Книга - The Paternity Proposition

The Paternity Proposition
Merline Lovelace


Billionaire Alex Dalton needs to find the fiery redhead who’d given him the hottest night of his life.Was Julie the mother who had left a baby on the Dalton doorstep? Alex needs Julie’s DNA to determine if the father is him or his twin brother.But when she refuses to co-operate, Alex vows to tempt her into giving him everything he wants.












About the Author


A career air force officer, MERLINE LOVELACE served at bases all over the world, including tours in Taiwan, Vietnam and at the Pentagon. When she hung up her uniform for the last time, she decided to combine her love of adventure with a flair for story-telling, basing many of her tales on her experiences in the service.

Since then, she’s produced more than eighty action-packed novels, many of which have made USA Today and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. Over eleven million copies of her works are in print in thirty countries. Be sure to check her website at www.merlinelovelace.com for contests, news and information on future releases.


Dear Reader,

With several sets of twins in our family, I’ve always been intrigued by their ability to communicate without words and the very unique personalities they develop despite their shared environments and experiences. So when a six-month-old drops unexpectedly into the lives of two rich, sophisticated and very handsome twins, I couldn’t resist putting the Dalton brothers through all kinds of turmoil trying to figure out which of them had fathered the baby, and who the heck the child’s mother is!

I hope you enjoy The Paternity Proposition as much as I did while writing it. And please check my website at www.merlinelovelace.com or join me on my Facebook page for more information about this and my other books.

All my best,

Merline Lovelace




The Paternity

Proposition

Merline Lovelace







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my eighty-four nieces, nephews, grands

and great-grands—it’s been such fun watching you all grow.

You’ve been the inspiration for many of my books!




One


“Uh-oh.”

The mechanic’s muttered exclamation brought Julie Bartlett’s head up. She was hot, sweaty, splattered with engine oil, and in no mood for another glitch. The PA-36 Pawnee they were working on was almost twice her age and had seen some hard years before being purchased third-or fourthhand by her new partners. No way she was going to take the plane up again until she and Agro-Air’s chief mechanic had wrestled new rings onto the cylinder heads.

Agro-Air’s chief and only mechanic. Tobacco-chawing Chuck Whitestone and Julie’s other partner, Dusty Jones, had been in the agricultural aviation business for a combined eighty-two years. They’d scraped by during the lean times, when plummeting prices and widespread foreclosures forced so many Oklahoma farmers off their land. With U.S. crop production now on an upsurge, they should have turned the corner and be showing a tidy profit.

Should being the operative word. Dusty Jones could fly circles around any pilot, young, old or anywhere in between. Julie could attest to that. He’d swooped in to dust her parents’ wheat fields, taken their eager nine-year-old up for her very first flight and had her working the stick their second time in the air. Because of Dusty, Julie qualified for a pilot’s license before she could legally drive a car. And paid her way through Oklahoma State University with a variety of flying jobs after her parents died. And got hired by a small regional airline right out of college.

Her plan at the time was to build up her cockpit hours and move into bigger passenger aircraft. Ballooning fuel prices had axed that noble goal. With commercial airlines shutting down routes and laying off personnel, she’d switched from hauling passengers to hauling freight. In the past four years, she’d flown in and out of so many remote locations in North, Central and South America that she couldn’t remember a tenth of the places where she’d overnighted. She would probably still be hopping from country to country if Dusty hadn’t tracked her down a couple of months ago and called to suggest she partner up with him and Chuck Whitestone.

He and Chuck were both on the down slope to seventy, he’d reminded her. They wanted to retire soon. If Julie stuck with Agro-Air for a few years, she could buy them out lock, stock and barrel. All they needed was a small infusion of cash to stay afloat until they rode the upsurge in crop production to a nice, fat retirement.

As it turned out, Dusty’s definition of “small infusion” differed from Julie’s by several decimal points. Still, she couldn’t let him and Chuck go under. So she’d quit her job and sunk her entire savings into Agro-Air. But even someone with all her hours in the cockpit didn’t just jump into aerial agriculture feet first. Zipping under power lines and skimming tree tops required a completely different set of flying skills. Also damned near the equivalent of a double PhD in biology and chemistry. Luckily, Julie had taken many of the necessary science courses at OSU. Still, Dusty had insisted she do all the grunt work these past two months—driving trucks, mixing pesticides, maintaining the plane. She’d learned every aspect of the business from the ground up, literally and figuratively.

During her hot, grimy apprenticeship, Julie had also discovered that one of her new partners hit the casinos almost as often as he climbed into the cockpit. The cash she’d invested in Agro-Air should have gone for new equipment. Instead, Dusty had diverted it to pay his most pressing debts.

So here she was, trying to get this forty-five year old tail-dragger back in the air. Consequently, she did not want to hear Chuck had found another problem with the Pawnee’s engine. Mentally crossing all of her fingers and toes, she popped her head up over the engine stand.

“Uh-oh what?”

The mechanic shifted his plug of Red Man from one cheek to the other and spit out a black stream before nodding to something over her left shoulder. “We got company.”

Twisting, Julie peered at the heat waves shimmering above the dirt road that led to Agro-Air’s corrugated tin hangar/operations center/business office. A plume of red Oklahoma dust rose above the iridescent waves. Generating the plume, she saw, was a low-slung Jaguar XFR.

“Crap!”

Her stomach did a swift free fall. She could think of only one reason why a $70,000-plus sports car would bump down a dirt road to a mowed-grass airstrip stuck smack in the middle of the Oklahoma Panhandle. The same reason, apparently, had occurred to Chuck. Emitting another black stream, the mechanic shook his head.

“Dusty’s gone and done it again.”

Jaw tight, Julie pulled a rag from the pocket of her coveralls and swiped at her grease-streaked face. The brutal July heat had prompted her to stuff her unruly auburn mane under an Oklahoma Redhawks baseball cap. As a result, she was swimming in sweat and in no mood to threaten, cajole, bargain with or otherwise attempt to fend off another of Agro-Air’s creditors.

Except …

When the silvery Jag rolled to a stop some yards away, the man who emerged didn’t look like the other collectors who’d harassed them about late payments. Julie slid her aviator-style sunglasses to the tip of her sweaty nose. With a pilot’s quick grasp of the essentials, she catalogued sun-streaked tawny hair and linebacker shoulders encased in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up on muscular forearms. A silver belt buckle glinted in the July sun above a pair of pleated black slacks that only men with flat bellies and lean hips could carry off.

This guy did more than carry them off. He could have modeled them in any catalogue or on any website in the Western World, with some pouty, anorexic model draped all over him. Julie was thoroughly enjoying the view until he peeled off his sunglasses and hooked them in the open neck of his shirt.

“Omigod!”

She recognized those lean hips and wide shoulders now. She should! They’d pinned her to the sheets a year or so ago.

A different kind of heat slammed into her. Swift and furious and completely unexpected. She felt its scorch as images tumbled into her head. This man, lean and sleek with sweat, while she straddled his hips. His hands on her breasts, her hips. Hers exploring every inch of the gorgeous male stretched out beneath her.

And she could barely remember his name! Andy? Aaron?

Her inability to extract that bit of data from the searing memories acted like a bucket of cold water, dousing the heat and all but making Julie cringe. She didn’t tumble into bed with complete strangers! Ever! Except for that one time, and never would again. She was too careful, too precise, and too fastidious for one-night stands.

Normally.

If he hadn’t swooped into that small airport outside Nuevo Laredo in a spiffy, twin-engine Gulfstream …

If they hadn’t bumped into each other in the operations shack …

If he hadn’t offered to buy her a beer …

Oh, for Pete’s sake! All the if’s in the world wouldn’t erase the idiocy of that wild night. Or her anxious hours after their insane marathon of sex. They’d used a condom. Several, in fact. But she’d been late the following month. Almost ten days.

She’d realized afterward that was probably due to her erratic hours and disrupted sleep cycles, but those were a tense ten days. Just remembering her dread when she’d walked into a drugstore to purchase a pregnancy kit made Julie shove her sunglasses back up her nose with a grimy finger. She wanted no trace of that nerve-racking experience to show when she greeted this ghost from her not-so-distant past.

Or didn’t greet him. He flicked her no more than a quick, dismissive glance as he strode up to the engine stand and directed his remarks to Agro-Air’s chief mechanic.

“I’m looking for Julie Bartlett. Is she around?”

Part Cherokee, part Afro-American and not particularly inclined to socialize at the best of times, Chuck looked the newcomer up and down.

“Might be,” he drawled, shifting his plug to the other cheek again. “Who wants to know?”

“My name’s Dalton. Alex Dalton.”

Aha! Alex. The name clicked in Julie’s head as Chuck gave the man another laconic once-over.

“You in the casino business?”

Obviously surprised by the question, Dalton shook his head. “No. Oil field equipment. Julie Bartlett,” he repeated. “Is she here?”

Chuck left it to her to answer, which she did. First, however, she swiped her hands on the rag again and dragged in a long, steadying breath.

“Yes, I am.”

She could accept the fact that he hadn’t recognized her at first in baggy coveralls and baseball cap. She wasn’t real happy with the second look he zinged her way, however. Was that surprise in those laser-blue eyes? Or disbelief that he’d hooked up with this grimy grease monkey? Whatever it was, it stung. Consequently Julie’s next comment was more than a tad cool. “What can I do for you, Dalton?”

“I’d like to speak with you.” He shot a glance at Chuck. “Privately.”

She was tempted to tell him to say whatever he had to say right here. That brief look still rankled.

“All right. Let’s go inside. The office is air-conditioned.”

Even Dusty would admit “office” was a grandiose term for the plywood cubicle sectioned off inside the metal hangar. But it boasted an air-conditioner that sat on a precarious platform in the partition’s only window and did valiant battle against the July heat.

The chilled air hit with a welcome slap as Julie motioned Dalton inside and shut the door behind him. He stood for a moment, looking around. She could imagine what the place must look like to an outsider. It had certainly made her gulp when she’d walked in two months ago. Weather reports, spraying schedules, fuel bills and chemical invoices littered every available horizontal surface, almost burying the computer Dusty had acquired sometime back in the Middle Ages. A crook-necked lamp tilted haphazardly on the Army surplus desk. A chair was wedged behind the desk, another in a corner next to a much-dinged and dented metal file cabinet.

Dusty’s one-eyed, twenty-pound sloth of a cat lay sprawled across the seat of the corner chair. Belinda opened her good eye to a golden slit and twitched her whiskers, sniffing for the spicy tacos Dusty fed her two or three times a day. When she ascertained the arrivals had come empty-handed, she immediately lost interest and rolled onto her back to display a fat, freckled belly.

Julie started to nudge the animal off the chair when a glance at Dalton’s crisp white shirt and black slacks stayed her hand. If he sat, he’d get up again wearing a layer of cat hair. He appeared to reach the same conclusion. After a glance at Belinda’s freckled, two-acre belly, he opted to stand.

Julie still couldn’t reconcile this cool, sophisticated executive type with the cocky pilot she’d hooked up with for a few, intense hours. ‘Course, he hadn’t been this cool or remote then. He’d been all over her, and she him. Cursing the flush that came so readily with her dark red hair, Julie shoved the lingering image of his hard thighs and muscled shoulders out of her head and leaned against the front of Dusty’s desk.

“We’re as private as we’re going to get,” she said with a nod to the cat. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Instead of answering, he parried her question with one of his own. “Do you remember me?”

Like she could forget? Still, a girl had to save some face.

“Took me a moment after you got out of the car,” she said with a shrug, “but I finally placed you. Nuevo Laredo, a year or so ago.”

His gaze dropped from her face to her baggy coveralls. He did a better job of masking his thoughts this time but Julie could guess what he was thinking.

“Looks like you’re having trouble placing me,, though,” she said drily. Tugging off her ball cap, she tossed it on the cluttered desk. Her sunglasses followed. “Does that help?”

Recognition registered the instant his gaze went from her tumble of auburn hair to her odd-colored eyes. One was green, the other a cross between hazel and brown.

He’d teased her about them, Julie remembered with a sudden kick, before dropping lazy kisses on both eyelids. After which he’d burned a slow, delicious line to her mouth, her chin and the hollow of her throat before contorting to torture the tips of her breasts with his teeth and tongue.

Just the memory of that erotic assault made the aforementioned tips get all tight and tingly. Then his mouth slid into a grin, and her traitorous nipples jumped to instant attention.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “it does.”

Whoa! There was the man she remembered. That slow, sexy smile crinkled the tanned skin at the corners of his eyes and transformed him from merely mouthwatering to Greek-god-gorgeous.

That’s all it had taken, Julie remembered ruefully. That killer grin. Followed by dinner, a couple of beers, several shared war stories and two—no, three!—explosive orgasms.

Unfortunately, the cumulative effect of all of the above had made the other males Julie had since met seem too dull or flat or uninteresting to progress beyond the dinner stage. Not that she’d had much time for men, dull or otherwise, in recent months. Things could be looking up, though.

“You’re a tough person to track down,” he commented.

He’d been searching for her? Well, well. Things were definitely looking up.

Unless …

Had he driven out to this corner of the Oklahoma Panhandle in search of another good time? Another quick tumble? The possibility left a chalky taste in her mouth. Guess that’s what she got for letting his handsome face and come-hither smile overcome her common sense.

Then again, he did drive all the way out here. That could indicate some level of interest beyond the obvious. If so, they would do things differently this time, Julie decided. Take it slower. Share more than a few beers and tall tales before they exchanged bodily fluids. Despite her firm resolve, the possibility sent a shiver of delicious anticipation down her spine.

“You were gone when I woke up,” he commented, breaking into her thoughts.

“I had a five a.m. show time at the airport.”

Also a major case of the guilts. She’d been dating someone else at that time. Not seriously, but regularly enough to add a nagging sense of disloyalty to her dismay at having done something so completely uncharacteristic. She and Todd had gone their separate ways soon afterward. Probably due to the fact that he—along with the two or three other men Julie had dated since—had suffered mightily in comparison to this one.

Okay. She could admit it. She’d thought about tracking Dalton down once or twice after their brief encounter. Might even have checked the logs at the Nuevo Laredo airport for his home base after she broke it off with Todd. But she’d taken a job hauling mine supplies in Chile immediately prior to buying into Agro-Air. That was a grueling, inter-Andes killer, and since returning to the States she’d had nothing but long days, exhausted nights, and too many Dusty Jonesstyle headaches to even consider a life outside fungicides and fertilizers. Thank God they were in that narrow window between spring harvest and prep for winter wheat planting. She finally had a few weeks to finish overhauling the Pawnee.

Reminded of the engine dripping oil outside, she decided to lay things on the line. “I’m flattered you drove all the way out to the Panhandle to find me, Dalton, but you need to know that I’m not the same person I was last time we crossed paths. A lot’s happened in my life since then, and I don’t have the time or the energy for a casual fling. Not that our last one wasn’t fun,” she tacked on when his brows straight-lined.

“I didn’t come here hoping to pick up where we left off.”

Ooooh-kay. Glad they cleared that one up.

“So why did you track me down?”

As soon as the words were out it belatedly occurred to her that he might want to talk business. Although they hadn’t gotten around to sharing detailed family histories during their previous encounter, she’d deduced from the plane he was piloting and the very expensive watch he’d sported that he was related to the Daltons who owned a major manufacturing operation headquartered in Oklahoma. He’d just confirmed that a few moments ago with Chuck. As far as Julie knew, Dalton International wasn’t into agricultural aviation but they could be considering it. The field looked to become extremely lucrative if recent crop trends continued.

Unless, of course, you’d bought into a company whose senior partner was addicted to the slots. Suppressing a grimace, Julie waited for Dalton to continue. He did, with no trace of a smile in either his voice or his eyes now.

“I came to find out if I got you pregnant that night in Nuevo Laredo.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” His expression was positively unfriendly now. “Did you get pregnant, give birth to a baby girl, and deposit her on my mother’s doorstep two weeks ago?”

Her jaw dropped. She gaped at him, stunned into sputtering incoherence. “You’re … You’re kidding, right?”

“Wrong.”

The flat reply snapped her jaw shut. This man had put her through a whiplash of emotions in the past ten minutes. Surprise had topped the list but fury was fast moving into first place. And here she’d thought … Sort of hoped …

Idiot!

They’d only been together one night. Never had time to get to know each other beyond that instant, sizzling attraction. But the fact that he would think, even for a moment, that she was the kind of woman who’d abandon her own child put fire in Julie’s heart. Shoving away from the desk, she stalked to the office door and yanked it open.

“Take my word for it. If I did have a baby, I certainly wouldn’t deposit her on your mother or anyone’s else’s doorstep. Now I suggest you climb back into your bright, shiny Jag and get the hell out of my sight.”

He didn’t budge.

“You took a job down in Chile eight months ago. Didn’t come back until late May. The private investigator I hired hasn’t been able to verify your whereabouts during that time.”

No surprise there! Without resorting to her log, even Julie would have a hard time remembering every remote strip she’d flown into during those hectic months. She didn’t like that Dalton had put a bloodhound sniffing after her, though.

“Where I went and when I returned is none of your damned business. I don’t know who you think you are, but ….”

“I think I’m the baby’s father,” he shot back. “DNA tests show a seventy percent probability.”

That sidetracked her for a moment. “I thought those tests were, like, ninety-nine point nine percent accurate.”

“They are, in ninety-nine point nine percent of the cases,” he replied stiffly. “There’s a slight margin for error when the potential father has an identical twin.”

“You’re a twin?”

“Yes.”

Good grief! There were two like him on the loose?

Or were they? On the loose, that is? Dalton hadn’t worn a wedding ring when they’d met. Didn’t wear one now, she noted with a swift glance at his left hand. Not that a naked ring finger proved anything.

“This is your problem,” Julie told him, acid dripping from every syllable, “not mine. Now you need to be on your way. There’s an engine outside that requires my attention.”

She cracked the door wider and made a shooing motion. Once again, he didn’t move.

“There’s only one way to determine the baby’s paternity beyond any doubt.”

“And that is?”

“Match the father and the mother’s DNA.”

“I repeat. That’s your problem. Besides,” she added as a new thought pierced her simmering anger. “I can’t be the only female you, uh, connected with last year. Have you searched your entire database?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. You’re the last contact on my list.”

Well, she’d asked. Now she knew. He’d gone through his entire black book before scraping the bottom of the barrel.

“Would you like to know what you can do with your list?”

Dalton’s face flushed a dull red, and an anger that matched her own sparked in his eyes. “Hard as this may be to believe, I don’t make a habit of hitting on every female I meet.”

And Julie didn’t usually let strange men hit on her. She was damned if she’d admit that, though. If Mr. Rich Guy Dalton wanted to think she was a tramp, let him!

Rigid with fury, she yanked the door all the way open. “Get out.”

“All I’m requesting is a hair or saliva sample.”

“Get out.”

He moved then, but only to where she stood. Julie tipped her chin and held her own but she had to admit she didn’t remember the sexy stud she’d hooked up with for one wild night being quite this tall. Or this intimidating. He stood so close she could make out the gold tips of his lashes, the faint white scar on one side of his chin, the utter determination in those deadly blue eyes.

Julie was no shrimp. At five-eight, she’d had to shoehorn into more than one cramped cockpit. She’d also learned to extricate herself from tricky situations while flying in and out of some less than desirable locales. Dalton topped her by a good four or five inches, however, and right now he looked as tough as any of the macho hotheads she’d encountered over the years.

“Look,” he said, making an obvious effort to rein in his temper, “this isn’t just about you or me. We need to know the baby’s parentage for health reasons, if nothing else.”

Well, hell! She hadn’t considered that. Of course they would want to know if there was a history of serious diseases somewhere in the child’s family tree. Julie almost caved then. Would have, if Dalton hadn’t added a tight-jawed kicker.

“We’ll pay you.”

“Excuse me?”

“A thousand in cash for a DNA sample right here, right now.”

She had to fight for breath. Not only did he think she would abandon her own baby, now he appeared to believe she had to be bribed to prove she was telling the truth. If Julie had a wrench in her hand right now, this jerk would be parting his hair on the other side for a long, long time to come.

“Get … out!”

His jaw worked. Those blue eyes iced into her. “This isn’t over between us,” he warned.

“What are you gonna do?” she sneered. “Get your PI to follow me around and snatch my coffee cup to steal a saliva sample?”

“That’s one option. There are others.”

He let his glance make a circuit of the messy office. Slowly. Deliberately. Then he brought that knife-edged gaze back to her.

“The offer’s on the table for the next twenty-four hours. Think about it.”

She ached to give him a few things to think about. A swift knee to the gonads came immediately to mind. She settled for slamming the door behind him so hard it bounced back and almost whapped her in the face.




Two


“A thousand dollars!”

Dusty Jones’s creased, roadmap of a face lit up with delight. He’d returned less than a half hour after Alex Dalton’s departure. A small, bow-legged old coot with wiry gray hair that sprang out in every direction beneath a beat-up straw Stetson, he strutted like a banty rooster whenever he wasn’t in the cockpit. He wasn’t strutting now. He was slapping his knee and whooping with glee.

“Whoooeee! A thousand for a hair or a lick of spit! That’ll almost pay for the chemicals I ordered last week.”

“You ordered a new load?”

Momentarily diverted from the subject of Alex Dalton’s outrageous offer, Julie brought the front legs of her chair down with a thud. The violent movement provoked a hiss from Belinda. After scarfing up the tacos Dusty had faithfully delivered, the cat had draped herself across Julie’s lap like a fat, furry blanket. She now proceeded to announce her displeasure at having her post-taco siesta disturbed by digging her claws into Julie’s thigh. The needle-sharp talons pierced right through her coveralls and came close to drawing blood.

“Ow!” Julie returned the cat’s one-eyed glare and detached her claws before appealing to the second man crammed into the tiny office. “Chuck, will you puh-leez remind our partner we still haven’t paid for the last load of chemicals?”

The mechanic shifted his plug and dutifully complied. “We ain’t paid for the last load, Dusty.”

Julie ground her back teeth. If she didn’t love these two geezers so much, she’d let them sink and get back to having a life! Hanging on to her temper with both white-knuckled fists, she glared at her partner.

“You promised!”

“I know, I know.” Dusty rubbed a thorny palm across the back of his neck. “But we’re coming up on winter wheat planting season. Can’t make any money if we don’t service our customers. So give this guy Dalton some spit, missy, and get us out of the hole.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Julie asked, exasperated. “The man thinks I dumped a baby on his doorstep.”

“Thought you said it was his mother’s doorstep.”

She flapped an impatient hand. “His, hers, what difference does it make?”

“Ha! You wouldn’t ask that if you’d ever crossed paths with Delilah Dalton.”

“And you have?”

“Yes’m, I have. Must have been thirty, forty years ago. Del and her husband were just starting out in the oil field re-supply business then. He was what we used to call in them days a real rounder. Now Delilah …” He shook his head in mingled admiration and chagrin. “That woman was one fine female. Probably still is. But so uptight you could bounce a dime off her ass and get nine cents change.”

“Which is all the more reason for me to refuse her son’s demand for a DNA sample,” Julie huffed. “I don’t want anything to do with him or his mother.”

“But, missy! A thousand dollars?”

“No.”

“Just for a little spit?”

“No.”

He heaved a long-suffering sigh, as though she was the one who’d plugged last season’s profits into the slots.

“Awright, already. I hear what you’re sayin’. But …”

“No, Dusty.”

He sighed again and retrieved his cat from Julie’s lap. Belinda hung over his arm like a horse blanket as he delivered a last bit of advice. “If the Daltons are as hot to find the baby’s mama as you say they are, I ‘spect this isn’t the last you’ll hear from them. Or their lawyers.”

“Lawyers?”

Julie swallowed a groan. That’s all she needed. With a forty-five-year-old Pawnee leaking oil like a sieve and a partner who couldn’t stay away from the casinos, she now had to worry about a horde of lawyers swooping in to gnaw at the flesh of Agro-Air.

“Look, I’ll contact Dalton tomorrow, after I’ve cooled down a little, and confirm that I’m not the mother of his child. But I’m not taking money from the man, Dusty.”

“I’m just sayin’,” he intoned as he knuckled Belinda’s head. “Better be prepared, missy. Dalton didn’t look to be the kinda man to wait around for answers.”

Alex’s jaw remained locked for most of the two-hour drive back to Oklahoma City. Julie Marie Bartlett didn’t have a clue who she was tangling with.

Who she had tangled with. Christ! He’d almost forgotten the dark copper hair that had first snagged his interest when he’d walked into that operations shack in Nuevo Laredo. And those odd-colored eyes. Not to mention the full lips, taut breasts and slender hips that went with them.

But the truth was, he hadn’t remembered any of those enticing attributes until two weeks ago. That’s when his mother had called and demanded his instant appearance at her Oklahoma City mansion. His, and his twin’s. She’d met them at the door with a bundled infant in her arms. Alex could still feel the remnants of their collective shock when she’d announced someone had left a baby on her doorstep. Then she’d thrust out the note alleging the six-month old infant was Delilah Dalton’s grandchild.

After they’d recovered enough to speak, both Alex and Blake had questioned the authenticity of the note. With good reason. In the past five years their mother had transitioned from wistful to vocal to downright obnoxious in her attempts to push one of them to the altar. Delilah didn’t care which of her sons married which of the spouse candidates she’d thrown at them. She just wanted them settled and happy. And, oh by the way, producing grandchildren. Lots of grandchildren. As she’d tartly reminded them, she wasn’t getting any younger. Nor were they. Her sons had chalked the baby up to another of their mother’s Machiavellian plots until she announced she’d had a DNA test run.

Alex kept his eyes on the flat checkerboard of Oklahoma countryside outside his windshield but his mind replayed that surreal scene in his mother’s living room. Either he or his brother had, in fact, fathered a child.

The shock of her announcement was still thundering in Alex’s ears when he’d cradled the baby in his arms. Blue-eyed, pink-cheeked Molly had pretty much won his heart with her first gummy smile. Then she’d gurgled and blown him a bubble. Alex would have claimed her as his right then and there, but Blake had reminded him of the thirty-point swing in the DNA analysis and Delilah had stressed the need to nail down the mother.

As a result, Alex and his brother had spent the past two weeks contacting the women they’d connected with early last year. Their lists hadn’t been anywhere near equal. As Dalton International’s Vice President of Operations, Alex got around a lot more than its Vice President for Financial Strategies.

Given the narrow window of opportunity, however, even Alex’s list hadn’t been all that long. It had included the lawyer he dated off and on for almost six months. The divorcee his mother had foisted on him when she’d realized he and the lawyer weren’t serious. The mega-hot state senator’s daughter Delilah had paired him with at the Oklahoma City Country Club’s annual charity ball. And Julie Bartlett.

The first three had responded to his query with looks ranging from astonishment to amusement. The last …

It had to be Bartlett. She’d been out of the country for most of last year, moving from job to job and one remote airstrip to another. The PI Alex had hired to dig into her activities and physical condition during those missing months had hit a couple of blind alleys but should produce results soon.

Not that Alex needed further confirmation. Julie Bartlett wouldn’t have refused to provide a DNA sample unless she had given birth and subsequently abandoned her baby.

His brother agreed with his assessment. To a point.

Alex cornered Blake in his office in the glass-and-steel tower housing the headquarters of Dalton International. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a bustling downtown Oklahoma City with its Bricktown Ballpark, busy restaurants, and newly diverted river spur ferrying tourists to the Land Rush sculpture park. Neither of the Dalton brothers had any interest in the colorful barges meandering the tree-lined river, however.

“The fact that she wouldn’t voluntarily give a DNA sample is pretty telling,” Blake agreed, “but not prima facie evidence that she’s the mother.”

“So where does that leave us?” Alex worked off his frustration by pacing the office. “Can we take her to court and force her to provide a sample?”

“Not without more justification. We would need hospital records, statements from witnesses that she was pregnant, some hard facts to support the petition for a court order.”

Alex had expected the answer. Blake was precise and deliberate by nature, and the framed law degree hanging on the wall behind his desk had only exacerbated his tendency to examine any and all sides of an issue before jumping on it.

He’d been that way even as a kid. Alex would hurtle himself head first at every challenge, whether it was a new toy or a kite caught in a tree or a schoolyard bully. His twin would hold back and assess the situation, although Blake would always wade in whenever necessary—usually after Alex’s nose had been bloodied or he’d shimmied up a tree and couldn’t get down. The present situation, he thought grimly, had too many parallels for comfort.

“I should have just invited her to lunch,” he said in disgust. “I could have picked up her fork or glass or napkin and strolled off with it.”

“You could have,” Blake agreed mildly. “None of which would have helped us in court. For a paternity suit, or in this case, a maternity suit, the sample has to be taken under controlled conditions.”

“But at least we would know.”

“Maybe. I’ve done some digging into DNA testing. There was a case in Virginia a few years ago. The principals battled it out in court for two years despite the fact that the DNA test showed an almost hundred percent probability the defendant was, in fact, the father.”

“Yeah, we know about those probabilities.”

“The judge finally ruled against the claimant when it came out that the DNA lab employed a total of five people processing more than a hundred thousand paternity tests a year, with one supervisor certifying the results every four minutes. The margin for error was too wide for absolute certainty.”

Alex stopped his restless pacing and faced his brother. An outsider probably couldn’t have told them apart. They were both six-two, blue-eyed, and built on exactly the same lines. But the differences were there and readily apparent to anyone who knew them well. Blake’s hair was a darker gold and parted on the left. Alex sported a scar on his chin from a close encounter with a fence post as a kid.

They had that unique twin ability to almost read each other’s thoughts, though, and Alex didn’t particularly care for the vibe he was receiving at the moment.

“So you’re saying Molly may not be ours?”

The possibility carved an unexpected hole in his heart. He’d had two weeks to get used to the idea of being a father. Or uncle. Either way, the idea that neither he nor Blake might have a claim on the baby left a hollow feeling inside him.

“I’m saying it might not hurt to run another test,” Blake was saying. “Especially considering who arranged for the first.”

“You’re right.” Alex huffed out an exasperated breath. “I wouldn’t put it past our dear, sweet mother to have sent in baby hair from one of us instead of from Molly.”

“Me, either.” Laughter lightened Blake’s somber expression. “How many prospective brides has she thrown at you in the past six months?”

“Eight. You?”

“Five.”

Now they had a whole new set of issues to work. With his characteristic decisiveness, Alex wanted the matter of Molly’s parentage settled. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. First, we’ll have another test run to confirm Molly is ours. Second, we convince Ms. Bartlett to submit a DNA sample. If it turns out she’s not Molly’s mother, we go back and …”

The buzz of the intercom cut him off. Irritated, Alex scowled when his brother reached for the phone.

“I told your secretary not to interrupt us.”

“She’s not a secretary,” Blake corrected in his precise way. “She’s my executive assistant.”

As much as Alex loved his twin, there were times he itched to stick a firecracker down his shirt collar and light the fuse. This was one of them.

“Just tell her … Oh, crap!”

He couldn’t suppress a groan as the office door flew open and their mother sailed in. With her megawatt personality, waist-length raven hair showing only a trace of silver, and fingers flashing their usual ten or twelve carats worth of diamonds, Delilah Dalton tended to put a stone-cold finish to conversation whenever she made one of her flamboyant entrances.

The diamonds were absent today. She’d removed them two weeks ago to avoid scratching the tender skin of the infant now cradled to her chest. Instead, her tall, spare figure was encased in black leggings and a print tunic sprouting a profusion of leafy geraniums in eye-popping pink. The sling snuggling the baby against her chest was made of the same wild print.

“Well?” she demanded as she swept in. “How did it go with the Bartlett woman?”

Alex parried her imperious demand with one of his own. “Where did you get that outfit?”

“An on-line shop called Baby Glam and Mama, Too.” Preening, she patted the baby’s back. “It’s got the most delicious inventory. I’m thinking of ordering matching leopard-skin tights and headbands for Molly and me.”

Alex and Blake shared a quick glance. They knew their mother. Once she latched on to something, she didn’t let go. If she’d decided Molly was really her granddaughter …

Aw, hell! Who were they kidding? Alex and Blake had latched on to that same possibility two weeks ago. Even if subsequent tests proved otherwise, the baby was now permanently etched on both their hearts.

That much was obvious when Blake rounded his desk and approached their mom. Smiling, he gazed down at the sleeping infant. His fatuous expression must have mirrored Alex’s because their mother could hardly conceal her glee as she glanced from one son to the other.

“Tell me,” she demanded of Alex. “What did the Bartlett woman say?”

“Her name’s Julie,” he reminded her.

“Whatever.” She flapped an impatient hand. “Did she admit to being Molly’s mother?”

“No.”

“Well, we’ll soon discover the truth of that! When is she going in to supply a DNA sample?”

“She’s not.”

“What?”

Delilah’s small shriek startled the baby. Molly’s head popped up. She blinked and looked right, left, then right again. Driven by an instinct as nervous as it was protective, Alex reached for the child.

“Here, let me take her.”

Delilah unhooked the sling and let him extract the baby. When she saw his smile as he cradled Molly in his arms, she had to bite back an exultant whoop.

She couldn’t have scripted this scenario any better! She was ready. More than ready. All those long, hard years hopping around oil fields and even harder years expanding Dalton International to its present level of operations had taken their toll. Delilah wanted to kick back. Enjoy the wealth those grueling years had generated. Lavish all her loving energy on her tall, handsome, annoyingly independent sons. On the baby Alex now cradled in his arms.

“Tell me,” she ordered again. “What did Bartlett say? Is she the mother or isn’t she?”

“I don’t know.” Frowning, he brushed a knuckle over Molly’s cheek. “I would have said no based on her initial reaction. But when I asked for a DNA sample, she got all huffy and hot-tempered.”

“Ha! There you go! Refusing that simple request proves the woman’s got something to hide. Did you tell her our primary goal is to ascertain Molly’s parentage so we can do a medical history?”

“Yeah, I did.”

His knuckle made another tender sweep over the baby’s cheek. The sight would have filled Delilah with untrammeled glee if not for his grim expression.

“I also offered to pay for a sample,” he related. “That seemed to set her back up.”

“Then you didn’t offer enough.” The hard-headed businesswoman took precedence over Delilah’s rampaging motherly/grandmotherly instincts. “Everyone’s got a price. You just haven’t found hers yet.”

Alex knew she was right. He and Blake had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with their mother as she’d faced down competitors who made the mistake of thinking they could prey on their father’s amiable good nature to cut into the Daltons’ growing empire. Delilah had taught her sons to move in, take over, and leave no prisoners behind. As a result Dalton International had gobbled up their competition over the years, including any number of small, two-bit ventures like Agro-Air.

Their mother zoomed in on that like a crow diving on roadkill. “Did you check out this company she works for?”

“Of course,” Blake answered. “We ran a complete financial analysis before Alex drove out to the Panhandle.”

“And?”

“Agro-Air is operating on a shoestring. The old timer who founded it …”

“Careful!”

“The, er, individual who founded it is a throwback by the name of Josiah Jones.”

“Josiah Jones!” Delilah looked as though the floor had just rolled under her feet. “Aka Dusty Jones?”

Alex settled the baby against his shoulder and shared a look with his twin. He couldn’t remember the last time either of them had seen their mother’s set back on her heels.

“I think …” Alex said slowly. “No, I’m sure Julie mentioned that was one of her partners.”

“Oh, Lord!”

The two brothers locked gazes again. What the heck was this all about?

“You want to tell us how you know this Dusty character?” Alex asked.

The question seemed to shake her out of a trance. “We locked horns decades ago. Damned if I can remember why. But I do remember that bowlegged bastard could fly his rickety ole biplane like nobody’s business.”

“He’s progressed from biplanes to single-wing PA-36’s.” A tight smile stretched Alex’s lips as he recalled the oil dripping from the Pawnee’s engine. “Still pretty rickety, though.”

A familiar combative light leaped into their mother’s eyes. “And that’s who your one-night stand is partnered with?”

“Her name is Julie,” he repeated tersely. “Julie Bartlett.”

Almost purring with pleasure, Delilah eased the baby from his arms. Satisfaction radiated from her in waves as she tucked Molly back into the sling.

“Unless the Dusty I knew forty years ago has shed his skin and grown a new one, he’s up to his elbows in one kind of trouble or another. Put that PI of yours on him. I’ll bet my new chinchilla coat you’ll find some leverage to hold over him and that tart you slept with.”

“Julie,” Alex ground out. “Her name is Julie.”

“Like I care?” With a wave to her sons, she headed for the door. “This is your daughter we’re talking about. Yours or Blake’s. So don’t screw around. Go for the jugular.”

Alex took the elevator to one of the penthouse apartments on the top floor of the Dalton International building and put the rest of that afternoon and evening to productive use.

He knew he’d inherited his mother’s killer instinct. More to the point, he itched to show a certain green-eyed, slender-hipped crop duster he was not someone she could eradicate from her life like she would a pesky aphid.

Okay! All right! It was more than an itch. During the long drive back to Oklahoma City, it had become almost a compulsion. He could chalk it up to his naturally competitive nature but he knew that was only part of the equation. As she had the first time they’d met, Julie Bartlett had spurred a gut-level response in him.

Once in his sprawling apartment with its panoramic view of the city, he splashed Crown Royal onto ice and settled at his desk. His first task was to turn his PI onto Dusty Jones as Delilah had suggested. It didn’t take long for Jamison to come back with a report on the crop duster’s personal ups and downs. Mostly downs in recent months, he related. Big downs.

While that was in the works, Alex spent several hours at the computer. He and Blake had already run the stats on Agro-Air’s operations and revenue once. Wouldn’t hurt to dig a little deeper. By the time he called it quits sometime after midnight and hit the sack, Alex suspected he’d gathered more information about the company than its principal owner wanted either of his partners to know.

Lacing his hands behind his head, he stared up at the moonlight streaming through the skylights. Now that he’d had time to sort through his roller-coaster day, he could admit the truth. It wasn’t his mother’s acerbic comments or his brother’s legalese or the all-consuming question of Molly’s parentage that had spurred all these additional queries. It was Julie Bartlett.

The prickly, uncooperative, grease-smeared redhead had gotten under his skin this afternoon, even more than the pilot who’d snagged his interest in down in Nuevo Laredo. His bone-deep competitive instincts wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew whether she was or was not the mother of the child that might or might not be his. In the process, he might just finesse the woman into bed again.

Yeah, right! Like he needed that complication in his life right now.

On the other hand …

Images from their night together drifted into his mind, came into focus, sharpened. Alex was damned if he could remember the name of the restaurant they’d eaten at or the motel across from the airport they’d adjourned to. But now that he’d seen Julie Bartlett again, he couldn’t get the vivid, 3-D image of her naked and flushed with desire out of his head. Grunting, he rolled over and punched his pillow.




Three


Alex’s first call Wednesday morning was to his mother. Since she’d turned over most of the Dalton International’s operations to her sons, Delilah had taken to sleeping more than the four or five hours a night she’d grabbed while she was raising her boys and building the corporation from the ground up almost single-handedly. Molly had rekindled old habits, however. Delilah was once again up with the sun and crashed as soon as she tucked the baby in for the night.

She sipped her first cup of coffee while she listened to Alex’s plan. When he hung up, she sat for a long time in the kitchen of her sprawling mansion. She would never admit to either of her sons that she felt more comfortable in this cheerful kitchen with its watermelon striped wallpaper and collection of dented copper tea kettles than in any of the other seventeen rooms, all decorated by outrageously expensive interior designers.

She’d wanted more for her sons than the shack she’d grown up in. More than the tar-paper shanty their father had called home before hiring out to Conoco-Philips Petroleum when he turned thirteen. Neither she nor Big Jake had finished high school. Yet their sons had not only racked up several advanced degrees, they’d acquired a sophistication that secretly thrilled Delilah almost as much as it frustrated her. Alex and Blake should be married by now, damn it. Should be giving her the grandbabies she craved. Babies like Molly.

“Ah, Jake,” she murmured as she nested her coffee cup in both hands and looked out onto a multi-terraced and elaborately landscaped garden. “You ought to see the little one. She has your eyes.”

A familiar ache pierced Delilah’s heart. She could only pray that the shape of her eyes was all Molly had inherited from her irresponsible, incorrigible, irresistible grandfather. Then one of the monitors she’d had installed in every room of the house recorded the sounds of the baby waking to a new day and she catapulted out of her chair.

Alex’s second call that morning was to Agro-Air. He wanted to make sure the company’s senior partner was present when he made the return drive to the Panhandle and presented his offer.

Dusty Jones was folded into the desk chair when Alex arrived at the hail-dented hangar that housed the company’s office. Julie Bartlett and the craggy-faced mechanic she’d been working with yesterday were also in the office. The two men eyed Alex with varying degrees of interest when he walked into the hole in the wall that constituted Agro-Air’s office. Julie’s expression was considerably less friendly than her partner’s.

She wasn’t wearing coveralls today. What she was wearing almost stopped Alex in his tracks. It took some effort but he managed to keep his gaze from skimming down the long, fluid legs showcased by her cut-offs. He also allowed himself only a brief glance at the scoop-necked tank top, but the image of the high, firm breasts showcased by the stretchy tank stirred the beast within him. Ordering himself to get a grip, he focused instead on the dark red hair looped through the back of her ball cap and the destructive eyes leveled directly at him.

“I was going to call you,” she stated almost before he was in the door.

“Were you?”

He did his best to disguise the sudden spike in his adrenaline. Was she going to admit the truth? That she’d given birth to his child? Or flatly deny it and provide the requested DNA sample as proof?

In that moment, Alex was damned if he could decide which option he preferred. This woman had eaten a big hole in his sleep last night. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the possibility that a child might link them together for the rest of their lives, but the idea was inching its way into his psyche.

“You have something you want to tell me?” he asked, his eyes locked with hers.

“Yes, I …”

“Hold on there, missy!”

Alex’s gaze shifted to the white-haired, weather-beaten man who popped to his feet and deposited his dirigible excuse of a cat atop the littered desk. So this was the Dusty Jones who’d locked horns with his mother sometime in the past. Alex sized him up, wondering what caused Delilah and this banty rooster to go toe to toe.

“Dalton here called us,” Jones reminded his partner. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

“I know what he has to say.” The anger Alex had glimpsed yesterday flared in her unusual eyes again. She banked it with a visible effort. “He wants me to provide proof positive that I am or am not the kind of woman who would abandon her own child.”

Dammit! Julie had promised herself she wouldn’t get all hot under the collar again. Dalton had a legitimate need to know the identity of his child’s mother. Yet she could feel the steam building as his blue eyes sliced into her.

“Are you?”

“Now just hold on a dang minute!” Swift as a snake, Dusty drew their fire. “You said you had a revised proposal you wanted to discuss with us, Dalton. What is it?”

“We’re not interested in any revised proposal,” Julie snapped.

“We might be, missy. We might be. Let’s just hear what the man has to say.”

The look she shot the old reprobate should have cut him off at the knees. He ignored her.

“Why’d you want all of us here?” he asked Dalton. “Why me ‘n Chuck as well as Julie?”

“I realize I might have come across a little heavy-handed yesterday,” Dalton began.

“Ya think?” Julie drawled.

“But I’ve had time to reconsider,” he continued coolly. “Instead of a cash settlement, I’m thinking we might …”

“Cash is good,” Dusty interrupted. “Cash works for me.”

“… work out a business arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?”

Dalton responded to Dusty’s question but his eyes remained on Julie. “Dalton International hasn’t moved into the agricultural aviation sector. With the upsurge in the crop production, this may be the right time. We’re prepared to make a substantial investment in Agro-Air.”

“How substantial?” Dusty asked eagerly.

“Enough to purchase another, newer plane. I checked and found a used Lane AT-602 on the market, available immediately. It only requires one load to spray a 125-acre circle at five gallons per acre. With this increased capacity and spread ratio, you could double your business base.”

He’d done his homework. Julie had to give him that. Despite herself, she felt a bump of excitement at the thought of the 602’s powerful engine.

“In the meantime,” Dalton continued, “I’ll have our engineers look at current applications systems. With Dalton International’s resources and Agro-Air’s expertise in the field, we should be able to come up with an even more efficient spread ratio.”

“And what does DI get in return for this investment?” Dusty wanted to know.

“We take fifty percent of the profits until we’ve recouped the cost of the initial aircraft. We’ll negotiate a percentage for the purchase of additional aircraft. As for the design and possible manufacture of a new application system, we’ll bear the research and development costs but will pay for technical input and flight testing.”

Dusty stroked his unshaven chin and peered at Dalton through eyes permanently reddened from dust and cigarette smoke. “That’s it? DI takes a cut of the profits from the new plane and Agro-Air helps design and test possible new application systems?”

“No. There’s a precondition to the deal.”

“Ha!” Julie huffed. “I knew it.”

“Did you?” Dalton’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then you won’t be surprised when I ask you to spend a week in Oklahoma City as my guest.”

“Right.” Forgetting that she’d already decided to call the man and assure him she was a non-mom, Julie made a moue of disgust. “I camp out in the city, you lift my DNA off a glass or a comb, and this generous offer from DI suddenly evaporates.”

“The offer is solid. So is my promise that I won’t take anything you don’t want to give.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down Julie’s spine. Before she could block it, her traitorous mind recalled the mind-numbing pleasure this man had given and taken during their night together.

“I don’t get it,” she said, sternly repressing the memory of his mouth on hers. “How does my spending a week in Oklahoma City answer the question of whether or not I’m your daughter’s mother?”

He hesitated and speared a glance at the other two men. Chuck maintained a stoic, unreadable expression. Dusty cocked his head and waited with as much interest as Julie to hear the answer.

“It doesn’t,” Dalton finally admitted. “What it does is give you a chance to spend some time with Molly and me, see how we fit together. Make sure this is what you want if, in fact, you are her mother. It will also give you an insight into Dalton International’s operations,” he added when her mouth opened on a hot protest.

Before she could voice it, Dusty leaped into action. “Wait outside,” he ordered, shoving their visitor to the door. “My partners and I need to talk about this.”

“No, we don’t,” Julie said indignantly as he slammed the door in Dalton’s face. “I’m not trekking off to Oklahoma City for a week.”

“You make it sound like the wilds of Africa. It’s just down the road a piece, missy.”

“Dusty. Listen up! I am not spending a week in Oklahoma City.”

“Well, now, let’s just chaw on that a bit.”

Alex was leaning against his Jag when Julie exited the office some twenty minutes later. She stalked out of the hangar, her face stormy, those long legs of hers eating ground with stiff strides. He was careful to avoid any sign of triumph when she curtly announced they had a deal.

“But just so you know, I’m not happy about this, Dalton.”

“I can see that.”

“Nor do I intend to have you foot my bill. I’ll make my own arrangements.”

“If that’s what you want,” he said with a shrug. “But DI maintains a guest suite for out-of-town visitors. It’s empty and available.”

She hesitated, common sense warring with her obvious anger at being manipulated, then gave a grudging, “All right.”

“Do you want me to wait here while you pack a few things or follow you to your place?”

“Just give me the address of the guest suite and a key, if you have one on you.”

“I planned to drive you into the city.”

“I’ll drive myself. I’ve got some things I need to take care of first.”

He’d won the battle. No need for additional skirmishes. With a tight feeling of anticipation he didn’t stop to analyze, Alex extracted a business card and wrote the address on the back along with the keypad code for the door. “And this,” he said as he added another set of numbers, “is my private line. Call me when you get in.”

He handed her the card but held on to an edge when she reached for it. Her distinctive eyes flashed up to meet his.

“Thanks for doing this,” he said quietly.

The wave of temper she’d ridden out of the hangar subsided enough for her to dredge up a reluctant smile. “You might not be thanking me when you end up with Dusty for a partner. He’s the best pilot in twenty-six states but … well …”

“I can handle Dusty.”

But could he handle her?

The thought added another edge to his anticipation as she made for a pickup parked to the side of the hangar with that hip-swinging stride of hers.

The next week, he told himself during the drive back to the city, should prove interesting.

Julie covered the same route later that afternoon. She still couldn’t believe she’d let Dusty whine and weasel and guilt her into this ridiculous situation. She’d fully intended to tell Alex Dalton straight out to look elsewhere for his baby’s mother. Sign whatever release the man put in front of her. Spit into the nearest empty cup.

Yet here she was, cruising east on I-40 toward the cluster of skyscrapers that thrust up from the flat Oklahoma plains like a bundle of steel celery stalks. The only reasons she’d caved, finally, was because Dusty swore a solemn pledge to stay away from the casinos if she agreed to Dalton’s deal. Plus, she would get a first-hand look at DI’s operations, scope out their engineering and test facilities. Added to that was the fact that they were between growing seasons and Julie hadn’t had a vacation in longer than she could remember.

She would hit the shops, she decided as fallow, straight-lined farm sections gave way to suburbs sprinkled with strip malls and fast-food stops. Visit a couple of Oklahoma City’s world-class museums. Maybe catch the musical Jersey Boys at the Civic Center. And, oh by the way, spend a few hours with Alex Dalton and his family.

She’d looked them up on Google this afternoon. She’d skimmed through all sorts of articles and financial publications chronicling Dalton International’s steady rise from a small family venture to a mega-corporation that manufactured and supplied equipment to oil-rich countries around the world. She’d also found a profusion of articles and photos from various society pages. There was the two-page color spread of Delilah Dalton’s mansion, thrown open to the public for a garden charity event last spring. And a profusion of photos showing one or both of the Dalton twins with be-gowned and be-jeweled babes on their arms.





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