THE SECRET AGENT'S SURPRISES BUY THE BOOK: IndieBound | Amazon | Barnes & Noble "Josiah Morgan has one goal in life: to see his four estranged son married with children and all living nearby. Rebel son Pete is next to have his new life handcrafted by Poppa Morgan. Already halfway in love with ex-spy Pete, Priscilla Perkins is no match for Josiah's meddling ways. But when the Morgan men join forces and add the adorable temptation of four orphaned newborn siblings, what's a girl to say but "I do"? This book will thrill readers who love the classic concept of the Harlequin American. Leonard creates a large supporting cast of family and friends to make sweet if unlikely events lead to the perfect happily ever after."    —4 Stars, Romantic Times EXCERPT Chapter One Pete Morgan sat in a bar in Riga, Latvia, tired, cold, and inwardly annoyed as he remembered the letter he'd received from his father, Josiah, in January. The missive was a parting shot with words designed to make him feel guilty. Wasn't the pen supposedly mightier than the sword? The letter hadn't had the desired effect—it had simply re-ignited old feelings of resentment. Pete had steadfastly ignored his father's badgering because he was excellent at compartmentalizing work/family. He wouldn't have admitted to a saint that he'd been steaming since the two letters had been found in a kitchen drawer at the Morgan ranch, one for him and one addressed to his oldest brother, Jack. Pete had left that letter for Jack with a rodeo manager, knowing it would reach Jack eventually. Now it was February, and the very memory of his father's words still set Pete's teeth on edge. He knew every word by heart and didn't need the actual letter for recall. Dear Pete, Of all my sons, you were the most difficult. I saw in you an unfulfilled version of myself, a man who would never be able to settle. I write this letter knowing that you will never live at the Morgan ranch attempting to be part of the family. Like Jack, you hold long grudges. If by the time I pass on you have not lived at the ranch for the full year, your million dollars will be split among the brothers who have fulfilled their family obligation. Pop It was a kick in the teeth, not because of the money but because his father lacked trust in him, basic faith that he cared about his own family. The bitterness was because it was Pop's fault no one cared to be at the ranch or have any contact with him. It had been many years since he and his father had spoken more than ten words to each other. To receive this missive out of the blue in January had sent him packing to the other side of the world, though he'd been seriously considering retirement from the world of espionage. Jack's letter—which he'd read—had been worse: Jack, I tried to be a good father. I tried to save you from yourself. In the end, I realized you are too different from me. But I was always proud of my firstborn son. Pop This was Pop, always playing them off of each other, which was how the trouble had begun so many years ago, driving a wedge between that still existed today, at least for two of them. The other two brothers, Gabriel and Dane, had made up with the old man. They'd married, had children. Collected their million. But now the stakes were higher. Pop no longer resided in France in the knight's templary he'd purchased. Pop had come home to live at the Morgan ranch to enjoy the grandchildren and new family he'd netted with all his matchmaking and millions. If Pop thought Pete had any intention of living under the same roof with him, he was mistaken. Pete would sit freezing in the darkest corner of hell before that happened. No woman, no family, no million dollars, would ever tie him to the ornery sonofagun who was his father—Pop had foretold the future ominously. Pete would never settle down. He did indeed hold long grudges—he'd learned it from the master: his father, Josiah. There was nothing more satisfying than being the blackest sheep a man could be. *** Priscilla Perkins looked at the elderly gentleman who'd seated himself in her tea shop and etiquette studio in Fort Wylie, Texas. Long of limb, strong as an ox though showing some signs of aging, Josiah Morgan was a commanding presence. He wore a black felt cowboy hat. His hair streamed long and gray to his shoulders. The jeans and shirt he wore were clean and nice enough for a meal in the city. "It's nice to finally meet you in person. I've heard a lot of nice things about you," Mr. Morgan," Priscilla said, noticing that Mr. Morgan didn't seem to feel out of place at all in the delicate surroundings. He took the tiny floral-decorated china cup she handed him and drank the tea, his sharp gaze considering her. "I noticed you were at my son, Dane's, wedding," Mr. Morgan said, "and I asked his wife, Suzy, who you were. I like to know everyone who is a friend of the family." Josiah hadn't met many of the people at Suzy Winterstone's and Dane Morgan's wedding. They hadn't been planning on him returning from France for the wedding. He'd ridden in at the last second, a flamboyant mirage on the horizon, to witness his son's nuptials. His sudden appearance had given everyone in Union Junction quite the shock, not the least his son. Pete Morgan had disappeared shortly after his father's arrival, and Suzy had told Priscilla they'd probably never see Pete again. Which will teach me, Priscilla thought, to keep myself crush-free in the future when it comes to handsome devil-may-care types. "I'm sure you're not here for etiquette lessons, Mr. Morgan, and I suspect you have no need of my party planning services nor any of my specialty teas and cookies. So what can I do for you?" His grin sent a sudden tingle down her back. It was amazing how much Pete resembled his father—maybe it was the flash of attitude, maybe it was the rascal shining through. Priscilla suspected she'd best stay on her guard. "You may have heard that I'm a meddler," Josiah said with a wink. "No," Priscilla said firmly, "what I've heard is that you are very generous to the town of Union Junction, and that you don't necessarily get along with your four sons." He gave a bark of laughter, amused by her boldness. "True enough, all of it. They say the more money you give away unselfishly, the more comes back to you. Certainly that's held true for me." She shifted uncomfortably. Her businesses, while growing, had definitely been grown from love and not abundant financial backing. "You're keeping me in suspense. My guess is that you haven't come here to talk about money." "My sons, actually," he said honestly, "at least one of the four." "I'm not good with schemes that involve other people." "And yet I understand that you were staying at the ranch with Suzy Winterstone and Cricket Jasper. Somehow during that time, my son Dane found himself in love." "No one can explain the heart," Priscilla said. He looked at her. "Sometimes a man gets a little well-needed help in falling for the woman of his dreams." "I don't think so," Priscilla said, "otherwise I'd be running a matchmaking service and not an etiquette, party planning, and tea shop." "So Dane fell in love with no help at all from you ladies." "No help except the million dollars you promised him, and your little shove in the right direction." She looked at him, full of innocence. He grinned. "You're not going to help me, are you?" "Not if you're asking me to somehow finagle any of your sons into something they don't want to do." Setting his tea cup down, he nodded. "You know, Miss Perkins, men don't always know what they want." She didn't say anything because she couldn't tell if he was speaking with regret. After a moment, he sighed. "Can I tell you something in confidence?" "Certainly." "I'm not a well man," he began, but she interrupted him immediately. "Mr. Morgan—" "Please call me Josiah." "Josiah, then," she said, "I will not be a party to whatever you're cooking up. As you noted, you're something of a meddler, and I do not meddle." "It worked out for Gabriel. And Dane and Suzy. They're all happy as clams, with kids and houses and the fairy tale dream." He looked pleased about that. "What exactly do you think you want from me? Specifically, please." Priscilla had to admit to a healthy dose of admiration for the elderly gentleman's tenacity. "I want all my boys to be happy," Josiah said, "and happiness is finding the right woman. I had the right woman once upon a time." He stared off for a moment, then returned his gaze to her. "She's living in France now, and I'm satisfied with that. Not every man is made for marriage, and my bride has always been money, I'm honest enough to say. But I'd like my sons to have better." "Shouldn't they figure that out on their own?" "And yet, what father wants his child to stumble?" Josiah asked, her face wreathed with quizzical thoughtfulness. "According to gossip, you let your boys stumble plenty," Priscilla pointed out. "People say your boys practically raised themselves, and you liked it that way." "Sometimes a man regrets his actions," Josiah said. "Sometimes a man never stops trying to earn forgiveness," Priscilla told him gently. "You know, you really are a nice man, in your own way, but I have a life here. I have commitments, things I love. I don't have any business doing whatever it is that you want from me. And you really have no right to ask anything of me, you know." "Drat," he said, "I'd heard you might have had a tiny hankering for Pete. Scuttlebutt must have had it wrong." "Now, Mr. Morgan—" "Josiah," he repeated, and she said, "Josiah, it isn't good to listen to idle gossip. You of all people should know that." He smiled, searching her face with keen eyes, not sorry at all for putting her on the spot. The wily old rancher was everything people said he was—and yet, she somehow found him endearing. "Well," he said after a moment, "it was worth a try." "What was worth a try?" He stood, and put out a hand so that he could take her hand in his gently. "I was hoping it was you, but there are other women who might be interested in my renegade son, Pete." She really didn't know what to say to such audacity. Families had their share of matchmaking enthusiasts, busybodies, and downright charmless fussbudgets bent on having their own way, but Josiah didn't cover up his intentions in the slightest. Was it really all about forgiveness—or was Josiah angling for more grandchildren? Chapter Two Two days later, Priscilla wasn't feeling the forgiving mood she'd discussed with Josiah. Under new rules—and a revised estimation of her real estate value thanks to new bank software—Priscilla learned the value of her home and business had sunk by forty thousand dollars. In the blink of an eye, she'd lost the foothold she thought she'd been gaining. Real estate was supposed to keep its value, if not go up, but with current economic conditions, banks were tightening lending standards and the way they evaluated properties. It wouldn't have been so devastating except that she'd been counting on her home to provide equity for her tea shop. Forty thousand would put her out of business. "Fine," she told her friend Deacon Cricket Jasper, who'd come over for tea and a visit, "I'll go back to doing what I was doing before I became a small businesswoman. I'll work for the government crunching numbers in a dreary office job. At least I'll have some retirement funds put away." "I don't know," Cricket said, looking around the cheery wing of the home which served as the shop. "You've done pretty well, and your shop is popular. Get an outside appraisal and ask for a home equity line of credit at a different bank." Priscilla considered that. "No one's lending money these days, certainly not to take a chance on a tiny tea shop and etiquette lessons." The thought depressed her. Her heart was in her business. "I'd be in trouble if people were to suddenly cut back on parties and etiquette lessons for their children. Maybe it's better this way." Cricket nodded. "One of my favorite sayings is that when God closes a door, he opens a window." Priscilla smiled. "You're a good friend to remind me." She glanced around her pretty little shop. The walls were painted a light, cheery pink. White tables sat here and there, inviting conversation; two pink-and-white striped antique sofas lined the walls for intimate groupings. A sparkling chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminated by tiny purple lights hidden around the ceiling tray so that soft amethyst light bathed the crystals of the chandelier and painted the hue on the ceiling. It was a comforting place. At night, when the shop was closed, she liked to sit in here with a good book, a side table lamp lighting the words. "It was just such a shock when I talked to the man at the bank. He was so sympathetic, but I felt bad. I'm not the only person this has happened to, so I don't intend to feel sorry for myself, but it wasn't welcome news." She took a deep breath. "However, I also liked my friends in the government office. I'll be fine." Cricket stood and hugged her. "It will all work out. In the meantime, you can always go see what Mr. Morgan had up his sleeve. There's usually money involved when he wants to pawn off one of his sons." Priscilla laughed, surprised, and shook her head. "As much as I liked him, I fear Josiah is a one-man con game. Truthfully, the games he's up to are beyond my scope." "Yet he has such amazing success, especially with those hardheaded boys of his. Wouldn't it be an old movie plot if he was behind this loan problem?" Cricket went out on the porch, opening her polka-dotted umbrella. "Coldest and dreariest February I think I've ever seen in Fort Wylie." "Mr. Morgan might be a busybody, but he wouldn't deliberate sabotage my business," she said, laughing. "I know. I was being dramatic. I think it's the weather." Rain puddled at the base of the porch as the rain came down harder. "Be careful," Priscilla said. "The roads can be slick." "I'll call you tomorrow. In the meantime, I'll be praying for you." Cricket cast a glance back through the door longingly. "It's so comforting in your shop that I hate to leave, and I can't stand the thought that it might not be there much longer." Priscilla waved goodbye, not sure what to say about that. She'd heard of several people in Fort Wylie having financial woes—her situation was better than most. She went inside to examine some financial statements and see what she could come up with. *** Pete Morgan sat on a military plane mulling his prospects. The last thing he wanted was to return home to the Morgan ranch, but he'd been offered a million dollars to do so, as had his brothers. Gabe and Dane had fallen under the spell of money and lovely women, but Pete was harder, more stubborn. He wouldn't have been a secret agent if he weren't tough as steel, a trait he'd inherited from the old man, maybe the only good thing he'd ever gotten from Pop. The old goat had wanted his boys tough, and that's how they'd turned out. Their oldest brother, Jack, wouldn't even contact anyone in the family. He called the rodeo circuit home. Pete had no home at the moment. After he'd finished his assignment and debriefed, he'd had time to ponder his life. He was glad he was retiring, not sorry it was all over. He was happy enough, if any of the Morgans knew what happiness was. Gabe and Dane were certainly new men since their marriages. Maybe that's what he was missing. Pete pushed that from his mind. That was Pop talking, getting in his head with his desire for more grandchildren, somehow wanting the past to be overlooked and reborn in the future. Pete had no intention of caving. He decided he'd find Jack, pay him a visit. Maybe he'd become a rancher like his brothers, throw in a little real estate venturing like Pop. Surely Jack had to be getting tired, too—his thirty years seemed to be sitting on Pete, or perhaps the traveling had worn him down. When he was younger, he'd felt very important in his job. Now he just felt tired. Maybe he was emptied by the absence of light in his life—and why that miserable thought made him think of Miss Manners, the wonderfully elusive and prissy Priscilla Perkins, he wasn't sure. *** "Wondered if you'd ever get around to visiting me," Josiah Morgan said, his eyes gleaming at Priscilla. "You're wanting to hear my plan, I expect." She seated herself in the massive den of the Morgan house just outside Union Junction. It was different here now that Josiah had taken up residence. Last month, he'd been living in France. He said he'd sold his knight's templary for a handsome profit, and moved back home to spend time with his new grandchildren. But while he'd been in France, Priscilla, Cricket, and Suzy had spent lovely days vacationing in this house, helping Suzy keep distance between herself and Dane. Distance had not been kept between the two of them, but friendships had grown stronger for the women. Priscilla hadn't known Suzy and Cricket as well then as she did now, and the time spent together was a memory she treasured. They'd baked cookies, played with Suzy's kids, teased the Morgan brothers. "We never got the curtains done for this house," Priscilla said. "We meant to. We were on the way to the fabric store when we saw Jack—" She stopped, remembering the bad blood between Josiah and his eldest son. His gaze sharpened on her. "You saw my son?" "Well, it wasn't planned," she said hurriedly. "Now, back to your plan—" "How did you see him? Where was he?" Josiah demanded. "He was hitchhiking. We only saw him for a moment, truly. However, I didn't come all the way out to Union Junction to discuss your family life," she said, injecting impatience into her tone to try to move him off the personal topic she knew was painful. "Shall we get back to the purpose of your earlier visit to me?" "How did he look?" Josiah asked, ignoring her pointed request. "Handsome," she said simply. "Ornery. Full of life. Not interested in talking to us once he found out we were living here. He wasn't in the car long enough for us to learn much." Josiah sighed. "So much like me." "Handsome? Or ornery?" His gaze shot to hers. "You're a bit of a minx, aren't you?" She smiled. "Flattery won't hurt if it gets you off of worrying about your sons. Let's hear your proposal." He waved a hand at her to pour the brandy sitting on a crystal tray between them. "There are four children in the county who are going into foster care. Their parents passed away last week in an auto accident. Very sad." He looked distressed by this occurrence. "I'm sorry to hear that." She looked at him. "Did you know them?" "I only met the parents once when Ralph Wright came out to buy a steer from me. They'd wanted children forever, and then Nancy had a surgery that helped." His expression turned crafty. "I would be interested in helping you adopt the babies." "Me!" Priscilla's mouth dropped open. "What would I do with four children, Mr. Morgan?" "Give them the home they need. As sad as their lives are now, I think it would be sadder if they had to leave the only place they've ever known, to be split up in different homes, and so on and so forth." He shook his head. "Life is going to be hard enough for them." "I don't see," Priscilla said, trying to breathe through her shock, "how you ever came to think that I would be suitable for adopting four children." "As I said before," Josiah said, "I'd heard by way of a little birdie that you might have a soft spot for my son, Pete." She blinked. "Oh, I see. You're going to do to Pete what you did to Gabe and Dane. Tie them to women with children to increase your family name." She stared at him. "Don't you think you're presuming a lot? First, that Pete would want to marry me, second that he'd want four kids, and third, that the child welfare agency would consider me suitable parenting material?" "You and Pete," Josiah said. "Whether or not Pete would want to marry you wouldn't be the issue—he would. Second, four kids will be a shock to his system, but no harder than being a secret agent. You did know that's what he does for a living, didn't you?" He watched her carefully. "No," Priscilla said, "and I'm not sure that child welfare services will find that comforting, either. But go on. I'm riveted by how you not only move your sons like pawns, but anyone else you decide you need." "You're amazed that I would play God to this extent," Josiah said equitably, "and I don't blame you. But when a man has nothing left to lose, he tries to shoot for the stars. At least I do." He took a healthy swig of the golden amber she'd poured in his glass. "Have some. It helps sometimes." "I need clear, focused wits around you, thank you," she shot back. "You've stunned me." "It's simple enough," Josiah said. "Pete needs to get married. I doubt you would be able to sleep knowing that four little newborns are going to be without parents when you could do something about it." "Newborns?" Priscilla straightened. "How young are the children?" "Sadly, only a month old." "They're quadruplets?" Josiah beamed. "I did mention Nancy's surgery? Worked like a charm." "Are they still in the hospital?" He nodded. "That's how I learned about the accident. I was visiting the hospital, and the nurses were talking about the accident. So, so sad." "Do you just troll the hospital nursery looking for children and unwed mothers?" Priscilla asked. "No," he said, laughing, not offended at all, "it's just this time, I thought of you." "You know nothing about me at all. I could be a horrible person...."