THE SECRET AGENT'S SURPRISES 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." "It's not hard to find things out in small towns." Josiah raised a glass to her. "Your parents raised you well, educated you, loved you a lot. You're very close to them, which would mean extra grandparents for these little ones. You'll need a lot of help, you know." Astonishment held Priscilla nearly numb. "Did you have my tea shop and home re-evaluated?" He looked at her. "What do you mean?" "I got a notice that my home is worth less now." "That's happening a lot in this economy. Banks don't have as much money to lend, so they're weaseling a bit." He shook his head. "No, I would never have anything to do with devaluing a property. I've made my money in commercial and private real estate around the world. I'd be the last one who would ever want to see property values depreciate." He looked at her. "Is that the real reason you came to see me?" "I knew you were a meddler," Priscilla said, lifting her chin, "and I suppose the thought came to mind. I apologize if it was incorrect." "Young lady, you're entitled to think anything you want of me, but nothing bad." He sniffed. "Contrary to what my sons think of me, most people think I'm a pretty nice old fellow." She held his gaze. "Josiah, you've been called a jackass by many people, pardon the term. I'm sorry if I had my doubts, but the news came right after your visit. I simply wondered how badly you wanted to pull your son's strings." "You're a shrewd one, I'll give you that." He eyed her sternly. "The folks who call me jackass are jealous, and I don't let that bother me. Some folks needed to get to know me better, and some I've had to ask for forgiveness from. I can be shortsighted. But one thing I'm not is a chiseler. Anybody whose done anything I've asked has benefited enormously in the financial sense, and I'd like to think in the emotional sense." He shifted in his arm chair. "Personally, I'm hoping people will remember me fondly when I'm gone." "I don't think you're going anywhere any time soon," Priscilla said, and he replied, "Don't be so certain, missy. This deal I'm trying to work with you has a definite expiration date." She sighed. "You know it's impossible, even if I wanted to be a mother to four young babies, and I'm not confident I could. I have no experience. I wouldn't know a pacifier from a—" She stopped speaking as the front door opened. Josiah turned, his brows wrinkling. Pete Morgan walked through the door and tossed a black duffel bag to the floor. He closed the door behind him, looking down the hallway to where he could see his father and Priscilla sitting in the den. His face was grim, an expression he hadn't worn last month. Tall and dark and beautiful, Priscilla saw that the man who'd been so playful with her and Cricket and Suzy last month was gone. In his place was a lean, well-muscled warrior. "Pop," Pete said, "hello, Priscilla." "Well, the prodigal returns," Josiah said, and Pete shook his head and said, "You're the prodigal. I'd heard you were in residence." "I've moved back for good," Josiah said. "Good for you," Pete said. "I won't plan on staying then." Priscilla shifted, feeling awkward. "Maybe I should go." "Maybe you should stay," Pete said, "the old man needs companionship." "I have plenty, thank you. Gabe and Dane and their wives and children visit frequently." Josiah's expression turned cantankerous. "I suppose you only came home for your million." Pete hesitated, glanced at Priscilla. "Darn right." "Well. You'll have to live here with me to get it." "That's a persuasive argument." Pete looked at Priscilla. "Would you do it for a million dollars?" Chapter Three Priscilla stood. "I'm going to let you two go over old times. I've overstayed my welcome, anyway." Pete looked at his father. "Don't you love the way she talks? So ladylike and proper." Josiah grinned. "It's very fetching." Priscilla shook her head. "You two are cut from the same cloth. I hope you enjoy your visit together." "Walk her to the door, Pete, will you?" Josiah shifted. "I'd get up, Miss Priscilla, but I've been tired lately." "There he goes with that poor-pitiful-me routine," Pete said, "I hope you haven't fallen for his game." She hesitated, glancing at his father, which made Pete wonder what they'd been discussing before his arrival. Suddenly suspicious, he whipped around to glare at his father. "You weren't by chance discussing anything to do with me?" Josiah laughed. "Ah, my son knows me too well." "That's not funny," Pete said, feeling a slight sense of panic, "I know what happens when you get wrapped up in our lives. My brothers are married with children." He looked at Priscilla. "You don't have any children, do you?" She blinked. He admired her pretty blue eyes, long blond hair, sweet full lips, angelic eyebrows—before reminding himself that the faces of angels had been known to bring good men down. He'd seen it happen often in his line of work. "You don't have children, do you, Miss Perkins?" he repeated more sternly. "No," she said, her tone cool, "you know I do not." "Well, then, stay and have some dinner with us. It's sure to be an awkward affair." Pete gave her his most affable grin. "And you didn't answer my question, which I take to mean you wish to take the high road and stay out of our affairs." "What question was that?" she demanded. "You two are full of hooks and angles and thorny emotional issues." "About whether you'd live with the old man for a year for a million dollars, if you were me." She shook her head. "You're right. I don't wish to be drawn in to your squabble. Personally, I don't like the way you play kingmaker, Josiah. Pete, I don't particularly think you're courteous to your father. Bygones are sometimes best as bygones." Josiah sat up in his arm chair. "You mean, you don't think Pete should have a million dollars?" "I don't care whether he does or not. I'm a tea connoisseur, not a family therapist." "Well," Josiah said, "I thought she was the right woman for you, but she's not, Pete." Pete turned to face his father, then looked back at Priscilla. "Was he trying to get you to entice me into marriage? I know it's not a polite question, but he did it to both my brothers." "Yes." Priscilla lifted her chin to meet his gaze. "He has every intention of interfering in your life." "And what did you tell him?" Pete asked quietly, feeling his entire body tense. "I told him I didn't think you'd marry me, and that I didn't think you wanted to father four newborns." Pete blinked, recoiling for the slightest instant before looking at his father. "You're crazy, you know that?" Josiah watched the two of them carefully, his eyes hooded with interest. Now he grinned, delighted to be, Pete thought, playing the role of munificent fairy godfather. "Just hate to see four little babies without parents," Pop said, his voice innocent. "At least you four had each other. These Wright children will be split up." He shrugged. "I can't save the world, I know that. It was just a thought, nothing to get a brave spy like yourself in a lather over." Picking up the daily newspaper, he shook it out importantly. "Just four little babies, counting on someone to save their worlds," he muttered. "I'll be going now," Priscilla said, "welcome home, Pete. Mr. Morgan—" "Josiah," he reminded her. "Yes," she said, "Josiah, it was interesting to see you again." "Again?" Pete looked at her. "When did he see you before?" "He visited me at my tea shop." Pete studied her before looking at his father. "You went all the way to Fort Wylie to hatch this plan?" "Yes," Josiah said with a shrug. "Couldn't very well do it by phone, could I? Would have been rude." He chuckled to himself. Pete told himself the front door was open, he could leave his father and his shenanigans behind just as easily as stand here. But he had to admit he was hooked by the game. He had a funny feeling Josiah hadn't shown all of his cards—yet. "So what did you think of my father's well-intentioned angling?" "I think it's presumptive. He shouldn't assume you and I would want to get married." Josiah cleared his throat, looking at Priscilla meaningfully. After a second, Priscilla's face colored slightly. "What?" Pete demanded. "Let me in on the private secret you two are sharing." "There's nothing," Priscilla said airily, not wanting Josiah to blurt his information about her "little crush" on Pete. "Goodbye, and good luck with your mission, Josiah. Pete, good to see you again. I'll show myself out. I remember where the front door is." She hurried down the foyer hall but Pete wasn't letting her go that easily. "Excuse me, Pop. You and I aren't finished discussing your plot, but right now, I want to talk to her." He hurried after Priscilla, catching her in the yard. "Let me apologize for my father," he said, but she said, "Why? He's his own man." Pete nodded. "And everyone else's. Did he offer you money?" "No!" Priscilla frowned at him. "Then he was only getting warmed up. He will offer you money." "It doesn't matter, Pete," she said firmly, "I'm not interested in getting married, I don't want to live in Union Junction, and you're not a man I'd consider. So it doesn't bother me how many webs he spins. I know I'm safe." "Yeah," Pete said, "it's only my neck in the noose." "That's true," Priscilla agreed, "I'd be willing to bet you'll be married in a month to some poor girl." "Hey!" He tried not to laugh at Priscilla's forthright teasing. "Any woman would be lucky to have me." "You forget, I've shared a roof with you. You're fun, but you're not exactly husband material." Pete took that barb with a pang. "I know. I wish I was. But it's just not me." She turned toward her car to open the door. "He is a cute old thing in his over-eager way." "He's a pain in the as—" "How long are you off?" Priscilla interrupted. "Off?" "Off duty? Or whatever your break is called." "I'm done with the service. I've served my country for many years. It's time to chart a new course." Pete caught himself staring at Priscilla's long legs, toyed with some anger with his father, felt sadness for the four babies who had no parents, and realized he was a jumble of conflicting emotions at the moment. "Maybe I shouldn't have retired so soon," he said glumly. "I didn't factor that with two boys down and Jack nowhere to be seen, I'll now be the sole focus of Pop's chicanery. I was hoping for some peace and quiet, have the house to myself, collect my million, not think much about the old man. Now he's got me thinking about him, and you, and the kids." "Don't think about me," Priscilla said, sliding into the car. "You have no idea how unavailable I am." He leaned in her window. "Good. Keep reminding me of that." "You bet your boots I will." Priscilla started the engine. "Take care of your father, okay? He's not as bad as you boys paint him." "Sure he is," Pete said. "He's just got you buffaloed. He does it to everyone." She shook her head with a smile, not believing him, and drove away. But it was true. "I'm going to kill him," he muttered to himself, and went inside to have it out with the one person who had the power to drive him completely nuts. His father sat in his chair dozing, or pretending to. "Pop," Pete said, "I haven't had a real conversation with you in what, ten years?" "Your choice, not mine." Pete took a deep breath, willing himself to be calm. "You've got to quit with this family obsession. You'll have to be satisfied that Dane and Gabe succumbed to your feudal approach to family." "It wasn't about you, actually," Josiah said, opening his eyes, "it was about the children. I never even thought about you and Priscilla until I heard those babies were going into foster care. They have no family, and no one around here is prepared to take on the care of four preemie newborns." "Nor am I." Pete couldn't imagine what his father had been thinking. "I hope you noticed Priscilla wasn't exactly on board with your plan. In fact, she acted like a woman who was being offered a bad deal." "Yeah, she didn't seem to like you as much as I'd heard she did." Josiah reached for his brandy. Pete's attention caught on his father's words. "What do you mean, you heard Priscilla liked me?" He wondered why his heart rate sped up; his whole body seemed to go on alert. Josiah shrugged. "I heard she had a hankering for you. Usually my sources are pretty good, but this time, they clearly weren't top drawer, 'cause as far as I could tell, the lady's not interested in you one bit." That wasn't what he wanted to hear. He was, in fact, surprisingly disappointed. "I don't know," Pete said, "we had some good times last month. There might have been something there." "Well, it's gone now," Josiah said. "A single woman who doesn't jump at a man, a ring, and four children isn't in the presence of her Prince Charming." "You might have overplayed your hand," Pete pointed out. "Maybe she's not the kind of woman who wants children." "Every woman wants children." "Four is a lot to start off a marriage with, don't you think?" Pete thought he couldn't handle that many; one child would probably blow his mind. "Pop, these are little people with special needs. They need to go to a family who is prepared to deal with that." "It won't be a home," Josiah said, "it'll be several. I hate that." He sighed deeply. "It doesn't matter. As you said, Priscilla doesn't seem to like you, so this is all moot." "I never said Priscilla doesn't like me!" Pete said. "She doesn't even know me." "She was here with you for several days last month. Clearly that was enough for her. No, I'll have to look elsewhere to figure out how to help those babies." "Jack?" Pete snorted. "Pop, you are never going to see Jack in this house. In fact, you'll be lucky if you ever see him anywhere." Josiah's brows furrowed. "Every father wants to see his children before he dies so don't dash my hopes. Someone in this county surely wants four wonderful babies, although I never said Jack was the answer." "Well, you're not dying, so I'm not dashing anything. I'm merely stating what you know to be true about Jack." Josiah gave him a long, considering look. "The truth is, I am dying." Pete's insides turned to stone. "You'll have to be dragged off this earth kicking and screaming, Pop. You're going to harass us forever. Anyway, you'd never let go with two of us unwed." Josiah shook his head. "I'm afraid I'll have to settle for a fifty percent success rate in this one thing, because the old clock of life is winding down on me." Pete slowly realized his father was totally serious. The silence in the den felt heavy and somber; Pete could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he recognized that his father wasn't trying to manipulate a reaction from him. He swallowed. "What's wrong, Pop?" "I've had a spot of trouble with some kidney issues." Josiah shrugged. "You're the first person I've told. I think Suzy guessed, but I knew I'd talk about it in my own good time." The anger that Pete had held close to him for so many years, in fact, the very burst of vengeful words he'd come home to loose receded behind an emotional compartment marked To Deal With Later. "Have you seen a doctor?" "Loads of them. There's nothing really to be done, short of a kidney transplant, and I would never ask anyone to give up a kidney for an old geezer like me. Plus I opted to forego the usual treatments. Basically, I came home to die." Pete stared at his father, still suspiciously looking for any sign of manipulation. For once, Josiah's face was serene and forthright. "Why are you telling me this?" Josiah shrugged. "The times I share with my sons and their families are the times that keep me hanging on. Otherwise I might as well be a hopeless old wrench in life's party." "So what's the prognosis for your situation?" Pete asked, dreading the answer. "Same outcome we'll all get eventually. Only mine will come sooner than later. Maybe a year, probably less." Josiah shifted and raised the glass of brandy to him. "I self-medicate. I'm not supposed to, of course. Have real medicine I'm supposed to take." He smacked his lips after he sipped his drink. "This is tasty medicine." "I'll join you for a dose, then." Pete needed a drink. He needed more than a drink. After traveling miles and living for years nursing anger, brandy wasn't going to help him much. He'd have preferred to come home and spit in the old man's eye. Now not only did he not want to confront his father, he felt an overwhelming urge to know the real Josiah Morgan, the man whose guard was finally let down and whose true heart was finally bared for all to see.