Free Twins times two! by Lisa Bingham Page B

helped his cause any. But he hadn't wanted to commit himself to any course of action until he'd thought about all of the

    ramifications. After all, he was considering asking a woman to marry him. A woman he'd only met on two occasions. Granted, he had liked what he'd already seen, but was that any way to choose a mother for his children?
    So he'd spent two days trying to talk himself out of the decision. He'd concentrated on business and researching legal precedents regarding children who had been switched at birth.
    But he hadn't come up with a way to solve the problem as neatly and painlessly as a quick, simple marriage.
    He'd been ready to ask her. Last night, he'd taken a slow shower, shaved and splashed cologne on his cheeks. And then, looking in the mirror, he'd broken into a cold sweat.
    No. Marriage wasn't the answer.
    But even having made his decision, Ross hadn't slept.
    Nor had he called Cara to begin organizing an alternate plan of action.
    With the morning traffic, it took nearly fifteen minutes to reach Cara's bungalow. As the minutes passed, Ross tried to come up with a logical reason for his silence the last two days—one that wouldn't involve informing her of his harebrained idea. But it wasn't until he turned onto the block where she

    lived and he saw the camera crews that he realized just how upset Cara must be.
    "Damn," he muttered as he pulled his car into the driveway, deftly maneuvering around the reporters who knocked on his windows and shouted questions through the glass. Curiously, they didn't follow him into the driveway, but stood at the curb just outside the picket fence, jostling for position at the front of the pack.
    Ignoring them, Ross slammed the car door, set the alarm in case some ambitious reporter decided to tamper with the Lexus, and strode up the steps of the front stoop. As he jabbed the doorbell, he could feel the cameras being trained on his back.
    "Are you responsible for this?"
    "Are you suing Cara Wells for custody?"
    "How does it feel to discover that you've had your child raised by someone else all these years?"
    The door was barely opened before Cara grabbed him by the arm, pulled him inside and then slammed the door shut again. Directing an accusatory finger in the direction of the window, she glared at him, saying, "Why? Why?"
    Ross held up his hands. As if he didn't have enough to worry about, now Cara thought he was responsible for the press camping out on her doorstep. "I swear, I didn't have anything to do with that mob."

    Cara clearly didn't believe him. "Then how did they find out?"
    Ross strode to the window, lifting one corner of the shade to peer outside. No one had budged. If anything, the crowd had grown quiet as if they could hear through the walls if they listened intently enough. "My guess is that either someone in the law offices or the hospital leaked the story."
    "Law offices?"
    Her echo was weak, her eyes wide. Ross shied away from the emotions he saw there—hurt, vulnerability, fear. He had to keep a level head and regard this whole situation as pragmatically as possible.
    At that moment a thunder of feet came from the hall, then a loud bump and a high squeal.
    Clearly torn, Cara hesitated only a moment, then excused herself. A few moments later Ross could hear her speaking softly to the children, smoothing over the disagreement about a toy, kissing an "owie," offering a glass of milk.
    As he heard the voices, Ross felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He'd made up his mind, he reminded himself. He'd decided against even mentioning a marriage of convenience to Cara. The whole idea was unreasonable. After all, what right did he have to ask a young, attractive woman to sacrifice her future in that way? They would work

    something out—shared visitation rights and alternate holidays.
    But in that instant when she spoke with her children, Ross's resolve to remain cool and completely detached shattered.
    His own children were missing so much. They