Those Baby Blues

by Sheridon Smythe

  The sigh he expelled sounded angry. “Why would she do something so devious if she wasn't going to gloat to me about it? Where's the satisfaction in silent revenge? Or is that a woman thing?"

  He hadn't meant to attack her personally, Hadleigh knew, but she felt the prick none-the-less. “Don't judge us all by the likes of Cheyenne. Maybe she just chickened out."

  Treet lifted a silken braid and wound it around his finger. He wore an expression of awe as he stared at Sam's auburn lock, his look a complete contradiction to the bitterness in his voice. “Or maybe she just planned to wait until Caroline graduated high school before she told me."

  "Would it have mattered?” Hadleigh challenged.

  "No."

  No hesitation there. “Then what difference does it make? Why waste your energy on being angry with her? What's done is done."

  "You're very forgiving."

  "No, I'm not. I just try to look at the bright side. She didn't leave me childless. In fact, if I could go back and change things, I'm not sure I would.” She could tell by his expression that he understood. She explained anyway. “Because if it meant I wouldn't have these memories with Sam, I..."

  "Yeah, I see your point. Still, it's going to be difficult now that we've—now that we've—"

  "I know,” she inserted quietly. That he had trouble saying the words reminded her of just how serious the situation was. “We're smart people, Treet, and if we keep being smart, we can turn this fiasco to our advantage.” She hesitated a heartbeat, then asked, “How do you think Cheyenne will feel when she learns that her long-term revenge plan is out of the bag?"

  Treet's eyes narrowed, as if he were thinking about something unpleasant. “If she knows what's good for her, she'll stay away from me and mine. We could both sue her ass—” he broke off as Sam stirred restlessly in his arms.

  He had little warning as she suddenly sat up, blinked at him, and stated, “You're not my mommy. I'm gonna be sick again."

  And then she was—all over Treet's chest and lap.

  To his credit, he didn't leap up or throw her from his lap. He just held tight as she retched helplessly.

  Hadleigh winced at his pained expression. “It was your idea to switch,” she reminded him. When he simply stared at her, she quickly shifted Caroline to the sofa. “I'll get Trudy. I think she's in the cockpit."

  * * * *

  The moment Hadleigh disappeared from sight, Treet cursed himself for not telling her about his brief conversation with Cheyenne before they left for the airport. Apparently the hospital had called Cheyenne before they notified him. Cheyenne had given herself away the moment she opened her lying mouth, trying to assure Treet that she had known nothing about the mix-up at the hospital.

  That was when he'd realized that Cheyenne had masterminded the switch. Cheyenne was pretty, but she wasn't very bright.

  "Are you mad, Mr. Miller?"

  "No.” Forcing his black thoughts to the back of his mind, Treet found a part of his tee-shirt that wasn't soiled and carefully wiped Sam's chin. He tried to breathe through his mouth.

  "You look mad,” Samantha persisted.

  "This isn't my mad look. It's my gosh-this-stinks look."

  Sam giggled, completing the melt-down in Treet's heart. “It does stink. I'm sorry. I hate to puke. It gets all in my nose and—"

  "I get the picture,” Treet interrupted hastily, wishing Trudy would hurry. His stomach was trying to rebel, and he didn't know how much longer he could keep it steady. It wasn't the first time he'd been puked on, but he'd never been very good at dealing with it. Usually when someone got sick, he got sick right along with them. Kept them company, so to speak.

  To his relief, Hadleigh and Trudy came running in. With her usual efficiency, Trudy lifted Sam from his lap and whisked her to the wash room.

  That left Hadleigh to help him. The manly man in him wanted to shoo her away; the weak stomach in him accepted her help with gratitude and more than a little desperation. “If you could just grab the ends of my tee-shirt and lift it slowly over my head—I think I can hold the worst of it away from my face.” If he emptied his stomach in front of Hadleigh, he'd have to consider jumping from the plane.

  And then there was Brutal. He would never let Treet live it down.

  "Okay. Are you ready?"

  He clenched his teeth and nodded, for the moment ignoring the hint of amusement in her voice. Pay back would be a bitch, he vowed. “Easy. Go slow, and stop when I tell you to."

  "I've got it."

  Together they managed to get the tee-shirt off without dumping the contents of Sam's upset stomach. Hadleigh carefully wadded the soiled shirt and stuffed it into a plastic bag, tying it securely.

  "What should I do with it?"

  "Throw it from the plane?” Treet suggested. He looked up in time to see her lips twitch. “And what the hell is so funny?"

  "You. You're funny. Treet Miller, brought to his knees by a little baby puke."

  "I'm not on my knees, in case you didn't notice. And it wasn't baby puke. Baby puke I can handle.” Which was a bald-faced lie, and if Brutal had been there, he would have called him on it. “What she launched on me was a full-course meal."

  Grinning openly now, Hadleigh said, “Well, who's idea was it to introduce Sam to peel-em and eat-em shrimp, hm?"

  "She loved them."

  "Yeah, all two-dozen of them. Or was it three dozen? Then there were the crab cakes. I still can't get over how much she liked them, but the oysters were the biggest surprise."

  Treet's stomach muscles clenched in protest. He groaned and gave up. “Okay, okay! Let it be known that I cried ‘Uncle’ first. Just please change the subject."

  "All right, but first can you answer one question? Just this one itsy bitty question? I'm dying of curiosity."

  Suspicious, Treet squinted at her too-innocent looking face from his position on the sofa. “What?"

  "Were those little black nuggets in the ice cream chocolate chips, or walnuts?"

  * * * *

  Driving a cherry-red minivan that looked as if it had just rolled off the assembly line, Brutal picked them up at the private airport in the small, rural town of Burlington, Montana, just before sunset. Trudy climbed into the front with Brutal, with Hadleigh and Treet in the second seat, and the girls secured in the back in the built-in child safety seats.

  The moment the door slid shut, Sam made her announcement.

  "I puked on Mr. Miller."

  Everyone looked at Treet. Caroline giggled and pointed, then clamped her hand to her mouth. Brutal's eyes narrowed. “Boss, did you get sick, too?"

  "No,” Treet muttered. Louder, he said, “No, I did not get sick."

  "I did,” Sam repeated almost proudly. “And Mr. Miller didn't get mad at me."

  "Sam?"

  "Huh?"

  "Would you please stop calling me Mr. Miller?"

  Sam frowned. “Okay. Do I just call you Miller without the mister?"

  "How about just calling me Treet?"

  "'Cos that's a silly name."

  "Sam!” Hadleigh admonished, twisting to glare at her daughter. “Don't be rude."

  Treet came to her rescue. “You're right, darling, it is a silly name. I've always thought so."

  "Then why don't you change it?” Sam asked seriously.

  "Because my agent seems to think it's catchy."

  Hadleigh looked at him in surprise. “Treet's not your real name?” When he shook his head, she prompted, “Then what is?"

  "I'll tell you later,” he whispered.

  "I'll hold you to that."

  "Hm. Now that's something to look forward to."

  Blushing, Hadleigh turned her face to the window. Once again he'd managed to misconstrue her words. He was a devil in disguise, and she was reckless and crazy to agree to this trip. Reckless and stupid to think she could keep him at bay, because the plain, shocking truth was she didn't want to keep him at bay. She wanted him to not be the Treet Miller, or even the father of
her child—the child she'd believed was her own. She wanted him to be an ordinary man so that she could enjoy flirting with him, and not be thinking constantly that she shouldn't be for this reason or that.

  And there were plenty of this and thats.

  "Scared?” Treet taunted in her ear.

  Hadleigh jumped and shot him a dark look. “I don't know what you're talking about."

  His sultry gaze dropped to her mouth. He stared at it so long her nipples peaked. Damn him.

  "I think you do."

  "It's not nice to whisper,” Sam informed him sternly. “Mommy says so. Isn't that right, Mommy?"

  "That's right, sweetheart.” Hadleigh smiled smugly at Treet's disgruntled expression.

  "You never said that to me, Daddy."

  Hadleigh's smile grew at Caroline's scolding tone. Treet's eyes narrowed. His expression clearly promised retribution. Her smile slipped. She truly had to stop taunting him before she got herself into real trouble, because she suspected Treet's brand of retribution would be the best kind of torture.

  Such as kissing her senseless.

  Or touching her in secret, sensitive places until she cried out.

  Lordy, he could just stare at her for a while and she'd get hot. Hadleigh turned her face away and closed her eyes for a brief moment. What was she doing here? What had she been thinking?

  Sam.

  Caroline.

  They were the reasons she was here, sitting beside one of the most eligible bachelors in the country and on her way to a Montana ranch that probably belonged to Robert Redford, or Gene Hackman.

  Unbelievable.

  Her thoughts roamed back to their conversation on the plane when she'd told him what Cheyenne had said after Sam's birth. Treet hadn't denied any of the charges, which could mean he was either guilty, or he had just assumed Hadleigh hadn't believed Cheyenne. Hadleigh would have felt a lot better about things if he had laughed or outright denied the rumors.

  Was Treet the ruthless, baby-hungry monster Cheyenne had painted? Should she be afraid he would try to take Sam from her, as her friends feared? Treet certainly had the means and the money, and the motive as well. Surely it wasn't standard practice for a man to be so accepting of another man's child? Not in her experience, anyway. Yet he appeared to be, and what if those other rumors were true, and he'd known all along that Caroline wasn't his? Yet he'd kept her and raised her and appeared to love her. And if those rumors were true, then it hadn't come as a shock to discover he hadn't fathered Caroline.

  But it must have come as a shock to discover that he did have a child of his blood after all.

  Samantha.

  Her daughter, if not by blood then by heart and soul. She'd warned him he wouldn't get her, and he'd promptly claimed he wouldn't give up Caroline.

  That didn't necessarily mean he wouldn't try to gain both daughters, did it? Hadn't she thought—briefly—how in a perfect world she could have both daughters?

  "I could get used to this,” Treet said, startling her out of chaotic thoughts.

  She turned quickly to look at him. “Get used to what?"

  He jerked his head in the direction of the back seat. The girls were dozing, hands linked as if even in sleep they couldn't bear to be apart. “That. Having the two of them together. I can't believe how close they've already become. It'll be hard to separate them."

  His hushed words chilled Hadleigh, coming so close on the heels of her disturbing thoughts about Treet's motives. He'd resurrected another scenario that she hadn't thought of.

  As if she weren't paranoid enough!

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twelve

  Montana.

  Big Sky Country.

  As they neared the ranch in the Eastern part of the state, Hadleigh could certainly see how the mountainous state came by its nickname. It was the same sky she viewed each and every day in California, yet it wasn't. This sky looked bigger. Enormous. Huge.

  And she soon found out it wasn't the only thing big in Montana. “You call this a ranch?” Hadleigh asked, staring at the sprawling cluster of structures with a mixture of trepidation and awe. “It looks more like a resort!” The mysterious ridge of mountains rising in the far distance intensified the postcard effect.

  "Yeah, Clint said it was more than he needed, but the deal was too good to pass up.” With a casual move, Treet flung his arm over the back seat and leaned into her, sharing the same view through the window.

  "C-Clint?” Hadleigh swallowed hard. No, she wouldn't ask. She didn't want to know. She was intimidated by the sheer size of the ranch itself without knowing she might be sitting on a couch where Clint Eastwood parked his famous behind, or sleeping in a bed where he'd slept.

  No, she would not ask.

  Damn. She had to. “Are we talking about Clint Eastwood?"

  Treet laughed at her expression. “No. Clint Loveless. He's a producer friend of mine."

  "Never heard of him.” Thank God. Hadleigh let out a sigh of relief. “For a moment there I thought you were going to say Clint Eastwood."

  One gorgeous dark brow rose mockingly. “You a fan of his?” he teased.

  "Aren't you?” Her tone dared him to say one bad word about Clint.

  "Yep. He's my idol. You'd like him. He's a homebody like me. Typical all around good guy. Kinda old, though."

  "There's nothing typical about Clint Eastwood,” Hadleigh argued, trying to keep a straight face. She had learned to recognize the glint of jealousy in his eyes when she talked about another movie star. And it was definitely glinting now. “Or old, for that matter. He could be a hundred and still make me swoon."

  "He's gay."

  "He is not!"

  Treet's burst of laughter roused the girls.

  "Are we there yet, Daddy?"

  "Yes, sweetheart. We're here."

  "Mommy, I gotta pee,” Sam said, sounding sleepy and grumpy. “Do they have a bathroom?"

  "I'm sure they do.” Probably a half dozen or so, Hadleigh thought, trying to figure out which of the four doors was the main entrance. A rustic porch fashioned from hewn logs ran half the length of the house—which to Hadleigh looked to be at least a quarter of a mile long. She caught a brief glimpse of an Olympic-size swimming pool sparkling beneath the sun. To the right of the house was a corral filled with beautiful horses, a few gangly colts, and a black and white cow. Beyond the corral was a huge red barn, picture perfect, complete with hay spilling from an open window at the top.

  She resisted the urge to pinch herself. She felt as if someone had plopped her right smack dab in the middle of a postcard; the spread was a charming mixture of past and present.

  As the van rolled to a stop in front of door number three, Treet idly fluffed the damp hair at the nape of her neck. “What do you think?"

  "I'm speechless.” She shook her head in wonder, trying to appear causal about dislodging his hand. “I don't know how anyone can own a place like this and ever leave it.” Behind her, the girls were squealing with excitement; they'd spotted the horses.

  "I'll take them to the fence,” Trudy volunteered. Brutal popped the hatchback and soon the foursome went trooping across the yard to the corral, leaving Hadleigh and Treet alone to exit the van.

  Treet caught her chin with his finger and turned her head. Hadleigh found herself drowning in his fantastic blue eyes, made all the more brilliant by the sun shining through the glass. Tension popped and sizzled between them. She wanted to get away—jump out of the van—but she couldn't move.

  "Will you be comfortable here?” he asked softly, seriously.

  "I think Sam will love it.” Her evasive answer earned a frown.

  "I know Sam will ... and so will Caroline. I'm asking about you."

  "This isn't about—” His finger to her lips shushed her.

  "Yes, this is about you, too. And me. We're all in this together. If you aren't relaxed, the girls will pick up on it, am I right?"

  She managed a nod.

  "So
I'm asking you again, will you be comfortable here?"

  "I honestly don't know.” She shrugged, then grimaced, gesturing toward the house. “This is someone else's home."

  "Clint manages to visit once or twice a year, mostly just for the weekend. He has a couple that takes care of the place. They live in the guest house out back."

  "So you're saying—"

  "He doesn't feel as if this is his home any more than we do."

  "But still, his personal stuff—"

  "He bought it furnished, and hasn't had time to make it personal. In fact, he's talked about selling it."

  She took a deep breath. “Has anyone ever told you that it's impolite to interrupt?"

  "Yes, Brutal tells me all the time.” His naughty smile was infectious as he leaned over her and opened the door. “Ladies first."

  Butterflies dipped and whirled in her stomach. She stepped from the van, telling herself that she was smart, that she wouldn't let the atmosphere affect her judgment. Treet was just a man, not a king, and Montana was just a state like any other. It just seemed like a place out of time, but the beautiful home she was about to enter was just a glorified log house, not a castle.

  Okay. A glorified log mansion, maybe.

  When she turned back to Treet, she found him juggling suitcases and bags. Here was proof when she needed it the most; the movie star with the million-dollar smile was up to his fantastic blue eyes in luggage. Good ole ordinary domestic activity.

  She let out a shaky breath and smiled. “Need some help?"

  Instead of answering, Treet looked beyond her, smothering a curse. “What the hell is he doing here?"

  Hadleigh followed his gaze to a tall, well-dressed man striding toward them from door number one. His hair, long and black, hung loose around his broad shoulders. A diamond sparkled in his right ear, and more sparkled on his fingers. Hadleigh judged him to be in his early forties.

  He looked purposeful.

  "That's my agent, Todd Hall.” Treet's scowled deepened. “I told him I was on vacation, dammit."

  "I know what you told me,” Todd said as he reached them. “But this couldn't wait."

  "And you couldn't have used the phone?"