the day, you wouldn’t have to pay for after-school care for Tim and Danny.”
“Uh-huh.” Wendy narrowed her gaze. “And you plan to sleep…when?”
“Whenever.” Issuing a laugh that sounded only slightly maniacal, Laura returned to washing dishes with an almost desperate vengeance. “The most important thing right now is providing emotional and financial security for my son. One way or the other, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Of course it is.” Wendy retrieved a dripping glass from the dish drainer and spoke as she dried it. “The Michaelses won’t win this, Laura. Your lawyer will have this thing thrown out of court before you can blink twice.”
A tremor shifted from shoulder to spine, tightening Laura’s stomach and nearly buckling her knees. She was thirty-one-years old, and her life was in shambles. “I don’t have a lawyer anymore. He’s suing me, too.”
Wendy stiffened, set the glass aside with cautious deliberation. “What?”
Avoiding her friend’s incredulous stare, Laura turned away, busying herself by piling breakfast dishes in the sink. Only when she felt Wendy’s fingers curl into the flesh of her upper arm did she offer further explanation. “I haven’t been able to make payments on his bill.” She turned on the faucet and blasted a squirt of liquid detergent into an explosion of white foam. “He’s turned me over to a collection agency.”
The pressure on Laura’s arm eased as Wendy released her grip and exhaled all at once, issuing a peculiar hiss that lifted the fine hairs on the back of Laura’s neck. Her skin cooled as her roommate turned away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You have your own problems.” Grabbing a bowl, Laura washed it, rinsed it and set it into the drainer without so much as a second glance. “And I’m one of them.”
“You’re not a problem. You know I love having you here.”
Laura smiled over her shoulder. “You’re such a sweet liar.”
With a sheepish shrug and a twinkle of humor, Wendy dragged a dish towel from the door handle of the refrigerator. “All right, all right, so a friend in need is a damned nuisance—”
“Mom!” The screen door blasted open, and a tow-headed nine-year-old screeched into the small living room, nearly knocking over the rickety knickknack table that held a small television set. “Danny’s hogging the bike! It’s my turn to ride it, and he won’t let me.”
“Work it out,” Wendy muttered. “You know the rules.”
“But it’s my turn!” The boy’s wail of frustration was joined by a cranky cry from the rear of the mobile home.
Exasperated, Wendy jammed her hands on her hips, scowling at her eldest son. “You woke up the baby.”
“That’s all right,” Laura said, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Nap time is almost over, anyway.” Actually, she’d hoped Jamie would sleep for at least another half hour, but realized such luxury was a futile dream in a chaotically crowded environment where quiet was a precious commodity and privacy was nonexistent.
As she hurried through the small living room to one of the two diminutive bedrooms at the rear of the mobile home, Laura tuned out the sounds of scolding and wailing behind her to focus on the cries of her waking baby.
She slipped into the darkened room from which the two young Wyatt boys had been evicted. Knowing that Wendy’s children had been relegated to the sofa only increased Laura’s guilt at the terrible imposition her presence imposed on her friend.
“There, there,” she crooned, ducking her head to sit on the lower bunk where Jamie sobbed pitifully. The upper bunk was where Laura slept. “Mama’s here, sweet boy.” She gathered the baby in her arms, smoothing his damp hair, kissing his moist little cheek. “Mama will always be here, my precious. Always.”
One way or another, it was a promise she was determined to keep.
Royce glanced up as Henderson rubbed his eyelids with the heels of his hands, and stifled a yawn. “Big night?”
“Yeah.” Henderson stretched, then scooped the annotated draft contract from the edge of the expansive mahogany desk in Royce’s home study. “My daughter didn’t get home from her date until 2:00 a.m., my wife screamed at her until 3:00 a.m., the baby is teething, and I’ve been popping antacids since dawn.”
“I see. And this is the life of married bliss you’ve been nagging me to emulate?”
“Only if you expect old man Marchandt to ante up the capital we need to stay in business.” Henderson stuffed the documents into his briefcase. “You’re thirty-six-years old. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
“If I require a wife and child, I’ll simply borrow yours.”
Henderson smiled. “Oddly enough, I’m not willing to lend them. Despite all my whining about the chaos and frustration married life heaps upon my pitifully inadequate shoulders, I wouldn’t trade my family for all the world’s riches.” Snapping the briefcase shut, he rose, his smile widening into a grin. “Now, season tickets for the Mets I might consider.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Royce stood, then escorted his valued friend and associate to the study door. “Meanwhile, put out the feelers on another capital investment firm in case Marchandt pulls the plug on our deal. The company can’t afford to be caught in the lurch on this one.”
Henderson’s grin faded, his eyes instantly reflecting the seriousness of their financial situation. “I know.” He opened the study door and stepped into the spacious hallway that opened into the foyer. “Thing is, I’ve already contacted every reputable firm in the—” His gaze fell on a curly-haired toddler happily dancing circles on the gleaming marble floor. “Well, what have we here?”
The baby, clad in a spotless corduroy jumper and tiny striped T-shirt, instantly spun around, jammed his fingers in his mouth and drooled all over his hand. He giggled up at Royce. “Daddy!”
Henderson blinked, rocked back on his heels. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
Royce groaned. “The child is mistaken, of course.”
“Of course,” Henderson agreed with only the slightest trace of a smile. “Looks just like you, too. Brown eyes, dark, curly hair. Talk about a baby of convenience. Marchandt will love him.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, Royce cleared his throat and spoke to the bright-eyed youngster. “I am not your father, young man.”
“Uh-huh.”
The baby giggled again, a high-pitched, childish chuckle that sent a peculiar warmth down Royce’s spine. It was an infectious laugh, one issued with such unabashed joy that Royce felt his own lips curve in response.
“Kitty has babies,” the toddler announced.
“Indeed.” A quick glance confirmed that the basement door was open, evidence that the attractive Ms. Michaels was currently tending the mewling brood.
Beside him, Henderson’s slumped shoulders had squared, and eyes that had moments ago been sluggish with fatigue now sparkled with interest. “Kittens? Pets and a child? This is perfect, absolutely perfect. Now all you need is a…”
His voice trailed off as a beautiful blonde emerged from the basement, her frantic gaze darting around the immaculate room.
“Ask and ye shall receive,” Henderson mumbled reverently.
Laura Michaels’s head snapped around. She blinked at the two men, saw her son and issued a pained sigh. “There you are.” She hurried over and scooped the baby into her arms, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Burton. I just turned my back for a moment, but you know how children are.”
“No, as a matter of fact I don’t.”
Royce