Undercover Father by Mary Anne Wilson Page B

taking sugar away from them might be a more reasonable solution. Someone should talk to their mother about their diets.”
    There was a flash of something in those eyes, something she almost thought was pain. Then she realized it might be anger. There had been a lot of anger at their last encounter. “So, you’re an expert on kids, are you?”
    “Not even close, but anyone can see that those two little boys need—”
    Mary moved closer then, coming around to literally stand between them. “Oh, dear,” she murmured with narrowed eyes on Megan’s forehead. “I think you need ice.” She turned to Rafe. “Could you get some ice for Megan, please?”
    Megan knew he didn’t want to do anything for her at that moment, but he turned and strode out of the room without a word. The door closed this time with a decidedly hard click. She glanced at the shut door, thankful he was gone, and not feeling any hope that he’d bring back ice.
    She gently touched her forehead again and felt the tenderness of swelling. “Ouch,” she said, pulling back from the contact. “Is it bruised?”
    The woman studied her, then shook her head. “Not yet, but it will be.”
    “Well, he’s got a hard head.”
    Mary smiled a bit at that. “Most men do.”
    “I bump heads like that, and then those two kids...” She exhaled. “They’re dangerous.”
    Mary cut her off in midsentence. “Megan, they’re his.”
    She frowned, not understanding. “Excuse me?”
    “The twins? Gabe and Greg?”
    “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten who they are.”
    “They are his boys. They’re Mr. Diaz’s sons.”
    Megan wasn’t up to this, not after what she’d said to him about the boys. “Oh, no,” she muttered. “I didn’t know that.”
    “Of course you didn’t,” Mary said matter-of-factly. “And you were a bit...stressed.”
    She rested her head on the back support of the chair and stared up at the acoustical ceiling. Stressed? What a simple word for what Rafe did to her when she was around him. She remembered her idea about him having breakfast with a lot of little Rafes. Now she’d met two of them. And the wife and mother would be right there, too. “Does he have six more at home?” she asked.
    “Just the two, I think,” Mary said.
    Megan stared at the pattern on the acoustic tiles. “They’re enough,” she muttered.
    “I’m sure he thinks so sometimes,” the woman said. “How about you—two kids too many?”
    She sat up and watched Mary going around to sit behind the desk again. “Excuse me?”
    “You know when you’re young and you decide, ‘I want two boys and two girls,’ and you plan your future?”
    She was taken aback by that statement. She’d never planned for children, only for school and her career. “No, I never did,” she admitted. “I bet you had a houseful of kids, didn’t you?”
    Surprisingly, there was no smile now, just a certain sadness in the woman’s expression. “I wanted them, but I didn’t get them. Now I have a center full of kids.” That brought the smile back. “A whole bunch of cute kids.”
    Now that things were more settled, Megan realized the children probably were cute. The twins certainly could be, with huge brown eyes like their father’s, midnight-black hair in Buster Brown cuts, and... It was then she realized they both had their father’s dimple—one dimple. “As long as I don’t have to be around kids much, they’re cute, I guess.”
    Mary laughed softly. “I assume that’s an engagement ring?” she asked, glancing at the diamond. “You’ll be getting married and having children of your own.”
    That was a statement, not a question, and Megan wouldn’t tell the woman that she and Ryan had never talked about children. She’d assumed they wouldn’t be a priority, and maybe would never happen. “Perhaps later on, somewhere down the road, when Ryan and I are settled and things are in order,” she murmured. Megan wanted to change the subject. “Why do you