Her Christmas Hero

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Her Christmas Hero Page 9

by Linda Warren


  “The baby is already with his father.”

  “Only briefly. I don’t intend for it to stay that way.”

  “Crossing the Rutherfords will cost you—big. Are you prepared for that?”

  Quinn ran a hand through his hair. “Yes.”

  Levi shook his head. “Never thought I’d see this day. The man with his focus on his career is risking it all for a woman he barely knows.”

  Throwing his pen on the desk, Quinn clasped his hands be hind his head. “Are you with me?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Levi replied without pausing. “I love taking down a man like Rutherford.”

  “What if my plan backfires and I’m the one who’s taken down?” Quinn had to think about that possibility.

  “I’ll give you a job on my ranch, minimum wage. Can you cowboy?”

  Quinn laughed, a robust sound that released the tension in side him. He leaned forward. “I can wear boots and a Stet son as well as any man.”

  Levi’s lips twitched. “That’s not what I had in mind.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  “Like I said, I have your back. Just let me know what you need, and consider it done. I’ll get the calls transcribed.” Le vi headed for the door and then stopped. “Need anything else on the Bailey or Morris cases?”

  “No. Thanks for all your work.”

  “Call if you need anything.” With that, Levi was gone.

  Quinn settled in for the day. As he worked, the Rutherford case lingered at the back of his mind like an itch that needed scratching. Yes, he was risking it all for a woman he barely knew.

  But he’d saved her life.

  He knew her.

  He knew Britt.

  STEVE ARRIVED AND THEY worked on the Bailey and Morris cases, which were coming up at the end of November. Quinn was meeting with the D.A. on Wednesday and he had the first one hammered out to his liking. He just had to hone his argument a little more.

  The Morris case worried him. Kathy Morris was a twenty-four-year-old mother of three who’d shot her husband in the back while he was eating supper. The D.A. was going for premeditated murder, and Quinn had his work cut out disproving that.

  He let Steve go midafternoon. Since Steve had a girlfriend, Quinn knew he probably had a date. He’d almost for got ten that feeling of being young and full of energy. But it came in clearly when he thought of Britt.

  Looking out his window, he could glimpse the capitol building, and in the distance and over the treetops loomed the University of Texas, his alma mater. He’d wanted to go to Harvard, Yale or Princeton, but his father had persuaded him to stick to his roots, his home state. Quinn had, and he’d never regretted that. But somewhere in a corner of his mind shadowed by the exuberance of youth, he wondered if his father had influenced his decision.

  Did Peyton know him better than he knew himself?

  Sighing, he reached for his briefcase and went home.

  THE BUZZ OF QUINN’S PHONE woke him at seven-thirty Sunday morning. He reached for it on his nightstand.

  “Quinn, it’s Gail. I have a problem.”

  He sat up straight. He’d talked to her last night to make sure she would arrive at the condo early, to give Phil time to leave.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m here and Mr. Rutherford is refusing to leave. He told me to get my ass out of his house.”

  Son of a bitch! Quinn should have known Phil was going to pull something. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Do you want me to stay?”

  “No. I’ll handle it from here, and you still have tomorrow off.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  Quinn grabbed jeans and a T-shirt and quickly yanked them on, his anger boiling over. If Phil thought he could manipulate him again, he had another thought coming. Quinn could also play this game. And ethics be damned.

  Slipping on his loafers, he hurried downstairs to his study and found Mona’s number. She answered on the sixth ring.

  “Mona, it’s Quentin Ross.”

  “What? It’s Sunday.” Her voice was sleepy.

  “I know, but there’s a situation. I wanted you to be aware of what’s happening, and to know that I have everything under control.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Phil is refusing to leave the condo, but I’m on my way to sort it out.”

  “Like hell. I’ll meet you there.”

  Quinn hung up, a grin on his face. If he knew Mona Tibbs, she’d more than show up. And he was counting on that.

  His first step over the line.

  Since it was Sunday, the traffic was light. He made it to Phil’s place in fifteen minutes. Britt’s ex lived in an exclusive area not far from downtown. The condos were two-story, with private driveways and garages, all beautifully landscaped.

  As Quinn got out of his car, Mona drove up with a police car behind her. She came with fire in her eyes, just as he’d planned. Thank God Britt wasn’t here yet.

  Quinn met her at the door. Mona wore a coat over her nightgown, he suspected. Her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and her face was free of makeup. She’d left in a rush.

  “What are you trying to pull, Ross?” she asked, poking the doorbell.

  “I didn’t know he was going to do this.”

  “Yeah, right.” She held up some papers. “I have the judge’s order in my hand and an officer here to make sure Phil Rutherford obeys it.”

  The door swung open and Phil stood there in his pajama bottoms. “What the…”

  “May I speak to my client first?” Quinn asked.

  “You have five minutes. I want him out before Britt arrives.”

  Quinn stepped inside and slammed the door. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Whatever the hell I please. I’m not leaving my house on a Sunday.”

  “The judge says otherwise, so get your things and get out.”

  Phil’s eyes darkened. “I’m ordering you to get rid of those people outside. I want them gone before Roslyn gets here. You got it?”

  Quinn moved closer to him, his voice low and threatening. “I may be your lawyer, but I’m not breaking the law for you. You get dressed and get out, or that cop in the yard will take you away. Legally.”

  “You bastard. I should fire you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  The two men faced each other. They were the same height, and basically the same build. One was blatantly obnoxious. The other was pissed off.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Phil sneered.

  “Yes. I don’t appreciate being dragged into this mess—your mess. If you feel anything for Roslyn Davis, you’ll give her back her child and let her see you’re a better man than she ever thought you were.”

  “Feel anything for Roslyn?” Phil laughed, a sound that was jarring. “I just want her to beg, and she will the day I take Dillon for good.”

  For good. That was the first time those words had been spoken, and Quinn wondered if Phil even realized what he’d said. For now he let it pass. He was more focused on the man’s need for revenge.

  He studied Phil’s sinister expression. “Then why do you want her back? Why are you here waiting to see her?”

  “Because this time—” he poked a finger into his chest “—I’ll be the one walking away with everything she loves. I want her to know who’s in control.”

  “Phil, I advise you to get some counseling, because you desperately need it. This is not normal behavior.”

  “She’s trash, Quinn. That’s all she is, and not worth your concern.”

  Quinn drew a long breath and curled his hands into fists to keep from striking the man.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Phil said suddenly. “I’d rather not see the bitch.”

  Quinn nodded. “Wise decision. Get dressed as fast as you can and go out through the garage.”

  Phil walked away without responding.

  Quinn went to the front door and opened it. “He’s getting dressed. It�
�ll take a few minutes.”

  “Then everything’s okay here, sir?” the officer asked.

  “Yes,” Quinn replied, and noticed Britt was standing to Mona’s right, looking worried. He forced himself to glance away.

  “I’d rather you stay until Mr. Rutherford is off the premises,” Mona told the officer.

  A screech of tires burning against the pavement echoed through the quiet morning. Phil’s Maserati whizzed by.

  “He’s gone,” Quinn said, and opened the door wider. Dillon’s cries filled the air.

  Britt charged forward and ran toward the stairs. “Mommy’s coming,” she called.

  Mona folded her arms across her breasts. “I take it, Mr. Ross, this won’t happen again?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll be going,” the officer interjected.

  “Thank you so much.” Mona smiled at him. As the officer walked away, she turned to Quinn. “I don’t know what your agenda is, Mr. Ross, but…”

  “My agenda is justice.”

  She eyed him strangely. “I’ve heard that about you. I’m still trying to figure out why you called me.”

  “Justice, Ms. Tibbs.”

  “Yeah, right.” Clearly, she didn’t believe him. “I’m going home to my husband and kids. Britt knows to call me if any thing goes wrong.”

  Quinn closed the door and went inside, shrugging out of his leather jacket. He laid it over a chair and looked around. The condo was very contemporary—muted walls with accent pieces in black, silver and glass. He wondered if Britt had decorated the place. It didn’t seem likely. He pictured her taste as something more homey and comfortable.

  Her voice came from upstairs and he headed there, finding her in the nursery. Leaning over a crib, she was talking to the baby as she changed his diaper.

  “How’s Mommy’s Dilly bear?” she said soothingly.

  The boy waved his arms and kicked his feet in excitement, obviously glad to see her. Britt removed his sleeper and slipped knit pants over the diaper, then pulled a T-shirt with a duck in front over his head. Dillon held up his hands, wanting her to take him.

  “In a minute.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I have to put your socks on. It’s cold.”

  He twisted and turned, but she managed to get them on his feet, and then she lifted him out of the crib. “Ready for breakfast?” The boy bounced on her hip. “I know you want your bottle.” She walked out, not sparing Quinn a glance.

  He went to his car to get his laptop and briefcase, and settled on the sofa. He was here for the day and he had to keep busy. But his attention kept drifting to Britt’s voice as she chatted to her son in the kitchen. This was her time and he didn’t intrude.

  Engrossed in his work, he was taken aback when the baby shot around the sofa. The kid was fast on all fours. At the coffee table, he pulled himself up, slapping his hands on the glass and bouncing on his feet. Innocent big brown eyes stared at Quinn. Dillon looked just like his mother, and Quinn felt a catch in his throat.

  The toddler spied Quinn’s papers on the table and sidestepped toward them.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Britt swung him into her arms, and childish giggles echoed through the room.

  She sank into a chair, cuddling her son. “I was cleaning the kitchen and he got away from me. He crawls so fast.”

  “I noticed.” And Quinn noticed her. He’d thought she was beautiful before, but with her baby in her arms she was stunning. Her dark hair was in disarray around her shoulders, and with that sparkle in her eyes and the glow of her skin, he found it hard to breathe.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  Chapter Ten

  Quinn was so absorbed in watching Dillon, it took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. He cleared his throat. “The judge ordered it.”

  “But why you, specifically? I’m sure you have employees who can handle this.” Britt bounced Dillon up and down as she spoke.

  “I do, but she got a little flustered when Phil refused to leave, so she called me. I’m staying in case he gets it in his head to come back. Sorry that’s not to your liking.”

  “I’d prefer if we had very little contact.” Britt had to for her own peace of mind. Quentin Ross was a temptation she didn’t need. He looked so different today, more like the man who’d rescued her. He wore faded jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt that molded his broad chest, and a glint in his eyes that made her very aware of every feminine need in her. His disheveled hair looked as if he’d just gotten out of bed.

  “Phil made that impossible.” He waved a hand toward his laptop. “I’ll work. Just pretend I’m not here.”

  As if that was humanly possible. Her attention was drawn to him every other second—to his hands, which seemed too big for the laptop as he typed. To his blond hair, which fell across his forehead. And to the thrust of his jaw, covered with a growth of beard. He oozed testosterone and every vibe found a mark inside her, making her very aware of what was missing in her life.

  Dillon rubbed his face against hers and her heart swelled. She had everything she needed in her arms. But she only had him for the day. If she thought about it, she’d become upset, so she didn’t.

  “Playtime.” She carried Dillon to his room to gather toys and books, and went back to the living room. They sat together on the floor, and she placed his blocks in front of him. He loved to stack them. After Dillon grew tired, she read to him. He slapped at the pages if there was a dog or a horse, his favorite animals.

  “Do you mind if I make a cup of coffee?” Quinn asked.

  She looked up. “Of course not.” He probably hadn’t even had breakfast.

  Dillon grew sleepy and Britt knew it was his lunchtime. As Quinn walked back with a cup in hand, she said, “I brought Dillon’s lunch. I’m going to the car to get it.” She placed blocks in front of Dillon. “Mommy will be right back.”

  “I’ll watch him,” Quinn offered.

  “Thanks.” She fished her keys out of her purse and hurried to the door. As soon as Dillon realized she was leaving, he fell to his hands and knees and shot after her, crying loudly. She swung him into her arms, trying to soothe him. “It’s okay. Mommy’s here.” She couldn’t say the words she wanted to—that she would never leave him. Her temper boiled but she banked it down.

  “I’ll get it,” Quinn said.

  “Thank you.” She handed him her keys and rubbed Dillon’s back. “It’s a small ice chest on the passenger side.”

  In a few minutes Quinn was back and handed her the chest. “Why did you bring his food? Isn’t there something here for him to eat?”

  “I like for him to have something fresh and not out of a jar. I made him mashed potatoes, finely chopped up chick en and green peas. He loves it.”

  She placed Dillon in his high chair and tied a bib around his neck. He slapped a hand on the tray, knowing what was coming. After she heated the food in the microwave, she fed it to him. He gobbled it up. Growing sleepy, he rubbed his eyes.

  She looked up to see Quinn watching them. He held up his cup. “I was just getting a refill.”

  “It’s time for his nap.” She lifted Dillon out of the chair and washed his face and hands. “I’m going to change his diaper and give him a bottle. The kitchen’s all yours.”

  With Dillon asleep, she went back into the living room. Quinn was working at his laptop, a coffee cup beside him. Onnie had made her a sandwich for lunch out of leftover roast beef from their Saturday lunch. Britt hated to eat in front of him, or alone in the kitchen.

  It didn’t take her long to make up her mind. She grabbed the chest, two forks and two napkins, and carried them to the coffee table. Sitting on the floor, she pulled out food from the ice chest. “How about lunch?”

  He glanced at her. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Did you have breakfast?”

  “No. I left in rather a hurry.”

  She unwrapped the sandwich and laid it on a napkin. “This sandwich is huge. Onnie doesn’t
know how to make any thing small.”

  Glancing over at the sandwich, he asked, “What kind is it?”

  “Roast beef on Onnie’s homemade bread.” Britt pointed. “Just look at that. It’s enormous. I’ll never eat it all. You have to help.” She dropped her voice to a cajoling tone.

  He closed his laptop and slid to the floor. “Okay. You’ve convinced me.”

  “And we have coconut pie, fruit and water. How’s that?”

  “Sounds delicious.” He picked up half of the cut sandwich.

  They ate in silence, and Britt couldn’t help thinking the same thing she’d thought before: why did he have to be one of the bad guys?

  “This is delicious,” he said around a mouthful of roast beef.

  “Onnie’s a great cook. You should taste her spaghetti and meatballs.”

  He picked up a slice of apple. “I don’t think I’ll ever get that chance.”

  “Probably not,” she muttered. They were on opposite sides and there was no way they could ever be together.

  Except in her mind.

  And she hated herself for even thinking it.

  They shared the coconut pie and she pushed the biggest piece to him, licking her lips. “You have to eat the rest. I can feel my hips spreading.”

  He studied her mouth, and his eyes darkened. A sizzle of awareness coiled through her.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your hips,” he remarked.

  She gathered the remains and carried them to the trash in the kitchen, needing to do something to ease the tension in her stomach. “I wasn’t looking for a compliment,” she called over her shoulder.

  “It wasn’t one,” he called back. “It’s the truth.”

  She put the lid on the ice chest and placed it by her purse, then resumed her seat on the floor. Neither said anything else. Quinn leaned against the sofa, his eyes on her.

  “I am sorry for the way things turned out.”

  She brushed a crumb from her jeans. “Somehow I believe that.”

  “I had no idea you were the Britt I knew.”

  “It makes no difference now.”

  “I suppose not.” His eyes held hers. “I’m really not a bad person.”

  “You just work for people who are.”

 

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