The Holiday Triplets by Jacqueline Diamond Page B

ignore the riveted members of the press. “Why did Jon leave?” she asked. If this was simply a clash of temperaments, it might blow over.
    Candy stuck her chin out. “What do you think? He’s, like, twenty-one. You can’t expect him to take on this much responsibility.”
    â€œWhy don’t we take this inside where we can talk privately?” Mark said. Sam could have hugged him.
    â€œWhy should I?” Candy replied. “I have nothing to hide.” She turned one of the strollers to give a photographer a clearer shot of the baby. It was Courtney, her little face scrunched in the sunlight.
    â€œThat’s too bright. It’s hurting her eyes.” Sam shifted the stroller. “Please, everyone, stand back. You don’t want them to catch an infection, do you?”
    The reporters shuffled slightly. Giving a few inches, at most.
    â€œYou said you’d told him something that upset him.” Mark spoke in a level tone, his gaze fixed on Candy.
    â€œI told him the truth.”
    â€œAbout what?” Sam hadn’t suspected there was any hidden truth to reveal. The reporters leaned forward, trying to catch every word.
    â€œThat I got pregnant on purpose. I figured he’d marry me.” The girl shrugged. “I wasn’t counting on triplets.”
    O’Donnell broke in. “Did you have fertility treatments, Miss, uh—could you tell us your name, please?” He gestured for a crew member to hand the mic to Candy, which was, in Sam’s opinion, akin to giving a hand grenade to a three-year-old.
    Or to me. For the first time, she understood how Mark must have felt all those times when she had seized the floor.
    â€œCandy Alarcon,” the girl said. “No, I didn’t need treatments. Twins run in my family. I just got one extra.”
    More people were gathering, attracted by the TV lights. “Everyone step back,” Mark ordered. “As Dr. Forrest pointed out, these newborns are susceptible to airborne illnesses.”
    At his commanding tone, the onlookers scattered. Even O’Donnell retreated before Mark’s stare.
    â€œLet’s go inside,” Sam murmured.
    Candy folded her arms. “No way. Look at that ugly Mark on Connie’s face! It’s still there.”
    The TV reporter perked up. “One of them has a birth defect?”
    Sam was losing patience. “It’s called a port-wine stain and we’re planning to treat it. Connie is a wonderful child with a minor problem. Candy has no idea how lucky she is. Giving birth to three healthy triplets is a blessing.”
    â€œLucky? I’m the victim here.” Candy made sure the camera was trained on her before she added, “If people want to help, they can send donations to me. Candy Alarcon. I’ve set up an account at…”
    â€œShame on you!” To Sam’s amazement, the words burst out of usually low-key Jennifer, who’d been doing her best to shoo away newcomers. “Exploiting these poor little babies when Dr. Forrest arranged for donations of supplies and services! What kind of mother are you?”
    For a tense moment, Sam feared Candy would retaliate. The press would love an open battle. Judging by Mark’s tense expression, she could tell he was thinking the same thing.
    He’d been right, Sam realized. She should have stayed away once he called off the press conference. Matters always seemed to get too volatile around her.
    â€œWhat are you going to do?” Tom LaGrange asked Candy.
    â€œAre you filing a lawsuit?” added the TV reporter.
    Did he have to bring that up?
    While the young mother weighed her reply, Sam moved to check on the babies. Courtney was grumbling so low she could barely be heard above the ambient noise. Colin’s mouth pursed, likely in search of a nipple. They needed to be fed. Connie waved an arm as if reaching for comfort. For her mom.
    Never mind the hullabaloo. Sam yearned