The Birth Mother

by Pamela Toth

  When she didn’t reply, Janie pursed her lips. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Emma patted her shoulder. “Thanks for asking.” Sometimes Janie acted like a mother hen, even though she was about the same age as Emma. Maybe it came from being married to a deputy sheriff.

  Emma glanced toward the kitchen and saw that her order was up. It gave her an escape before Janie could ask any more questions. When Emma grabbed the plates from under the heat lamps, she noticed that Janie was still watching her with a concerned expression. Emma managed a reassuring grin, even though she felt more like sobbing with disappointment over all her broken dreams.

  Two

  Brandon had parked his car and was walking toward the ranch house when his grandfather came out onto the porch, hands hooked into the pockets of his faded jeans. A battered black Stetson was on his head.

  “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise,” Garrett Kincaid exclaimed with a welcoming smile creasing his weatherworn face. “We didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Neither did I,” Brandon replied as he went up the steps and stuck out his hand. “My car just steered itself this way.”

  Was it his imagination, or was there a hint of amusement in the old man’s blue eyes as he clasped Brandon’s hand firmly? He’d seen Garrett hug Collin and a couple of Brandon’s other half brothers, but Brandon didn’t yet feel comfortable with that much familiarity. Perhaps he never would. For years, as he was shuffled from one foster home to another, he’d taught himself to shut down, too dejected from the rejection he’d felt when forced to pack his meager belongings and leave yet another home and another would-be family. Part of him felt like the outsider looking in, but all this family that had been thrust on him took some getting used to.

  “Good to see you, no matter why you’re here.” Garrett led the way inside. “How long can you stick around?”

  Brandon shrugged. He hadn’t expected Emma to welcome him with open arms, but her chilly reception at the café made him wonder whether he was wasting his time.

  “I’ve got a few days.” Brandon didn’t want to commit himself in case all this newfound togetherness got on his nerves. Most of the time being a loner was a comfortable fit, one to which he’d never given much thought until now.

  When Garrett Kincaid had found out his son Larry had fathered seven illegitimate offspring—private investigator Gina Henderson Remmington was still searching for the seventh—Garrett had determined to buy the ranch and divide it evenly among them. The sale was now being held up by Jordan Baxter’s claim that he had first refusal on the property. Since the first time Garrett had summoned all the illegitimate grandsons to the ranch back in the spring, Brandon had visited Whitehorn several times.

  “Where’s your luggage?” Garrett asked as he led the way to the kitchen, which seemed to be the heart of the house despite a sprawling living room with oversize furniture and a huge fireplace.

  “My bag’s in the car. I’ll get it later.” Brandon hadn’t brought it in with him because part of him hadn’t learned to count on his reception here. The easy way this man he’d known for less than a year accepted Brandon into his family was both amazing and a little scary. Except for a high school football coach who’d taken Brandon under his wing, he’d done pretty damn well for himself without a father figure in his life. He was thirty-three and he wasn’t entirely convinced he had any use for one at this late date.

  Garrett withdrew two beers from the massive refrigerator. Popping the tops, he handed one to Brandon.

  “You know you can bunk here as long as you like,” he said. “A couple of the bedrooms are always empty.”

  That was no surprise; the big old house had seven.

  “In fact, I’m going down to the Black Boot with Collin and Wayne later to play some pool. You’re welcome to tag along,” the old man added after he’d drained a third of his beer in one long swallow and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

  Since Brandon had struck out with Emma, he was at loose ends for the evening. The noisy, lowbrow atmosphere of the local bar was probably just what he needed to divert his mind from weightier issues for a while.

  “Sure,” he said, taking a drink. “Count me in.”

  “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Emma mumbled, tugging down the hem of her short skirt as she followed the two other single women into the dimly lit bar. Emma’s dress seemed to ride up as she walked.

  Dark paneling and an array of mounted animal heads on the walls, their glass eyes wide and staring through the haze of cigarette smoke, contributed to the room’s cavelike appearance. Neither of the other women heard Emma’s complaint over the honky-tonk music pouring from the jukebox and the babble of conversation. Patty worked in the Mini-Mart where Emma bought her gas and groceries. The Black Boot wasn’t Emma’s usual scene, but Patty’s invitation to join her and her friend Denise this evening had caught her at a weak moment. She’d been on her way home from work, still upset by Brandon’s sudden reappearance and dreading the lonely evening that yawned before her.

  At least now Emma wouldn’t have time to think about Brandon. She was too busy fighting the sudden wave of self-consciousness that hit her as she followed Patty through the maze of tables and chairs jammed together on the scarred wooden floor. Emma glanced longingly at an empty booth in a dark corner, but Denise chose a table in the middle of the room. In her short leather skirt and matching vest over a see-through blouse, she was obviously no shrinking violet.

  It was only after the three of them had sat down and Denise ordered a pitcher of beer that Emma glanced around. Three walls were lined with booths, most of them occupied by men in cowboy hats and women with big hair. At the bar Emma’s eye caught that of a cowboy with a handlebar mustache, but when he winked she looked quickly away. She wasn’t used to the easy flirting other women indulged in.

  Two couples were dancing in the small open space in front of the glowing jukebox. Beyond them was a pool table surrounded by men with cue sticks. As Emma watched, one bent way over the table, denim straining across his compact rear, and took a shot.

  “Nice buns,” Patty observed as a waitress thumped a brimming pitcher of beer and three glasses onto the table.

  Although Emma would have to agree, she didn’t reply to Patty’s comment.

  “Lots of ranch hands in town tonight,” Denise said in a throaty voice as she filled three schooners and handed one to Emma. The lively song on the jukebox ended, to be quickly replaced by a ballad. “I wish that blond hunk sitting at the bar would ask me to dance. I’d love an excuse to get my arms around him.”

  Both Emma and Patty turned their heads.

  “Don’t look now!” Denise exclaimed. “He’ll see you staring.” She sat up straighter, thrusting out her breasts and pushing back her long black hair as Patty giggled and Emma scooted down in her chair.

  The other women were clearly on the make. Why had Emma come with them? And why had she worn this dress? Deceptively plain, with skinny straps, the clingy blue fabric hid nothing and the skirt was too short. She’d bought it without trying it on first and had never gotten around to returning it.

  When she dared to look again, another man was headed their way. He was big, with a receding hairline and a double chin. She ducked her head and studied her full schooner. From the corner of her eye she saw Denise stiffen.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned under her breath.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  Booted feet had stopped next to Emma’s chair. Swallowing, she glanced up. And up.

  The man was looking at her with a smile that didn’t quite mask his anxiety. There were beads of perspiration on his high forehead.

  “I—I don’t think so,” she stammered.

  “Oh, go ahead,” Patty urged. Denise kicked her under the table and they both snickered.

  The man flushed and his smile wavered. He began to retreat. “Uh, thanks anyway.”

  Two cowboys perched on bar stools had turned to watch the e
xchange with obvious interest. One elbowed the other and made some remark that elicited a loud guffaw. Emma could imagine the ribbing the poor man was in for when he returned to his place at the bar.

  “Wait,” she said, pushing back her chair before he could turn away. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  His face turned even redder as she managed a smile and got to her feet, but his eyes were friendly. He recovered fast enough to take her hand in his damp paw. Ignoring the stares of her companions, Emma resisted the urge to tug at her skirt.

  “I’m Hal,” he said, leading her between the tables.

  “I’m Emma.” She was relieved that no one seemed to be paying them any attention.

  There was an awkward moment when they reached the cleared area where other people were already dancing. Hal held out his arms expectantly and she hesitated, but it was too late for second thoughts. A rejection now would be even more humiliating for him. Cautiously, Emma placed one hand on his shoulder and slipped the other into his. It had been a while since she’d danced with anyone. To her relief, Hal’s mechanical movements were easy to follow and he didn’t try to hold her too closely.

  “I haven’t seen you in here before,” he said after they’d taken a few steps and Emma began to relax.

  “It’s my first time,” she admitted. When he turned her, she saw Denise plastered up against the blond cowboy with her head tucked against his shoulder and her eyes squeezed shut. Patty was dancing with a man Emma hadn’t noticed before.

  “Do you come here a lot?” Emma asked Hal.

  “Every chance I get. Don’t you work at the Hip Hop? I’ve been in there a few times.”

  She didn’t remember him. Before she could reply, a hand tapped his shoulder.

  “Mind if I cut in?”

  At the sound of the familiar voice, Emma trod hard on Hal’s foot and her head jerked up.

  Brandon!

  Hal’s arm dropped away from her waist, but she had a death grip on his hand. He didn’t seem to know what to do.

  “Hello, Emma.” Brandon shifted around so she was forced to look into his face. Like Hal, he wore no cowboy hat, but any resemblance stopped there. Brandon was taller and leaner, except for his wide shoulders. He was wearing a black shirt with pearl snaps. His eyes were narrowed and a muscle jumped in his cheek.

  “Do you know this guy?” Hal asked bravely.

  Emma nodded. “But I don’t want to dance with him.” It had never occurred to her that she might run into Brandon at a place like the Black Boot. The rundown bar didn’t seem to be his style.

  Hal swallowed, clearly out of his element. He sent her a pleading look. “He’s not your husband, is he?”

  “No.” Emma wished the song would end so she could go back to the table. Her face went hot at the attention the three of them were getting from the bar’s other patrons. Even Denise had opened her eyes to stare curiously.

  “Is there a problem?” Two men in Western dress had materialized to align themselves on either side of Brandon. One was holding a pool cue and the other, gray-haired, draped an arm across Brandon’s shoulders.

  Hal seemed to shrink visibly and his face lost much of its ruddy color. He shook loose of Emma’s hand as though it had scorched him, while her embarrassment turned to annoyance. The air was thick with testosterone.

  “No problem,” Brandon assured his sidekicks with an easy smile. “Go on back to your game.”

  “You sure?” drawled the one who looked old enough to be his grandfather. Emma wondered if these men were part of the Kincaid family.

  “I’m sure. Thanks, Garrett.”

  After they sauntered away, Hal turned back to Emma, looking as though he would rather be in a pit full of rattlesnakes than here with her. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  Brandon leaned closer and gave him one of those man-to-man smiles, ignoring Emma as he might a store mannequin. “She and I had a little misunderstanding, you know?” he told Hal. “I’d really appreciate the chance to talk to her.”

  “I have nothing to say to him,” Emma told Hal, trying to insinuate herself between the two men. Both ignored her. “Tell him to go away.”

  “Not until I talk to her,” Brandon said stubbornly.

  Hal’s gaze darted back and forth between them like a spectator at an air hockey tournament. The beads of perspiration on his forehead had multiplied.

  The ballad on the jukebox had finally ended, but the other couples stayed where they were, either waiting for the next number or hoping for a fight, Emma wasn’t sure which. She wanted to tell both men to leave her alone, but anger had a stranglehold on her throat, choking her vocal cords. She was tempted to stamp her foot in sheer frustration, but the way her luck was going she’d sprain her ankle in the flimsy, high-heeled shoes she’d worn.

  “How about it, friend?” Brandon asked Hal. “I’d consider it a favor if you’d step aside.”

  “Sure thing,” Hal replied, walking away without another glance at Emma. She wanted to shout after him that he owed her. All she’d been trying to do was to spare him from a little razzing by his buddies!

  Another slow song started and before she could protest Brandon swept her into his arms. Oh, my, but the man was smooth. She didn’t even have to think about what her feet were doing, which was just as well. She was too distracted by the way her senses were reacting to the scent of his cologne, something that whispered success and sex, and to the warmth of his hands on her waist. For the space of a heartbeat she even forgot she was angry with him.

  “I’ve missed you,” he murmured in her ear, spoiling the moment.

  Emma’s head jerked back as though he’d slapped her. “Like you’d miss a bad case of jock itch!”

  His stunned expression was priceless. Then he threw back his head and laughed. The other dancers all stared and Emma’s face flamed as she stumbled. When she attempted to turn away, his arms imprisoned her. He leaned closer and his warm breath caressed her cheek, making her stiffen to keep herself from melting like hot wax.

  “I’m sorry I neglected you,” he mouthed into her ear. “I’m a selfish pig.”

  Emma leaned back in his arms. “How refreshingly honest,” she said dryly.

  Brandon’s lips twitched, but he maintained his earnest expression. “What can I do to make amends?”

  She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but the words wouldn’t come. “What do you have in mind?” she found herself asking instead.

  His eyes widened in surprise at her apparent capitulation, but he recovered quickly. “Let me think,” he murmured as he guided her around the small dance floor.

  For several moments he didn’t speak while Emma struggled to remain aloof. Despite her efforts to resist his charm, she found herself relaxing against him, her heartbeat speeding up as the blood in her veins thickened and slowed. She sighed as he urged her closer, his hard thighs brushing hers, his hands caressing her back in lazy circles. The music swirled around them, seducing her. A dreamy smile curved her lips and her eyes drifted shut.

  Suddenly she straightened and popped them open. How could she give in so easily after he’d ignored her existence for months? Where he was concerned, it was all too obvious she was dangerously weak. “Let me go!” she exclaimed.

  To her disappointment, he did just that, his arms dropping away like fallen trees.

  She expected to see a persuasive smile on his attractive face. To her bewilderment, he was frowning.

  “Damn it, I missed you,” he growled, as though not seeing each other had been her fault.

  “That’s your problem.” Emma stuck her nose in the air and whirled away just as the music ended, but he snagged her wrist before she could take two steps. As soon as he’d spun her back around, his grip gentled and shifted. Turning her hand over, he lifted it to his mouth.

  Emma stared at his absurdly thick lashes as the touch of his lips on the inside of her wrist burst through her senses like a shower of stars. Was he aware of her galloping pulse?
She refused to pull away and reveal just how strongly the erotic caress affected her.

  “Will you come with me for a late dinner?” he coaxed, lacing his fingers with hers. “We can go anywhere you’d like.” Considering the fact that everything in Whitehorn except the Chinese restaurant was probably closed, his offer wasn’t nearly as generous as it sounded.

  Emma suspected it wasn’t a fortune cookie that Brandon was after. Head thrown back, she flicked her gaze to their joined hands. Part of her wanted to accept and to see where the night led, but pride wouldn’t allow her to give in—not after the way he’d treated her before. He’d left her heart badly bruised. Given another chance, he might shatter it beyond repair.

  “No thanks,” she said, congratulating herself silently for the coolness in her voice. Was that disappointment she saw darken the brilliant blue of his eyes, or merely annoyance? She couldn’t tell, but surely he deserved a taste of what she had dealt with after he’d left her.

  “Another time, then,” he said, letting her go as the jukebox started up again.

  When Emma turned away, swallowing the Yes, please that leaped to her lips and threatened to spill out, she noticed Denise approach him with a big smile. Funny that Emma hadn’t noticed until now how big and white the woman’s teeth were, like a hungry shark’s.

  Before she could sink them into Brandon, Emma hurried back to the table. To her surprise, when she sat down, Denise was right behind her.

  Denise thumped down into her chair and refilled her glass. “Who’s the centerfold?” she asked Emma with a sneer.

  “The what?”

  Denise tossed back her hair. “The guy you were arguing with. I haven’t seen him around before.” She took a long swallow of beer. “Since you weren’t interested, I asked him to dance.” She laughed, but her eyes were hard. “He said he had a pool game to finish. His loss,” she added with a shrug. Denise worked at the local health club. She had a spectacular figure and probably wasn’t used to rejection from men over the age of ten.