Chapter 2

Luke Donovan glanced down at his watch. Six-ten. Late again. He wrenched open the door to the minivan and threw his briefcase across the seat, sliding in after it. Thank goodness for Terry Stevens. If it wasn’t for her, and her daughter Cathy’s family, he’d be in a real bind. He cranked the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, cursing the spray of slush that splashed across the windshield. It was already dark. The kids would be anxious. Dammit!

One of the things Luke loved about Havenport was the ability to get virtually anywhere within a couple of minutes. The town—that was a generous term—was really nothing more than a bedroom community for nearby Rochester, a cluster of a half-dozen streets stretching from Lake Road to the south shore of Lake Ontario. There were a few businesses: a gas station with a snack bar, a hardware store, a hairdresser—a woman who cut and colored her customers’ hair in her kitchen—a post office, and a municipal planning and development office.

It was an odd, out-of-the-way place to have a development office—no doubt someone owed someone a favor—but it suited Luke just fine. He was an architect and it was conveniently close for meeting with planning officials, which is what he’d been doing all friggin’ day. The amount of bureaucracy these small-town planners could dream up was mind-numbing. In the end, he’d gotten his way, as he knew he would—he just wished it hadn’t taken nine hours for them to see reason. The local council wanted its new community to be built in a way that took advantage of all the latest environmentally sustainable technologies, and that was what he specialized in.

Luke slowed and turned into the Stevens’ driveway, pulling up beside a bright orange-colored vehicle. Terry must have a visitor. He hoped his tardiness hadn’t interfered with her plans. Poor choice for an automobile around this area, though. On these roads you’d like something a little larger than a sub-compact. He got out of his minivan and examined the car more closely. All-season tires? Good luck in a month when the weather really turns nasty. Then he noticed the rental sticker. Okay, he’d cut whoever it was some slack. They probably didn’t know better and likely wouldn’t be here longer than a few days.

In his pocket he felt the vibration of his cell phone before the strains of “I Like to Move It, Move It”—Lucy’s pick—began. He retrieved it, glanced at the name “L. Burkholder,” closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. Nope, not going to deal with her today. He couldn’t avoid her forever, but it was after six o’clock and he was on family time now. The fact she’d left three messages earlier in the day…? Well, he’d been busy, hadn’t he? He declined the call and turned off his phone.

“Hello!” Luke called, opening the front door and bracing himself for the usual onslaught of enthusiastic hugs. There was a commotion in the kitchen and then an unfamiliar voice, but no children. He kicked off his boots to investigate.

He was greeted by a chorus of “Hello, Daddy” as he entered the kitchen, but his six children remained seated at the table, plates in front of them piled high with spaghetti. A woman he didn’t recognize rose. “Mr. Donovan, I presume. The children were hungry waiting for you, so I prepared them dinner.”

She was attractive with shoulder-length brown hair, a bright floral short-sleeve blouse with turquoise ankle-length pants—a little dressy for kids and spaghetti—and over-sized gray work socks on her feet. She had a warm sun-drenched glow to her skin, but her perfectly applied make-up couldn’t hide the dark, puffy sign of fatigue around her eyes. Those eyes he recognized—just like her mother’s and her sister’s—however, their expression of displeasure was not something he was used to seeing from the Stevens women.

“Where is Terry?” he asked.

“Hospital.”

“Oh crap! Her surgery. That was today?” Luke slapped his forehead. He was such a dolt. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot. She didn’t even say anything when I dropped off the twins this morning. How is she? How’d it go?”

“She’s fine.” The woman’s voice was clipped. “Can I talk to you for a moment? In private?” As she didn’t wait for him to reply, he followed her back down the hallway into the front room.

It was probably about the kids. It was a common reaction among teachers, babysitters, doctors—everyone really—when they met his kids and then met him. With Luke’s red hair and light blue eyes it was a long-shot to assume he’d fathered any of his children. And while the oldest three could be related, Ophelia’s chocolate-colored skin, and Devon and Derrick’s almond-shaped eyes identified them as being from different gene pools. She probably just wanted some clarification—to know the parameters of what the kids knew and what they didn’t.

She stopped in the center of the room and turned to him, hands on her hips, a deep furrow creasing her forehead.

Then again, she looked really pissed. Not at him, surely? What could he have done to annoy her so completely? He’d only just arrived. She was probably worried about her mother. How could he have forgotten about Terry’s surgery? “I’m very sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“Yes, I did. Terry told me you were coming to help with the kids during her convalescence. I really appreciate it. It’s Monica, right?”

“Look, Mr. Donovan—”

“Luke,” he said, flashing his most earnest smile.

“Luke,” she repeated, frowning slightly, “we need to get a few things straight. This is a business with very clear hours of operation—not only for my sake, but for the children’s. You are aware that they are to be picked up by five-thirty and if not, there is a financial penalty of one dollar for every minute thereafter. You were forty-five minutes late. Forty-five times six is two hundred and seventy dollars that you owe. I won’t charge you for the extra meals—this time.”

“That’s very generous of you,” he said dryly. Is she serious? Like hell he was going to pay her two hundred and seventy dollars. Terry never worried if he was a few minutes late.

“As long as we understand each other.”

Luke didn’t understand her at all, but he sensed now wasn’t the time to get into it. He needed this daycare. He’d tried working at home while his kids were around, and it had been a dismal failure for all of them. Two months, Terry had said; he could do this for two months. He’d just have to make sure he kept better track of his time—otherwise he’d go broke.

“Why don’t you join us for dinner?” she said when he didn’t comment further. “We have lots.”

“Thank you.” He could put the few bucks he’d save on this meal toward his debt to her.

At Monica’s request, Michael rose and set a place at the table for Luke. It was a lively meal with the children relaying all of the day’s events to their father. Monica had obviously heard the stories earlier because every once in a while she would remind them of an omitted detail.

She had no-nonsense approach to the children’s behavior, while still exhibiting warmth and compassion. When, after dinner, she asked for help with the dishes, she managed to find a job perfectly suited to each and every one of them—even Luke, who was given responsibility for sweeping the floor.

“Thank you for dinner, Monica,” Luke said when the last dish was put away and the counters were wiped clean. “Now, I think I need to get these kids home so we can get to work on their homework.”

“It’s all done,” Kate said. “We did it before dinner.”

“Even your math?” Kate had been struggling in the subject lately and, although Luke was pretty good at math himself, he was at a loss to understand the new methods the teachers used.

“Oh yes,” Kate beamed. “Monica is a whiz at math. She explained it so brilliantly it makes perfect sense to me now.”

Monica stood behind Kate and put her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “I just gave you a little direction. You figured it out on your own.” She bent and kissed her temple, then looked up at Luke. “I’m a financial planner, so I deal with numbers all the time.”

“I thought Terry said you were an early childhood educator?” Luke was taken aback by how easily this woman had slipped into his children’s confidence.

“I was. I guess I still am. I do have the credentials, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, I’m not worried. Just…” He ran his hand through his hair, stumped about what to say next. Whatever it was, she’d likely take offense.

Well, she didn’t have to like him, did she? He had worked very well with people who hadn’t liked him, and with some he hadn’t particularly liked, either. As long as Monica Stevens was good to his kids that was all that mattered.

Except it wasn’t. As he drove his family home he realized he wanted very much for her to like him, too. It was an unsettling feeling.