Kaitlyn Rice - Ten Acres And Twins

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Lethally sexy playboy Jack Kimball raise a baby? No way! Abby Briggs yearned to keep her orphaned twin niece and nephew together. But the will gave her the baby girl and Jack the baby boy! The devil-may-care bachelor couldn't possibly be a daddy.But when Abby offered to take both twins, Jack refused. Even worse, he looked utterly irresistible with a baby cradled in his strong arms. Abby needed a plan….Staying together on the farm they'd both inherited would surely bore Jack and show him he wasn't cut out for fatherhood. But as late-night feedings led to powerful longings, Abby dared to wonder…could a fancy-free bachelor become a forever family man?

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Since Diane happened to be a real estate agent, he called her first. Maybe she could help him find a temporary tenant for his condo. Even if that didn’t work out, she was well worth his time. His latest paramour had a cap of sexy black hair and mile-long legs. But his favorite feature by far was the seductive laugh she only used in the bedroom.

He dialed her cellphone number, knowing her Friday morning would have been spent showing houses or scouting out opportunities.

“Diane Westmoreland,” she barked.

“Hey, Diane. I’m back in town.”

“Ooh, Jacky!” she said, in a tone fairly dripping with carnality. “How good to hear your voice.”

“You must be alone,” he said, chuckling at the change. She’d gone from frigid to fiery in a second.

“Way, way too alone, big boy.”

Good. He would enjoy seeing her, but more than that, he needed her help. “You busy in an hour?”

“There’s not a thing happening here that can’t be rearranged for you.”

“How about meeting me for lunch? We can go to your favorite Italian place in the city.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she purred. “I’ll be waiting.”

Wonderful it wasn’t. It was closer to woeful. Or wintry.

Once Jack told Diane that he was moving to rural Topeka, her temperature went right back down to 98.6 degrees. And when he explained about moving into the farmhouse with Abby, it plummeted well below freezing.

The mood had been so frosty at lunch, he’d worried that they’d both develop hypothermia. Or at least indigestion.

He spent nearly an hour trying to convince her that he was not involved with Abigail Briggs. He told her that Abby was too countrified, often sharp-tongued and genuinely not his type. For some reason, Diane didn’t believe him.

She had finished her meal and gathered her purse to leave before he remembered that he was going to ask her to sublet the apartment for him. He opened his mouth to speak, but after looking at her dour expression one more time, he thought better of it. He’d just have to call her later, after she had warmed back up to room temperature.

There was no point in hiring a stranger just because the wiliest Realtor in town was a little miffed.

Besides, there was no need to be alone tonight—Paula was next on his list. He owed her the choice Friday night slot because she’d been the most enduring girlfriend of his adult life.

Ultrasophisticated Paula put up with his other lady friends and always greeted him with a smile. He was hoping she’d be willing to let him crash at her place whenever he had to come into the city on business.

She surprised him. Their understanding about dating other people seemed to fly out the window as soon as he said the word roommates.

“What do you mean, you’re going to live with her?”

Jack held Paula’s wineglass out to her. She’d always understood his need to date around. This was only a slight deviation from normal, and it shouldn’t truly upset her.

“She’ll be living in the same place, but that’s all,” he explained. “We’re not romantic. Think of her as a housemother, if you wish. Or the girl next door.”

Paula didn’t take the glass, and she didn’t look amused. “And you’re actually going to help take care of two brats?”

Jack frowned as he sat the glass back down. That had sounded ugly. He knew she wasn’t the nurturing type, but now she was slandering his own flesh and blood. “They’re only five months old,” he said. “Infants can’t be classified as brats.”

“Future brats, then,” she sniffed, standing up to leave before they’d even ordered dinner.

“Paula, you surprise me,” he said, as he stood up, too.

“Darling, I’m afraid it’s you who has surprised me,” she said over her shoulder.

Jack threw a couple of bills on the table and followed her out, wondering why two out of three of the women who were supposedly crazy about him were giving up so easily.

He wasn’t doing anything shady. This was all just geographical. He was moving from a condo in the city to a house in the country, and it was an easy forty-five minute drive between the two. What was the problem?

As they stood near the front of the restaurant, he held out her jacket so she could slip it on. In a desperate attempt to bring their conversation back to its usual witty banter, he said, “If I can ditch the rugrats one weekend and get to the city, may I give you a call?”

“You can try,” she said. “I do have a life, you know. I’ll tell you what you can do—you can call me when you’re finished playing family man. Perhaps then we can move in together.” She gave him a peck on the cheek before she slid into her car, which the valet had just parked in front. And then she drove away without a single backward glance.

As Jack watched her go, he didn’t wonder at his lack of disappointment. He knew his weekend’s diversion wasn’t lost just yet. He’d simply call in his third option tonight, instead of waiting for morning.

Zuzu was slightly offbeat, but her unpredictable way of looking at things was amusing. And he’d never once seen her mad. Despite a colorful head of hair whose base tone, he suspected, was red, she was peaceable, often prophetic. He called to invite her out for coffee. Luckily, she was free.

An hour later, he sat in a trendy diner handing Zuzu fresh napkins. “I knew you were going to run off to the country and fall in love,” she sobbed.

The sequins on her pink-and-orange blouse glimmered with each shuddering breath, making it hard for Jack to take her seriously.

“Zuzu, I’m not in love,” he said. “Abby and I are just moving in together for convenience. We have never even kissed—”

He clamped his jaw shut when he remembered how much he’d wanted to do just that in the farm kitchen a few days ago, and he tried not to let the thought echo in his brain.

There was no need to bring something like that up now.

“W-well, if you haven’t yet, you w-will. I just know it.”

“I doubt that,” he soothed, moving his chair closer to hers so he could rub her back. Maybe there was still hope for snatching a little romance out of an otherwise wasted evening.

In a singsong voice, Zuzu asked, “Is she pretty?”

He removed his hand. She’d sounded far too childlike to be touching her seductively right now. Sighing deeply, he said, “In a way, I suppose. She seems to have the basic material, but she doesn’t try very hard to enhance it.”

“But that’s worse!”

“Why?”

“Because that means she’s a natural beauty.”

“I suppose you’d say she’s all right in the looks department,” Jack said, wondering if Abby would be considered attractive by another woman.

Her eyes were gorgeous—no one else had eyes that bright and clear. But her hair was usually just parted in the middle and tied back. Even at Paige and Brian’s wedding, she’d simply wound a braid around each side of her head. He’d never seen her hair loose around her shoulders, and her clothes were usually unassuming.

A woman would think she was plain, he supposed. Only a male would home in on that sexy little body.

“Is she sexy?” Zuzu asked.

He shrugged. He prided himself on being truthful with his dates, but with Zuzu he tried to be extra careful.

In case she knew.

Sounding confident now, she said, “See what I mean? You’ll be married in less than a year.”

“Zuzu, we’ve talked about this before. I’m never going to get married. There are too many women out there.”

“Every man says that,” she said. “Every woman knows it only takes the right one.”

Jack frowned. He always spent time at the beginning of each relationship establishing a single rule: he’d date whom he wanted, when he wanted.

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