by Annie Jones
All the old feelings twisted in Adam’s gut. He refused to let a child of his become another stray, raised by someone who could never fully call the boy his own. No way. Not possible. And he’d do anything within his power to keep it from happening—even go crawling back to the scene of his greatest bravado and worst behavior. Back to Mt. Knott, if not back to his family.
Not that they’d have him back.
Adam had roared out of Mt. Knott a week after his mother’s funeral, with an inheritance in hand, all ties to the family business severed and a hangover that had all but erased the events of his last nights in town.
He hadn’t heard from or seen his family now in a year and a half but they had surely heard of him. His new position with a competitor had all but run the Burdett boys out of business. Now in order to do the right thing by his baby, he’d had to come home to a place where he knew he would not be welcome. But he would do it. He’d do anything for this baby he had not yet seen.
He scuffed his boot heel on the pocked driveway as he straightened away from his treasured Harley. He’d waited long enough. It was time to go and claim his heir.
Josie hadn’t even bothered to lock up the diner. She had just tossed the keys to the young man who did the dishes and asked him to see to it. The message from the young girl who watched Nathan on Thursday evenings, when Josie stayed open until nine, had been muddled by panic. But two words stood out that had caused Josie to tear off her apron and all but run the two blocks from her business to her small rental house.
“Baby’s father.”
A shudder worked its way through her body. The man who had the power to grant her the one thing she wanted most in life—the chance to adopt the baby boy she’d loved as her own since his birth—was in her home.
She drew in the smell of coffee and day-old pie clinging to her pale-blue T-shirt and the fluffy white scrunchie holding back her curly hair. She’d had to wait a week to get up the nerve and the funds to hire a private detective to contact the man on the birth certificate. Not that she couldn’t have tracked him down herself but, well, just looking at the name made her anxious. Adam Burdett!
She hadn’t known him but she certainly knew of him. And in a funny way, what she knew had filled her with what now seemed false confidence.
After all, he was the one who had turned his back on his own family and a whole town. How serious could he be about wanting to play a part in his son’s life when he had done that? He was Mr. One-Night Stand. According to her sister, he hadn’t even called the next day to say…whatever it is a guy says after an encounter like that.
Josie wouldn’t know that kind of thing. She and her sister might be identical twins, but their lifestyles were as different as their personalities. Yin and yang. Their mother, a “free thinker” who couldn’t keep a job, didn’t want a marriage and seemed always in pursuit of the latest trend in spiritual enlightenment, called them that. Light and dark. Day and night.
Josephine and Ophelia.
Josie snorted out a laugh. Even their names said it all. Josephine sounded sturdy, practical. She worked hard and wanted nothing more than to serve the Lord, make a permanent place to call home, to create a family with a man she could trust and depend upon. And to be the kind of woman he could depend upon in return.
“He’s in your bedroom,” the sitter whispered the last word as Josie hit the front door of her house.
Josie gave the girl a reassuring nod and headed down the hallway. If she could afford a house with more than one bedroom, he’d be in the nursery, but since the crib was in her room, she had expected to find him there. She pulled in one long breath, peered into the dim room, illuminated by only a soft glowing light on her dresser. She stole a quick peek at her sleeping baby, then pushed open her door with one hand, ready to do battle. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. But if you value your life, you’ll get your hands out of my drawers.”
He looked as if he was about to swear, but he didn’t, though Josie suspected it was more from shock than good manners or morality. He shut the small drawer he’d been peeking into. He peered at her, instead, then his whole face changed. His eyes narrowed. He smirked a bit. “I didn’t expect to run into you here.”
The deep gravel-throated whisper made her shiver. She froze in the shaft of light pouring in from the hallway. Her stomach clenched.
“I’d say you’re looking good, but then, you know that, don’t you? You always look good.” He did not move into the light, remaining just a silhouette against the mirror above her chest of drawers. “Even after all this time and after…everything you’ve been through. You look as good as the last time I saw you, Ophelia.”
Josie blinked in the darkness, hoping her eyes would adjust to sharpen his image. At the same time, she wanted to clear up a few things for him, as well. “Listen, pal, you’ve made a mistake. I’m not—”
He stepped from the shadows into the muted light.
Josie’s mouth hung open, her every sense in that one instant focused on the man who held her future in his big, calloused hands.
He wasn’t huge, though he seemed larger than life in presence. His shoulders angled up from a trim waist and western-cut jeans that bunched in furrows over his traditional-style cowboy boots. What she saw of his face, his strong jaw, determined mouth and slightly crooked nose made a compelling, if not classically handsome, image.
He moved in on her, like something powerful and wild sizing up his prey. His eyes glittered.
She pressed her lips together, too angry at his supposition and his presumptive presence to trust herself to speak.
He began to slowly circle her so close that his soft shirtsleeve rasped against her bare elbow.
The man was playing games with her—or more to the point, with Ophelia.
Ophelia liked games. They were her stock and trade. The man was no fool to go on the offensive to try to beat Ophelia at her own impressive bag of tricks. A sucker for excitement and danger, this predatory act might have been just the thing to get Josie’s twin to go all liquid and make her easier to negotiate with.
But she wasn’t Ophelia. She was smart, practical Josie. The dull one. The mom with a child to protect. This man’s act was totally lost on her.
His boots scuffed lightly at the floor.
She tossed her head back, lifted her chin in her best attempt at regal composure. If he wanted to deal with her, it would be as two mature adults, no games, no stooping to base animal attraction to put her at a disadvantage. “Listen, cowboy, I know what you’re up to.”
His shoulder brushed against the curls trailing down her neck from the knot of hair atop her head.
A wolf, that’s what he reminded her of, she decided. “I am not the same woman you shared a bed with a couple years ago.”
“Yes, I can see that now.”
About time. He’d spent at least one night in tangled passion with her sister, after all. Obviously, that was enough to help him see how very different they were, how very un-Ophelia-like and unappealing to a man like him Josie was.
“Yes, you’ve made a mistake, all right,” she said. “A big one. I am not—”
“I got it. Not the same woman. You think I don’t see that?” He slid his gaze over her, quick and businesslike, as if he were sizing up the marbling on a slab of pot roast before he tossed it in his shopping cart.
Marbling. As in fat. She shook her head at where her mind had immediately gone. Of the many ways she had been made to feel inferior to her sister, being a full size larger than Ophelia, was one Josie couldn’t shake. And all local jokes about never trusting a skinny cook didn’t really ease her discomfort over it, either. Now she couldn’t help feeling self-conscious under this man’s scrutiny. She found herself folding her arms over a stubborn pout of a tummy no amount of killer crunches had ever diminished.
He put his hand lightly on her back.
Josie gasped. She raised her hand to push him away and found muscles tight as steel beneath her fingertips.
His touch, warm and gentle, almost a reverent caress, belied the strength within the man. She lifted her gaze to his.
“How could I have not seen it? It was clear the moment I laid eyes on you,” he murmured. “You aren’t the same woman.”
“No, I’m not.” It sounded almost like an apology, she realized too late. This time she did push his arm away from her.
He let it fall easily to his own side as if she had had no effect on him whatsoever. “And you sure don’t look as good as the last time I saw you.”
Accustomed as she was to unfavorable comparisons to her sister in the attractiveness department, this man’s assessment stung like a backhanded slap to her self-esteem.
She hung her head. “I’m not surprised you’d think—”
He dipped his head and his eyes searched her face. “You look better.”
“Better?” she squeaked, cleared her throat, then matched his smoky whisper in depth and volume. “Better?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He nodded. “Motherhood becomes you.”
She smiled. Maybe this guy wasn’t a total jerk after all. He knew who she was and had picked up on the one thing in which she had outshone her vivacious twin. Motherhood did become Josie.
She managed a modest smile. “Thank you for noticing. I know we have a lot to deal with, but it’s good to know you can see how important being a mom is to me.”
“Oh, yeah, I can just guess how ‘important’ motherhood is to a girl like you—” a sudden change came over his features; a hardness rang in his tone as he wrung out the rest “—Ophelia.”
Yeeoow. Now she knew how those football coaches felt when the player dumped a tub of ice on them to celebrate a victory! She peeked to make sure that the baby was still sleeping, then turned with a flourish to face this cowboy-biker-Burdett creep. “How can you not know who I am?”
“I could ask the same of you. Do you know who I am?”
“Of course I know who you are,” she whispered back, closing in on him to keep her voice from disturbing her child. “You are the man who, if he doesn’t get out of my bedroom this instant, will be explaining himself to the whole Mt. Knott Police Department, every last one of them a close personal friend of mine.”
His mouth lifted in a one-sided sneer. “I’ll just bet.”
She spun quietly around to snatch the only picture she had of herself and her twin from on top of her dresser. “I know them all from going to school here. From working year after year alongside their moms and sisters and wives and friends at your family’s factory. I know them from serving them meals at my own diner.”
Confusion registered in his ominous expression. His gaze flicked downward to the framed photo, then up to her face as if asking if she expected him to understand what she wanted to show him.
She tugged it up higher for his inspection. “That’s Ophelia.” She jabbed her finger at the girl in the forefront of the photo with her hands up and her hair in her counterpart’s face. “That’s me. Josie.”
“Josie?” He shook his head. “Who is Josie?”
“Josie is me, pal. The woman who is kicking you out of here before we wake my baby.” She shoved at his shoulder to prompt him to get moving.
“For the baby’s sake, I’ll go, but just so we can sort this whole mess through somewhere else.”
“Agreed.” She ushered him into the hallway, pulling the bedroom door firmly shut after them.
“And for the record, ma’am,” he said, stopping short in front of her so that she could neither move past him or retreat.
“What?” she asked, trying to sound as brave as she had felt while defending her son.
“For the record…” He leaned down close until his face loomed before hers, his eyes demanding her total focus. “That little boy asleep in that crib in there—”
She held her breath.
“—is my baby.”
Chapter Two
“Go on home. I’ll be all right.” This woman, this spitting image of Ophelia Redmond only…softer, gave the babysitter a comforting pat as she nudged the wide-eyed gal out the front door.
Adam stuffed two fingers of each hand into his back jeans pockets and shifted his weight to one leg. Softer or not, that tangle of red-blond curls with the honest eyes and mama-tiger-protecting-her-cub ferocity stood between him and his son. He didn’t like that. Did not like that one bit.
And Adam was determined he would not like her, either. He’d come for his son and that left no room for anything but cold indifference toward the woman who wanted him to relinquish his parental rights.
Josie shut the door and turned to him, a smug expression on her pretty face. “I’d ask you if you wanted some coffee, but seeing as you’re not staying long enough to—”
“I take it black,” he told her. “The coffee, that is. In a mug, not some wimpy little teacup.”
Her eyes cut straight through him like two burning coals. They shone with emotion and life that he’d never seen in her twin’s gaze. Not that it mattered, of course. As far as he was concerned, Josie Redmond was the enemy.
“And piping hot,” he added, enjoying tweaking her anger a bit more than he really should have allowed himself.
She took in one long, deep breath, held it, then let it out, slow—real slow. “Anything else?”
“With sugar.”
“Do tell.”
“Yep.”
“Well, I like mine decaf. Instant decaf.” She jerked her head toward the open door to his left. “You’ll find everything you need on the counter.”
“Me?” He jammed his thumb into his breastbone.
“You want coffee, you make coffee.” She put her hand to the wall and kicked her thick white shoes off. “I’m officially off duty, Mr. Burdett.”
“Adam,” he drawled, hoping it hid his grudging admiration for her unflappable response and her no-nonsense approach.
She reached up and snagged the white hair-holding thingy loose. Spiral curls clung to it as she dragged it downward. She shook her head, her hair tumbling down to brush her straight shoulders. She put her hand behind her neck. “What did you say?”
“Huh?”
“Maybe I should make the coffee after all.” She narrowed one eye on him. “Wouldn’t want to tax you too much, you know, by expecting you to talk and handle a kitchen appliance at the same time. Could get tricky.”
Adam huffed a hard laugh, more amused than he wanted to admit. “Bet you get a lot of tips with that winning attitude of yours.”
“I do all right.” She turned and padded into the kitchen.
“I’ll just bet you do,” he muttered.
“What’d you say?”
“Adam.” He strolled into the glaring light of the kitchen and leaned against the cabinet where she was pulling out two coffee mugs. “I asked you to call me Adam. Mr. Burdett is my father.”
“I know.” She clunked one cup down on the counter.
“Yeah. Of course. Everyone around here knows the Burdetts.” He watched her for some sign that she shared his opinion of his family. Why he wanted to find that commonality with her, he didn’t know. It just seemed, standing here in this small space with her, that it sure would be nice to have a girl like her on his side. “You know which one I am, right?”
She placed the second cup down as though it were as delicate as an eggshell, then stretched her hand out for a jar of instant coffee. She wrenched the lid off the jar, then yanked open a stubborn drawer, making the silverware clatter as she pawed around inside it.
He tried to will her to answer. He wanted to hear firsthand from someone who didn’t share his last name, just what people in Mt. Knott thought of him and what he had done to his family’s business. He wanted to hear it from her.
“I know which one you are.” Her fingers curled around a spoon, and the room grew very quiet. Finally she said so softly that a draft from the nearby window might have blown the words away, “You’re the man whose name is on my baby’s birth certificate.”
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br /> She did not look up. She went right on making the coffee. But it didn’t escape Adam’s attention that as she scooped the dark-brown powder into each cup, her hand trembled. With one sentence she shifted from a smart, sassy woman in control to one scared little lady.
That’s just what he had wanted when he had first shown up tonight.
Then why didn’t he feel better about it?
“What am I doing?” The spoon clinked against the inner lip of the cup. She shut her eyes and shook her head. “I should have heated the water first.”
“Never mind.” He straightened away from the cabinet.
“No. I’ll fix this.” She lifted both cups. They rattled against each other, tipping one and sending instant coffee spilling over the counter. “Now look what I’ve done, I—”
“Look, forget it.” He stepped forward, feeling every inch the heel for having reduced her to this. “I don’t need any coffee.”
“No, I said I’d make it and there’s one thing you ought to know about me, Mr. Burdett. If I say I’m going to do something, I do it.” She set both cups down, then began to scoop up the dark dust in her palm. It sifted through her fingers like sand. “I can fix this. I can—”
“Josie.” He took her by the wrist and turned her to face him. That’s when he saw the tears rimming her eyes. They seemed held in place only by the sheer force of her will not to cry. He cupped her fisted hand in his palm. “I didn’t come here for coffee.”
“I know,” she rasped. “You came here to take my son.”
A few minutes ago he’d not only have agreed with her, he’d have thrown in a crude adjective to seal the deal. Now? All he could do was clear his throat and say, softly, “Then maybe we should just talk—”
She jerked her head up. “I’m not anything like my sister, you know.”
He smiled then. “I can see that.”
“You can?”
When she looked confused, Adam noticed, a small crease appeared between her eyebrows.