And Then There Were Three

By Lynda Sandoval

WHEN LIFE THROWS YOU A CURVE

Single father Sam Lowery was good at many things, but raising his little girl to be a lady didn't seem to be one of them. So before his precious daughter started swearing like a truck driver, Sam set out to find a nanny who could steer her in the feminine direction and in walked sunshine, aka Erin O'Grady. The redheaded beauty was all female, and before long she'd charmed his daughter and jumpstarted Sam's on–hiatus libido. Then Sam was forced to confront his family history, and lovely Erin offered an ear to bend and a shoulder to cry on. And then she offered him her virginity .

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460853634

Lynda Sandoval

Lynda Sandoval is a former police officer turned fiction writer with fourteen adult books to her credit. Her first book for teens, Who's Your Daddy?, won the National Readers' Choice Award for young adult fiction from Romance Writers of America and was a finalist for the Colorado Book Award. When Lynda is procrastinating, she loves to quilt, hike, garden, make jewelry, bid obsessively on eBay, and read everything she can get her hands on. She lives in Denver with the world's coolest cairn terrier, Smidgey.

Book preview

Chapter One

Sam Lowery sat, sprawl-legged and guilt-ridden, in the nondescript waiting room of Portland General. He glowered with disinterest at the talking heads on the pole-mounted television in the corner, all the while obsessing over the fact that he was officially the worst father in the history of parenthood.

How could he have thought for a single moment that the mobile home offices of a construction worksite would be a safe place for his two-year-old daughter to hang out while he worked? His rationalization seemed weak at this point: he hadn’t wanted to put Jessica in daycare when she was so young and still so traumatized. But he had to wonder if his aversion to daycare said more about him than it did about her.

He shoved his fingers through his hair. The knowledge that he’d placed Jessica in the very type of danger he sought to avoid made his gut clench with pain. He never should’ve held on so tightly, never should’ve expected his secretary to watch his daughter. He never should’ve worked overtime that fateful night six months ago, but hey, that was a whole ’nuther guilt trip, now wasn’t it? He had a plethora of them from which to choose.

The musical tones of his cell phone yanked him back to the present. Had to be the job; it wasn’t like he had a pack of buddies who rang him up on a regular basis. He pulled the small phone off his belt clip and checked caller ID on the LED screen before answering. The number popped up: Mia, his secretary. Flipping open the face, he lifted it to his ear. Hey, Mia.

Oh, Sam. Mia, a married mother of four herself, had been more than amenable to watching Jessica in the offices while Sam was out on the site, but they both should’ve realized Mia had her own work to do. A curious two-year-old was more than a full-time job. How is the poor little darling? Did she need stitches?

Sam ran a hand slowly down his face, feeling sick and trying not to recall the disturbing picture of the deep cut in his baby girl’s pudgy little hand. His heart squeezed. Yeah, they’re stitching her up right now.

I’m so sorry.

Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.

Well, listen. I just wanted to check in, but I’ll let you go comfort her while she goes through this ordeal.

No need, Sam said, wryly, lifting one ankle to rest it over the opposite knee. To tell you the truth, Doc kicked me out of the suture room.

What? Mia’s disbelief came across loud and clear. How can he kick that darling girl’s parent out of the room.

He shook his head. Seems I was ‘hovering,’ and making it worse for Jessica. Agitating her, Doc said.

Mia laughed, sadly. Well, hon, no offense intended, but I can certainly see that.

Sam straightened. What’s that supposed to mean?

You’re not the typical father, is all.

Sam grew immediately defensive, all the while knowing he didn’t need to be. Not with Mia. But, still. I repeat, what’s that supposed to mean?

Oh, don’t get your back up. I meant it as a compliment. You do have a tendency to…well, to hover. Nothing wrong with that. Mothers do it all the time, believe me, and you care for that little girl like a mother would is all I’m saying. Mia’s breath hitched, and for a moment, that old familiar tension hung between them. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it that way.

Sam closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. It had been six months since the fire, and people still walked on eggshells around him as though he could snap at any moment. He couldn’t blame them, though. It wasn’t like he shared his emotions freely, or let anyone know where he was coming from. To be honest, he preferred it that way. He didn’t want anyone too close to him or his world. Don’t apologize. It’s a fact, Mia. I have to be both father and mother to her now.

"Well…you don’t have to. Mia’s tone took on a subtle change. I happen to know there are a lot of women out there who would jump at the chance to be Jessica’s new mommy. Her voice took on a softer tone. Not to mention your new love."

Sam stiffened. He chose to ignore the new love half of Mia’s preposterous proposition. When he spoke, his words came out ultra-controlled, through a clenched jaw. Mia, I’ve told you before, Jessica had a mother—

God rest her soul.

And fry his. You can’t just replace a parent. He knew that all too well, but held back a scoff of derision.

Well, I know. But, Jessica was so young when her mama— Mia sighed. She could come to love another mother figure. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s true nonetheless. A beat passed, and in typical Mia form, she decided to push the other issue. Plus, if you had someone for yourself—

Don’t even go there. Love? Ha. He hadn’t even managed to pull that farce off the first time, when he’d really wanted it to work out.

Mia’s exasperated sigh carried over the line. Her desire to see Sam remarried—happily this time—was an ongoing point of contention, but it was an argument the woman would lose. In the stubbornness department, no one rivaled Sam Lowery. He had stuck his neck out once in the love arena and been sadly disappointed. Oh, he respected Jenny as the mother of his child and always would, but it had quickly become clear theirs wasn’t the love match he’d dreamed about. Still, he’d said I do, to the for better or worse part that day in the Justice of the Peace’s offices, and he’d meant it, even if the worse outweighed the better—which it had, by a long shot. Real men didn’t leave their families, no matter how dissatisfying the arrangement.

He certainly hadn’t wanted Jenny dead and buried.

A shudder moved through him at the flashback image.

Jenny may not have been the perfect wife, but she’d given him one amazing gift for which he’d always be grateful: their daughter. With Jessica, he knew true connection, true abiding love, for the first time ever. Maybe parental love was the only type he was meant to have in this life. Who knew? If so, fine with him. In any case, he didn’t plan to test the theory by traveling the rocky road of romance again. Ever.

As I’ve told you a million times, no new women for me. End of topic, he said, in a tone that would brook no argument. He cleared his throat and switched direction. I’ll tell you what I am going to do, though.

What’s that? Mia sounded resigned.

I’m going to suck it up and hire a nanny. Sam slid down in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, stretching his legs out in front of him, feet balanced on their heels. I can’t bring Jess to the job site any longer. She’s too much of a handful.

It’s probably a good idea, Sam, Mia said, with sadness threading through her tone. Much as I loved having her here with me…

I know. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but you have your own work to do, and now that she’s two—

Goodness knows what the Terrible Threes will bring.

Exactly. It’s a recipe for more disaster. He fished the dog-eared business card out of his pocket and studied the face of it. Bruce Nolan gave me the name of an agency. Supposed to be a good one—

Nannysource?

That’s the one.

They are good. You can’t go wrong there.

Her vote of confidence helped him relax slightly about the whole prospect of some stranger horning in on the raising of his daughter, but only slightly. I know we’re working overtime tomorrow morning, but the agency has Saturday morning hours. I guess I’ll take the day off tomorrow and set up some interviews, he said, in a glum tone. Find some sweet little grandmother who’ll treat Jessie like her own grandchild.

Another parental guilt pang went through him when he realized Jessie didn’t, and never would, have grandparents of her own. His late wife had grown up with a much older single mother who died just after Jenny’d graduated from high school, and Sam, himself, had grown up—damn quickly—in the foster care system. When he really analyzed it, their mutual lack of familial connections had been most of what brought Jenny and him together in the first place, but time had proven that being orphaned wasn’t enough of a glue to bond them forever.

Still, a nice surrogate grandma for Jessica…yes. That would be good. He actually started to look forward to calling Nannysource. Yes, a nice, old Mary Poppins sort would do.

I’m sure you’ll find the perfect match. Don’t you worry about a thing here. Just take care of that sweet baby. We won’t even miss you.

A rueful half smile hiked up one side of Sam’s mouth. Gee, thanks. Just what the boss wants to hear.

Oh, Sam, Mia scolded.

He checked the clock mounted on the wall of the waiting room. How long did it take to stitch up a tiny little hand anyway? He’d arrived at the hospital with Jessie just after 5:00 p.m., and it was a few minutes past seven. I just hope— He stopped, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Hope what?

He wrestled with the thought, then decided to share it. That Jessie will tolerate someone new in her life.

Jessie’s more resilient than you give her credit for, hon. She’s a people person in baby form.

Sam pursed his lips, not so sure he agreed. Since the fire, his formerly giggly, sparkly baby had turned reticent and fearful of strangers and new situations. It ate him alive inside, witnessing the manifestation of her fears, especially since he was responsible for her trauma—a fact no one but he knew.

The apartment fire that night had broken out while he’d been working overtime on a job. Voluntary. He’d told Jenny it was mandatory OT, but it hadn’t been, and he’d had to live with what he’d thought was a harmless white lie on his conscience for six months now. No one but he knew he’d worked so much overtime back then in order to avoid a less than perfect home life, but there it was. The ugly, unvarnished truth. Had he been home that night, like any decent husband and father, he might’ve been able to help Jenny escape the inferno.

Instead, she’d died protecting Jessica.

His biggest source of guilt, however, came from the fact that he’d actually felt a flash of gratitude that night when he’d learned it was his Jessica who’d survived rather than his young wife. Not that he’d wanted Jenny dead. Not that at all. But if he’d had to choose a survivor…

Sam stifled a groan. What kind of monster was he, anyway?

Sure, he and Jenny had moved from love to a kind of mutual and dissatisfying tolerance before her death, but that damn well didn’t matter. He wouldn’t wish a death like Jenny’s on his worst enemy, much less the mother of his baby girl—a woman who’d sacrificed her own life in order to save her daughter’s. He would respect her forever for that decision, and he’d feel guilty forever, too.

Guilt. So much guilt. Ah, well, at least he had one constant in his life.

Oh, honey, I’ve got to go, Mia said, interrupting his brooding silence. She’d become so accustomed to his drawn-out silences during their conversations, they didn’t even faze her. Sam Lowery was a loner, plain and simple, and Mia knew and accepted it. But, the excitement that had crept into Mia’s voice made him curious.

Why? What’s going on?

They’re about to air the segment about those reunited twins on my news show.

He frowned. What twins?

She clucked her tongue. You’re so out of the loop. I don’t have time to explain. Call me in the morning to give me a Jessie update. Or anytime during the night if you need an ear to bend. You know I’m here.

I do. And listen, this wasn’t your fault.

Thank you for saying that, but I still feel guilty.

Yeah, well, join the club.

They rang off, and Sam hooked his phone back on his belt before glancing up at the television. It had to be tuned in to the same channel Mia had been watching, he realized, because the blonde announcer was in the midst of an intro about reunited adult twins. Might as well watch, he supposed, since he’d been banished from his daughter’s bedside and Mia thought he was hopelessly out of it when it came to current events. Sam glanced around and spied a remote on one of the unoccupied chairs. He pushed a few well-worn buttons on the control and increased the volume.

The story centered around a man and woman—coincidentally his age—who hadn’t even known they were twins. After their young mother died in a car accident, they’d been relinquished to an adoption agency connected to Portland General and adopted separately. A subsequent fire destroyed their birth records, hence they never knew the other existed. But, lo and behold, their biological father saw fit to search for them recently, when his young son needed a bone marrow transplant.

Sam sat back, twisting his mouth to the side and bouncing the remote against his palm. Something about that little detail irked the hell out of him. What was it about the first children the man had created that made them unworthy of keeping? Clearly he hadn’t had a problem holding on to the second wave of children he’d fathered, or seeking the first kids when he needed something from them. A muscle in Sam’s jaw ticked, and he pushed away his distaste. This wasn’t about him. Still, he had to admit, it was a sore point. He couldn’t imagine ever living without Jessica, giving her up to strangers to raise.

He thought about turning the idiot box off, but the story intrigued him enough to be a distraction, so he refocused on it. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his spread knees, the cracked, vinyl chair squeaking beneath him. The announcer finished her lead and brought out the long lost siblings, Lissa Cartwright and Adam Bartlett. The camera panned to a wide shot, as they sat down across from the reporter, and then it closed in on the twins.

Sam’s entire body tensed. The hair on his neck raised, and for a moment, he failed to move, to draw a breath, to blink. When his heart actually started beating again, it was a steady, hard drum against his rib cage. A death knell. He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, then peered cautiously at the television screen again.

No way. Couldn’t be.

Inconceivable as it was, Sam himself could be Adam Bartlett’s scruffier, blue-collar double. They were both about six-foot-one, with dark brown hair and green eyes. They were the exact same age. They had both been abandoned by their birth parents and adopted out of the same agency, the Children’s Connection, around the same time. Could it possibly be…?

He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, as if to protect himself from what he was seeing, and shrugged off the eerie sense of realization creeping up his spine. Ridiculous. A lot of men would fit his and Adam Bartlett’s description.

But—he squinted at the screen—it was more than a simple height/weight/hair color/eye color connection. The way Bartlett talked, his mannerisms, the shape of his hands. Even the woman, Lissa Cartwright, resembled Sam in a lot of intangible ways.

And then there was the uncanny adoption timeline.

Could this story have more layers than the news media realized? Could these reunited twins actually be two in a set of…triplets? Could Sam himself—

No. No. No. Ridiculous again.

The stress of Jessica’s accident was getting to him, that was all. He scrubbed his palms over his face, trying to make it all go away. His whole train of thought made no sense.

Yes, it does.

Yes, it does, he said, repeating the words that had whispered through his mind. And it did. It made a kind of sense Sam couldn’t explain. Not even a little bit. He had always felt like something was missing, some deep and important connection he had never been able to fully understand. It was more than just having grown up orphaned, more than missing out on his parents while he fought his way through a foster care system that left a lot to be desired. He’d always felt some…stronger connection, more elusive and confusing. And what was it the scientists said about twins? Or triplets? If this wild theory had any merit, he’d been closer to these two strangers than he’d ever been to anyone since. He’d shared a womb with them, for God’s sake, and then they’d been unceremoniously ripped apart. Could that account for his lifelong, inexplicable