Triple treat (18 page)

Connor Tremaine, out of breath from his run, arrived to announce, "The baby's not anywhere near the pool."

"No, he's here. He decided to swim in the dining room instead," Cole Tremaine said dryly.

Everybody laughed. Emily, still wailing in Tyler's arms, pumped up her volume, effectively drowning out the laughter with her cries. Carrie felt every eye upon them. Someday, she would laugh about this herself, she silently promised, but right now that day seemed light years away.

"We're going home," she announced.

The crowd parted to let her through. Certainly no one was going to stop her or insist that she stay. She raced back toward the entrance, carrying Franklin and Dylan in her arms. The young brothers seemed to be discussing their evening out. Through the buzzing in her ears, Carrie heard them repeating "dog" and "wet" several times.

"Incredible! I can't believe that Tyler actually did it!" Nathaniel Tremaine materialized at her elbow, keeping pace with her as she rushed to the door. "Who are you, really? Did Tyler hire you and those kids from the same agency that shoots commercials for us?"

"What are you talking about?" Carrie muttered, not breaking her stride.

"You don't have to pretend with me," Nathaniel jovially assured her. "I know my brother hired you to show up here tonight as his date—and adding all those kids was a master touch! Wow! Tyler warned Dad that he'd had it with their meddling matchmaking, and trying to fix him up with Nina's heinous nieces was the last straw! He definitely made his point tonight. I bet Dad will stop hounding him now! So what's the going rate for a gig like this?"

"Ten thousand dollars," Carrie said tightly. "I keep half and the rest is split among the kids. We've worked together

before. The agency saw the resemblance between all of us and took full advantage of it. Just look at the three children, wouldn't you swear they were blood relatives?''

Nathaniel peered closely at Dylan and Franklin. "I sure would. These two look lite twins."

1 'The miracles of proper casting," Carrie said succinctly. They reached the vestibule and the butler politely swung open the door for her. "Would you do me a favor?" she asked Nathaniel. "Get the other baby from your brother and take her to my car for me? Our work here is through."

'Til do you a favor, if you'll do one for me," Nathaniel said smoothly. "I want your phone number. I don't want to hire you—I'd like to go out with you."

Carrie looked at him archly. "Why not ask one of Nina's nieces out instead? I'm sure your new kissin' cousins will be only too happy to go anywhere with you."

She strode to her car. If only she and the children could be magically teleported out of here, she thought grimly as she buckled Dylan and Franklin into their car seats. She didn't want to even look at Tyler, but since he had Emily, she was forced to acknowledge his presence.

He was behind her now, and she snatched her still-sniffling daughter from him, her blue eyes flashing fire. "You can go back to the party now," she snapped. "I'm sure nobody will mind that you're a tad undepressed for it." Least of all those two slavering nieces with dollar signs in their eyes.

Tyler had the nerve to laugh. "Some Fourth of July picnic, huh?"

"How could you, Tyler?" Carrie turned on him, having safely strapped all three children inside the car. "I understand you resenting your father's and Nina's matchmaking attempts, but to—to use us this way, to make fools of us!" She was horrified that her eyes had filled with tears and she stubbornly blinked them away.

Tyler stared at her. It was finally dawning on him that she failed to see the humor in the situation. "I didn't use you/' he protested. "Carrie, you don't think that I deliberately misled you about tonight, do you? Because I didn't."

Carrie slipped behind the steering wheel, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead. She couldn't bear to look at the traitor. "You didn't know this was a formal dinner dance? You thought it was a casual family picnic, complete with kids running around in the backyard and hot dogs on the grill?"

"Yeah," Tyler replied rather belligerently. "I did. That's a fairly typical way to spend the Fourth of July, isn't it? We'd done it that way last year, but I guess Nina's pretentious social ambitions have advanced since then, not to mention her two gold-digging nieces hoping to jump aboard the Tremaine gravy train themselves."

"You actually expect me to believe that you weren't told what kind of an affair this was? Especially since you and your brother are the door prizes for Aunt Nina's and Uncle Richard's guests of honor?" She turned the key in the ignition. "Don't insult my intelligence, Tyler."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Slide over, I'll drive," Tyler decreed, and tried to shove her toward the passenger side, so he could get behind the wheel.

Carrie didn't budge. "I'm driving," she said so fiercely that even Tyler recognized the wisdom in not pushing her.

"Okay," he said carefully. "You drive. I'll ride shotgun." He started to walk around the car.

Carrie gunned the engine. The moment after he'd passed in front of the car, she took off, tires peeling, sending gravel flying. She caught a glimpse of a stunned Tyler in the rear-view mirror, watching their getaway.

From the back seat came a mournful wail. "Ty!" It was Emily, and when there was no response, she burst into tears, her cries a mixture of sadness and rage.

Carrie knew how she felt, but there was little she could do to console her child while driving the car. "Let's listen to some songs," she said with ghastly false cheer, switching on the radio in an attempt to divert all erf then*.

It was either an unfortunate coincidence or pure fate that "Achy, Breaky Heart" blared through the speakers. Carrie's own heart felt heavy as lead in her chest. It was over with Tyler; it had to be over.

Tonight he'd shown what he really thought of them: that they were convenient pawns to be used in his power struggle with his father, that their very presence ensured a ruined evening. The triplets were too young to realize the unattractive role they'd been cast in v and if Carrie should feel hurt and humiliated and betrayed...

Well, what concern was that to a heartbreaker like Tyler Tremaine?

Ten

They had crossed the District line when Carrie realized that she was being followed. A sleek black car—she was uncertain of the make, but it looked sporty and masculine and very expensive—was directly behind her and stayed there, changing lanes when she did, exiting the beltway after her, making the same turns onto the city streets. She knew who was riding in that supercharged machine though not who was behind the wheel of it. None other than Tyler himself.

Apparently, he was seeking the very confrontation she'd been hoping to avoid. Her nerves were taut, her stomach churning, by the time she pulled up in front of her house. Moments later, the black car pulled alongside her.

Tyler sprang from the passenger side. "Thanks, Connor," he called, slamming the car door. Connor zoomed I away with a jaunty honk of the horn.

"Connor drove you?" Carrie blurted out. She was immediately annoyed with herself. She'd fully intended to freeze out Tyler with icy silence. Well, so much for that

plan; she might as well move on to sarcasm now. "You actually deigned to accept a ride from your allegedly scheming half brother?"

Tyler nodded sheepishly. "I guess that must tell you something about how much I—"

"It tells me that you're willing to use anyone to serve your purposes,'' Carrie cut in. "Both enemies and friends."

"You managed to miss the point entirely," Tyler said cryptically. "But maybe it's for the best."

They worked together in tense silence, lifting the triplets out of the car and shepherding them into the house. Emily clung to Tyler like a baby monkey^ and when Carrie tried tcr take her from him, the little traitor howled her protest.

"Don't worry, honey, Ty will stay right here with you," Tyler said, ostensibly to Emily, though he was looking smugly at Carrie as he spoke.

"It's past their bedtime but they have to have dinner first since they didn't get anything to eat at that bogus picnic of yours," Carrie said coldly.

"Franklin did," Tyler drawled. "I saw him chomping on some of Nina's flower arrangement."

Carrie glared at him. "You think this is all a great big joke, don't you? It doesn't matter to you that I was mortified to show up there, univited and—"

"/invited you!"

"But you neglected to mention that fact to either Nina or your father. All part of your nasty little plan, I suppose. Spring, the kids and me on your unsuspecting relatives for full shock value."

"You're reading way too much into this, Carrie. I didn't-"

"Tyler, just shut up!" Her voice was too low for the triplets to hear and gleefully parrot, but the fierce intensity of her words was not masked.

With the toddlers in their high chairs, gnawing on bread, Carrie put together a meal for them. Tyler watched her in-

tently. Her back was ramrod straight; she was tense as a tightly wound spring. She didn't say a word to him, didn't glance his way until after she'd served the children their dinner.

Finally, she turned to face him. Her blue eyes were glacial. "Are you still here?" she asked, her tone as arctic as her stare.

"Pm not going anywhere, Carrie." He folded his arms and lounged against the counter, his pose deceptively casual. His feelings were anything but casual; he felt wired and wild.

"The game is over, Tyler," she said flatly*

"Do you mind telling me exactly what game it is we're playing? Tag? You ran and I caught you. Hide-and-seek? You came back here to your place to hide and I found you."

"I think it's charades," snapped Carrie. "I'm supposed to guess what part you're playing now. Well, forget it. I can't. You're too accomplished an actor."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I—I quit. Our friendship—if that's what it is or ever was—is over. I'm not going to let you use me and my children as ammunition in your adolescent feud with your father and his wife. From now on, you're no longer welcome to come over here and kill time with us while you're waiting for your—your self-imposed exile from the social scene to end."

"You don't want to see me anymore?" Tyler stared at her in disbelief. There was a roaring in his ears, and his every muscle was tensed. "Is that what you're trying to say, Carrie?"

"I'm not trying, I'm saying it!"

"All because of a stupid picnic that—"

"There was no picnic!" cried Carrie. "And you knew it!"

"Carrie, listen to me." Tyler gritted through clenched teeth. "Nina invited me to the house on the Fourth, saying that my father especially wanted me to come, thereby mak-

ing it mandatory, not optional, that I show up. After she said that, I stopped listening to her. I completely tuned her out. I assumed it would be the same lousy picnic as last year. Maybe she told me it was a formal dinner dance—she probably did—but I wasn't paying any attention. I make it a point not to listen to Nina while she yaks on and on."

"I suppose you didn't know that her nieces were to be there either," Carrie said scornfully.

Tyler grimaced. "I did know about them because Nathaniel called me to complain. Neither of us wanted to meet them. We figured that being Nina's nieces, they probably had all the charm of Cinderella's stepsisters. I decided to bring you and the kids with me because I wanted all of them, the entire family, to know that—"

"— you were sick and tired of being the object of their meddling," Carrie finished for him. "And that their punishment for this particular matchmaking attempt was to bring in the junior wrecking crew to demolish the party."

She thought of Franklin on the well-appointed table, the lovely centerpiece ruined along with Lord knows what else and of Emily's nonstop screaming. The junior wrecking crew had certainly given it their best shot. But she couldn't blame the babies. It was all Tyler's fault. She glowered balefully at him.

Tyler's lips thinned into a straight line. What he'd been about to blurt out had shocked him as much as it would've astonished Carrie, had she let him say it. He'd almost told her that he had wanted his family to meet the woman and children with whom he'd been spending all his spare time, that he wanted them all to know he was not available for matchmaking, no matter what or with whom.

He was no longer eligible. He was seriously involved with Carrie Shaw Wilcox, mother of three. He was in love with a woman he hadn't even taken to bed yet! And if that wasn't enough, she was looking at him as if she hated him. She'd already told him she didn't want to see him again.

He pulled out a chair and sat down hard. "Well, this is a helluva mess/'

"You're finally willing to concede that what you did was cruel and rude and completely unfeeling?" Carrie demanded.

"I'm willing to concede that I screwed up by mistaking the damn dinner dance for a picnic. But I still don't think it's the capital offense you're making it out to be, Carrie. I mean, look at me. I'm not exactly dressed for a formal party, either, but I didn't feel humiliated because everybody else was running around in tuxes."

"You were undoubtedly proud of yourself," Carrie agreed acidly. "It fits the in-your-face statement you were trying to make."

Tyler sighed exasperatedly. "Damn, you're stubborn! Why won't you let yourself believe me? I didn't take you to my father's house to shock him or to humiliate you. I didn't get the attire straight and you were embarrassed in front of the others, and for that I sincerely apologize. But I think you owe me an apology too, Carrie."

"Me? For what?"

"For all your name-calling and accusations, which are both untrue and unfounded."

"That's not the way I see it." A chaotic blend of anger and pain swirled inside her. "I think it's best that you leave now, Tyler."

He stood up. "So you think that's best, do you? I wonder how the kids will feel about it?"

"If you try to drag them into this, you'll simply prove my point that you're willing to use them to advance your own agenda."

"My own agenda," Tyler repeated wryly, rising to his feet. "Right. I'll do anything to promote it, won't I?" Too bad he didn't even know what it was.