Kids Included

“Idiot,” Jack muttered

Nicky tipped her head back and peered up at him from the toddler seat in the trolley.

“Not idiot,” the young girl protested indignantly.

“Not you, darling, me. I’ve forgotten something,” he explained, and with a sigh he shoved the trolley around the corner, nearly crashing into someone. Someone small and blond and—

“Molly?”

She froze, then turned in slow motion. Her eyes were wide and wary and beautiful, and her lips were working slightly. He had an insane urge to kiss them….

Caroline Anderson has the mind of a butterfly. She’s been a nurse, a secretary, a teacher, she once ran her own soft furnishing business, and she has now settled on writing. She says, “I was looking for that elusive something. I finally realized it was variety, and now I have it in abundance. Every book brings new horizons and new friends, and in between books I have learned to be a juggler. My teacher husband, John, and I have umpteen pets, two horse-mad daughters—Sarah and Hannah—and several acres of Suffolk, a county in England, that nature tries to reclaim every time we turn our backs!”

Kids Included!

Caroline Anderson

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

‘ABRACADABRA!’

The coins vanished from one hand and reappeared magically in the other, to the amazement of the children sitting cross-legged in front of her, watching her every move with wide-eyed anticipation…

At least, that was the theory.

In practice, the coins fell out of her hand, rolled across the floor and wobbled to a halt just in front of the first row of straight-faced and sceptical little monsters. They laughed and scrabbled for the coins, the magic hopelessly blown away, and Molly sighed.

Darn Sandy and her wretched wrist—

She dredged up a smile.

‘Ah. Well, how about this trick?’ she suggested, and waved Sandy’s wand again. Her fingers disappeared up her sleeve, hunted around for a moment, then came out with a stream of brightly coloured handkerchiefs.

In theory.

She looked at the single yellow square in disgust. Obviously her knots left something to be desired…

She rootled around in her sleeve again for the rest of the colourful string, and the children tittered and giggled and nudged each other. In the back corner a man sat, watching her steadily as she poked about for the elusive end. He was the host—Jack something. Hallam? Haddon? He would have made a good poker player, she thought crossly as she rummaged. Totally po-faced, he was the man who, if she pulled this off, would pay her for her services.

Hah. The only thing she was going to pull off was the lining of the jacket, and as for being paid for this fiasco—!

Molly’s face flamed, but she persevered, and they began to laugh louder. ‘I know they’re up here somewhere,’ she muttered, and the laugh grew to a crescendo. The man was still watching her intently. His mouth twitched, and she could have hit him, or strangled him with the brightly coloured silk squares—if she ever found them.

She could feel them tugging over her shoulder, so she stuck her hand down the back of her neck and pulled, and, yes! Out they came!

The children roared their approval, laughing and clapping, and to her astonishment Molly realised that they were enjoying it. They thought—bless their little cotton socks—that she meant to camp it up! And the man with the money was laughing, too!

Thank God for small mercies, she thought wildly, and plunged on with the act.

Everything went wrong. She didn’t mean it to, but she didn’t really have to try. Sandy made it look so easy—just wait till she caught up with her!

‘Help me out—my wrist is so bad I can’t possibly do the tricks—’

Well, Sandy wasn’t the only one who couldn’t possibly do the tricks, but at least the children seemed to be on her side now. The rings steadfastly refused to come apart, the disappearing balls under the cups kept appearing again, the card trick ended with cards scattering like confetti—and through it all they laughed like little drains.

Only one more trick to go, and that was sure to get them all going. She set the top hat on the table, flicked the catch and put her hand in. Yes, she could feel it; she had its little silky ears—

‘Ouch!’

She leapt back, the hat and table went flying, and the star of the grand finale headed off across the floor of the hotel function room at a flat-out hop.

Molly, sucking her bitten finger, swore silently and violently for a moment, then, hitching up Sandy’s baggy magician’s pants, she squeezed and wriggled her way through the crowd after Flopsy.

The children were all scampering about chasing the rabbit, and Molly saw it make a run for it towards the corner with That Man. If she headed it off—

She leapt over a table, scooted across the room and dropped to her knees, skidding the last two yards into the corner. Arms outstretched for the rabbit, she dived after it as it headed for the safety of his chair.

Almost—

She stretched out her hands, toppled forwards and grabbed, and ended up with her hands fastened firmly round the rabbit—and her shoulder propped against his thigh. His firm thigh. Oh, help.

Victorious, and not a little flustered, she sat back on her heels and smiled up at him witlessly. Her hair was on end, her cheeks were flushed and she was laughing. So was he—except she had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling he was laughing at her.

The rabbit wriggled, and she dived forwards again. She wasn’t letting go of that damn rabbit for anyone. Just another inch—

She lost her balance, what little was left of it, and slowly, like an action replay on the television, she toppled over and ended up face-down in his jeans-clad and very masculine lap. Heat scalded her cheeks, and she wriggled backwards, digging her chin into his thigh to lift her head.

‘Ouch!’

Firm, strong hands cupped her shoulders and lifted her away before she could do any lasting damage. His eyes were sparkling, his lips twitching with amusement and something else—something very male and distracting that took the last of her breath away.

‘I know the advert said the show had a wonderful climax,’ he murmured, laughter threading his voice, ‘but never in my wildest dreams…!’

CHAPTER ONE

‘BUT I want a lolly!’

‘Later, darling.’

She scanned the shop anxiously. He couldn’t be here! Of all the places, and of all the people to run into all these miles away, it would have to be him!

If it was him, of course. It might not be—if she was lucky. If she wasn’t—and just recently her luck had been running somewhat thin—she could only imagine what it would do to their holiday!

Heat scalded her cheeks. The last time they’d met—the only time they’d met, in fact—had been a disaster. She could still vividly remember the embarrassment, the chaos, the pandemonium—

‘Mummy, please!’

‘Pretty please, with a cherry on top, an’ loads of juicy cream?’

‘You did promise us.’

She closed her eyes in defeat. Cassie was right; she had promised them— ‘All right, then, just this once. Go and choose, then come and find me. I’ll carry on.’

And hopefully Haddon and his handful of hooligans wouldn’t see her…

It was her. He was sure—certain of it. She’d made enough of an impact, after all, he thought with grim humour. He hurried round the corner, pushing the trolley round the aisles of the little supermarket, searching for another glimpse.

She was so damn small, of course—five foot in thick socks, and as skinny as her rabbit.

Well, perhaps not skinny, he amended, remembering the soft curves pressed against him as she’d chased the rabbit under his chair and cornered it finally, with her breasts forced against his shins and her chin resting in his lap in a very tantalising and inviting way.

She’d been flushed to the roots of that lovely natural blonde hair, her dazzling blue-green eyes wide with laughter and apology and something else—something he hadn’t had time to investigate but which had played havoc with his sleep pattern for weeks.

He hadn’t been able to contact her. The real magician—the proper one that he’d booked for the kids’ party—had been most evasive when he’d rung. He’d been offered a refund, but that wasn’t what he had wanted.

What he’d wanted, however, had been too difficult to explain—if he’d even known himself. So he’d been forced to give up.

And now here she was, more than a year later, in the same adventure holiday village as them.

With someone?

He felt a stab of disappointment, and squashed it with a silent chuckle. ‘Idiot,’ he muttered, and Nicky tipped her head back and peered up at him from the toddler seat in the trolley.

‘Not idiot,’ she protested indignantly.

‘Not you, darling, me. I’ve forgotten something,’ he explained feebly, and with a sigh he shoved the trolley round the corner, nearly crashing into someone.

Someone small, and blonde, and—

‘Molly?’

She froze, then turned in slow motion. Her eyes were wide and wary and beautiful, and her lips were working slightly. He had an insane urge to kiss them—

‘Do I know you?’ she asked with commendable cool.

Jack stifled a chuckle of admiration. He’d been a cop for too many years to mistake someone at this range—especially this someone. He smiled at her over Nicky’s head. ‘Jack Haddon—you did a party for my son Tom a year ago.’

Her eyes flared with panic, but she kept her cool. ‘There must be some mistake,’ she began, but then Seb and Amy and Tom came charging round the corner and slithered to a halt, staring at her in delight.

‘It’s Molly the Magician!’ Tom yelled, and the colour in her cheeks slid up into her hair and darkened to a fetching crimson.

‘Hi, kids,’ she said weakly, and he met her eye and waited. She swallowed and smiled feebly. ‘Um—yes, I think I remember now.’

‘You brought a rabbit, and it ran away under the seats,’ Amy reminded her.

‘And we all chased it, and you caught it under Jack’s chair, but it got frightened and wee’d on you,’ Tom added.

She gave a breathless little giggle and bit her lips to trap the laugh. ‘So it did. Well, nice to see you again.’ She edged away, her eyes flying up to meet Jack’s and then flying away again. ‘Have a nice holiday.’

‘You, too.’ Then he added, because he was suddenly very curious, ‘Are you here all week?’

‘Um—yes.’

His heart, unaccountably, soared, and his mouth quirked into a smile of its own accord. ‘Good. I’ll see you round.’

Molly returned the open, friendly smile a little distractedly, and made her escape. She couldn’t believe he didn’t hate her. It had been the most dreadful party.

She gave a little moan of anguish at the memory, just as her kids came running up. ‘We’ve got orange lollies,’ her son said. Her daughter gave her a keen look.

‘Are you all right? You made a funny noise, and you’re a very strange colour.’

She pasted on a smile. ‘I’m fine. Come on, guys, we’ve got to find out where you need to be in the morning, and we have to go back and unpack, and then maybe we’ll have time for a swim—’

She was gabbling, running off at the mouth a mile a minute, but it was all his fault. He just turned her inside out with that knowing, sexy smile and those laughing eyes—

‘Damn.’

‘Mummy!’

She hadn’t realised she’d said it out loud. She threw an apologetic glance at her son. He was looking mildly scandalised and a little fascinated, because she simply didn’t swear—at least, not aloud, and certainly not in front of them. ‘Sorry, Philip. Right, let’s go and pay for this lot and we can go back to our cabin.’

Unloading the shopping half an hour later was a chastening experience. Bread, but no butter or marge. Peanut butter—they all hated peanut butter; she hadn’t bought it since David left—oven chips, a small pepperoni pizza, a pint of skimmed milk, not semi-skimmed as usual—the list of oddities and inconsistencies rambled on. Blue cheese, a tin of tuna, no salad or teabags—the man had distracted her so badly she couldn’t think.

‘So, what’s for supper?’ Philip asked curiously, eyeing the collection with distaste.

‘Um—I’m not sure. I’ve forgotten one or two things.’

‘We could eat out—they’ve got a pizza place in the square,’ Cassie was kind enough to point out.

‘Yeah, can we?’ Philip asked, his eyes wide and hopeful. They never ate out.

Molly, who cooked for a living, thought it sounded a very good idea all of a sudden. ‘Fine. I’ll put this lot in the fridge and we’ll go and swim, sort out where we all have to be and then have supper.’

The pool was wonderful. There was a wave machine, a flume, wild water rapids, a swirly river thing that swept you round an island, and, best of all, a hot whirlpool tub. The kids were strong swimmers, and sensible, so after they’d explored the pool complex together, she sent them off with strict instructions to keep an eye on each other and wallowed in the hot tub, watching out for them as they climbed the steps to the top of the flume.

‘Mind if I join you?’

Her heart jolted wildly, and she looked up to be treated to acres of muscular, hairy thigh and lean washboard abs that made her want to moan out loud.

‘Feel free,’ she croaked, shuffling up a little, and he squeezed in beside her. They were hardly alone, there were two other couples in the big round tub, and Molly was intensely grateful for them. Safety in numbers, she thought a little hysterically, and then wondered what on earth she was worried about. He thought she was a complete twit. Who wouldn’t, after the way she’d performed?

He settled in beside her with a big sigh, and she was enormously aware of him just inches away. His foot brushed hers, and she jumped as if she’d been bitten and shuffled a little further away.

He smiled knowingly. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured, but she knew he wasn’t. Damn.

They sat in silence, cosseted by the bubbles, while she tried not to think about his lean and very masculine body, so close she could reach out and touch it—and then the other couples climbed out and left them.

Molly scooted round a bit, not quite opposite him but not so close, either. ‘Where are the children?’ she asked to fill the silence and to quell the riot in her mind.

‘Seb’s keeping an eye on them. They all swim like fish, even Nicky, but he’s got her in the paddling pool and the others are going on the flume. I thought I’d take five, and Seb knows where I am.’ He propped his head back and closed his eyes with a sigh. ‘Are you here on your own?’ he asked lazily.

‘No—I’ve got the children with me.’

His eyes flew open. ‘Children?’

‘Yes, children. You know, those little bits of DNA that grow up to persecute us?’

He chuckled. ‘Them,’ he said with a smile, and studied her searchingly. ‘I didn’t realise you had children. You look too young. Are they in the crèche?’

She laughed a little wildly. ‘You have to be kidding. They’d skin me alive before they let me put them in there.’

He glanced around. ‘So are they with your husband?’

‘Um—no. I—ah—we’re here alone. They’re swimming.’

His eyes widened. ‘They can’t be old enough! Not unless you started at ten.’

Her laugh was getting a little hysterical. ‘You are too kind. I think you also need your eyes checked. I have grey hairs, and bald bits where I’ve yanked the grey out, and wrinkles you could hide inside!’

‘And I’ve parked my Zimmer just round that rock.’

She laughed again, softly this time. ‘I’m thirty-one—and you’re a million miles from needing a walking frame.’

He grinned. ‘At the moment, but I have a hideous feeling that’s all going to change. I’m doing a mountain-bike ride with Nicky on the back tomorrow morning that will probably kill me, even though it’s supposed to be gentle, and then in the afternoon for my sins I’m abseiling with Seb while the others do canoeing and finger painting variously.’

‘Let me guess—the baby’s finger painting.’

‘Yup. I hate to think what state she’ll come back in.’

‘She’ll be fine—send her in something old and tatty.’ Molly shifted a little so she could see him better. ‘So, where’s your wife while all this is going on?’

He met her eyes with a clear, level gaze. ‘I don’t have a wife. Where’s your husband?’

And that was direct! She filed the information about his wife and answered him frankly. ‘Australia—dodging the maintenance payments.’

‘Ah. Hence the magic act.’

‘No, not at all. That was to help out a friend.’

‘You were good.’

‘I was awful.’

‘I thought you were very funny.’

She gave a strangled laugh. ‘It was meant to be slick and fast and magical—not a take-off of Tommy Cooper.’

He tipped his head and grinned. ‘I could see you in a fez. I don’t suppose you want to do a repeat performance—?’

She laughed and shook her head. ‘Oh, no. It was definitely a one-off. Never again.’

He stretched, and she tucked her feet up just to be on the safe side.

‘So, what do you do, then?’

‘I’m a nursery nurse—except I’m not. I used to run a crèche but I needed to be around in the school holidays after they grew up a bit, so I did a cookery course and now I’ve got a catering business. I make sandwiches and deliver them to various outlets every day, and I do the odd bit of catering for dinner parties and wedding buffets.’ She tipped her head a little and studied him. ‘So what do you do? Apart from keeping up with the children?’

He grinned, a lop-sided tilt of his mouth that creased his eyes and softened the angular planes of his face and made her heart hiccup. ‘I write crime novels—detective stories about people perpetrating convoluted and bizarre crimes on unsuspecting members of the public.’

She chuckled. ‘Like me, you mean?’

‘Absolutely. My current heroine is a little like you. She’s small and feisty—she’s a victim, but she escapes the final thrust and lives to tell the tale.’

‘I’m so glad,’ she said with a smile, and wondered if his heroine was like her, or if he was just being flattering. ‘Where do you get your ideas?’

His face closed a little. ‘I was a cop,’ he said lightly, but his eyes were suddenly shielded.

I was a cop. Just that, but it told her so much—and asked a million more questions. Like, had it been the end of his marriage—?

‘Did she walk out?’

He blinked. ‘She?’

‘Your wife.’

His mouth hardened, and she flushed and sat up in a flurry of bubbles and arms and legs. ‘Sorry, that was intrusive.’

To her surprise he answered. ‘Yes, it was—and yes, she did. She found it all too much.’

‘And left you with the kids.’

He looked down into the water. ‘Not exactly. Look, I have to go. I’ll see you around.’ He sat forward. ‘Where’s your cabin?’

‘Area B—by the lake.’ What did not exactly mean?

‘So’s ours. What number?’

‘B15.’

‘We’re B19—I’ll look out for you. Perhaps we can get together—it would make a change to talk to another adult. Talking to a strand of mutant DNA gets a little tedious at times.’

His mouth quirked, taking the edge off his words, and he stood up. Water streamed off his body, running in rivulets down his arms and legs and that fascinating chest with the little vee of hair between the nipples—

‘Jack?’

She looked behind him at the boy standing there, a little girl in his arms. They were nothing like him, the boy tow-haired and wiry, the girl blonde and baby-plump, reaching out chubby arms to her father. The oldest and the youngest of his brood, she remembered.

He took the baby in his arms and kissed her, then grinned at the boy.

‘Thanks, Seb. Going on the flume?’

‘The rapids. Amy and Tom are after an ice-cream.’

His voice cracked and he coloured, flicking Molly an embarrassed glance.

Puberty, she thought, was such a painful thing. Jack looked at her. ‘Why don’t you round up your children and join us at the pool bar?’

She shook her head and stood up, conscious of her figure in the snug black one-piece that left none of her curves or dimples to the imagination. ‘Sorry, no time. We have to check where we’re going tomorrow, and then apparently I’m treating them to pizza. Thanks, anyway.’

He nodded, his eyes sweeping her body, and she forced herself to stand straight and tall under his scrutiny. Well, straight, at least. It was difficult to stand tall when you were barely five foot.

‘We’ll see you round.’

She nodded, and watched as they went off together. Seb was quite a different shape from his father, she thought, watching them. Wiry and not so tall, but probably going to head on up and overtake him in time.

Like Philip. He was all arms and legs at the moment. Perhaps he’d grow into his height before he went up any more. She hoped so, because just now he looked like a stick insect.

Cassie, though, was tiny and dainty and just like her mother.

She wondered again what he’d meant by not exactly when she’d asked if his wife had gone off and left him with the kids. What a strange response. And they called him Jack.

Her curiosity piqued, she picked up her towel, hugged it round her shoulders and picked her way carefully round to the queues for the flume and rapids.

A boy cannoned into her and grinned, and she recognised him as Tom, Jack’s youngest boy, with a girl—Amy, was it?—in tow. Her own weren’t far behind, and she had to go on the rapids with them twice before she was allowed to drag them off to the activity checking point.

Philip was doing water sports all the next day, and Cassie was riding in the morning and canoeing in the afternoon.

So she’d see Jack and his brood again tomorrow anyway.

Odd, that little flicker of hope the thought generated.

Jack wondered what Molly was doing. Not the ‘gentle’ mountain-bike trek he was on, anyway.

Sensible woman.

His legs killed, his chest heaved, his body was streaming with sweat—and he’d thought he was fit!

Hah!

Nicky’s hot, sticky little hands on his back didn’t help, but it was curiously comforting to have her close like this. He wondered how the others were getting on—and what Molly was doing.

Watercolours? A pampering massage?

He groaned silently at the thought of her body stretched out naked, smeared with green gloop, with some unknown masseur kneading and squeezing the muscles.

Lucky b—

‘Jack?’

‘Hi, Nicky. You OK, sweetheart?’ He turned his head and smiled at her, and her little sunny face beamed back at him.

‘Need a wee,’ she announced cheerfully.