret. Already the weight of that awful load had lessened with two to carry it. She'd been foolish to hide her past from him. Quinn needed to know her deepest, truest feelings now. Their whole future depended on her frank answer. She sat up, her gaze locked to his. "The day Wynne fell at day care, she cried for me. Not her mommy, not her daddy, not you. Me. It was like a dream come true."

A smile tugged at his lips. "She's clung to you from the beginning."

"I'm so scared, Quinn. Deep down, I've always wanted a family. In my fantasies I was June Cleaver and Carol Brady rolled into one super mom. You and I both know I'm not cut out for that ideal."

"You may think you know that. I certainly don't. I'm not ready to give up my most cherished dream."

"Your dream?"

"My dream. It goes something like this. You--not some other woman--you, me, the three kids we already have and maybe one more for good measure, living the Nebraska good life in a big house in the suburbs." He forged a path of light kisses along her jaw and down her neck. Each brush of his lips telegraphed a delicious rush through her every nerve. "The only part of the dream that's fuzzy is whether the kids have a working mother or a stay-at-home-mom."

She couldn't think straight when he kissed her like that. One peep into his laughing eyes and she realized he was waging all out war--a war he intended them both to win.

"I think--emphasize think--I want to become a stay-at-home-mom. Although, I've worked so long, I'm afraid it might be a case of the grass is greener. I don't want to burn my bridges, then regret giving up my career."

"Have you ever considered a part time job? Sort of a gradual transition?"

"No, because I never let my dream surface. I'm not sure how it goes. I want more than anything to be a great wife and a good mother. Want and reality are two different things."

He slapped his hand on the chair's arm. "Give it a rest! Okay? You've got more self-confidence than that. I'm sure not complaining. Accept that while you can't be our kids natural mother, you'll always be their mom, the one they turn to for nurturing and love. Believe me, I've experienced a lot of mothers in the foster care system. When God handed out the maternal instinct, He gave you a heaping share. I'm sure of it and the kids must agree, since they respond to you the way they do."

"Well...if you say so."

"I do." Quinn stressed both words, punctuating each with a kiss.

"I'd rather have a less pressured job, a situation where I can spend more time with the children. They're growing up so fast. I see so many changes in the short time we've had them."

"So what're we going to do?"

She snuggled close and trailed her fingers over the thin fabric of his T-shirt. "I'm going to turn down the Denver job. Let Queen Betsy win. I don't care. My place is here with you."

"Are you sure? I never want to hold you back. You've worked long and hard for that promotion."

She rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder, her hand over his heart. "I can't leave you, Quinn. You or the children."

The breath whooshed out of him, warm against her cheek. "Thank God! It would've killed me to let you go." His voice choked. "Maybe someday I'll find the words to tell you how much you mean to me."

His heart thumped under her fingers in apparent synchronized rhythm with the pounding of her own. Suddenly the phrase 'two shall be as one' became clear. Quinn and Meredith McAllister were something they hadn't been before: not two exact halves, but two complementing pieces to equal a perfect whole. "Oh, Quinn, I do love you."

"I love you, too." He picked up her hand and kissed her palm. Awash in sensations beyond anything she'd ever experienced before, a moan escaped her lips.

"So where do we go from here?" Quinn asked, his fingers working their magic.

"A-ah...I-- I'll take a week off and research my options. There must be lots of possibilities."

"What about independent consulting?"

Wiggling her fanny, Meredith nuzzled his neck. He reacted just as she had hoped. Could his worn zipper withstand the strain? "Mmm. It's an idea."

His fingers stroked her robe-covered nipple. She shuddered, as close to exploding as she imagined he was.

"I'm full of good ideas, love."

"Such as?" she sighed in his ear.

"We've talked long enough. Time to play."

She chuckled. "Took you long enough to get around to that part."

Sliding one arm under her knees, he stood and headed for the bedroom. "Me? Me?"

Chapter 14

Brittany's cheerful babbling woke Meredith the next morning. She groaned and opened one gritty eye. Focusing on the clock proved impossible, however the light shining around the window shade indicated more sleep was out of the question. The sun came up and the youngest Dutton was ready to go. Rolling out of bed, Meredith fumbled for her slippers.

Quinn was already zipping his cutoffs and heading out the door by the time she rounded the bed. "I'll check on Wynne, if you'll get Brittany," Meredith said.

He nodded and strode toward the crib. She eased into the children's room, grateful to find Wynne still asleep. Meredith laid her cheek against the child's forehead. Good, no fever.

Brett bounced out of bed, bright-eyed and ready to explode into a new day. "Shh," Meredith warned. "Don't wake Wynne. She's sick."

Brett nodded and tiptoed, his steps exaggerated, to the bathroom. He hopped inside, and banged the door closed. Stifling a chuckle, Meredith shook her head. Brett couldn't keep quiet five seconds if his life depended on it.

The smell of coffee lured her to the kitchen.

"Wynne okay?" Quinn asked.

"I think so. She's still asleep--if Brett doesn't wake her up. Her fever's gone, but I want to keep her home today."

Quinn caught her in a casual hug and laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Did you hear yourself? You know what you're doing. Believe those maternal instincts."

His vote of confidence warmed her heart--and her face. She needed to hear that she was doing a good job, that he trusted her with the children who meant so much to him. Still, a niggling doubt lingered. She could never forget the hard, cold truth. Her little sister was roaming the streets alone because of her harsh words.

"It's just common sense. Wynne was running a fever a few hours ago," she said, pulling juice, milk and margarine from the refrigerator. "It could spike again."

"Right. Only some people drag their kids out anyway."

"I'll stay with her while you go to church," Meredith said.

"I'll stay."

"No, I'll stay. If I'm transforming into a mother, I'd better start acting like one."

"Meredith." Quinn came up behind her and hugged her waist. Nuzzling her neck, he kissed her ear. "How many times do I have to tell you? You began acting like a mother the minute we brought the kids home."

"Ouch! You scratch. Go shave and let me get breakfast on the table or you'll be late."

He pouted, hands on hips, his lower lip rolled out. "You're no fun."

Meredith arched her eyebrow. "That's not what you said last night."

He grazed his fingers along her bare upper arms, his nose touched against hers. "Ah, last night..."

A tingling heat surged through her veins. At the same time her heart glowed with the warmth of loving and being loved. She was truly blessed. Such heady stuff for a woman who, one short year ago was all alone in the world. She sighed and twisted her head, dropping a quick, hard kiss on his mouth. The children's bedroom door slammed and both Brett's and Wynne's voices floated across the room. As much as she'd rather indulge Quinn's frisky mood, her deep-seated practicality prevailed. The children were hungry and time was flying. Tonight--when the little ones were tucked in their beds and she and Quinn were snuggled in the privacy of their own room--would come eventually. She pointed toward the living room. "Go and let me fix breakfast!"

He laughed and ignored her command. His arms tightened around her, his kiss full of promise of things to come.

"Oh, gross!" Brett gagged. "You guys are always kissing.

"Get used to it, ace. We like it." Quinn winked at Meredith and ambled toward their bedroom.

A momentary pang shot through her. As newlyweds they should be able to satisfy the urge in broad daylight once in awhile. Brittany banged her spoon on her high chair tray, at the same time Brett plopped on his chair, looking expectant. Wynne sidled up and hugged Meredith's knees. Living consisted of a series of trade-offs. Although she and Quinn had lost the honeymoon privacy they craved, they'd gained the family they both wanted. Life was full and wonderful...except for one cloud. Meredith slammed the door on the thought before it even took form.

* * *

Reading from a dog-eared copy of Winnie the Pooh, Meredith nestled Wynne close. Actually reading was a misnomer. She could recite the story in her sleep, and she knew better than to skip a word or Wynne would correct her. Flipping the pages at the appropriate time, Meredith allowed her mind to wander.

Various options for less demanding employment flitted through her thoughts. She considered signing on with a temporary agency. Perhaps Omaha National had a part time opening. Or, as Quinn suggested, she might go into private consulting. Whatever she chose, she remained committed to spending more time with the children while they were young. Their fleeting childhood wasn't going to slip through her fingers.

Hugging Wynne, she continued the story.

Why, Brett would start kindergarten next week! Meredith blinked back a tear at the thought of Patti missing her son's first day of school.

What a great gift Quinn and she had been given. From this day forward, Meredith vowed to be the children's mother, holding nothing back. She wanted it all--room mother, scout leader, cookie baker, nurturer and guide. Not that she viewed the future through rose-colored glasses. Without a doubt there'd be days when she would long to hide out on a deserted island far away from sticky fingers, sibling fights and stubborn frowns. She prayed for the strength, the courage and the wisdom to carry out the awesome responsibility of raising children.

But what if-- No! Don't think like that. She was older now, more mature. Surely she could handle the commitment better than she had eight years ago. She wanted it so badly it was a hunger in her soul. This time she wasn't alone. Quinn stood beside her, a bulwark on which she could lean if she stumbled.

She finished the story and closed the book. "I have to fix lunch now, Wynnie Pooh. Would you like to play in your room?"

"O-kay." Amazed, Meredith watched Wynne skip across the floor. Sick children sure bounced back fast!

* * *

Quinn flipped on his turn signal and waited for traffic to clear. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a woman lurking by the apartment garage door. Good-looking babe. Any red-blooded guy would take a second look, but her darting glances combined with a defensiveness he recognized from his own days on the streets, compelled him to look a third time. Although young, the woman was no teenager. She held onto that wallet-like thing looped across her body as if she expected someone to snatch it any second. What was she doing hanging around the apartment garage? The front door was a more logical place to wait for someone.

Her shoulder-length, wavy hair glinted gold in the noon sun. She turned her head and he viewed her face. There was something familiar about her, yet he was sure he didn't know her. He shrugged. Probably a new neighbor he'd seen in the hallway but hadn't met.

Quinn waited for one last car to pass, still puzzled. The woman looked like...? It drove him crazy when he couldn't put a name with a face.

He had started to execute his turn when realization struck him with the impact of a two by four hurled between his eyes. The picture Meredith kept hidden in her wallet! The woman bore a striking resemblance to his wife! Instead of driving into the garage, he made a U-turn and pulled along side the curb in front of the bystander. "Brett, stay here with Brittany. I'll be right back."

He flew out of the car and around the hood. The blonde stood rooted to the spot. He skidded to a stop. She took two steps backward.

Except for her golden hair, the woman really did remind him of Meredith. ..the same shape--not the color--of her eyes, the same pert nose, the same full mouth. "Kirsty? Kirsty Hansen?" Quinn queried, his tone soft, his hands jammed in his pockets.

Beet-red color suffused her face. Guilt, as unmistakable as any he'd witnessed on the many perpetrators he'd come across in the course of his career, smoldered in her deep blue eyes. She took another step back and spun on her heel.

Quinn maneuvered in front of her, blocking her path. "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk. Are you Kirsty?"

She shoved her hair back, sending wispy blonde strands over her shoulder. She lifted her chin, her defiant gesture familiar, and retreated two more steps.

"Yeah, I'm Kirsten. What's it to you?"

He heard the vulnerability behind her tough talk, but it didn't faze him. This young woman had put his beloved Meredith through hell, and he wasn't going to let her off the hook until she provided some answers. "I'm your sister's husband. She needs to see for herself that you're all right. Would you come with me, please?"

The color drained from Kirsty's cheeks, leaving her face sheet-white. "No! You can't make me."

Her attitude set his teeth on edge. Don't push me, girl. I'm bigger, uglier and a whole lot tougher than you. "Please. She's worried about you. It would ease her mind to see you. Just come talk to her."

"Look mister, leave me alone or I'll call the cops."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated. "All I want is for you to speak to Meredith."

Her gaze shot daggers at him. She widened her stance, threw her shoulders back and jutted her chin forward. "You're hassling me."

He blew out a pent-up breath. "Let's start over. I'm Quinn McAllister, your sister's husband."

"Who says I have a sister."

"C'mon, Kirsty--"

"The name is Kirsten. Kirsten."

"All right. Kirsten. You and Meredith look a lot alike. Besides, I've seen your picture."

Her bravado dissolved, and her shoulders slumped. "I...can't."

"You can't what?"

"I can't meet her. She...she's gotta hate me."

"She doesn't hate you. Worried sick's more like it. I guarantee she'll be glad to see you."

"I'm not ready. I'll...I'll come back tomorrow."

"Why? It'll be easier if you get it over with now."

The daggers returned to her eyes. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I love your sister. I'll do anything I can to make her happy. Right now, I can't think of a thing that'll make her happier than knowing you're well." Quinn smiled. "C'mon, she's not going to bite."

Kirsten's stared at her feet. He pounced on her slight signal of acquiescence. "Let's go. My kids are waiting in the car."

Still she didn't move. From her side of it, Quinn knew he was asking a lot. Yet she must have an interest in her sister or else she wouldn't be hanging around. This kid--he gave a mental shrug, young woman--had caused his wife misery and pain. The least Kirsty--Kristen--could do was assure Meredith of her health and safety. "Please.... Look, I'll make you a deal."

She cocked her head to one side, indicating a willingness to listen.

"If you'll come up with me, I won't leave you alone with Meredith until you say you're ready."

Her gaze wandered from the cars whizzing by, to the pigeons begging a handout. Finally, she faced him. "Why should I trust you?"

"I don't make promises I don't intend to keep."

"Oh, yeah. I've heard that one before. Sounds like a load of crap to me."

Quinn gritted his teeth, the urge to grab Kristen by the arm and drag her upstairs strong. "I can't force you to see Meredith. It'll hurt her badly when I tell her I talked to you and you didn't have the guts to face her yourself."

"You calling me chicken?"

"Guess I am."

"I'm no coward. Let's go."

* * *

Mid-chop, Meredith glanced at the kitchen clock. Quinn should've been home by now. She finished slicing a stalk of celery, scraped the pieces into the salad bowl and turned to stir the spaghetti sauce bubbling on the stove. Just then Brett's voice filtered in from the hall. How many times had she warned him to keep quiet in the halls? The neighbors didn't need a blow by blow account of his adventures every time he passed by. She pledged to remind him again, and again, until the rule sunk in and took root. Ah, the joys of motherhood. Sometimes she felt like a looped tape, her instructions, admonitions and warnings repeated in a never ending circuit. Well, she'd asked for all of it, the good and bad.

She reached for a tomato to add to the salad. Quinn's key scraped in the lock. Brittany crowed, delighted about something. The door opened. The back of Meredith's neck prickled.

Her stomach lurched. Her heart pounded. Don't be silly. It's just Quinn and the children, home from church.

The unsettling premonition remained.

Meredith swallowed hard and pasted a welcome-home smile on her face. No sense letting on that her silly fears had returned. There was no one but her family behind her. She turned, a bright greeting on her lips.

Four people crowded the doorway. Her words died in her throat. She blinked. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. It was a hallucination. She shook her head. Then the woman moved and Meredith knew the mirage was real. The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered on the floor. "Kirsty," she uttered in a tortured whisper.

Meredith's ears buzzed. The room started to spin. She needed to sit down, but her feet wouldn't move. Quinn latched onto her arm and guided her to the closest chair. She knew the large hand was his even though she couldn't see him. Her vision was filled with her sister…her long lost sister…her sister, whose glance kept darting to the door, as if to assure herself that her escape route remained clear.

"Didn't mean to scare you," Kirsty said. "You all right?"

Her throaty voice sounded the just the same, as if Meredith had heard it yesterday. She gazed into Kirsty's cobalt-blue eyes and dared to believe. "I'm...fine. You surprised me, that's all."

"He--" Kirsty tilted her head toward Quinn "--made me come."

"She was hanging around the garage," Quinn replied in his own defense. "Obviously wanting to see you, but afraid to knock on our door."

Meredith reached out to the young woman still hovering in the doorway. "Is it really you?"

Kirsty nodded. "Yeah. I--"

Meredith closed her eyes for one brief moment. "Thank God you're home!"

Kirsty skirted the dining table, moving toward Meredith, her steps halting. Meredith rose from the chair. Her jelly-legs buckled, and she dropped back onto the seat. Kirsty knelt and took Meredith's hand in her own. She swallowed and took a deep breath and the words Meredith sought refused to form.

She brushed a golden tendril from her sister's cheek, long-suppressed memories flooding her mind. Tiny Kirsty, no bigger than Brittany, crawling on the floor, her fingers eager to explore an electric outlet. Meredith, at the time only six-years-old, rescuing the baby from a nasty shock. Always impetuous, Kirsty at age three, dashing into traffic. Nine-year-old Meredith jerking the toddler to safety. Two years later, big sister escorting little sister on the great scary school bus on the first day of kindergarten.

Meredith's recollections fast-forwarded several years to the raw, gray day of their mother's funeral. Meredith had never felt more alone, more burdened in her life.

She gazed at grown-up Kirsty, kneeling beside her as one last painful memory floated through her mind. Their last week together, the tension escalating incident by incident, until Meredith had lost control. She bit her lip in an effort to check the pain.

And now Kirsty was back. Meredith squeezed the girl's--young woman's--hand. "I'm so glad to see you, Kirsty. So glad--"

"--I go by Kirsten now."

As if the rest of the family had held their collective breath and couldn't hold it one more second, an explosion of voices erupted.

"Who's that?" Wynne asked, pointing to Kirsty.

"I'm hungry," Brett announced.

Brittany squealed.

"You're staying for lunch, Kirsten," Quinn decreed, strapping the baby in her high chair. "Sit still, honey. I'll get the food on the table."

"No!" Rising, Kirsty backed toward the door.

"Don't go," Meredith said. "You just got here."

"I'm buttin' in."

"No. Stay. Please. Just for lunch."

Kirsty stood motionless, her gaze darting toward the door.

"Did you meet our children?" Meredith asked desperately.

"Not really."

Proudly, Meredith drew the older two on either side of her, her arms encircling their waists and introduced all three. She nodded toward the stove. "And that's my husband, Quinn."

"He introduced himself downstairs," Kirsty said.

Meredith couldn't think of another thing to say. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but she didn't want to scare Kirsty--no, Kirsten--away. For the moment it was enough that she was here.

"Let's eat," Quinn announced, setting the tossed salad onto the table. "Go wash your hands, kids."

Meredith rose, her legs finally capable of holding her up, and retrieved another place setting from the drawer. "Sorry about lunch. It's nothing special."

"I shouldn't stay," Kirsten said.

"Don't go. I'm really happy you're here." In truth, Meredith was elated. Having Kirsty in the same room where she could see her and touch her and talk to her was a dream come true. Yet, she couldn't seem to get beyond stilted words and awkward silences. The lost years lay between like a mine-strewn no man's land neither of them dared to cross.

Quinn, sensing the tension between the sisters, took charge. He pulled out the chair to the right of his own, next to Wynne's. "Kirsten, sit here, please."

He waited while everyone sat down, then said grace.

"You let your hair grow," Meredith said to Kirsty.

"Uh-huh." Kirsten twirled spaghetti on her fork.

"I like it "

Kirsten nodded. "Thanks."

Silence.

"Is it hot out?" Meredith asked.

Silence.

Quinn gazed at Kirsten, expecting her to answer. She stared at her plate, shoving the pasta from one side to the other. "Getting there," Quinn said filling yet another tense hesitation. "Wind's blowing straight up from Texas."

Again, silence.

Quinn shifted his gaze from Kirsten to Meredith and back again. Lord, this was awful. "Brett, did you tell Meredith about the kite we saw on the way home?"

"Oh, yeah. Meredith, you shoulda seen it. It was way cool. A great big dragon." He paused long enough to gulp his milk and cast a disdainful glance at Wynne. "A red and green dragon with a really spooky face. You woulda been real scared."

"Would not," Wynne whimpered.

"Would, too, doofus."

"Shut up, Brett," Wynne shouted.

"Quit teasing your sister, Brett," Meredith said, her tone exasperated. Quinn shot her a grin and winked. She was getting the hang of it. Meredith grinned back. "We've been through this before," she continued. "Your sister's not a doofus. And, Wynne, we don't say shut up."

Brett stared at his plate. "Yes, ma'am. Quinn, can we go watch the kites?"

Quinn noted Kirsten's puzzled frown. "Something wrong, Kristen?"

"Not really. It's strange that your children call you by your first names."

"I'm their legal guardian. We inherited them in June. Meredith'll tell you about it later."

Kirsten's gaze swung from him to Meredith, then to each child in turn, as if she couldn't quite believe what she'd just been told. "Oh, I see."

Brett, sitting to Quinn's left, shook his arm. "Quinn! Can we watch the kites?"

"We'll see, ace. I have to study my army stuff."

Studying wasn't just a convenient excuse, although it could wait until evening. Military training was never-ending. He really did have another manual to go over and another paper to write. He wished he could leave Meredith alone with her sister, but he'd promised Kirsten to stick around.

Kirsten glanced around the dining area. "Nice place."

Meredith chuckled. "A little cramped for five, but then we hadn't expected a family when we leased it."

Quinn could only guess how much this meeting meant to Meredith. Kirsten fidgeted, even though she tried to hide her unease. The sisters needed privacy, something almost non-existent in the apartment. "Meredith, wouldn't you and Kirsten be more comfortable in the living room? I'll bring your dessert in there."

"Good idea." Rising, Meredith picked up her glass and Kirsten followed her. Quinn served them pie. Meredith ate hers without tasting it. At least it gave her something to do while she sought something to break the barrier between her and her sister.

"You still work at the same place." Kirsten's statement wasn't a question.

"Yes.... Do you have a job?" Meredith set her empty pie plate on the coffee table, grateful that Kirsty had offered something on her own, even if it was another trivial remark.

"Yes. I'm a front desk clerk at the new Old Market Towers Hotel. I've worked for the chain for several years. When the chance came to transfer to Omaha...well, I wanted to come home.

"I'm so glad you did." Great. You sound like a fool, saying the same thing over and over.

Chatter from Quinn and the children cleaning up the kitchen filled the embarrassing pauses. Kirsten's gaze kept rolling toward the door, even though she didn't turn her head. It was obvious she wasn't going to open up if Meredith didn't provide the opportunity. She prayed that her next words wouldn't drive her sister away again.

"Where did you go? I searched for you for a long time."

Kirsten's expression evolved from unnerved to relieved in the next few moments. She set her plate down and stared at the painting on the wall behind Meredith. "I..." After what seemed an eternity to marshal her courage, she leaned forward, her gaze focused on the floor. "Judd was moving on. To Chicago. I begged him to take me with him."

Meredith cringed, hating confirmation of what she'd always suspected. Judd was the jerk she'd found in bed with Kirsty.

"Had this half-assed plan of hooking up with my dad," Kirsten went on.

"Why there? We'd never heard from your father. Did you know something I didn't?"

"Hell, no. I'd found this old picture of him marked Chicago 1968. Being a stupid kid, I figured that meant somethin'."

"You didn't find him? "

"Sh-shoot, no. I shacked up with Judd 'til he pissed me off. Then I crashed with some other kids. Didn't take much to lose myself in the big city."

Meredith cringed inside as her sister's tale unfolded. The story was bad enough, but Kirsty's language made Meredith want to reach for a bar of soap and a tooth brush.

"Everybody thought I was older," Kirsty continued. "Seemed smart to let 'um think that. I called myself Carly Josten until I reached eighteen." She hung her head. "If you were lookin' for me, I didn't want to come back."

"Oh, Kirsty. No wonder the detective I hired couldn't find you. I'm so sorry. If only I'd held onto my temper."

Kirsty shook her head, finally meeting Meredith's gaze. "It wasn't your fault. It took me a long time to figure that out. I came back to tell you."

"How could it not be my fault? If I hadn't been so hard on you, you wouldn't have run." Meredith's eyes misted and her voice cracked. "I'm so sorry I drove you away."

Kirsten released a mirthless laugh. "Yeah, you were a freakin' slave driver. I only thought I had it rough livin' with you. How little I knew. You weren't much more than a kid yourself when Mama died. I was an ungrateful brat with a chip on my shoulder a mile wide."

"I was so determined to change our lifestyle," Meredith confessed, "I never stopped to think that you were grieving for Mother."

"I didn't miss the witch anymore than you did. Except with you in charge I couldn't do as I damn-well pleased. I thought I was livin' with Cinderella's wicked step-mother." Kirsty squirmed in her chair. "It wasn't until I was on my own, tryin' to find a good enough job to pay for food and rent that the values and manners you preached made sense."

"Oh, Kirsty. I could've handled it better."

"Yeah, well.... We both made mistakes. Hangin' out with Judd and his crowd, I'd turned into a real punk." She shook her head. "I still act that way when I'm scared.

"Anyway, after I started workin' as a chamber maid at the Hilton Towers I wised up. When I'd get in a jam, I'd ask myself what would Meredith do? Pretty soon I figured out that if I cleaned up the tough kid act, I'd get further. Before long it paid off with a small promotion, then another."

Wynne darted in and crawled on Meredith's lap. The child's arms circled her neck in a tight hug. Meredith returned the hug, a warm glow filling her heart.

"Wynne, come here," Quinn called. "Let Meredith talk to her sister in peace."

"I luv you, Merith," Wynne said scampering back to the dining room.

"I love you, too, Wynnie Pooh."

"They're neat kids, Meredith," Kirsten said. "Somehow I always pictured you with a house full."

Meredith stared, and her jaw dropped open. "You did? I never saw myself as a mother."

"Why not? You mothered everything in sight. Mama, me, even the arthritic bartender. It came as naturally to you as breathin'."

"But I failed so badly."

Kirsten got up and stood in front of Meredith. "You didn't fail. I've been tryin' to tell you. You gave me the skills I needed to survive on my own. Isn't that what a mother's supposed to do?"

"Yes." Meredith could barely say the word around the lump in her throat.

Kirsten knelt in front of her. "I've been tryin' to screw up my courage to talk to you ever since I got back to town. I'd get so close, then chicken out."

"I thought someone was following me. Was it you?"

"Yeah."

Overwhelming relief washed over Meredith. The mysterious feeling was her sister all along…no stalker, just Kirsty, uncertain of her welcome. Meredith eased to the floor and knelt beside the younger woman. She reached out and hugged Kirsty as easily as she'd hugged Wynne moments ago. "I'm so glad Quinn found you and brought you home."

Kirsten returned the hug, then jumped to her feet, a tear trickling down her cheek. "I've gotta go."

"You don't have to run off." Meredith fought to keep the hurt from her voice.

"I need to go."

"You'll come back?" This time Meredith couldn't hide the quiver in her voice.

"Yes."

"Come for dinner tomorrow. Is steak smothered in mushrooms and corn-on-the-cob dripping in butter still your favorite? That's what we'll have. And chocolate fudge cake."

"Gotta work. Wednesday's my day off."

"Then come Wednesday. We'll talk some more. There's so much to catch up on."

"All right." Kirsten crossed the room and retrieved her purse. She pulled out a pad and wrote down her address and phone number and handed it to Meredith.

Meredith recited their phone number while Kirsten jotted it on her pad. "I'll be back, I promise."

Meredith tapped the paper in her hand. "I'll come after you, if you don't."

Kirsten backed toward the door. "I promise. We've been apart too long...Sis."

She called me Sis. Like she used to.

Kirsten twirled around and dashed out the door.

Meredith crumpled onto the couch, tears flooding her eyes. "Oh, God! I can't believe it. She's back."

Quinn eased onto the cushion beside her and pulled her into his arms. Meredith buried her face against his chest and cried until there were no tears left.

* * *

The scent of roses wafted through their bedroom. Quinn grinned and glanced at his wife lying beside him. She sniffed the air, her hazel eyes glowing golden in the soft lamp light.

"You're extravagant, McAllister." She turned toward him, her rich mahogany hair flaming as it caught the light.

"Can't a guy bring his wife a little something to tell her how much he loves her without getting called a disparaging name?" He punctuated each word with a kiss somewhere on her face.

She giggled. "I don't need two dozen roses to tell me you love me."

Quinn sighed. Would she understand? "Maybe not, but this one time I needed to give them to you. It felt so good to know after my conference with Melton and Jenkins today that I could afford the extravagance."

She raised up on her elbow and planted a quick kiss on his mouth. "I'm not complaining, darling. I love the roses, and you. Especially you. Just understand I don't need lavish gifts."

"I know."

"I still can't believe it," Meredith said, lying down and snuggling close.

"What can't you believe?"

"Everything. You're the new Director of Security, I'm headed for the unemployment line, Kirsty's back. I'm afraid if I pinch myself I'll wake up and find it's all a dream."

"It's no dream." Quinn grinned. "They're paying me a whooping salary."

"You deserve it." She fondled his bare chest, her fingers toying with the curly hair. Such an innocent touch--well maybe not so innocent. His blood thundered through his veins. Lord, what this woman did to him!

"You realize you don't have to find another job. Not unless you want to."

"I know. I think for now I want something. At least until I'm sure I can handle staying home full time."

"Whatever you decide's okay with me." He rolled to his side, his length flush against hers. "I want you happy, my love. I just want you happy."

"I am, Quinn. Happier than I ever thought possible. I've got everything I ever dreamed of… you, the kids, my sister. What more could I want?"

"How 'bout that house we talked about? There's so little privacy here." He traced her lips with the tip of his tongue. She tasted like minty toothpaste. "And now that Kirsten has laid to rest your fears about being a good mother, would you think about another child. Not right away, but someday?"

"You heard?"

"Like I said, there isn't much privacy here, but I confess to blatant eavesdropping. To get her to come up with me, I'd promised Kirsten I wouldn't leave her alone with you. Besides, I was afraid you might need me."

"Quinn, I love you so much! I want your child--after we get Brittany potty trained."

"I'm buying a potty chair tomorrow."

Meredith giggled again. How he loved the sound. "There's not room in this apartment for one more thing--not a potty chair, much less another child. House first, then a baby."

"I can live with that, Mrs. McAllister. I'm calling a realtor tomorrow. Now we have other business..." He trailed his fingers over her thigh and slanted his mouth over hers. Their tongues and limbs twined. Their hearts beat as one. For today, for tomorrow, for always.

Epilogue

"There're here!" seven-year-old Brett hollered from his lookout post in the tree house. Wynne and Brittany raced around the corner of the house. Meredith chuckled and placed her hand in Quinn's, allowing him to help her out of the car. Stooping, she greeted their welcoming committee with kisses. Quinn leaned inside and lifted their tiny son from the car seat.

Dirt-smudged and sweaty, Brett crowded close. "Lemme see."

"My doll is bigger than he is," Wynne declared.

Brittany shoved between her big brother and sister. "I wanna kiss Evie."

"Whoa!" Quinn said, easing Steven Patrick McAllister into Meredith's arms. "How 'bout letting Mom go inside and sit down, kids. Then you can see your brother."

He retrieved her bag and looped his free arm around her waist, escorting her to the door of the stone and cedar home they'd bought two years ago. Quinn still wore a dazed, proud, expression. Meredith smiled, a sense of fulfillment flowing through her.

Despite Steve's birth weight of nine pounds, ten and a half ounces, the newest McAllister was a light burden. Meredith gazed into his wizened red face and melted, just as she had two days before when she'd held him for the first time. "C'mon, sweetheart, let's go say hello to your brother and sisters and your aunt."

She looked up and saw Kirsten standing on the front porch. Her heart swelled anew. It had taken time, but she and her sister had developed a close relationship.

"May I hold him?" Kirsten asked, her voice wistful.

"Sure." Meredith placed her son into her sister's eager arms.

Quinn held the door for both of them. Meredith sighed in contentment. Even after such a short absence, it was good to get home. From the moment she'd stepped over the threshold, she'd known this airy, spacious, multi-level dwelling was the house of her dreams. The place afforded them privacy as well as a wonderful, hilltop view, and the extra bonus of only a fifteen minute commute to downtown Omaha.

She turned and hugged Brett, Wynne and Brittany in turn. Their children not only in spirit, but by means of adoption, legally theirs as well. "I sure missed you all."

Kirsten laughed. "I don't see how. You were only gone forty-eight hours."

Meredith sagged onto the couch gingerly. "When you're a mother, you'll understand. Did they behave?"

"Of course. They all helped me fix lunch. It's ready when ever you are."

"I'll help you get it on the table," Quinn said. "Meredith needs a nap as soon as she's eaten."

Meredith lifted an eyebrow. "I do?"

"You do."

She wanted to argue. She wanted to enjoy the afternoon with all her family, but tiredness washed over her. Quinn walked beside her to the sun-drenched breakfast nook, hovering like a mother hen. Gee, she'd only had a baby. It wasn't like she'd break or anything. And yet, she admitted she appreciated his pampering.

Steve stirred before Meredith finished her meal. His mewling escalated into frantic cries in seconds. She downed one last bite and rose to pick him up. How a scrap of humanity could make that much noise was beyond her.

"I've got him," Quinn said, cradling the baby in his arms. "There, there," he crooned, "Mom'll feed you in just a minute."

The sight of their tiny child, cradled so lovingly in Quinn's big hands caught Meredith's heartstrings. Her blessings, her joys, were boundless.

Together they walked to their commodious bedroom. Quinn shut the door, closing them in their own private world. Patti's oak rocker, the comfort of all their children, sat next to Quinn's recliner in the sitting alcove. She settled into the cushioned seat and loosened her top. Reaching for the baby, she glimpsed a huge bouquet of mixed-hued roses on her dresser.

Her eyes filled. She clasped Quinn's hand and squeezed. "Thank you, darling. You spoil me rotten. I thought we agreed a long time ago that I didn't require extravagant gifts."

"Marigold, you've gotta understand. A guy's gotta do what he's gotta do." A sheepish smile spread across his face. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a ring. He slipped the gold circle set with four different colored stones on her finger. "You've given me so much. Nothing I give you can begin to compare to our son."

Meredith stared at her hand. Despite her smile, a happy tear trickled down her cheek. "Oh, Quinn...a mother's ring. It's fantastic."

"No, you're fantastic."

Somewhere in the house a child yelled, feet pounded and a door slammed.

Quinn leaned over and kissed her, his lips caressing hers with tender sweetness. Straightening, his gaze was riveted to the tiny, rosebud mouth suckling at her breast. "You made my dreams come true."

The End