SUSAN MEIER - The Baby Bequest

“Unless we want to what?” Chas said with cool tones.

“Sign over custody,” Arnie said casually. “I have papers right here. All you have to do is sign them and Judy and I will continue to take care of the kids.”

Evan knew he should have let Chas handle this, since he was a lawyer, but something inside him snapped. These were his kids, damn it! They were Brewsters and they would be raised by Brewsters.

Even as his baby sister screamed and squirmed in his arms—or maybe because she screamed and squirmed in his arms—Evan got the distinct impression he and his brothers had been set up by his father’s best friend and attorney. He didn’t think it was a coincidence that Arnie asked them to sign over custody two minutes after he told them of the children’s existence and while all three babies screamed bloody murder.

“Why would you think we would want to hand over custody?” he asked, hanging on to his temper only by the merest of threads.

“Well, look at you,” Arnie scoffed, but kindly. “The three of you aren’t prepared to be parents, least of all to triplets.”

“Is that why no one bothered to mention the children when we arrived this morning?” Chas asked angrily.

“Well, I…The shock of your father’s death was enough,” Arnie said logically. “I couldn’t spring it on you that you also had two sisters and a brother.”

“Who also inherit half the lumber mill,” Grant surmised, rising. “I guess that never crossed your mind when you decided you wanted custody.”

Evan was glad his brothers could think so clearly, so rationally, but it was also apparent that their tempers were reaching the point where there would be no turning back. With three screaming babies and two furious, conclusion-jumping brothers on his hands, Evan knew it was time to leave before somebody said something he might regret. His own notions about Arnie’s motives were making him every bit as angry as his brothers appeared to be. But more than that, the subtle insinuation that maybe their father wouldn’t want them to have the kids was pushing him over the edge. He couldn’t believe that. He refused to believe that. Because his father was the only person aside from doctors who knew Evan couldn’t have children, Evan wouldn’t believe his father would be so cruel as to deny him the privilege of raising these three.

In fact, that was his saving grace. That was the minute when he forgave his father, and in his heart knew he’d try to understand. Because his father had stipulated in his will that the brothers were to be guardians, Evan knew he had not only forgiven his sons, he was allowing the family to move on.

Lord only knew what Arnie Garrett was trying to pull.

Evan rose. “Are there diapers or bottles or something that we should have?”

“I have a diaper bag in the office,” Judy said uncertainly.

“Good, please get it. Chas, Grant, let’s go.”

“Now, wait,” Arnie said, trying to stop them.

Already at the door, Evan spun around. “No, you wait,” he angrily countered. “I don’t give a damn what you think about me or my brothers, but you had no right to second-guess my father’s wishes for these children. Whether you like it or not, Mr. Garrett, Brewsters take care of their own. And if my father were alive, that’s exactly what he’d tell you. He’d stand by his will.”

Judy returned and handed the huge diaper bag to Evan. He easily hoisted the strap of the satchel over one shoulder.

“Evan, wait,” Arnie called, but Evan kept walking. He managed to snuggle his baby sister closer to his chest, and though that didn’t entirely calm her, at least it took her crying to a low wail. He strode down the hall, then through the front office and the door with the tinkling bell and out into the sunshine, his brothers behind him.

“Evan, wait!”

This time the call came from Claire, the assistant. And that was another thing. Ten thousand dollars to a woman who was an assistant for a year? One short year? Evan didn’t begrudge his father the right to do what he wanted to do with his money, but given that Arnie had tried to sneak the kids away from him everything in that codicil became suspicious.

“Wait!”

This call was louder and stronger and gave Evan the impression she planned on following him forever if she needed to. Rather than take her to the door of the Brewster mansion, he stopped.

“What?” he demanded angrily.

She drew a long breath because she’d been running, and Evan tried not to notice the flush on her cheeks or the way her silky black hair accented her blue eyes.

“Car seats,” she managed to say when she’d finally gotten enough air.

He stared at her. “Car seats?”

“In Pennsylvania it’s the law that all kids under the age of four have to be in a car seat.”

Evan looked at Chas.

“She’s right,” Chas said, juggling the little boy he held in an effort to get him to stop crying.

Evan hesitated a few seconds. “I’m only going three miles up the road,” he said, and turned away from Claire. “I will drive safely and I will drive slowly. Once we get the kids settled, I’ll send Grant out for car seats.”

He felt a tug on his coat sleeve and, annoyed, stopped again. “What?”

“This is ridiculous,” she said softly, infuriatingly calm. “All we have to do is take these kids back to Arnie’s office and get their car seats from Judy’s car.”

Evan didn’t care that what she said made sense. What he felt was fresh and raw. He knew the bottom line for Arnie was probably money, and the thought that someone would use children for profit made Evan sick. Going back for those car seats was a capitulation he knew he couldn’t make. Particularly since he didn’t have any idea what Claire’s involvement was in this situation. She might be innocently drawing him back for car seats, or she might be taking them back to give Arnie another shot at getting the guardianship release signed.

He gave her a cool look. “We’ll stop at the discount store on the outskirts of town. That means we’ll be driving about a mile without car seats, but we’ll get the car seats,” he said quietly, protectively clutching his sister. He didn’t even care when she wiped her wet nose on his lapel. “If you don’t like that, call the police.”

With that he turned away again and started down Market Street toward his sport utility vehicle, which was parked by the curb. Because both Grant and Chas had ridden with him, the three men and their babies stopped when they reached Evan’s truck. He unlocked the doors.

“For pete’s sake, at least let me come to the house and help you get organized,” Claire said reasonably as Evan fumbled with his keys.

“No.”

“What are you going to do with three kids?” she asked.

Evan whirled around to face her. “How old are you?”

Her chin lifted. “Twenty-three.”

“I’m thirty-three. I have ten more years of experience than you. I think that makes me ten years more qualified to take care of kids than you.”

He got into the car and handed his sister to Grant, who arranged both kids securely on his lap. When Evan’s arms were free, Claire caught his jacket sleeve to get his attention again.

“There are seven children in my family. The youngest is six. I’d say I have oodles more experience caring for kids than you.”

Evan didn’t have to worry about closing his door because Claire slammed it in his face. Angry, yet undeniably exhilarated, he pulled his car into the street.

He’d never felt like this before. Stupid and happy. Stupid because he should have accepted Claire’s help since he knew he and his brothers really couldn’t take care of three babies. Happy because he had three kids, and maybe even a chance to make amends to his father.