Read Online The Real Father (Twins) (Harlequin Superromance No. 927) by Kathleen O`Brien - Free Book Online

down all his fours and stifling a yawn. “What’s with the canasta, Vinnie? And where’s the brandy? Did a traveling missionary come through town cleaning things up or what?”
    She didn’t bother to look up from her cards. “I’ve been reading Great-great-aunt Maybelle’s diaries, and apparently this was her favorite game. I thought I’d better find out what the attraction was.”
    Oh. That cleared things up. Lavinia was the family historian, and she took her research very seriously. She could tell you what the Forrest family had served President Zachary Taylor for dinner back in 1850. And she was likely to try out the recipe herself, just to see how it had tasted.
    It made for some interesting dinners, especially since Lavinia was the world’s most terrible cook.
    â€œSo what is the attraction?” Jackson’s gaze flicked toward the carriage house, but he forced it back to the cards. Which were the good threes—the red or the black? God, he hated this game.
    â€œDon’t you try that sarcastic tone on me, youngman,” Lavinia said tartly. “And just because you haven’t got the guts to climb those stairs and talk to her, don’t take your frustration out on me, either.”
    Jackson glared at his aunt over the pile of cards between them. “What baloney,” he said. “Just because I’m bored stiff with this moronic game—”
    â€œIt’s not just that,” she said, snapping her cards shut irritably. “It’s because for the past two hours you’ve been twitching around this house like a fly in a glue pot. It’s because you showered before dinner. And it’s because you can’t keep your eyes off that window.”
    Jackson drummed his fingers on the table. “I showered before dinner,” he said grimly, “because I’d been moving your filthy boxes all afternoon and—”
    â€œOh, stuff and nonsense,” Lavinia said with a hint of laughter buried beneath the peppery tone. She plopped her cards on the table and began to gather up the deck. “Get out of here, Jackson. If you’re not going to go up there, at least go somewhere. You’re driving me crazy, and I’ve got some reading to do.”
    He surrendered his cards with a chuckle. Lavinia had always been able to see through him. “Actually,” he admitted, “I was thinking I might see if they needed something to eat. They can’t have had time to stock the refrigerator yet.”
    Lavinia huffed and continued stacking the cards in her mother-of-pearl lacquered box. “They had the same dinner we had,” she said. “I sent food up on a tray hours ago.”
    Jackson declined to comment. Somehow he couldn’t see Lavinia’s culinary experiment du jour, spinach-and-chickpea casserole, appealing to a nine-year-old little girl. It had taken a good deal of character for this close to thirty-two-year-old man to swallow down his own portion.
    â€œStill, maybe I’d better check. See if they need anything at all.”
    Lavinia smiled at him archly. “Of course. How thoughtful. Maybe you’d better do that, dear.”
    Jackson kissed her cheek on the way out. “You are an adorable old termagant, did you know that, Auntie?”
    â€œThank you,” she said sweetly. “I do my best.”
    Â 
    H ALF AN HOUR LATER , a large, warm, aromatic box of mushroom pizza balanced on his forearm, Jackson climbed the stairs to the carriage house. The night had turned cold and clear. Stars glinted against the black sky, as sharp as bits of broken glass.
    He paused at the door, uncomfortably aware that he was rushing things. She was probably still unpacking—she was undoubtedly tired. He should have given her time to settle in. He should have waited until tomorrow.
    But how could he? He had waited so long already.
    Still, he wished he could shake this ridiculous sense of guilt. Why