Baby Be Mine
Victoria Pade
DADDY BY DEFAULTWhen Chicago sophisticate Clair Fletcher hit rough-hewn Elk Creek, Wyoming, seeking custody of her orphaned nephew, she thought she'd landed on another planet. And when she confronted rancher Jace Brimley, the mountain of a man who'd given his all to become the toddler's guardian, the oxygen whooshed from her lungs.Combining tantalizing brawn with heart-stopping tenderness, Jace clearly adored tiny, hero-worshiping Willy, who mulishly resisted Clair's inept parental efforts. Still, didn't Willy belong with his blood relative? Yet how could Clair battle big-hearted Jace when he and little Willy evoked such unthinkable longings…for a future of small-town family bliss?
Maybe she’d caught some kind of country fever, Clair thought.
Some kind of country fever that was making her body react to things she shouldn’t even be aware of. Or maybe it was cowboy fever, she amended. For her gaze seemed to be fixated on Jace Brimley. Cowboy boots, jeans, denim jacket, red Henley shirt, white crewneck T-shirt. Still, it wasn’t the clothes that got to Clair. It was the way the clothes fit him.
The T-shirt molded to impressive pectorals. The waist-length denim jacket was stretched to its limits by the breadth of shoulders and the expanse of Jace’s muscular arms. And the jeans…oh, the jeans! They were just snug enough to cup a derriere to die for.
Clair’s mouth went dry, her heart thumping. Country fever or cowboy fever—she forced her eyes off Jace’s rear just before he spun around.
He nodded toward his black truck and said, “Hope you don’t mind sittin’ in the middle. The baby’s car seat has to be on the passenger’s side.”
No, she didn’t mind sitting in the middle. It was how close she was going to be to Jace that she didn’t know how to handle….
Dear Reader,
Around this time of year, everyone reflects on what it is that they’re thankful for. For reader favorite Susan Mallery, the friendships she’s made since becoming a writer have made a difference in her life. Bestselling author Sherryl Woods is thankful for the letters from readers—“It means so much to know that a particular story has touched someone’s soul.” And popular author Janis Reams Hudson is thankful “for the readers who spend their hard-earned money to buy my books.”
I’m thankful to have such a talented group of writers in the Silhouette Special Edition line, and the authors appearing this month are no exception! In Wrangling the Redhead by Sherryl Woods, find out if the heroine’s celebrity status gets in the way of true love…. Also don’t miss The Sheik and the Runaway Princess by Susan Mallery, in which the Prince of Thieves kidnaps a princess…and simultaneously steals her heart!
When the heroine claims her late sister’s child, she finds the child’s guardian—and possibly the perfect man—in Baby Be Mine by Victoria Pade. And when a handsome horse breeder turns out to be a spy enlisted to expose the next heiress to the Haskell fortune, will he find an impostor or the real McCoy in The Missing Heir by Jane Toombs? In Ann Roth’s Father of the Year, should this single dad keep his new nanny…or make her his wife? And the sparks fly when a man discovers his secret baby daughter left on his doorstep…which leads to a marriage of convenience in Janis Reams Hudson’s Daughter on His Doorstep.
I hope you enjoy all these wonderful novels by some of the most talented authors in the genre. Best wishes to you and your family for a very happy and healthy Thanksgiving!
Best,
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor
Baby Be Mine
Victoria Pade
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
VICTORIA PADE
is a bestselling author of both historical and contemporary romance fiction, and mother of two energetic daughters, Cori and Erin. Although she enjoys her chosen career as a novelist, she occasionally laments that she has never traveled farther from her Colorado home than Disneyland, instead spending all her spare time plugging away at her computer. She takes breaks from writing by indulging in her favorite hobby—eating chocolate.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter One
Clair Fletcher eased her rental car onto the shoulder of the deserted country road and came to a stop. She wanted to check the map the rental agency had given her to make sure she was going in the right direction, since it seemed as though she should have reached her destination by now.
She was in Wyoming, headed to some hole-in-the-wall called Elk Creek—hardly where she would ordinarily have gone for her vacation. Of course she wouldn’t ordinarily have taken a week of her vacation at the beginning of March, either.
But this was not a recreational trip. She was on a quest.
According to the map she was still on course, and Elk Creek was only another four or five miles up the road.
Good, she thought as she refolded the map and tried to ignore the jittery feeling that suddenly hit her stomach. It was the same jittery feeling she got every time she was on her way to a big client to give a presentation. No matter how great her idea for that client’s newest ad campaign, she always suffered an attack of nerves right before facing them.
But suffering those jitters wouldn’t stop her now any more than the prepresentation jitters stopped her at any other time. Clair Fletcher hadn’t become one of Chicago’s most recognized advertising account executives by letting things stop her.
She pulled her car back onto the road and pressed the gas pedal with renewed determination.
I’ll make things right, Kristin, she swore—the same vow she’d made over and over again since learning that her much younger sister had been killed in an apartment fire.
Clair barely had a basic overview of what had happened to Kristin in the past three years, and even that basic overview had come to her only a few weeks ago. Before that, Clair hadn’t so much as known where Kristin was, let alone that her sister had been pregnant when Clair had last seen her. And she hadn’t known that Kristin had given the baby up for adoption. Clair felt she had only herself to blame for that alienation.
If Kristin’s son’s adoptive parents—Bill and Kim Miller—hadn’t been killed in a car accident, Clair would likely never have known about Kristin’s death at all. It was only due to the fact that in the Millers’ will they’d requested that, in the event of both their deaths, William’s birth mother be the first person offered the opportunity to raise him. Apparently acting on behalf of the will’s executor, the attorney overseeing the will had dispatched someone to find Kristin, and when that someone had discovered that she, too, was dead, the executor of the will had opted for having Kristin’s family notified in case they didn’t know.
Notified. That was all. Clair and her father had been notified of Kristin’s death as a simple courtesy. It didn’t mean her family was left with any rights to her son.
In fact, they might not even have learned she had a son except that the attorney had assumed the family knew and had taken it upon himself to reassure them that arrangements had been made in the will for William’s guardianship and that he was being well cared for.
That’s where the man Clair was looking for came into the picture.
Clair didn’t know much about him other than his name, that he lived in Elk Creek, Wyoming, and that he was now her nephew’s legal guardian. But three sudden, untimely deaths were leading her to him. Two accidents, one of which had cost her her sister.
I’m so, so sorry, Kristin. But I promise I’ll make things right for your William. I won’t leave him to a stranger. I promise….
A sign announced Elk Creek just before Clair slowed down and passed a train station that looked like something out of an old Western movie. White gingerbread trim decorated the gables of the yellow stationhouse as well as the roof that covered the passenger platform.
From there she passed a place that proclaimed itself The Buckin’ Bronco, Elk Creek’s Only Honky-Tonk. Then she was on Center Street where the Old West theme continued.
Quaint buildings lined both sides of a road so wide there was room for two lanes of traffic and angle parking. Well-kept shops stood along boardwalks dotted with tall Victorian streetlights. Some of the buildings were wood, some brick. None was taller than three stories, and most were only one or two.
Clair’s only company on the wide street was one truck and a horse-drawn wagon, both of them moving at about the same slow pace.
It was the kind of town, she thought, where she might spend a holiday weekend browsing through the shops for handcrafted knickknacks and antiques to escape the work-week rat race.
But this wasn’t a holiday weekend, and she wasn’t there for pleasure. She had a mission. So when she stopped at the general store she barely noticed the sweet cinnamon scent of the place or the warmth given off by the pot-bellied stove that chased away the wintry chill outside.
The woman behind the counter smiled at her and said a cheery hello as Clair approached. Clair could tell by the curiosity in the other woman’s expression that she knew most people who came through the door and was surprised to see someone she didn’t recognize.
Small Town, America, Clair thought, realizing she wasn’t impervious to its romanticized appeal and mentally storing the picturesque details of the place. It would come in handy for her next campaign for homemade jam or country lemonade or farm-fresh poultry.
“I’m looking for someone named Jace Brimley,” Clair informed the woman behind the counter after returning her greeting. “I don’t suppose you could help me with that, could you?”
The woman laughed. “I can’t tell you exactly where he is this second, but I can give you the likeliest choices.” She went on to recite an address for a house on Maple Street and instructions on how to get there. Then she gave directions to a ranch just outside of town, as well. “I’d try the house first,” the other woman suggested when she’d finished.
Clair could tell she was curious about the reason for the inquiry, and she felt the urge to reward the other woman’s friendly assistance with an explanation. But this wasn’t a subject she wanted to share with a stranger, so instead she merely asked if there was a rest room she could use.
The other woman didn’t seem offended by Clair’s reluctance to fill her in and pointed out the rest room without so much as a raised eyebrow to show displeasure over the fact that Clair was obviously not going to buy anything.
“Thank you,” Clair said, heading down an aisle that offered a surprisingly varied selection of grocery items.
The rest room was a single, small room that could have been the bathroom in any home except for the lack of a shower or tub. It was spotlessly clean, and the liquid soap in a bottle had a hand-lettered label that read Mom’s Berry Bright Soap.
It was bright all right—bright purple—and smelled of berries. It was certainly nicer than the industrial-smelling stuff in most public rest rooms.
When she’d dried her hands, Clair took a quick check of her appearance in the mirror.
She didn’t think she looked too much the worse for wear, considering that it was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon and she’d left for the airport at six that morning. Six Chicago time—four in Wyoming.
For the sake of convenience she kept her naturally curly hair very short, so it required only some fluffing with her fingers to put the bounce back into it. Her hair was a dark, burnished red, a blend of dark brown and red. The trouble was on days like today, when stress and weariness began to show, her usually pale skin seemed almost ghostly against the double-strength hair color.
Since her blush was packed in her suitcase, she opted for pinching her high cheekbones in an attempt to add a little natural color, but she didn’t think it helped much.
At least her mascara hadn’t run—that was a good thing—so her light-green eyes still had some definition. And she did have lipstick in her purse to freshen lips that people had told her had a Cupie doll curve.
Once she’d done all she could with her face and hair, she glanced down at the gray slacks, white blouse and gray blazer she had on. She flicked a speck of lint from her left sleeve, tugged on the collar of her blouse to straighten it and smoothed the wrinkles that sitting had put in her trousers.
Then, as if she were going to war, she straightened her shoulders and marched out of the rest room.
“I’m Kansas Heller, by the way,” the woman behind the counter said as she saw Clair coming.
“Clair Fletcher,” Clair responded reflexively.
She wasn’t sure how it was possible, but from the look on Kansas Heller’s face Clair had the impression that between giving her name and having asked for Jace Brimley earlier, she’d just told the other woman all she needed to know.
It was unsettling to think that the other woman—no matter how nice—might be privy to things about her sister or her nephew or their situation that even Clair didn’t know. She was almost tempted to ask what was going through the woman’s mind or to question her about Jace Brimley, but in the end she just thanked her for the use of the rest room and returned to her car.
Dusk was falling by then, and the Victorian streetlights had come on, lending a white glow to the dimness.
Clair wondered suddenly if Kansas Heller might call ahead and warn Jace Brimley that she was coming. If he might duck out rather than wait for her.
But she rejected the idea. After all, he had every legal right on his side. Why should he bolt?
The jitters got worse, anyway, though, and she felt an increased urgency to find him. So she backed out of the parking spot in a hurry and drove faster than she probably should have up Center Street in the direction she’d been told to go.
It didn’t take long to reach the keyhole Kansas Heller had described at the northernmost end of Center Street where a redbrick building and a steepled church stood. Clair rounded the town square nestled within the keyhole and turned on Maple Street where she counted houses until she reached the fifth from the corner, a small two-level saltbox painted beige, shuttered in cocoa brown, with a big front porch where a swing hung by chains at one end.
There was a light on in the picture window at one side of the oversize front door. The top half of the front door was an oval of etched glass, and some light shone through that, too, encouraging Clair to stop, since it looked as if someone was there.
Once she was parked at the curb, she got out and locked her doors before approaching the place.
She climbed the four steps to the front porch, breathing deeply to calm those persistent jitters, and rang the doorbell. It chimed loudly enough for her to hear even outside as she tried to peek through the etched glass in the door for a preview of the man she’d come to see. But the design of flowers and leaves was so intricate that she couldn’t make out anything but colors and distorted shapes.
She did, however, see movement a moment after the doorbell had sounded.
And then, without so much as a Who’s there? the door opened, and on the other side was a mountain of a man.
Clair’s earlier thought about him bolting became instantly ludicrous. Her bet was that this was not a man who had ever run from anything.
And why should he? His size alone made him an imposing figure.
He stood there, at least an inch over six feet tall, on legs as thick and sturdy as tree trunks. His broad chest tapered to a waist and hips that were shaped by taut, lean muscle. His shoulders were wide. His biceps bulged enough to stretch out the short sleeves of the white T-shirt he wore. And if just the sight of his body wasn’t enough to tie Clair’s tongue, one glimpse of his face was.
He had a look that advertisers would clamor for—sharply defined jawline; sensuous lips with a devilish quirk to the corners; a straight patrician nose; deepset, penetrating eyes the same blue-denim color as the low-slung, faded jeans he wore; full brows; and light brown hair the shade of golden oak, close-cropped to a head that was perfectly shaped.
“Can I help you?” he asked when she still hadn’t found her voice. His was a lush baritone—kind, curious and confident.
But before she could answer him, a tiny boy ran up from behind him, grabbed one of his massive thighs as if it were a pole and swung around it to land on his foot with a joyous giggle.
“I tace you!”
The big, strapping, handsome man looked down at the little boy dressed almost identically except that the T-shirt the boy was wearing was red-striped and long-sleeved. Then he bent over, lifted the child as if he weighed no more than a small sack of rice and hoisted him to his shoulders to straddle his neck.
“I know you chased me,” the big man said, hanging onto the boy’s knees as if they were sweater sleeves dangling over his shoulders.
Then the man turned his attention back to Clair, waiting expectantly for an answer to his question.
“I’m looking for Jace Brimley.”
“That’d be me,” he said without hesitation and also without any indication that he’d been warned of her imminent arrival.
But Clair hardly heard him as her gaze locked on the little boy.
She’d been ten years old when Kristin was born, so she had vivid memories of her sister as a child. And the little boy was the spitting image of Kristin at that same age. Dark-green eyes, carrot-red hair that stuck out in an unruly brush all around his head, chubby cheeks, a turned-up nose and a deep dimple just above the left side of the same Cupie-doll mouth Clair had.
Sudden tears flooded her eyes and caught in her throat as she saw her late sister in the little boy. As she realized that he was flesh and blood—her flesh and blood. As he became real to her suddenly.
But she was still standing on Jace Brimley’s porch, beneath the scrutiny of those denim-blue eyes, and she knew she had to say something. So she blinked away the tears, swallowed hard and said, “I’m Clair Fletcher. Kristin Fletcher was my sister.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding his head and dispelling any doubts she might have had that he wouldn’t know who her sister had been. Who she was. “Come on in,” he invited then, as casually as if she’d come to check out a piano he had for sale. Certainly he wasn’t unnerved at all by her appearance at his door.
He stepped out of the way to allow her access, and Clair went in.
It was a cozy house. The entryway was small, with stairs straight ahead and a choice of going right into the living room or left into what appeared to be a den.
She didn’t choose. She merely waited for her host to let her know where to go from there, wondering if he might leave her standing in the foyer rather than offer more comfortable surroundings.
“Hang on a minute,” the big man said amiably enough as he closed the front door, flipped on a light in the den and took his charge into the other room.
“Changed my mind, Willy. You can watch the Barney tape now, before supper.”
On went the television and then, from what Clair surmised, the Barney tape, before Jace Brimley returned.
When he did he pointed toward the living room. “We can go in there,” he said, waiting politely for Clair to precede him.
The living room was cluttered with a large fleece-lined suede coat and a much smaller, heavy parka thrown over one end of a brown plaid sofa. Toys were scattered over the matching chair, the oval coffee table and even the hearth of the rustic brick fireplace and the second television that faced the couch.
Her host gathered up enough of the clutter to free the chair for her to sit on and one end of the couch for himself, depositing his armload on top of the coats at the other end.
Then he sat down and leveled his striking blue eyes at her. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, suffering a twinge of guilt, as if she didn’t have the right to accept his condolences. “I appreciated that the executor of the will informed us of Kristin’s death,” she continued in spite of her own feelings. “We—my father and I—had no idea where she was or what she was doing, let alone that she’d been killed in a fire. We might never have known.”
“I figured as much. I knew she was on the outs with her family from before Willy was born. Thought that still might be the case.”
“So you’re the executor of the will, too?”
He nodded solemnly. Obviously, it wasn’t a chore he relished.
“And you knew my sister?”
“We all got to know her. She lived here during the second half of her pregnancy.”
“Oh.” There was so much more Clair wanted to know, but now didn’t seem like the time to ask. Especially not when Jace Brimley was obviously waiting for her to explain why she was there.
“I…we…didn’t know Kristin was pregnant when she disappeared,” Clair began in order to oblige him. “The fact that she had a child came as quite a surprise.”
“I imagine so.”
“There are things that happened with Kristin that I regret. But…well…she was my sister and I loved her. And now that I know about my nephew, I…”
Clair wasn’t sure how to put this. She doubted that Jace Brimley would merely give the child over to her upon request, so she’d decided that easing into the idea was a better course of action. Besides, she wanted the toddler to become familiar with her before she got into any custody issues. And hopefully while that was happening, she would also be able to convince Jace Brimley that William should be raised by a blood relative.
A blood relative who had failed his mother and wanted desperately to make up for it.
But William’s guardian didn’t need to know that part of it.
Clair finally settled on, “I want to be a part of his life. I want him to be a part of my life.”
The big man sitting across from her nodded somewhat tentatively, Clair thought. But if he had any reservations, they didn’t sound in his voice when he said, “Okay. If I were you I’d feel the same way.”
Clair relaxed slightly at that response and thought that she could chalk up having reached first base.
“I’ve taken some time off work,” she told him then. “I thought I’d stay in town for now, to get acquainted. If you’ll point me in the direction of a hotel, I’ll get myself a room and we can make arrangements for me to see William.” She nodded in the direction of the den and added, “I don’t think he even noticed me tonight.”
“He takes a while to warm up to people,” Jace said. “But as for a hotel, the closest thing Elk Creek has to one of those is the boarding house. But I happen to know it’s full up. I have an extra room here, but it wouldn’t be proper for you to stay in the house with Willy and me. I’ll tell you what, though, our minister’s sister lives next door by herself. She might put you up in her guest room. Then you’d be close by.”
That statement was so full of things that surprised Clair that it took her a moment to work through it all—from Jace Brimley’s old-fashioned courtliness and his willingness to let her into his and William’s life so easily, to the fact that he was also helping her find a place to stay.
“The woman next door would actually open her house to a total stranger?” she finally asked.
“It’s done around here when the need arises. My mom would take you in, but then you’d have to share one bathroom with her and my four brothers, plus you’d be farther away from Willy. So we’ll call Rennie first. I’m sure there won’t be a problem.”
He got up then and disappeared through a connecting door into what Clair glimpsed as the kitchen. Then he came back, dialing a cordless phone along the way.
Clair was a city girl, and until she heard the ease with which Jace Brimley persuaded the woman he’d called to let Clair stay with her, she didn’t believe anyone would do such a thing. But less than two minutes later he hung up and turned back to her.
“It’s all set. Rennie’s glad to have the company.”
“Just like that? Without knowing me from Adam? What if I’m a crazed serial killer or something?”
That made him smile, and if she’d thought he was good-looking before, it was nothing compared with how he looked when that sculpted face was lit with amusement.
“Are you a serial killer?” he asked with a laugh that creased the corners of his eyes and drew very sexy lines down the center of each cheek.
“Not on my good days. But still…”
“I don’t think she’s worried. She said for you to go on over and she’d get you settled in. Then tomorrow—if you’re interested—you can come out to the ranch with Willy and me. Start gettin’ to know him. Lettin’ him get to know you.”
“I’d like that.”
Since there didn’t seem to be any more to say, Clair stood and headed for the door.
Her host reached it before she did and opened it for her. “Rennie’s place is just to the right. Rennie Jennings. You’ll like her. She’s great.”
For no reason Clair understood, she suddenly searched his expression and analyzed his tone, wondering much more than she should have if there was affection for the other woman in either.
But she couldn’t tell if there was more between Jace Brimley and Rennie Jennings than neighborliness, and she was just left wondering and feeling something oddly—and inappropriately—like jealousy.
She tamped it down and pushed aside the very notion that she might care whether Jace Brimley was involved with his neighbor, and said, “Thanks for not slamming the door in my face.”
His square brow wrinkled in a confused frown. “Why would I have done that?”
Clair shrugged. “Someone else might have. They might not have welcomed my showing up out of the blue. Horning in.”
“Lives have room for a lot of people in them. I don’t see any harm in Willy knowin’ he has an aunt who cares enough to come all the way from Chicago to see him.”
It was a nice way to look at things, and Clair was grateful for it. She also felt a little guilty for having ulterior motives.
But she only smiled and kept the truth to herself.
“We usually get out of here pretty early, but seein’ as how we’ll have company, why don’t you come back at nine?” he suggested.
“Nine it is,” Clair agreed as she stepped back out onto the porch.
“I’d walk you over to Rennie’s, but if I drag this boy away from Barney we’ll have a half hour fit on our hands.”
“It’s all right. It’s enough that you arranged for a place for me to stay. I can introduce myself.”
“Tomorrow at nine, then. Come comfortable.”
“Tomorrow at nine,” she repeated.
And with that she said good-night and went back to her car to get her suitcase.
Jace Brimley didn’t go into the house then, though. He stayed on the porch, watching her until she’d rung the bell on the house next door.
As Clair waited for the bell to be answered she marveled at what she’d found in this particular small town. A shopkeeper friendly enough to introduce herself, a man who hadn’t balked at all at her sudden appearance in his life and instead had found her a place to stay so she could be near her nephew, and a woman willing to open her home to a total stranger.
In comparison to what she was used to, Clair felt as though she’d just landed on another planet.
And in comparison to other men she knew—less polite, less considerate, more threatened, and much, much less gorgeous—Jace Brimley seemed like something from another world, too.
But she wasn’t there to be impressed by Jace Brimley, she reminded herself as she heard Rennie Jennings coming to the door.
She was there to connect with her nephew. To convince Jace Brimley that she should be the person to raise William.
And that was exactly what she intended to do.
Chapter Two
Willy didn’t do it every morning, but he did it often enough that Jace didn’t even open his eyes when he felt the little boy get into bed with him. He didn’t have to look at the clock to know it was about 4:00 a.m., either. When Willy got into bed with him it was always about 4:00 a.m.
Jace didn’t mind.
He was lying on his back, his hands on his chest, and he just stretched one arm up and out along the second pillow so that the toddler could burrow into his side like a pup looking for warmth.
It made him smile, and once Willy was situated and settled, Jace gazed down at him.
Yep, there he was, curled up to him as close as he could get, sound asleep again, one index finger poked through his security washcloth to rub it methodically against his chubby cheek.
Jace didn’t really understand the appeal of the washcloth. He knew some kids got attached to blankets and stuffed toys, but a washcloth? He couldn’t figure that one out. It had been a stocking-stuffer the year before last—a washcloth with a big, goofy-looking Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on it. Kim had said that Willy wouldn’t go down for a nap or a night’s sleep without it, and for a while after the accident he hadn’t let go of it for a single minute.
But now he was back to just wanting it to sleep with, and that felt like an accomplishment to Jace, as if he’d been able to return Willy to the same sense of love and safety the little boy had felt with his mom and dad.
Jace pulled the covers up over the child, rubbed his head as if he really were a puppy snuggled up to him and waited to fall back to sleep himself.
But that didn’t happen as easily as it usually did. Just the way it hadn’t happened earlier in the night. And for the same reason.
Clair Fletcher.
Jace just wasn’t too sure what to make of her and her sudden appearance in Elk Creek.
She’d said she wanted to be a part of Willy’s life and she wanted Willy to be a part of hers. A simple enough statement. But what exactly did it mean? Did it mean she wanted to be someone who visited him now and then, who maybe had him visit her occasionally? Someone who talked to him on the phone to keep up with him, and sent him gifts for birthdays and holidays?
Or did it mean something more than that?
That’s the part that had Jace on the alert. Because the truth was, his gut instinct told him that she’d meant more than that.
He didn’t have anything tangible on which to base his doubts. But he’d seen her eyes well up with tears when she’d taken her first real look at the boy, and for a minute Jace had thought she might actually reach out, snatch Willy and run with him. From that moment on Jace had had a strong sense that she’d come to claim Willy for herself.
But if that was true, she was in for a rude awakening. Because Jace wasn’t going to let that happen. No matter what she might think, he wasn’t giving Willy up. Not only had he been granted legal guardianship through his best friend’s will, but he’d made a pact with Billy Miller the day Billy’s adoption of Willy had become final. A pact that if anything ever happened to Billy, Jace would take over for him and raise the boy. And Jace didn’t take that lightly.
Besides, he had been more than happy to step up to the plate. He’d been so closely involved with Willy, even before Billy’s and Kim’s deaths, that Willy had seemed like his own son. He’d been Uncle Jace, who baby-sat and brought gifts, who played with Willy and took him on outings to the ranch. Uncle Jace who’d discovered through those tiny tastes of parenthood that he had a pretty strong urge to become a father himself.
Unfortunately, the desire to become a parent was not shared by the woman who had been his wife at the time, so instead of looking forward to having a child of his own when Billy and Kim had died, he’d been trying to put a divorce behind him.
But that was all over now. And he might not have a child of his own making, but he had Willy and he intended to concentrate on being the best dad he could be to the boy.
Sure, he supposed Clair Fletcher could complicate that, if she had a mind to, but she wasn’t going to change it. He’d do whatever he had to do to go on raising the boy, even if it meant war.
It would be too bad if it came to that, though, he thought. Not only didn’t he want a custody battle with her, but there were a whole lot more pleasurable things he could think of to do with her….
An image of her drifted into his mind’s eye, that first image of her when he’d opened the door to find her standing on the porch. No, thoughts of custody battles had definitely not been what she’d initially inspired in him.
She was damn beautiful. A knock-out—that had been what he was thinking when she’d said her name and he’d suddenly recognized the resemblance to Kristin and Willy.
Her hair was darker than theirs. Richer. It didn’t have the pumpkin shades of her sister’s hair or her nephew’s, it was the red of cherry wood. And it was a stark frame to the color of her skin. Flawless, porcelain skin so luminous it almost hadn’t looked real in the porch light.
Her eyes were something, too. Big, wide, green eyes, so light they were like looking at meadow grass through spring frost.
And there was sure nothing wrong with the rest of her. Delicate features—a thin nose, high cheekbones, lips so soft looking and so sweetly curved, the only thing they could be called was kissable.
Plus, her body—what he’d been able to see of it through the opening in the coat she’d never taken off—was great. She had long legs for a relatively short person—he guessed her to be not more than five foot three or four. Small hips and waist. Just the right size breasts…
Oh, yeah, she was not at all hard on the eyes.
But that didn’t make any difference, he reminded himself. Willy was his priority. Raising Willy. And regardless of what Clair Fletcher had on her mind, raising Willy was exactly what he was going to do.
Cherry-wood-colored hair and stunning green eyes or no, Jace swore to himself that he would keep the lovely Miss Fletcher at arm’s length—at arm’s length and in his sights so there wouldn’t be any surprises from her.
And that was all there was to it.
Except that even with his determination in place, it was still hard to get her out of his head….
As Clair stared into her open suitcase trying to decide what to wear to the ranch, she realized that her options were limited.
She’d only packed one pair of blue jeans, so that narrowed that choice. But what to wear with them was more difficult since she wasn’t sure how dirty she might get.
She opted for the oldest sweater she’d brought with her—a hunter-green V-neck that she wore with a white T-shirt underneath—in case it was ruined.
Once that decision was made and the clothes were laid out on the bed, she took a shower and shampooed her hair, all the while trying once again to calm those familiar jitters in her stomach.
The cause was two-fold today—thoughts of Jace Brimley and thoughts of Willy—as her nephew was apparently called.
Although it wasn’t something Clair would ever admit to Jace, she’d never been much of a kid person. Not that she didn’t like kids. She did. She just hadn’t had very much experience with them.
She’d baby-sat for Kristin. Their ten-year age difference had made her perfect for that. But her younger sister had been the only child with whom Clair had had contact. And that had been a long time ago. So she wasn’t altogether sure how to relate to Willy. How to make friends with him. How to get him to warm up to her. Especially when he seemed to have been totally oblivious to her the previous evening, during the brief time before he’d been dispatched to watch his Barney tape.
Would he even notice she was there today? And if he didn’t, how would she draw his attention? Because she needed to have his attention. She needed him to like her. She needed to win him over. If she could accomplish that, she’d have a firmer footing to stand on when she put in her bid to take custody of him from Jace Brimley.
Jace Brimley. Another cause of her jitters.
Clair didn’t like not being perfectly honest and up-front with him. She wasn’t a deceptive person, and practicing even a small deceit made her uncomfortable. But even if she hadn’t been sure before, she knew that after seeing Jace with Willy last night, he wouldn’t just give her the little boy for the asking.
In fact, she was convinced that if she’d been open and aboveboard about why she was really in Elk Creek, Jace wouldn’t have welcomed her the way he had or allowed her free access to Willy. That would have kept her from bonding with her nephew the way she hoped to and would have left her on shakier ground both in getting Jace to agree amicably to give the boy over to her and in winning any court battle, if it came to that.
She definitely hoped it didn’t come to that, though. She hoped that she and Willy would hit it off and that she could develop the kind of relationship with him that Jace seemed to have. She hoped that, when Jace saw it, he would concede that a blood relative should have precedence over someone who was merely a designated guardian.
Clair towel-dried her hair, then fluffed and scrunched it with her fingers, thinking that gentle persuasion, finesse, tact, and diplomacy were most certainly the routes she wanted to take with Jace Brimley.
After meeting him, after seeing him, she knew that he would not be an easy person to do battle with. Not with those big, bulging biceps and those broad, broad shoulders and those penetrating, blue eyes…
Clair paused in the middle of brushing a light dusting of blush on her cheeks and shook her head disgustedly at her own reflection. What was she thinking? That Jace Brimley would pummel her with those massive muscles or that lasers would shoot from his eyes to burn her alive?
Of course there was no physical danger from Jace Brimley. Any man who could so tenderly handle a toddler a fraction of his size was hardly likely to react with some kind of he-man, World Wrestling Federation antics when she finally admitted openly that she wanted to raise her nephew.
If he decided to fight her over Willy he would likely be a force to be reckoned with. But he wouldn’t present any danger to her.
No, if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that what was really dangerous about Jace Brimley was the fact that her own thoughts kept wandering to things like his bulging biceps and broad shoulders and penetrating blue eyes. Not to mention the rest of his incredibly handsome face and well-built body and even the deep baritone of his voice…
Clair paused again, this time with her mascara wand halfway to her eye. She’d been so lost in thoughts of Jace Brimley that she hadn’t even realized she’d moved on to eyeliner and mascara.
Oh, yes, there was definitely danger in her own wandering thoughts, she told herself as she finished her makeup and abandoned the small vanity table to go to the bedside to get dressed.
In essence, Jace Brimley was the enemy, and it certainly wasn’t good strategy to think about the enemy in terms of staggering good looks and a spectacular body, she reasoned. Even if staggering good looks and a spectacular body were what the enemy had. It also wasn’t good strategy to be distracted by the thrumming of her own heart every time he so much as flashed through her mind. That was truly where the danger lurked. And she wasn’t going to allow any of it.
Of course, if she had met Jace Brimley at a party one Saturday night in Chicago, the staggering good looks and spectacular body and her own involuntary response to it all might make him someone she would be interested in personally.
But this wasn’t a Saturday-night party in Chicago, and being interested in Jace Brimley personally was not part of the plan. She’d come to Elk Creek for one reason and for only one reason—to get her nephew—and that was all she was going to do here. Period.
But as she pulled on her socks and shoes, gave her hair a last fluff and applied a little lip gloss, she realized that the jitters she was feeling had an added element to them. An element that felt suspiciously like eagerness. And not just eagerness to see Willy again. Eagerness to get next door to see Jace Brimley again, too.
And no amount of willpower or reasoning with herself dispelled it.
Especially not when the image of the gloriously handsome man popped into her head again and her heart did another round of that uncontrollable thrumming in response.
I’m here for Willy. And for Kristin’s sake, she reminded herself firmly. And nothing else.
But still her heart kept thrumming, and a little voice in the back of her mind said, But if this was a Saturday-night party in Chicago things might be a whole lot different….
Willy was on the porch when Clair crossed the two yards at exactly nine o’clock. He was so cute that just one look at him made her smile.
He had on miniature blue jeans with the legs cuffed on the bottoms to expose tiny suede work boots. He also wore the heavy parka Clair had seen on the sofa the night before. It wasn’t zipped in front, so between the open sides she could see a navy-blue T-shirt with a bright picture of a cartoon dog and the words Scooby-Doo arched over the dog’s head.
Clair wasn’t sure what Willy was doing, but he was very busy scanning the perimeters of the porch, looking into the two empty clay flowerpots that sentried the front door and even studying the swing seat.
“Hi, Willy,” she greeted as she reached the porch steps.
The little boy cast her a glance from beneath a suspicious frown but he didn’t answer her. Instead he went on about his business.
Clair climbed the stairs and sat on the porch floor, bracing her back against the railing so she could watch him at his own level.
“What are you doing?” she tried again.
“Nussin’,” he finally responded under his breath, pressing his adorable red head as far as he could between the railing slats to peer into the surrounding bushes that hadn’t yet begun to leaf.
“It doesn’t look like you’re doing nothing,” Clair persisted, hoping she’d translated nussin’ correctly. “Did you lose something?”
“No,” he said forcefully, even though searching for something was what he appeared to be doing.
“Can I help?”
“No,” he said, adding impatience and surliness to the forcefulness.
He must have spotted whatever he was hunting for because suddenly he ran as fast as his little legs would take him, around Clair, down the steps and toward the driveway where he snatched something from the side of the porch.
Then he bounded back the way he’d come and charged into the house as if Clair wasn’t there at all.
“Whoa, boy!”
She heard Jace’s deep voice come from just inside as she stood to follow Willy. By the time she was on her feet again Jace was out the door, one big hand on Willy’s head to urge him in the same direction.
“’Mornin’,” Jace said, ignoring Willy’s obvious lack of desire to rejoin her.
“Good morning.”
Willy tugged on Jace’s pant leg—apparently a signal that he wanted to be picked up, because the tall man bent over and did just that, settling the child on one hip.
When he was situated, Willy whispered something in Jace’s ear and in response to it, Jace said, “Her name is Clair. She’s your aunt—that’s someone like Josh and Beau and Ethan and Scott and Devon. They’re your uncles, and ladies like them are called aunts.”
Willy shook his head, vigorously, solemnly and muttered, “Ants’re bugs.”
Clair felt her heart clench at the continuing rejection, but she laughed at his reasoning, anyway.
“Some ants are bugs and other kinds of aunts are people. Clair is not a bug,” Jace tutored. Then, in a confidential voice directed into the boy’s ear, he added, “Why don’t you say good morning to her?”
“No,” Willy responded without hesitation and with as much force as his earlier nos to her.
“Come on. She’s a nice lady. Pretty, too. And if I’m rememberin’ right, she’s come a long way to see you.”
Willy shook his head once more, a stern refusal. Then he stuck his index finger in his mouth and glared at Clair.
“Okay,” Jace conceded as if it were Willy’s loss. “But me, I like pretty ladies.”
Willy shook his head again and remained mute.
Jace ignored that, too, and focused his denim-blue eyes entirely on Clair. “He’s had a lot of upheaval in the past few months,” he said. “And he’s two.”
Clair nodded as if she understood, but she couldn’t keep her spirits from deflating slightly at this second, less-than-enthusiastic beginning.
Then, in a cheerier tone, Jace said, “Shall we get goin’?”
“Sure,” Clair agreed, putting some effort into hiding her disappointment that Willy wouldn’t have anything to do with her.
To Willy, Jace said, “I see you found your tool belt. So we should be all set.”
This time the small, bur-cut head bobbed up and down, and Willy held aloft the toy tool belt he’d located a few minutes earlier by the side of the porch.
Jace turned back to the house to close and lock the door. As he did, Clair’s gaze went with a will of its own to the man himself.
He was dressed much like Willy was—cowboy boots instead of work boots, blue jeans, and a jean jacket over a faded red Henley shirt over a white crew-neck T-shirt that showed beneath the Henley’s open placket.
But it wasn’t merely the clothes that Clair took notice of. It was also the way the clothes fit the man.
The T-shirt molded to impressive pectorals. The waist-length jean jacket was stretched to its limits by the breadth of his shoulders and the expanse of his muscular arms. And the jeans…oh, the jeans! They were just snug enough to cup a derriere to die for.
Clair’s mouth went dry, her heart started thrumming all over again, and she felt as if her temperature had gone up.
Maybe she’d caught some kind of country fever, she thought. Some kind of country fever that was making her body react to things she shouldn’t even be aware of.
Or maybe it was cowboy fever, she amended, none too patient with herself.
But country fever or cowboy fever, she forced her eyes off Jace’s rear end in the nick of time as he spun back around on his heels with a sexy bit of grace and agility that made her think he was probably a good dancer.
He pointed his chin toward the black truck in the driveway and said, “Hope you don’t mind sittin’ in the middle. Willy’s car seat has to be on the passenger’s side because of the seat belt.”
It wasn’t sitting in the middle that she minded. The problem was the effect it would have on her to be that close to Jace.
“Maybe I should follow behind in my car,” she suggested when it occurred to her, trying not to think about his behind….
“You can if you want but it seems silly. Unless you aren’t plannin’ to spend the whole day with us.”
“No, it isn’t that,” she answered in a hurry, concerned that he’d gotten the impression she didn’t want to be with Willy that long. “I just thought that if I was crowding you—”
“There’s plenty of room,” he assured her before she could finish her attempt to cover her tracks.
“Okay, then,” she said much too happily, when the truth was that just the thought of being that near to Jace on the truck’s bench seat raised her temperature another notch. Cowboy fever. If there was such a thing, she really thought she had it.
But since there was no rectifying the situation, she went along with Jace and Willy to the truck, arriving on the driver’s side at the same moment Jace did.
He reached in front of her and opened the door for her, then rounded the cab to deposit Willy in the car seat and buckle him in.
That was accomplished by the time Clair slid in next to the child. But her welcome there was cold as Willy frowned at her as if she were intruding, then presented her with the back of his head, looking through the side window in yet another rejection of her.
She really didn’t know what to do about him. But before she could come up with anything, Jace was behind the wheel and she was left torn between the child who didn’t want anything to do with her and the man whose very presence did too much to her.
And all she could do was hope that the trip they were about to embark on was short.
For a while, as Jace drove through town, neither of them said anything, and Clair was every bit as hyper-sensitive to his proximity as she’d feared she would be.
The scent of his woodsy, clean-smelling aftershave didn’t help. In fact it almost seemed to intoxicate her and make her even more aware of every little detail about him. Even more vulnerable to what she thought had to be just plain animal magnetism.
He seemed to be trying to give her as much space as he could, because he was hugging the driver’s side door, bracing his left elbow on the armrest and leaning his jawbone on his fist.
It was actually a pretty relaxed way to drive since he was using his right wrist to control the steering wheel on the straightaways, leaving his hand to dangle on the other side of the wheel.
But nothing could put more than an inch of distance between his thigh and hers, and Clair was excruciatingly aware of it. It left her with the inexplicable sense that she could feel the heat of that thigh seeping into her in a very sensual way….
“How far is this ranch you work on?” she asked, to escape her own reaction to him and in the hope that it wouldn’t be long before they got to their destination.
Jace looked at her out of the corner of his eye and smiled as if he could take offense to that question but chose not to. “The ranch is about ten miles outside of town. But I’m not a hired hand. It’s my family’s place. My place. My dad passed away three years ago after a heart attack, but my brothers and my mother and I keep it going.”
“Brothers—those would be the uncles you mentioned?”
“Right.”
“I didn’t count, but it sounded like there are a lot of them.”
“Five.”
“No sisters?”
“Nope. My dad always joked that my mom gave him sons because they couldn’t afford ranch hands.”
“So all six sons make their living on your family’s ranch?”
“Everybody but my brother Devon. He’s a veterinarian in Denver. The rest of us work the place, yeah, but we’ve all been known to pick up odd jobs here and there to supplement what the ranch brings in. My brother Josh, for instance, was just elected sheriff.”
By then they were on the outskirts of Elk Creek, and Clair began to see what she assumed were ranches or farms—she couldn’t tell the difference. Basically what she saw were huge stretches of open countryside with an occasional large house, barn or outbuilding sitting far back from the road.
Jace must have noticed her interest in the three houses they passed—all very impressive—because he said, “Our spread isn’t up to par with what you’re seein’ so far. We’re smaller.”
There was a note to his voice that told her it was a sore spot with him.
“So you live in town and just go out to your ranch to work? Is there not a house on it?”
“Sure there’s a house. I grew up in it, and my mother and brothers still live there. I just moved into town when I became Willy’s guardian—that house belonged to Billy and Kim. Now, technically, it’s Willy’s. But I thought Willy had had enough trauma, and he didn’t need to be moved out to the ranch on top of everything else.”
“It must be inconvenient for you to live in Elk Creek instead of on your land with your family, though.”
“Some, but it’s no big deal. I may consider moving back with Willy later on, renting out the house in town. The money from something like that could pay for Willy’s education when the time comes. Then, after he’s all grown-up he can take the place over. But for now this is what’s best for him.”
Clair glanced over at Willy. “So you’re already a homeowner, huh?” she joked.
Willy looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language and turned his head again.
“We’re just up the road,” Jace informed her as he turned off the main drag onto a flat dirt road that was a straight shot to a house that stood about a quarter of a mile ahead.
As they drew nearer Clair could see more details. The house was a two-story square box. A steep, black, shingled roof dropped eaves over three multipaned windows on the top level, and a matching roof shaded a wraparound porch on the lower level.
It was definitely not as fancy, as elaborate or as large as the houses they’d passed before, but it showed care in the flawless white paint and the black shutters that stood on either side of all the windows, including the two picture windows that looked out onto the porch.
There were homey, loving touches in the twin carriage lamps that adorned the shutters that bracketed the door, in the planters that hung in the center of each section of the cross-buck railing that surrounded the porch, and in the old-fashioned spindled benches and high-backed rocking chairs situated here and there.
But regardless of the care lavished on the place, it was still just an old farmhouse that couldn’t compare to those other houses they’d driven by.
“Mop?” Willy said excitedly, as Jace drove around the house to the big red barn behind it.
“She’s already gone by now, Willy. So’s everybody else.”
“Mop?” Clair repeated.
“That’s what he calls my mother. Near as we can tell he heard all of us calling her Mom, figured she wasn’t his mom, and settled for Mop.”
“Mop,” Willy said again in confirmation, as if it made perfect sense.
“We’re getting a late start today or the whole gang would be here and I’d introduce you. As it is, there’s no reason to go in when it’s the paddock fence I’m fixin’ today. But we have the run of the place if you need a bathroom or anything,” he informed her as he pulled the truck to a stop near the barn’s great door.
“I can keep Willy out of your way while you work,” Clair suggested.
“I hep you, Unca Ace,” Willy insisted, again with that two-year-old forcefulness, as if Clair were interfering.
“Uncle Ace?” she parroted, unable to suppress a laugh as she did.
“He doesn’t do too well with js,” Jace explained, giving her a sheepish grin that was so charming and endearing she didn’t have a doubt that it gave him tremendous leverage with whatever woman he used it on. Her included, although she didn’t want to admit it.
Then, to Willy, he said, “Yep, you can help me. And maybe we’ll put Clair to work, too.”
Willy scowled at her but didn’t come out with the usual no. That seemed to Clair like progress.
Jace got out of the truck, and Clair followed him, glancing around as he took Willy from the car seat.
Not that there was a lot to see—some farm equipment, a garage about the same size as the barn, with four doors and what looked to be an apartment on top. The winter’s remaining bales of hay were stacked in a lean-to. Several towering apple trees provided shade for the rear of the house and the mud porch that jutted out from it. A brick-paved patio held a picnic table, benches and stacked lawn chairs awaiting summer.
“There you go, little man,” Clair heard Jace say as he set Willy on his feet.
No sooner did he let go of the small boy than Willy took off like a shot for the barn, disappearing through the big open doors without a word to Jace.
“Where’s he going?” Clair asked.
“To say good morning to Tom. He’s our barn cat. Willy never gets near the barn without going in after him.”
“Would you mind if I went, too?”
“No, go ahead. I need to get the wood out of the truck and start work. I’ll be right over there.” He nodded toward the white rail fence that surrounded an area of dirt beside the barn. The paddock, Clair assumed, although it didn’t really matter to her what it was called.
Willy was all that was on her mind as she took off in the same direction he had, entertaining visions of the two of them bonding over the pet.
She expected to find boy and cat the moment she stepped through the barn’s main door but all she saw was a long center aisle with empty stall after empty stall lining both sides.
“Willy?” she called.
The child didn’t answer her, but from outside Jace’s booming baritone said, “He’ll be in the tack room.”
Clair wasn’t sure what a tack room was, but since there was a door at the end of the center aisle, she headed for that. Along the way she looked into each stall just in case, but to no avail. Neither Willy nor the cat were in any of them.
“Willy?” she called again tentatively as she approached the door.
She could see one end of a tall workbench. Harnesses, reins and various paraphernalia hung from hooks on the walls. But she still didn’t see her nephew or the cat.
Until she actually reached the door.
But she’d only taken two steps in the direction of the workbench when the cat let out an angry meow, and Willy wailed, “Ouch!”
Then Willy scrambled out from under the workbench and charged passed her, crying loudly, “Unca Ace! Unca Ace!”
Terrified of what might be wrong, Clair ran after him, arriving at Jace’s side just as he scooped Willy into his arms.
“What’d you do, Willy?” he asked patiently, scanning a scratch on the boy’s hand.
“I talked back of cat, cat talked back of me,” Willy lamented.
“Mmm-hmm,” Jace said as if he understood exactly what the little boy had said. “You were pulling Tom’s tail again, weren’t you? And he hissed at you, you told him to be quiet, and went right on pulling it until he scratched you. Right?”
“Yep,” Willy said pitifully.
“You can’t be mean to Tom. What did I tell you about that?”
“He’s mean on me.”
“He’s only mean to you when you’re mean to him first. You can’t pull his tail.”
“I wanna.”
“Well, you can’t. And if you do it again, I won’t let you go in and see him anymore.”
Out jutted Willy’s bottom lip and down went his brows into a dark frown. But then he said, “I wanna hep you,” in a conciliatory whine.
“You can help me as soon as we wash out that scratch.”
And with that they took a quick, first-aid break in the mudroom.
Clair only watched from the sidelines because every time she got too near Willy insisted she, “Dit away!” as if she’d been the cause of his misery.
Then, once Jace was certain Willy was well taken care of, they all went back outside.
Jace had unloaded the new rails from the truck bed and stacked them on the ground behind it. He pointed at them as they passed them on their way back.
“You guys can bring those over to the fence,” he suggested. “Willy can take one end and Clair can take the other.”
It was clearly a chore he’d left purposely for them, because he could have hauled the whole lot of it in one trip himself. Clair appreciated that he was encouraging the togetherness so she could interact with her nephew. But Willy wanted no part of it, and the minute Clair put a hand on one of the rails, he dropped his end, picked up another board and dragged it himself.
“He’s an independent little guy,” Jace said apologetically when, after the third try, she’d given up and left the chore to Willy, settling near where Jace worked just to watch the boy.
“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Clair said. But she knew she didn’t sound convincing.
Jace used the claw end of a hammer as leverage to pull off the damaged rails he intended to replace. He had a rhythm going, and it caught Clair’s eye even as she meant to be only watching Willy.
But Jace was something to see as he braced a booted foot against the lowest rail, jammed the claw behind the board and nail and then put muscle into yanking them free.
Clair told herself not to pay attention to it. That “Unca Ace” was not why she was there. But with the March sun streaking his hair with gold and illuminating his handsome face as perfectly as a photographer’s lamp at a photo shoot, he was a hard sight to tear her gaze from.
When he’d pulled off a number of rails and Willy had all the new ones haphazardly deposited nearby, he said, “Okay, pal, if you’re careful to grab the old boards in the middle where there aren’t any nails you can take them to the trash for me. Maybe we can get Clair to stand over there and throw them in for us.” Then, under his breath, he said to Clair, “He has to have help with that.”
Willy might have needed her assistance, but that didn’t mean he was interested in socializing during the process.
Clair followed him to a large metal trash receptacle where he gave each board to her as solemnly as if it were the Olympic torch. But she got no response to anything she said to him to try to draw him out, except when she asked about the picture on the front of his T-shirt. Then he said, “I watch Dooby-Doo on TV,” and went back to ignoring her.
That was how the bulk of the day went, and by the end of it, Clair was both weary and dejected.
But she didn’t want Jace to know it, and so, as they drove back into town, she decided to do some subtle pleading of her own case.
“It doesn’t seem very practical to contend with a two-and-a-half-year-old while you work every day,” she said, slightly out of the blue and confident that Willy wouldn’t be aware of the conversation because he’d fallen instantly asleep in his car seat.
He gave her the sideways glance he’d given her on their way out to the ranch, taking his eyes off the road for only a split second and not turning his head. “Oh, I don’t know. I think we make a pretty good team.”
“You must not get as much done, though. Stopping to deal with a child every few minutes is distracting, and the time it takes away from your work adds up.”
Jace smiled mysteriously, and she had the impression that he was seeing through her again. “What are you, an efficiency expert?”
“I’m just saying that—”
“It isn’t as if I’m in an office with a quota to fill. I don’t see anything wrong with what we’re doin’. If my job for the day can’t be done with him around, one of my brothers is invariably doing something he can be there for, or my mother takes him with her to the McDermots’ place. She works around their house, and they don’t mind havin’ Willy over if need be. One of their boys is a little older than he is, and they play real well together. Some days they ask for him to come.”
Jace looked at her for a moment, somewhat pointedly, she thought. Then he said, “Seems to me this is a better way for a boy to grow up than havin’ to spend his days indoors at a day care center or a baby-sitter’s or something. He’s out in the open, learnin’ things, playin’, gettin’ his self-assurance and self-esteem built up by findin’ he can be a help and actually do some chores like he did today.”
It was hard to disagree with any of that, because she’d seen all of what he was talking about, and he was right.
But she couldn’t not argue her own side.
“There’s something to be said for day care when they begin to work on skills kids need for school. Plus they learn there are rules they have to follow and they learn how to work and play with other kids. A good day-care center can give a child a head start.”
“You think it’s better for a boy to be shut up in an institution every day rather than be out in the fresh air and sunshine with somebody who’s giving him one-on-one attention?”
“‘Shut up in an institution’?” she repeated. “You make it sound like an insane asylum. There are playgrounds and equipment—it isn’t as if kids are locked in windowless dungeons and fed gruel. They get accustomed to structure and order and schedules. They learn to compromise. They learn that there’s a time for work and a time for play, that there needs to be a balance in life. They learn discipline and order. Hygiene and—”
Jace laughed. “Are you thinkin’ Willy should be groomed for the military? Childhood as extended boot camp?”
“Of course not. It’s just that there’s something to be said for today’s day-care centers and for being free to do your own work without the hindrance of a child.”
The moment she said the word hindrance she knew she’d made a mistake, and the sobering of Jace’s expression only confirmed it.
Jace leaned forward enough to check on Willy, to make sure the little boy wasn’t hearing any of this.
Then he said, “I haven’t for a single minute thought of havin’ Willy with me as a hindrance.”
“I know. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just meant that there’s nothing wrong with a child being cared for by someone other than a parent or guardian while the parent or guardian works.”
“I enjoy havin’ Willy with me. He enjoys bein’ with me. I think we’re both lucky to have the chance to spend this time together.”
And that seemed to conclude the conversation as he pulled into his driveway.
Which was for the best as far as Clair was concerned, because she knew she’d lost more points than she’d gained all the way around today.
Jace got out of the truck and Clair followed him, stopping to wait near the hood while he went around to the passenger side to unbuckle Willy.
But as she stood there, she began to wonder where she should go from there. If she should continue to tag along into the house or if the end of the day signaled the end of her time with Willy and Jace—something she was suddenly inordinately loath to have happen.
She hated to invite herself to stay if Jace was tiring of her company, but she also didn’t want to leave and have him think she’d had her fill, either.
Luckily Jace solved her dilemma.
“Tuesday night is pizza night at our house. Want to come back in an hour or so and see what an evening in the life of Willy Miller is like now that you’ve seen what his day involves?”
A swell of gratitude rose inside Clair, and it occurred to her that she liked this man very much. There was something so strong and confident about him that he wasn’t threatened by the idea of sharing Willy—at least as things stood now. Strong and confident enough that he was trying to help her get to know her nephew, get closer to him, even if Willy wasn’t cooperating.
It was just plain nice of him. And that was a refreshing change for her.
Not to mention that it made him all the more appealing….
“I’d like that,” she said belatedly, when she realized she hadn’t responded to his invitation yet.
“Great. An hour’ll give me a chance to shower off some of today’s grime and get my dough to risin’.”
He could surprise her, too.
“Your dough? You mean you make the pizza?”
“Somebody always ‘makes’ the pizza, Clair,” he said, teasing her by explaining the obvious.
“I know someone makes the pizza. I just didn’t think, when you said it was pizza night, that you were the someone. I figured you ordered out.”
“Can’t order out pizza as good as I make.”
“And you even make the dough?”
“Mmm-hmm. The sauce, too. I cook up a batch and can it myself.”
“Amazing.”
“I’m a man of many talents,” he said with a voice full of innuendo and a lascivious arch to his eyebrow that made her laugh this time.
But she didn’t doubt him. And she also realized that there was a part of her that was far too interested in learning just what all he was talented at….
“An hour then,” she repeated. “I’d like to clean up, too. Can I bring something? I could run into town for—” She was going to say she could run into town for a bottle of wine but she realized that made it sound too much like they were planning a date. So she quickly changed course. “—for something for dessert. Does Willy like ice cream?”
“Sure, but there’s some in the freezer if we get the urge. After my pizza you might not have room.”
What Clair was afraid of was just what kind of urges she might end up having. But she didn’t say that. Instead she played off the braggadocio in his last comment.
“Pretty proud of your pizza, are you?”
His supple mouth eased into a wicked grin, and only then did it occur to her that the way she’d said that had made it sound as if she was referring to something more personal than pizza. Something a whole lot more personal than pizza.
But he didn’t miss a beat before saying, “Yeah, I am,” in much the same tone.
Clair decided she’d better get away from there before either of them ventured any further into the flirting neither one should have been doing.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” she said with a hint of chastisement in her tone.
“I’ll be here.”
“See you in a little bit, Willy,” she called to her nephew, who was hunkered down in serious study of a dead spider.
Willy ignored her yet again.
“Mind your manners, little man,” Jace warned amiably enough.
“Bye-see-ya,” the boy answered without looking away from the spider.
But Clair had successfully accomplished what she’d wanted, and whatever sparks had been flying between her and Jace were defused. Or at least they were muted some.
“I guess that says it all. Bye-see-ya,” she parroted, heading off across the lawn toward Rennie Jennings’s house.
But she could feel Jace’s eyes on her as she did, and she only realized after she was doing it that she’d put the tiniest sway into her walk.
Knock it off, she ordered herself.
But even the command and the reminder that she wasn’t there to start anything up with Jace didn’t help. Her hips seemed to have a mind of their own, and they went right on swaying all the way inside.
Chapter Three
Clair climbed Jace’s porch steps exactly one hour later. As she did she silently repeated to herself, I’m here to see Willy. I’m here to see Willy. I’m here to see Willy.
Not to spend the evening with Jace.
But she could hardly believe herself, knowing Willy would never notice that she’d showered and shampooed her hair for the second time today, reapplied blush, mascara and eyeliner, and carefully chosen her best cashmere turtleneck sweater to wear over her black slacks because the color made her skin look luminous.
She was there to see Willy. There to see Willy. There to see Willy…
“The door’s open,” Jace called from inside when she rang the bell.
Clair let herself in to Jace’s second call. “We’re in the kitchen.” She followed the sound of his voice instructing Willy. “Pat it out like a mud pie the way I showed you.”
From the living room she went into the dining room, then through the swinging door and into the kitchen, which she’d barely caught a glimpse of before. The walls were painted bright blue around the natural oak cupboards and white appliances. A large round table monopolized the center of the room, surrounded by four ladder-back chairs.
Jace was standing at the table, and Willy was beside him, kneeling on the seat of one of the chairs. There was a wooden pastry board in front of them both, and while Jace pressed dough into a round pizza pan at one end, Willy attempted to do the same with a considerably smaller piece on a cookie sheet at the other end of it.
“Hi,” Jace greeted her, glancing up from what he was doing to cast her a welcoming smile that seemed to make the kitchen even brighter.
“Hi,” Clair answered. Then she added, “Hi, Willy.”
Willy, of course, barely muttered a “Hi” in return, without so much as looking at her.
“He’s learnin’ to be a pizza man,” Jace said proudly.
“Pizza man,” the little boy repeated as if it were a title he was eager to have.
Clair watched the two of them pressing floured fingers into the soft dough to spread it ever wider. Willy put too much pressure into it most of the time and jammed his fingers all the way through, leaving holes here and there.
But Jace was more adept, and she marveled at how such powerful hands could be so agile. Agile enough, she supposed, to knead a woman’s flesh much the same way, with just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of tenderness, just the right amount of firmness…
“Pull up a seat,” he said, interrupting her wandering thoughts none too soon. “We’re just about to put on all the trimmings.”
Clair straightened her posture, took a deep breath and once more reminded herself that she was only there to see Willy.
“Can I do something to help?” she asked.
“Pour yourself a glass of wine.”
So she hadn’t been the only one with that idea.
“There are three glasses near the bottle on the counter,” Jace said with a nod in the direction of the tiled countertop near the sink.
“Willy gets wine?”
Jace made a face at her. “He gets the grape juice next to it. But if you don’t put it in a wineglass he’ll only want what we’re having.”
“Oh,” Clair said, chagrined at overlooking the obvious.
She did the honors, surprised to find the wine he had breathing on the counter was a particularly good vintage.
He really was more than he appeared to be on the surface, she thought. Or maybe she was overlooking the obvious when it came to him, too.
She supposed it was easy enough to do. There he was, a big, rugged cowboy with an extremely handsome face and an amazing body, dressed pretty much the same each time she’d seen him—in blue jeans and, tonight, a plain tan-colored shirt.
It was difficult to look past those superficial things, and the stereotype that came with them, to think that he might be a chef who made his own pizza dough and canned his own sauce. Or that he might have the same kind of knowledge about wines that the last man she’d been involved with had after taking classes on the subject to impress his friends. Or that Jace would be as talented as he was with a small child.
But there it all was, making him a more interesting person than she had expected him to be. A more interesting person than she wanted him to be, because it made it so much harder not to be intrigued. And impressed. And affected by him.
When she had the wine and grape juice poured, she took the glasses to the table.
Jace and Willy were both spreading thick tomato sauce on their respective crusts. Willy kept an eagle eye on Jace’s every movement, mimicking him as best he could but still slopping some of the sauce over the edges of the dough, while Jace managed to spread an even layer, leaving just the right amount of plain crust around the perimeter.
On went pieces of fresh mozzarella, then sliced black olives. But Willy stopped there while Jace added roasted peppers, onions, fresh mushrooms and sausage to the main pie.
Willy occupied himself by putting olive rings on each of his fingers.
“Lookit,” he said to Jace, giggling at his innovation.
Jace laughed at him but said, “Don’t put those back in the bowl now.”
Willy didn’t. He ate each one off his fingers.
Then the pizzas went into the oven, and the two of them cleared the mess with Clair looking on.
“Have you ever thought of being a teacher?” she asked Jace when he dispatched Willy to set the table and the tiny child actually did it, apparently having been taught how before tonight.
“Now you want to coop me up in a building every day?” Jace joked, referring to their day care discussion on the drive home earlier.
“You’re pretty incredible with kids.”
He shrugged negligently as he put a salad together. “It doesn’t take more than a little time and patience. And likin’ ’em.”
“And you do like them, don’t you?”
“Yep. Maybe it comes from being the firstborn. My mom always said she taught me to walk and talk and I took over from there with all my brothers so she didn’t have to. Mainly I remember just wantin’ ’em to talk instead of cry all the time and to be able to get around on their own so we could play.”
“I was the oldest child, too. Well, obviously, since you knew Kristin, you knew she wasn’t the oldest. I think it always made me feel sort of parental toward her.”
Clair wasn’t sure why she’d told him that but she did know that she hadn’t meant to allow sadness in her voice. Yet it was there, anyway, and in response Jace seemed to sober some.
“There was just you and Kristin? No other brothers or sisters?” he asked as if he were genuinely interested.
“No, just us. I know it seems like there should have been some other kids between us—nearly ten years is quite an age span. But there weren’t any.”
“Be kind of hard not to mother a sister that much younger.”
“Mmm. Especially when there wasn’t a real mother in the picture.”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “I didn’t know that. Kristin didn’t talk much about her family. She just said that she’d shamed them and so she couldn’t have anything to do with them anymore.”
“Oh, that’s not true!” Clair lamented in pure reflex to the stab that statement unintentionally delivered.
The timer went off just then to let them know Willy’s pizza was finished baking.
Jace took it out of the oven, protecting his hands with only a dish towel.
“This has to cool until the other pizza’s done,” he told Willy, who was eager to dig into his masterpiece.
Then Jace began to dress the salad and returned to the conversation with Clair. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just repeatin’ what Kristin told Kim and Billy. We all assumed from what she said that her family had turned their backs on her.”
“I don’t know, maybe it seemed that way to her,” Clair said. “But it shouldn’t have. Not really. I had taken kind of a hard line with her, but—”
“You don’t have to explain. I know how problems can develop in families. There’s one in mine.”
“But that’s just it, there wasn’t a real problem. As far as I knew, anyway. There was just…I don’t know, a bump in the road that she didn’t let me have a clear understanding of.”
“A communication problem,” Jace surmised.
“I don’t even think you could call it that. Until the last time I saw her, she and I were as close as two sisters could be. We shared everything. There was no competition between us. I considered her my best friend and I thought she considered me hers. Of course, the same could hardly be said about Kristin and Dad….”
The timer rang again, signaling that the main pizza was finished. While Jace repeated the process he’d followed for Willy’s pie—raising the crust with a knife to make sure it was browned on bottom and taking it out of the oven to serve—Clair considered just how far she should go in detailing her family’s shortcomings.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/victoria-pade/baby-be-mine-39882128/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.