Triple treat (4 page)

"I'll take her." Carrie reached for her daughter, successfully suppressing her smile of amusement. Poor Tyler looked hilariously awkward, trying to cope with Emily's acrobatics. Clearly, he'd never held an active toddler before.

Tyler gratefully handed Carrie the wriggling little girl. "Thank you for catching her," she said warmly. "You were amazingly fast."

A car roared down the street, well past the speed limit. Though Tyler had the baby in his arms well before the car had appeared, the very thought of an uncomprehending toddler dashing into a car's path shook him.

"She's the fast one—they all move at the speed of light!" Tyler drew an unsteady breath. "How do you manage with three of them?"

"Well, since I'm hopelessly outnumbered, I never go anywhere alone with them." Carrie laughed. "I'm not even going to try, until they're at least three years old."

"I think I'd make that age ten," said Tyler, with feeling. "Where are the other two? I don't even see—" He broke off

abruptly. Since they were nowhere in sight, he had to assume that one had actually made it into the house and the other was somewhere in the backyard. In the vicinity of the pool.

Tyler groaned his dismay. "Uh-oh."

At that moment, Alexa came running out the front door, clutching a squirming Dylan on her hip. He was pulling at her hand, which was placed firmly over his eyes. Her own eyes were wide, her face flushed.

"He didn't see anything, I made sure of that!" Alexa said breathlessly, removing her hand from the child's eyes. Dylan made an attempt to bite her fingers, which she foiled with remarkable dexterity. "But I saw plenty! Carrie, we've got to get out of here! In fact, you've got to get out of this neighborhood as soon as possible. Because if those are your neighbors in there, they're—"

"The people you saw inside aren't our neighbors," Tyler cut in flatly. He vaguely recalled that the purpose of inviting Carrie Wilcox to this party was to shock her, enabling him to buy her property when she fled the neighborhood. Therefore, shouldn't he encourage the notion that the neighbors were debauched? "None of the neighbors showed up, except you," he heard himself add.

"I caught him!" Ben's voice rang out. They all turned to see Ben jogging around the side of the house, holding Franklin under his arm like a sack, one of his hands placed firmly over the little boy's eyes, almost covering the child's entire face. He did not remove his hand until he reached the group. "Franklin didn't see a thing, Carrie, I swear."

Still gripping the restlessly twisting Emily, Carrie turned to Tyler. "Why did you invite us to this party?" she asked quietly.

Tyler felt a dull flush spread from his neck to his face. Her cool calm unnerved him far more than any angry condemnation or accusation she might have flung at him. Her blue

eyes were clear and unwavering, her expression.. .was unreadable.

And that bothered him greatly because he excelled at reading people, at understanding their reactions, examining their motives, anticipating their wants and needs. It was an invaluable talent, one he used skillfully and successfully time after time in the competitive, often cutthroat world of business.

He used his gifts well in personal situations, as well. He could glance at Alexa, know that she was shocked, and decide exactly what to say to her; one look at Ben showed that he was intrigued, which required a wholly different set of responses.

But he couldn't read Carrie Wilcox. Her eyes, her face, her voice and body language gave nothing away. He didn't know if she was shocked or angry or hurt or frightened; he didn't know if she found the entire debacle amusing and was secretly laughing at him.

It had always been a point of pride with him never to be the first to break a gaze. But this time Tyler averted his eyes from Carrie's deep blue ones, losing his first-ever round in what he called "the eye contact sincerity game." His mouth was dry and his pulse beat unpleasantly fast. He was totally disconcerted.

What on earth was happening to him? He'd been leveled by this young woman. Had this been a tense business negotiation, he'd have lost it! The competition had better never find and hire Carrie Wilcox!

"It doesn't matter, anyway. We're leaving now," Carrie said in those same measured tones. The fact that he hadn't answered her question didn't seem to have fazed her. She remained completely unreadable and unreachable.

And that, Tyler realized in a sudden flash of insight, was what really confounded him. He was skilled and smooth and so adept with words and style, the Great Communicator had nothing on him, but Carrie Wilcox was beyond his reach.

After all, what good were words and charm when she rendered him mute with that steady blue-eyed gaze of hers?

Carrie put Emily into the wagon, and Alexa and Ben immediately followed suit, setting Dylan and Franklin in behind their sister. Tyler watched Carrie pull the wagon away and onto the sidewalk. She turned to say something to the small triplets, and the three of them began to wave their hands and boisterously shout, "Bye-bye-bye-bye." Carrie herself said nothing, nor did she glance his way.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Tremaine," Alexa said indignantly as she stalked out the gate after them. "I mean, who cares what you and your sleazy friends do, but inviting my sister and the babies here was unconscionable/ '

Her shock had turned to anger—Tyler clearly perceived that. He knew how to deal with it, if he should care to. Right now, he didn't.

"You have to understand, Tyler, my sisters aren't at all— uh—worldly," Ben interjected.

"And you are?" Tyler asked dryly. Ben's interest was piqued; he appeared torn between leaving with his family and joining the party. Tyler perceived all of that, too. And knew how to deal with it, of course. But it was of little comfort that he could deal with two out of the three Shaw triplets when Carrie remained the elusive third.

"Oh yes, you see, I've lived all over the world," boasted Ben. "Our dad is a career air force officer. He and Mom are currently stationed in Germany again. I've lived in Germany, too, and in Turkey and England and six different states," he added proudly.

"I assume your sisters also shared this cosmopolitan lifestyle as well?"

"Well, yes. But they didn't get out and around as much as I did," Ben said quickly. "Girls are more sheltered, you know. Umm, at least in our family they were." He cast a

quick glance toward the back of the house, where the swimming pool and cabana were located.

Tyler could guess what he'd seen there. He thought of the baby running back there and flinched.

"Benjamin Shaw, are you coming?" Alexa hollered from the sidewalk. Her tone implied that he'd better or she would do something about it.

Ben sighed. "I guess I'd better go help with the babies. Uh, thanks for inviting me to the party, Tyler."

"You sound as if you really mean that."

"I do! Fd like to—er—broaden my social life. But this— scene isn't for my sisters," Ben added earnestly.

"Well, feel free to come back to the party and—broaden your social life, after you've helped your sis tors with the triplets," said Tyler. He started toward the oversize garage where his cars were housed.

"You're leaving?" Ben called after him, confused. "You're leaving your own party?"

"My social life is sufficiently broad," Tyler replied. And all he wanted right now was to be away from it.

He backed his navy blue '64 Mustang out of the driveway and into the street while Alexa and Ben Shaw stood on the sidewalk, staring after him. Carrie and her children were already in their front yard, and he saw a flash of red, white, blue and blond clambering out of the wagon as he drove past them.

He watched them in the rearview mirror until he turned a corner and they disappeared from his sight.

Three

Carrie sat on the two-seater aluminum glider on her small screened-in back porch. Though it was past 2:00 a.m., the party next door was still in full swing, the noise level so loud that it was as if the live band, alternating with the DJ and his collection of music discs, was right here on the porch with her. She heard voices and yells, shouts of laughter and much splashing in the pool. The scrawny hedge with its wide gap in the center was a pitifully useless sound barrier.

She sipped her iced tea, wondering how the babies could sleep through this racket, and grateful that they were. She'd turned the room air conditioner in the nursery on low, so perhaps its humming noise was masking the thunderous drums and caterwauling from the guests next door. Ben and Alexa had already left, Alexa apologetically at ten because the noise was giving her a headache, Ben an hour earlier, no excuse offered.

Sleuth, the adopted tomcat, snoozed on the big, fan-backed chair opposite her, oblivious to the tumultuous revelry next door.

Carrie sighed, wishing she could ignore it all, too, longing for the sweet oblivion of sleep, but she realized the impossibility of that. She was wide-awake, alone and annoyed, while next door...

She gave the glider a swing and thought about what Alexa and Ben had told her they'd seen during their brief foray into what Tyler Tremaine had casually labeled a ''picnic'' Some picnic! An awed and impressed Ben had described it quite differently—"the embodiment of every fantasy!" he'd proclaimed.

"Not any of my fantasies!" Alexa had countered crossly. "Or yours, either, Carrie."

"The only fantasy I have is getting eight uninterrupted hours of sleep," Carrie had replied. She felt about a hundred years old. Now, hours after that conversation with her siblings, she felt even older, a weary 110.

At first she wasn't sure that she'd heard the rustling in the branches of the hedge, not with so many other noises dominating the sound waves. But her eyes provided indisputable evidence to her beleaguered ears. Outlined by the floodlights next door was the silhouette of a man pushing through the branches, breaking them as he tried to make his way through the hedge. Carrie knew it was a measure of his drunkenness that he didn't use the clearly visible and convenient gap in the hedge but tried instead to go through its thickest part.

Sleuth's ears perked, his well-conditioned self-preservatory instincts suddenly on alert. He jumped down from the chair and bolted into the house through the kitchen door which stood slightly ajar. Carrie grimaced. That's what happens when you adopt a cat instead of a German shepherd, she thought wryly. She would have to face the intruder all on her own.

However, there was no way for the intruder to know that she didn't have a killer guard dog crouched by her side. She stood up and walked to the door of the porch, just as the man, tall and disheveled, tumbled through the hedge into her backyard.

"Get out of here!" Carrie called sharply. "I have a dog who's been trained to attack when I give the word. And if you don't leave right now, I'll say it."

"Gotta go," the man mumbled drunkenly, stumbling toward the porch. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties and was well-dressed, though his expensive clothes were showing definite strains of a night of hard partying.

"Yes, you have to go!" Carrie reiterated sternly. "You have to get out of here right now or you'll be dog meat, mister. Down, Demon! Heel, boy," she added, for effect.

"Gotta go," the young man muttered, and from his actions, Carrie suddenly realized they were each using different meanings of the word. Her eyes widened when he fumbled with the zipper of his fly as he headed straight for her flower bed*

"Not there!" she snapped, her fear turning to anger. "You'll kill my impatiens. If you must, at least use the back corner of the yard. Nothing's living over there." Sleuth had already appropriated that dead zone as his own.

Her uninvited guest stood slack-jawed and mute, looking stupidly confused.

"Oh, for heaven's sakes!" Carrie exploded. "Turn around." The man obeyed. "Now walk straight ahead, to the back corner of the yard. That's right, keep walking." She watched as he followed her orders, feeling inordinately disgusted. Not only was this jerk using her yard as his bathroom, she had to provide him with directions. What a truly hellish night this was!

She sank back down onto the glider, waiting for the drunken idiot to finish so she could direct him back to the

Tremaine ''picnic/' And then she heard the branches of the hedge rustle again and she jumped to her feet, enraged.

"No!" she called furiously. "Not again. Absolutely no one else can come over. I won't have my yard used as the neighborhood outhouse! Why don't you just—just use your host's pool?"

"What an uncharitable suggestion!" Tyler Tremaine was striding toward the porch, looking crisp and unrumpled, his designer polo shirt and well-fitting khaki slacks as neatly pressed as when she'd seen him hours earlier. Unlike his guest, he appeared virtually untouched by all that hearty partying. "Fortunately, I make it a practice to have the pool drained and cleaned after every party."

"From what I've heard about the goings-on in that pool, you should have it permanently sealed with a slab of concrete," Carrie retorted. She stood behind the closed screen door, her arms folded in front of her chest, and glowered balefully at Tyler, who stopped on the other side.

"You look like a disapproving schoolmarm," he observed.

"Well, I feel like I'm living next to a reform school for obnoxious delinquents. One of them—Nature Boy—is over there," She pointed to the drunk standing in the far corner of the yard, his back to them. "Why don't you go see if he needs any help?"

"Not me. That's not my scene. He'll have to manage on his own."

Tyler had barely finished speaking when the other man's knees suddenly buckled. They both watched him crumple to the ground.

"Oh, great!" Carrie scowled. "You're conveniently off the hook now. Since he passed out in my yard, I suppose that makes him my responsibility." She shoved open the porch door, her action so quick and unexpected that Tyler had to jump out of the way to avoid being slammed by it.

Feeling the damp grass cool under her bare feet, she strode through the yard, despite the fact that she was clad only in pajamas. The two-piece cotton set, teal-blue boxer-like shorts and a matching oversize camp shirt, looked more like sportswear than pajamas, anyway, Carrie decided.