Книга - To Claim His Own

To Claim His Own
Mary Lynn Baxter


NOTHING WOULD GET IN HIS WAYHe was an expert at uncovering secrets, but Cal Webster had overlooked a huge one. His ex-wife had hidden her pregnancy from him. And worse, she had turned the baby over to his enemy. Cal was determined to get custody of his young son.But when he discovered his ex-wife's sister caring for the child, he embarked on one last mission. Using all of his seductive skills, Cal would pose as a stranger, uncover everything he could about this woman and use it to get back what was his. He never counted on his ruse becoming all-too-real.












MARY LYNN BAXTER

To Claim His Own





Published by Silhouette Books America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance




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 Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Coming Next Month




One


Calhoun Webster’s mouth fell open, then he slammed it shut.

His attorney and friend, Hammond Kyle, gave a semblance of a smile. “It’s easy to understand why you’re speechless. Under the same circumstances, I’m sure I would be, too.”

“Are you jerking my chain, Kyle?” Cal demanded in a rough tone. “Because if you are, you’re a pretty sorry bastard.”

“Chill, Cal. I wouldn’t jerk your chain about something this serious.” Hammond ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair and narrowed his eyes. “Like I just told you, you’re a father. You have a child. A son, to be exact.”

Cal blew out his breath, feeling the color recede from his face followed by an extreme weariness. Since his stint in Colombia, he wasn’t anywhere back to his normal self. He tired easily. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Actually, I was about to suggest that.” Another smile of sorts crossed the attorney’s lips. “I’d hate to think of a grown man hitting my office floor in a dead faint.”

Cal gave him a go-to-hell look before practically falling into one of the plush chairs in front of Hammond’s massive desk. A million and one questions were charging through Cal’s head, but he couldn’t seem to process them, much less organize them enough to talk intelligently.

He had a son?

No way.

Couldn’t be.

Impossible.

No, not impossible.

A mistake. Pure and simple.

Cal’s mood lightened at that last thought, and, forcing himself up straighter in the chair, he hammered his friend with brighter eyes. “It has to be a mistake.” A blunt statement of fact.

“You know better than that.” Hammond spoke quietly and with conviction.

“But Connie’s dead,” Cal countered in an argumentative and almost desperate tone. “At least that much leaked through to me.”

Hammond gave him one of those exasperated looks. “Your ex was pregnant when she left you but apparently chose to keep that to herself.” He paused with a deep sigh. “Happens all the time, which makes the poor chump of a father feel and look like an idiot, when, and if, he ever finds out.”

Cal gritted his teeth and at the same time he squeezed the padded edges of the chair arms until his knuckles turned white. “That bitch,” he muttered more to himself than to his friend.

“You knew that when you married her,” Hammond pointed out, his brows bunching together, giving him a fierce look.

“You’re right, I did.” Cal battled his weariness. “Still, I don’t know why she chose not to tell me she was pregnant.” His tone had regained some of its vibrancy, reeking with pain and anger.

“We both knew she was a piece of work, especially you,” Hammond added, again with pointed frankness.

“And I married her anyway.” Cal’s tone was bleak.

“Well, at least you didn’t have to find out about her death and the baby simultaneously.” Hammond paused. “If that’s any comfort.”

Cal’s features turned grimmer. “Who was she with when she got killed? I know she wasn’t alone.”

“After Connie left you, she hooked up with some biker. They were both killed in the accident.”

“Were they married?”

“Not that I know of,” Hammond responded. “Rumor had them shacking up together.”

“Then how do I know the kid’s mine?”

“Your name’s on the birth certificate,” Hammond pointed out bluntly.

Cal lunged out of his chair, reaching for the legal document his attorney held out to him. After perusing the birth certificate, seeing his name stare back at him, he didn’t so much as flinch. Instead he walked to the window and stared into the glaring sunshine.

It had been over a year now since he’d been free to do something as simple as stand in front of a window and not fear for his life. Working undercover as a government investigator forced him to live mostly in the underbelly of society, in the dark and dank places of the drug world.

Before he’d gone undercover, he’d thought of himself as a fairly normal guy—maybe wilder and more head-strong than most. But still normal. Then he’d married Connie Jenkins, and immediately he’d begun to question whether he was normal at all, realizing he’d made the biggest mistake of his life so far.

Now, thank God, he was free to begin his life over, to hope that he had rejoined the ranks of normal people living normal lives. But underneath his outward calm, fear festered. Since he’d been living and dealing with the scum of the earth, he was no longer sure where he belonged or even who he was. Hell, maybe he’d become one of the scumbags himself. Only time would tell.

One thing he did know, he would never go back into the dark, which had nearly driven him over the edge. He winced inwardly, recalling the lighted stick of dynamite that had just been dropped in his lap.

Hell, if this child was his—and he wasn’t ready to admit or accept that yet—he wasn’t fit to be a parent. He could learn to be, if it turned out this baby had his blood flowing through its veins.

He might be a sonofabitch in many ways, but he was never one to shirk his duty, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“Cal, are you with me?”

He let go of a pent-up breath, then whipped around and met his friend’s inquiring gaze. “My mind’s still trying to process what you just told me.”

“You can get a DNA test done, of course,” Hammond said. “Probably should, since that’s within your rights since she lived with another man.”

“I could forget you ever told me there was a child.” Cal kicked up an eyebrow. “That’s also an option. Right?”

Hammond shrugged. “That’s your call, of course.”

“Only you know I’m not about to do that,” Cal said with force. “If my name’s on the birth certificate, then he’s my child, and I aim to accept the responsibility.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, my friend. You’ve never been one to do things by halves. It’s all or nothing with you. And that ain’t a bad way to be either.” Hammond moved his tall, lanky body out of his chair to the bar where he helped himself to a cup of coffee, then gestured to Cal.

Cal shook his head.

After blowing on the liquid, then taking a swig, Hammond added, “On second thought, maybe this is one time you should let sleeping dogs lie, if you get my drift. Maybe you should just walk away from this, start your life over and simply forget about the child. That wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen.”

“For me it would,” Cal said harshly.

“I’m sorry to hit you with this when you’ve only been back in town two days. But I wanted you to find out from me rather than the gossip mill. You know how Tyler, Texas, is. It’s not quite large enough for people to mind their own business.”

“Don’t apologize. I had to know, and I’d rather hear it from you than anyone else. At least, I can trust you.”

“You can trust a lot of people, Cal.” While Hammond’s tone was solemn, it also had a confident ring to it. “You have friends who are delighted you’re back in civilization.”

“I know. It’s just going to take me a long time to convince myself of that.”

“It’s a given you can’t discuss what you went through or even where you were, but was it as bad as it appears?”

“Worse than bad,” Cal said tersely.

“Well, at least you’re done with the whole shebang.”

“If this security company gig works out,” Cal responded, “I will be for sure.”

Hammond sat down and sipped on his coffee. “I thought you’d been hired.”

“I have—if I want the job, that is. I have six weeks to make up my mind.”

“Even before I told you about the child, I got the impression you were hesitating.”

“Hell, Hammond, it’s in a foreign country, albeit a safe one.”

“So?”

“So, maybe I want to stick around the good ol’ U.S. of A. for a while.”

“Which tells me you’ve been out of the country.”

Cal narrowed his eyes on his friend. “I didn’t say that.”

“Okay. Again, I know I’m not privy to anything that pertains to your work, that it’s all top-secret mumbo jumbo.”

“You’re right, so stop fishing.”

Hammond’s mouth turned up in a half smile. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, you might as well put a lid on that curiosity because my tenure with Uncle Sam’s not something we can ever discuss.”

Hammond grinned. “I bet you were damned good at your job, whatever the hell it was. You’ve always had a reputation for being a real bad-ass.”

“You must’ve been talking to my ex father-in-law.” Cal meant that as a sarcastic joke, but when Hammond didn’t smile, an alarm bell went off in his head. But then, his brain was trained to pick up on the slightest thing that seemed out of sync.

“Strange that you should say that,” Hammond drawled, looking away.

Cal went into full alert mode. “Have you been in contact with Patrick Jenkins?”

“Nope,” Hammond said, his gaze returning to Cal.

“I hear a ‘but’ coming, right?”

“Right.” Hammond stared down at his highly polished boots.

“He has the baby,” Cal said in a flat, brutal tone.

“Actually it’s his daughter, Emma, who has him.”

Cal muttered a string of curses.

“I knew you weren’t going to like that.”

Cal cursed again. “That’s an understatement. That bastard hates my guts. And so does his daughter, I’m sure, even though I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her.” Rich sarcasm accented Cal’s every word, for which he made no apologies. He had no use for his ex-wife’s family, either. In fact, he’d planned on never having anything to do with them again. Now, though, the dynamics had changed.

“I’m willing to bet you aren’t exactly at the top of their friends list either. But then I don’t have to tell you that.”

Cal rubbed the back of his neck, the muscles so tight they felt like cords of rope—a feeling he had hoped he wouldn’t experience again, at least not anytime soon. “Personally I could care less what they think, only—”

“Only now they have something that belongs to you.”

“You’re damn right.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, Cal.” Hammond rose to full height, then ambled over to the coffeepot and refilled his cup. When he looked at Cal again, his usually pleasant features were grim. “For all my earlier posturing, I was afraid that when I told you who had the child, you actually might turn your back and walk away.”

“I probably should have.”

“No one’s twisting your arm. Certainly not me. I’m sure Logan—”

“So that’s the kid’s name,” Cal interrupted, hearing the wonder in his own voice.

“Yep. Maybe it was fate, or what-the-hell ever, but I ran into Jenkins the other day, and he had the boy with him.”

“Does he look at all like me?” Cal asked in a halting voice, trying to sort through the myriad of emotions stampeding through him. Damn Connie’s hide, he thought, feeling no remorse at all for damning his deceased ex.

If that spoke badly of him, then so be it. He might be a lot of things, but a hypocrite was not one of them. He’d always called a spade a spade, then went for the jugular if the occasion called for it. That was why Uncle Sam had used him to break up one of the government’s toughest international drug rings.

But that period in his life was over, Cal reminded himself. Thus, he had to learn to fit into society, even into his ex’s family, especially now that they had something that belonged to him. However, the thought of having anything to do with Patrick Jenkins and his daughter made his blood pressure rise and his stomach roil.

“It’s hard to tell who a kid looks like, at least for me,” Hammond said at last. “Now that you know where Logan is, what’s your game plan?”

“Don’t have one.”

“You can’t just appear on their doorstep.”

“Why not?”

Hammond rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even deserve an answer.”

“The sister’s never seen me.”

“Which means you’re going to start with her?”

Cal shrugged. “Possibly. Right now, I have a lot to digest before I make any move.”

“Exactly. And know that I’m here to advise you on the legal side of things.”

“Thanks, because I figure it’s going to get nasty.”

“You can count on that.” Hammond set his cup down, then stared directly into Cal’s black eyes. “It was obvious that Jenkins thinks the sun rises and sets on that boy. He’s not about to give him up without a fight.” He paused as if to let those words soak in. “I’m sure the daughter feels the same way.”

“What do you know about her, other than her name?” Cal asked.

“She’s the owner of a successful plant nursery that supplies the landscaping for her father’s works of art.”

Cal snorted. “So Patrick’s still in the construction business?”

“Yep, and making a fortune, too.”

“He was doing that when I was married to Connie. That was part of the problem. She was Daddy’s fair-haired princess who had everything handed to her on a silver platter.”

“Apparently Emma’s not like her at all, but then who knows? I certainly don’t. All I have to go by are rumors concerning the rich and affluent, which includes the Jenkinses.”

Cal snorted again. “Those people are poison and if I had my way, I’d stay as far away from them as possible.”

“I’m sorry you have to step out of one hornets’ nest into another one.”

Cal shrugged again, then strode toward the door. “You do what you gotta do.”

As if he realized the meeting had come to an end, Hammond shot out his hand. “Let me hear from you.”

“Oh, you can bet on that.”

“Meanwhile, take it easy, get yourself reacquainted with the decent people of the world.”

“Yeah, right,” Cal muttered, then made his way out the door.

Only when he was behind the wheel of his new pickup did he take a breath. Even at that, it was a harsh one. Then he slammed his palm onto the steering wheel, frustration washing over him.

What the hell was he going to do? He wanted to see his son, yet he didn’t. God, the responsibility of just knowing he had a child was overwhelming, especially now. After what he’d been through, he was in no shape to take on a child, not when every time he closed his eyes, he saw a gun aimed at his temple while someone laughingly played Russian roulette with his life.

Suddenly Cal broke out in a cold sweat and felt sick. If he hadn’t been driving in a public place, he would’ve pulled over, opened his door, and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the pavement. But somehow, he found the wherewithal to pull himself together enough so that the nausea passed and his elevated heart rate settled.

Okay, life had dealt him another blow—a personal one, which made it harder for him to deal with—but he was up to the task. If Connie had truly borne him a son, then hell or high water wasn’t going to keep him from at least seeing him. Anything else—well, he’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

The first thing was to get a plan. No big deal. Planning was what he did best. The Jenkinses didn’t know what was about to hit them. He had never backed down from a challenge and he wasn’t about to now. For the first time since he’d surfaced back in civilization, he had a purpose in life.

And it felt damn good.




Two


What a lovely early spring day.

Emma paused and peered at a blue Texas sky that didn’t have one cloud marring its beauty. She could not have asked for better weather, especially for a person who made her living working outdoors with plants. In all honesty, though, she rarely did any of the manual labor. She owned the nursery and the business side of it kept her tied to the desk.

However, there were days, like this one, when she made the opportunity to wander through her domain and smell the roses—so to speak—and tweak plants, wallowing in self-satisfaction over what she had accomplished.

Of course, her father had had a lot to do with the success of Emma’s Nursery. He had given her the capital to get started several years ago—capital that she’d already paid back. But it had been her hard work that had built the business to its present success. Once she made up her mind about anything that was important to her, she wouldn’t give up or give in.

“You’re stubborn and hard-headed to a fault, girl,” her daddy was always telling her, though she knew he admired her tenacity because he was the same way.

“Yeah, girl, you’re a chip off the old block.”

Thinking of her dad, Patrick, brought a wobbly smile to Emma’s lips. While she certainly hadn’t been the fair-haired daughter—Connie had held that honor—at least she, Emma, had always had Patrick’s respect.

He’d made millions in his construction company and was three years past retirement age, but he wouldn’t have any part of retirement. That word wasn’t even in his vocabulary. Work and his grandson were what Patrick lived for.

Thinking about Logan strengthened Emma’s smile. More than any career, that baby was what she lived for, as well. He was everything to her, made her life complete.

At thirty-five she was still single and saw no reason to change that, especially now that she had legal guardianship of her sister’s child. Oh, there had been a few men in her life, even one special man whom she could have probably married if circumstances had been different. They hadn’t been, but she had no remorse or regrets.

If she never had anything else but her work and her sister’s child, she would be content forever.

Yeah, life was good and she saw nothing in her future to change that.

“Hey, girl, how’s your morning going?”

Emma turned and smiled, but not before stripping off her gloves and giving her daddy a big, sunny smile. “Great. How ’bout you?”

“I’m okay.”

Patrick didn’t sound or look it, which put a tight squeeze on Emma’s heart. Ever since Connie had been killed in a motorcycle accident, she’d become fearful of the unexpected. When Patrick Jenkins was anything other than his calm and collected self, then something was amiss.

This morning she sensed something was definitely amiss. For a few seconds, fear rendered her immobile. However, she tried not to let her anxiety show as she stood on her tiptoes and greeted Patrick with a kiss on his leathery-skinned cheek.

Continuing to hold her council, Emma stood back and looked up at him. At sixty-eight, he was a tall, strapping fellow with a spring in his step.

For years he’d worked alongside his men in the hot boiling sun on the construction sites. Hence, his skin bore the mark of the harsh East Texas sun. Wrinkles were grooved deeply in his face and around his eyes; he always seemed to squint as though still trying to block out the sun. His dark mane was thick and without any gray.

Patrick was a good-looking man and had had more than one opportunity to remarry, but he hadn’t. When Emma’s mother had died of cancer several years back, Patrick hadn’t been interested in remarrying, though Emma hoped that might change. Now that Logan had come into their lives, she seriously doubted it.

The baby was Connie’s son and that made him even more special. Patrick had adored his baby daughter and was convinced she could do no wrong, even though she went against his wishes and married a man from the wrong side of the tracks whom he had severely disapproved of. Connie’s untimely death had affected him more severely than her mother’s.

“Got any coffee made?” Patrick asked into the growing silence.

“Sure.” Emma pitched her gloves aside and headed toward the small brick building that housed her office and gift shop.

After entering the large, airy room that smelled of fresh-cut flowers, Patrick pulled up short as a broad smile covered his face. “What’s he doing here?”

Emma’s gaze followed his to the pallet on the floor where her eighteen-month-old nephew lay sleeping, the ear of his worn teddy bear, Mr. Wiggly, tucked in the baby’s mouth.

“He was running a little temp this morning and didn’t want me to leave him.” Emma broke off with a shrug.

“So you and Janet are taking turns seeing about him.” Patrick hadn’t asked a question, but rather made a statement.

“Right, although I really don’t like bringing him to the shop.”

“Once in a while doesn’t hurt anything.” Patrick continued to peer at his grandson, a worshipful look on his face.

“Except give him the idea he can wrap me around his finger and make a habit of it,” Emma countered, also giving Logan an indulgent grin.

Patrick snorted. “That’s a given.”

Emma gave her father a look. “I know I’ve spoiled him rotten, but you’re a fine one to be talking.”

“Hey, you don’t hear me arguing. It’s like the pot calling the kettle black, I know.”

Emma flipped him a grin as she got two cups and filled them with coffee. Once they were seated, they sipped in silence and watched the sleeping child.

Finally, over the rim of her cup, Emma stared at her father. “I sense this isn’t just a social call.”

“It isn’t,” Patrick admitted with gruff bluntness.

Emma was a bit taken aback, feeling another surge of fear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. At least I hope not.”

“Then what’s got that look on your face?” Emma pressed.

“Cal Webster.”

Emma’s hands began to tremble. Before she spilled the contents of the cup, or, better yet, dropped it on the floor, she set the cup down and stared at Patrick through wide, horrified eyes. “What about him?”

“He’s back in town.”

Patrick said the word he as though it were contaminated.

Emma’s hand flew to her heart at the same time her gaze bounced back to the baby who remained sound asleep. “Oh, my God,” she finally wheezed.

Patrick rose, then sat back down.

It had been a long time since she’d seen her father so agitated—not since the day of Connie’s senseless death. He really hadn’t been agitated then. Devastated was a better word. And furious, too—the same fury she saw twist his features now.

“Dad—” The saliva dried up in her mouth, making further speech impossible.

“I don’t think there’s cause for panic,” Patrick said in that same gruff tone. “Not yet, anyway.”

“How can you say that?” Emma’s voice rose several decibels.

“I heard the news from a friend who actually saw him about town.” Patrick paused and gave Emma a direct stare. “I don’t think he knows about Logan.”

“You don’t think?” Emma stood and began pacing the floor, feeling as if jumping beans were having a field day inside her. “Think is not definitive enough for me.”

“I’m working on it, Emma. Just give me time. But from what I know of Cal Webster, if he had the slightest suspicion I had his son, he would’ve already knocked on my door.”

“Oh, Daddy, I don’t mean to panic. It’s just that when I think of losing—”

Patrick held up his hand, aborting the rest of her sentence, then patted her on the arm. “Don’t go there. At least not now. But rest assured, even if he does find out, that bastard won’t get to first base. He’s already taken one person I love away from me, and I can damn well promise you he’s not going to take another one.”

Since Patrick had delivered his news, Emma felt her body relax. One rarely crossed her daddy and got by with it. He had clout in this town and wasn’t afraid to use it. Sometimes she wondered if he played dirty pool in order to get his way or to make a deal, but since she had no proof, she refused to dwell on the negative.

It was fruitless, anyway. She had enough intuitiveness to realize she couldn’t change him or his way of operating. Nor did she want to. In this case, she definitely didn’t. She’d make any sacrifice, or do most anything to keep Logan, which she guessed put her in the same class with her father.

“What do we do?” she finally asked, trapping Patrick’s dark eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“That’s right. It’s up to Webster to make the first move. Why alert him to the fact he has a child? I’m betting a kid is the last thing he’d want to be saddled with. When he was married to your sister, he was wild as a March hare and not afraid of the devil himself.”

“That’s why I can’t believe she married someone like him.” Emma shivered. “A kid off the streets.”

“A hoodlum is what I called him,” Patrick responded grimly. “His dad was a no-good layabout who finally drank himself to death. I think his mother later died from sheer laziness.”

“No wonder he was wild,” Emma said in a sad tone.

“That’s no excuse,” Patrick flared back, a muscle in his jaw working overtime.

“Still, that’s probably what attracted him to Uncle Sam.” Emma shivered again. “No telling what he did for them.”

“We’ll never know,” Patrick said. “But then, I don’t give a damn. I just don’t want to ever lay eyes on the s.o.b. again.”

Emma sighed deeply. “It’s a good thing I never had the pleasure of meeting him.”

When her sister had hooked up with Cal Webster, Emma had been in Europe studying. By the time she’d returned, the marriage was over and Webster had disappeared.

“The first time your sister brought him home,” Patrick was saying, “I knew he was bad news. He was cocky and arrogant even when he didn’t have a pot to pee in or a window to throw it out of.”

Knowing this conversation had dredged up painful memories, Emma crossed the room and placed a hand on her dad’s arm. “It’s okay. Like you said, he’s probably just passing through, then he’ll be gone on another assignment, no telling where.”

“That had better be the case,” Patrick said with twisted features and venom in his voice.

Before Emma could say anything else, Logan cried out. Turning, she ran to the pallet and dropped to her knees beside him. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said with a smile. “Mommy’s here. And so is Papa.”

“Hey, fellow,” Patrick said, making his way to his grandson where he placed a hand on the child’s head and tousled his dark hair. “Be a good boy for Mommy today, and I’ll take you to get an ice cream cone tonight.”

“Ice cream,” Logan repeated, a grin on his face.

Facing Emma, Patrick said, “I’ll see you two later. I have a meeting in about five minutes.”

She nodded. “Keep me posted.”

Patrick’s features remained twisted. “That goes without saying.”

Once he was gone, Emma clutched Logan so tightly to her breast that he began to whimper. “Sorry, son, didn’t mean to hurt you.” She tweaked him on the chin, then placed a hand on his forehead, which felt cool and free of any fever.

“Mama,” he said with his toothy grin.

“Oh,” she said wide-eyed. “I hear Mickey’s truck.”

“Truck,” Logan mimicked, his grin increasing.

“That’s right, which means Mama has to go. You stay with Janet, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

As if on cue, her helper came around the corner and took the baby, whose lower lip began to tremble. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. Janet will play with you.”

Logan kicked his legs, then looped his arms around Emma’s neck and gave her a gooey kiss on the cheek. Emma laughed with joy as she walked outside.



Cal wasn’t sure this was a good idea at all. In fact, it was probably insanity at its highest level. Still, he’d made up his mind to go through with this bizarre plan, and he wasn’t about to change it now. Besides, it was too late. He was already parked in front of his ex sister-in-law’s nursery, his truck loaded with plants.

He was sweating as though he’d been chopping wood, to his chagrin. Albeit the spring day was hotter than usual, but he shouldn’t have been wet with sweat. Dammit, he was nervous. He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation. He’d been in the worst hellholes one could imagine, and here he was about to face an innocent woman and he couldn’t function.

Only he knew she wasn’t just any woman. She was his son’s guardian.

Dammit, he had to get hold of himself or he couldn’t even get out of the truck, much less rein in his splattered emotions. Losing control was not something he had patience with. That could get him dead.

That sudden trek back into the past brought on a curse as Cal lunged out of the truck, making him aware that while he might be out of the jungle physically, he had a long way to go before he was out mentally.

He’d hold that thought and dissect it another time.

Right now, he had other fish to fry. Grabbing his clipboard, Cal made his way around the front of the vehicle. When he saw Emma coming toward him, he pulled up short.

While she was not nearly as attractive as Connie had been, it was obvious they were sisters. Both had the same shaped face and eyes, though their eyes were different colors. And the mouth—there was a resemblance there, too.

But that was where the likeness ended. The closer Emma came, the closer he stared with far more interest than necessary, especially since he had sworn off women.

Most Southern women he knew would never be caught dead without makeup. Emma Jenkins was the exception, and it served her well. Her skin appeared soft and radiant and wrinkle-free, though he knew she was in her mid-thirties. You go girl, he thought; buck the status quo.

But it was the way she was dressed that really captivated his attention. She had on a pair of bright-purple overalls with loose-fitting straps. Underneath was a skimpily-cut T-shirt that hugged her well-endowed breasts and left a smidgen of her ribs bare. He’d bet his last red cent that she was braless. On closer observation, she didn’t need one.

Those breasts were upright and perky….

Whoa, cowboy! It had been a long time since he’d noticed a woman’s breasts with any interest whatsoever. And he wasn’t about to start with her—his ex-wife’s sister. God forbid.

Cal dragged his eyes off her chest and back to her face. Unlike Connie, she wasn’t beautiful in the true sense of the word, nor was she as blatantly sexy. Yet in her own right, she was lovely. And classy.

She was tall—he’d guess five feet eight—with dark hair worn in a short, bobbed style, which accented her creamy skin and full lips. But it was her eyes that held him spellbound. They were a unique color—Windex-blue—and surrounded by an abundance of sooty lashes.

“Mickey, it’s about time you got here.” She paused, a frown marring her brows. “You’re not Mickey,” she added inanely.

“No, ma’am,” Cal drawled, “I’m not.”

“Where’s Mickey?” she asked bluntly, her eyes giving him the once-over.

He wondered what she was thinking. If he were to hazard a guess, he probably wouldn’t like it. In no way would he come near measuring up to her expectations, remembering his reflection in his mirror this morning.

His hair was too long and his jeans and T-shirt both had holes in them. And his face—well, that was another story altogether. He knew he looked drawn and disheveled—not at all pleasing to the eyesight. But give him time, he told himself. When he had to, he cleaned up real well. He just hadn’t had the time or the inclination to do so.

“I understand he’s now on another route. I read about the vacancy in the paper.”

She leaned her head to one side and gave him a suspicious look, like she wanted to say more. She didn’t, though, at least not about Mickey. “So who are you?”

Cal hesitated for a moment, then shot out his hand, a hearty smile on his lips. “Bart McBride. But my friends call me Bubba.”




Three


Wow!

That was the first thought that came to Emma’s mind when she met his eyes, dark and direct. She’d had lots of delivery guys since she’d been in this business, but none had ever looked like this one. She couldn’t exactly say he was the best-looking thing that had come down the pike—that would be an exaggeration—yet there was something about him that definitely got her attention.

When it came to men, that wasn’t an easy feat.

Maybe it was the hard, dangerous look he seemed to wear so comfortably. Jeez Louise, Emma thought, swallowing nervously, feeling a fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. Who was he? More to the point, how could she have such an irrational reaction to a stranger? A truck driver, to boot.

She wasn’t a snob—that wasn’t it at all. It usually took more than a tall, tanned, muscular man with salt-and-pepper hair to make her take a second look.

This time she’d taken more than one look, for heaven’s sake. Her eyes were camped on him. Even though she felt color seep into her cheeks, Emma still didn’t turn away. Maybe it was those kick-ass dimples in his cheeks that were the culprit. Or maybe it was his even white teeth that appeared even whiter under his tanned skin.

So he was an awesome specimen of manhood. A moment’s worth of eye candy. So what? She’d been exposed to his type before, and it hadn’t come close to striking a nerve.

Why now?

He certainly wasn’t her type; that was a given. Much too rough around the edges, too menacing to suit her. In the mounting silence, instead of averting her gaze, however, she perused his body. Her eyes started with his faded and tight-fitting T-shirt, then traveled down to his jeans that had no chance of hiding the impressive bulge of his sex or the powerful strength of his legs.

Emma’s flush deepened, and her skin prickled.

Realizing how crazily she was behaving, how totally out of the norm this was, she jerked her eyes back up, but not before she caught the same look of blatant appreciation and interest mirrored in his.

To her dismay, the air around them turned suffocating with sexual tension.

“I’m assuming you’re Emma Jenkins,” he said, finally.

His low, sandpaper-edged voice now seemed as sexy as his appearance. For another moment, she was speechless, trying to assimilate her feelings. What was this all about? What was she all about?

Nothing, she told herself, feeling a surge of defiance flood through her. She was just reacting to a good-looking man, that was all—something she hadn’t done in a long time. While that felt good, it also scared the bejesus out of her as her sister’s lifestyle flashed before her eyes.

Emma cleared her throat and forced herself to say, “Uh, that’s right.” He didn’t extend his hand again, which was good in light of her crazy reaction to him.

Nope, touching him would definitely not work, mainly because she wanted to. Emma gritted her teeth, then pasted a smile on her face. “I hope everything’s okay with Mickey,” she commented, trying to lessen the tension that was threatening to mount again. “He was here so often, we actually became friends.” She paused. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell me he’d been reassigned.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll get around to that,” Bubba drawled, peering down at his clipboard, then back up. “Everything in my truck belongs to you.”

“That’s not a surprise.”

“You must have a super business.”

“I do.”

Bubba grinned, which played more havoc with her insides. “Can’t beat that. So I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Oh, brother. “Not if Mickey comes back.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance of that, at least not for a while.”

“If you see him, tell him to stop by and see me, okay?”

“Sure will.”

A silence.

This time Bubba cleared his throat and was apparently about to say something when Emma heard a noise behind her. She swung around and saw Logan, pursued by a harassed-looking Janet, come toddling toward her.

“I’m sorry, Em, but he got away from me.”

Emma smiled, reached for Logan and swept him into her arms. After flicking him on the chin, she said with a grin, “You’re a bad boy.”

“Bad,” Logan mimicked, hugging her around the neck as he took a peek at Bubba.

“Good-looking kid.”

“Thanks.”

“He’s yours, right?” Bubba asked.

Not wanting to get personal with this man made Emma hesitate, then she thought of Mickey. When he’d asked that same question, she hadn’t been reluctant to respond at all. Just the opposite, in fact. With this Bubba character, it was another matter altogether.

Her reaction wasn’t because he’d asked about Logan per se, but because she had reacted to Bubba so strongly and wanted him to take care of business and be on his way.

Yet she wanted him to stay. How much sense did that make? None. Again, she had never reacted to a man in such a forthright way. Bluntly put, she was intrigued, much to her dismay.

Then realizing how absurd, how out-of-hand her thoughts had gotten, Emma declared in a firm, but businesslike tone, “Yes, he is.” Then she hesitated and with a proud smile added, “Or at least he soon will be.”

“Care to explain?” he asked.

Slightly taken aback by his continued boldness, Emma plastered another smile on her face and said, “Not at the moment.”

Bubba laughed, then winked. “Before I wear out my welcome, I guess I’d best unload this truck and move on.”

“I think that’s a grand idea.”

Bubba paused and looked her up and down again, leaving her breathless in her tracks. He then walked to the back of the truck, shoved up the big door and went about his task.

When he finished, he brought the invoice for her to sign, placing her in much closer proximity to him than she would have liked. Despite the warmth of the morning, the smell of soap still clung to his skin; it wafted through her senses, creating another cluster of butterflies in her tummy.

If this man didn’t hurry up and get out of her sight…

“Be seeing you, Emma,” Bubba said with a grin that recalled her attention to those kick-ass dimples.

“I’m sure you will.” She watched him climb into the truck. “Thanks.”

He nodded. “You bet.” Then added, “Take care of that boy, you hear?”

Until he disappeared, she stood her ground, feeling as if her bones had turned to water, leaving her weak and unsteady. And damned confused. Finally she hauled a heavy Logan back inside, but even that seemed like an effort.

Once the baby was back under the tutelage of Janet, Emma went into her office, closed the door, sat down in her chair and took several deep breaths, trying to quiet her erratic heartbeat.

“Stop it,” she muttered aloud, grabbing the invoice and pen, forcing herself to peruse the statement. If the truth be known, while her fingers were doing their job, her mind was not. It was elsewhere, she conceded, a mutinous curve to her mouth. It was on that driver. There was something about him that had an effect on her.

Stop it, she repeated silently, having sworn long ago not to become a clone of her sister. She almost laughed at the thought, it was so ludicrous. Even if she’d wanted to, it wouldn’t have been possible.

Connie was like a true princess, tiny and blond with a figure to die for. Enhancing that lovely body was a bubbly personality. She attracted people, especially men, like bees to honey. But underneath that Southern belle demeanor was a wild streak that Connie had never learned to control.

Men seemed to have loved that in her. Not only were they attracted to her, but she to them. Not so with Emma. The fact that she didn’t have the same appetite for the opposite sex always brought ridicule from her sister.

Connie had continually pointed out, “God, you’re such a stick-in-the-mud, sis.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Emma had responded in as calm a tone as possible.

“No, you’re not. That’s what makes it so bad.” Connie smiled her sunny smile and batted her big dark lashes. “Why don’t you let me fix you up? We’ll double-date, and I’ll show you how to have the time of your life.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Emma said with a smidgen of defiance, which Connie readily picked up on.

“What’s your problem?” Connie demanded in an ugly tone. “You gay, or something?”

That barb cut to the core. Still, Emma kept her cool, knowing that Connie thrived on a good verbal fight, determined to win no matter what. Having learned that early on, Emma merely smiled and said, “You know better than that, Connie. I just prefer to pick my own men, that’s all.”

Connie gave an unladylike snort, then mouthed off, “Yeah, right.”

A deep heavy sigh parted Emma’s lips, bringing her out of her morbid thoughts back into the sunlight. Connie was gone and it was pointless to let herself dwell on the bad times, though she had to confess there were few good ones.

While she knew that Patrick loved her, he had adored Connie. He’d tried not to show his partiality, but he hadn’t pulled it off. Patrick’s adoration remained on course even after Connie had married, divorced and even got hooked on drugs. Once the baby was born, she couldn’t stand being tied down. Not long after that, she took up with a biker. It was then that she had made Emma her baby’s guardian. They never saw Connie again except in her casket.

That child had been the only thing that had kept Patrick from falling apart after Connie’s death. Realizing that her mind had once again backtracked into the morbid, Emma lunged up and took several calming breaths.

She had made peace with Connie’s death. Out of that peace had come the certainty that she would never end up like her sister, who couldn’t control her lust for a man.

A wail almost erupted from Emma’s lips. Hadn’t she done the very same thing this morning? Lust had shot through her when she’d first seen Bubba McBride. Why? Because he’d made her feel like a woman for the first time in her life. How crazy was that? Most likely he was married with a home in suburbia with two-point-three children, even though he hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. However, a ringless finger didn’t mean anything.

Gritting her teeth again, Emma shoved the thought of that stranger out of her mind and went in search of Logan. When things in her life began to get out of kilter, the responsibility of him put her back on solid ground.

Thank God.



He’d never lacked balls before. Why this morning? Why hadn’t he told Emma Jenkins who he was?

Cal had asked himself that question countless times and still hadn’t come up with an answer worth a damn. Bubba? His mouth twisted. God, where had that idiotic name come from? He had no idea; it had crossed his mind and he’d blurted it out. Now his foot was stuck in his mouth and it sure didn’t taste good.

What now?

That was the really big question, the one he had no choice but to answer. Only not right now. He was too busy controlling the sick feeling churning in the pit of his stomach. Finally, he reached the gates of his ranch several miles north of Tyler.

His mother and dad had left him this prime piece of property only because they hadn’t gotten around to selling it before their deaths. Cal’s lips twisted sardonically, remembering his parents and how unimportant he’d been to them.

If he hadn’t run away from home and joined the army, he’d probably be dead by now. He would’ve joined a gang and been sucked into the same underworld he’d spent much of his adult life fighting.

Thank God that hadn’t happened and thank God he had this place.

It was home to him now, especially since he loved the outdoors, reveling in the freedom it gave him. Until his new security job took him out of the country, he aimed to spend as much time here with his horses and cattle as he could.

He just wished he could bring his son….

Cal slammed on the brakes and shoved the gearshift in Park, feeling sweat ooze out of every pore in his body. He was also dizzy. He rested his head on the steering wheel until it stopped spinning.

His child.

His son.

By damn, he was a father.

Of a fine-looking boy, too. When he’d first laid eyes on the kid, he’d been awestruck, thinking Logan couldn’t be his flesh and blood. No way could he and Connie, out of the misery of their marriage, have produced a tiny being so perfect. Hence, the kid had to have come from someone else’s loins.

Then just as quickly Cal’s negative thoughts turned a bit positive when he remembered a baby picture of himself he’d found at the ranch. Logan did resemble the kid in the picture.

Screw DNA testing; he didn’t need that. Logan was his kid.

Still shaking, Cal swiped the sweat from his brow and above his lip. He remained too shaken to drive toward the small cabin that served as his home. His gaze searched for his foreman, Art Rutherford, who was usually out and about taking care of chores. When Cal didn’t see Art or his vehicle, relief flooded through him.

Right now he didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. He had some serious thinking to do. Since he’d lied to Emma Jenkins, he might as well see where that took him. Maybe if he wormed his way into her good graces, she would let him see the kid. In doing that, he had to know he might run head-on into her father, who would immediately recognize him, and the gig would be up.

If that happened, he’d devise plan B. That was his boy and no one was going to take Logan away from him.

“Whoa, brother,” he said out loud, “Don’t go gettin’ too big for your britches.”

While getting his son, having something of his own for the first time in his life, might be his top priority, he had to ask himself a brutal and honest question. How equipped was he to become a parent? He had a ton of emotional baggage weighing him down, which certainly didn’t make him parent material.

The Jenkinses knew that and were sure to use it against him. Both father and sister hated him with a passion. To add insult to injury, Connie’s sister had built a smoldering fire in his loins.

Not a good thing.

Though a chill of foreboding shot through him, Cal couldn’t ignore this emotional upheaval. Like it or not, seeing Emma today had made him think thoughts he hadn’t had since he’d returned from Central America. But Emma was different. She fascinated him because she had no idea how attractive, how sexy, she was.

He’d never met a female who seemed as unaware of herself as she was. There was nothing artificial about her, no desire to be noticed. She reeked of sexuality, with a fragile innocence that any man in his right mind would have found appealing.

Any man but him, he told himself savagely. He wasn’t about to get involved with any woman, especially not his ex-sister-in-law, who had every intention of taking his child away from him.

So what was he doing counting the days until he could return to the nursery?




Four


“Ms. Jenkins, this is a disaster. Plain and simple.”

And you’re a bitch. Now where had that ugly thought come from? Emma asked herself, appalled at the direction her mind had taken. Granted, Sally Sue Landrum was a pain in the rear, but she hadn’t earned the title of bitch. Not yet, anyway.

“No, it’s not a disaster, Sally,” Emma rebutted with all the patience she could muster. “I told you I’d have your landscaping finished today, and I intend to keep that promise.”

Sally pursed her full lips, placed her hands on her tiny waist and glared at Emma. “That won’t happen without plants.”

“I’ll get the plants.” Emma’s tone held conviction, even though she wasn’t sure she could follow through, which would indeed be a disaster.

She didn’t take many private jobs because her daddy kept her so busy with his projects. But there had been a lull in her business right now, so when her friend Sally had called and practically begged her to landscape the grounds of her new multi-million dollar home, Emma had said yes.

Actually, she’d been thrilled, seeing a home as something different, and as a challenge. At the moment, with Sally glaring at her, she was beginning to rue the day she’d taken the job.

Dammit, the supplier had told her just yesterday the plants she’d ordered would be in. So far, that hadn’t come to fruition. She’d called other suppliers, but none could fill her need. To make matters worse, Sally was having a big open house to show off her new mansion, which put that much more pressure on Emma.

“Sally, go back inside and do whatever it is you do,” Emma said into the hostile silence, “and let me handle things on this end.” She paused and forced a smile. “Please.”

Sally was having no part of Emma’s smile; that was apparent by the tightening of her lips. “You’re my friend, Emma. You of all people, I thought I could count on.”

“You can.” Emma’s tone was terse. “Again, just leave me alone and let me do my job. Everything will be all right.”

“It had better be.”

With that, Sally flounced around and marched back into the mansion, slamming the door behind her. Emma breathed for the first time since she’d been accosted by her friend and client, then reached for her cell phone and dialed her main supplier.

“Fred, this is—”

“I know who it is.”

“Have my plants come in yet?”

“Yes, praise the Lord.”

Emma wilted on the spot, the relief washing through her was so acute.

“Thank you, Fred.”

“Don’t thank me.”

“Why not?”

“Thank Bubba McBride. He’s the one responsible.”

“Oh?” she said inanely, her heart pounding slightly harder, which was crazy. Even the man’s name had an effect on her. This foolishness had to come to an end.

“He volunteered to go after them, and I told him to hit the road.”

Following another deep, settling breath, Emma said, “When do you expect him back?”

“He’s on his way to the estate, even as we speak.”

“I owe you, Fred. And Bubba,” she emphasized before snapping her cell shut.

It was then that she heard the squeal of brakes. Whipping around, she watched Bubba bound out of the truck and saunter toward her. She tried not to react to his dark, menacing good looks, but nothing short of another miracle would’ve stopped that.

At the moment, she was fresh out of miracles.

“Hiya,” he said in that low, sexy voice that scraped across her skin like fingernails over a chalkboard. Emma shivered. And that look in his eyes—she couldn’t ignore that either.

For a moment, she stiffened under that gaze, more potent than the sun bearing down on her head. Then her sanity came to her rescue. No matter how captivating he might be—and she couldn’t deny that he was—she wasn’t interested.

Then why was she fixated on the width of his muscled shoulders and the span of his six-pack abs? She dared not look any farther south, already knowing the power he packed there.

“Hi yourself,” she responded but not before swallowing hard, feeling suddenly like a teenager meeting a new beau. God, how corny—and ridiculous. She was a grown woman with a child. Where were her good sense and her pride?

Pulling herself together, Emma wiped the answering smile off her face and said in her most businesslike tone, “I spoke to Fred and he told me what you did. Thanks a lot.”

A mocking smile answered her formality, which merely added to that sexiness he wore like a second skin. And those dimples, they were definitely bad on a woman who was trying to keep her heart out of the equation.

“You’re welcome,” he said, that mocking smile still intact.

“Okay, so you saved my rear,” she added with more punch.

“Glad I could oblige. Now, shall we get down to work?”

Emma gave him a startled look. “I have a crew, Bubba. Besides, I’m sure you have other deliveries to make.”

“Not this afternoon. So put me to work, and we’ll get this job done.”

Though Emma was tempted to argue, she refrained. One thing, another pair of hands would help, and she wanted his company. Hold it, girl, she warned. She was headed for deep waters and if she was not careful, she’d drown. Still…

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Bubba said, jerking her mind back to the moment at hand. “And we’ll have this job done before you can spell Rumpelstiltskin.”

She laughed then. “That’s where you’re wrong. I have a child, remember?”

“Ah, right, you do,” he responded, his tone becoming serious. Then, before anything else could be said, he turned and went about the task of unloading the plants.



A little past mid-afternoon, the biggest part of the grounds were planted. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this exhausted. Usually, she only supervised, letting her crew do the manual labor. But since Bubba was working like a field hand, she pitched in and did her share of digging and planting.

Surprisingly, she’d enjoyed every minute of it. She’d forgotten how much fun it was to dig in the dirt.

“So, what do you think?” Bubba asked, sidling up to her while wiping the sweat off his face with a handkerchief from the back pocket of his cutoffs. Although he smelled sweaty, he wasn’t offensive. In fact, she ached to reach for the rag and blot the sweat off herself. Emma cringed at her thoughts.

The effect this man had on her was uncanny and just plain unnerving.

“Well?” he pressed when she didn’t answer.

“It looks awesome, and I can’t thank you enough.”

“Sure you can.”

“How?” she asked before she thought.

“Let me fix you a glass of the best lemonade you’ve ever drunk.” He paused. “At my place.”

“Look, I can’t, really. I have to pick up Logan from the daycare.”

“He can come, too. Children like lemonade.”

She gave him a look. “I don’t—”

“Please,” he said in a cajoling tone. “It’s been a long, hot day. We both need a treat.” He paused and gave her another one of those heart-stopping smiles. “What can it hurt?”

Nothing, except to get me all rattled inside for no good end, Emma thought.

“All right, I’m game,” she finally said, ignoring her conscience and knowing, too, she would probably regret this outing.

What the heck? She hadn’t been attracted to a man in a long time and while she knew nothing would ever come of the two of them, it might be fun to test the waters. Just because she suddenly wanted to enjoy a male’s company didn’t make her into a man-lover like her sister. She just needed to chill.



Thirty minutes later, after they had swapped trucks and picked up Logan, they were headed toward the outskirts of town. “So where are we going?” she asked, feeling a bit uneasy.

“To my place.”

Her stomach somersaulted. “And where is that?”

“It’s not much farther.”

At least Logan was quiet, sleeping in her arms after long hours at the daycare—one that believed in working their little bodies as well as their little minds. Logan attended three days a week, which she thought was ample. She didn’t want to be away from him more than that.

“He seems to be such a good kid.”

“He is.” Emma smiled. “The best.”

“Here we are,” Bubba said, before turning onto a blacktop road that eventually led to a small cabin surrounded by some of the biggest and most beautiful oak trees she’d ever seen. Her breath caught at the splendor before her.

“Hey, this is awesome,” she exclaimed, facing his profile. That was when she saw a bead of sweat dribble down the exposed cheek. She literally fought the urge to lick it off.

Horrified yet again at her wanton thoughts, Emma jerked her eyes off him, but not before she felt her face turn crimson. Thank God he couldn’t read her mind, or she’d be in deeper trouble than she already was.

Reality. She should not have come.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m harmless.”

She jerked back around and knew her face was still crimson. No way could he not see that. “I would hope so,” she snapped.

The corners of his lips merely twitched, then he said, “Come on, let’s go in.”

Once inside, he headed straight for what she figured was the guest bedroom. She followed. There he reached for the still-sleeping baby and placed him in the middle of the bed. While she looked on in speechless wonder, he placed pillows on either side of the child.

“There,” he said, turning to Emma. “How’d I do?”

“Great,” she responded, feeling rather helpless. This man was something else.

Moments later they were in the bright and airy kitchen. “Have a seat at the bar,” he said, “while I whip up the lemonade.”

Still feeling like a fish out of water, something foreign to her, Emma did as she was told.

Soon they were sipping the sweet/tart liquid out of frosty mugs, listening to the birds outside sing. For a moment, Emma felt as though she was in another world. The country was something she didn’t have much use for, always having been a curb-and-gutter girl. But gosh, she couldn’t deny how nice it was here, especially when she looked out over a huge pond spotted with white ducks.

Logan would love watching them. Thinking of the child, she slipped off the bar stool and said, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to check on my baby.”

“I assume he’s still sleeping,” Bubba said when she took her place beside him seconds later.

She nodded with a smile. “Out like a light, in fact. They wore his little tush out at daycare.”

“So how often do you put him there? Every day?”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t dream of that. I have full-time help at the nursery, which makes it possible for me to stay home with him some days.”

“So the daycare’s kind of optional?”

“You might say that.”

He smiled before taking another sip of his lemonade.

She cut him a glance, more curious than ever about a man who drove a plant truck but owned a spread like this. The two simply didn’t jive.

“What about you?” She noticed him stiffen, upping her curiosity.

“What about me?”

Emma shrugged. “For starters, are you married?” She couldn’t believe she’d asked that, especially since it wasn’t any of her business.

“No. But that should be a given since you’re here with me.”

“You never know,” she said more to herself than to him.

“I could ask you that same question.”

“You know I’m not married,” she said with an unexpected sharpness.

“No, not really.”

“Well, I’m not,” she declared.

A silence followed during which she felt his eyes appraise her as though trying to figure out what was going on inside her head. In doing that, he didn’t bother to hide the fire that sprang into his eyes.

Out of self-defense, Emma avoided further eye contact, then asked, “Have you ever been married?” she pressed, mostly because he seemed so reluctant to answer that question.

His lips tightened, forming a straight line. “Once.”

“I see.”

“I doubt that, but it’s okay. It’s something I don’t like to talk about.”

“Most men don’t.” Emma couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

His eyebrows kicked up. “Ouch.”

She grinned. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

Another silence, then he asked, “How do you like your lemonade?”

“It’s the best.”

“Good.”

Emma cast him another glance. “You haven’t always driven a plant truck, have you?”

He sighed. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with faked innocence.

“Sure,” he muttered with a down-turned mouth.





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