the phone about your circumstances, Quinn,” he ventured in a low tone, “the best way to ensure that your niece and nephew don’t end up wards of the Crown—in the unfortunate event of your death—would be for you to marry and appoint your wife as their guardian in your will. As their aunt, your wife would be considered a relative of the children and it’s unlikely the court would choose not to uphold your request, particularly since there would be no opposing claim. Have you been seeing anyone lately you might consider marrying?”
Quinn shook his head. He’d only ever considered marriage once in his life—very briefly—and that was a decade ago. “The ladies I occasionally date aren’t the nurturing types. Besides, Kyle and Mel deserve a mother who’ll love them as much as Carrie did and be willing to raise them on her own if she has to. From a security perspective, the children would be safer with a stranger. We don’t know the resources behind whoever ordered the hit. Once they realize I’ve gone into hiding with the children, they’ll start digging into my background looking for people who might be in a position to help me out. That’s why I came to you instead of my own lawyer. It minimizes the risk of discovery because there are no links to trace.”
Quinn rubbed his jaw, feeling the rasping bite of the stubble on his chin. “Gord told me you come from a big extended family. I don’t suppose you know any single women willing to take on two kids?”
Parrish looked thoughtful for a moment. “My wife will probably string me up for suggesting this, but one of her sisters runs a day care out in Kanata. She’s a terrific person. Funny, caring. Loves kids. My daughters are five and two and they adore her. She’s definitely the kind of person you think should have kids of her own, but she lost her fiancé a few years ago in a car accident and she’s pretty much given up on the idea of having a family. You could talk to her, see if she’s willing to help you. To my knowledge she’s not seriously involved with anyone, but she likes to keep her personal life private. It drives my wife nuts.”
“I’d make it worth her while. Money won’t be a problem.”
Parrish didn’t bat an eyelash. “Since I’m your lawyer and she’s my sister-in-law, I’ll make sure she’s adequately provided for. But the only reason she’d do it is because she loves children. I just don’t want her to get hurt.”
“I’ll take every precaution necessary to make sure that doesn’t happen. You have my word. I only plan to stay long enough for the kids to bond with her.” Quinn couldn’t believe he was even talking about marrying a perfect stranger. “How soon could we be married if your sister-in-law accepts my proposal?”
“Monday at the earliest. The two of you would need to go down to city hall and apply for a marriage license in person. There’s no waiting period or blood test required in the province of Ontario. Unfortunately, judges no longer perform civil ceremonies in this region, but I can make all the necessary arrangements with a nondenominational minister and draft your will once you talk to Hope.”
Hope? Quinn’s heart thumped queerly in the numb cavern of his chest. “Your sister-in-law’s name is Hope?”
“Yes, Hope Fancy, if you can believe it.”
Quinn couldn’t. He’d never thought he’d hear that quaint, old-fashioned name again.
Parrish removed a cell phone from the pocket of his overcoat. “Maybe I should call her and tell her I’m sending a visitor her way.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Quinn said sharply. Too sharply. He softened the edge to his request, realizing Parrish didn’t have a clue he’d known Hope long ago. “Cell phone calls can be picked up on scanners. I’d prefer a letter of introduction and directions to her place. I’ll take care of the explanations myself.”
Quinn just hoped she wouldn’t hate him even more for what he was about to do.
SO MUCH FOR eloping with David and living happily ever after!
Hope dropped her suitcase containing the silky jewel-toned lingerie she’d bought for her honeymoon on the mat inside the darkened foyer and sagged against the firm panels of the front door as the humiliation she’d been holding back for the last hour and a half burst from her heart in a guttural moan.
Why on earth had she been jinxed with the uncanny ability to pick the wrong men to fall in love with? As if two broken engagements and the death of one fiancé in the last ten years weren’t hard enough for a woman to endure, she could now add being jilted at the altar to her list of challenging life experiences.
Her chin jutted up stubbornly in her own defense. Not that those two broken engagements were anything to be ashamed of. She had loved Quinn Mc-Clure with her whole heart and soul, and the week they’d been engaged had been tantamount to heaven on earth. If his father hadn’t died, her life might have been so different…. She hadn’t dated anyone else for over a year and a half, hoping that Quinn would somehow come to his senses.
But Quinn hadn’t and she’d met Steven. Her engagement to the Realtor had been a mistake. He was everything Quinn wasn’t, which was the problem. Though charming and successful, he simply wasn’t Quinn. Telling Steven the truth had been the right, though painful, thing to do. Hope ran into him now and again in parks and at Ottawa’s many museums and had met his wife and his growing family: two daughters and a third child on the way. No, that had worked out for the best because two years later she’d met Matthew, a veterinarian, whose quiet strength, Nordic good looks and infinite patience had helped her recover from the damage Quinn had done to her heart. They’d dated for over a year before Matthew had asked her to marry him. Hope’s only regret was that she had insisted on a long engagement to give them time to truly get to know each other. He’d died in a car accident three weeks before their Valentine’s Day wedding.
Four years had passed since Matthew’s death and Hope had decided she’d had quite enough of love until David Randall had entered her life six months ago.
Thank God she hadn’t told anyone she and David were eloping tonight—not her family, not even Marie Elizabeth, her closest friend since grade school.
David’s suggestion that they elope, which had seemed so sensitive and romantic at the time of its offering, had saved her from being subjected to yet more sympathetic looks and exclamations of “Not again!” Kanata was a small town and people had long memories.
Though, of course, David’s secretiveness had garnered him precisely what he’d wanted…he would still be a groom, only the louse would be married to his old flame Susan, who’d driven up from Toronto to stop him from marrying her.
Hope had no idea how Susan had learned of their plans, but she’d made quite a dramatic scene, rushing into the quaint stone chapel wearing a sleeveless, silver-blue frothy confection and glittering silver sandals that put Hope’s demure and practical blush-pink suit and white pumps to shame. Susan’s Cinderella-gold mane had flowed gracefully onto her tanned shoulders, her bottle-green eyes liquid with tears as she’d professed her undying love for David and pleaded with him to marry her instead.
Hope had let them have each other and counted herself lucky she hadn’t wasted another thousand dollars on a fancy wedding dress for a ceremony that would never be performed. At least, she’d been able to wear her wedding dress this time.
Figuring she’d indulged in enough self-pity, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and felt along the wall for the light switch. She blinked as the soft hazy pools cast by the table lamps brightened the redbrick Victorian farmhouse’s cheery front parlor. The lace curtains, the wide varnished pine floorboards, the rose-patterned wool area rug, the plump cushions lining the blue chintz sofa and the photographs cluttering the walls, soothed the hollow ache in her heart with their homeyness. The truth was, she had everything she needed: her health, a home, a successful business and children in her life…even if they weren’t her children.
Besides, she was beginning to think husbands were more trouble than they were worth.
Hope kicked off the white pumps, burrowed into a corner of the sofa and covered herself with a rainbow-hued afghan she’d made several frigid winters