A Daddy for Dillon

by Stella Bagwell

  “Thanks for the meal. I’ve got work to do.” He gave Dillon an affectionate pat on the head, then quickly left the room.

  Dillon is my son. Not yours.

  Leyla had not only put him in his place, he thought, as he slowly trudged his way upstairs to his room, but she’d also made him see he was making a fool of himself. He’d allowed that little domestic scene back in the kitchen to set his mind to dreaming. But she’d jerked him awake real fast.

  He wasn’t a husband or a father, nor did he have any plans to be. And he should thank Miss Leyla Chee for reminding him of the fact.

  But as he entered his room and glanced at the queen-sized bed, he realized it had never looked quite so empty.

  Chapter Three

  Much later that night, Leyla sat in front of the television and tried to force her attention on the program on the screen, but her wandering thoughts made it impossible to follow the plot.

  Most likely she was going to be fired. After two short days and the trouble she’d taken to move from the res to this ranch, it was all going to be for naught. She’d never been fired from a job before. She’d always made sure that she worked hard, followed orders to a T and never shirked her responsibilities. She was very proud of her work ethic. But this evening she’d let a handsome man with a glib tongue provoke her. She figured Laramie had already phoned Quint Cantrell to let him know he was dissatisfied with the new cook.

  Well, there was always a first time for everything, she thought dismally, and she couldn’t let it get her down. She’d been in far worst predicaments. Like being in a freezing car, stranded miles away from civilization, with labor pains tearing her right down the middle. Through that ordeal there had been moments when she’d truly believed she and her baby would die. Now, years later, she didn’t dwell on those long, fearful hours. Sometimes she drew strength from them. After all, she’d survived and grown stronger from that trial.

  With a rueful sigh, she left her seat on the couch and walked into the bedroom where Dillon lay sleeping on a narrow twin bed.

  She didn’t understand why her son had taken such a liking to Laramie Jones. Up until yesterday, he’d pretty much shunned men in general. Even Dr. Kenoi, who worked at the Apache medical clinic and was known for his ability to connect with children, couldn’t get more than five words from Dillon. But five minutes was all it had taken Laramie to have Dillon sitting in his lap and talking up a storm.

  Maybe that’s why she’d gotten so frustrated with the man. Because she could already see a bond building between him and Dillon. If she allowed him to become attached to the ranch foreman, it would be extremely hard when Reena returned and they had to leave. But how could she purposely step between them without coming across as selfish?

  Bending over her son, she brushed her fingers through his hair while doubts and confusion continued to tumble through her mind. Maybe it would be wrong of her to even try to keep Dillon from becoming friends with the man. Her son desperately needed a male influence in his life. Except that he needed a permanent influence. Not one who would be here today and gone tomorrow.

  Well, the whole problem was probably going to be taken out of her hands anyway, she thought as she left the bedroom. She’d clearly made Laramie Jones angry and he certainly had the power to see that her job ended.

  Too restless to try more television, Leyla walked out of their private suite and into the main part of the house. If she was going to pace around, she might as well have a cup of coffee while she did it.

  Before she even reached the doorway of the kitchen she spotted the glow of a light. The sight of it caused her to pause her steps. No one else was in the house except Laramie, so it had to be him in the kitchen. She wasn’t keen on facing him again tonight, but if he had plans to get rid of her, then she’d like to know it now instead of later.

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked into the room. He said, “I wondered if you were going to keep hovering in the shadows.”

  He was sitting at the table with a coffee mug in front of him and a piece of the apple pie that had been left over from the night before.

  She strode across the tile until she was standing a few steps away from him. “How did you know I was there?” Because his back was to her, she had no idea how he’d detected her presence.

  “You’re not the only Indian around here.”

  That surprised her. He had bluish eyes and his skin was no darker than any man’s who worked outdoors on a daily basis. But she supposed there could be a hint of Native American blood in his cheekbones and the proud line of his nose.

  “You have Indian blood?” she asked.

  “I’m told that my mother was Comanche and my father was white. But since I never met either of them, my bloodline is questionable.”

  Not knowing what to say to that revelation, she walked over to the cabinets and poured herself a mug of coffee.

  As she stirred in a splash of cream, he asked, “Are you Apache?”

  “Part. From my mother. My father is Navajo.”

  “Is? I thought you told Bridget and Johnny that your folks were dead.”

  Her jaw taut, she walked back over to the table and sat at the opposite end from him. “I thought you were a cowboy. Not a misplaced lawyer.”

  “Just because I straddle a horse for most of the day doesn’t make me dumb. I do catch a word here and there once in a while.”

  There was a thread of sarcasm in his voice and Leyla figured he was still displeased with her. The idea bothered her. Even though the man was chipping away at her peace of mind, she couldn’t stop herself from liking him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I didn’t mean to sound curt. But Juanita and George Chee are dead to me.”

  He pushed away his empty pie plate, then turned his head toward her. “Why have you put your parents out of your life? Did they not approve of you having a child out of wedlock?”

  Her cheeks were suddenly burning with embarrassment. “My mother was understanding about my situation. But she couldn’t stand up to my father’s ranting and raving. So to keep peace in my family I left.”

  “Where was your home?”

  “The Navajo reservation up by Farmington.”

  “Have they ever seen Dillon?” he asked. “Know about him?”

  After nearly three years she’d thought the hurt would stop when she thought about Dillon being separated from his grandparents, aunts and uncle. But if anything, it had grown even sharper. The Chee family might not be perfect, but Dillon should be a part of them.

  “I’ve not been back to the Navajo res,” she answered his question. “But they know about Dillon. Right after he was born I called my older sister, Zita, and told her. But even if things had been good between us, my parents would never come here. I don’t think they’ve ever been off the res. Besides, the way my father is—I wouldn’t want Dillon around him.”

  He studied her thoughtfully. “Do you think that’s fair to your mother?”

  “Fair? What’s that? Most men take the fairness out of everything,” she said flatly. “And my leaving was better for my mother than messing up the life she has left.”

  “Maybe. But I’m sure losing her daughter has hurt her.”

  Leyla’s head swung dismally back and forth. “Probably so. But you see, my mother is very dependent on my father. And very dutiful. I’ve never understood why she wants a lazy, domineering husband. Especially when she’s the one who works and keeps the bills paid. But that’s her business, not mine.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he sipped his coffee and Leyla tried to focus on her own drink, but it was a chore to make herself swallow. She didn’t talk to anyone about her family or her relationship to them. How had this man pulled so many words and emotions from her? What was it about his presence that invited a person to get closer? She couldn’t answer those questions. But it was clear that whatever he possessed, she and Dillon were already charmed by it.

  He lowered his cup to the tabletop. “Do you have more br
others or sisters than the one you mentioned?”

  “I have one brother and two sisters,” she said, then decided it was her turn to ask questions. “What about you? Do you have siblings?”

  He turned his gaze toward the nearby window and his profile reminded her of a lone eagle. Fierce and strong, but smart enough to be cautious and wary.

  “Like I told you, I didn’t know my parents. A few days after I was born, my mother left me with an old rancher and he raised me. He was a bachelor. I was all he had. And he was all I had.”

  Leyla’s family had always been far from perfect. But she had no doubts about her family roots. Even the ones she wasn’t proud of. But Laramie didn’t know the good or bad or in-between. The realization made her heart ache for him.

  “I’m sorry,” she softly.

  Her gentle remark caused his dark brows to lift with faint surprise. “Don’t be. Diego was a good, caring father. When I think back on it I’m amazed that an old bachelor like him raised a baby. I couldn’t have done it.”

  “A person can adapt, even when they believe they can’t.” Rising to her feet, she walked over to the sink and with her back to him began to rinse the cup. “I suppose you’ll be asking Quint to find you another cook now.”

  “What?”

  Forcing herself to turn and face him, she tried to push the words through her thick voice. “I said that I’m sure you’ll be asking Quint for a different cook now.”

  Instead of answering, he rose to his feet. As Leyla watched his long lean frame stride toward her, she felt her heart flutter. He moved with the grace and strength of a dark and dangerous cat. And she suddenly had the feeling that if she tried to run, he’d pounce.

  “Why would I be doing that?” he asked in a low, shrewd voice. “Did I say I didn’t like your cooking?”

  After all Leyla had gone through, she didn’t let much of anything or anyone make her nervous. Especially men. As far as she was concerned they weren’t worth the emotional toll. But something about Laramie made him different, made her throat thicken, her heart go completely out of sync.

  She linked her hands and squeezed to keep them from outwardly trembling. “No. But after the way I talked to you about Dillon, I—”

  “Forget it. You were right. Dillon is your son,” he said stiffly. “I shouldn’t be telling you what he needs. Or doesn’t need.”

  The strained note in his voice compelled her to meet his gaze, and the wounded shadows she saw there did more than confuse her. They touched her in a place that was far too close to her heart. For the past three years she’d tried not to let herself care about anyone or anything except her son. But Laramie was quickly making her realize how very weary she was of holding back her emotions and how very much she wanted to laugh and love again.

  “I shouldn’t have said those things,” she said thickly.

  A rueful expression curled up one corner of his lips. “You don’t have to say that to keep your job, Leyla.”

  “My job has nothing to do with apologizing. I’m sorry because I—” Suddenly feeling very trapped and vulnerable, she stepped around him and walked over to the table. A short distance away, huge paned windows exposed a westerly view of the ranch yard. Although it was dark now, the twinkling lights from the barn and connecting corrals made a pretty sight. As she stared at the view, she tried to go on, “You’ve been nothing but kind to Dillon. And I do realize he needs a man’s influence in his life.”

  “Just not my influence. Is that what you’re trying to say in a nice way?”

  His question caused her head to jerk around and she watched with dread as he approached her once again. “No! That isn’t what I meant,” she said, then shrugged with resignation. “Well, maybe I did mean that. But not in a personal way.”

  Deciding she had to quit letting his nearness put her off, she made herself step toward him until there was no more than a few inches separating them.

  He said, “Look, Leyla, you don’t have to try to be kind to spare my feelings. I recognize that I’m not a father figure or anything close to it.”

  He could be, though. From what little interactions she’d seen with him and Dillon, it was obvious to her that he would make a wonderful father. But from what Sassy had told her, the man didn’t even date. At least not on a regular or serious basis. And considering he was already in his thirties, that could only mean he hardly had plans to become a father.

  She wondered why that was. Because he didn’t want a family? Or because he’d never had one?

  “If you’d like my opinion, I think you’d make a fine father. It’s just that I—” Pausing, she licked her lips and started again. “I don’t want Dillon getting too close. We’ll have to leave here at some point. If you two become friends, it’ll be hard for him to say goodbye.”

  He frowned. “Do you think that’s good for the boy? Don’t you think he needs to build relationships with people other than you?”

  Knowing there was a measure of guilt and shame in her eyes, she quickly dropped her gaze to the floor. “He does need more than me,” she murmured. “But so far no one has stuck around for him. Not his father or his grandfather. And if I can’t count on his blood relatives, who can I count on to remain a stable factor in his life?”

  “Me,” he said solemnly. “And even if you leave, I’ll always be right here. Dillon can always come back for visits. You said giving up the cat was a learning experience for him. Well, whether you like it or not, his time here on the Chaparral will be one, too. You need to get ready for that.”

  Sighing heavily, she lifted her gaze back to him. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Like I said, I don’t know about being a daddy, but I have been a little boy. Being on the ranch gives him a great chance to experience all the animals and see how a cowboy works. Has he ever been on a horse before?”

  Leyla practically gasped. “Are you joking? He’s not yet three!”

  “That’s nothing. Quint carried his boys on a horse when they were three months old.”

  She didn’t know what this man was doing to her, but somehow he was opening her eyes and she was beginning to see she needed to let loose. She needed to open her mind from the tiny world she’d boxed around herself and her son. And before she even realized what she was doing, she laid a hand on his forearm and smiled.

  “Laramie, I’m not used to ranching life. Dillon isn’t the only one who’ll be learning. So I—I’ll try my best to trust you on these things. And I do want him to make friends. Really.”

  *

  When Laramie had decided to come down to the kitchen for coffee and pie, this was the last thing he’d expected to happen. As late as it was, he’d been very surprised to see her walking into the room. And even then he’d expected her to give him the frigid treatment. Instead, she’d apologized and now she was actually touching him and smiling with the first genuine warmth he’d seen in her dark eyes. He didn’t know what he’d done or said to change her attitude, but whatever it was he was relieved. He was also very, very aware of her softness, the sweet scent of her hair and the seductive curve of her lower lip. The feel of her hand was light and teasing, like a warm gentle breeze slipping over his skin. And he wanted to be closer. Oh, so much closer.

  “I’m glad you feel that way, Leyla.” His voice sounded husky and intimate, so he cleared his throat before he went on. “Whenever I look at Dillon I see a whole lot of myself. And I want things to be good for him.”

  “I hope you truly mean that.”

  “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

  She turned away from him but not before Laramie caught a bitter sort of resolve in her eyes.

  “Dillon’s father said plenty of things he didn’t mean,” she said flatly.

  Her words cut into him. It hurt for her to compare him to the bastard who’d deserted her. It also pained him to think what the man’s lies must have done to her.

  Laramie dared to lay his hand on the back of her shoulder, and the fact that she didn’t
scurry away filled him with a strange sort of joy. Like when a frightened colt suddenly decided to turn and tiptoe back to his outstretched hand. Trust. Yes, he figured earning Leyla’s trust would be a major undertaking.

  “Maybe it’s time you forget all of that,” he said softly.

  That turned her back around, and she looked at him with sheer disbelief. “So I can let another man make a fool of me? Oh, no. I won’t ever forget.”

  “The way I see it, you let Dillon’s father ruin a part of your life. But there’s no sense in letting him ruin the rest of it.”

  Doubt flickered in her eyes. “Who says I’m letting him ruin anything?”

  His hand left her shoulder and slid slowly up the side of her neck until his palm was cradling her jaw. “I do. I see it in your eyes. On your lips. They should be soft and sweet. Instead they’re hard and sour.”

  “And I suppose you think you could make me forget—and soften me up.”

  Her voice had dropped to a breathy whisper and the sensual sound skittered over his skin like tempting fingertips. He shouldn’t be this close to Leyla. And he especially shouldn’t be touching her. But it had been a long time since he’d wanted to kiss a woman, to feel her soft curves yielding against him. And like it or not, Leyla touched him in a way that went beyond the physical. He wanted to see past her pretty face and straight to her heart.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said in a low voice. “Until I tried.”

  The tight line of her lips fell open and Laramie didn’t stop to think. His head swooped, and like a starved man, he fastened his lips over hers.

  The initial contact caused her to flinch, but she didn’t jerk away, and he was encouraged enough to deepen the pressure of his lips.

  Soft, sweet and deliciously warm. The sensations rushed through Laramie like a sudden burst of wind, sweeping away his ability to think about anything except drawing her closer and kissing her until he was completely filled with her.

  Just as he was slipping his arms around her waist, the phone he’d left lying on the table began to ring. Laramie desperately wanted to ignore the signal, but Leyla was already pulling away from him.