by Robin Wells
Annie didn't think she'd said anything about her grandson except that he was facing some big decisions.
Annie perched on one end of the sofa and the man seated himself beside her. Annie self-consciously ran a hand down her orange Oklahoma State University T-shirt, only to discover it felt strangely fuzzy. She glanced down and saw it was covered with alpaca hair.
Jake followed her gaze. She abruptly realized they were both staring at her breasts.
Oh, dear heavens—why hadn't she put on a bra this morning? Her nipples were pointing straight at him like a pair of orange highway cones.
Jake cleared his throat. "You, uh, have cats?"
Annie pulled her shirt away from her breasts and brushed at the loose hairs, her face flaming with heat. "No. I was grooming my alpacas."
"Alpacas." The man's brow knit together. "Is that a breed of dog?"
"No. They're like llamas."
"Llamas," Jake repeated. He looked at her as if he doubted her sanity. "How many do you have?"
"Just five, right now. But I'm hoping to grow the herd.”
"I saw cattle as I drove in. You raise them together?"
“Oh, yes. Alpacas are very sociable animals. Very gentle, too”
"And.. . you groom them?"
Annie nodded. "They love to be brushed and combed. They even like to be bathed."
At her words, Jake was tempted to ask if her animals also liked to wear Tweety Bird hair ornaments like the one bobbing around on top of her head. This woman was certainly strange.
And well built.
He realized his gaze had again drifted to her chest. Annoyed at the direction of his thoughts, he forced his eyes away. He was here to learn all he could about her and the child, not to gawk at her breasts.
"So you raise alpacas," he said. "I guess that explains the unusual sign at the entrance to your ranch."
"The one that says, `Pick a Peck of 'Paca Poop?'"
Jake cleared his throat. "Um, yes. That would be the one.”
Annie smiled serenely, as if they were talking about something as commonplace as a serve-yourself salad bar.
Jake decided to explore the topic a little further. "So ... that's something people come here to do?"
Annie nodded. "Alpaca manure is very rich in nutrients. It's an excellent fertilizer. I sell it to gardeners."
A shrill whistle sounded from the other room. Annie bounded to her feet and set the stuffed dinosaur on an old trunk that served as a coffee table. "There's the tea. I'll be right back." She hurried from the room, the tiny dachshund trailing after her.
Drawing a deep breath, Jake leaned forward and picked up the dinosaur. He rotated it in his hands, his thoughts turning back to the reason for his visit.
A daughter. Unless he was terribly mistaken, he had a daughter.
He did some quick calculations in his head. The age of this woman's child jibed with the insemination date on her medical records. If that was right, it meant the child had been conceived about a month after Rachel's death.
Emotion, hard-hitting and ill-defined, erupted in his chest. How could he have made a child with this woman—a woman about as far removed from Rachel as anyone he could imagine—while the dirt was still fresh- on Rachel's grave?
He rose from the sofa, unable to sit still, and strode across the room, past an old curio cabinet filled with what looked like old pharmacy supplies. He glanced at it, but was too agitated to study its contents. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he drew a deep breath.
It was unfair, damn it—completely, totally unfair! It was beyond unfair. It was a travesty of justice.
He turned as he reached a wood-shuttered window and paced in the other direction. What right did this woman have to bear the child he and Rachel had tried to conceive for seven years? How had this loony-tune woman—this barefooted, Tweety-Bird-haired, alpaca fleece-covered, poop-scooping woman-ended up the mother of his child?
A hot sense of self-reproach shot through him. Christ. And to think he'd been sitting there, staring at her breasts!
"Well, hell," he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair as he moved to the fireplace, trying to shake off a prickly cloak of guilt. It was impossible not to stare, what with all that white fur clinging to her orange shirt, and her shirt clinging to her naked breasts. For that matter, it was hard not stare at any part of her. Everywhere he looked, something about her jumped out and begged to be ogled.
She was the most vivid human being he'd ever met. How could he not stare at her, what with that flaming auburn hair piled up on her head with that ridiculous Tweety Bird doo-dad, and those eyes that looked like little pieces of sky, and that mouth that looked like she'd just eaten fresh strawberries? And her clothes!
Well, it wasn't so much what she was wearing as it was the way she was wearing it. Her Levis were faded at the fly and rump in a way that struck him as inappropriately suggestive, and the way she filled out that fuzz-covered orange T-shirt was nothing short of erotic.
She was obviously unfit to be a mother. Unfit, at least, to be the mother of his child. A tide of outrage, bitter and angry, swept through him.
No one but Rachel should be the mother of his child!
His hands clenched, and he realized he was strangling the stuffed dinosaur. He stormed over to the trunk and set it down, then stalked back across the room, his thoughts spinning and gaining fury.
He'd take the child away from her. By God, he would! If it really was his baby, he'd figure out a way to get full custody and raise it himself. He was an attorney. He could find a way to do it.
The decision helped him focus his thoughts. Calm. He needed to remain calm. Calm, cool, and collected. He needed to apply the same levelheaded, rational, low-key, understated approach he used in the courtroom. People always incriminated themselves if you let them talk long enough. He would need information in order to prove her an unfit parent, and it would be easier to extract it if she didn't feel under any pressure.
He deliberately went into legal counsel mode, willing his mind to scan through the facts with computer like precision. This woman—this Annie—had evidently mistaken him for someone else. Apparently she was expecting a man she'd never met before—the grandson of someone named Pearl-to come for tea. He wondered what the purpose of the little tea party was. Knowing his luck, he'd probably stumbled into a blind date arranged by some poor slob's meddlesome grandmother.
Well, whatever the situation was, he'd find out soon enough. In the meantime, he'd play along and learn all he could. Information was ammunition, and he intended to gather as much as he could.
Chapter Three
"Here you go."
Jake spun around, startled to find Annie standing behind him, holding out a steaming teacup. He'd been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't heard her return from the kitchen.
"Thank you." Forcing his features out of a scowl and into what he hoped was a neutral expression, he accepted the cup and followed her back to the sofa. He waited until she'd settled back onto it, then sank down beside her and gazed into the white china cup. The distinctive scent of tea wafted up from the blackish-brown brew.
He looked up, noting that her hands were empty. "Aren't you going to have some?"
"Oh, no. I never drink the stuff."
Then why the devil is she forcing it on me? He shifted the cup to his other hand. "To tell you the truth, I don't much care for tea, either. I'm a coffee fan, myself."
"Sorry to hear it, because you've got to drink every drop."
Was she teasing? Her expression was serious, her tone matter-of-fact. Jake gazed at her uncertainly.
You can let it cool, then gulp it down all at once," she suggested. "It's not so bad that way."
Jake stared at her. She seemed completely serious. Before he could form a response, she cocked her head and smiled, drawing her bare feet under her shapely bottom.
"So what kind of information are you hoping to find out?"
"What?"
"Pearl said
you're facing some major decisions."
Thank God. For a moment there, he'd had the disturbing feeling that she'd read his mind. But then, everything about this woman was disturbing on one level or another.
Control, that was the key. He needed to gain control of the conversation. If he didn't, she was sure to discover he wasn't Pearl's grandson.
He set the cup on an old oak side table, then turned toward her and gave his best jury-swaying smile. "I'd much rather talk about you first. How did you end up living way out here?"
"I inherited the ranch when my grandparents died two years ago."
"They left it to you instead of your parents?"
Annie nodded. "My father died of a heart attack eleven years ago. He was an only child, and so am I, so it was willed to me."
Now he was getting somewhere. Information about her family background could prove useful. "What about your mother?"
She remarried four years ago and moved to Europe.
Now she's living the life to which she always aspired." Annie gave a wry grin. "She's an Italian countess complete with a villa and a tiara." Her voice held a trace of amusement, but no bitterness. She cocked her head. "I'm surprised your grandmother didn't tell you all about it. My grandmother was her best friend."
Uh-oh. Jake glanced away. "I, uh, think she mentioned it. I guess I just didn't connect the information with you."
He was relieved when Annie grinned. "That's understandable.
Pearl's conversations take a lot of detours, don't they?"
"They sure do." Jake ran a finger under his collar, grateful to have slipped out of that one. "So you run the ranch yourself now?"
Annie nodded. "With the help of a foreman and sea-. sonal ranch hands."
There was no mention of a husband. He'd already glanced at her hand and noticed she wasn't wearing a wedding band. The omission reinforced his suspicion that he'd stumbled into a blind date. "What did you do before this?"
"I worked for an ad agency."
"Advertising—that's an interesting line of work. Where was that?"
"New York City."
"This must be quite a change for you."
Annie nodded and folded her legs Indian-style. With a jolt of surprise, Jake noticed that her toenails were each painted a different color. "I spent all my summers here with my grandparents when I was a child, so I was familiar with the ranch, but I didn't know much about actually running it. I'm still learning about that."
Jake found his gaze riveted on her toenails. They were not the toenails of a rancher. Blue, green, yellow, orange, red—the colors were arranged in rainbow order. What the hell kind of woman painted her toes in rainbow order?
He pulled his gaze back to her eyes, which were even more brilliantly colored than her toes. Information. He needed to focus on getting information, on learning about this woman's background and discovering her weak spots. "I'm surprised you didn't - just sell the ranch."
The red curls around the large cartoon bird on her head bounced as she nodded. "That was my original plan."
"What changed your mind?"
Unfolding her legs, she pulled her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. "It's kind of an odd story."
"That's my favorite kind."
Annie gave him a measuring look.
"I'd love to hear it," he prompted.
Annie pointed a finger at his cup of tea. "Okay. Start drinking, and I'll tell you."
What was the deal with the tea? Was she trying to drug him? Would he wake up in a ditch with his wallet missing?
Even worse, would he wake up as crazy as she was? Jake picked up the cup and stared into it suspiciously. "What's in here, anyway?"
"Tea. Just tea."
He took a hesitant sip. It tasted like tea, all right—strong dark and unsweetened, just the way he took his coffee. What the hell. He took a long swig.
His hostess smiled approvingly, then leaned back against the sofa cushion. "It all started in a cab. I was headed to my apartment from LaGuardia after coming here for Grandpa's funeral. I'd listed the ranch for sale with a real estate broker, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. I'd always thought of this place as home. Getting rid of it kind of felt like losing another relative."
The tiny dachshund strolled in from the kitchen. Annie bent and picked him up, settling the creature on her lap. "It was a cold, rainy day, and the traffic was barely moving. I remember that the taxi stank—the driver needed a bath and the back seat smelled like sour milk. Anyway, there I was, stuck in traffic in a stinky cab, and all of sudden, I saw a billboard."
She looked at him as if she'd just made a profound pronouncement. Jake was unsure how to respond. "A billboard?"
Annie nodded. "It was for some kind of home health care service. It said, `You belong at home.'"
She looked at him as if she expected some kind of reaction. "Hmmm," Jake managed.
"The words weren't what made the sign so amazing." "No?"
Annie shook her head. "What was amazing was the way the words sounded in my head. I know this sounds strange, but I heard Grandpa's voice. Like he was sitting right beside me, talking in an insistent tone." She scratched the dachshund's ear. The little canine's tail pounded the sofa. "Needless to say, it rattled me. I thought I was really losing it."
No wonder. You were. Jake struggled to keep his expression attentive yet blank as she looked up and continued.
"I closed my eyes, thinking I must be more tired than I realized. When I opened them again, well, there was another billboard."
"You don't say." Jake was tempted to mention that the highways to and from most metropolitan airports were routinely littered with billboards. The fact she'd seen another one was hardly worthy of the wonder or reverence in her expression—the kind of wonder and reverence usually reserved for a sighting of the Holy Virgin in tile grout.
"This one said, `Follow your dreams.' And once again, I heard Grandpa saying it in a really urgent, insistent tone."
Jake cleared his throat. "So. . . what were your dreams?"
"Well, that was just it. I realized I didn't have any. Not anymore, anyway. My job kept me incredibly busy-so busy that I didn't have time to stop and consider whether or not it was what I really wanted to be doing. That billboard made me stop and think."
“And?”
"And I realized I wanted more out of life than frantic busy-ness. So I started thinking back to what I used to want."
The fat dog on her lap rolled over. Annie absently rubbed his belly. Jake watched her long, slim fingers stroke the animal in slow, sensuous circles and was shocked to feel a surge of envy for the dog. Pulling his eyes away from her hands, he forced his attention back to what she was saying.
"When I was a kid, I used to daydream about living here and raising a family. But my father insisted I get what he called `a real life.' He said ranching was no life for a woman, that he hadn't raised me with every advantage to have me waste my life out in the sticks." She sighed. "He wanted me to go to an expensive women's college back east, and Dad always managed to have his way. One thing kind of led to another, and my life went along just as he'd planned. I graduated, got a good-paying job, got married—"
"You were married?"
Annie nodded. "For a year. Several years ago." She motioned for him to drink his tea. He took a small sip.
"After the divorce," she continued, "I really threw myself into my career. I focused on deadlines and meetings and all the things listed in my calendar. I never stepped back and thought about what I really wanted. Not until I heard Grandpa read that billboard, that is."
"I see." I see that you sound seriously disturbed. What was the mental illness where people thought they heard voices? Schizophrenia?
"You're not drinking your tea," Annie pointed out. "Sorry." Jake obediently took a large gulp.
"The next thing I knew, there was another billboard. This one was for evening courses at a university, and there was Grandpa's voice again. Just as clear as day, I heard h
im say, `It's never too late to start over.' That one really got to me. But not as much as the next bill- board."
"Oh?" Jake struggled to keep his expression impas- sive.
"It was an ad for life insurance, and it featured a picture of an adorable baby. Underneath the picture, it said, `It's the little things that count.' " Annie leaned back. "I know it sounds crazy, but I heard a click in my head, like everything had just fallen into place."
That wasn't the sound of things falling into place. That was the sound of your mind snapping.
"And all of a sudden, I knew what I was going to do."
Commit yourself to ' a mental institution? Unfortunately, that apparently had not been her decision. Jake shifted uneasily. "What was that?"
"Follow the dream I'd had as a child." The dog waved his front paws in the air, urging her to resume stroking his belly. Annie complied. "I was sick to death of living in the city-sick of walking on concrete instead of grass, of never seeing anything green that wasn't in a salad or a planter. I was sick of worrying about products instead of people. I wanted to do something fulfilling, something that would make a difference in the world. I wanted..
She hesitated, and her face softened. "I wanted to have a baby. And I wanted to raise it here."
It took all of his resolve to feign ignorance. "So... did you remarry?"
She shook her head. "There weren't any candidates. I hadn't even seriously dated anyone in years. I realized I couldn't just keep waiting for Prince Charming to come along. If I wanted my dreams to come true, I'd have to take action myself."
She rubbed the dog's long ears. "I sat there in that taxi, thinking about single parenthood, telling myself how difficult and impractical it would be. And then the next billboard made it all clear." Her lips curved into a Mona Lisa smile. "It was a Nike ad."
Oh, Christ. This was too hokey to be believed. "Just do it?"
She leaned back and nodded. "So I did."
Great. The mother of his child was a wacko who thought her dead grandfather talked to her through bill- boards. Jake drained the cup of tea, only to gag on a mouthful of dregs. He reached for the paper napkin and violently coughed into it.