Nick walked to the door. “It seems odd to pick up the girls and leave Amarillo without saying goodbye in some way.”
“I know.” The attorney nodded. “But their wills were very specific. As the closest living relative, Amy’s sister will organize a memorial service so friends can pay their respects when she returns.”
“I’m damned sure neither of them ever thought they’d die together and leave the kids,” Nick muttered, almost to himself.
“No one ever does.” Sanchez shook his head. “It’s a hell of a situation. We’ll just have to do the best we can and search diligently for the children’s aunt.”
“Right.” Nick said goodbye and left the office to climb into the town car once more.
The conversation with Andrew Sanchez had driven home the unbelievable fact that Stan and Amy were gone. Nick barely noticed the streets the limo drove down as they headed toward the hotel.
Despite his conviction that Charlene wasn’t the best choice for an employee on a purely personal level, he definitely believed her experience made her the perfect woman to care for Stan’s daughters. Before he unpacked his bag in the hotel room, he called his office in Red Rock and asked his assistant to run a preliminary employment check on Charlene London.
Just in case, he told himself, she called and said yes to the job offer. He knew the fact that she hadn’t given him her contact number made the likelihood a million-to-one shot—but he was a man who believed in luck.
And he was going to need a boatload of luck to get through the next few days, or weeks, or however long it took before the triplets’ aunt showed up to claim them.
Chapter Two
The following morning, the same limo driver picked Nick up promptly at 9:00 a.m.
“We’re here, sir.” The driver’s voice broke Nick’s absorption in memories and he realized they were parked in front of a white rambler with a fenced yard and worn grass. It looked lived-in and comfortable.
“So we are,” he muttered.
“Mr. Sanchez told me to wait and drive you all to the airport when you’re ready, sir.”
“Good, thanks,” Nick said absently, focused on what awaited him within the house.
A round young woman in jeans and green T-shirt answered his knock, a little girl perched on her hip.
“Hello, you must be Nick Fortune. I’m Christie Williams. My husband and I are…were friends of Stan and Amy. We volunteered to be temporary foster parents for the girls. Come in.”
She held the door wide and Nick stepped over the threshold into a living room, the green carpet strewn with toys. Two babies sat on the floor in the midst of the confusion of blocks, balls, stuffed animals and brightly colored plastic things that Nick couldn’t identify. The girls’ black hair and bright blue eyes were carbon copies of the child on Christie’s hip, who stared at him with solemn interest.
A woman in a gray business suit rose from the sofa as he entered.
“Mr. Fortune, it’s a pleasure to see you.” She stepped forward and held out her hand, her grip firm in a brief handshake. “I’m Carol Smith, the caseworker. As you can see, the girls are doing well.”
Nick nodded, murmuring an absent acknowledgment, his attention on the two little girls seated on the floor. Both of them eyed him with solemn, bigeyed consideration. They were dressed in tiny little tennis shoes and long pants with attached bibs, one in pale purple, one in pink. He glanced at the baby perched on the foster mother’s hip. She wore the same little bibbed pants with tennis shoes, only her outfit was bright yellow.
“They’re identical?” He hadn’t expected them to look so much alike. If it wasn’t for the color of their clothes, he wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.
“Yes, they are,” Ms. Smith replied. “It’s quite rare, actually. In today’s world, many multiple births are the result of in vitro procedures and the children are more commonly fraternal twins or triplets. But Jackie, Jenny and Jessie are truly identical.”
“I see.” Great. How am I going to tell them apart?
“Fortunately, Amy had their names engraved on custom-made bracelets for each of them. She and Stan didn’t need to use them, of course, but any time the triplets had a babysitter, the bracelets were immensely helpful,” the foster mother added. “This is Jackie.” She shifted the little girl off her hip and handed her to Nick.
Taken off guard, he automatically took the child, holding her awkwardly in midair with his hands at her waist.
Jackie stared at him, blue eyes solemn as she studied him, her legs dangling. She wriggled, little legs scissoring, and Nick cradled her against his chest to keep from dropping her.
She responded by chortling and grabbing a fistful of his blue polo shirt in one hand and smacking him in the chin with her other. Startled, Nick eyed the little girl who seemed to find it hilarious that she’d found his chin. She babbled a series of nonsensical sounds, and then paused to look expectantly at him.
He looked at the foster mother in confusion. “What did she say?”
The woman laughed, her eyes twinkling. “I have no idea. She’ll be perfectly happy if you just respond in some way.”
“Oh.” Nick looked down into the little face, still clearly awaiting a response. “Uh, yeah. That sounds good,” he said, trying his best to sound as if he was agreeing with an actual question.
Jackie responded with delight, waving her arms enthusiastically and babbling once again.
Five minutes of this back and forth and Nick started to feel as if he were getting the hang of baby chat.
“Do they know any real words?” he asked the two women after he’d taken turns holding each of the little girls and had exchanged similar conversations with Jenny and Jessie.
“Not that I’ve heard,” Christie volunteered. “But at twelve months, I wouldn’t expect them to, necessarily.”
Nick nodded, watching the three as they sat on the floor, playing with large, plastic, red-and-blue blocks. Jenny threw one and the square red toy bounced off his knee. He grinned when she laughed, waving her hands before she grabbed another block. She tossed with more enthusiasm than accuracy and it flew across the room. Clearly disappointed, she frowned at him when he chuckled.
“They’re going to be a handful,” he murmured, more to himself than to the two women.
“Oh, they certainly will be—and are,” Christie agreed. “Have you hired a nanny to help you care for them?”
“Not yet. I called a Red Rock employment agency this morning, but they didn’t have anyone on their books. They promised to keep searching and call the minute they find someone.” Nick glanced at his watch. “I have reservations for a noon flight.”
“You’re going to fly the girls back to Red Rock?”
Nick switched his gaze from the girls to Christie. Her facial expression reflected the concern in her question.
“I’d planned to.” He didn’t miss the quick exchange of worried looks between the foster mother and social worker. “Is there a problem with taking the girls on an airplane?”
“I’m just wondering how you’re going to juggle all three of them, let alone their luggage, stroller and the carry-on bags with their things.” Carol Smith pointed at the corner of the living room closest to the outer door. The area was filled with luggage, a large leather shoulder bag, toys and three ungainly looking children’s car seats. A baby stroller for