And gasp.

His home was white!

Jenny stopped dead and stared around with astonishment. Of all the places she’d imagined Michael could live, this wasn’t it. This was no messy bachelor pad. The place was stark and coldly white, with the occasional splash of black for dramatic effect. White tiles, white chairs and sofa, white wood furniture with glass-topped tables to reflect the white tiles. White walls, with black and white prints on the walls. White drapes.

Michael put down the first load of her belongings and pulled the drapes wide. Outside was parkland and the river beyond. The lights of Austin were twinkling against the night sky. Gorgeous.

She turned to the room-and shuddered.

“Michael?”

“What’s wrong?”

“This room.” She gestured helplessly. “I can’t…”

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t live here,” she said honestly. “I don’t think I can even stay here.”

“Why not?” He smiled at her. “It’s in better shape than your place. That was a real dump.”

“There’s no need to get personal.”

“But it was. Admit it.”

Her anger flared. “If we’re talking of dumps…”

“Are we?” He was watching the spark behind her green eyes. She came alive when she was angry.

She really was lovely.

“What’s wrong with this place?” he asked, and watched while she tried like crazy to be polite. And failed.

She took a deep breath. “Michael, it’s awful.”

“Oh, yeah? Who are we kidding here? Your place was awful. This place has serious money spent on it.”

“I can see that, and of all the wasteful-” She bit her lip, and Michael grinned. She was so transparent.

“Go on.”

“I’m too polite.”

“No. Come on, Jen.” He was enjoying this. “I’ve been honest about your place. You owe me the same.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, I do.” She was fascinating. Her eyes were roving around the place as if she were mentally pulling it apart, and he could see her courage returning. “We’re married, remember? You’re going to have to show immigration officials around and admit you like living here.”

“You think I could do that in a million years?” she asked incredulously.

“Why not?”

“Oh, yeah, as if I could ever like white. I’d rather face Gloria again than admit I had anything to do with this place. Where do you relax?”

“I’m not here much.”

“I can see that. It looks like the photographer’s just left. But when you are here, where do you watch TV and drink beer?”

“Mostly I do my beer drinking at Garrett’s ranch,” he admitted.

“No wonder. It’s so cold here. Who decorated the place?”

“A woman I went out with.”

“How many times did you go out with her?” Jenny demanded, fixing him with a look. Michael stared at her. She was transforming in front of his eyes. This wasn’t the quiet Jenny he thought he’d married.

“Beats me. Twice, maybe.”

“She obviously didn’t know you. This isn’t decorating. This is a vacuum!” She went to the sofa and stared in disgust at its gorgeous white surface. “You don’t sit on this thing!”

“Of course I do.” He was stung.

“How often?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes.”

“Like never,” she said flatly. “I tell you, Michael, if you sat here now you’d leave a mark that’d take a chemical arsenal to remove. I bet your housekeeper has an awful job keeping it clean.”

He glared, cornered. “How do you know I have a housekeeper?”

“Hey, I just guessed.” She grinned. “Sherlock Holmes, that’s me. And I’ll bet she comes once a day. Or more. What’s her name?”

“I don’t…” Michael frowned. “What the heck does it matter what her name is? It’s an agency. Whoever’s available comes. I don’t know names.”

“Then that’s easy. Michael, you don’t really like this stuff, do you?”

Did he? He tried to find words to defend his decor, but they weren’t there to find. There was something about this woman that demanded honesty. “No, but…”

“Let me fix it for you.” Her eyes gleamed with challenge, and he found himself starting to laugh.

“Hey, I didn’t bring you here to work.”

“And there’s no way I’m sitting here idle. I’m scared to sit down. This stuff is the pits, and if I have to stay here for a month I’ll go nuts. You remember what I did with your office?”

Did he?

His office had been a bit like this, all chrome efficiency. Five months ago-it must have been about the time Jenny started-it was suddenly transformed. His glass desk was replaced by a vast antique wooden one, his swivel chair became old leather, the chrome disappeared, and someone painted the walls a dusky pink instead of gray.

He hadn’t realized she’d done it until now. He’d thought it was part of an office renovation ordered by Ellie. Come to think of it, though, it was a darn sight more comfortable place to work now than it had been before.

But… She was starting on his home?

“We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“There’s no problem.” She was staring at the furniture as if it were poison. “I’ll be able to sell these for heaps and replace them with items that are much more comfortable. You won’t even have to write a check.”

“Jen…”

She fixed him with a look, and for the first time he felt like a-like a husband! “Tell me that you like this stuff, and I won’t touch it.”

“I don’t like it, but…it’s home.”

“You watch TV at your brother’s.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Let me have carte blanche to fix this place, and I’ll feel happier living here. It’ll be a project for me.” She smiled at him, her most charming smile. It was a smile that made him blink. Made him take a step backward. “Please?”

“You haven’t even seen your bedroom yet. Maybe you won’t want to stay,” he said weakly, knowing he was defeated before he started.

“I don’t want to stay,” she said honestly, her eyes sparkling at the sound of defeat in his voice. She knew she’d won. “But if I must stay then I’ll be useful, and I’ll run replacements past you before I buy them. I’m not taking over your life, Michael. It’ll be your choice.”

“Hell, Jen.” He stared at her, baffled. He was so far at sea here he was almost drowning. That’s just how he did feel, as if his life were being taken over-by a tidal wave.

“You do what you want,” he said heavily, humor fading. “You’re my wife, so this is your home. Do what you want.”

HER BEDROOM was the most comfortable place in the house.

“Shelby stayed in it while her place was being redone,” Michael told her as he showed her in. Jenny had fallen silent again, and it was worrying him. It seemed there were two Jennys-the one who’d been kicked so many times it was hardly worth getting up again, and the stronger Jenny who was only allowed to escape for brief airings and then put firmly back in her box. “She added a few of her own touches.”

There was a bright patterned quilt on the bed, a floral print on the wall and a large framed photo on the bedside table. The picture showed a middle-aged couple, parental and proud, with their children. The two girls and the younger boy looked to be about four years old, and there was an older boy of about six.

There was no mistaking who they were. Michael’s grin, even then, was unique.

“I’d forgotten you’re a triplet,” Jenny exclaimed, finding her voice. “Who are the others?”

“That’s Lana sitting down. I gather you’ve met her. Shelby’s behind me and has my arm twisted behind my back-that’s because I was going through a phase of sticking my tongue out at the camera. Garrett’s the big guy.”

“They all live here? In Austin?” She frowned in concentration.

“Lana runs the baby shop, and Shelby owns Austin Eats Diner, next to the hospital. Garrett lives on his ranch a few miles out of town.”

Jenny was frowning. Something about the picture didn’t make sense.

“You all have red hair,” she said slowly. “But your parents don’t.”

“We were adopted.”

Something in his voice warned Jenny she shouldn’t take it further, but she was so far past exhaustion she didn’t pick up on it. “That’s right. You said your birth mother abandoned you. But your adoptive parents took all four of you? That’s wonderful.”

“They were wonderful people.”

“Were?”

“They died some time ago.”

“Oh, Michael, I’m sorry.” She hesitated. “And your birth parents?”

“I know nothing about them.” His voice was clipped and tight, but she was still too tired to pick up on it. “As I said, my birth mother abandoned us when we were babies.”

“You’ve never tried to trace her?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“It must be the most awful thing,” she said, her hands moving unconsciously to her stomach. “To give up your baby. And to give up four babies… It’d be like tearing yourself apart.”

“Not everyone feels like you do.”

“Maybe not.” Her eyes were clouded, doubtful. She obviously couldn’t see how anyone would feel different.

His birth mother had, Michael thought bitterly. She’d just walked away.

“There must have been some dreadful reason. It’d probably be easy enough to trace her-”

“Leave it, Jen,” he said roughly. “Let’s leave it.”

The force of his words took her by surprise, and she backed off. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

She was hurt. He could see in her eyes that she was flinching inside, wondering what she’d said. He hadn’t meant to snap.

“We’re both tired,” he said, a note of contrition in his voice. “Let’s turn in now. The guest bathroom’s just here. If there’s anything more you want…”

“No, thank you, Michael. You’ve done enough.” It was an odd, formal little speech and sounded wrong to both of them.

“I’ll go to bed then,” he said.

“Good night.”

Damn, she sounded so forlorn he wanted to take her in his arms and…

He didn’t know what. He just knew he had to get out of that room while he still had the strength to resist.