Triple treat (17 page)

"My father didn't betray my mother's memory, he betrayed her while she was still alive," Tyler said bitterly. "He had an affair with Nina when my brother Cole was just a baby."

"Oh." Carrie gulped. "That does sound sleazy." "It gets worse," Tyler assured her. "Nina got pregnant, and according to Dad's current revisionist history, he wanted to divorce his wife and marry his mistress. Noble Nina, however, would have no part in home-wrecking—like she hadn't already done so by sleeping with a married man! Anyway, she got some poor sucker by the name of McKay to marry her and raise the kid as his own. Dad went back to his wife and had two more sons, Nathaniel and me, and Nina eventually had two daughters by McKay. When our mother was killed in that car crash, Dad hightailed it to Nina and begged her to dump her husband and marry him. When she didn't, he donned the role of the bereaved widower who refused to ever marry again. But it wasn't my poor mother he was mourning, it was the fact that he couldn't have Nina."

"And you grew up not knowing any of this?" Tyler nodded. "Yeah, I completely bought Dad's tragic-loss-of-his-beloved-Marnie tale. The truth all came out when my—my half brother Connor McKay surfaced two years ago."

"You have a lialf brother you never even knew existed," Carrie exclaimed, awed. "Tilings like that happen all the time on daytime soap operas but—"

"You can imagine how pleased I was to find myself living a plot line right out of 'All My Children/ " Tyler said wryly. "As for Dad, he certainly has a lot of children these days. Four sons and two stepdaughters and their various offspring. Connor—who incidentally took a job with Tre-maine Incorporated and legally took the name Tremaine as well—is married with a little girl and another baby on the way. Nina's two daughters are married with children, as well."

"Correct me if Fm wrong, but the fact that Connor is a Tremaine, and has claimed his birthright and his name, disturbs you more than your father's marriage to Nina," Carrie said shrewdly. "You view him as a potential rival in Tremaine Incorporated."

"I'd be an idiot if I didn't," Tyler said roughly. "I want to be president of the company and I've worked damn hard to achieve that goal. When Dad retires and Cole steps up as chairman, the presidency is supposed to be mine."

"And Connor wants to be president of the company, too?" Carrie asked. "Oh, dear, this is getting complicated."

"He says he doesn't," Tyler admitted. "Connor claims he'll be happy heading the legal department as Tremaine's General Counsel. He insists he has no further corporate ambitions."

"But you don't believe him?"

Tyler shrugged. "Connor's a bright guy. And his mother is finally married to his father who wants to do anything— everything!—to make up for all those missing years."

"That would hardly include handing Connor the presidency of the company when you've worked hard for it all these years," Carrie said reasonably. "What about your

brothers Cole and Nathaniel? Do they feel threatened, too?"

"Cole's position is unassailable, he's the oldest son. As for Nathaniel ..." Tyler laughed shortly. "Hey, I know my kid brother has a brain but he doesn't care to exercise it in the business world. He has a window-dressing job with the company and not an ounce of ambition to advance to a position with any authority or responsibility. He's the family goof-off who takes long vacations, skips meetings and does what he feels like doing when he feels like doing it."

"No competition there," Carrie agreed. "I guess Nathaniel lost to his older brothers enough as a kid to know he's not supposed to succeed, so why bother to try?"

Tyler clenched his jaw, "Carrie, please skip the instant armchair analysis. I know Tremaine Books sells volumes on the subject, but I happen to loathe psychobabble."

Carrie was undaunted. "I read a very interesting book on birth order, and one whole chapter was devoted to step-families and the problems that arise when siblings feel that their place in the family has been usurped."

"Usurped?" Tyler echoed. He found himself grinning in spite of himself. Carrie's earnest intensity on topics he found ridiculous never failed to amuse him. "Help! My enviable position of middle son has been usurped! Call in the shrinks!"

He reached over and patted her knee lightly. "On the other hand, I'm glad you've switched from reading terrifying thrillers to pop psychology claptrap. They won't keep you awake at night—just the opposite, in fact. Instant sedation."

Carrie laid her hand on top of his, eyeing him from beneath her lashes, waiting for him to withdraw his hand, wishing fervently that he wouldn't.

And he didn't. Whether it was a friendly gesture of affection or a sexual overture, Carrie wasn't sure, but Tyler

linked his thumb with hers and rested his big hand on her knee for the rest of the drive.

Carrie was stunned by her first sight of Richard Tie-maine's estate, the place where Tyler and his brothers had been raised. "The house is the size of some neighborhoods I've lived in," she said uneasily. She'd never seen any house so enormous, so grand.

She smoothed the cherry-and-white-striped material of her wide-cut shorts with nervous fingers. She wore a rayon shirt that matched the shorts, and until she'd spied the palatial house, she'd considered herself well-turned-out for the picnic. Now she wasn't so sure. This place seemed to call for diamonds and silk and fur, even if it was July!

"Now, don't go getting awestruck by the Tremaine trappings," Tyler said mockingly. "I get enough fawning and groveling from your brother, Ben."

Carrie's cheeks pinked. Ben did tend to fawn and grovel; he made no secret of his admiration for anything Tremaine. And if Ben were to see this place, he would probably drop to his knees and salaam. Nervously, she turned her attention to freeing the triplets from their car seats as Tyler parked in the long, wide, circular drive. A small private roadway led to the house, which could not even be seen from the main road.

The triplets were wearing matching outfits, red-and-white-striped shorts and bright blue shirts printed with white stars, holiday presents from their doting grandparents overseas. Emily had a red barrette clipped in her ever-tousled blond hair, a touch of femininity to distinguish her from her brothers. All three children insisted on walking rather than being carried, so Tyler and Carrie took their hands and they walked five abreast to the pillared entrance of the mansion.

When the massive front door was opened by a uniformed butler, Carrie had to suppress a nervous giggle. The man even had the requisite British accent; he looked like

Ctentral Casting's stereotypical upper-class servant. But her laughter and the remark she was about to make to Tyler died on her lips when a beautiful fifty-something blonde, dressed in an exquisite gown and clinging to the arm of a tall, silver-haired gentleman wearing a tuxedo, appeared in the spacious tile-and-marble vestibule.

"Hello, Dad. Hello, Nina/' Tyler said, cordial but cool. "Meet the Wilcoxes—Carrie, Dylan, Emily and Franklin."

He didn't specify who was whom, but Carrie was too appalled by her own incredibly inappropriate outfit to notice. By now, several other men and women, doubtless the younger Tremaines and their spouses, had joined them, and their attire matched that of Nina and Richard Tremaine. All the women wore what Carrie knew must be fabulously expensive dresses and impressive jewelry; all the men wore I tuxes.

She cast a horrified glance at Tyler, who was wearing cutoff jeans and a navy-and-white T-shirt, sans logo, far re-i moved from even a designer polo shirt. He didn't even look [preppy; he looked as out of place among these richly attired folk as she did!

"Mommy!" Emily whimpered, clutching her mother's leg, obviously unnerved by the crowd of strangers gather-?ing. Carrie put her arm around her daughter. The smallest Tremaines were nowhere to be seen. Tyler had said there would be a slew of youngsters about, but Carrie knew beyond a doubt that there would be no children at this affair. Tt was a formal party, for adults only.. .and she had ar-; rived with her toddlers, dressed for a backyard cookout.

She cast Tyler a half pleading, half accusatory look. How could he have done this to her! But Tyler didn't appear to have a single qualm. He smilingly draped his arm around her shoulder and began to introduce her to a sea of faces, all of which blurred before her mortified eyes.

Cole, Chelsea, Connor, Courtney, Cristine—as if the sheer number of elegantly attired people wasn't intimidat-

ing and confusing enough, they all had names that began with the letter C! Was this some sort of joke? Carrie was relieved to meet non-C's Monica, Jeff, Tom and Nathaniel, but she was too rattled to put together all the names and faces.

Everybody had polite smiles pasted on their faces, but Carrie couldn't summon a smile in response, not even a false one. Her expression mirrored her children's—wary and watchful and very uncertain.

*'Tyler, you haven't met Nina's nieces from Chicago," Richard Tremaine said in those cool but commanding tones of his. Two tall, brown-eyed blondes in short, strapless, se-quined dresses stepped forward to be presented. The elder Tremaine introduced them as Brooke and Rae Ann Raleigh.

Carrie watched the two women fawn over "Uncle Richard," then move on to Tyler. "I guess we're cousins now," one of them said, tittering. "Kissin' cousins," said the other. They'd achieved the impossible, Carrie noted wryly; the gushing Raleigh sisters actually made Ben look subtle!

"It was absolutely wonderful of Aunt Nina and Uncle Richard to have this dinner dance to welcome us to Maryland," Rae Ann Raleigh breathed, her eyes predatorily feasting on Tyler.

"You and your sister are most delightful guests of honor, my dear," Richard said gallantly.

"All the other guests are out on the terrace," Nathaniel Tremaine put in, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "Everybody's been asking about you, Tyler."

Dinner dance! With additional guests on the terrace? It was as if she'd stumbled into an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel-dressed all wrong. Carrie stared at Tyler, her eyes glimmering with homicidal intent. Tyler had claimed this was a casual family picnic, not a formal dinner dance. And the "delightful" guests of honor were obviously to be partnered by Nina's eligible stepsons, Tyler and Nathaniel.

Was that why Tyler had brought her and the triplets along? To circumvent Nina's plans and ruin her party? Tyler had made his feelings about his father's wife quite clear. It didn't take a great leap of the imagination to figure that he might deliberately try to sabotage Nina's party. Carrie felt sick. The fact that he would use her and her children to do it was a crushing blow.

They had to leave, Carrie decided. Immediately. She would make her apologies to Richard and Nina Tiemaine, take the kids and get out of here. But before she could say a word, a boisterous black Labrador retriever came bounding down the grand staircase and hurled itself into the middle of the group.

"Marquis has escaped!" Nina Tremaine laughed with nervous gaiety and tried to grab the dog by its collar. "He's just a puppy and so full of energy."

Marquis may have been just a puppy but he was quite a bit larger than the triplets who had instantly and joyously attracted his canine attention. Marquis jumped eagerly at Dylan, knocking him off his feet, then began to lick the little boy's face while he lay on the ground. There was a buzz of concerned voices, but Carrie, acting immediately, caught the dog by the collar and pulled him away.

Dylan sat up, laughing. "Big dog!" he said admiringly.

Emily did not share her brother's aplomb. Though constrained by Carrie, Marquis was leaping and yipping, and the little girl let out a piercing scream and burst into hysterical tears. "Big dog!" she shrieked, her interpretation of the phrase very different from Dylan's. In a frenzy of fear, she held up her arms to Tyler to be rescued from the menacing beast.

Tyler scooped up the baby in his arms. "Will someone get that damned dog out of here!" he thundered. "He's terrified Emily."

An apologetic Nina took the dog from Carrie and led him off. Carrie picked up Dylan and tried to wipe the doggy

kisses from his small cheeks. It was at that moment that she noticed Franklin was no longer standing at her left side.

"Franklin?" Carrie called. "I—I don't see him/' she explained, feeling panic sweep through her.

No one saw Franklin. He wasn't in the vestibule.

"Connor, go check the swimming pool!" exclaimed his very pregnant wife, Courtney, her eyes wide with concern. Connor took off in a run. A few others scattered as well.

"He couldn't have made it to the pool," Tyler assured Carrie. "It's too far for him to walk from here. Anyway, the pool area is completely fenced in."

Pandemonium was close, but had not quite set in when Nathaniel reappeared to announce, "There's a kid dressed like the American flag sitting in the middle of the dining room table."

Everybody headed to the dining room, Carrie among the last, because she had no idea where the dining room was and had to follow the crowd. Judging by the length of time it took to reach the room, she feared it might be in another county.

She heard murmurs of disapproval mixed with those of amusement before she actually saw the scene, that had captured everyone's attention. There was Franklin sitting in the middle of the immense table, munching on something, his path clearly traceable from the overturned chair to the china and silver askew.

Before anyone could reach him, the little boy stretched out one leg, accidentally kicking the large crystal vase, which was filled with an artful arrangement of fresh flowers. Carrie watched it all happen as if in slow motion. The vase tipped over, spilling water and flowers over the impeccably set table.

"Uh-oh!" Franklin crowed. He took in stride the fact that he was now sitting in a puddle, splashing the water with his small hands. "Wet," he observed importantly. It was a new word and he said it again, louder. "Wet!"

Carrie groaned. Someone retrieved her son and put him in her arms. Dylan, whom she was also holding, reached over to touch his brother. "Wet," he affirmed.