Twins times two! Page 12
Groaning at her own inner musings, Cara hefted a laundry basket full of folded clothes against her hip. Most of the items in the basket belonged to the children, and she could have let Stibbs take them upstairs, but Cara enjoyed the task of putting tiny socks, underwear and shorts into their proper drawers. It gave her a sense of permanence that she wanted more desperately than she could have imagined.
Because she was growing to love Ross's children as quickly as she had bonded with her own.
Sighing, she made her way through the house. Once upstairs she tiptoed down the hall, her ear picking up the sound of childish bickering coming from the play area of the nursery. Today the children were spending the afternoon with Dr. Egs-trom, and Cara was under strict orders to leave the psychologist and the little girls alone. Even so, she couldn't help wondering how things were going. Although the children had been together every day,
they were still clearly upset over the changes made in their lives. Ross and Cara were hoping that some sessions with Dr. Egstrom would help them to see that they didn't have to fear the situation.
Slipping into Heidi and Zoe's room via the hall, Cara noiselessly restocked their clothing supply as she eavesdropped on what was happening in the playroom beyond.
It didn't take a session with Dr. Egstrom for her to know that Heidi and Zoe were still resentful about the move to a new home and the presence of Ross in their lives. All of the children were in turmoil with the new arrangements. They were clearly uncertain about their "mirror halves" and regarded each other with suspicion. After more than a week together, there were tears and tantrums as each set of twins fought for the attention of their customary parent. Heidi clung to Zoe, and Becca to Brianne even though they were obviously fascinated by the presence of a double. But that fascination seemed to prevent the bonding that Cara and Ross had so hoped would happen, and nothing seemed to budge their stubborn attitudes—not even when the twins accidentally mixed each other up. Cara could only hope that the doctor could help facilitate a childlike truce.
Closing the drawers, she tiptoed down the hall to Becca and Brianne's room, repeating her chore.
Again, she heard the low tones of Dr. Egstrom as he played with the twins, and she wished that someone could mediate in her relationship with Ross. She had already learned that living with Ross meant enduring her constant awareness of him. She was drawn to his brooding good looks, his infinite strength...
His passion.
In an effort to keep her sanity, Cara had done everything in her power to push away her attraction for Ross Gifford. She'd tried over and over to convince herself that he was too much like Elliot.
But already she'd discovered that such an argument was not entirely true. Although Ross was driven and ambitious, he aroused her in a way that her first husband never had. Moreover, her concerns that Ross would try to mold her into a trophy wife had so far proved unfounded—despite the comments he'd made to her that night in the nursery. Never once had he critiqued her clothes, her hair or her makeup. He didn't offer suggestions on how she should spend her days or ask her to run endless errands on his behalf. He seemed content to let her handle the finances and the children in the way she saw fit.
As well, there was a core of decency about him that urged her to trust him. She had no doubt that
he would be faithful to her. Just as he had been faithful to Nancy.
And continued to be faithful to her beyond the grave, Cara thought with a grimace.
Closing the door to the child-size armoire, she noted that a pair of Ross's polo shirts remained in the bottom of the basket.
Padding down the hall, she let herself into the master bedroom suite, feeling like an interloper. Despite the fact that she'd been in here several times to deliver laundry and newly bought toiletries, she still looked upon this room as being Ross's "private space." She felt no more comfortable entering it than she did probing the private pain that still lingered in his soul.
Automatically her eyes darted to the bedside table where he kept a picture of Nancy, and then she frowned.
Where was the picture?
Afraid it had fallen to the floor, she set the basket on the bed, then dropped to her knees. Had Becca or Brianne been in here? Or worse, Heidi and Zoe? Heaven only knew they'd been curious about the picture of the redheaded woman who graced the walls in the hall and Becca and Brianne's room. Had they given in to that curiosity and done something to Nancy's photo?
Lifting the bedskirt, Cara peered under the bed, then under the table.
"Lost something?"
Her head jerked up with such force that she banged it against the edge of the nightstand. Her face instantly grew hot and she damned her propensity to blush. It wasn't as if she was doing anything wrong. She was merely trying to see if the missing picture had been damaged or fallen.
But that didn't make her feel any less guilty.
Cara scrambled to her feet, wiping her hands down the legs of her jeans—then wished she hadn't. The betraying gesture made her feel even guiltier.
"I, uh, didn't see your wife's picture...and I... thought the children might have pushed it... off the edge."
She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw a sparkle of something akin to amusement in Ross's eyes.
Great. She had made a fool of herself.
"I put it away."
Of all the things she had expected Ross to say, the reality took her completely by surprise.
"Beg pardon?" Again, she could have kicked herself for the betraying whisper.
"Nancy has passed away, and I have a new
wife. Don't you think that your picture should be the only one on my bedside table?"
"No. I. ..I mean—"
Ross chuckled and she was shocked by the sound. She had never heard anything even resembling laughter from Ross. She wasn't entirely sure she liked the way it made her stomach flutter with excitement and her knees grow weak.
Ross had paused in the doorway, but he continued on to his walk-in closet, his eyes trained ol his cuff links. Cara couldn't help herself. She trailed after him like a devoted puppy.
4 'We'll have to get your picture taken," he said offhandedly.
"Yes—I mean, no!"
He chuckled again, and she leaned against the doorjamb for support.
She had always thought that Ross was handsome—and there was no doubt that he could inspire a white-hot passion within her with the most casual of caresses. But hearing him laugh was more potent than anything she'd experienced yet.
"Damn it. Can you help me with these things?"
Before she could gather her wits, he was holding his cuffs in her direction. With fingers that trembled, she threaded the gold studs through the buttonholes, releasing the starched fabric from his
wrists. Strong wrists that could have been fashioned from stone by Michelangelo himself.
Now she was getting totally out of hand.
"How are things coming with the doctor? Any progress?"
Since he apparently wished to talk to her, Cara lingered in the doorway—even though it was apparent that Ross intended to undress.
"It's hard to say with the door closed," she said as she watched him drop the cuff links on a silver tray and begin unfastening the front of his shirt. "I hear noises, and the doctor's voice every now and then, but not enough to gather any conclusions."
"What kind of noises?"
"Nothing promising. Shrieks and shouts for the most part."
Ross grimaced. Shrugging from his shirt, he tossed it in the clothes hamper.
Cara's throat grew instantly dry. She had suspected that Ross was lean and athletically built, but she'd had no idea that his clothes hid such wide shoulders, taut pecs and a washboard stomach. She vaguely wondered when Ross found the time to work out with his already hectic schedule.
"We're going to need to throw a party sometime soon. How's the end of the month?"
She blinked and stared at him, having only caught a smattering of what he'd said.
"A party. Word of my marriage has leaked out, and I need to introduce you to some of my colleagues and clients. How would the end of the month work for you?"
"I—" She was suddenly awash in memories of her life with Elliot. He'd wanted nothing more than a beautiful hostess for his parties. He'd told her how to act, how to talk, how to dress. When she'd tried to develop her own ideas on the subject, he'd flown into a rage, telling her that she was his "social representative" and he wouldn't have her reflecting badly on him or his business.
If she'd only known then that he'd had an entirely different philosophy regarding the kind of woman he wanted in his bed, she might have suspected that he was keeping a mistress. As it was, she had played his game for years before discovering that she was nothing more to Elliot than a life-size doll to dress up and manipulate to his will.
"What kind of party would you like me to organize?"
"I'll take care of that."
"Oh." She was secretly hurt. Didn't he trust her judgment where his friends were concerned? "Would you like me to send out the invitations?"
"My secretary will handle that. I'll even arrange for some suitable clothes to be delivered so you
won't have to worry about your wardrobe. All I need is for you to be your usual beautiful and charming self."
Cara felt as if ice water were running through her veins.
Ross couldn't possibly know that he was reliving a scene she'd endured countless times before, but her heart ached nonetheless. She had been so sure that her life would be different with Ross. She'd thought that she would be able to fashion a place for herself in Ross's life. But after only a week of marriage, she was discovering that she was once again a trophy wife with no purpose other than to make Ross's life more comfortable.
Her throat squeezed tight with unshed tears. Why had she convinced herself that she could make a difference, that she could form an emotional bond with him? It seemed she wouldn't even be allowed to try. Stibbs ran the castle, and a nanny took care of the children. An accountant could have easily handled those responsibilities that Cara had been given.
But wasn't an accountant exactly what she was?
Her mouth grew dry. Why had she thought she could be anything more?
"Is something wrong?"
Ross was watching her, obviously waiting for a response, so she shook her head.
"No. Not a thing. The party sounds fine. Just let me know if there's anything I can do to help."
Then, before she could burst into tears, she turned on her toe and hurried out of the room.
Chapter Twelve
Perhaps it was childish, but when it became clear that she had no real place in Ross's life, Cara decided the time had come to assert herself. She would not become a life-size Barbie to be dressed and paraded in front of Ross's friends. She had enough pride and belief in herself to know that she had a great deal to offer this marriage if only she were given the chance.
But Cara was also wise enough to know that she would never be offered anything more than what she had unless she made it clear that she expected more of this marriage—and of Ross.
Her first show of independence was to inform Mrs. Graves that the children would no longer be requiring her services. The woman had been intent on working through her two-week notice, but she was so curt with the children that Cara felt they
would be better off without her help. Although Melba Wilson was still far from ready to work full-time, the older woman had stated she was eager to see the children three times a week for a few hours each time. Cara had jumped at the offer.
Mrs. Graves was clearl> alarmed by the fact that Cara intended to watch the children herself most of the time. Her self-righteousness merely made Cara more determined to do what she knew was right. Yes, it would be a challenge to watch all of the children at once. Yes, Cara was more than aware of the fact that she didn't have Mrs. Graves's formal training. But as far as Cara was concerned, she loved the children and that was far more important than a degree in child development.
Last of all Cara decided that something needed to be done about the house. Granted, it was beautiful—but it was also too elegant, opulent and overwhelming for everyday living.
Since Ross had offered her a more-than-healthy stipend and a generous budget for household expenses, she visited a former Mom Squad employee who had just opened her own decorating business. Within an hour Cara was poring over paint chips and wallpaper books. By the end of the day, a team of painters had invaded the house with promises
that all of the changes would be finished well before the party in three weeks.
Despite her show of bravado, Cara was a nervous wreck by the time Ross came home. She had imagined every reaction he could offer from rage to annoyance to gratitude. But what she hadn't prepared herself to encounter was indifference. Complete and total indifference.
She was waiting for him in the kitchen when he walked in. It was late, and the children had given up and gone to bed nearly an hour earlier.
Ross looked tired. His shoulders had lost some of their proud line, and weariness etched grooves on either side of his mouth.
"Bad day in court?"
He grimaced. ' 'Worse. A divorced couple came into the office to divvy up their possessions. The two of them nearly came to blows a couple of times."
The thought of divorced couples divvying up their worldly belongings made her distinctly uncomfortable, so she said instead, "I've got dinner for you."
Aren't you being the traditional wifey, a little voice inside her chided. Normally Cara couldn't think of anything worse than cooking. But since it was Stibbs's day off, she'd wanted to put him into the best frame of mind possible.
"You're a lifesaver. I'll just go upstairs and shower."
"No!"
His brows rose at her vehement outburst. Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she realized that she wouldn't be given the opportunity to break the news to him gently.
"Now, I don't want you to freak out," she began quickly.
He took a deep breath. "What have they done?"
"They?" He couldn't possibly know about the painters already.
"The children."
"Oh, no. They haven't done anything. Actually, I think they're beginning to get used to one another. Today I managed to convince them to go on a picnic at the park. They played on the swings with one another and took turns on the slide and the merry-go-round—"
She pressed her lips together, realizing that she was close to babbling.
"What's happened?"
1 'Nothing is wrong, per se, and you did tell me that I could make some changes to the house if I felt like it."
He eyed her for long minutes. "Within reason."
Within reason? What did that mean? A few new
pillows? Or whatever she wanted, barring major construction?
Ross sighed. "Maybe you'd better show me what you've done."
Cara threaded her fingers together. "Okay. Follow me."
She took him into the front living room—a huge cavernous space that she and the painters had nicknamed The Great Hall. Most of the furniture had been moved out of the room, but those items that remained had been covered with drop cloths. What was most evident of all, however, was that the walls had already been altered—from the original stark white to a pale petal-pink.
Cara loved the transformation. The room suddenly seemed more intimate and warm. The rich color complemented the warm tones of the wood, allowing the beauty of the carvings to take center stage. Cara could already see the finished product in her mind's eye—new throw pillows in a variety of colors and textures, artwork with bold themes, splashes of color with fresh plants and objets d'art from both Ross's and her own collections.
"I painted/' she finally said, stating the obvious. Then she nibbled her thumbnail and looked to see how Ross was reacting.
"Why?"
She wasn't sure what she had expected, but that question wasn't it.
"The white is too stark and...off-putting."
She saw the muscle of his jaw working.
"My former wife designed the house."
Oh-oh. She'd treaded on sacred ground. Nevertheless the answer explained a lot. She'd had a hard time connecting the elaborate nature of the house with Ross's innate reserve and love for order.
"The castle is very beautiful," she said slowly, "but the stark white makes it look so... sterile."
The muscle jumped again.
"Don't you think you should have asked me first?"
Cara took a deep breath. This was one argument that she had anticipated. "Perhaps. But I ventured out on my own to prove a point."
She rushed on before he had a chance to respond. "I don't know what you expected when you married me, Ross, but there are a few things that we need to get straight right here and now." Summoning all of her courage, she plunged ahead. "I am not your first wife—"
"I didn't say you were."
"No, but I want it made clear that I don't intend to take her place."
"I never intimated that I wanted you to."
"No, you haven't. But I need you to acknowledge that I won't look like her, act like her or attempt to be like her in any way."
"Have I ever indicated that you should?"
"Yes!" The resentment she'd held within her burst free. "We married in order for me to take her place as your children's mother. But since my arrival, it has become clear that you don't trust me with the job—or any of the other duties around here. You have a butler to run your household, a nanny to take care of the children, a gardener to see to the yard. You have a cleaning service and a grocery delivery service. You have a maid and a psychologist."