“You found the place.”
“The signs along the road made it pretty easy.” She removed a stroller and quickly set it up. For someone who’d been an active mother only one short month, she appeared to know what she was doing. “This is a busy place. I must have passed six horse trailers on my way in.”
“There’s a rodeo in Scottsdale next week. A lot of local cowboys are getting in as much practice as possible before then.”
“That’s what Ethan said.”
She was being civil. On the verge of friendly. Not what he’d expected so soon following her appointment with her attorney. When she’d called him an hour ago and asked to see the casita, he’d stammered a surprised “How soon can you be here?”
He cautioned himself not to jump the gun. Her request didn’t mean she’d changed her mind about living with him. But she was obviously entertaining the possibility, which was a huge step. Clay fully intended to obtain joint custody of his son. He’d rather accomplish it without battling Sierra.
“If you’re interested, we can tour the rodeo facility and office when we’re done here.”
“Won’t it be dark by then?” She pushed the empty stroller to the rear passenger door, then reached inside and lifted Jamie from his car seat.
“The floodlights will be on.” Clay stood at her side, observing her every move. He had a lot to learn about caring for babies, too.
“Maybe.” She set Jamie in the stroller. “I have an errand to run on the way home.”
Jamie wiggled excitedly, and it took Sierra several attempts to get the safety straps buckled, his jacket zippered and his ball cap situated on his head.
Clay smiled and winked at his son and was rewarded with a silly giggle. Later, he would insist on holding Jamie. For now, Clay let Sierra be in charge.
“Do people always practice at night?” She handed Jamie his toy pony. For once, the boy disregarded it in favor of his surroundings.
“Depends,” Clay said. “More often in the summer months when it’s too hot during the day to ride. With the rodeo coming up, however, practice will last till midnight if I let it.”
“Will you let it?” She tilted her head at an appealing angle.
Clay promptly forgot the question. “What? Oh, yeah. Practice. Probably not tonight. I don’t have enough wranglers willing to stay late.”
She took hold of the stroller’s handle and released a foot brake. “Is Ethan here?”
“He is. We can watch him working the horses if you want.”
“We’ll see.”
“That’s right. You have an errand to run.”
She didn’t respond.
Clay wanted to ask her how her meeting with her attorney had gone but hesitated. Better to leave the joint-custody agreement to their respective representatives. He didn’t want there to be any tension between him and Sierra while they were looking at the casita.
“You have a beautiful home.” She took in the expansive grounds as they walked a shrub-lined footpath leading to the enclosed backyard.
“We can go inside when we’re done with the casita. You’ll like the kitchen. I designed it myself.”
Would she like it? He realized after he’d made the comment he had no idea. He couldn’t recall her spending much time in the kitchen as a teenager, and they’d either eaten out or grabbed a snack from the fridge during their brief affair.
Clearly she was wondering the same thing about him. Slanting him a curious look, she asked, “Do you cook?”
“When I have the time, which isn’t often. I make the best country ribs and coleslaw you’ll ever eat.”
Funny, they could make a baby together and still not know the simplest things about each other.
“Hmm. I’m impressed.” She carefully maneuvered the stroller over the uneven ground. “I haven’t had ribs in years.”
“Don’t tell me. You’re a vegan.”
“No. I did try that once for a few months.”
He could have sworn for just a second her mouth tipped up in a smile. His heart leapt. Maybe, possibly, the sense of humor that had charmed him two years ago hadn’t entirely disappeared.
“This way.” He gestured to their left to a small square building connected to the house by a wood-slat walkway. A small bridge rose at midpoint over the rocky bed of a natural wash.
Designed in the same Southwestern style as the main house right down to the red tile roof and carved oak door, the casita had its own private patio and a kiva fireplace with two wrought-iron chairs facing it. Leafy plants spilled over the sides of colorful ceramic pots placed on either side of the fireplace.
“The gate locks,” Clay said, opening it so that they could enter the patio. “That way, Jamie can’t get out. I’ll also have extra dead bolt locks installed on both the casita’s doors, high enough so he can’t reach them. Right now, the heat’s turned off, so it’s a little cold inside.”
Sierra didn’t seem to notice that Clay was talking as though her moving in was a foregone conclusion.
She pushed the stroller through the front door and came to a sudden stop, her eyes wide. “It’s bigger than it looks from the outside.”
“Three hundred and sixty square feet altogether. I think the picture window and skylights give an illusion of spaciousness.”
She continued past the recliner and queen-size bed to the tiny kitchen in the corner. There, she ran her fingers along the edges of the single-basin sink and three-burner stove. Last, she opened the mini refrigerator for a quick peek at the contents, which consisted of a can of tomato juice and a box of baking soda.
“No oven,” Clay said, “so you can’t prepare a huge meal. But between the stovetop and the microwave, you and Jamie won’t starve.”
“There’s always the meals we share with you.”
She would bring up that condition.
Leaving the stroller outside the bathroom, she went in to explore. Clay was glad he’d spent the extra money and had a whirlpool tub installed.
“This is great,” she exclaimed.
He smiled to himself.
Was she remembering that night they’d spent at the Phoenix Inn and their room with the built-in Jacuzzi? They’d drunk champagne and eaten strawberries amid swirling water and shared a continental breakfast in bed the next morning. In between, they’d made love. For hours.
Then, a week after Sierra went home, Jessica had crooked her little finger and Clay went right back to her like a trained lapdog.
Would he have been so eager if he’d known Sierra was pregnant?
Definitely not.
He’d have done right by Jamie, been a better father than his own ever was—would be a better father than his own. Put his family first, not his insatiable greed.
And he’d have done right by Sierra, too. Married her if that was what she’d wanted. Taken care of her, certainly.
What if she’d told him about the baby after he and Jessica had renewed their engagement? Would he have still married Jessica?
Clay was honest enough with himself to admit he had his doubts. Oh, he’d have still taken care of Jamie and Sierra. But left Jessica? Hard to say. The spell that woman cast on him had been strong and blinding.
“Da, da, da!”
Clay swung around. Had Jamie just called him Dada? He went to the stroller and knelt in front of his son, who wore an enormous grin and waved his pony in the air.
“Da, da, da, ba, ba.”
“Hey, pal.” Clay tugged on the brim of Jamie’s ball cap, emotion thickening his voice. “I’m here.”
“Hard consonants are easier to pronounce than soft ones.” Sierra had stepped out of the bathroom and was standing beside Clay and Jamie. “They aren’t necessarily words.”
Guess Jamie wasn’t calling him Daddy yet. “Is that what the baby books say?”
She blushed guiltily. “I have been reading up.”
Clay stood and waited. After a moment, she met his gaze. They were closer than he’d first thought. So close the fronts
of their jackets brushed. With the wall on one side and the stroller on the other, there was little room to maneuver, unless Sierra twisted and ducked into the bathroom.
She didn’t.
Her eyes, a vivid blue and by far her most striking feature, held him immobile. He had only to lower his mouth a few inches and he’d be able to taste her lush pink lips. Slide his tongue over them until they parted and she leaned into him…
“Da, da, ba, da.”
Clay jerked. What the heck just happened?
He was angry at Sierra. Furious. Didn’t trust her. And with good reason. He was not in any way whatsoever attracted to her.
His pulse and sudden rapid breathing were making a liar of him.
Maybe her living in such close proximity wasn’t a good idea after all.
Chapter Five
“We’d better get a move on.” Sierra slipped gracefully out from between Clay and the wall. “I have that errand to run.”
Clay watched her lean down to fix Jamie’s loose shoe. The curve of her shapely posterior didn’t go unnoticed.
Dang. If she could have escaped all along, why hadn’t she?
Perhaps this zing of attraction from out of nowhere wasn’t entirely one-sided.
Naw. She didn’t look like a person who’d just been emotionally knocked to her knees. Her movements were too steady, her demeanor too cool.
Clay, on the other hand, was only now recovering.
“Do you mind if I push Jamie?” Distractions. He needed distractions.
She hesitated.
“I admit, I don’t have much experience but I think I can get him from here to the house without crashing.”
“All right.” She remained glued to his side, hovering with near obsessiveness as they left the casita.
“Any closer, and I’m going to run over you.”
“Sorry.”
Why had he opened his big mouth? Having her two feet away was infinitely less enjoyable than two inches.
The stroller wheels bumped over the wood slats as they walked to the house. Jamie laughed with delight, and Clay could imagine him saying, Again, Daddy, again.
They entered the house through a pair of French doors opening to a spacious great room. Clay found himself looking at the decidedly masculine decor through Sierra’s eyes. Did she find the leather furniture, floor-to-ceiling bookcases and pool table too much?
“You were right.” She went straight to the kitchen with its antique buffet, plate racks and glass door cabinets. “It is fabulous.” She turned in a half circle. “Look at that stove.”
It was Clay’s pride and joy. Six burners, a built-in grill, a conventional oven below and a convection oven above, the gas range had been designed to resemble one from the early 1900s.
She switched on a knob, and blue flames erupted from the front burner.
“You like to cook.”
“When I get the chance. Same as you.” The faint smile Clay had seen earlier in the casita reappeared and lasted two full seconds before fading.
Progress.
Jamie squawked and kicked his legs hard enough to shake the stroller.
“What’s wrong?” Clay asked. If Jamie required changing, he’d do that, too, though he wasn’t looking forward to it.
“I think he’s tired of sitting.”
That wasn’t what had started Jamie fussing. He’d spied Oreo, who lumbered tiredly into the kitchen, his feathery tail wagging.
“Is that Oreo?” Sierra didn’t wait for an answer. She reached down and scrunched the dog’s ears in her hands. “He was old two years ago.”
“Older now. Almost seventeen. He doesn’t do much except move from one sleeping spot to the next.”
And lick faces, present company included. Sierra laughed as she twisted her head out of Oreo’s reach.
Jamie’s kicking increased. “Da, da, da.”
Great. His son was now calling his dog Daddy.
“His adoptive… The Stevensons had a dog,” Sierra explained. “He’s used to them.”
“Go on, let them play. Oreo likes kids.”
“Kids or babies? There’s a difference.”
“He’s the gentlest dog in the world.”
Oreo lived up to Clay’s boasts. The moment Sierra set Jamie on the floor, he tumbled over to the old spaniel. Throwing his arms around Oreo’s neck, he buried his face in the still-lustrous black-and-white coat and squealed excitedly.
Oreo’s only reaction was to look up at Clay with a see-what-I-put-up-with-for-you expression on his face. Even when Jamie pulled on Oreo’s fur, the dog’s tail continued to wag.
“He is good with kids.” Sierra smiled—really smiled.
The light radiating from it arrowed straight into Clay’s chest. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be the same.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to be the same.
“I worry Jamie will get hurt.” She nibbled her lip nervously. “He tried playing with Cassie’s puppy Blue yesterday. It didn’t go well. Jamie got too rambunctious.”
“Did Blue snap at him?”
“No, no. Just yelped and scampered away. Which scared Jamie and he started crying.”
“That won’t happen with any dog of mine. Or horse.”
“Just because Oreo’s trustworthy doesn’t mean you can put Jamie on a pony.” She leveled a finger at Clay, her mouth set in a determined line. “Not happening, Clay Duvall. You hear me?”
How did she know he’d already contacted one of his livestock dealers about any ponies for sale?
“Not until he’s older,” she stated.
“How old?”
“Six, at least.”
“I had my first pony at three.”
“Three! Are you crazy?”
“If I don’t buy him a pony, your dad or brothers will.”
“No one is buying Jamie a pony.”
Clay dropped the subject. For now. They’d compromise eventually. Clay was more concerned about Jamie living here with him.
And Sierra.
Taking both boy and dog with them, they toured the rest of the house. When they were done, they left for the arena. Oreo remained behind in the kitchen, to Jamie’s acute disappointment. He wailed at being parted from his new best friend and didn’t stop.
Clay hoisted Jamie into his arms, and the boy instantly quieted.
“That’s better, pal.”
Sierra pushed the empty stroller. “We can put him back now.”
“He’s fine.”
She crinkled her brow. “You can’t carry him all the way to the rodeo arena.”
“Sure I can.”
The horse operation was only about a hundred and fifty yards from the house. Close enough for Clay to keep watch on everything and far enough to afford him a modicum of privacy.
Sierra said nothing.
Jamie did. He would point to something that caught his attention, a horse and rider, a truck and trailer, one of the wranglers, and blurt a string of nonsense syllables as if he were commenting on what he saw.
Clay enjoyed every second and responded with “What do you think of that?” or “I know, it is big.”
He observed the people they passed. Some openly stared. Clay waved or nodded, not minding the attention. He was proud to be a father. It was a feeling he treasured and, he glanced at Sierra, one he’d fight for if necessary.
“Most of the bulls, horses and calves are kept in pastures or paddocks over there.” He indicated the acres and acres of open land behind the rodeo arena. “We transport them to the holding pens for practices and jackpot events. The maternity pastures are to the east.”
“Maternity pastures?” Sierra asked showing the first hint of interest.
“Leasing livestock to rodeos is a large part of my business. Occasionally, I purchase livestock. Most often calves. For the larger stock, horses in particular, I’ve started breeding my own, which was one of the reasons I went into business with Gavin. I’m hoping Prince will produce quality bucking stock,” he said, referrin
g to the wild mustang he and Sierra’s brothers had captured last fall. “I’ve bred him to three of my best mares.”
“Hmm.” Sierra’s response was noncommittal but the spark remained in her eyes.
They watched the wranglers herd a new batch of bucking broncs to the holding pens. A few of the men were on foot, most on horseback, Ethan among them. When he was done and the bucking horses secured, he trotted over to Clay and Sierra and dismounted.
“Hey, buckeroo.” Ethan poked Jamie on the nose. “Which of these bad boys are you going to ride tonight?”
Still in Clay’s arms, Jamie grabbed for Ethan’s horse. The big gelding was less enthused with the attention than Oreo had been and jerked back.
“He’s not getting anywhere near a horse.” Sierra planted herself between Clay and her brother, glaring at them both.
They exchanged glances and dutifully replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
She harrumphed as if she didn’t quite believe them.
While Clay and Ethan discussed the upcoming rodeo, Sierra kept watch on Jamie, ready to seize him from Clay if the horse got even one inch closer.
He decided to give her a break and handed Jamie over to her. Shoulders sagging with relief, she returned him to the stroller. Jamie objected loudly and pushed at the restraining bar.
“Cute kid,” Ethan said to Clay. His manner had gone from lighthearted to serious.
“Yep, he is.”
“Sissy told us about you wanting her and Jamie to move into the casita.”
“I think it’s a good compromise.”
“You’re my best friend, Clay. There isn’t anyone else I want to stand up for me at my wedding next weekend.”
Ethan’s words warmed Clay. “I feel the same.”
“The thing is, if you hurt my sister or her boy, it won’t matter how good a friend you are.”
Clay wasn’t bothered by the thinly veiled threat. If he were in Ethan’s shoes, he’d want to protect his sister and nephew, too.
“For the record, I don’t plan on hurting either of them.”
Ethan’s grin, normally ear to ear, didn’t reach his eyes. “Okay. Because I’d hate to have to hunt you down.”
* * *
SIERRA WAS TOO BUSY with Jamie to pay much attention to what Clay and her brother were saying. Something, however, must have changed for they were suddenly serious and, this was odd, posturing.
Baby's First Homecoming Page 6