The thought seeded—and was quickly suppressed—that it might have been easier for her if one of her babies had died. She’d have been upset, of course, but that might have made things easier with Fletch. There was no chance that she could have kept it a secret, though. In a little place like the Fork, there was no way to keep a secret like that.
But at least Fletch wouldn’t have had to feed it. And there was always the possibility that he might have become attached to the one that remained. After all, he didn’t have any sons, only four daughters. She caught her breath. Which was just another reason why she was so on edge.
It was eight years since Joanne, her youngest daughter, had been born, and she and Fletch had agreed then that they couldn’t afford any more children. That was why he’d been so furious when she’d told him she was pregnant; so suspicious, too, that the baby wasn’t his.
But, somehow, she’d convinced him that it was, even if she had got a beating for her pains. But that was nothing new. Fletch often beat her when he’d had too much to drink. And at least the fact that he drank too much had given her an excuse. She doubted he knew exactly what he did when he’d swallowed more than a quart of whisky.
Things had gotten harder after she’d had to give up her job at the diner. By the time she was six months pregnant, Ben Garrett had decided she was no longer an asset to his business. The timber bosses and travellers who used the diner wanted a pretty woman to serve their needs. Not one boasting a stomach that stretched the buttons of her overall.
These past three months had been bleak. Fletch grumbled all the time about how they were going to continue paying the rent, and he stayed out later and later, drinking and playing cards with his cronies. The girls were needing new shoes for the coming winter, and the eldest, Lisa, was desperate to go to college. But how could they afford that, Alice fretted, when they barely had enough to eat? How were they going to feed one baby let alone two?
One of the babies stirred, small lips sucking at some non-existent teat, one star-shaped hand unfolding to expose a milky palm. Oh, God, they were so beautiful, she thought, stretching out her hand to touch a downy head. Dark hair clung to her fingers; a soft scalp shaped itself to her palm.
A hand touched her shoulder. “Alice?”
She started violently, turning to face the man behind her with wide, unguarded eyes. “Jacob!” Her mouth was dry, and she looked anxiously over his shoulder. “Oh, God, Jacob, what are you doing here? Do you want to get me hanged?”
“I just heard.” Jacob Wolfe’s voice was soft and soothing, his eyes moving beyond her stiffening form to where the two babies lay together, their cribs side by side. “Oh, Alice, they’re amazing! Why didn’t you tell me you were going to have twins?”
Alice looked around the ward with panic-stricken eyes. But thankfully, most of the women appeared to be asleep. Those she knew, or knew her anyway. The others couldn’t know that Jacob wasn’t her husband. Or at least she prayed they didn’t. But that didn’t mean that he could stay.
“You’ve got to go,” she said, her voice low and anguished. “You shouldn’t be here. If anyone sees you, if anyone recognises you—”
“They won’t.” Ignoring her fears, the babies’ father hooked his hip onto the bed. He took her resisting hands in his. “How are you? They told me at the diner that you’d been admitted last night.”
“At the diner?” Alice was horrified. “Oh, Jacob, you didn’t—”
“Hey, there aren’t that many twins born around here,” he declared softly. “Of course, it’s a talking point.” He smoothed his thumbs over her knuckles. “I didn’t ask any questions. Nobody suspects.”
“Fletch will,” said Alice unsteadily, drawing her hands out of his grasp. “There are no twins in his family. Mine neither, come to that.”
“No.” Jacob turned his head and looked almost enviously at the two sons he could never claim as his own. “Are they both strong? Are they healthy?”
Alice stifled a resentful retort, and nodded. “It looks like it,” she said, trying not to feel bitter. It was six months since she had laid eyes on him, and she’d hoped she’d never see him again. It wasn’t fair, she thought. A man could flirt with a woman indiscriminately; he could tease her and flatter her, and make her feel so good, she didn’t know if she was on her head or her heels. Particularly a man like Jacob Wolfe, with his dark good looks and tall, lean figure, and a bankroll to match the flashy car he drove.
He’d come into the diner one day last fall, and from the very beginning he’d let her know he found her attractive. And what the hell, she had been attractive, thought Alice grimly, aware that in a place like Blackwater Fork her red-blond hair and shapely figure had always marked her for attention. It was why Ben Garrett had hired her, for God’s sake. He could have had any number of teenage girls to serve his customers coffee and the juicy steaks and luscious cheesecakes his wife cooked up in the kitchen of the diner, but he’d chosen Alice. She might be in her thirties; she might have four children, three of whom were already on the way to growing up. But she was still the best-looking woman he had ever employed, and the increase in his takings since he took her on had justified his confidence in his decision.
Jacob Wolfe was something else. Alice had known that from the start. For all he dressed like the other men in casual shirts and jeans, he was no salesman. Not a trucker like Fletch, either, with dirty fingernails and calluses on his palms. No, he was a gentleman, she’d known that right away. Which was why she’d been so flustered when he’d shown so much interest in her.
She’d been a fool, she knew it. She’d never been a pushover for any man until Jacob came along. Apart from anything else, she’d known what Fletch would do to her if he ever found her messing with anyone else. And for all her faults, she’d always been a good mother. She loved her kids, and she’d do nothing to threaten their future.
But Jacob had gotten under her skin, and although Ben had told her he owned a mill up north and that he’d only come down here looking for timber, she’d found herself watching for him every time someone opened the diner door.
She hadn’t really expected him to come back. After that first time, when he’d taken her home after dark in his fancy car, she’d been sure that was the last she’d see of him. He’d gotten what he wanted. He’d made mad, passionate love to her in the rear seat of his car, parked in the back of Dillon’s Grocery, with the fear of Sheriff Peyton finding them and reporting them to Fletch.
But he had come back. All through that winter, when the roads were frozen and treacherous, and anyone with a lick of sense would have stayed home in New Jersey, he’d made the trek to Blackwater Fork. Luckily, he’d been able to strike some deal with Abe Henry out at the lumber yard, giving him a legitimate excuse to stay around. And if Ben had had his suspicions, he wasn’t saying anything to Fletch. He’d heard that old story about the king shooting the messenger.
Alice supposed she had been naíve thinking she could get away with it. But the times she was with Jacob were the best times of her life. Fletch had never made her feel like Jacob made her feel. She’d wanted him with an urgency that had defied all reason.
She didn’t know what she’d expected would come of it. She never asked Jacob about himself, about his life away from Blackwater Fork, and he never volunteered it. It was as if they were both fooling themselves that this was the only life they knew.
Finding herself pregnant had not been part of the equation. She’d had a coil fitted after Joanne was born, and Jacob always used a rubber. She’d thought she was safe—from that eventuality at least. But accidents happened, and she’d found herself just another victim….
“You knew I’d come,” he said now, aware of the wounded censure in her eyes. “I want to help you,