by Silver James
She glanced in the rearview mirror and recognized the stubborn tilt of her son’s chin. It was about the only thing he’d inherited from her. “How about we stop and buy a movie on the way home?”
“No.”
Yes, her son’s temperament hit a little too close to home. “But you want to see that new—”
“No. I’m mad at you, Mommy.”
“Fine.” Oh, great. Now she was getting snippy with a four-year-old.
“Fine,” he snipped back.
When they got home, dinner and bath time were a battle. CJ refused to watch TV with her, holing up in his room instead. When she went in to offer a bedtime story, he crawled into bed, turned his back and ignored her.
Out of sorts, she sprawled on the overstuffed couch in the area her Realtor called a media room. Some inane romantic comedy laugh tracked its way across the giant TV screen affixed to the wall. The thing had come with the house and there were times she enjoyed it. Tonight, not so much. Pushing off the couch, Jolie paced around the room, her thoughts as chaotic as the storm clouds gathering outside. Deep down, she knew she didn’t have a legal leg to stand on. She couldn’t prove Cord meant to harm CJ. She couldn’t ding him for lack of child support because he hadn’t known he was a father.
Her earlier conversation with her father as she was preparing dinner had been short, to the point and disappointing. And now she was mad at him because he seemed to be taking Cord’s side. Then again, he’d always gotten biblical with her.
“You reap what you sow,” he’d told her on numerous occasions, quickly followed up with his belief that she was wrong for not telling Cord about CJ. Tonight, he’d told her he’d hire an attorney to represent her in the paternity suit they were both sure Cord would file.
Could she really do that to CJ? Drag him through the newspapers, because they darn sure would glom onto the story—the legitimate press and the tabloids. Possible headlines flashed across her thoughts and none of them were pretty.
“Argh!” She wanted to hit something. Or throw something against the wall—something that would crash and break into a million pieces. She had no choice. She needed an attorney so the Barrons couldn’t run roughshod over her, but she would have to let Cord see her son. Her son. Not his. She’d dealt with the three months of morning sickness. She’d brought CJ into the world with no help from the Barrons. She’d dealt with his colic, teething, earaches and everything else. All by herself.
And whose fault is that? No matter what she did, she couldn’t muffle the sound of her conscience.
“Okay!” She yelled the admission. “My fault. It’s all my freaking fault! Are you happy now?”
No, she wasn’t happy at all. But she had to face the consequences. She had to allow Cord to spend time with CJ. She blinked and a wry smile crinkled her cheeks. Cord was a Barron. Barrons never stuck with anything that even hinted at personal responsibility. They got bored too easily. And hated having to make an effort. They expected to snap their fingers and everybody would line up to do their bidding. Well, Cord had a lot to learn about being a father. Especially since his own father was such a lousy example.
Jolie did a short happy dance. That was the ticket. Cord would get bored with being a father, and once he had his fill, he’d ignore CJ. Her heart contracted, knowing CJ would more than likely get hurt. But better he discovered now what a jerk his father was than later, when he’d have a harder time getting over it. She shoved those uncomfortable feelings away. She never wanted to hurt CJ, but ever since Cordell Barron entered the picture, hurt was inevitable. For both of them.
She trudged to her room, doing her best to ignore her feelings about—and for—Cord. The man drove her to distraction. He always had. All he had to do was smile, and her knees went all wobbly while her heart raced and goose bumps prickled her skin. And when he touched her? Her pulse—and other places—throbbed with the thought. She needed a cold shower stat, and headed to the master bath.
Jolie had dated postbreakup with Cord, in an I’ll-show-him way, and most often with disastrous results. Nursing school had convinced her she didn’t have time for men. And then CJ. Men didn’t want a woman with the baggage of another man’s child. Not just another man. Cord. She balled her fists on the granite vanity top and stared at her reflection.
“Get over him, girl!”
Her brain could list all the reasons why she should tell him to take a flying leap, but her body was up in arms and rebelling. She wanted him in that hot, skin-to-skin seductive way a woman wants the man who inflames her inside and out. And darn if her heart wasn’t standing there on the edge of the cliff ready to take the leap with her girlie bits.
She crawled into bed, hit the remote control and found a program guaranteed to bore her into sleep. Her dreams, however, were far from boring. Tangles of arms and legs, deep kisses until her lips were swollen and she couldn’t catch her breath. Flushed, she pushed off the linen duvet coverlet and flopped onto her back, arms wide. The ceiling fan washed a desultory breeze over her that did nothing to dissipate the heat. The digital clock on her bedside table blinked an accusatory three-thirty in her direction.
The TV droned in the background, casting flickering shadows around the room. For a brief moment, Jolie wondered what Cord was doing. Focusing on the program, she thrust thoughts of the man out of her mind—at least until her brain processed what she was seeing on the screen. She’d gone to sleep to a documentary and awakened to a man and woman writhing in ecstatic, no-holds-barred, down-and-dirty sex on a dining room table.
“Really?” She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or get out the vibrator. She didn’t believe in signs, but if ever there might be one, this would be her luck. Giving up on any chance of sleep, she shoved out of bed and padded into the bathroom.
* * *
Cord twisted his hips, first right then left. He followed up with some of the other exercises his physical therapist insisted he do. Sometimes his insides still felt like scrambled eggs, though at the moment, it was his thoughts that more closely resembled food. Spaghetti. A big ole knot of it, twisted and tangled.
“I have a son.” He tested the words by saying them aloud. “I’m a father.” That one didn’t settle, as well. He wasn’t a father. Thanks to Jolie. She’d made sure he missed out on those all-important early years with CJ. CJ. He wondered what the initials stood for. Surely she hadn’t named the boy after him. He made a mental note to ask CJ when he saw him.
Tomorrow. Cord glanced at the clock. Today, he amended. He’d have the day to spend with his son. He glared at the insectile shadow looming against the far wall of his childhood bedroom. He hated that wheelchair with a passion bordering on rabid. He would be rid of it as soon as possible.
Despite the sweat beading on his forehead, he redoubled his efforts, lifting his legs, holding them elevated until his abdominal muscles screamed and he couldn’t breathe. Lowering them to the bed, he panted until the pain passed.
As he rested, his thoughts turned to Jolie. A different kind of pain washed over him, one that was both physical and emotional. His body hardened as he remembered all too well the feel of her curves, the sound of her soft, panting breaths as they made love. There’d been girls before her and women after, but none of them ever stirred him like Jolie. Now that she was back, he seriously doubted there’d ever be another. But at the same time, she’d done the unthinkable. Had she gotten pregnant on purpose? He got mad just thinking about it.
His anger simmered just beneath the surface. He had every right to be furious with her, but he hadn’t exactly been a knight in shining armor where she was concerned. He’d acquiesced to his father’s demand that he break it off without a backward look. Well, maybe a few glances and a very heavy heart, but he’d been a coward. He could own up to the label now, especially in light of what his younger brother had done.
Up to his old tricks, Cyrus had declar
ed Cassie Morgan’s father an enemy, and when the man had died, Cyrus had turned all that venom on Cassie. The old man was determined to steal Cassie’s inheritance right out from under her—and would have if not for Chance.
Cord curled his head up, bringing knees and elbows together in a modified sit up. Cyrus had underestimated Chance—and the depth of feelings he had for the pretty little cowgirl. Chance had stood up to their father and never even looked back. If Cord were honest, he’d admit his small part in the epic cattle drive and the ensuing drama at the stockyards had been liberating. Especially in light of his own gutless action when Cyrus had given him the ultimatum regarding Jolie.
As he worked through the rest of the exercises prescribed by the therapist, he daydreamed. What would his life be like if he’d told his old man to shove it? He pictured him and Jolie in a little house with a bunch of kids, him working in the oil patch. He’d be a great dad, playing with the kids, teaching them how to play football and baseball—even the girls. And the nights spent with Jolie in his arms? Oh, yeah. Now, there was a dream he could grab hold of.
Except.
Reality shoved its way into his reverie. Jolie wouldn’t have been happy in a little house. And as a lowly roughneck, he wouldn’t have been able to afford the lifestyle she was used to. She’d always wanted to go to nursing school. Her father would have helped, but Cord was self-aware enough to know he would have resented every penny J. Rand Davis gave them.
The sweat on his body chilled, and he grabbed a towel to wipe his face. His little brother was damned lucky. Cord shook his head. No, not lucky. Determined. And willing to stand up to their old man. Because of Cassie.
Chance and Cassie. They had a great thing going. His brother worshipped the ground his wife walked on. She’d tempered Chance. He smiled easier, laughed more often. Cord wanted that with a woman. He wanted that with Jolie. He always had. And he’d get it. One way or another. Because that was what Barrons did.
Six
Cord waited in the doorway of the barn, watching the shiny Mercedes SUV sweep up the drive. Behind him, CJ giggled as he helped the ranch manager, Kaden Waite, feed the horses. He figured it was Jolie in the vehicle, come to pick up their son. His heart contracted and then expanded at the thought. Their son. He’d known about CJ—whose full name was Cordell Joseph, though according to CJ, he was only called that when he was in trouble—for less than a day, but already the kid owned him heart and soul. He’d do anything for this child. Hell, he’d do anything for Jolie. All he had to do was convince her they belonged together. The three of them. One happy family.
He lost sight of the SUV as it parked in the circle drive in front of the sprawling stacked-stone-and-log ranch house. Moments later, his cell phone dinged with a text from Miz Beth, the Barron family’s longtime cook and substitute mother figure.
U HAV CMPANY
The woman hated to text, but she didn’t like calling one of the boys in front of people, either.
Cord texted back, asking if it was Jolie.
u nED to ComE NOW
Miz Beth’s message was plain, despite her typos. “CJ, we need to head to the house.”
“But I’m not finished helpin’ Mr. Kaden, Daddy.”
Cord’s breath caught in his chest when he heard that word on CJ’s lips. “He can finish up, bubba. Someone’s up at the big house waitin’ for us.”
“Who?” CJ dragged his feet but approached.
“Not sure, but Miz Beth says we need to get up there pronto.”
Kaden had followed CJ out of the barn. “I’ll bring the UTV around, Cord.”
The other man ducked back inside and returned moments later driving a two-seat utility vehicle with a bed on the back big enough to hold the wheelchair. After a bit of maneuvering, and more help from Kaden than he wanted to admit he needed, Cord, CJ and the chair were bouncing along the gravel road back to the main house. He stopped at the back, where Miz Beth’s husband, Big John, met them.
A few minutes later, he rolled through the house while CJ darted ahead.
“Grandy!”
Grandy? Who was here? Expecting Jolie, Cord worked to school his expression as he turned the corner to find J. Rand Davis standing in the entry hall. Miz Beth stood her ground, chin jutted, hands on hips, blocking Rand from coming any farther into the house. The older man’s eyes flicked in Cord’s direction.
“Cordell.”
“Mr. Davis.”
“Grandy, Grandy. Guess what I did!” CJ all but leaped into his grandfather’s arms, demanding his attention.
Without taking his eyes off Cord, Rand said, “No clue, CJ. What did you do?”
“I fed horses! And got to sit on one while Mr. Kaden led him around the corral.”
Rand ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately. “Sounds like you had a fine time today, CJ. Ready to go home?”
“Aww, do I hav’ta, Grandy?”
Cord realized Rand was waiting for him to say something. He cleared his throat. “Since your grandfather drove all the way out here to get you, bubba, yeah, time to go home.” Before CJ could launch into an argument, he continued, “But tell ya what. I’ll call your mom and see about maybe you coming out and spending the weekend, okay?”
“Like a sleepover?”
“Yeah, like a sleepover.”
“Cool.”
Rand glanced at the housekeeper, noted her apron with a tilt of his head and sniffed the air, which was filled with scents of apple and cinnamon. “Are those apple fritters I smell?”
“They surely are.” The woman, always astute, glanced between Cord and Rand before holding out her hand. “CJ, honey, why don’t you come with me to the kitchen. I have some fritters and milk for you to eat before you head home.”
The boy squirmed loose from his grandfather and happily joined her. Once they were out of sight and hearing, Rand said, “We need to talk, Cordell.”
* * *
Jolie paced her kitchen. At one end of her path, she checked the time on the chrome-and-neon clock on the wall. After pivoting and marching back to the far side of the room, she checked her watch. When the phone rang, she all but jumped out of her skin. She snagged the receiver and answered with a worried “Hello?”
“Jolie, it’s Cord.”
As if she wouldn’t recognize his voice. Pleasure warred with panic. “Is CJ okay?”
“He’s fine. Your father picked him up about twenty minutes ago. He mentioned something about hamburgers before bringing him home.”
“I swear my dad spoils that boy rotten.”
Cord chuckled, and the sound melted her bones. “It’s easy to do. He’s an awesome kid.” Silence stretched as she tried to figure out what to say. Luckily, Cord beat her to it. “Ah...thanks.”
His gratitude perplexed her. “For what?”
“For letting CJ come to the ranch. For giving me a chance.”
She bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue. Something about his voice tugged at her heart. He sounded uncertain. “You’re welcome, Cord.”
“Can we talk, Jolie?”
Yes, it was uncertainty she caught in his voice, and the idea that Cordell Barron might be uncertain about anything rocked her back on her heels. She expected him to be demanding. Arrogant. Confident. All the things he’d always been around her. But uncertain? He’d been so sure of himself in high school. College. Even the night of their hookup. He’d been positive she’d stay the night, that they’d fall back into their relationship. She steeled her emotions even as her skin tingled in remembrance of that night.
“What do you want to talk about, Cord?”
“Our son.”
No hesitation on his part. Our son. Those words seared her soul like the hot Oklahoma wind.
“I really want to be CJ’s dad. I want to spend time with him. Do th
ings and get to know him. Make up for lost time, you know?”
Now he was tugging on her guilty conscience, so she said nothing but a noncommittal “Mmm.”
“Can we do this without getting the lawyers involved?”
Still she didn’t answer, marshaling her chaotic thoughts. She didn’t want to share CJ. She didn’t. Especially not with the Barrons. The Barrons... Okay, Cyrus Barron was the problem. That horrid old man was nothing but poison when it came to his own sons. She sighed inwardly because Cord was right. CJ was his son, too.
“We have a son together, Jolie. Can’t we be friends, at least?”
“I don’t know, Cord. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Jolie wanted to bite her tongue. Why did she continue to antagonize him? Cord sincerely wanted to get to know CJ. Even so, she was reluctant to trust him. In addition to the fact he once broke her heart, and could do so again if she wasn’t careful, she couldn’t get past his last name and the fact that Cyrus would have access to CJ. Yet Cord appeared, at the moment, to be acting reasonable about things. Mostly. Okay, definitely. She was the one being a witchy woman, her broken heart notwithstanding. She had every reason to be cautious. Right? Right.
“You’re thinking too hard, sunshine.”
Sunshine. Her tummy did a cartwheel and she sank down on the nearest bar stool. “You haven’t called me that in...forever.”
“I haven’t talked to you in forever. Not really. You never stuck around my hospital room long enough.”
He’d reached out to her as he’d lain racked with pain in that bed, and while part of her turned all warm and fuzzy with the memory, the hurt and heartbroken girl she’d buried all those years ago wouldn’t let go of her anger.
“You’re still thinking too hard.” Cord’s voice was thick and husky with emotion, and for the first time, she wondered if their breakup had hurt him, too. That was a place she wasn’t ready to explore.